Post by METTLE on Jan 7, 2022 19:42:57 GMT
Middlefield, Iowa. Population: 247.
That was where Mettle flew.
Flying in the middle of a city, where he spent nearly all of his time, was impossible. He'd crash, almost instantly. Using electromagnetism to rocket through the sky was horrifically imprecise, and it wreaked havoc on everything magnetic in his surroundings. If he were to activate this ability in a city, cars would be dragged along behind him in a devastating wake, sucked up into a vortex of electric mayhem that would spare no one caught in between.
And even then, this wasn't the free flying so often described by metahumans who could effortlessly soar through the skies, like Daystar. This was rudimentary self-propulsion that basically involved him turning himself into a missile, more like shooting himself out of a cannon than actually flying like Superman. The effect was the same, though - rapid transit through the air, far faster than he could've gotten anywhere on land, even running at the speeds he could. He made sure to keep above the cruising altitude for most aircraft, lest he yank them out of the sky.
For a long time, he'd been really scared to try anything like this. Now it was just normal. If he wanted to visit anywhere outside his normal range of operations, and if he didn't want to dial Kore for a portal - which he frequently did not - he'd fly.
Landing was tricky, but he'd worked that out too. Navigation involved sporadically touching down and checking a map for his current position. It all looked the same from the air, of course. Eventually, he'd find a way to zero in on where he was going.
He wore a simple long black coat fitting for the season, a dark vest underneath overtop a white collared shirt, with a matching black tie. He had a scarf on too.
Finally, he touched down on the outskirts of Middlefield.
He'd not told anyone where he was going - only that he was going out.
It was a plain little town, same look as the last time he'd visited, except that life had returned to normal. Snow covered everything. Kids were in school - the town's singular school, probably. There were plows running. He trudged through the snow with the scarf pulled up over his silver face - it wouldn't stand up to inspection, but it disguised him somewhat, concealing the fact that all of his skin was pure silver.
It was entirely possible that he was the only metahuman for a hundred miles around. He wasn't here to attract attention.
Instead he walked through the tiny town towards a little field of grass, where Middlefield's most peculiar and most overlooked attraction sat.
Quiver.
Once a living statue, now a dead one. Or maybe asleep. He liked to come out and visit, just to check in, and see if maybe she'd moved from where she'd been stuck. Sometimes he thought about marching over to the house where it'd all started, where this town had come under the most evil curse he'd ever seen - but he always decided against it. Was it a lack of guts? Sometimes he thought so. Other times he thought, "What's the point." Either way, the little girl who'd caused it all...was gone. And so was Quiver.
That was why he'd never be a superhero, and why he hadn't wanted Kore to be. He'd never forget thinking that surrendering a life to undo a selfish mistake like that little girl's was something that only a sucker would do.
Now he wasn't so sure. As he stood gazing at Quiver's stone form, he thought about maybe arranging for some kind of greater memorial, greater than the one he'd set up in the Bronx. But he thought better of it. The town was a monument enough.
Shitty as it was.
"Hey again," he sighed, turning to face the buildings just out of view, the same as the archer. And then he said nothing.
That was where Mettle flew.
Flying in the middle of a city, where he spent nearly all of his time, was impossible. He'd crash, almost instantly. Using electromagnetism to rocket through the sky was horrifically imprecise, and it wreaked havoc on everything magnetic in his surroundings. If he were to activate this ability in a city, cars would be dragged along behind him in a devastating wake, sucked up into a vortex of electric mayhem that would spare no one caught in between.
And even then, this wasn't the free flying so often described by metahumans who could effortlessly soar through the skies, like Daystar. This was rudimentary self-propulsion that basically involved him turning himself into a missile, more like shooting himself out of a cannon than actually flying like Superman. The effect was the same, though - rapid transit through the air, far faster than he could've gotten anywhere on land, even running at the speeds he could. He made sure to keep above the cruising altitude for most aircraft, lest he yank them out of the sky.
For a long time, he'd been really scared to try anything like this. Now it was just normal. If he wanted to visit anywhere outside his normal range of operations, and if he didn't want to dial Kore for a portal - which he frequently did not - he'd fly.
Landing was tricky, but he'd worked that out too. Navigation involved sporadically touching down and checking a map for his current position. It all looked the same from the air, of course. Eventually, he'd find a way to zero in on where he was going.
He wore a simple long black coat fitting for the season, a dark vest underneath overtop a white collared shirt, with a matching black tie. He had a scarf on too.
Finally, he touched down on the outskirts of Middlefield.
He'd not told anyone where he was going - only that he was going out.
It was a plain little town, same look as the last time he'd visited, except that life had returned to normal. Snow covered everything. Kids were in school - the town's singular school, probably. There were plows running. He trudged through the snow with the scarf pulled up over his silver face - it wouldn't stand up to inspection, but it disguised him somewhat, concealing the fact that all of his skin was pure silver.
It was entirely possible that he was the only metahuman for a hundred miles around. He wasn't here to attract attention.
Instead he walked through the tiny town towards a little field of grass, where Middlefield's most peculiar and most overlooked attraction sat.
Quiver.
Once a living statue, now a dead one. Or maybe asleep. He liked to come out and visit, just to check in, and see if maybe she'd moved from where she'd been stuck. Sometimes he thought about marching over to the house where it'd all started, where this town had come under the most evil curse he'd ever seen - but he always decided against it. Was it a lack of guts? Sometimes he thought so. Other times he thought, "What's the point." Either way, the little girl who'd caused it all...was gone. And so was Quiver.
That was why he'd never be a superhero, and why he hadn't wanted Kore to be. He'd never forget thinking that surrendering a life to undo a selfish mistake like that little girl's was something that only a sucker would do.
Now he wasn't so sure. As he stood gazing at Quiver's stone form, he thought about maybe arranging for some kind of greater memorial, greater than the one he'd set up in the Bronx. But he thought better of it. The town was a monument enough.
Shitty as it was.
"Hey again," he sighed, turning to face the buildings just out of view, the same as the archer. And then he said nothing.
