Icebird Reborn

By Stoney M. Setzer

“If you’re watching this, then I’m sure you have a lot of questions I’m not there to answer.” In holographic form, Jerry Haas looked almost apologetic—almost.

“Yeah, Dad, you could say that,” Houston said. Despite all the high-tech equipment in the cavernous secret room, his attention was riveted on the contents of the locker in front of him. The items bequeathed to him by his late father. An infamous suit of light-blue body armor, complete with jetpack and a futuristic-looking pistol.

“Let’s start with the obvious,” Dad’s recording continued. “Yes, I was the Icebird. Yes, HaasTech developed all the equipment you see before you—the suit, the jetpack, and the freeze ray. And no, I didn’t start any of this until after your mother died.”

“No surprise there,” Houston muttered. Mom’s passing had not only marked the end of her days but also the end of what Dad had been. Once a real straight-arrow type, her loss had sent him off the deep end. He’d hit the bottle hard, thrown money around with abandon, and run around with countless women half his age.

And I guess now I can add costumed criminal—supervillain?—to the list.

“I wasn’t a criminal, not really,” Dad continued. “Think of it more as an assistant to criminals escaping arrest.”

“Because that’s so much better?” Even though Houston knew talking back to the hologram was pointless, he couldn’t help himself.

Jerry’s typical air of pride and self-justification had been captured on the recording. “They would commit crimes, usually major robberies, and just when it looked as if they might be caught and arrested, Icebird would swoop in and freeze the cops with my ray—that pistol you see there. It would put them in a state of cryogenic stasis for about three hours, plenty of time for the robbers to get away—in exchange for a cut of their loot, of course.” He chuckled. “Then, after every heist, HaasTech would reach out to the businesses that got hit and offer them advanced security protection. That way, I made money off both ends.”

Houston shook his head. Part of him despised what his father had become after his mom’s passing, but nothing underscored Jerry Haas’s transformation more than this. That he could have done all these things and still fallen victim to such a mundane demise as a heart attack made everything that much more surreal.

“And all my Icebird equipment is now yours, my son. As is my legacy.”

Then again, another part of Houston couldn’t help seeing an opportunity.

***

It took Houston a year before he felt comfortable enough with the Icebird gear to actually use it.

Soaring through the night sky, he zeroed in on Bixby’s Jewelry. The burglar alarm had gone off, and now he was racing to the scene. It was in the high-rent district, an area where the streets and the air seemed cleaner than in the rest of the city.

And in this moment, Houston felt less like a man about to change his destiny and more like a kid at Christmas, unsure of what might be under the tree. Anxiety was getting the better of him now, and he felt like he might vomit, which would be disastrous considering his entire head was covered by his helmet.

Below him, the robbers were just emerging from the jewelry store’s smashed window when three squad cars appeared, bathing the scene in arcing blue lights. “Freeze! Police!” one of the officers barked as they all jumped out, weapons drawn.

That’s your cue.

“What an ironic choice of words!” Houston shouted as he swooped in with his jetpack. It felt unnatural, but he needed to make an entrance, make his presence felt. Mission accomplished—puffs of frosty breath floated upward as all faces turned to him as he switched the jetpack to hover mode.

“Icebird! How?” one of the cops shouted. “It’s not possible!”

The criminals appeared equally astonished. “Icebird! He’s supposed to be dead!” shouted one.

“Do I look like a ghost to you?” Even though Houston knew the helmet was equipped to disguise his voice, he used the sneering inflection that Icebird was supposedly known for. All part of the character. He couldn’t tip his hand too soon.

“Perfect timing, Icebird!” one of the robbers shouted. “You wanna help us out here?”

“No! Then we’d have to cut him in!” the first one snapped. “Haven’t you heard how this works?”

“Would you rather have to split the loot with him or get arrested?” The second robber looked back up at Houston. “Come on, Icebird! Use your freeze ray and be done with it!”

Now.

“You asked for it.” Pivoting quickly, Houston turned his freeze ray on the robbers. Seconds later, they were in cryostasis, shocked expressions frozen on their faces. Though they looked no less astonished than the policemen.

“All right, officers,” Houston said. “You’ve got three hours to get them downtown before they thaw, but they won’t fit into the back of your squad car like that. You’ll probably need a truck or something.”

“But… I thought you were a criminal!” one of the cops stammered. “What gives?”

“I’m not the same Icebird. The first one really is deceased. I’m…” Houston started to tell them that he was the son of the original but quickly caught himself. That would be too much of a hint of his true identity. “…the new Icebird. Not out here to commit crime. I’m here to fight it.”

Take that, Dad.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stoney M. Setzer lives south of Atlanta, GA. He has a beautiful wife, three wonderful children, and one crazy dog, and he is also a diehard Atlanta Braves fan. He has written a trilogy of novels about small-town amateur sleuth Wesley Winter and a short story anthology entitled Zero Hour featuring Twilight Zone–like stories with Christian themes.

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