Something a little different for this short. I wrote this story in 2010 for a creative writing class. It went through a group critique and a couple of revisions, but otherwise has not been touched since March 2010. I’m putting it up here, completely unchanged, before even re-reading it myself, to look at and show whether and how my writing style has changed over the last fourteen years – just about every other short I’ve posted here was written in 2024 (though without the benefit of group critique).
Hope it’s still enjoyable!
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Dr. Stevens leaned over his desk to the intercom. “Debbie, send the next patient in please.” He settled back into his chair, flipped open a new notepad and scrawled the date, patient’s name, and session number on the first line. By the time his writing was complete, Dr. Stevens was frowning: his door hadn’t opened. Jane was never late. He stretched for the intercom again, but heard an odd humming sound coming from the reception room. Curious, he strode to the door, smoothing the lines of his face so as not to worry Jane.
Standing in his reception area was a man wearing a heavy, deep blue cape; a menacing-looking helmet; and full, highly polished body armour. The man was very tall, and the armour was tightly fitted to his powerful build. The armour was two-toned; most of it silver, but with glistening runes etched in a light metallic blue. He stood facing the terrified Debbie, who had fallen out of her chair behind her desk. The armoured man turned his chromed blue helmet towards the doctor. The voice was deep and reverberated slightly against the helmet, adding a metallic edge as it asked, “Dr. Stevens, I presume?”
The doctor nodded silently, and jumped as the man took a step towards him. “I am Lord Protus…the most powerful man alive.” Protus offered Dr. Stevens his hand, and the doctor nearly fainted.
Hesitantly, he took Protus’ hand, noticing some wear around the palms and fingertips of the plated gauntlet, along with a reddish-brown residue on the knuckles. “I, I don’t… I’m not—”
“Fear not, Doctor,” rumbled Protus. “I will not harm you. Come, let us sit.” He led Dr. Stevens into the office. Despite his fear, Dr. Stevens couldn’t help but be amused at the sight of a seven-foot tall armoured man trying to sit in a plush office chair.
“Now, Doctor,” Protus began. “I suppose you are confused as to my presence in your office. Let me explain.
“I have the ability, Doctor, to manipulate energy. However, I cannot generate energy of my own volition, and thus I am limited to using whatever energy I am able to exploit from my surroundings. Nevertheless, this ability makes me nigh-invulnerable, as I can sap the kinetic energy of bullets or even redirect the destruction of a nuclear attack.
“For decades my objective of global domination has been repeatedly thwarted by my arch-nemesis, Captain Relentless. The Captain’s sole power, his only unique attribute, is his complete and total inability to be harmed. The man is impervious to all forms of assault, and thus it is entirely through sheer bullheadedness—relentlessness, I suppose—that he was ever able to defeat me. He had no exceptional qualities, but—”
Protus paused for a moment, his helm angled slightly upward. He then turned back to Doctor Stevens and inquired, “Doctor, are you writing all this down?” The doctor twitched a nod in silent reply, eyes wide. “There is no need. This will be my only session.”
“I first met Captain Relentless twenty-four years ago as I was liberating an armoured truck to procure funding for my endeavours. Quite unexpectedly, Captain Relentless appeared. Of course, I had no knowledge of his name or powers at that time, and therefore all I perceived was a young man in an odd red and black bodysuit and mask. Naturally I assumed he was no threat, and I concentrated a burst of electric energy throughout his central nervous system.”
Doctor Stevens hesitantly raised his hand. Protus looked directly at him through the slits of the helmet, and the doctor flinched. “Yes, Doctor?” asked Protus, his tone betraying his annoyance.
“I, um…” began Doctor Stevens. “What… what happened to Jane?”
“I sent her home safely,” replied Protus, dismissing the doctor’s concern.
“Normally, this electrical attack would disable or kill a man,” continued Protus. “But the Captain was completely unaffected, and simply laughed derisively, as if I were an incompetent child. In those days the Captain was overconfident and brash, and he simply charged forward, believing me to be easily subdued. I was not. What followed was a clash of ever-increasing power—and, I must admit, fear and frustration on my part—against a man who could not be hurt.
“The battle lasted only seven minutes, but to one such as myself, who had become accustomed to victory, this was seven minutes too many. My frustration and confusion were such that I abandoned my appropriation of wealth in favour of retreat.
“Captain Relentless was a challenge.” Protus tapped his plated index fingers together, and the tone of his voice shifted. Nostalgia? wondered Doctor Stevens. “He was the one obstacle I was unable to overcome. My pride dictated that, for years after our first encounter, my sole purpose would be to solve the mystery of his invincibility; to discover a method, a weakness that could be exploited in order to finally defeat him. Over the years I attempted to crush, drown, burn, electrocute, cut, mangle, quash, grind, pulverize, melt, disintegrate, vaporize, dissolve, and otherwise annihilate Relentless. But he would not be subdued, and spent no more than five minutes in hospital—for a ritual but meaningless examination.
“After a time—fifteen years, I am ashamed to say—I finally realized that I was wasting my great talent and brilliance on such a man as Captain Relentless. My epiphany revealed to me that the Captain was only an obstacle so far as I made him: he could only inconvenience and delay me. I set my sights higher, and returned to the task I had chosen for myself before meeting the Captain: my instatement as planetary ruler.”
Again, Doctor Stevens raised his hand, hesitating at Protus’ narrowed gaze. “But why—”
“Patience, Doctor!” Protus interjected forcefully. “I grow tired of your pointless interruptions.
“Relentless suspected nothing of my full plans. He seemed only to realize that I had lost interest in him, and he was crushed, demoralized, stunned by his sudden downward shift in my priorities. Over time he had come to associate greatness with my defeats. Soon, defeating me became only a minor, temporary setback in my timetables rather than a moral triumph over the forces of evil. Even a sudden development of new powers—increased strength and momentum, likely as a result of subjecting himself to the experimentation of a technical wizard or a mad scientist—failed to excite him or regain my attention.”
Protus’ gaze turned to the colourful tropical aquarium to his left. One of the fish floated motionlessly at the surface. “I began to hear less and less of him. He had given up on crimefighting. His social life with other so-called heroes crumbled. Apparently even his marriage dissolved. He once told me that he had been raised to believe that success is not measured by your place in society, but defined by your own desires and accomplishments, and the paths one chooses on the road to achievement. Captain Relentless believed that his greatest successes were in my defeats, and that he was contributing to society in his moral triumphs. When he realized that I was no longer being defeated—merely delayed—his success was stolen from him.
“Soon Captain Relentless vanished entirely, and I was left relatively unhindered. Of course, other champions rose to challenge me, but they all possessed weaknesses. I prepared myself ahead of time, and battles generally lasted no longer than one minute.
“Seven hours ago, all was in place for the activation of my new power source—a miniaturized nuclear fusion generator—which would produce enormous quantities of energy: a sufficient quantity to render me nearly omnipotent in terms of physical power. I planned to destroy every government on Earth, and in the sudden chaos, to declare myself the ruler of this world. My dream, doctor, is to set righting all the wrongs, all the inadequacies, all the injustices of human civilization. Imagine a world without poverty, without violence, without crime! Did you know, doctor, that these problems are trivial? Poverty and illiteracy will become simple footnotes in history with the correct application of wealth and organization. The cost of healing the world is but a fraction of the amount spent annually on wars and weapons. And with an unlimited energy source under my control, I would have the power to change the world.”
Doctor Stevens nearly interrupted again, but recalling Protus’ previous reaction, quickly fixed his eyes on the brown carpet instead. Protus, caught up in his story, did not notice.
“I had merely to finalize the program coding, and victory would be mine. There was one line of code remaining when Captain Relentless burst in through the skylight of my laboratory.
“It seemed that Captain Relentless had learned of my plot from the dying breath of his old colleague, the Prodigal.” The doctor’s eyes widened in recognition: the Prodigal had been a patient of his over a year ago. “The Captain had reassembled his uniform and raced to meet me, visions of the ‘good old days’ within his reach. Surprisingly, Relentless was in better shape than when last we met, his frame rippling with newfound musculature.
“The Captain’s downfall was due to a medical scanner that had remained active due to an employee’s negligence. Technology had advanced since I had last confronted Relentless: the scanner had been adapted to superhumans. It showed a slight structural weakness in the Captain’s force field—for that was what I now knew his power to be: an infinitely adaptable bioelectric force field.
“Captain Relentless had a weakness—such a symbolic weakness. The defect in his force field was over his heart: the precise place I had struck so powerfully in the first place by ignoring him. I drained my facility’s generator of every last erg of power, focused it into my right hand and drove my fist through the Captain’s chest.” Doctor Stevens started violently as he realized the origin of the reddish stain on Protus’ gauntlet.
Visibly amused, Protus continued. “Relentless felt true fear for the first time. But he suppressed his fear in order to form his final word. With his dying breath, Captain Relentless whispered, ‘Why?’
“And this, Doctor Stevens, is the reason I have come to you. I set my timetable on standby and pondered his dying word for hours. I came to no conclusion on my own; perhaps there are subconscious influences of which I am unaware. My question to you, Doctor Stevens, is the same as Captain Relentless’ final question to me. Why? Why am I doing this? Help me understand myself, Doctor.”
Protus leaned back, the joints of his armour sliding smoothly. He laced the fingers of his gauntlets together and gazed at Doctor Stevens, a slight frown beneath his helmet, in the same manner as a workman might look upon an aging pack mule.
Doctor Stevens was flabbergasted, but his professional skills quickly overcame his fear and confusion—at least enough to stammer out a sentence. “Well then, Mr.—ah, Lord Protus—why don’t you begin with what you think your motivations are, and we’ll go from there.”
Protus became contemplative. “I would suspect that I have some sort of controlling instinct, and perhaps a perceived superiority of intelligence and leadership over ordinary men. And my temporary fascination with defeating Captain Relentless could represent an obsessive-compulsive impulse towards revenge.”
Again, Doctor Stevens fumbled for words a moment. “Your self-diagnosis is quite thorough. Most super-villains I’ve had to work with are little more than glorified thugs who can’t see past their own pride long enough to find fault in themselves.” He took a quick breath as his professional confidence grappled with his fear. “However, I believe you’re still just scratching the surface; these are only symptoms. If you truly want to know why you’re doing this, we’ll have to look deeper. How did you get your powers? Do you have any recurring dreams? Did you ever—”
Protus inhaled deeply, interrupting the doctor’s questions. He closed his eyes as he spoke. “I frequently dream of destroying Captain Relentless. We are in a city square. Despite the destruction surrounding us, there are onlookers. Hundreds of them, surrounding us from all sides, filming our final battle and relaying it to the world through television. Barricades have been erected to protect the bystanders, or perhaps to prevent us from leaving the arena. I assault Relentless, but he does not resist. He allows me to strike him, as if aware that the end is at hand. Despite the vast array of methods available to me, I attack him with my fists, beating him to the ground. The battle simply ends: he simply falls, broken. The crowd is silent. There are no gasps, no frightened cries. It is done.”
Doctor Stevens was silent for a moment, as he scribbled on his notepad with a dulling pencil. He flipped the notebook over, revealing a simple sketch of the scene that Protus had just described. “Would you say that this is an accurate depiction of the scene in your dream?” asked the doctor.
“Simplistic, but yes,” replied Protus. “The scene is quite accurate. I know the dream, Doctor. What is the purpose of—”
“Just a second,” retorted Doctor Stevens. “Ah, er, what I meant to say was—” Protus waved his hand in dismissal. “Yes, well… Allow me to redraw the scene…” The pencil scratched at the page, and the doctor revealed the modifications he had made.
Protus’ forehead creased, tightening his eyes into slits. “This is a combat arena.”
The notebook quivered in response to Protus’ tone. “Yes… a boxing ring.”
“Why a boxing ring, Doctor?” asked Protus, his voice dropping in pitch yet again.
With a quick inhalation and a tensing of his muscles, Doctor Stevens replied, “It’s your dream, why don’t you tell me?”
Both men paused, neither daring to make a move or speak a word. A deep rumble built from somewhere within Protus’ armour, causing the plates to vibrate. “I suppose it was inevitable,” he sighed, seeming to deflate slightly. “My mother beat my father.”
Doctor Stevens relaxed cautiously, and his eyebrows wandered tentatively up his forehead. Protus narrowed his eyes in response. “My mother had, at some point in her life, been a professional boxer. Not skilled enough to win any major fights, but enough that she could physically dominate my father, who had no combat experience.”
“Ah…” replied Doctor Stevens. “…well then. You seem to have explained your, uh, family situation in a manner suggesting that I not probe any further.”
“Did I?” muttered Protus. “Yes, I suppose I… Are you suggesting, Doctor, that I am embarrassed by my past and attempt to justify it to anyone who might laugh?”
“Yes, that’s right…” The doctor braced himself.
“Oh no, Doctor,” murmured Protus. “I won’t hurt you for something as trivial as this. Do not be afraid of asking questions or making suggestions. I am here to discover my true self, and I cannot do this if you are dead.”
Doctor Stevens was much calmer than he had been, but he still jumped when he heard the word ‘dead’. “Could I suggest, then, that part of your quest for power is the goal of being stronger than your father?”
Protus leaned forward, gripped the arms of the chair hard enough to deform the plastic, roaring, “My father was—” He stopped, frozen in place. He settled back into the chair, sinking a little deeper than before. He did not speak.
Doctor Stevens continued, his confidence building. “I also noticed, Lord Protus, that in your summary of your superhuman history, you belittled Captain Relentless and every other superhuman you fought. Do you think the same of other supervillains?”
After a pause, Protus replied, “‘Supervillain’ is subjective; to myself, I am no villain. But, to answer your question, yes. In general, nearly all superhumans have no understanding of their true power. They do not understand that whether alone or together, they have the power to change the world. They focus on defending cities from ‘evil’, or robbing banks for pitiful sums, while there is suffering, poverty, fear and death in the world. I am one of the few who is willing to fight for change. The others are simply children playing in a world that they do not understand.”
Doctor Stevens looked into Protus’ eyes at this moment, and understood that if Protus he had already made up his mind, he would be hard pressed to change it. But Protus’ odd sense of honour gave Doctor Stevens the courage he needed to continue.
“Well, Lord Protus, I suggest to you that the reason you are doing this is not because you believe in changing the world for the better, but because you believe yourself to be superior, and to show the world that you are not weak like your father.”
Doctor Stevens stood, leaving his notepad on the desk. He moved around the desk as he began to speak. “Now, I don’t have a philosophy degree, and I don’t presume to speak for the entire world. But just because you have the power to make changes, does that mean you should? Why could you not make these changes from within the system, rather than destroying it to suit your purposes? I can clearly see that you have the motivation and intelligence to be a brilliant leader even without your super-powers.
“And what about the other super-people? Yes, they may have flaws, and as you suggest, perhaps their focus is too small. But they are an inspiration. They show the rest of us that we can be more than we are, that we can rise above the limitations of our humanity and become something better. And yes, they could end wars—but should they? Shouldn’t we learn to deal with our problems ourselves, and not submit to the impulses of individuals who answer to no one?”
Protus leaned forward in the chair, his tone almost pleading. “But I—”
“Let me finish,” Doctor Stevens stated firmly. “If you succeed—what then? Maybe you will be helping humanity, but people don’t like enforced change. You may be solving all our problems, but to grow as a species, shouldn’t we solve them ourselves? And what of dissension and rebellion? Will you just crush anyone who resists, because you believe you’re right and everyone else is wrong? You may end up saving the species at the cost of its soul.”
Doctor Stevens sighed. “I would recommend that you submit yourself to regular therapy sessions. But, of course, I like the world as it is, so I guess I’m biased against your plot.” He took his coat from the rack behind the door and slipped it on. “I’m cancelling the rest of my appointments and having dinner with my family—it may be the last time I ever see them. Take this upon yourself, or have faith in the rest of humanity.”
Just before he closed the door, Doctor Stevens added, “If you want to talk about this again, I’ll be here tomorrow.”
Lord Protus sat in the office chair for a very long time. He returned to his base of operations, and sat in front of his control panel for even longer. Several times, he leaned forward to push the final key that would activate the fusion generator, and several times, he leaned back.
Finally he took a coin, and after gazing at it blankly for nearly an hour, he flipped it into the air.
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