Twenty Eight #2
As Fox and Damian change into their Super gear, Arielle enters my-slash-Jamie’s room. I’m changing into Brynn’s old exercise pants, but Arielle interrupts by handing me a paper grocery bag.
“I want to see you in it.” She perches on the bed.
The bag feels heavier when I realize what’s inside.
The shimmery spandex is the exact color of rain, a one-piece suit with three distinct parts: leggings, a leotard, and a jacket. Weighing next to nothing, it reminds me more of my racing swimsuits than of the armor Dark Static and Golden Ace wear.
Arielle helps me put it on. The leggings are skintight, but not constricting, meaning they’ll hold body heat and make me look kind of normal. The dark legs of my suit will hide me at night, while the middle sparkles like sunny rain.
“The jacket contracts when you’re in water,” Arielle says, “So it doesn’t drag.
There’s also these.” She hands me a pair of navy blue gloves and matching ankle boots.
The boots are armored to protect my feet, but have the elasticity of sneakers.
They’re the lightest shoes I’ve ever held.
Arielle presses the wrist of one of my gloves and a webbing pops under the boots, like a scuba diver’s flipper.
“Try the gloves,” she says, and I pull them over my hands.
They’re rubbery, like cleaning gloves, but not as cumbersome. I flex my fingers. This is the heaviest part of the outfit, especially near the wrist. Something squishy is sewn into the edges.
“Is this gel?” I ask.
“The entire suit absorbs water, but the gloves will keep you from needing a water break every time you use your powers. The gel gives a boost. It will have to be replenished every few hours, but this is the best solution we could come up with, given the time constraints.”
“How do I replace the gel?”
Arielle reveals a pocket by my wrist and hands me some packets.
“Keep these in your jacket,” she says. “Damian’s working on making a million more.
That guy’s got some serious funding and a team of geniuses.
After Fox sent us a list of your powers, he made your suit in a few hours.
Of course, with a design that Kristen has had mocked up for a week.
She’ll kill us if we don’t get a picture of you in it.
Remind me to do that after we save the city, will you? ”
Love floods my heart as I consider Kristen’s part in this.
Fox and Damian must have reached out when I was napping.
She’s the reason I feel so incredible—Damian’s knowledge of functionality mixing with her fashion sense.
That’s something all the comic books miss: the invincible feeling you get putting on the suit—it’s not from who you are and what you’re wearing, or from looking like the person you’ve waited to become your whole life; it’s from knowing who it’s all for.
The people who got you there. If you have that, you’re unstoppable.
“There’s one more piece,” says Arielle.
A firm knock taps the door. Fox waits in the hallway, wearing his Dark Static gear minus the mask.
Seeing him like this melts away everything but his electric eyes.
The obsidian spandex broadens his shoulders, possibly from whatever bedazzlements Golden Ace had added… conductive fiber or aerodynamic armor.
I can’t separate him from Dark Static anymore.
“I’ll head to the press building,” Arielle announces. “That’ll give you about an hour to tackle Phil’s henchmen and find Dad.” She gives me a quick hug. “Go kick butt like I know you will.”
“You too, Fox,” she adds. “No phones. I have the voicemail from Madeline’s phone in the cloud. Everything else stays off.” When she’s gone, Fox fills up the room and then some.
“Cool suit,” he says.
“Thanks.” I wonder if he could electrocute the awkwardness that’s been here since his letter.
“For you.” Fox opens his hands to reveal what he’s been holding, which he extends to me like a peace offering.
It’s Paddington blue with an unbreakable rubber fastener.
It’s silky soft and stretches like a bathing suit.
I face the mirror and Fox steps behind me, brushing my shoulders as he helps secure it.
The mask doesn’t shield my hair the way his and Golden Ace’s do, but it covers enough that I barely recognize myself. A dull film covers my eyes. I tap it. Hard plastic.
“Night vision and UV protection—sunglasses and water goggles,” Fox explains. “Custom made, just for you, Roberts.”
“Wow.” Energy sizzles down my arms and inside my gloves—energy that doesn’t drain.
“Not sure if Arielle mentioned,” Fox says. “But your suit will withstand changes in temperature and smoke, like when you explode things, and the color will help you stay invisible. It’s bulletproof too.”
“Awesome.” I turn and face him. He’s close enough for me to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and with as little pressure as possible, I use my pinky to trace the purple bruise above his cheek.
I strain, meaning to test my healing powers, but nothing changes for him. I guess they’re non-transferable.
“Now we know,” he says, realizing what I tried and failed to do.
“Now we know,” I repeat. The statement simmers, loaded with everything we haven’t talked about.
Damian calls from downstairs. “Tick tock, Supers. Let’s go.”
After a beat, Fox follows me to the kitchen where Golden Ace waits in his gilded spandex. I wonder if he has more than one suit, but a slight stain remains on his torso, the remnant of a burrito.
“Okay so far?” Golden Ace gestures to my suit.
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
I follow him into Fox’s backyard.
“I remember the first time I wore my suit,” says Golden Ace.
He, like Dark Static, uses a voice-disguising technology, which I don’t seem to have yet.
I still have my doubts that Damian has saved Capital City countless times when he was twelve, but with Golden Ace standing there looking invincible, a large part of me believes in the impossible.
“When you wear your suit,” he says, “everything changes. You feel different. But Madeline, whatever you do wearing your suit, you can’t just attribute it to being a Super. It will always stay with you, and you can’t take anything back.”
I remember Jack Wilson’s limp body in the City Hall basement. The flames I set to my dad’s old house. I swallow a dry lump of air.
“Even the good things,” he says. “I never looked at them as something Golden Ace did. You know? I did them.”
Dark Static, now wearing his mask, steps out of his residence. “Time to roll out.”
“Can you fly?” Golden Ace asks me.
“I got her,” says Dark Static. He presses some buttons on his D.S. 6000. “It looks like Mr. Roberts is being kept in the Bridges’ mansion, but get this: Phil isn’t there.”
“Or he doesn’t show up on your watch,” says Golden Ace.
“No, it says he’s at the press building with Arielle.”
“Do you think she’s okay?” I ask. Uh oh. What are we getting into?
Golden Ace and Dark Static share a look. “The mansion is the priority,” Golden Ace admits. “But if you two can handle it, I’ll go straight to the press building to help.”
“I approve this plan,” says D.S. “Arielle’s a good enough actress. She can hold Phil over until you get there.” He steadies himself and I climb on his back.
“Ready to save the city, Maddragon?” Dark Static asks as I secure my arms around his chest.
“Don’t you dare drop me.”
He pushes off, and the three of us soar through the stars.