Bringing Them Along (Patreon)

Inspired by a Reddit Writing Prompt

Part 1: Trial By Fire

Paul McBride leaned back in his easy chair, a bottle of Chateau LaFitte to his elbow. He lifted the glass to his lips and tasted it. Just as delicious as always. Just for a moment, he let his eyes wander around the richly-appointed room; the expensive paintings, the crystal chandelier, the one-of-a-kind carpet ... was it all worth it? he wondered.

Before he could answer that question, his phone rang. He scooped it up and flicked the icon with his thumb with the ease of long practice. "McBride."

"Paul ... we may have an issue."

It was Kendra McCulloch, one of his closest friends. One of his closest allies. She sounded worried. Rattled, even. This was bad. Nothing rattled Kendra. Not even back when ... he squashed the thought as ruthlessly as he performed his business dealings. "Talk to me."

"It's Janine. She let slip something tonight. She and Roger Portland and Bellamy's kid ..."

"Donald," he filled in when she faltered. Roderick Bellamy had been another of his closest compatriots, back in the day. His death from cancer was unexpected, but it hadn't changed anything. McBride had gone to the funeral, said the appropriate words, and made arrangements for the family to be given assistance if necessary. Bellamy's wife, Miranda, didn't know about ... aspects of the family history. McBride had never deemed it necessary, just as he'd never told his own wife where the money to create their financial empire had really come from.

Young Don Bellamy had to be rising fifteen by now. A well-formed lad, McBride could see his father in him.

"Yes, Donald." She collected herself. "Janine's got powers. So do the other two. Like ..."

"Like the Power Consortium had, thirty years ago," he said, cutting her off. He didn't think the phone line would be tapped--and in fact, he had several very expensive precautions in place to prevent that from happening--but there was no sense in taking chances with careless speech. "Did she say what she intended to do with those powers?"

There were three essential routes for power use. Four, if one counted "Don't use them in public". That was rare and difficult. The main three were: hero, villain, and business. Help people for no gain, screw people for gain, provide a service for gain. The Power Consortium, back in the day, had been firmly in the villain court.

"I don't know for certain, but ... they've been watching a lot of the old shows. About the Rectifier, and Whip/Lash. Heroes. Making a difference. And they're teenagers."

Which meant they were idealistic, with a simple view of the world. Making things right by punching muggers. Paul could attest that things were a lot more complicated than that. He made the world a better place by carefully calculated donations, but he never gave his whole fortune away.

"I understand," he said. "Call Lawrence Portland. We need to have a meeting." Without Bellamy it wouldn't be the same. Still, the problem at hand needed addressing.

"What are you going to do, Paul?" Kendra sounded worried. He supposed that she had a good excuse. He'd never had kids, so he had no real skin in the game. And he had a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness, in business ... and elsewhere.

"Whatever I have to."

Kendra McCulloch had stood the test of the years well. Lawrence Portland, not so much. Since his messy divorce (and the fact that his ex had managed to gouge a good fraction of his holdings in the process) he’d been crawling further and further into the bottle. It was a wonder that young Roger had turned out so well. He tried to present himself as being sober, but Paul could see the unsteadiness in his hands.

“You both know why I called this meeting.” Paul decided to lay the cards on the table. This was an actual meeting, in the same building where they’d had their start. Paul had acquired it along the way, and had it refurbished; more out of some sense of nostalgia than because he’d ever though they would need it again. “Janine, Roger and Donald Bellamy have manifested powers. Unsurprising, given their parentage. They apparently intend to use these powers in heroic endeavours. Directly, this should not impact us. However, as parents, you no doubt have concerns. As do I.”

Lawrence Portland corrected a slight list to port (Paul McBride was an amateur sailor, and was not above making the occasional mental pun) and tried to fix McBride with the same steely glare he’d used back in the day as Conjurer. It was sadly lacking, but he almost got his point across. “What’s your stake in this?” he asked bluntly. “Roger’s my boy, and Janine is Kendra’s. Where do you come into it?”

“I am the children’s godfather,” Paul reminded him. “They are your future. I may not be as invested in them as you are, but I still want to see them succeed in their chosen arena. Self-confidence, learned early, is a huge booster later in life.”

He had other reasons, of course. From the suspicious glances Kendra was sending his way, she probably had an idea what they were. Portland was too drink-fuddled to decipher his meaning.

“Okay, then,” Lawrence assented. “So, what’re we gonna do?”

McBride steepled his fingers and looked over them at his fellow conspirators. “I propose … that the Power Consortium comes out of retirement.”

They reacted, of course. So would he have, had he not been in on his own plan. “What?” shouted Kendra. “They’re kids! They’ll barely have an idea of how their powers work! They wouldn’t stand a chance against us, even Lawrence here!”

“Hey,” Portland protested feebly. “I can still pull my weight.”

“Yes,” McBride said tartly, eyeing his bulk. “But can you still fit into your costume? As I recall, the Conjurer used to be a much more … slender … villain.”

While Portland looked down at his belly and mumbled something about big bones, McBride ignored him and turned his attention back to Kendra. “Yes, you’re totally correct,” he said. “If we were going all-out to capture or kill them, they wouldn’t stand a chance. And if my intent was to do that, I would go myself, or send you or Lawrence. But that’s not my intent.”

Sitting back in her chair, Kendra blinked slowly. “Wait … are you saying we should take a dive?”

“Essentially, yes,” he said. “We present a challenge to them, they meet it, give it their best shot, and we fade away. Retreat into the night. Give them their win. It won’t be easy, I know, but we need to present the illusion that they can actually beat us.”

“Wow, Paul, this is a new side to you.” Kendra shook her head in wonder. “The great Conquerer, choosing to let a bunch of kids win against him. I can tell you, Justice Incorporated would never believe it.”

“That’s because they were punks who had no idea what they were doing, and still thought they could take down the Power Consortium in its prime.” Paul shook his head. “Even when I gave Rumble every chance, he still tried to get into hand to hand with me.” Giving the arrogant twenty-something two broken arms and two broken legs had been letting him off easily, in his opinion.

“Also, because they weren’t our kids,” Portland put in, in a rare moment of perception. “So, Kendra, are you really onboard with letting your Janine beat Shieldmaiden?”

“Yes, but not easily and not quickly,” Kendra said, thinking it through. “If we just cut and run at the first opportunity, they’ll smell a rat. We need to press them hard, make them earn the victory. Make it hard enough that when we retreat, they’re glad to let us go.”

“That definitely makes sense,” Paul declared. “All right then, we’re decided. Go, set up your alibis and dig your costumes out of storage. Make what alterations you need. We should have time before the kids decide to debut in costume.”

He pushed back his chair and stood up, effectively declaring the meeting over. Portland shuffled out quickly, but Kendra hung back.

“Was there something?” he asked curtly.

“Not really.” She rubbed her chin, musing. “I just can’t figure out why you’re really doing this. I mean, you like Janine and the others, but I didn’t think you liked them enough to let them whale on you to make them feel good as superheroes.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘controlled opposition’?”

It only took her a second to get it. “You want to prop them up, so that no other superheroes set up in the local area …”

“… and possibly start uncovering inconvenient fact trails, such as how we all got obscenely rich as members of the Power Consortium, then retired from villainy to invest our money in big business and high finance? Yes.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “And you want to use our own kids as a smokescreen against that? Wow, you’re more ruthless than I thought.”

“Not so.” Paul spread his hands in a parody of innocence. “They get to play superhero and succeed against impossible odds, and we get to continue enjoying our ill-gotten gains. Win-win.”

“But it will all be a lie!”

“Aren’t most things in life?” She didn’t have an answer for that; he turned and strolled from the room, humming the tune from the Rectifier TV show.

One Month Later

Janine McCulloch, mask name Songstress, put her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. The spirit gum holding her mask on was starting to loosen due to her sweat, and she took the time to push it back into place. Apart from that, her costume was still holding up well, though she was wondering if she should somehow try to incorporate combat boots like Roger had in his. Running and fighting in the thin-soled boots she’d gotten online was really hard on the feet.

They’d started coming out a week previously, and she thought they were really coming together as a team. Roger was the punchy one; he could mimic anyone’s fighting style, then add his own training on top of that. In combat, he was really good at figuring out what people were going to try to do and then be there before they finished.

Janine could pull tricks with her voice; she could make it sound like it was coming from a distance, though she was still working on precise aim, or she could try to manipulate people’s emotions with it. That still needed work, though she’d managed to make that one mugger surrender. Of course, with Roger in his Coup de Main costume looming over him, the guy might’ve been about to give up anyway.

Donny had the fun power, or so she thought. He could build basically anything, so long as he didn’t need it to last more than twenty-four hours. He didn’t even need special materials. The more complicated the gadget, the shorter the time it lasted, but even a jetpack (two fire extinguishers and an old bicycle) worked for about six hours. This meant he was always tinkering and working with stuff, but he seemed to enjoy that now. As Innovation, he was a valuable member of the team.

Their debut didn’t seem to get much attention, but it appeared that they’d come on the scene just in time. The three of them had been attending an open-air late-night concert—in costume, because why not—when three supervillains had attacked the same concert, stating their intention of making off with the proceeds. To her shock, the villains were wearing costumes she’d thought had long since been retired. Conquerer, Shieldmaiden and Conjurer, of the Power Consortium. She had no idea where Earthshaker was, but it was a small mercy that even one was not present.

She’d been initially cautious, as had Donny. But Roger had gone in for the attack. Shieldmaiden and Conjurer had stepped back, allowing Conquerer access to her friend. In the meantime, Donny had begun to frantically go through the parts in his backpack, seeking to build something to assist them in this fight. Janine had seen Shieldmaiden sidling around toward him, so she’d let out the highest-pitched whistle she could. Shieldmaiden, hands clapped over her ears, had reeled back. Janine, stunned and surprised, had come to an important realization. We can do this!

Since then, it had devolved into a confused melee. She hadn’t dared to go hand to hand with anyone other than Conjurer, who didn’t look very fit. But Roger was still trading blows (and quips) with Conquerer; both had scored what looked like telling hits, but each one was still on their feet. Donny had built a laser pistol and run off somewhere, and she was alternating between trying to sneak up on Conjurer before he turned her perceptions upside down and confusing Shieldmaiden with high-pitched sound waves. Occasionally a laser beam would come out of nowhere and tag one of the two villains.

“Enough!” bellowed Conquerer. “Power Consortium, withdraw!” He stepped back from Roger. “You are a worthy adversary, boy. Next time, I will be ascendant.”

“Yeah … yeah … old … man,” panted Roger. “Next … time … I’ll … kick … your … ass.”

Donny came out of the darkness from where he’d been sniping, and joined Janine and Roger as they watched the villains retreat into the night.

“Holy shit,” Donny said in awe. “Did we just win? I think we won.”

“Did they get the cash or hurt people?” asked Janine pragmatically.

“Nope … I … was … watching,” Roger said, still trying to catch his breath.

“Then we won.” Janine pumped her fist in the air. Real supervillains, and they’d pulled off a victory.

It felt awesome.

Part Two: Intervention

"I must say, I'm honestly impressed."

Paul McBride, AKA Conquerer, leaned back in his easy chair and raised a sardonic eyebrow at Kendra's observation. "You also sound surprised. Should I be offended?"

With a snort, she dismissed his question. "You know what I meant. You've always been a hard-charger, with no give in you. Enemies were there to be crushed, never given a second chance."

"And I still believe in that, one hundred percent." Paul sipped at his bourbon on the rocks. "If you leave an enemy behind you capable of action, you're inviting a knife to the kidneys."

"And yet, we've clashed with the Protectors no fewer than three times, and each time you've allowed them to drive us away without inflicting more than minor injuries." Kendra McCulloch, AKA Shieldmaiden, took a mouthful of her own drink, clearly inviting him to present his defense to her charge.

"The answer is simple." Paul's statement was clear and unequivocal. "I do not consider the Protectors to be my enemies. Out of costume; they are your daughter, Lawrence Portland's son and Rod Bellamy's boy. In costume, three newbie heroes, bravely facing up against tried and true villains, and defeating them through wit and pluck. The news stories write themselves." He smiled, the look in his eyes cold and calculating. "And then there is the other thing."

Kendra rolled her eyes. "Ah, of course. I still have trouble with the mindset that would take three wannabe heroes and manipulate them into being a smokescreen for our own wrongdoings."

Paul tilted his drink toward her in a silent toast. "Exactly. The more their reputation grows, the less chance a more experienced hero will move into the area and start digging up matters that are better left untouched." He chose not to address the comment about his mindset. There was a reason he was the undisputed leader of the Power Consortium. Hard choices were his bread and butter.

The conversation drifted into other matters. On paper, Paul and Kendra were business colleagues with interlinked interests. If they chose to sequester themselves and talk privately off the official record, then that was only to be expected.

In reality, they were two of the three surviving members of a thirty-year-old supervillain team that had stolen tens of millions of dollars, successfully laundered it into appearing to be legitimate gains, then gone straight to enjoy their ill-gotten wealth. There were many reminiscences that could be had between them.

Paul was halfway through one such anecdote when his phone rang. He would've sent it to voicemail, except that the caller was the third member of the Power Consortium. Lawrence Portland, AKA Conjurer. Paul always took his calls, just as he did with Kendra. They never called him out of the blue without need.

He swiped the icon and put the phone on to speaker. "You've got McBride."

"Paul, put on the news, right now!" Portland was panting, as if he were out of breath over something. Since the Power Consortium had come out of retirement, he'd cut back on his drinking and started to try to get back into shape (not the easiest thing to do when over forty) but Paul didn't think this was a gym day for him. "The Bloodwraiths are in town, and they're calling out the Protectors!"

Kendra sat straight upright, her free hand gripping the armrest of the chair she was seated in. "What? No! Janine--" Won't stand a chance, would no doubt be the rest of her statement. Paul didn't have time to let her finish it.

"Talk to me." He spoke right over the top of her protest. "When did this challenge go out? Where are the Bloodwraiths? Have any of the Protectors responded?" Where is your son, he didn't say out loud, on the very faint chance that someone was listening in from outside.

Roger Portland was the loose cannon of the Protectors. The most aggressive by far, he was also the most physically adept. Skill-wise, he was actually Paul's superior, a fact to which McBride readily admitted, especially considering that the extra skill was granted by Roger's own powers mirroring Paul's capabilities. In a straight-up fight, however, Conquerer could absorb far more damage than Coup de Main, allowing Paul to gauge the fight and pick the moment to withdraw when Roger was beginning to flag.

That Shieldmaiden and Conjurer were able to harass Songstress (Janine) and Innovation (Donald Bellamy) while this fight was going on was a given. They'd backed him up under far more trying circumstances before this point.

Though he couldn't see Portland's face, Paul could imagine the grimace on his face as he spoke. "They ... they're responding. Attempts to contact them ... have failed." He audibly took a deep breath. "The Bloodwraith have taken hostages in Challenger Park. Where the Protectors first defeated the Power Consortium."

"They want to send a message." Paul's voice had no emotion in it, matching his face. He watched as Kendra sent a text on her own phone; her exact words were hidden from him, but he could guess what she was saying, and who she was saying it to. Janine, if you're reading this, contact me NOW!

Or perhaps even, Get home right now, young lady, or you are GROUNDED!

It wasn't going to work. He knew that. It never did. Teenagers were going to teenage. Their risk-vs-reward judgement was skewed far in favour of risk, and would remain so until their early twenties.

In a way, he mused, it was his own stupid fault. The Power Collective had been too clever for their own good. In taking a fall not once or even twice, but three times, they had handed the Protectors a heaping helping of self-confidence. Adding that to Roger Portland's natural aggression had made it almost certain that the Protectors would head out to face the menace of the Bloodwraiths without even considering that they might lose to the villain team.

In fact, merely losing to them would be a preferable state of affairs. The Bloodwraiths were vicious to a degree that Paul found distasteful in the extreme. It was too messy, and drew far too much attention. They rarely exited a battle without killing or at least maiming one or more of their heroic opposition. In this case, Paul strongly suspected that they wanted to make an example of the young upstarts. There would be pain, screaming and a gory spectacle ... and no survivors.

"No." He spoke the word out loud.

"What?"

What?"

"Everyone. I am calling an emergency meeting." That was code for 'costume up, now'. "There is important business to take care of."

Kendra eyed him cautiously, but Portland got in first. "Paul ... what are you going to do?"

"Whatever I have to."

Janine McCulloch wiped blood from her eyes, and dodged away from Charnel's slashing claws. She sent another high-pitched whistle into the inhuman villain's ears, causing him to stagger, but he recovered all too soon. His glowing red eyes fixed on hers.

"You got a pretty tongue on you, girly," he rasped. "Think it'll taste good when I feed it to you?"

"Leave her alone!" Up until now, Roger had been mostly untouched. He'd even put down Bladestorm and Goremonger in two quick hits, giving her confidence that the Protectors would be able to defeat the Bloodwraiths as easily as they were able to drive off the Power Consortium.

That illusion had been quickly dispelled when both villains got right back up. Goremonger had gone for Donny and Janine had been too slow to respond, being targeted by Charnel. Now her teammate was down with a mangled arm, protected only by a force field that was even now flickering ominously under Bladestorm's assault.

As skilled as his powers made him, Roger lacked the fighting experience to safely withdraw from his melee with Goremonger. An incautious glance to the side lowered his guard just that little bit too much, and the monstrous villain hit him with a slashing blow that drove him sideways into Janine, driving the wind out of her and knocking both of them down.

On top of Janine, Roger groaned as he tried to shake off the blow and get up. She knew from their sparring sessions--and his battles with Conquerer--that he was certainly able to do so, given time. But time was something that they were out of. Charnel and Goremonger loomed over them, and Bladestorm let out a guttural cry of triumph as Donny's force field popped, the boy within hunched over a half-built gadget.

"All right! Let's do these little shits!" Charnel picked up Janine by the front of her costume and brandished razor-sharp talons before her face.

Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit. Even with her thoughts limping along at half speed, Janine knew full-blown terror. The Bloodwraiths were going to kill them. And she hadn’t even told her mother she was a superhero. Sorry, mom. I should’ve answered your text.

Charnel giggled unsettlingly. “Open wide, girlie. Got a tongue that needs cutting down to size.”

“I think not.”

All three villains looked around. Groggily, Janine registered that the voice sounded familiar.

“Conquerer?” spat Bladestorm. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Janine hadn’t thought it was possible for things to get worse, but they had. The defeats they’d heaped on the Power Consortium had been humiliating. To be forced to retreat time and again from a bunch of teenagers had to sting the ego. And now, Janine and her compatriots were helpless before any kind of retribution that Conquerer and his fellow villains might choose to inflict upon her.

We are so very, very dead.

It wasn’t an exaggeration, but a statement of fact. There was no way she could see that she or any of her friends were going to survive this.

“One might ask the same question of you.” Conquerer, Shieldmaiden and Conjurer strode forward. The sheer presence of the leader of the Power Consortium flowed across the field of battle, almost palpable to the senses. “This is our city. Those are our nemeses. Who gave you permission to come here?”

“Who said we needed it?” Goremonger gestured down at Roger. “This little shit’s been whaling the tar out of you every time you fought him. Brought him down to size for you. You wanna off him? I mean, I was gonna do it for you, but I like to watch too.” He ran a thick meaty tongue over gross lips.

“No, I don’t want you to ‘off’ him.” Conquerer’s voice was scornful. “Since I first battled him, I swore an oath to only ever defeat him using my own strength, my own skill. I would not do it with the assistance of my teammates, and I will not do it with yours. Put the children down and step away from them. I will not tell you a second time.”

“Oh, yeah?” jeered Charnel. “What’re you—”

The world went crazy. Up became down, left became purple, and right became a Mobius strip. Into that insanity there intruded violence; Janine was aware of being released and falling to the ground, but she had no idea what else might be happening.

When things finally began to make sense, she sat up. Next to her, Roger did the same. A short distance away, Donny was building something mechanical around his arm. What happened to … she asked herself, then looked around and found out.

All three members of the Bloodwraiths were … down. More than just ‘down’, they had been thoroughly and scientifically beaten to a pulp. Beyond a pulp, really; Janine wasn’t sure that they were breathing. Shieldmaiden, wiping blood from the edge of her shield, looked up and caught her eye, then looked away again.

“What … why?” Janine asked. “Why did you help us?”

It was Conquerer who replied. “We did not do this for your benefit. As I told Goremonger, it is up to us to reclaim our reputation by defeating you fairly and honourably on the field of battle. Learn well from this lesson, girl. Not all foes fight fair. Now, we must depart; Conjurer has burned through his reserves with that excessive display, and he must regain them before we battle again.”

“I … uh … yes,” mumbled Conjurer. “I am … very weak. I must flee, before you recover and capture us all.”

“Indeed,” declared Conquerer. “Power Consortium, away!”

Janine watched the three villains step into the trees in the middle of the park and vanish. “Wow,” she said.

“Yeah.” Donny came over to her and Roger. The apparatus on his arm seemed to be carefully tending to the wound that Goremonger had inflicted. “Did that just happen? Did Conquerer just … call dibs on us?”

Roger shrugged. “Villains gotta villain, I guess. And hey, maybe he doesn’t want anyone tougher to come along. We kick his ass on a regular basis, as it is.”

“True.” Janine shrugged. It was as good a theory as any.

Part 3: Just in Case

"Roger, I've been thinking ..."

Roger turned to look at Janine. She'd been more than a little downcast since the incident with the Bloodwraiths. He couldn't blame her; the whole thing had been hella jarring to him as well. They'd been riding high on their regular victories against the Power Consortium, never considering that someone else might come after them, looking for blood.

"What about?" he asked. She was one of his best friends. Donny was his other best friend, of course. He had other friends at school, but nobody could kick ass like his teammates in the Protectors. "If this is about that thing--"

"It is," she cut him off. "Now shut up, I need to say this all at once."

He fell silent, though a chill ran down his back. The team had been extremely roughly handled by the Bloodwraiths. He'd honestly thought all three of them were going to die, before the Power Consortium had stepped in and removed the threat for their own inscrutable (if not downright incomprehensible) reasons. But was Janine still hung up over that? Is she talking about quitting the Protectors? He didn't know if the team--him and Donny, at that point--would stand up to losing her.

If she goes, who will protect the city against the Power Consortium?

She took a deep breath. "I want you to teach me and Donny how to fight."

Taken on the back foot, he stared. "... teach you?" he repeated.

"Well, yeah," she said. "What did you think I was gonna ask you? That I wanted out of the team? Yeah, as if."

A tiny sigh of relief ghosted out of him. "Okay, yeah, sure, I can teach you and Donny both." He chuckled. "The look on Conjurer's face when you wipe the floor with him will be amazing."

"So you think you can teach us both?" she asked, looking even more relieved than he felt. "I was worried you'd say it was too hard."

"Nah, piece of cake," he boasted. I kick Conquerer's ass on a regular occasion. How hard could it be?

****

"No, no, on the balls of your feet! Not your heels!"

"Where's the balls of my feet?" complained Donny, standing on one foot and lifting the other to point at his heel. "That's the most ball-like thing there!"

Kendra, watching from the other end of the gym, hid a smirk as Roger closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The boy was no teacher, mainly because he'd acquired his skills at a power-assisted pace, giving him the mistaken impression that everyone should learn it as fast as he had. Whatever training he had merely overlaid the skills of his current opponent, ensuring that he was better at close-quarters fighting than literally anyone he faced, but that didn't do anything for his capacity to train someone.

"Those things," Roger said, pointing toward the front of Donny's foot. "Balance your weight over those."

"But those don't look like any kind of balls. They're more like the bumps of your foot," Janine interjected.

"Just ... just ... balance on them!" Roger said tightly. He was trying not to yell, Kendra could see, but he wasn't succeeding very well. "Okay. Right. Janine, remember how I showed you how to throw a punch? Try to hit me."

Janine, standing almost on her tip-toes, tottered forward and swung a wild punch at Roger. He swayed back, she overbalanced, and fell on her ass.

Kendra managed to stagger out of the gym before she burst out laughing. Then she dragged out her phone and made a call.

"You've got McBride."

"Paul," she gasped. "We need you down at the gym. Please. I think Roger's about to blow a blood vessel. And bring your workout clothing."

"Is it that bad?"

"It's worse," she choked out, then started laughing all over again. Janine was her daughter, but the look on her face when she fell on her ass had been amazing.

"I'll be right there."

****

Paul McBride, suitably attired for gym work, strode into the room ten minutes later. Kendra was back on the treadmill at her end of the gym, carefully ignoring what was going on. But she'd made the call, which ended her need to do anything.

McBride looked over the utter shambles young Portland was making of his tutorial session. Donald Bellamy was on the floor, while Janine McCulloch couldn't seem to make head nor tail out of the instructions her teammate was giving her. He cleared his throat. "What seems to be going on here?"

All three jumped and looked around at him. "Uh, hi, Uncle Paul," said Roger. "I, uh thought it might be a good idea if the others could learn some self-defense moves, so I thought I'd teach them some."

"Really." Paul only put a moderate amount of sarcasm into the word, but Roger wilted like a paper flower in the rain. "So, you train people in self-defense on a regular occasion, then?"

"Uh, no, but I didn't want to bother Dad ..." Roger trailed off under Paul's sharply raised eyebrows.

The inference was clear. We didn't want to out ourselves to you.

Paul decided to stir the pot a little. "So you feel that you need to be able to attack people at will now?" With a perfectly straight face, he stared Roger in the eye.

The young man actually held his gaze for a few seconds, earning a modicum of Paul's respect. "Uh, no, but it's a dangerous world out there. I want my friends, especially Janine, to be able to defend herself."

It was a good comeback, and an excellent reason. Paul nodded. "I can understand and respect that. But I have to say, if what I saw when I came in was any indication, you're not a very good teacher."

Roger looked hurt for a moment, then slumped his shoulders. "It's worse than that. I suck."

"Well, then." Paul cleared his throat and clapped his hands. "It's a good thing that I took lessons in Jeet Kune Do, back in my younger days." He knew more than just that, but it was a good, well-rounded martial art to start the youngsters out on.

"You're going to teach us, Uncle Paul?" asked Janine.

"Awesome!" blurted Donald. He glanced at Roger, then winced. "Sorry, dude."

"Nah, it's okay." Roger lined up with the rest of them. "Okay, where do we start? Kicks, punches, locks, throws?"

Paul stood perfectly still, cycling the breath in his chest. "We start with breathing. Once you know how to do that, we will graduate to balance."

And so Paul McBride, AKA Conquerer, set about teaching the three newest superheroes in the city how to actually fight. Mentally, he shook his head.

If someone had told me twenty years ago this was what I would be doing now, I would have called them insane.

And they might yet be correct.