Bigger brother usually has the spotlight, he’s always the one they call when there’s trouble, and he’s good at what he does. But sometimes, the younger sibling saves the day.
He called himself Pax, an ancient word for peace. Of course, the first time he was noticed as a hero, the headline read, PAX A PUNCH! in typical headliner absence of humor.
He was tall, strong, could fly, very little could harm him and, when he sang, he had an orpheatic influence on everyone around him. He once stopped a riot with a megaphone by singing “Goodnight” by the Beatles.
There was a very obvious reason they didn’t have Karaoke Night any more. Not since he got his powers.
Lila had been his first fan. He could do everything she was just learning to do with such ease. Five years his junior, she knew without a doubt that just about everything Ben got, she would eventually get, too.
Hand-me-downs were a state of being until he got the hero gig.
Lila had been happy to be the ‘detective’ side of things, analyzing, researching, and in some cases, hacking out the truth from the internet of lies. Part of her believed that it was only a matter of time before the hero gene hit her hard.
So she helped out, out of habit. And waited, out of optimism. And hoped, out of insanity.
For five years.
Six.
Eight.
Lila gave up. Mentally relegated herself to the role of sidekick and took time off when Ben/Pax was beating up some big fugly super villain after, of course, luring them away from the city centre so collateral damage was minimized.
Some supers could be so inconsiderate about that.
But it wasn’t a super who blew up a building down the street from her favourite coffee shop. It was just regular, run-of-the-mill white male asshole terrorists who wanted to skew the balance 'properly’ back into their favour.
She knew because they hacked the nearest telebillboard to spread their message of hate and intolerance.
Prioritize.
First, call emergency services. Her fingers had practically done that on automatic. Ben regularly got her to call in lesser emergencies while he was on his way to bigger disasters on the theory that every little bit helped.
“What has your friend seen now?” said the operator. Shanice.
“No, I’m on site for this one. Bunch of assholes calling themselves the Brotherhood for Equality just blew a fuck-off sized hole in the Principality building. You could run a trace on…” she squinted. “Telebillboard rego number #T349Y84209435H. That aughta help catch the bastards.”
“Ma'am, I have you on the corner of fifth and twenty-second. That’s five blocks from from Principality and seven from that billboard. You’d have to be on it to read it.”
“Uh. The zoom function on my tablet’s pretty awesome,” Lila invented. “I can see smoke coming out of Principality. You’re going to have to send fire teams.”
It was a real pity that folks like Time Twister had gone private, keeping wealthy people young and healthy. Someone like that could have easily just run the explosion, deaths and destruction backwards and then defused the bomb.
Everyone chose their own path.
Lila put her phone in her pocket and started running towards the wreckage. She concentrated on moving the wounded to a clear, safe area before looking for survivors inside the building.
Tunnels she made in the smoke told her that she was going faster than she thought she was, so she took extra care at acceleration and deceleration. Didn’t want to kill anyone while trying to save them.
Onwards.
If she moved fast, she could clear tunnels in the smoke and debris. Explore which passageways lead to safety and highlight them for those able to rescue themselves.
Flame could be put out by jogging past it. Her own wind-wake just blew them out.
Ha. She was officially a fast woman. Haha.
She was not as strong as her brother, but speed could be used in multiple ways to solve the same problem. Girder trapping someone? Use one of her hairs to saw it into manageable pieces. Heavy rubble? Tap it into gravel.
When it was over, when everyone was out, that’s when Lila noticed the caveats.
He clothes had burned away from her body - a problem solved by one of the arriving EMT’s with a space blanket - and she was starving-hungry - a problem at least partially solved by the street-vendors-turned-volunteer-helpers.
She rescued her phone and got back inside the space blanket before it had a chance to fall. Heat had melted some of its exterior, but it was still functional enough to make a very important call.
“I’m a little busy…”
“Yeah, I know. Guess who probably set a new land speed record? Aaaaaannnd needs a full change of clothes ASAP…”
Silence. Well. Relative silence. She could hear the villain of the week monologuing in the background.
“Ben?”
“Gimmie a sec, I’ll be right there.” BOOM! “Gotta get 'em when they’re monologuing, remember that.”
“Right,” smiled Lila. “Oh. And it looks like I don’t need my glasses any more.” She peeled a fragment of what had once been a frame off her face. Damn. Friction did a lot of bad things.
“And you just paid for your next years’ subscription, too.”
And then the media swooped. They just got word that she was the hero of the day.
“How long have you been a Super?”
“Uh,” Lila checked the time. “Fifteen minutes?”
“What are you going to call yourself?”
Her smart mouth and otherwise sharp wit got her named, The Streak, that day. Much to her eternal regret.
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