The Amazing Adventures of the Sensational Squirrelman

First Pulse-pounding Issue!

I… am the Sentinel! Fifty years ago, I was a test pilot. Abducted by aliens, I was experimented upon and given augmented senses, and now, I am witness to all that was, all that is, and all that could be! Now, let me relate to you the events that led to the world being saved by a simple accountant! Matt Mattheson was a normal teenager, but one day in Ditko Park he was witness to a battle of metahumans that changed him into… Squirrelman! But that was years ago, and now his fight against crime, injustice, and evil, has begun to wear heavily upon him. Nevertheless, while this tale starts in the middle of Squirrelman’s career, it is entitled…

Along came a Squirrel!

Matthew Mattheson woke up like he normally did these days, tired and sore and annoyed that he kept dreaming about being Squirrelman.

It was ridiculous. He wasn’t a superhero. He was an accountant. Superheroes only existed in comics, and Matthew hadn’t read one of those in years. He’d never really been big on the whole idea – they were sort of silly. Dressing up like goofs, wearing their underwear on the outside, those stupid catch phrases and popping off one-liners in the middle of beating up psychos in costumes just as ridiculous. He’d stopped reading comics when he was about ten or so. He had his stamp collection – it was real, at least, each stamp having an inherent artistic beauty as well as an intrinsic value, not reliant on the whims of collectors. After high school he’d started collecting coins, which had even more intrinsic value, and were just as beautiful artistically. Not like comics, which were of limited artistic value and filled with puerile simplistic stories. And the way the heroes ignored the laws of physics upset Matthew’s sense of a balanced universe. Human beings couldn’t run faster than the speed of light, bullets didn’t bounce off their chests, and they simply could not fly. It was impossible.

Tired and sore and annoyed at his escapist dreams, Matthew got up like he normally did, showered, shaved while listening to the morning news – a robbery in the South district, the mayor lying about doing something about street repair, the local baseball team doing as poorly as they ever did… the usual. He drank his coffee and ate his toast and scrambled eggs. He looked around at his orderly, clean apartment. It really said single normal mildly boring lower-income accountant – binders of stamps and coins in one neat bookcase, some non-fiction books on one smaller bookcase, squash gear in a bag by the front door, bike out on the balcony. A plant by the window needing water. A few photos of his family, his parents dead in a car accident while he was in university, his only living relatives an aunt in New York, her daughter a cousin he hadn’t seen since he was in college and she in high school. A couple of those inspirational posters, nature scenes mostly, hanging on the walls. If he had thought about it, he would have said he was happy. He was currently ‘between girlfriends’ – and had been for about a year. Mandy, the receptionist at work, kept trying to set him up with her single friends, but none of them had worked out beyond a couple dates.

He got dressed the way he normally did – white shirt, conservative tie, suit jacket and dress pants. His shoes needed a good polish, he made a mental note, but didn’t have time to do anything about it now, and he left his apartment at the usual time he normally left, headed down the street and noticed with some mild annoyance that he could see the bus coming – it was early today, and he’d have to run for it. So he ran, annoyed, and while he was running, he remembered the dream from last night, and was annoyed that the dream actually brought a little smile of amusement to his face – so he was running, running like Squirrelman, so what? That’s where the similarity ended. But it was kind of fun… and he was annoyed that he found it fun. Superheroes were limited to comic books and movies and television… there were no special effects in real life.

He ran for the bus and felt a peculiar kind of pressure, a tingle almost, a little unpleasant, inside him. He hoped the eggs he’d made had been cooked enough as he, panting, showed his bus pass to the driver who looked amused at having made the suit run. Squirrelman wouldn’t have put up with that, Matthew thought, then frowned and shook his head at himself. Enough about Squirrelman!

He rode to bus to his normal stop and headed into the office. He had been a corporate accountant for a couple of years after school, but he hadn’t liked being a number cruncher for the big corporations so he and his school buddy, Ron Richardson, has set up an office of their own. Business had been slow at first, but had picked up as they made a name for themselves and eventually they’d been able to hire Mandy, part-time at first, but gradually she had been needed so much as a receptionist that they’d hired their first full-time employee. Now, almost six years later, they had enough business to hire on three interns at tax time, and were looking at taking on a junior accountant next year.

“Hey hey, the prodigal son,” Ron’s voice greeted Matthew as he entered the office. Matthew rolled his eyes at the old joke – Mattheson, Richardson … back in school they had joked about opening an accounting office called Two Sons Accounting. The joke had evolved to include the Biblical tale, and whoever was late to class, and later, to work, was “the prodigal ‘son”.

“Morning Ron,” Matthew said, going to his desk and booting up the Adams file and cleaning the few stray sheets of paper on his tidy desk. Ron’s desk was the complete opposite – a mass of clutter that somehow never got cleaner or smaller, no matter how many late hours Ron put in. It didn’t stop Ron from being one of the most talented accountants, however, so Matthew suffered it in silence.

His tall, lanky partner walked out of the back room kitchenette they had, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. A concerned look crossed his good-natured face, and one eyebrow raised up quizzically.

“Rough night, partner?” Ron asked, handing Matthew a mug.

“I guess,” Matthew answered, sipping the strong coffee. Milk, no sugar, just the way he liked it. “Thanks.”

“Same dream again?” his partner asked again. A few months back Matthew had told Ron about the dreams, working late one night, and since then, Ron had been subtly pushing Matthew about it, even suggesting a couple of times that maybe Matthew should see a therapist.

Matthew tried to shrug it off. “It’s just a dream, Ron.”

“Sure,” Ron agreed, not wanting to push it. “Sure, partner.”

Ron went to his desk and booted up his own computer. They worked silently through the morning, Mandy fielding phone calls, handing them off to one partner or another as needed, and then around 11:30 she went out and got them all lunch. During lunch they discussed upgrading the computers and the ball game – Mandy was a huge fan, and was always crushed when they did badly – and Ron and Mandy got talking about a television show they watched that Matthew didn’t, so he turned back to his computer and went back to work. Matthew didn’t watch much television, except the news. Most of it was trash. He occasionally watched cop shows, but they turned into soap operas more often than not. In the end, he had his hobbies to keep him occupied, and since he had turned thirty he had been going to the gym three nights a week.

By five o’clock he and Ron had made enough headway on their various accounts that they were actually able to leave on time for a change. Ron suggested going out for a Happy Hour drink, since they could actually profit from it, rather than miss it, but Matthew was wiped from a bad night’s sleep and a full day’s work, se he declined and watched Ron and Mandy head off to the local watering hole, O’Malley’s.

Matthew headed for the bus stop and noticed to his annoyance once more that the bus was going to beat him to the stop. Although he was tired, he decided to run for it rather than miss it and wait another twenty minutes for the next one.

So he ran.

He felt a peculiar tingle in his stomach as he ran, and it quickly spread to the rest of his body. It was almost like a cramp, almost like the pins and needles of a foot going to sleep, and he stumbled a bit. He closed his eyes as he stumbled and when he opened his eyes he was on a rooftop again.

He almost tripped, but his body spasmed and he somersaulted involuntarily and was back on his feet in a flash.

“Squirrelly, c’mon!” a woman yelled at him, angry. He looked up and saw a redheaded woman, hair in pigtails tied with big blue bows, wearing a costume made of bicycle shorts, a tight t-shirt, boots and gloves, all in blue with white trim, a large dark blue bow nestled between her breasts. She was ahead of him on the roof and ran headlong for the edge and flipped off the edge, dropping down between the buildings.

I tripped and fell, Matthew thought. I tripped and fell and hit my head on something and now I’m dreaming I’m Squirrelman. Matthew shrugged. Well, as long as I’m unconscious, I might as well enjoy myself. The paramedics will wake me up soon.

Matthew ran toward the edge of the roof and jumped after the red-headed woman
(*Ragdoll*)
who was in the alley, beating up five huge guys
(*The Caper Crooks*)
dressed in striped black and white shirts, little black masks across their faces. They all had bags with dollar signs on them, and were swinging them at the woman
(*Ragdoll*)
who was ducking and dodging and getting between the crooks and making them hit each other with the heavy dollar sign bags.

“Now I know I’m dreaming,” Matthew muttered as he fell to the asphalt below, timing his fall so he landed heavily on one of the Crooks.

“About time you decided to join me,” Ragdoll sniped as she punched one of the Caper Crooks
(*Mugsy*)
in the gut. Mugsy let out a comical “Oooooff” noise and dropped his money bag.

“Jesus, Ragdoll, are you on the rag again?” Matthew quipped back, surprised at himself. He’d said the words, not like in the other dreams, he’d formed them in his mind, he’d actually said them, not felt some other will force the words through his mouth and lips.

Bruno swung the money bag at Matthew and he flipped out of the way, slashing with his claws at the bag. The heavy lead weights in the money bag fell out of the torn sack.

“Bite me, rodent,” Ragdoll answered, as Butch grabbed each of her wrists and spread her arms wide. She snarled and kicked out behind her and kind of folded in the middle of her back, her feet coming around over her shoulders and kicking Butch in the face. He was surprised enough to let go, and she fell onto her hands, doing a handstand as she kicked the big Caper Crook unconscious.

Matthew meanwhile had slammed Bruno into Mugsy and the pair of Crooks had gone down in a huge striped lump of would-be costumed criminal. Ragdoll ran straight for Matthew, who caught her foot and flipped her overhead in an obviously practised manoeuvre. Ragdoll flew overhead and landed hard on Slammer’s head, while Matthew flipped backwards away from Big Louie’s money bag as it was swung at his head. Matthew jumped up and grabbed the fire escape ladder and slammed it hard into Big Louie’s upturned face.

Matthew rode the ladder to the ground below.

“So… uh… “ he said, his brain thinking faster than he’d ever thought, filling with information he never had before, awhirl with thoughts and knowledge. How had he known the woman’s name? Or those of the Caper Crooks? Or any of this? He knew it was a dream, and in a dream people have knowledge of things they wouldn’t normally, but all this was a level of imagination Matthew had never possessed before. He seized on one fact that whirled through his head.

“Quadrupled jointed, huh? You must be a demon in the sack.”

He was suddenly glad he was wearing a full-face mask, because he was shocked at what he’d just said. He had never said anything like that to any one ever before in his life. But it was a dream, after all… now if those paramedics would just wake him up before he made a complete ass of himself.

Ragdoll flipped him the bird and sneered.

“Could you be any more of a prick? Jesus,” she answered. “Whatever. You can have the assist.”

“Assist?” Matthew said, confused.

Ragdoll stared at him defensively.

“What?” she sneered angrily. “Are you going to claim this collar?”

“Uh… no, no,” Matthew answered, not really understanding what she meant. “You claim it.”

She nodded curtly.

“Right. Anyhow.” She pulled out something pencil sized from her belt and spoke into it. “We need a black and white down by Theft Alley. Ragdoll claiming collar on the Caper Crooks, Squirrelman claiming the assist.”

The two crimefighters stood in silence for a bit, Ragdoll defensively crossing her arms and keeping her distance. Matthew stood around confused… normally the dream ended long before this. He waited patiently for the paramedics to wake him up.

Within a few minutes a flying car showed up, about minivan sized, painted black and white like a cop car. Two cops stepped out wearing full riot gear. One of the cops inside the flying paddy wagon kept a huge net gun trained on everyone in the alley. The two who had disembarked from the wagon said, in voices electronically distorted by their helmets, “Let’s see your licenses.”

Ragdoll pulled out a card and showed it to the cops at arm’s length. Matthew looked down at his costume and tried to see a hidden pocket. He patted himself and felt something vaguely card shaped in the small of his back, under his bushy tail. He slowly pulled it out and looked at it.

It was his Action City Costumed Crimefighter identity card. It had a small black circle on it, a bar code, and his name – Squirrelman – embossed on it.

“Come on, Squirrelly, activate it,” one of the cops said. Matthew looked at him, back at his card, and over to Ragdoll. A small hologram of Ragdoll was floating over her card. He looked down at her card and saw she was pressing the small black circle with her thumb. He did likewise, and a small grey hologram of Squirrelman floated over his card. He looked at the cops, smiling slightly.

The cop pointed an odd-shaped device at Matthew and Ragdoll and the device scanned the bar codes on their I.D. cards. He looked at the readout on the device and nodded to the two costumed crimefighters.

“Right,” he said. “We’ll take care of these losers.”

“Thanks boys, you have a good night now,” Ragdoll said, immediately pocketing her I.D. and starting up the fire escape. Matthew nodded to the cops and followed her up and back onto the roof.

“So…” Matthew said to Ragdoll’s back. “Now what?”

The redheaded crimefighter stopped and looked back at him.

“Now what, what?” she said.

“Now what do we do?”

“We don’t do anything,” she answered, sneering. “You go back to your turf, I go back to mine.”

“Oh…” Matthew said regretfully. “See ya.”

“Not if I see you first.”

“Do you have to be a complete bitch?”

“After what happened last time? Yes. Jackass.”

Without another word of explanation she headed off into the night.

Last time? Matthew thought, wondering what she meant.

(* A happy Ragdoll looked at him and grinned impishly, seductively, and they handed the two thieves they caught and the diamonds they’d stolen over to the cops, then ran off into the night, laughing, and found each other on the roof, hands grabbing at each other, reaching to pull apart their costumes, a frenzy of desire and lust, “Leave them on” she said as he pulled at his mask and hers, there on the rooftop, post-collar coitus, their cries of passion lost in the rumble of the elevated train*)

Matthew stumbled as the memory-flash hit him hard, memories that weren’t his. What the hell?

He felt a wave of dizzy nausea wash over him and he had to get home suddenly, just wanted to crash into his bed, and a path across the rooftops to his apartment (*flashed*) into his head, overwhelming him with information he’d never had before, dizzying him even more, and he stumbled across the rooftops and fire escapes and under the elevated train to his apartment, found the hidden switch that opened the skylight, slipped in to his place, and stumbled around in the dark, trying to find him bathroom. Without even turning on the light he pulled off the mask and threw up into the toilet, barely making it the dark and in his dizziness, and he reached up and got himself a glass of water, rinsed out his mouth and spit it into the toilet. He reached for the flush arm and couldn’t find it, but he was too dizzy to care so he stood up slowly and stumbled his way into the bedroom, crawling the last few feet, pulling off the shirt and outside underpants, kicking off the boots and detaching the padded tail, tossing it all on the floor as he passed out on his bed.