A Steel Resolve (IC)

[Poncho]

Just another IC Short Story

 

Early December, 2023, Construction site in Greenbank

 

Michael got out of class on Friday and immediately went back to his room. He dumped his school supplies, changed into a generic polo, and by 3:30 he was on a bus headed into the city proper, reading a book of poetry by William Blake. It was part of an assignment, but he had an interest in the poet’s most popular and well known poem The Tyger; it was perhaps a bit generic to say it was one of his favorites, but he did rank it quite highly as poetry. He annotated some stuff in the book with his own writings, but read accompanying discussions on the poem that were included in the book as well. He flipped the pages and scribbled for several stops, until he saw the skeletal frame of the building above a chain-link fence with a big plastic sign advertising DeCosta Construction on it, and he got out at the next stop, putting the book in his pocket. He crossed the street and wandered up to the gate, then into the site proper. A heavy-set man minding a concrete mixer saw him and intercepted him a few steps in with a frown.

 

“Kid, you can’t be in here.” He said sternly. Michael inclined his head to the side curiously and extended his hand. The man shook his hand reflexively, a natural reaction a lot of people had to someone casually extending their hand to them.

 

“I’m Michael, I’m Terrance’s son.” Michael explained, smiling. The older man seemed doubtful and was about to say something but a whistle from two stories up made them both look up at a muscular, dark skinned man working on setting rivets.

 

“Hey Mike!”

 

“Hello Mister Franklin!” Michael responded with a wave. Franklin Bird was one of his dad’s best workers and had been with him for a decade on every job. 

 

“He’s in the trailer. Joe, Mike’s fine.” Franklin called before going back to his work. Joe looked at Michael, who shrugged and offered a genuine smile again.

 

“Just go straight to the trailer and get a hard hat if you’re going to be wandering around.” Joe said in annoyance.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Michael said demurely to avoid bruising an ego as he stepped around and moved with purpose directly to the management trailer, where his father was sitting at what passed for a fancy desk on a construction site; a white plastic folding table and a lawn chair. 

 

Terrance Thomas Adon was the reason Michael had a tall frame, but he was not the reason for Michael’s full head of hair. His belly had gone a bit slack recently as he had been doing less work out on the sites and moved to supervisory positions, but he was a large man with arms made strong from work, with calloused hands. His hair was more salt than pepper, and was thinning at the top. He had a carefully trimmed mustache that was exactly within regulations for construction works, and in his slacks and polo he looked the part of an educated foreman. He was currently going over figures in his chair, but he looked up and grinned at Michael as his son entered.

 

“Ah, if it ain’t a stranger!” he said cheerfully. “Where you been? Busy at your school, I ‘spect?” He asked as Michael pulled up his own chair.

 

“Yeah. It’s...well moving to a new school partway through the year is rough. I’m trying to find some clubs and stuff, and all the other students and faculty are really welcoming, but it’s always going to be an adjustment.” Michael said honestly, scratching his chin.

 

“If we hadn’ta thought it was necessary, we wouldn’ta moved ya to the new school to begin with. But it was what was best for you, you know?” Terrance said with a frown, putting his pen down and clasping his large hands together on his desk as he looked at Michael.

 

“I understand. And I’m not upset about it. But It takes time to do any sort of changes. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do; And I’ve got plenty of experience with eggheads who have to have things changed at the last minute too. And if I know anything about you, and I feel like I do, you can handle any of that stuff without much issue.” he looked around quickly and his voice dropped to a whisper. “No matter what them powers are doing to you.” he whispered it but his voice was confident, enough to embolden Michael into a smile of confidence of his own, then his voice rose again. “It’s Sam I’m worried about, if anything, she’s not taking it as well as you, I’ve heard from her parents.”

 

“Yeah. I’m trying to help her along but I can only do so much, and sometimes she just doesn’t really want help. And it’s not like I’m gonna force her to do anything.” His father nodded along and maintained the tone of offering advice.

 

“Look, sometimes the best thing you can do is to do your best, and let other people follow along in your example; sometimes people aren’t looking for a hand up, they’re looking for the road, and Michael, you can carve that road for them.” He didn’t say anything else, but Michael studied him carefully. The pinch of those dark brown eyes, the twitch of his lip. The unspoken statement his father left there, that he probably didn’t even want to admit he thought, was that sometimes people wouldn’t follow the path even if you gave them the road, and that you had to cut them loose. Michael knew his dad would have followed that same advice himself; with problematic workers, he could only give them so many chances. 

 

“Carve the road, huh?”

 

“Or light the way, or hurl the boulders out of the way, or direct the traffic. However you want to present it as.” he said with a grin. “Just, doing something to make it easier for other people.”

 

“I get it.” Michael responded with a wave of his hand. “Help myself first, and others can come after, because they’ll have an easier time going where I’ve already been.”

 

“And because if you’re stable and got your head put on straight, you aren’t going to be distracted, you can put all your effort into helping other people.” Terrance said as he stood up. “Come on, I had to work through lunch getting payroll ready, so I wanna go get something to eat.”

 

So father and son left the worksite for a bit, heading three blocks down the street to a Mexican place where Michael ordered some tacos and his dad got a steaming plate of fajitas. 

 

“So how’s school?”

 

“Not bad...I’m working on a book report, they really threw me right in and I just had to catch up, so it’s been challenging, but I’m managing. The library is full of books so there’s plenty of help with studying and the like.”

 

“Any sports?”

 

“Nothing official, we’re too small for anything like that. But the students play sports together sometimes, you know, just for fun. So it keeps me up to date.” 

 

“A shame you can’t compete anymore.” It was an odd thing to say; they both had their frustrations about the situation. Michael liked sports, and he liked playing with others. His father liked watching Michael win, but also liked Michael having fun. There’d be no point to it if Michael wasn’t enjoying sports, or at least that was how his dad always acted, so as long as he was having fun, it should be fine, right? 

 

“Isn’t it just enough to be having fun?” Michael asked his dad, wanting to poke at the discussion a bit more with his dad, who frowned at the question.

 

“It is enough to be having fun, Michael. But you enjoyed competition. I can look at you and tell you you’re missing the feeling of competing in some way. Now sure, it’s probably some level of being uncomfortable in new surroundings, but I get the feeling you’re going to be jonesing for a genuine contest before too long; that having fun with friends throwing the ball around isn’t going to fix your desire for a little competition.”

 

“...That makes it sound like I’m gonna cause trouble looking for fights.” He thought about his interaction with the green-haired student he had earlier. “...You know...maybe you’re right. But I don’t intend to.”

 

“Only if you let it happen. It’s just about keeping control of yourself. I only mention it because I know you’re better than your worst traits.” His father said frankly, his voice even. It did actually bring some level of frustration to Michael, to be informed of- and have to recognize- his own failures and shortcomings. He would eventually miss competition, he’d miss challenging himself. But that was only if he didn’t change his perceptions. 

 

“...I’m going through a lot of changes aren’t I.” he said after a long time spent thinking about it.

 

“You are. And with those changes come benefits. The Chinese Character for Crisis contains the characters for both ‘Danger’ and ‘Opportunity’. John F. Kennedy said that.”

 

“He was paraphrasing Lewis Mumford from 1944, and it’s not correct, the second character means something different.” Michael noted. “I learned that in a linguistics class I’m taking; it was an example of how things that aren’t exactly correct can be warped to provide a more positive message and how those messages often stick around despite the incorrectness due to people’s desire to have positive messaging.” Terrance laughed gruffly. 

 

“Well, then, even if it’s not right, it’s a good thought to have, right? You’re in Crisis, and it’s dangerous, but there’s also opportunity.” Michael laughed at that in response, at his father's skillful handling of new information; his work, his body, that all belied that he had always had a sharp mind that he was willing to exercise with the use of a quick word or jib..

 

“You’re right. I suppose that’s true. Maybe I should just start saying it too. ‘You know, people like to say that the Chinese character for crisis contains the words “danger” and “opportunity”, but that’s not actually true, but it shows that people want it to be true’, or something like that.”  The two shared a familial grin and chuckle together before it was interrupted by Terrance’s phone ringing he picked it up and answered.

 

“Yeah Frank?” His happy face slowly dripped into a serious scowl.  “...Crap, you’re serious? Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Get everyone out the back while he’s distracted.” He said, hanging up. He looked at his son with a severe look. “Michael. A guy I fired last week came back to the site. I had been going to send out his last check but it seems like he wants more than that. And he’s juiced himself up.” he said the next part very seriously. “I don’t think you should come back there, just wait here until I get back.” Michael looked at him probingly for a moment, then nodded as he understood what was being said.

 

“You got it. I won’t go anywhere near the site, I’ll wait here until you get back.” he said politely, a son obeying his father. Terrance got up, left the money on the table, and headed out the door at a jog. as he was in the middle of the first crosswalk, the roar of wind overcame the sound of cars for a moment and a corona of red and gold shot over the buildings, heading back towards the construction site.

[Poncho]

The person currently in the midst of ransacking the construction site was a thin, tanned man in a tank top and ripped jeans. His hair was dirty and messy, and he had slammed the door of the trailer off it’s hinges as he entered, leaving it dangling by one hinge as he tore the inside of the trailer apart. Golden Star landed in front of the trailer and made his way inside, clearing his throat.

 

“Excuse me.” he called calmly, raising his hand as the man stuffed checks and envelopes of cash into a backpack. The man didn’t even look back. “Sir, I said excuse me.” he said a bit firmer as he walked a little closer.

 

“Get back or I’ll knock you out.” the man said in a rough, gravely voice as he turned, zipping up his backpack. “You ain’t no big time hero, you barely look like a kid, so you aren’t even worth talking to. I’m just here to collect the money I was owed. I worked here until I was fired for no reason. I deserve my last paycheck.”

 

“Yes, sir. You do deserve that, but that wasn’t all your paycheck; that was everyone’s paycheck.” Golden Star said logically. “I’m sure if you just take your check and leave everyone else’s, everyone will be fine with this.” he offered with a compassionate smile. The man looked at him like he was stupid.

 

“No. I’m taking all of this. And you sure as heck can’t stop me, kid.” he spat with venom as he walked towards Michael, then stepped to the left, to go down the steps. Michael reached out and put his hand on the man’s shoulder softly, making him pause.

 

“Sir, I really can’t let you go, you need to stop and return the excess money you’re taking.” he repeated. He felt the tensing under the man’s skin. His eye caught the shift of weight as the older man turned slightly. He could see, like it was slow motion, the way the man’s muscles, weight, and bones shifted. He knew what was coming, and he wasn’t too concerned. The man’s fist came up in a sweeping haymaker and Michael prepared to give just enough so as to not break the poor man’s hand when it impacted his face.

 

Then it crashed into his face with the force of a truck and he sank into the side of the metal trailer, warping it around him as he registered what just happened. He registered what he had seen a second before the impact, the puncture mark on the man’s shoulder, where he’d injected himself with something.

 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Little punk. I’m all jacked up now, you think I’d come back here without some way to make this fair?” the older man said as he raised his leg and stomped Michael with a booted foot, pushing him through the thin sheet metal and out, rolling across the dusty ground. Michael tasted blood as he got to his hands and knees and then stood up, shaking his head. The man kept on the offensive, forcing his way through the trailer like it was paper, then leapt at Michael, much further than a human would, and Michael raised his hands up to protect his face, causing the ground under him to crack as he stopped the man from stomping him into the ground. Michael pushed him away, but the older man landed on his feet with surprising quickness. “Yeah. I figured some Superhero would show up to stop me. I wanted to be gone before that happened but I guess you’re one of the fast ones. So I’ll have to beat you down before I get out of here.” he said, dropping his bag and raising his fists. He advanced on the still somewhat dazed Michael, throwing a left hook that the young hero stepped back to avoid. But the older man advanced forward and caught him with a back elbow to the nose, making Michael raise his hand to his nose at the sudden shock and feel liquid between his fingers. Michael swung out with a kick but the older man stepped away, more experienced at street fightss and backroom brawls than Michael was.

 

“You’re so young you have no idea how to fight, all you’ve got going on are your powers, so if the playing field’s even, you’re just gonna lose, twerp.” the man said smugly as stepped back in, taking advantage of the gap between the kick to punch Michael in the stomach, then grab him by the arm and, twisting, hurl him into one of the metal beams of the still under construction structure. It bent as he crashed into it, and Michael sighed, breathing out slowly to avoid yelling in pain.

 

“You really don’t have to do this, Sir. If you want your money you can have it, you just can’t take anyone else’s.” he said in a calm voice. He wasn’t exactly calm, but he knew panicking wouldn’t help here. Stay calm, assess the situation, take what advantage you can, don’t let things get out of control. His Grandfather and Father both had preached that to him. That there was no need to get frustrated, agitated, or lash out; that the best thing to do was stay calm and consider the best solution, and talking to the man might make him slow down enough for him to take advantage of it.

 

“No, no. I think I do need to do this.” the older man said- fully on a warpath and agitated from the effects of the Max in his system- as he looked around and grabbed another metal beam. It was as thick around as a man’s waist but he hefted it up like a battering ram and charged at Michael, ramming him in the stomach with one end of it, smashing the young hero between the two metal beams. Michael groaned and stumbled forward as the man took a step back and changed his grip, holding the beam like a baseball bat and swung hard enough that it sliced the air, catching Michael on the forearm with the sound of a car crash as the battered hero raised his arm to defend himself, knocking the younger man across the hard packed dirt. This time, Michael didn’t fall over, he caught himself as he was sent soaring to the side, using his ability to fly to right himself and plant his feet down on the ground. “See, I’m sick of being bullied by people who think they’re better than me. My boss, my Mom, the Wife, the Cops. Superheroes like you. And when someone finally gets some power of their own, you all want to take it away. How gross is that. Do anything to keep a good man down.” The former construction worker said in a rage, slamming the pillar into the ground to release his pent up fury. That was the moment Michael had been waiting for; when he got too angry to keep his focus, ranting while distracting himself by slamming the pillar into the ground. Knowing that was his moment, Michael ignored his pain and shot across the ground at a run, as fast as he could- which was about as fast as a car at a highway speed- and slammed into the man like he was trying to break through a defensive lineman’s tackle, knocking him into the same pillar Michael had previously been slammed into. The man grunted and raised his hands, bringing a double axe handle down on Michael’s back and staggered him, but as he raised his hands again, Michael straightened up quickly and punched him in his unprotected face, then stepped back as the man brought his hands down, making him swing at nothing and stumble forward off balance. Michael grabbed him by the back of his shirt as he stumbled, then swept his legs out from under him, his other hand latching around the back of the man’s belt. With him fully in the air and in Michael’s grasp, the young hero spun, building up extra force as he rammed the man shoulder first into the metal beam, leaving a warped indent as the man yelled in pain before Michael put him down carefully. Bleeding from the nose and mouth, Michael sat down next to him and breathed slowly through his nose, wiping it on his cape and making sure nothing was broken as he thought about what to say to the man; he didn’t want to rile him back up.

[Poncho]

“...Are you calmed down now, sir?” he panted, really hoping this guy was not going to get up and cause more trouble. But he seemed weaker now; maybe the drug was starting to wear off, slowly.

 

“You broke my arm!” he yelled in anguish, grabbing his shoulder.

 

“I’m very sorry, sir. I don’t think it’s broken, but it’s probably hurt. You’ll need to be careful with it for a little while until it’s better.” He said sympathetically. He was pretty sure his own ribs were bruised, and he was probably going to have a black eye and a nasty bruise on his arm, but he didn’t hold it against the man. “What are you even on?”

 

“It was Max. The guy said I could use it to get my money.”

 

“I see. Well...it...may be harder to get your money now that you’ve done this, but I’ll see what I can do.” Michael said. By this point, now that the fighting had ended, Terrance had gotten to the site, and was running in, flanked by Franklin and the rest of his work crew. There was shouting as soon as the condition of the steel beam was seen, crews yelling, but with the ease of someone used to superhero issues, Terrance raised his voice over the clamor and was quickly giving orders.

 

“Franklin, get supports on that beam. It’s beat to heck and we need to replace it. We’ll have to get support structures in place on this whole side of the building to stabilize it, then we’ll get that bent beam out and replace it. Doc Metropolis might come by and fix it, but we’re gonna assume he’s not, so let’s get it fixed our way. Check that second beam there to see how damaged it is. Someone, call into the depot and tell them we'll need some extra material. If you're okay working overtime we'll get this fixed up and still be right on track by the end of the day.” He barked orders to each crew as he made his way to where Michael and the man who had almost destroyed the building were sitting, grabbing the backpack and rummaging through it. “All the paychecks are here, so we’re clear on that front.” he called, heading towards Michael as he moved the man who had been on a rampage away from where Franklin was ordering crews around. “Tony! What the heck man, I was gonna send you your check.” Terrance said angrily. “Now I gotta call the cops, get an incident report, all this crap. You’ve brought it down on your head!”

 

“You shouldn’t have fired me!”

 

“Tony you missed work for 4 days, we were falling behind. I couldn’t do nothing about it.” Terrance responded, and Michael could see this was building into an argument that wasn’t going anywhere good.

 

“Hang on, hang on. Both of you, please.” Golden Star said, raising his hands at both of them. Terrance looked at him; he clearly wanted to tell his son to be quiet, that this was his business. But Golden Star wasn’t his son, and he couldn’t tell him what to do, so instead he bit his lip and was quiet, waiting. Toney continued to glare. Michael took another breath and steadied himself- he still felt pretty winded.

 

“Look. Tony did something bad. But it sounds like he was in a bad situation, and no one really got hurt.” Just ignore the drying blood on his nose. “He got some drugs from a dealer, maybe they made him more aggressive or prone to anger. He lashed out because you were away and he was drugged up, not thinking straight. You were going to pay him his last check anyway, right? Maybe you just pay him his last check, he apologizes for the trouble, promises not to come back, and we just let bygones be bygones. He’s already hurt, he’s gonna need some time to recuperate anyway before he can get back to work. Putting him in jail doesn’t help anyone.” he said soothingly. Terrance glared at him. Michael smiled at him. 

 

“...Alright. Fine. Tony, you can take your check and go. But if you wanna come back to work for me you’re gonna have to bring a certificate from a clinic that says you're detoxed. I can’t have drug users on my team; the reason we’re such a good crew is because we all pitch in together.”

 

“Ok.” Tony said, clenching his teeth. “...Thanks, Top.” he said, struggling to his feet. Without the adrenaline of the drugs, he was having some difficulty, but he put on a brave face, kept his chin up, took his check and walked out of the construction site with only a small limp, leaving Golden Star and Terrance alone.

 

“Thanks for your help, Golden Star.” Terrance said.

 

“You’re welcome, Sir. I’m sorry about the damages.”

 

“It woulda been worse if you hadn’t done anything, and my crew is experienced in dealing with Superhero Fights. We’ll get it handled. Won’t even set us back a day.” he said with pride- pride in his son and pride in his work crew-. “I won’t mention any of this; I got a friend on the force who’ll come pick up these drugs, no questions asked.” 

 

“Yes sir, make sure you do that. Those things are dangerous.” 

 

“I know, I always tell my son to stay away from them.” Terrance said to the Hero, smiling a little. “Alright. I gotta get back to work. Thanks again.” He said before heading off, leaving Golden Star to smile and fly off.

 

Later, Michael met his dad at the construction site again, a few hours after he left; enough time for his dad and his crew to catch up on the work. His dad was just leaving, pulling his winter jacket closed against the growing evening chill; the sun was going down fast and he’d need to get home soon before it got too cold. But Michael had been mulling over his discussion with his dad for the entire time, so as they started walking to Terrance’s car, he finally spoke up.

 

“...Dad, do you think that Tony is actually going to stay off the drugs?” The big man was quiet for a bit- something Alex also did when he was thinking, staring off into space without saying anything-, before he finally sighed.

 

“I don’t think so, son. Like I said before; some people you just can’t help. I’ll be willing to hire him back if he does stay clean, but I don’t think he will. And I can’t help every person in the world, or even all the guys that work for me. Sometimes people have to help themselves, have to make it up to themselves. Tony will try to get better. He might even get clean enough to get his certificate and come back. But in a few weeks, a few months, but sometime next year, he’ll be back to doing drugs, he’ll miss a day of work here or there because he’s too high or too crashed to go in, then he’ll start needing it to go to work. He’ll make a mistake, and I’ll have to suspend him, or fire him. Or he’ll just stop coming in. It happens over and over again and for me, at least, there’s only so much I can do about it.” Terrance said it with an air of resignation but also one of acceptance; that was the way the world worked to him, and he couldn’t do anything about it, so he didn’t lose any sleep over it.

 

That was the moment where Michael realized that while he loved and respected his dad, he disagreed fundamentally on that point. No one was too far gone to help, especially for him, especially now. Now that he had powers. But at the same time, he didn’t need powers to do this.

 

He floated next to the window in the middle of the night, looking at the man who he had had a knockdown, drag out brawl just a few hours ago. The man was nursing a nasty bruise on his shoulder, watching TV in a one room apartment in a bad part of town. Michael didn’t want to stay long; he was pretty sure this was an established Hero’s neighborhood, and he had no interest in annoying someone for barging into their territory. He landed on the fire escape and tried the window. It opened easily, and he slid under the window and inside.

 

“Excuse me.” He cleared his throat and the man jumped up in surprise. “Wait, wait.” he said as the man snarled.

 

“Didn’t have enough fun beating me up earlier, huh? Wanted to come back and finish the job!?” Tony yelled.

 

“No, sir. I promise. I just wanted to give you something.” Michael said, raising his hands in surrender. It didn’t really matter that he was unarmed, he knew, but maybe the gesture would be well regarded. “I felt bad after the fight...I know it’s not much, but I wanted to try and give you a hand.” he said. He reached into his pocket and brushed the watch his grandfather had given him. He wondered if Grandpa Max would be proud. He hoped so. He withdrew a wad of twenty dollar bills and offered them to the man. “...It’s not much, I don’t exactly make money for heroing. But I don’t need it, and...well, let me pay you back for hurting you today. You deserve it.” It was a decent chunk of a month’s work at Sampson’s, but he didn’t really need it at the moment, and this guy probably did. 

“You think I want your pity?”

 

“I don’t pity you at all, Sir. I’m paying you to avoid getting my butt whipped again.” he said with a cheerful smile. The man looked angry for a moment, but then he smiled despite himself, stepping forward and taking the money.

 

“...Yeah, that’s right. I’ll beat you again if you don’t pay up.” Tony said. Michael just smiled, he didn’t want to stretch this, but he hoped the guy wasn’t getting any foolish ideas about what he could or couldn’t do; Michael wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, but it was possible someone else might get a little offended at how he acted if he wasn’t careful. But he assumed it was all in good fun.

 

“...I’ll be hoping you can get over this.” Michael said sincerely, shaking the man’s hand. “Good luck.” Then he stepped back out of the window and flew off. He was going to have to skip a few lunches to make up for that, maybe call Sandra and get another shift or two at the store to try and recoup a little bit, but if the money was used to help someone else, it didn’t really cost him anything in the grand scheme of things. So when he got back to Claremont, he had to skip the debate team going out for pizza to stay at his dorm and eat a sandwich instead, but that wasn’t a big deal to him, it meant he could study for his math test next week.