I gasp against the smoke that seared my lungs like thousands of pins and needles, maneuvering through the tendrils of grey that warped my surroundings into unrecognizable splotches of lifeless and dying color. My mask, protecting my identity, did little to filter the smoke invading my mouth and nostrils like live coals, and I curse my late father for not adding the feature. The man pulled people from burning buildings on a daily basis and that thought never occurred to him? I stumble through an array of jumbled cars, scanning the inside for any people.
“Is anyone out there?”
I scream through my mask, my eyes darting uselessly through my surroundings, pleading internally to gain super-sight. That’s when I hear it. Screaming, multiple high pitched sounds that ring against the roar of fire that skitted against the concrete like vibrant serpents. I glare around, and my eyes lock onto a bus overturned, debris of concrete having battered is exterior and a massive piece of debris the size of a horse pierces the front end of the vehicle, which was laying like a wounded beast among the mounds of burning wreckage. My legs in powerful strides have me at the bus, and clamoring onto its body in barely a beat, and I peer through the windows. Children are trapped inside the vehicle, their faces blurry and morphed in the horror of their screams. Two adults climb though the bus, attempting to break out windows but failing. Once they spot me, they immediately shout:
“HELP US! THERE ARE CHILDREN IN HERE.”
I quickly found the door, but it was jammed. Now this situation fits my powers. Super-sight has nothing on a pair of biceps the size of boulders. I wrench the doors open and off their hinges as if I were snapping a glow stick. The adults, muttering jumbled and panicked words of gratitude I barely heard handed me children and I gently plopped them onto the cement, and then assisted the adults getting out themselves. One adult, a male, hurriedly huddled and counted the kids, while his female companion suddenly embraced me.
“Th-thank you, Iron Knight. Thank you.”
I nod, that being the only expression she could see.
“Get out of here!”
I shout, and they do not hesitate to comply. They are lost to the tendrils of grey. I searched the area for more potentially wounded or trapped, and found nothing. The fires were growing stronger, and I left the scene before the police and fire department could arrive. Another average morning, I thought smiling to myself on a job well done, until I realized in a haze of panic that now I’m going to be late for work, and my boss is going to kill me.
. . .
I wake up, groaning, rolling off my arm which prickled numbly from a night of sleeping on it. I peeled open an eye sealed up with morning crust, and grabbed at my phone with the coordination of a wasted person that I usually have when I’ve just woken up. The white digital numbers of my phone’s clock read eight thirty, a half hour before my usual alarm. I groan against my bed sheets once again for good measure, wanting to sleep a little more, but my body is already stubbornly waking up. Up and at em’. I roll out of bed, slip on a pair of gym shorts over my briefs, and pad barefoot into the hall of my apartment. Markus should be getting up around now. I peered into his room, and his bed was empty, the sheets and comforter a tangled mess, like usual. I continued my sleepy eyed journey to the kitchen and living room, which also stood empty and cold. I shrug at my foster brother and roommate’s absence, and take quickly to the fridge, whose contents I surveyed distastefully, finding only a couple cans of beer, stale OJ, and a pitcher of water. This is what happens when two guys live together, proper shopping never gets done. I pull out a couple slices of bread, and settle for a plain ass breakfast of toast and put the kettle on to brew some coffee. Nothing else to eat in here. On one of the wobbly stools that once belonged to my foster father at the kitchen counter, I plant my ass and flick on morning news that flashed to a sharp life on the small flatscreen haphazardly balanced on the fridge, a kitchen TV being an afterthought when we moved in.
There was your average blabber of weather and politics, until a segment of BREAKING NEWS interrupts the mundane topics. The screen is cast into a view overlooking a city street, cast in a behemoth of smoldering smoke and fire.
“This morning, an unforeseen explosion at a research facility rained down debris over passing traffic only meters away. There were only a few wounded, and two casualties.”
An almost too pretty anchor spoke in a stern and serious tone. My eyes widen at the screen.
“There is not much intel on the explosion from the authorities at this time, but speculation indicates the possibility of a terrorist attack.”
The screen cuts to two adults, one male, and one female, standing among a huddle of small children clutching to them for dear life.
“We were just driving-“
The wide eyed female sputtered.
“To kastamonu escort our field trip to the green houses tours east of town. I blink and the world is shaking, and a massive thing smashes into the front of the bus- and- ki-killed our bus driver- Dan.”
Her eyes glisten with tears that streak down her face, darkening as it collects the dust and grime powdered onto her mousy features.
“That’s when- Iron Knight- pulls us out of the bus. I thought we would die- burn to death.”
I choke on my toast. It should be a normal occurrence, Iron Knight making the news, even this early in the morning. It tends to happen when your foster brother is a superhero. I watch the screen more attentively than before. There was no footage of the rescue, and the screen flips back to the anchor, who continues with useless and nonspecific details.
A research facility?
I think to myself, unable to ignore an apprehension in my gut. There are several around the city, including the one that I worked for. Terrorists?
I’m broke out of my thoughts as the door of the apartment swings open, followed by heavy footsteps. I swing on the stool and find a panting Markus standing in the doorway. His face was grey with dust, sticking to his jet black hair and thin groomed beard. He was dressed in a black shirt that was taut of his wide frame, and jeans. He was clutching his Iron Knight leather and spandex suit in his fists.
I’m off the stool and barking concerns at him like a mother in seconds.
“Jesus Mark- are you okay? You’re not hurt are you?”
Markus grins in the way that always seemed to wash my apprehension away like oil pastel from a pair of artist hands.
“Those kids had a hell of a morning.”
He quips, and coughs in his forearm. I scan him for injury, and I find nothing. I know I’m babying my 23 year old foster brother, but can’t help it. I pat his shirt, as if that would do anything to shake the grime stuck stubbornly to it.
“Your ass is going to be late for work.”
I say, and that seems to shock him back into action.
“Shit-“
He hisses, running towards the bathroom, he was stripping nearly naked before he even got to the door.
“Gotta shower! I’m going to get fired if I’m late any more!”
I chuckle, watching him go. The shower squelches, the old pipes humming, and he steps into the shower. I head back to my toast, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Markus baritone voice hollars from the shower.
“Hey- I-uh- bought some milk and shit. Buuuut I tossed it down when I saw the explosion. Don’t know where it went. Sorry bro!”
I chuckle into my steaming mug. The man just pulled kids out of a burning bus, and now he’s continuing onto his day as if nothing happened. Even though being a person with superhuman strength, wearing spandex and saving people’s lives is the least normal thing, he somehow manages to make it normal. Me, in comparison, I’m on an entirely different plane of normal, expert level. Even down to my name: Atticus Fortier. I was adopted by Markus’ dad when I was a baby, when Johnathon Fortier lost his wife to cancer. He wanted, though, to have two kids. That’s where I came along, and he had to give me a name straight out of a list of grandpa names or To Kill A Mockingbird. Markus never let me hear the end of my name growing up, so Johnathon took pity on my suffering and adopted a pet name for me: Atty. Atticus Fortier, a name that was further proof to show how mundane I was compared to my foster family: a pair of sneakers that was dropped into a crate of clown shoes. Jonathan Fortier had super-strength, and supported the city under the vigilante alias of: Iron Knight, and for years he kept it a secret from his two sons. That was until Markus inherited his father’s abilities. Around puberty, Markus’ powers appeared to him as a growth spurt like no other. He grew out of his clothes within days, gaining hard and round muscle even when he didn’t lift a single weight or did any sports.
Jonathan knew then that he could no longer keep up his secret, and explained to my foster brother and I his alter-ego’s existence, and his and his son’s powers. To my Markus and I, it was the news of a lifetime. I was in a family of superheroes. Going to school with a newly superpowered human, though, I took on the role of superhuman wingman almost immediately. Markus is a passionate guy, protective, and is a bit of an airhead. He got into fights frequently when we were in middle school, but when his powers appeared, it got much worse. He seemed to get a superhero’s equivalence to roid rage.
Jonathan trained Markus, eager to have him to be a pair of unstoppable heroes in the city. That was, until five years ago. A villain organization killed dad, leaving Markus and I as orphans. On the hospital bed, his dying wish to Markus was to stop his pursuit of vigilantism, to protect me. Markus dropped out of high school his senior year, and went into the workforce to pay the bills for the two of us, so we wouldn’t kastamonu escort bayan be separated. We have raised each other ever since. He now works for a construction company that pays pretty damn well, where he can put his body to good use. He never faltered in his pursuit of being a hero, though. He took up the name Iron Knight, and it was as if the hero’s presence never left or was replaced.
Me, on the other hand, finished high school by Markus’ insistence, and pursued a career in science. I got a full-ride scholarship through college, and got hired for a local research team that works with superpowers and their origin, with the hope of one day science can artificially creat powers that can be given to humans.
I’m pulled from my daze of thoughts by Markus’ voice.
“Ay, bud- wanna pour me a quick cup of joe?”
I look up, briefly startled, to Markus standing in nothing but a towel. His broad pecs gleamed with moisture from the shower, damping thin chest hair tightly to his skin. He had raw arms bulging and the size of my head, abs and obliques cut deeply into his stomach like stone and disappearing beneath his towel that barely clung to his waist. He has a bulbous v-taper that body builders would kill for, and he hasn’t seen the gym a day in his life. My stupid eyes note the nudging shape of his goods against the white towel, and it sends a shock to my groin.
I’m. Disgusting. To add to the abnormal that seems to have consumed my life, ever since puberty, I can’t take my eyes off my foster brother.
“Y-yeah.”
I grunt almost mindlessly, hoping that my fair complexion and red hair hasn’t thrown me under the bus once again and I’m not blushing. Markus, as usual, seemed none the wiser of my lingering eyes and accepted the cup I handed to him with an adorable smile. The man’s body is like Chris Hemsworth minus a magic hammer, how can I not stare? His eyes glint, the color of steel, startlingly like our father. He is the splitting image of the man.
Markus sips on his coffee, grimacing as he gets a gulp of the slightly-too-hot liquid. Living with the guy has done nothing but aid the stirring of my feelings towards him, and nothing he does helps either. Ever since his body blew up on him, he is out and proud about himself, going as far as referring to himself as a beefcake.
“You ever gonna shave that beard, Mark?”
I asked, a year or so back as we lounged in the living room and binged Game of Thrones. He sits forward at my question, stroking his beard as if he were a conniving villain hatching his next scheme.
“Hell no,”
He replies plainly,
“A beefcake has to have some body hair, it’s the frosting on the cake, that cake being this fine ass.”
I roll my eyes at him. His head couldn’t get any bigger, but he knew he was hot and not afraid to show it, and I couldn’t help but find myself deeply envious. Not only of his incredible powers, but of his perfect body. Deep down, one of the reasons for researching super humans is that some day I could maybe be special. It was pathetic, but I couldn’t help it, growing up with a superhero dad and brother.
Markus seemed to read my expression, peering into my thoughts the way he somehow seemed able to do only with me. He was an airhead, but when it came to his foster brother, he had a keen eye.
“Hey-“
He adds, smiling for good measure.
“You don’t need shit like that, you’re manly just with that red hair. You’re like- the descendants of lumberjacks, what could be more manly?”
I gawk at him, but couldn’t help but feel my fair skin flare up like a peach.
“I don’t know if I should be offended, flattered, or call you a dipshit.”
I say, and the two of us burst out laughing.
“Hey- space cadet, you may need to drink more coffee or something, cause you’re on a different planet today.”
Markus’ deep voice once again had me lurching from my thoughts as if I had emerged from beneath water, the real world settling around me, and air filling my lungs once again. I apologize meekly, and he leans against the kitchen counter lazily.
“Working in the lab today?”
Markus asked, itching his balls as if he were home alone. I try not to look down there.
“Y-yep.”
I say, practically burying myself in my coffee. My dork was starting to stir, and I needed to get this hot fucker away from me asap.
“Don’t you have work, dumbass? You said you’d be late.”
His usual easy going expression vanishes. He says I’M the space cadet?
“SHIT-“
Before I can breathe he is in his room basically slamming on his uniform. His powers have him moving so fast I get almost dizzy around him sometimes. He’s like a hyper kid on steroids instead of Mountain Dew.
In seconds, he’s back in the living room, slamming on his work boots, dressed in his usual blue shirt beneath his neon orange vest.
“Love you dude!”
He exclaims and is out the door even before I can reply.
I felt my chest ease at his absence. escort kastamonu My heart was a lively thrum in my throat, and I sip some more of the hot liquid in my cup.
Why can’t I get over these weird feelings? I’m crazy, he’s my brother, we raised each other.
FOSTER brother.
My brain irritatingly corrects. I need to see him as a brother, he IS a brother.
Our relationship, though, hasn’t been uncomplicated ever since… that Valentine’s Day.
Growing up, we were close, and shared bro-mance in a way we thought was perfectly normal.
One Valentine’s Day, though, a couple years back, we stepped over the boundary line and basically did a dance on the grass that clearly had a “no stepping on the grass” sign.
We both were dateless, and I was down and not wanting to leave the house. Having a day off, Markus proclaimed that we would have an Anti-Valentines day, and brood together.
The night consisted of binge watching movies, talking about our lives, and sipping some whiskey that hasn’t been opened or used since dad died.
“How has a hot, firey red head like you NOT gotten a date for Valentine’s Day, my man.”
I almost spit out the Hawaiian Punch that I spiked.
“ME? What about you, living and walking Avenger? With those abs how the hell aren’t you getting LAID right now?”
This brings a sad smile to my foster brother’s face, and I almost reach out to touch him. He rarely has a serious expression.
“Have no time to date. You sure as hell aren’t dropping school for money, so I gotta pay the bills. Every girl at school, sure, liked the bod, but they would quickly come to the conclusion that I’m a dunce. All brawn and no brain. Hard to get into a relationship when I’m protecting my little brother and the whole city.”
My eyes soften at him. We installed RGB lights in the house, and tonight the light resembles firelight dancing from the ceiling and casting burning swirls over our skin. The whole room seemed to churn lively with our words and thoughts.
“There are other heroes in this city, Mark… Who cares what a couple of dumb girls in high school thought of you? You aren’t a dunce, man. You’re the most passionate person I’ve ever known. Dad didn’t raise a dunce. You don’t have to drop your social life for this city.”
He smiled weakly to that, his eyes almost had a shine.
“You’re getting all mushy on me, man.”
I laugh, looking over to the t.v. where Sandra Bullock was up to her rom-com antics that I barely paid attention to.
“I’ve had all the sex I’ve wanted. Girls throw themselves at me, but now it’s starting to feel empty. Hookups are just bland now, especially when they come for the dick and leave cause the personality.”
I perk my eyebrow at him.
“Uh-huh,”
I state skeptically.
“You’re packing that well down there?”
The funny thing is that I knew all too well that he was packing down there. I’ve had wet dreams about what that big soft dick would look like fully erect. I’ve seen him naked countless times, but I wanted to witness his reaction to denial.
“Bro, chicks basically BEG for my hog.”
I’m taken aback by the name.
“HOG?”
I choke out, spitting out some of the Hawaiian Punch that was NOT going to go down after hearing that. The sad truth was that I was chubbing by the sound of the word. It made me think of fat, burly things.
Markus was slightly pink from my reaction, and he shifted his body to face me.
“Well-yeah, big boy gotta have a big name.”
He stated, as if it were in the U.S. Constitution.
“You’re unbelievable.”
I grunted, trying to subside my laughter. Markus waves his hand in exasperation.
“C’mon, you’ve gotta have had girls on you, too. I’ve seen you hitting the gym, you look good dude.”
I swallow hard at that.
He’s noticed my work out tendencies? I’ve been hitting the gym ever since I was thirteen, desperate to not look so damn skinny among my beefy family. Without lifting a finger, Markus has the body of Hercules and can lift a bus over his head. I wanted- WANT- nothing more but to feel some kind of strength too. To not be so weak as I feel standing next to my foster brother’s 230 pounds of raw muscle.
I shake my head, and Markus perks an eyebrow in the flickering light, almost concerned.
“I haven’t even had my first kiss.”
I say, the words burning as they leave my throat, as if they were whiskey. Markus was visibly off put by this. He shifted uneasily in his sitting position, his posture apologetic and nervous. He tries a shift in attitude.
“Well the girl that puts her junk all up on my bro better be good, they’ll have to go through me.”
He puts on a show of flexing his biceps. In his long sleeve shirt, they bulge impossibly against the taut fabric that seemed on the verge of ripping from the mass of his body.
This makes me swallow hard again.
“Yeah,”
I say, glumly.
“Someone good.”
I almost chug my Hawaiian Punch, and my head already seemed to sway. I must be a lightweight. Not a surprise, everything about me is light weight, and mundane. Markus’ attention is cast to Sandra Bullock briefly, and he seemed to be contemplating something. His jaw churns visibly beneath his skin when he thinks deeply about something, a tendency I’ve noticed going to school with him.