Bruce Brody's Guide to Romance: Issue One

 

 

 

From the Pages of The Scrap Pile

Landshark

in

“Bruce Brody’s Guide to Romance”

 

By Kurtis Kenobi

 

Therapist: “We might have better luck if we try together. Say it with me.”

Bruce: “Uhm… Okay. Sure.”

Both: “Hi. My name is Bruce.”

Bruce: “… and I’m a shark!”

 

 

Issue One: Of Land and Shark and Quakes that Break the Heart

 

Two Weeks Ago

Lightfoot Island (Beta City, Ohio)

 

 

Huh.

Bruce Brody stood knee deep in imported sand, shaking soil from his hair. A crooked grin spread across his face as he admired the meandering gopher trail left in his wake.

The Bureau alert had been clear: unidentified threat approaching the channel.

Had he made a wrong turn?

Bruce adjusted the leather shark fin mounted on his head as he squinted in the low January sun. Highway. Parking lot. To the left, Mount Fitzgerald’s sulphury belch spat up cobalt lava. Waaaaait… the moody mountain was supposed to be on the right!

“Landshark.” A chipper voice and a tap on the shoulder. “Bruce. Sweetie. Turn around.”

Oh! Hero Park, Lake Erie, Beta City, and the Weatherhead Channel were exactly where they belonged.

“Hey, Dolphin!” Bruce climbed out of his tunnel. “A little cold for the beach.”

“I was snooping around the BMA network when you answered the Com call,” Dolphin Dambino clung to her pill box hat as blonde hair billowed in the pungent breeze. Dressed entirely in pink. Part Avon Lady, part go-go dancer. She was all Wonder Woman.

A pink camera drone buzzed about her head. “Lets film a new episode of ‘Killer Dolphin: Professional Superhero Stalker! I need new content.”

“Again?” The saddest puppy dog eyes gazed into Dolphin’s camera. “You know stalking is bad,” his finger lectured sternly, but Bruce was unconvincing. “Why don’t you stalk other supers?”

“You love it,” she bumped him with her hip. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep coming into Dambino’s Pizzaria.”

“I like the pizza.”

“Gladiatus Maximus with pineapple and extra cheese. Trying not to judge.” She tilted her head.

“Of course, i feature you,” she moved in closer. “Shy bedroom eyes. Killer bod!” Dolphin laid a hand on Bruce’s chest, left exposed by his open jerkin. “You know I’m tougher than you. Not strong, but nothing hurts me. I don’t feel pain… or pleasure. But I bet these muscles could give me a tingle.” Her fingers traced through chest hair. “Make a dishonest woman of me?”

Dolphin’s wild spirit intoxicated Bruce. Glinting emerald eyes. Inviting ruby lips that curled into an impish simper.  She was stunning.

But -Ugh!- why?

Bruce caught Dolphin’s wrist gently, halting her exploration. “I’m a shark.”

If Dolphin noticed the black plumes swimming in his dark amber irises -always a bad sign- she didn’t react. “No idea what that means, but it isn’t a ‘No.”

“It’s not?” Confused, Bruce stroked his chin. Wasn’t that what he’d said?

“You’re adorkable.” She pulled away. “While you think about it, let’s make a podcast!” Dolphin spread her arms wide, porcelain skin glistening in the sun. Camera circling.

“You can’t get the stink out of Lightfoot Island!”

Bruce wrinkled his nose. Dolphin was right.

Decades ago, the city of Cleveland drowned, gobbled up by Lake Erie. What remained above the surface, Lightfoot Island, smelled. On the far shore, Beta City taunted -a gleaming art deco phoenix. Chrome promises of optimism and ambition. Rebirth. But not for everyone. The city’s majestic wings cast a long shadow over the island but could not hide Cleveland’s Floating Carcass. Bruce hadn’t seen the old city, only its bones – skyscraper ribs jutting from the Great Lake. He lived in its rotting heart.

“Can’t wash out that sulphur stench or stop the freaky fun!” Dolphin’s flirtatious grin sparkled for the camera. “Something is out there, coming our way. Something big. Something bad. Fear not, my little Sea Monsters! Our favorite hunk of burning shark love is here to defend our misfit isle of urban decay.”

She pointed. “Look fierce, Bruce!”

He rolled his shoulders. Assumed a boxing stance. Narrowed eyes.

Landshark was ready! Brown vest. Brown bracers. Brown clomping boots. Shark tooth necklace. A mess of tousled chestnut hair. His pride? His joy? The brown shark fin he wore on his head. Earth tones. Even his wheatish skin had a dusty appearance.

“Fiercer!”

Bruce growled and flashed a playful snarl.

“Never mind,” Dolphin sighed. “Where is this monster, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce eyed Lake Erie suspiciously. “Maybe it’s slow.”

The water swelled and bulged and split.

Metal burst from The Great Lake in a bloom of weeds and spray. A massive robotic squid rose on jointed tentacles that groaned and locked and re-locked to form more spiderlike appendages.

“Shark balls,” Bruce gulped, gazing up at his four-story foe. Maybe this was a mistake.

RoboSquid lumbered towards shore, shedding moss and lake sludge. Alien glyphs tattooed the tarnished gold of its scarred hull. Runes etched out of dark stones that boiled with bright flecks - tiny, infected stars. Black opals swirling with evil.

“Uhm, Hi,” he gingerly waved at the robot. “My name is Bruce.” He pointed at his chest. Then his fin. “And I’m a shark.”

Dolphin snickered. The robot did not appear socially inclined. Spider-limbs dug into the lakebed as the mechanical menace continued its march to land.

“Alright, fight it is. Just remember,” Bruce wagged a finger, “I started polite.”

He charged.

Three steps later the first wicked wave chased him back, nipping his booted heels. Water surged, then the tide retreated. Bruce advanced. It returned.

Back and forth.

Bruce glared at the lake. The lake glared back.

The lake was winning.

Bruce’s chest heaved, “Don’t,” he scowled at the lake.

RoboSquid paused as if evaluating the spectacle.

Another swell of the terrifying tide.

Bruce grabbed the nearest granite bench and hurled it with a challenging roar. The slab shattered against the machine’s hull. Two more followed. He hadn’t consciously lifted them, but earth and stone listened to Bruce’s temperament.

Stone busted against metal.

Not a scratch. Not even a stagger. The robot’s march continued.

“Could’ve at least pretended that hurt,” Bruce muttered.

Darkness flooded his eyes.

Squid ink. Black.

Shark eyes.

With a frustrated harumph, he planted his boots and lifted both hands. The ground answered. Bedrock split beneath the manicured sand, three massive chunks wrenching free with a scream of torn earth. They hovered above him, obedient and heavy. Bruce twisted his wrist and flung them forward like fastballs.

They struck.

Clang.

Crack.

Thwoom.

The machine faltered, rocking back a step. Then resumed walking. Unharmed. Unbothered,

The shark’s face crinkled in an oafish glare. That should have worked.

The lake crashed again, spilling over his boots,

“Damnit, Bruce!” A rainbow blast seared RoboSquid’s hull, but only polished the grimy golden metal. “Shame on you, getting into trouble without your bestie!” Disco soared above the robot, his long periwinkle sherpa billowing in the wind.

Disco. Carter Bell. Criminally hot. Dark and bronze. Fellow Scraper and, yes, best friend.

Well, one of Bruce’s best friends.

“You invited her to the party?” The words dripped with venom as Disco glared at Dolphin, but his smile never faltered as he posed for her flying camera. The man fed on attention. His flamboyant Studio 54 look and the twin disco balls hanging from his neck screamed “Free Love.” A freedom Bruce envied.

“I didn’t invite any-”

Another volley of light blasts. More chrome cleaning.

“Honestly, Bruce. What am I supposed to do against an armored robot?”

“Don’t worry,” Bruce nodded. Determined. Fin adjusted. Fists clenched. “I got this!”

“Do you?” Disco’s exasperated eye roll gyrated his entire body.

Bruce stomped.

A stone column erupted beneath his feet, launching him upward, eye level with RoboSquid. The sudden height took his breath. The lake churned below and stretched too wide.

Ignore the water!

A quick snap of a mechanical tentacle shattered the pillar.

Bruce tumbled, racing towards watery doom!

A metal limb snatched Bruce, wrapping around his ankle.

RoboSquid dangled him for inspection. The hungry Great Lake awaited its prize as he swayed. His stomach dropped. It’s just water. It’s only a lake!

“Oh, hi!” Bruce waved, masking his fear. “Bet you couldn’t hear me earlier. Now that I have your attention, let’s start over. My name is Bru-”

The mechastrosity slammed him into the lake..

Smashed into icy cold death, Bruce screamed bubbles!

Muffled silence.

Air as he was hoisted skyward by the robot!

He could see Disco frantically blasting, Dolphin flapping her arms on the beach.

Swatted into the water again.

And again!

And again!!!

And again, in an endless brutal cycle. No more chances to breathe.

Then discarded. Tossed aside to skip across Lake Erie’s surface until he dropped like a stone. Swallowed by deafly darkness.

More muffled bubble screams.

Bruce could throw a tank. He could rip bedrock from the earth. Shatter or shape that same rock, bending it to his will. He boasted shark-nigh invulnerability.

He could not swim.

Lungs burned. Water filled his nose. His mouth. Invaded every orifice. His thoughts.

Water trumps earth, kiddo. Given time, it’ll tear down mountains. Maybe you need another demonstration!

That voice!!!

That cruel grating voice.

The water turned black. Black as Bruce’s shark eyes. And colder. Much colder.

Terrified, Bruce clawed and kicked, but his limbs failed. Instead, his body writhed with tremors. The earth felt his panic and broke.

Earthquake.

Cities closed their borders to Bruce due to his earthquakes. He had been jailed for earthquakes, hated, perhaps rightly so, because of earthquakes.

Stop it! Stop stop!

He couldn’t control it. He swallowed lake water.

Waves rose in violent swells that should not have existed on Lake Erie. Higher and higher. Tossing him to and fro as the earthquake intensified.

He couldn’t surface.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t-

Sun-kissed hands slid under his shoulders to scoop him out of the water. Calming rainbow light shimmered around him. “I’ve got you, Big B.” Disco’s silky voice murmured into his ear.

“Did you see it?” Bruce stammered. “Did you see the black water?”

“Nothing but boring old Lake Erie.” Disco’s aura intensified.

Bruce felt it. The soothing warm light reduced his panic to static. Screaming terror now a dull hum.

The quake ended.

Not exactly magic. Emotions were playthings for Disco. A skill he used too freely. Bruce didn’t mind so much when it put his panic attacks to rest.

“Thought I had it,” he scowled at the wreckage of Hero Park. “Looks like I made a mess of things,”

Sand collapsed to fill craters and fissures. Uneven dunes remained. The parking lot and bike trail were shredded into broken rubble. Bruce’s gopher trail zigzagged across the once manicured beach. RoboSquid had toppled face down onto the beach. Its tentacle spider arms struggled to get itself upright, its movements jerky from destabilized ground.

“Hmph!” Disco scoffed. “It’s a good thing you’re so damn pretty. Otherwise, I’d have let you drown. Still might throw you back, but I need you to finish off the giant robot.”

“Aww, Carter. You wouldn’t throw me back into the water,” Bruce wiggled in Disco’s grasp as they flew to the shore. “Would you?”

“Maybe not if you sleep with me.”

“Hey!” Bruce glowered. “You know sharks don’t-”

“Forget it,” Disco smiled with a rainbow twinkle in his eye. Bruce's thought forgotten. The offense forgiven. “Let’s put those muscles to work, Tiger Shark.” Disco tossed Bruce onto the beach. “Go smash the metal squid… spider… thing!”

Bruce crashed onto the sand, landing in a roll. Picking himself up, he whipped his face with the back of his hand. His shark fin hung limp against his temple, waterlogged and pathetic. He peeled it off and tucked it into his belt.

“Oh, my God!” Dolphin ran up to him, her face full of worry. Goggles and pillbox hat askew. “You okay, hon?”

“Sharks are never not okay,” Bruce brushed wet sand from his vest.

Dolphin’s head nodded, her mouth made an “O.”

“Licensed or not, you boys need my help. Otherwise, that thing is getting up and marching inland.” She rummaged through her pink satchel to produce a pink metal disc. “The Bureau of Metahuman Affairs can kiss my ass!”

The machine rose.

Before Bruce could move, Dolphin frisbeed her disc through the air. It spun with a mechanical whine and clung to the robot’s hull, locking into place with a magnetic click.

Then it shrieked.

Blue electric discharge pulsed through RoboSquid’s body as it convulsed. Metal tentacles quivered, flailed, and buckled.

Bruce didn’t hesitate.

He pummeled the metal cranium with joyous frenzy. Each impact, each clang, reverberated through his fist as he hit harder. Harder.

Restraint. Scrap Pile training demanded it. Bruce adored his teammates -his family. Restraint felt like shackles. No need for shackles against this robotic monster.

And… nothing but a few new dents. Satisfying but ineffective.

His nostrils flared. A disgruntled hmph!

Then he knelt and pounded the ground with a fist.

Once more, the earth obeyed.

The beach stirred. An enormous stone shape erupted in a violent explosion of sand. Not a pillar this time, not clumps of debris.

A head. Massive. Angular. A shark head made of bedrock and compressed stone breached the sand and clamped its jaws around RoboSquid. It thrashed. It crunched. Rock groaned. Metal screamed.

The stone jaws tightened, grinding against tarnished gold plating. RoboSquid’s useless limbs spasmed. The shark jaws crushed inward in a final crunch that split a section of the machine’s hull. Steam and noxious violet smoke billowed from the wound.

Bruce tore the loose plate free with both hands and tossed it aside.

Inside circuitry pulsed, organic in places. Cables braided with muscle fibers wrapped around a dark core.

Disco hovered behind Bruce, eyes narrowed, “Step back.”

Bruce did.

A heated prismatic beam lanced the cavity, warping metal, smoking technorganic flesh. The interior writhed… then stilled,

RoboSquid collapsed dead in the sand with a final, defeated groan.

Hero Park and The Great Lake were still.

Police sirens warbled in the distance.

Dolphin whooped and launched herself at Bruce, nearly knocking him over, “You absolute disaster!” she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “That was incredible!” She kissed him on the cheek,

Bruce flinched, stunned by the intimate contact.

“You’re both impossible,” Disco landed, shaking water from his sleeves with exaggerated annoyance. “This jacket is dry clean only, and my hair is a mess!”

His dyed periwinkle hair was indeed kerfluffled.

“Bruce, I left you alone for twenty minutes!” Disco scolded.

“It was twenty long minutes that I was left unsupervised.”   Rice grinned. He wasn’t without his own charm,

“Twenty fucking minutes and you answered a BMA Com Call!”

“I was bored,” Bruce winced.

“You’re not authorized to answer com calls. You’re not authorized for solo missions.”

“That’s why I answered as the Scrap Pile.” Bruce tried grinning again. More teeth this time. “The Bureau doesn’t know that the rest of the team is in Seattle.”

“Bruce, I am your friend. The best one you’ve got,” Disco shot an evil eye at Dolphin. “I am always on your side.”

Bruce gulped. This wasn’t going to be good. It stung because Disco was usually the one dragging him into chaos.

“You’ve had the freedom of your own place for what? Five? Six months? After years of living in the Scrap Piles’ basement, no more house arrest! No GPS ankle monitor. You can’t do this!” Disco dramatically waved his hand.

Bruce looked at the wreckage again. Torn beach. Dead robot smoldering in the surf. The parking lot busted into parking rubble. “What happens to me if you go back to jail? I couldn’t live with the boredom.”

“Let’s not fight, boys!” Dolphin squeezed between them, arms around both their waists, pressing her body close to Bruce. “Why don’t we celebrate our victory? We stopped the mechanical menace from… doing whatever it was going to do. I’m sure it was something bad.”

“Obviously,” Disco snorted.

Bruce scratched his head,

“The BMA can clean up the mess, while we hang out at Dambino’s,” she offered, releasing Disco to loosen sand from her corset. “Pizza and beer on me!”

Disco opened his mouth to answer, but Bruce cut him off. “Sounds fun. Rain check for tomorrow? I’ve got plans.” He bent over to pick up a fist-sized opal of evil that had fallen to the ground. He should collect a few. They’d make wicked sculptures. ”Besides, I’m in the mood for Mexican.”

“Since when do you refuse pizz- Plans?!?” Disco shrieked. “You don’t make plans! Why wasn’t I included?” His demeanor darkened.

Dolphin grabbed him by his mirrored disco balls necklace and pulled. Hard. “I think he means plaaans, Sparkle Pants!”

They looked at one another. Betty facing off against Veronica.

Then Disco and Dolphin turned to Bruce.

“With who?!?”

 

 

 

 

Five Weeks Ago

Sisters of Mercy Nursing Home (Formally Orfanto Casa de Sombras)

Tampa, Florida

 

“Bruce Brody? Quinton Bruce Brody?” A thin sneer tugged at the old nun’s lips as she stirred her coffee.

The Mother Judith Castello already regretted not turning her guest away.

“Yes. Bruce was once a ward of de Sombras. But how exactly did you unearth that nugget of history?”

Only the wind answered.

A deafening crack of thunder shook the building, jolting the Mother Superior and sloshing a bit of drink onto her desk.

Damn storm.

Heavy rain hammered the window.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Rat-a-tap.Tap-tap.

So much for Tampa’s dry season.

“Orfanto Casa de Sombras closed its doors fifteen years ago. The court records were sealed.” She dabbed spilt java with a napkin at her guest. “I don’t need to tell you a damn thing!”

Silence.

Her finger twitched.

“Then again,” she sighed. “Why the Hell not?”

Another sip of weak swill, anything to avoid her visitor’s gaze.

“The Diocese blessed de Sombras as group home for orphans.” Her mouth curled bitterly. “We gave them a freak show. Only a handful of our children passed for human.”

Thunder boomed again, rattling the old nursing home.

“Abominations, every last one of them.”

Her cup needed more bourbon. Less coffee.

One shot or two?

Across the desk, her visitor raised a sculpted eyebrow, clearly eager for the story.

Judith reached into her desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of Maker’s Mark 46, and poured generously into her mug. She set the bottle down with a hard thump.

“Sure you won’t have any?”

Now her guest smiled.

Thunder cracked overhead.

The wind seemed to laugh.

We-woooo… was-ha-ha-ha….

“Father Matthews was the administrator of de Sombras as Administrator. He used his family’s wealth and influence to have me promoted to Mother Superior so we could run the house together. Father and Mother.”

She stared into her drink.

“He found Bruce abandoned on our front steps. Another anonymous and unwanted donation for our already overcrowded menagerie.”

Her visitor’s attention wandered to a stone shark nested on the wooden shelves. It was an odd little thing with four stubby legs and oversized fins. Childish. Clumsy. Somehow molded from rose quarts, not clay.

“He loved that boy.”

Judith gestured around the room.

“This used to be his office. It hasn’t changed much. Same shelves. Same books.” A pair of old boxing gloves mounted on a trophy plaque.

Her guest’s gaze shifted again, this time to a large mirror hanging besides the bookcase.

A hideous thing.

Gaudy.

Its ornate gold frame studded with black opals.

Judith never looked at her reflection in that mirror.

Never.

In the looking glass, heavy storm clouds rolled past the window behind her.

Something else stirred in the mirror as well. Something that wasn’t in the room.

“Back then, Galen was a good man.” She sipped her bourbon. “Bad priest… but a good man.”

A wistful smile touched her lips.

“A desirable man.”

The wind moaned through the old building.

We-wooooo…ohhhh, Judas...

Then laughter.

Hahahahahahahaha.

 

 

 

Twenty-Three Years Ago

Orfanto Casa de Sombras

 

“Galen, what in the Hell is all this noise? The vermin will never get to sleep!”

Mother Judith stormed into the office that would one day be hers.

Then she stopped cold.

Father Galen Matthews sat behind his desk, a screaming infant dropped over his broad shoulder. Blank forms lay scattered before him..

“Shh!” he cooed the baby. “Ignore the cranky nun, Little One. She’s been sober an entire week.”

The bear of a man winked at Judith.

Damn his charm.

“Another one?” Judith threw up her hands. “We can’t take in more of these creatures! Tell your contact at Spartek the inn is full.”

“If we are running out of room, I will raise the money to build another wing.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “And perhaps you can recruit a few more beautiful young sisters to join your order.”

The hunger in that smile!

His appetites knew no end.

Judith would never be enough.

“Our compassion is needed, Judith.” Matthews gently bounced the baby. “These children aren’t creatures. He’s not a creature. The Diocese entrusted us with-”

“I know our Holy Directive!” Judith fixed him with The Glare. “And I know exactly what your family paid for.”

Her cheeks flushed with anger.

“Space isn’t our only problem. Too any people are asking questions! Hiding these monsters in plane sight is as stupid as the experiment that created them.” She jabbed a finger at his desk. “Splicing metahuman and animal DNA! For what purpose?”

Father Matthews didn’t answer.

He simply patted the infant’s back and rocked his squeaky chair.

Such a gentle, patient man.

Even with her.

“How old do you think he is?” Matthews asked, holding out the baby. “Eight months?”

Judith reluctantly took the child.

The infant screamed even louder.

“Eight months sounds right,” Judith agreed, grabbing a baby wipe from the desk, cleaning the infant’s dirty face.

“A June Baby. Perfect!” Matthews grabbed a pen and scribbled on a birth certificate. “June twentieth.”

She grimaced, while struggling with the fussy baby.

“Dare I ask? What’s so special about June twentieth?”

“The 1975 premiere of Jaws.”

That earned him a groan and an eye roll.

 You call this place a zoo. We already have bears, pigs, rats, lizards, and giraffes. Time to add a shark.”

“You and your damn movies,” she adjusted the crying baby in her arms. “What am I supposed to name a shark?”

Judith named most children of de Sombras.

Usually cruel names.

They amused her.

“Bruce, of course,” Matthews continued writing. “Quinton Bruce Brody!”

She sighed, shaking her head in pity for the infant.

“I get it. Captain Quint. Chief Brody. But Bruce? That’s a rather unfortunate name.”

 A second wipe revealed more of them child’s face.

“Bruce was the mechanical shark used in the film. It’s been a shark name ever since.”

Judith studied the infant.

He would not stop crying,

Did the house just shake?

“He’s different from the others,” she said, softly.

“We have other children that pass for human.”

“He’s filthy,” she muttered, whipping away another streak of dirt. “Neglected. Uncared for.”

 The closer she held him, the harder he cried.

“I don’t think he’s ever known a kind touch.”

“That changes tonight.”

 Matthews reached out and took the baby back. “I’m going to bathe and feed him. Maybe then he’ll settle down.”

He lifted the child into the air and smiled with unmistakable pride.

“Look at him, Judith. He’s beautiful. Perfect!”

“Ugly!”

The tiny voice came from the doorway.

Three-year-old Eddie Izzario stood there.

The lizard boy.

Poor Eddie with green scales, red eyes, and permanent snarl.

Hideous. Unlovable

He pointed a clawed finger at Bruce.

“He’s ugly.”

 

 

 

Eight Years Later…

 

“I’m gonna break your freak face, Brody!”

 Bruce’s head snapped to the side with Eddie the Lizard’s punch.

“Stupid fake ass shark!”

Eddie’s blow didn’t hurt. Not much anyway.

The words stung.

Two of Eddie’s cronies held Bruce’s arms while their leader worked him over.  Brice let them.

He wanted to fight back. Wanted to stand up to bullies and be a hero like Mz. Patriot in Beta City.

But bad things happened when he fought. So, he held his clenched fists.

“Go sunbathe on a rock” Bruce shot back. “I’m more shark than you are lizard!”

Not that he ever held his tongue.

Sister Judith had warned him not to antagonize Eddie. It only fueled their feud.

Bruce never listened.

Eddie sneered and turned toward the small pink quartz shark Bruce had been playing with before the ambush.

“Say goodbye to your stupid gay fish toy!”

He lifted his foot.

The statuette slid out of the way. Then it zipped across the dirt and disappeared into to the safety of the tool shed.

Bruce grinned.

Eddie’s forked tongue flicked in and out.

“I’ll pierce his faggoty ear!” Ricky Rattoolie crackled.

 The rat boy leaned forward and bit Bruce’s ear.

“Hey!”

Ricky tugged at it like jerky.

          “Gross!” Eddie barked. “Don’t bite the queer,” Eddie sneered. “You don’t know where he’s been! You might catch a shark disease.”

          Ricky gagged and spat but kept hold of Bruce’s arm.

A hoofed foot slammed into Bruce’s knee.

Peter Holstein glared, his blotched face twisted in anger. Tiny horns wiggled atop his head.

Bruce actually liked lanky Pete.

Unfortunately, he’d once called the giraffe hybrid a tree cow. The moniker stuck.

Bruce supposed he deserved the kick.

Eddie punched him in the stomach.

“Say something, Shark Boy!”

“Ouch?” Bruce said. “Try hitting harder. Or put yourself and your Garanimals in a time out.”

Another punch. This this one landed square on his nose.

“That’s for talking.”

“Kick his shark butt!” Roosie shouted, hopping excitedly.

A crowd of their half-animal brothers and sisters gathered around them to witness the scuffle.

They were cheering for Eddie.

Ricky and Pete tightened their grip.

"Bet this hurts!"

 Eddie bent down and picked up a tire iron lying in the dirt.

Bruce swallowed.

He meant to put the tools away when when Father Matthews asked.

Apparently, procrastination could be dangerous.

Eddie approached, lazily patting the hooked end of the iron against his palm.

Bruce was tougher than most kids. But he’d never been hit with a crowbar.

He expected it to hurt. A lot.

Eddie closed in.

“Leave him alone, creepoid!”

A taller, dark-skinned boy shoved Eddie aside, knocking him to the ground.

“Matteo, no!” Bruce struggled against the others. “I can handle Eddie!”

Bruce was sweet on Matteo. As big of a crush as any boy his age could have. He wasn’t nearly smart enough to hide it. Still, they were friends.

Sort of.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and swung the tire iron. The metal cracked against Matteo’s leg.

Mateo cried out and jumped to one knee.

Then Eddie jumped.

The tire iron came down again. This time it struck Mateo’s head. The sound was sickening.

Mateo collapsed. Blood spread beneath him. He did not move.

The spectators scattered.

"Eddie, you slimy scumbag!”

 Darkness flooded Bruce’s eyes, swallowing the whites and irises until there was nothing but black. Shark eyes.

The ground trembled.

Bruce ripped his arms free, tossing the Garanomals aside.  Ricky and Pete hit the dirt hard and scampered away.

Bruce launched himself at Eddie. The tire iron flew from the lizard boy’s hands.

“I’m the one you’re supposed to hit!” He punched Eddie in the face.

Bone cracked.

Bruce pinned Eddie to the ground. “You hit me!”

Another punch.

“If you have a problem with me-“

 Another.

“Then freaking hit-”

Another.

“Me!”

His vision blurred with tears of rage. Still, he kept swinging.

More cracks.

More cries.

“BRUCE!” A deep voice thundered across the playground.

A powerful hand caught Bruce’s arm mid-swing and lifted him into the air.

Father Matthews.

The priest grabbed him by the shoulders. “Bruce, stop!” Matthews shook the boy.

No. The entire playground was shaking.

Another earthquake.

“Bruce,” he shouted, “You’ll tear down the damn house!”

He had lost control. Again.

The tremor stopped.

The black in Bruce’s eyes melted away.

Then he broke. He buried his face into Father Matthew’s face and sobbed.

Behind them, Eddie the Lizard moaned in pain.

 

 

Later that evening…

 

          “What am I going to do with you, kiddo?”

          Bruce fidgeted in the oversized guest chair as Father Matthews tapped his favorite pen against the old wooden desk,

          The office was much the same as it had when Bruce arrived at de Sombras eight years ago- and how it would look when Mother Judith received her mysterious guest sixteen years from now, Heavy oak furniture. Crowded bookshelves. The smell of old papers, candle wax, and coffee.

          “I…” Bruce struggled with words. “I tried to avoid a fight, but Eddie-”

          “Let me worry about Eddie Izzario.” Matthews frowned. “I need you to learn to control Bruce Brody.”

          Swallowed by the enormous chair, Bruce hung his head. He wiped his tear-soaked eyes with his shirt collar for what felt like the millionth time today.

          “He hit Mateo.” He squeaked a weak protest.

“Fortunately, the doctors believe Matteo will recover… in time,” Father Matthews assured him.

“Eddie is going to be fine, too. His regenerative powers are incredible!” Matthews shook his head in amazement. “You could cut that boy’s head off and it would probably grow back. Not that he ever uses it.”

A tearful snicker escaped Bruce.

“You’re no better, young man!” the priest scolded though a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Bruce braced himself for another lecture about his studies.

Instead, Father Matthews reached into his desk and produced the quartz shark Bruce had sculpted this morning.

“I found this on the playground. Looks like your work.” He turned the childish statuette in his fingers. “Very nice. Do you mind if I keep it?”

Bruce shook his head.

Father Matthews liked his shark!

His heart swelled.

“We’ve been going about this all wrong,” Matthews said quietly. “I’ve hobbled you. Forced you to run from conflict because we’re afraid of your strength,” He stood and walked around the desk, carrying the shark toward the bookshelves.

As Matthews passed the grotesque wall mirror, he paused.

Bruce shivered.

The priest’s reflection stared at Bruce with a chilling hunger he’d never seen before- or understood.

“This is a sinister world,” Matthews said softly. “Dark and cruel. Don’t be ashamed of your power… or feelings. How you use them is what’s important.”

The reflection smiled.

Then licked its lips.

Packed as the shelves were, Matthews still found a place for the little shark. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

Bruce nodded.

Truthfully, he didn’t understand a word of it, but he was certain the thing in the mirror said something entirely different.

“To survive,” Matthews continued, “you’ll need to learn to temper your emotions. How to fight and when.”

He turned and gave Bruce a warm smile.

“Before I became a priest, I was quite the boxer. Could’ve gone professional.”  He pointed to a pair of warn trophy gloves on the far wall. “Called myself Kid Arraivus.”

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“I’ve decided to add a boxing night to our physical education curriculum. Let you boys burn off some steam in the ring. With proper supervision, nobody gets hurt, and you both might learn a thing or two.”

          “Boxing?” Bruce wasn’t sure about the sport, but he liked the idea of hitting Eddie.

          “Don’t worry. You’ll be a natural,” Matthews ruffled his hair. “I’ll even give you some private pointers to help you get an edge.”

          Bruce grinned.

“Now, go clean up for supper. Tonight is movie night!”

“Can we watch Jaws?” Bruce asked hopefully.

“No,” Matthews laughed. “You kids are still too young for that. Mother Judith would never forgive me if I spoiled next week’s trip to the Bay. I know how much you love to swim, you little fish!”

He stroked his beard.

“I thought we might watch the original black and white Atomic Space Shark. Is that sharky enough for you?”

“Yes!”

Bruce pumped his fist.

He wasn’t sure how much his brothers and sisters would enjoy a monster shark movie, but he didn’t care,

He hurried to the door, then suddenly and turned back.

“Thank you, Father!”

“Remember, Bruce,” Matthews winked. “You’re the shark. Be strong. Be brave, kiddo.”

He smiled.

“Be a shark!”

 

 

 

 

 

          The priest shook his head as Bruce bounded down the hall.

          He sat on the edge of his desk, toppling a forgotten cup of water.

          It splashed across papers and books.

          “Damn!”

          Father Matthews stared at the mess.

Clumsy oaf!

There wasn’t a towel nearby. No matter. Galen Matthews Arraivus was a man of many secrets.

He raised a hand and the spilt water shivered. Droplets slid across the desk, gathering into a floating sphere. As the water obeyed him, dark ink flooded his eyes until they became pools of solid black.

The orb rose and hovered above his finger.

Father Matthews was a mutant. Very few people knew that. Even fewer people knew his family name. Arraivus.

House Arraivus carried a legacy of power and wealth that stretched back generations. Criminal power. Mutant power. Greed. Cruelty,

Madness.

The Arraivus family had produced some truly legendary villains.

Even his brother, Antony -born without a single mutant gift- conducted himself like a glorified thug. A thug who accepted money to house genetic experiments in the orphanage he had established for Galen to oversee. A talentless thug that couldn’t remain faithful to anyone, especially his wife.

          Father Matthews was not like the rest of his family. Different, but not untouched by the “Arraivus Curse.”

He studied the gibbering globe resting on his finger. Only seconds ago, it had been ordinary tap water. Now it was something else.

His power tainted it.

The liquid had become dark and oily, its surfaced quivered with an unnatural life. Tiny ripples crossed it, as though something inside struggled to speak.

Perhaps, it was time to admit his own personal darkness.

With a tired sigh, he flicked his finger,

The polluted sphere sailed into the wastebasket with a wet splat.

Then he turned to the mirror.

The thing was an ugly family heirloom, one that had somehow become his because no one else wanted it. He would have into the river years ago if he knew everyone found its reflection disturbing.

The image staring back at him sneered. Its eyes black. Dead. Hungry.

Matthews froze.

The face in the mirror looked like his, but it wasn’t. The expression was so cruel. Hateful. Too eager.

That thing couldn’t be him.

Could it?

The mirror rippled.

A shiver ran through him.

For one terrible moment, he felt he could thrust his hand through that looking glass and seize that evil by the throat.

He stepped closer.

The mirror shimmered. It whispered. Not with words. With promises. Dark promises. Freedom. Indulging unholy desires he denied.

Bruce was such a lovely boy.

He raised a trembling hand to the glass. His fingertips stopped inches away.

Fear and longing knotted together inside him.

 “Not today,” he whispered.

The beast on the other side twisted with fury and rage. Its lips peeled back into a feral snarl.

Then it vanished.

“Not today,” he repeated more firmly

He lowered his hand and stepped away.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

But someday soon… he feared he might reach through that glass.

 

 

 

Present Day

Lightfoot Island YMCA

 

Bruce dangled his feet in the Pool of Death!

“Are you sure you want to try our children’s swim class again?” Miss Kaci’s plastic smile somehow conveyed pure disapproval as she planted a hand on curvy hips. “You’ve attempted the pollywog test four days in a row.”

Four wiggling fingers. One for each failure.

“Mister Brody. We can’t let you in the water without guardian supervision if you haven’t even ranked!”

Youthful giggles rippled through the class.

“I want -I need- the shark badge,” Bruce insisted. “Because I’m a shark.”

Grounded after the Hero Park debacle and left behind while the Scrap Pile went on mission in the Atlantic, Bruce had plenty of free time. Torpedo would never know if the shop opened late.

“Sorry, I don’t think that is going to happen,” Miss Kaci’s sympathy sounded painfully rehearsed. “I would remind you that we have an adult swim class, but I’m not sure the YMCA can help you. You’re just not a swimmer.”

          “But I’m ready!”

With far more confidence than sense, Bruce slid into the pool. Then immediately recoiled.

          The water was warm. Clear. Only four feet deep. The heavy smell of chlorine was nothing like the lake’s crisp petrichor or the salt of the ocean or the taint of-

          No! Don’t think about that!

          Forcing a brave smile, he splashed a little water against his chest. “Let me keep my floaties.”

          “You can wear floaties for the pollywog test… if you need them. The life jacket comes off.”

He complied, tossing the vest onto the pool deck. The shark emblazoned across his short-sleeve wetsuit provided little comfort. Neither did the shark-tooth necklace hanging around his neck.

A young African American boy ran up and tugged on Miss Kaci’s hand, tugging on her hand.

“I want to be Mister Brody’s partner. He’s big and he’s afraid of swimming, too!”

“Oh, God!” Miss Kaci groaned. “I do not need this.”

She knelt to meet the boy's eyes, “Issac, you need to pick a more skilled partner who can help you.”

“It’s Brody the Shark, or I ain’t getting’ in the damn pool!” Issac folded his arms defiantly.

Miss Kaci grimaced. “Your father will not be pleased with that language.”

Issac ignored her entirely and leaped into the water. Leaped into Bruce’s arms, actually.

Startled, Bruce still managed to catch him.

“I’m Issac!” the boy announced.

Bruce laughed. “My name is Bruce, and I’m-“

“A shark!” Issac shouted. “I heard.” He squinted suspiciously at Bruce’s face. “You don’t look like a shark,”

Bruce checked to make sure no one else was listening before lowering his voice. “I’m presenting.”

“Oh,” Issac nodded solemnly, pretending to understand exactly what that meant. “Are you really afraid of water?”

“Terrified.” Bruce admitted.

Oddly enough, he felt a little braver now that Issac needed his help.

“I‘m afraid I will drown,” Issac confessed.

Bruce swallowed, “I’m afraid someone will drown me.”

Issac considered that a moment before turning to Miss Kaci, “See? We good!”

“Lifeguards!” Miss Kaci called, “Keep an extra eye on these two.”

          They were not good.

Thirty minutes later, Bruce sat huddled on a bench as far from the pool as possible. Tightly wrapped in a beach towel and shivering from the nightmarish lesson.

The class had already moved on from the Pollywog Test to the Guppy rank, carefully avoiding the new man-sized hole in the pool’s tile and brick edging.

Crushed during Bruce’s escape.

That was going to be expensive.

His fifth attempt at the Tadpole Badge had failed spectacularly.

The first challenge had seemed easy enough. One at a time, the students were supposed to hold their heads under water until the count of five while keeping a hand on the pool’s edge.

          Frightened as he was, Bruce volunteered to go first. He wanted to put on a brave face for Issac.

          He also decided he was tall enough that he didn’t need to hold onto the pool’s side. Sharks don’t need to follow directions.

          He lifted his feet and dipped beneath the surface, intending to sink gently to the bottom. Instead, the floaties yanked him right back up. He tried jumping to let his weight carry him deeper.

          He never even started counting.

Water.

Air.

Water.

Air.

He lost his balance. Couldn’t tell which way was up.

Then he heard the voice.

It’s time we had a talk, kiddo. A long overdue lesson. Something I want to teach you. Yes… a good, long talk.

That was the last thing he remembered.

The panic had finally started to fade.

Apparently, he had launched himself out of the water without the trigger an earthquake. But he had taken a chunk of the pool with him.

          Issac trotted over, wrapped in a towel of his own.

"Oh, man!" he giggled. "You really are afraid of water."  

          Bruce rubbed the boy’s head. “Sorry I wasn’t a better partner.”

          “That’s crazy! You technically made it past five seconds, but Miss Kaci says you still didn’t pass.” 

Issac sat next to Bruce, kicking his feet.

“I earned my guppy patch!” he announced proudly. “But I’m through with the pool for the day. They can swim without me.”

“Congratulations,” Bruce offered him a fist bump and managed a weak smile.

“I’ve never seen a grown-up so scared.” Issac put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder “My dad says it’s okay to be afraid, but he’s always brave.”

“He sounds like a real hero,” Bruce stared at the floor. “I’m just a loser who’s afraid of water and other things. Adult things. You wouldn’t understand    Issac blinked thoughtfully. “Uhm…”

He tilted his head.

“Maybe you should try therapy.”

          Wahahahahahahaha… Ooh Bruuuuuce.

 

COMING SOONER THAN YOU THINK!

BRUCE'S BAD DAY CONTINUES. HE HAS RESISTED THE ADVANCES OF DISCO AND DOLPHIN. WHAT ABOUT THE CHARMS OF JAY RAMIREZ?

ISSUE TWO: THROWING THE SHARK A DOG