For the Love of Truth

Ian Rollands is working on his masters in sociology at community college, works part-time for Eugene Bud at the barber shop, and spends his free time doing homework and swimming. He is also a superhero. As Ambush, he has the ability to duplicate himself. This story takes place early on in his supercareer.

–

He’d never been able to say no to a sale.

He could blame his mother for that, really. She’d brought him up with a love of bargain shopping, yard sales, and thrift stores. It had been necessary for them, really: living with little meant learning to spend little. But even though they hadn’t always had everything they needed, they had always had a sense of class that was miraculously supported by extremely savvy purchases. Bargain shopping was a great ally. Still, he also knew full well that bargain shopping often meant stupid shopping.

With a heavy sigh, Ian Rollands leaned back in his desk chair and clicked through the catalog again.

See, that was the problem with buying things cheap: you started buying things because they were cheap. Walk into a thrift store with no clear purpose or intention, and you came out with stained glass fish and broken wind chimes. Ian’s mother had taught him how to avoid the trap that so many people fell into when confronted with inexpensive items. Know your goal, achieve the goal, and leave as soon as possible.

The motto worked pretty well for superwork, too. Ian had muttered the words to himself more than once when stopping a bank robbery.

Which led him to his current predicament, really. Because he was a superhero now, and a dang good one, if he did say so himself. And any decent superhero needed a costume. One that could be bought with the barely-existent remains of his paycheck from the barber shop, after things like food and utilities and rent had been accounted for.

That only left him a few options. Cheap options. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, extending the motion to run his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair before staring at the computer screen again, as if hoping that the gaudy purple logo would have changed in the last minute. It hadn’t. It was still there in the corner, rotating and sparkling and looking completely tacky.

“Superquick!Costuming,” he muttered to himself, still slightly incredulous. He could even hear the exclamation point when he pronounced it. It was bargain shopping at its worst. You could get everything on this site. They offered basic outfits, capes, gloves, utility belts, visors, even a design-and-print logo service. An entire superhero look, available for Ian’s mix-and-match pleasure.

It seemed…wrong, somehow. He’d heard stories about how the great superheroes like Galileo got their suits. Those outfits had been works of love, made by hand, designed specifically for the person wearing them. They became the superhero, and the outside world couldn’t recognize one without the other. Buying pieces of a suit from a bulk company seemed…

Well. Cheap. And depressingly practical. Which was the whole point, really.

Ian wandered aimlessly through the Superquick!Costuming catalog again. The “2 for 1!” heading on the cape section drew his eye for a split second before he hurried on to another page. No capes. He’d been very firm with himself on the subject, because any hero he had ever made fun of had a cape. He had standards. Besides, they would be a pain and a half to replicate accurately. No, he needed something…simpler. More basic.

He went straight past the accessory section, which advertised utility belts, mustaches, and golden halos. Somewhere in the back of his cranium where the remains of his pride lived, he could feel a headache forming.

With a sense of impending resignation, he clicked over to the bodysuit section. The colors of the modeled suits on the first page hurt his eyes. Who wore that color of purple? Especially in spandex? It boggled the mind. He refused to look like Old Glory in his twenties. Apparently, paisleys were in this season. Ian spared a moment to consider the ramifications of killing off a “fashion designer” for the sake of the poor, oppressed, aesthetically-concerned superhero. He could use the catalog as evidential support in court.

It was worth thinking about. But it didn’t solve his current problem. Ian clicked to the next page of basic bodysuits, and the next, feeling more and more frustrated with every pass. Was it always this hard? Had Galileo and Stone and the other great superhero icons of the age had this much trouble finding something in a color they liked? Finally, with a sense of desperation, Ian scrolled down and hit the very last page number in the section.

Two items appeared. One was a bright pink suit with fake abs painted onto it in red. There was a cracked heart design over the chest. Ian stared at it for a moment with the morbid fascination usually reserved for car wrecks and couples fighting in public before his eyes finally slid over to the very last bodysuit item available in the Superquick!Costuming catalog.

Oh. That was…not half bad, actually.

It was black. And that was all, really. Just a black bodysuit. He did a quick scroll through the specifics. Hardened polymer, not spandex. Gloves included. No frills, no logos, no painted abs. Easy to replicate, hard to see in a dark alley, and completely without pretension.

And on sale. It could be his, for only 13.99, plus shipping!

Almost without realizing it, Ian began to smile. Well, it was no stunning fashion statement or anything, but it would do. With a renewed sense of purpose, he returned to the accessory section. Feeling led by a kind of inspiration, he once again clicked to the very last page, and once again found exactly what he was looking for.

He’d need something to cover the eyes. His duplicates’ milky blue gazes had to be covered up for any kind of ruse to be effective. The simple black visor would do just the trick.

With a sense of accomplishment, Ian rushed to place his orders, plugged in his credit information, and bought the two items. The sense of adrenaline stayed with him, as if he’d just beaten someone in a race.

He had a supersuit. It was simplistic, yes, and completely without any distinguishing marks or significant style. But it was efficient, and understated. And…well. Cheap.

It was him.

Sitting there in his tiny little Springfield apartment, listening to the furnace turning on and the traffic outside, feeling cramped and tired and overworked, Ian Rollands became a genuine superhero. He was no superstar, but he’d do the best with what he had, and he’d be good at it. Somehow, he didn’t think that anyone—not even Galileo– could do more than that.

In that moment, Ian Rollands truly became Ambush.

It was time to save the world.

Right after he called his mom and told her about the great deal he’d just gotten. He’d never been able to say no to a sale.