The Freedom Four
Henry knew it had been a bad idea since the moment he had picked up his pen. Dissent was illegal, and the band of freedom fighters would have been the death of him if anyone had seen his sketches, his comic books like the ones the West dropped in over the Wall.
But...
They had come to life.
And now they were out there, and they needed their creator. He looked around his studio, putting one finishing touch on his latest creation. He didn't expect it to come to life like his magnum opus had. But at least people would know who he had been if he didn't come back.
Then he headed out, putting on his coat. He told himself everything was normal. The police drones ignored him as he passed, occasionally pinging him with a laser to see if he matched anyone in their database of subjects.
He didn't. Yet.
He realized he was crazy. His creations didn't belong in the world: a four-armed man with biceps the size of tree trunks; a woman who could turn invisible or reshape herself into any individual; a demolitions expert who could see into the future. They were freaks, they shouldn't exist.
They had done so much good, though. Already the cracks in the facade were beginning to show, people were beginning to question the narrative. Resistance was rising up.
And it was all on him.
He'd heard Kozin over the radio sending out a plea for help. He would have to deliver.
When he got there, the place was on lock-down. Of course it was, they couldn't have rebels trying to interfere. All the same, Henry found that a small group of them had gathered in a secluded place, holding a sort of vigil.
"What are you doing?"
"Haven't you heard? They're going to kill the Three."
Henry winced. He'd long ago stopped thinking of his creation as the Tremendous Three, and knew them only as Holin, Vigila, and Kozin. They were too real to think of as a whole.
He stood for a moment, thinking.
"They won't if I do something about it."
The Resistance looked at him, puzzled.
"I know where they're at inside the mall–the Party store for electronics. They wanted devices that wouldn't broadcast their location when they used them. If I know them at all, they're holed up in the back storeroom, and they'll stay there as long as they can–"
A distant explosion interrupted Henry.
"So I'm going in. Is anyone coming with me?"
The resistance members standing around him stammered and looked at the ground. They weren't brave enough to try to get past the lock-down.
Henry turned, walking toward the mall. One of the shutters looked weak, and he looked around until he found a heavy cart. Then he charged.
The barrier gave way with a tremendous crash, and he found himself in an entry to a coffee shop. Not one to waste time, he continued running. He'd been here a thousand times, and he knew where all the shops were, but with the riot teams about he couldn't be sure of anything.
"A civilian?"
Henry cast a gaze over his shoulder at the source of the distorted voice, and saw a bunch of shock troopers. He swallowed the anxiety in his throat, and ran, pushing the cart ahead of him.
They didn't know what to do, so they stood there for a few seconds. Eventually orders must have come from above, because bullets pinged off of the surfaces around him and he could hear a phase rifle charging.
Then the orb flew past him, ricocheting off the metal barriers of the storefronts and the facades along the promenade. He forced his feet to move faster, tightening his grip on the cart. He reached the area of the mall where the Three would be, and found only fire and smoke. He pushed on–Kozin would only have asked for help if he knew the effort would be successful.
He felt the smoke catch in his lungs.
The fire singed his skin.
Then he was through it. He was in a maintenance corridor; somewhere he'd never been before, but he knew it would lead right up to the storage room of the store he was looking for.
He let go of the cart now; it had cleared a path for him through the flaming debris, and its job was done. He ran to the door, trying to get it open. Adrenalin must have been flowing through him, because he tore it right off its hinges.
Kozin had expected him, or else Holin would have blown him away with a barrage of firepower usually only seen in action movies. Henry had already had one close call with a pulse rifle, and Holin held four. Vigila looked anxious, only a little effort's distance away from wholly blending into the wall.
Henry took a moment to catch his breath, trying to get past the last of the smoke, and spat out his message: "I'm here to get you out."
Then he realized the gravity of his situation.
"Kozin, will we be able to get out the way I came?"
"Yes."
"Then it looks like the mall's selling supers today."
Vigila grinned; Henry's false confidence encouraging her a little.
Then he took off running, the others right behind him.
The State was closing its grasp tighter and tighter, and when he came out of the smoke he saw at least a dozen riot officers waiting for him.
Then Holin bounded through, guns blazing.
Distorted voices raised a cacophony of surprise as the soldiers scattered at the assault, and they kept running. The path was clear, to Henry's surprise, but Kozin looked like he expected it. When they got outside, the resistance was waiting for them, their mouths open with surprise.
"I told you I'd get them out."
When the officers came to search the house of one Henry Davies, they found a studio filled with drawings of a band of freedom fighters known as the Tremendous Three. The detective investigating the case found something more interesting among them, a self-portrait of the creator among his creations.
It was titled: "The Freedom Four"
This story was written because I need practice, but it's also an entry to a contest run by @mctiller about stories in which a comic book writer's creations come to life.
This idea's been floating around in my head for a while (ever since I discovered Open Legend a couple years ago I wanted to explore a dystopian superhero universe), but I had an interesting dream last night that brought the final idea to me. I hope people enjoy the story that came of it.