The Orphan

The news rippled through the city like a gunshot. The Flying Fox had walked into the middle of Times Square, pulled out a pistol and shot a woman in the face.

The Flying Fox. The paragon of justice. The protector of the innocence. A martial artist of the highest calibre, he was known to leave the goons he apprehended in the recovery position.

We had met for the first time 12 months prior, when I’d caught him talking down his murderous protege BloodCap. The red and black ninja had “accidentally” killed the parents of a family of four during a protracted battle with the (also killed) Mouseket Man. The Flying Fox was lecturing him on the perils of capital justice when I appeared behind BloodCap and tore his throat out.

Instead of attacking me, The Flying Fox had simply nodded and flown off into the night. In that moment, I thought he understood me. That I understood him. He couldn’t kill, but surely he couldn’t abide a man like BloodCap to live. That is why I exist. BloodCap would never see justice for what he did to that family. For those children he left…

And now, a year later, The Flying Fox has appeared in the middle of the city, in broad daylight, and murdered a woman as she stood next to a pram. It is as much a call to action as the weird spotlight the pigs shine on the clouds at night to get TFF’s attention. It has to be a trap, and yet, what trap could they lay to catch me? To stop me?

The Ultronian is already there when I arrive. ‘The only being in the universe that could stop me’, many news stories have been written about how I exist at His leisure. That I operate with His tacit approval, because otherwise He would have stopped me years ago. The Ultronian is a god on this planet, after all. But he and I both know the truth. There is nothing the extra-terrestrial can do to me now. Maybe decades ago, but I am far beyond his reach now.

The Ultronian is yelling at The Fox, begging him to explain himself. The Flying Fox stands there silent, his trademark grimace unflinching as a being with the power of 6 trillion A-bombs screams in his face. When The Fox sees me, the grimace turns to a smile.

The Ultronian is in front of me in an instant.

“You can’t do this,” the alien said, but my eyes are already locked with The Fox’s. I walk forward, through The Ultronian, passing as if he doesn’t exist. In this moment, he might as well not. I don’t have to hear The Flying Fox out, but I am curious about the nature of the trap. There has to be one. The Ultronian’s hand claps on my shoulder, and I feel his immense power as he tries to control my movement. That alone makes me seethe. I try to breathe through the anger, and my feet slip a little below me. I look down and the ground is slick with blood, the gore not yet still enough to have congealed into a tacky goop.

I flinch at the sight, my curly red hair flicking the Ultronian in the face, flinging him away into the sky as if he’d never existed. That won’t have killed him, but he is gone for now. I return my gaze to The Flying Fox, whose smile has grown wider. Is he being mind-controlled? The grin is the trademark of his nemesis.

“It’s all me in here,” he growls, anticipating my line of thinking. That is one of his gifts. He is always moves ahead.

“So what’s the game here Fox,” I ask, stepping out of the pooling blood and closer to him. “If this is a trap, just spring it already.”

“The Orphan,” he replies in his raspy monotone. “Real name Annie Gray. Lost her parents at seven during a clash between the Sandwich Man and the Sensational Six. Known to be responsible for 86 hero deaths. Impervious to harm, powered by spite, The Orphan kills any superbeing responsible for collateral damage resulting in the loss of life of an innocent. Trademark: A simple throat rip.”

“Yeah, I’ve read my wikipedia entry,” I reply flatly. I take another step forward. One more and I’ll be in ‘throat rip’ range.

“You’re the ultimate protector of those who cannot protect themselves,” The Flying Fox continues, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Dealing out “justice” as you see fit to any and all metahumans who deserve it. Both good and bad.”

“If your plan is to lull me to sleep with monotonous exposition, I should warn you that I don’t need to sleep any more.” I take another step forward, and I lift my arm up to demonstrate my relative range.

“If you only kill metahumans,” The Flying Fox says, a tinge of nervousness rippling through the gravel. “I should warn you that I am not one.”

My hand drops back down again. Surprise washes over The Fox’s face for a moment. That can’t be the plan though. “I… you can’t be serious. I don’t exclusively kill metas. You can’t have thought I’d let you live just because you don’t have powers.”

The Flying Fox’s grin skews to one side. “No, I didn’t. But I wanted to see your reaction.”

My eye twitches and I feel my power grow. “Alright, well, it’s weird for you to do this when you could have just asked, but I appreciate the commitment to the bit.” I lift my arm towards him, and he… steps back.

“Wait,” The Fox says quickly. “You don’t care how I keep up with the metas despite having no powers?”

“You’re rich,” I say, shaking my head at the rhetoric. “Your teeth are a dead giveaway. Every time you open your mouth, everyone knows you’re rich beyond measure. If you try to bribe me, I am going to make yet another exception, and before I kill you I will hurt you.”

“I am. I am rich. And do you know where my money goes?”

“Dental work and fetish wear.”

“Orphanages.”

I let my arm fall again, and I exhale deeply. “Ok, go on.” I say. Damn my insatiable curiosity.

“I, like you, grew up without parents,” The Fox says. “Grew up an orphan. Except I grew up wanting for nothing. You… I know you had the hard-knock life. I have used my incredible wealth to fund orphanages around the world. The children who wind up at them want for nothing. There have been cases where parents have deliberately gotten themselves killed in meta conflicts so that their children might wind up at one of my boarding schools.”

I put the details together in a heartbeat. “You’re… you’re Oliver Warbucks?” My jaw slackens.

“I am,” says a voice, no longer the rasping growl of The Flying Fox but the rich, heartwarming timbre of the man they call “The World’s Daddy”. I stumble back a step in shock. “You and I are a lot alike,” he continues. “We both see the impact metahumans have on this world. We both know that something must be done to safeguard against them.”

“Why…” I stutter. “Why would you do this?”

“To show you that there must be a different way,” he replies, his voice warm and soft and soothing. Listening to him is like being wrapped in a bear hug and squeezed full of love. I take another step back. My heel sticks to the asphalt for a second and I glance down. The blood from the woman has started to dry, and I remember why I’m here.

“There isn’t.” I snarl in reply, and I step towards him again.

His head tilts. “But there’s more yet you don’t know,” he says. There is no The Flying Fox any more, just Oliver Warbucks, the philanthropist who owns orphanages around the world. The man who saves young children and sees that they lead the lives of their dreams.

“Spit it out Warbucks,” I say as I reach ripping distance again.

“If you kill me, every single one of my orphanages will be dissolved. Dismantled. Destroyed. I had my will amended, witnessed and notarised. If you kill me, those children will be out on the street by nightfall tonight.”

The power in me surges, a roaring torrent of rage. “That’s it? That’s your plan? Newsflash, “Daddy”, but amending your will to do something bananas and then walking outside and committing murder-suicide doesn’t paint the picture of a sound mind.”

“It’s airtight, Annie,” he says softly. “The Will was amended 11 months ago. I’ve spent the last year passing mental health checks. This isn’t something I did on a whim.”

“Alright,” I spit back. “So some kids get tricked instead of treated. They won’t be the first, and they won’t be the last. Why would that stop me from killing you?”

“I suppose it mightn’t,” he said in his fatherly, compassionate voice, “but it might make you admit to yourself that you kill for reasons beyond some higher pursuit of justice.”

I sigh. “You couldn’t find a tram for this half-baked trolley problem gambit?” I sneer. “Do you know how many collateral deaths there were before I existed? What about after? I’m not pulling a lever, you dumbass, I am the fucking trolley. Every time one of you heroes goes out and decides to stroke your own ego by beating up the mentally ill, I am the reason you’re all careful not to hurt anyone else. I’m also the reason The Puffin King is content to bloodlessly escape the Hudson Street Asylum and why The Fool’s guns all shoot flags that say bang. Did you really think I hadn’t considered the philosophical circumstances of my existence? I told you I don’t sleep.”

I step to the caped man and raise my hand to his throat, but in the blink of an eye another throat is in my grasp. The Ultronian is back. His face is bruised, and he looks deeply out of breath.

“Wait, Orphan,” he says. My hand relaxes from his neck. “You can’t kill The Flying Fox.”

“I can,” I retort drily. “I’ll show you.”

“No, you can’t,” the Ultronian says, his hands up, shaking. He is scared. Truly scared. “You mustn’t. Tomorrow the Nibiru arrives. A being greater than you or I or anything we can fathom. It exists beyond the limits of reason. Of our reason, anyway. But The Flying Fox can defeat it. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but the Deus 10 machine was certain. The Flying Fox is the only thing that can stop the Nibiru. If he dies, humanity is doomed.”

“Tomorrow,” I laugh. It is a mean, bitter chuckle. Everything with these people is for some moment that hasn’t happened yet. For some time that might not ever be. “Tomorrow? That will always be a day away. We live in the present, and we suffer our consequences in the here and now.”

Behind the three of us, the baby in the pram begins crying. It has been so quiet this whole time, but now it is awake and missing its mother. Would always miss its mother. It is time to finish this. The Ultronian’s face skews in panic, and he throws a wild strike my way. It lands. The Ultronian can’t stop me, but he is still a being of staggering power. I feel my ribs crack as the alien’s fist drives into the side of my breast. The anger I feel at the audacity of the attack repairs me even as it destroys me, but the pain is still real. I black out for a brief second, and when I come too I am three miles in the air and climbing. The Ultronian is dragging me with him to space. I reach up and push the super being into the Andromeda Galaxy, phasing through his hand as I do. I can’t fly, so I have to fall back to the ground.

When I land 30 seconds later, The Flying Fox is cradling the baby in his arms. “This baby will have a wonderful life, Annie,” says Warbucks. “But only if you let me live.”

I shake my head at him and I cross the space between us in a heartbeat. My hand grabs his throat.

“Wait Annie,” he says, his warm voice strangled. “You don’t want to orphan this child do you?”

I hold him still, and I say nothing. “She’s mine, Annie. This baby had a mother, yes. And I loved her dearly. And 12 months ago, using my fortune, the greatest science known to man and a bit of luck, we conceived this beautiful little miracle. My own little girl.”

My fury flares like a supernova. It takes everything in me to stop from tearing The Flying Fox apart atom by atom. “You shot your own wife?!”

“I had to,” says Warbucks. He is weeping uncontrollably. “Don’t you understand? I had to. And now, if you kill me, you’ll be orphaning this little girl. My little Annie.”

“You…” I am lost for words for a moment. “You named her Annie?”

“After you, of course. Of course I did. She’s a tribute to you Annie. To one of the greatest heroes the world has ever known. What other name could she have?”

A bitter taste fills my mouth. “Sentimentality? So that’s your final play? Maybe The Orphan is a sentimental idiot?”

“No,” he says, stiffly shaking his head around my hand. “Everything I said is sincere. I want you to understand that if you kill me, you will be orphaning this little girl. You kill metas that make orphans right? So if what I did was suicidal, then what you’re about to do is suicidal too.”

I stare at him. It feels like hours pass. Beneath my hand, The Flying Fox gently rocks baby Annie back to sleep. He seems sincere. Genuine. Like a good man backed into a corner somehow. Forced to do the unthinkable. I think I understand how he feels.

“So be it,” I say, and I rip his throat out like pulling a tissue from a box. I grab little orphan Annie as her father’s corpse falls to the floor, and I place her back in her pram.

And then I place my hand around my windpipe and pull.