Bayani (Virtue)/Heritage
"Heritage"
May, 1990
Cambridge, MA
Renato "Ren" Angeles carefully tip-toed through his parents’ cluttered workshop while searching for his father. The space was secure despite looking as if a tornado had swept through; his parents were always collecting curious-looking relics and knick-knacks from their adventures. Ren was allowed to visit the workshop, but had strict instructions to exercise extreme caution when in the room. The last thing his parents wanted was to see their only child changed into a newt or transported to a shadow dimension. And while he was certain Mom and Dad wouldn’t *really* leave him in newt-form or by himself in a shadow dimension, Renato thought he would be better off heeding their advice. Still, that steam-powered robot looked awfully shiny… and it proved enough of a distraction for the young boy to miss his father standing directly in front of him.
“Oof!” the boy exhaled as he collided with his dad’s leg. He fell backwards and landed with a thud, rubbing his forehead ruefully. Renato squinted and looked up to see his father standing over him. “Whoa…”
Ren had never seen his dad in costume before, but Lawin had the sort of presence that made the red, white, blue and gold battle armor very regal.
“Hey there,” Lawin chuckled and regarded his son fondly. He stretched down, swooped Ren up with strong hands and “flew” Ren over to an empty stool by the high-tech workbench. Lawin removed his mask and mussed Ren’s hair, causing Ren to close his eyes tight and squirm a little. “None of that wide-eyed wonder stuff, kiddo. It’s just your old man under this ol’ suit.”
“It looks *awesome*. Where did you get it?” The hawk emblems gleamed under the fluorescent lighting.
“President Corazón Aquino gave it to me as a reward for serving the Philippines. It’s modeled after the Filipino flag. Do you know what the colors symbolize?”
Ren shook his head vigorously.
Lawin pointed at the white triangle and eight-ray sun on his shoulder. “The white triangle represents equality and fraternity. And the sun represents the Philippines itself. Each ray symbolizes one of the original eight provinces that rebelled against Spanish occupation.”
“The blue stands for truth, peace, and justice,” Lawin continued, pointing to the blue on his chest armor. “And the wing emblems are my own symbol, representing the bird of prey native to my country.”
“What does the red mean?”
“The red stands for patriotism and valor.”
Ren’s young features scrunched up in confusion and Lawin chuckled again.
“Valor, kiddo, is another word for bravery.”
“Cooooool. Do you think I’ll be able to wear that costume some day?” Ren looked up eagerly at his superhero dad. The stool under him bounced with a few squeaks across the dusty hard floor.
Lawin mussed his son’s hair again and gave him a tired, sad smile.
“I hope there will never be a day where you have to, Renato.I…I don’t want to see you go through the same hardship your mother and I go through.”
May, 2004
Paragon City
“Finally a bit of good news today as new costumed volunteers have been sighted trickling into Atlas Park and Galaxy City to register with the Federal Bureau of Super-powered Affairs. In an historical press conference last week, Statesman called for gifted men and women to come to Paragon City and stem the lawlessness that has been hindering reconstruction efforts. It appears that a new generation of heroes is stepping up to …”
Renato Angeles used the remote control to lower the volume on the television, then paused and glanced around at his parents’ workshop, which was now his. The room was brighter and cleaner than his parents had kept it. A week ago, Ren sorted through all the souvenirs, keeping the ones that meant the most to his parents and shipping the rest off to MAGI. His footsteps echoed softly through the room as Ren paced slowly between his mother’s alchemy lab and his father’s workbench. He felt comfortable in the red, form-fitting body-armor. Interwoven with impervium, the armor was both light and durable enough to withstand gunfire; Ren moved in it as easily as he did in a traditional gi. Still, he mused, it wasn’t as “awesome” as Lawin’s armor.
Ren stopped in front of the display case he had built into the eastern wall, his fingers brushing against the glass. His eyes glittered with same wide-eyed wonder he had fourteen years ago when he first saw his father’s armor. The classics never go out of style and while the suit in the case was only a replica, it still looked iconic. The original, along with its owner, was lost on the Rikti homeworld. His parents had joined Omega Team and sacrificed their lives in a dangerous, but ultimately successful gambit to end the Rikti invasion two years ago. Ren glimpsed left at the mannequin adorned with Weather Jinx’s trademark hat and witch’s robes, then to the right at Glimmer’s Hero Corps uniform. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the glass before heaving a deep sigh to regain his composure. Ren the turned and regarded the open ICON box on the workbench.
His determination and confidence grew with each step as he approached the box. Ren reached into it and pulled out a pair of gloves made from the same material as his body-armor. He admired the tailor’s design work; the red and yellow fire designs on the gloves matched the ones on his boots and trod that fine line between tasteful and ostentatious.
Satisfied with the fit of the gloves, he removed the final piece of his uniform from the box: a red jacket lined with a several more layers of impervium-woven padding. After laying the jacket out carefully on the smooth workbench, Ren examined the decal over the left breast: a yellow, eight-ray sun. It looked exactly like the sun on the Filipino flag and Ren made a note to commend the tailor’s expert work. Ren heard the workshop entrance’s sliding doors open with a soft “whoosh” behind him as he shrugged on the jacket and adjusted the sleeves.
“Interesting outfit, chief. Halloween already?” came a gruff voice behind him.
“Sensei,” responded Ren, who straightened up noticeably but did not turn around. He lifted a pair of sunglasses up to the light to inspect them and began cleaning the lenses.
Chuck “Red” Moran ambled over to the workbench and heaved his aching bones onto an empty stool across from Ren. He leaned in closer, curious to see what his young protégé was doing. “What’s with the sunglasses?”
“Eye protection made from polycarbonate. There’s a video camera and a Heads-Up Display built into them, linked wirelessly to this computer,” He explained matter-of-factly and he held up a black, pocket-sized device. “It’ll come in handy when I need tactical information on the fly.” Ren finished cleaning the lenses and began testing the computer’s functions. Red raised a bushy white eyebrow curiously, but did not speak. Minutes passed while Moran’s unspoken question hung in the air.
“Someone has to pick up where they left off,” Ren finally answered. Red’s gaze wandered over to his late comrade’s resplendent battle armor.
“He wouldn’t have approved,” Ren continued quietly. Without looking up, he knew sensei had seen Lawin’s costume in the display case. “Besides, if I wore his armor, I would forever be in his shadow.”
The martial arts master remained silent, his head bowed in quiet reflection. While his heart still ached from the loss of his best friend, Moran knew it was nothing compared to turmoil that haunted Renato since the end of the Rikti War. Red’s decades of martial arts training allowed him to use chi to perceive others on a spiritual level. Today, Moran used that power to “see” into Ren’s soul and confirmed what he already suspected. Lawin’s boy had courage and determination in spades and they burned with fiery passion in him.
“Red really is your color,” Moran murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nevermind,” Moran replied. He reached into his coat pocket for an envelope and slid it across the workbench. “You’re going to need this.”
Moran didn’t bother to wait for him to open it; his cane and footsteps echoed with a steady cadence as he made his way to the exit.
Ren pinned the envelope with two fingers and twirled it right-side up to examine the blue and gold embossed seal. It belonged to the Federal Bureau of Super-powered Affairs and inside the envelope, he found an identification card and instructions to report to Susan Davies of ELITE. Ren blinked and re-read the information.
“Really? Are you sure?” Ren asked aloud as he examined the card.
The cadence stopped and Moran’s cane rapped the floor in a brusque manner. Ren flinched as the taps thundered through the workshop. That meant he was serious.
“Hey, the clock’s tickin’. Get to work, Bayani.”
