Requiem of the Mad Man

The dreams started when I was looking for peace. At first they where only blurs and muddled voices. Time went on. They grew stronger. It got to the point where every time I closed my eyes that I saw the visions of a dark building that proclaimed evil, and heard the dark intentions of those inside to kill men I had never met. I went to psychoanalysts, medical doctors, hell I even threw away my hatred for the church and went to a priest. The priest was the only one who listened to my story without giving me an off handed answer. He was the only one who took me seriously. Instead of telling me to pray, or meditate, when I got done telling him the things I did in my past, and the dreams….he smiled. I was going to start to yell at him for that damn smile, scream, “What’s so damn funny padre!?! Can’t you see I’m going mad?” Before I even got that first word out he patted my shoulder and handed me a card with a number and four letters on it: H.E.R.O.. I called the number and a receptionist answered it and told me that the Father told them about me and to meet a man named Adam at one of the coffee houses downtown. I went to sit across from this man with messy black hair and sunglasses, he didn’t look like much, at least not enough to help me. But what choice did I have?

“Mad Man Mick,” he smiled with an outstretched hand, “I’m Adam of H.E.R.O., I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

I looked at his hand than glared straight into his shade covered eyes, “No one calls me that anymore.”

“Ah but that’s what they called you in that little government organization isn‘t it?,” he smirked.

“Listen here you kiwi son of a bitch, I don’t know how you know about that, but,” I shouted at him and reached for the knife that use to be at my side at all times a year ago, I calmed down and grew timid when I realized that I threw it under lock and key when I left, “that’s not me anymore.”

He only continued to smile at me, “Miss that old blade of your? Of course you don’t really need it we both know of your other skills Mick. But what if I told you not only could help you with those dreams but also put you back to use?”

“I don’t do that anymore,” I sighed, “and if you do know about what I use to do you know why I quit as well.”

“ Trust me Mr. Cremeans, you won’t be destroying innocent lives with this job, have you ever heard of the League of Extremely Ordinary Gentlemen?”

“Only in passing, sounded more like cartoons to me than real people.”

He chuckled, “Well they are quite animated but the stories you heard where true, Cyrus and Leon stopping the robot uprising and reprogramming the one known as Co-Host 3000, the brothers in destruction Beau and Jason, dispatching that crazed idiot Dane Cook along with the one known as Joe Quesada, who we now know was playing to lace comic books with an toxin that turns the reader into a mindless zombie.”

“What do they have to do with my dreams? I never even met them.”

The man turned grim faced, “The word league in your dream is referring to them, that voice is the leader of the Exiled Vindictive and Impeccable Legion of Geeks, or E.V.I.L. they are devoted to destroying the League and ruling the known world.”

“Why would the leader of an organization, let alone one bent on conquering the world bother me?”, I looked at him in frowning disbelief, “I’m no threat to them. And how could they effect my dreams?”

It was Adam’s turn to sigh, “ Brain wave manipulating satellite.”

I laughed like I never laughed before, “What?”

“They have a brain wave manipulating satellite that they developed to try and control the minds of the League members. Fortunately it didn’t work as intended but it did cause nightmares in the members and those with similar wave patterns of those with the League.”

Now I was running out of air from laughter I mustered enough energy to stop myself and tell him, “ I think you may be crazier than I am. I mean I have seen some shit, I have done some shit, but a brain wave manipulating… what was it?”

He frowned, “Satellite.”

“A satellite that controls brain waves, and it so happens that I share a familiar pattern with one of whom it was ‘spose to attack, come on man that is hella convoluted, and I read Watchmen.”

He sat there silent for a while and reached into a briefcase that he had with him, “I knew, even through you have experienced a lot, that this was going to be hard for you to swallow,” he pulled out a pile of files bulging with papers, “ These are the files on each member of the League, and on the group known as E.V.I.L., I’m going to leave these with you to peruse at your leisure. Call me when you’ve made your choice.”

“ What choice?”

“The choice whether to be a part of H.E.R.O.”

“What’s that?”

“An elite team that assists the League in thwarting E.V.I.L., the Huge Eccentrics Ready for Offensives” he stated as he rose.

I grimaced.

“I know we’re working on the name,” he smiled again and walked away.


* * *


I read each file of the League and E.V.I.L.. I found that they weren’t always at odds, that at one time they started as a organization to spread culture and knowledge, than a fight occurred. The leader of E.V.I.L. Gee Wilakers wanted to do too much, too fast, and thought that Cyrus was a fool taking the advice of the older Leon. When Wilakers went out on his own he invented a few devices to spread knowledge quickly by manipulating brainwaves, I guess the satellite wasn’t that far fetched after all. He tested the equipment on himself and the strain of information going into his mind at a rapid pace made his already brilliant mind even more ingenious but also made him insane. The man became obsessed with two things: world domination and vengeance on the League. He developed swine flu and let it loose on the state of Texas just to eliminate them, sent assassins, missiles, mutated monsters and even a couple of disheartening letters that where quite rude. If it wasn’t thwarted by the League it seemed that this group, this H.E.R.O., did. I yawned and closed the last report on the sometimes League member known as Kayla. I needed sleep in a bad way. I knew that I’d have to call the man Adam in the morning and say, “Thanks but no thanks.” I may have now believed what he told me but I gave up this game and for good reason. Plus what good would some out of shaped, aging, mad man be for what seemed to be team doing a good job as it was. I went to bed and closed my eyes to banish away any thoughts of rehashing the glory days. That’s when the dream came again, worse than ever before.

I saw the League base in flames, bodies strewn everywhere, all with H.E.R.O. patches on the sleeves. Than an evil laugh followed by a menacing voice saying, “ This is your destruction League, this is how you fall!” I ran towards the voice and I saw the men and women of the League strapped to chairs in front of huge monitors. Each screen playing a Michael Bay or Seltzer and Friedberg movies, while people dressed in the uniform of E.V.I.L. read to them from the graphic novels of Jeff Loeb. I knew the man who spoke and that was leaning over the one called Jason was Wilakers. He leaned over the man who was in pain from the torture, “Who are you going to fight now?” I awoke with a start and drenched in sweat. I knew what had to be done. I walked over to my closet and put on my old black pants and shirt and cinched the old wide brown belt into place. As I put on the old beaten up boots, I looked over and saw the safe. I walked up to it, trembled as I spun the lock code, slowly pulled the door open to reveal my old tools. A green trench coat, my knife and a copy of the Necronomicon that I use to read on the way to missions to entertain myself. I put on the coat slowly, felt the familiar weight of the knife and made sure the blade was still sharp before putting it in it’s old place to my side. As I sifted I felt a weight inside the coat. A bible that I had forgotten in the inside pocket. I threw the book of verses to the floor and put the dog eared copy of the Necronomicon in it’s place. For what I was going to do, the good fluffy lord had no need to follow. I called the number on the card for the second time that day, the women patched me over the New Zealand man I had met early today named Adam.

His voice came on after two rings, “So have you made your choice?”

“I want in.”

“Good Mr. Cremeans I will have my receptionist give you directions to our location, be here in two hours for a briefing on your first mission, you are now an agent of H.E.R.O.,” he said.

All I could reply was, “Call me Mad Man Mick.”