Portal

“Tonight, I will be airing my live interview with a Super that goes by the name “Portal”. I hope you’ll tune in tonight at nine PM for this once-in-a-lifetime event!”

I turned off the TV. Why had I agreed to do this?

It was customary for every new Super to give an interview with one of three different stations. GoldNews usually did interviews for the typical “Good Guys”. You know, The Metal Marvel, Captain Outside, and The Diamond Ring. Folks like that. The Silver Station tended to hold interviews and such for what narrow minded folks called “Villains”. Think more along the lines of The Loco Motive, Vermillion, and Envy. I had even seen some old recordings of the only interview done for Mysterious. Now that was a bad guy if I ever saw one. Totally out of touch with reality, but he got shit done. Wasn’t good shit, but he got it done.

I was going to be interviewed by neither of these prestigious stations. Instead, I was going to be interviewed by Stan Lankholme of The Iron News Network. It wasn’t a big station. Maybe ten or twelve unique shows, and all the rest were reruns that were so old they were public domain.

I sighed and slipped on my outfit. It was nothing special. Just a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a door silk-screened on it. Pretty cheap, and pretty simple. I didn’t have to worry overmuch about getting it repaired, so I could cut out tailoring costs. Those bastards would nickel and dime you to death.

No, just a custom t-shirt I could buy for fifteen bucks a pop with a silly door on it. Because that was my power, see? I could create doors. Anywhere. In anything.

Sounds dumb, doesn’t it?

See, I once thought so, too. Until one day, it wasn’t.

As I rode the bus to the news station, my mind worried at the questions Stan might ask. I began to write down some answers to the common questions that I could think of and had heard before.

A few moments later had me walking up to The Iron News Network building. It was depressingly small. Just a single story, gray, nondescript building on a somewhat busy street. You’d miss it if you didn’t know it was there.

I walked in, and a tired receptionist sat at the front desk, an unlit cigarette between her lips.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice rough from several years of smoking.

I tried to sound as polite as possible, which was difficult thanks to my nerves. “I’m here for an interview with Stan Lankholme, ma’am.”

“You’re his nine o’clock, then? What was your name? Purple Menace or something?”

“Portal, ma’am.” I shoved my fists into my pockets, doing my best to smile at her.

“Ah, yeah. That’s right. The doorman. Down the hall to your left, third door on the right. Can’t miss it. Good luck, kid.”

And with that, she ignored me and focused on her nails. I resisted the urge to create a door on the floor beneath her. She didn’t have to be so damn rude.

I walked down the aforementioned hall, counting the doors. Stan’s door had a window in it, and I could see him writing something down in a notepad. I knocked on his door.

“Who the fuck is it?! I told you that I’m not to be disturbed before an interview, dammit!”

Down the hall, I could hear the receptionist laughing. It cut off a moment later.

I called through the door, “Stan? It’s me. Portal? We have an interview in” -I checked my watch- “Three minutes?”

“Portal? Oh shit. Hang on, man. I’ll be right out, and we can go to the studio.”

I politely stepped back as I heard a few muffled curses and some papers being shoved into…something. A few seconds later, Stan emerged wearing a well-worn brown sportcoat and khaki slacks. He gestured down the hallway and I preceded him into what I assumed to be the studio.

It was…not. A webcam had been set up on a desk with an old laptop, with a pair of fairly decent microphones nearby. At least there was good lighting. Two chairs sat behind a folding card table upon which the microphones stood, their rainbow LED lights voobing.

Stan took a seat and I copied him. He pulled a remote out of a pocket on the inside of his coat and clicked a button. Instantly, the frantic man I had just met vanished, replaced with a smiling persona that was definitely not the guy that I had just met.

“Welcome to The Iron News Network! I’m Stan Lankholme, and with me is a very special guest, the new kid on the block, Portal!”

“Hello, Stan. I’m glad to be here.”

“And I’m glad to have you here, Portal. So! Tell me. Why the name Portal?”

A crooked smile crept across my face. “Because Doormat just sounds wrong, Stan.”

An unreadable look flashed across his face before he snorted a laugh. “That’s a good one. But seriously, what is it you can do?”

“I make doors, Stan.”

“Doors?”

“Yes, doors.”

Stan fumbled a moment. “Uh..O-okay. So, you make doors. What kinds?”

“Any kind. All kinds.” I started settling into the role of interviewee, feeling a little more comfortable.

“I think a demonstration would be in order.” He pressed a button on his remote, and the lights in the studio got brighter. “Would you all like to see that?”

I looked over at the laptop screen, and saw what appeared to be a chatroom, with text scrolling up at a rapid pace.

“I think our viewers want to see what you can do, Portal!” Stan gestured to the wall behind us.

“Are we broadcasting live right now?”

“Uh, well… yes. We are broadcasting onto our website and our TV station in real time. No phony cuts here at Iron News Network, baby!”

Excellent. Time to really introduce myself to the world.

“Okay. Try not to be too surprised, then.” I stood up and walked to the wall in the back and rapped on it with my knuckles. It was solid concrete, about ten inches thick. Perfect.

“Shouldn’t there be, I dunno, a door there before you knock?” Stan gave a mocking laugh, and I felt my irritation rise once more. I counted down from five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

A steel security door popped into existence on the wall. I heard Stan’s breathing momentarily stop as I opened it onto the alleyway behind the studio, startling a cat that had been scavenging through the trash.

I stood there, basking in the cool night air for a moment. I let the door close behind me with a solid thud and turned back to Stan.

“As I said, Stan. I make doors.”

“I see! That’s… useful, I suppose. Can you do anything else?”

“Nope. I just make doors.”

“Just…doors. Okay. That’s going to… Well, let’s face it, I thought your name meant something more like sci-fi portals or something.”

“Oh? You mean you were expecting something flashier? Something a bit more….interesting, perhaps?”

“Well, yeah. Look man, the chat is shrinking. And you know what that means. Fewer views. Less publicity. Less chance of you being picked by either The Hero’s Guild or The Dark Alliance.” Stan shrugged.

“What if I told you I wanted neither of those two?”

Stan stared at me. “Neither? You wanted to remain unaffiliated?”

“Not exactly.”

“You can’t possibly mean The Gray Cloud.”

“The very same.”

“They don’t exist, Portal. There’s been no evidence of their existence for over three hundred years. You should give that idea up.” Stan’s voice was sympathetic, but firm.

“You sure?” A pair of small, one foot by two foot doors appeared in the table. Stan scooted back a bit.

“What the…”

I opened one, which caused the other to follow suit. Sticking my hand into the one in front of me, I watched as it came out the other, waving to the camera. I pulled my hand back, shutting the door as I did so.

“Is that sufficiently flashy enough for you?”

Stan approached the table once more, hesitantly reaching for the door in front of him.

“Go ahead. It won’t bite.”

Slowly, he opened the small door and gasped as the one in front of me opened as well. He stuck his hand in and marveled at how it rose from the door in front of me.

“This is… this is incredible, folks. Think of the possibilities. Think of the…” he trailed off, slowly withdrawing his hand from the door.

I reached in and shut the door, causing the pair to disappear, leaving the table as it was beforehand.

“You were saying, Stan?”

“...potentials. Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m going to do something I’ve never done here. Please don’t think harshly of me, but I’m going to commercial.” He clicked a button and the camera went off, followed by the microphones.

“Yes?”

Stan began to point his finger at me, getting close and in my face. “Now you listen here, you little shit. I don’t know how you did that, and I don’t know what’s going on, but you better come clean, and come clean now.”

“Stan, I’d back up if I were you.”

“You think your little door trick is gonna scare me? I was there when my dad interviewed Mysterious, and there is nothing that you can do that-”

His tirade ended when his hand fell from his wrist, a door attached to both the end of his arm and the stump of his wrist. I glared into his face.

“You were saying, Stan?”

His remaining hand shook as he reached down and picked up the severed hand, turning it over and over.

“Did you just…?”

“Yep. I warned you.”

Stan swallowed and sat back in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“Do not, under any circumstance, open either door. If you do, you will bleed out.” Stan nodded, and I continued. “I can restore that, as long as you promise not to piss me off. Got it?”

He swallowed, a bead of cold sweat snaking its way down his temple. “No problem, Portal.”

“Line up the doors. That’s it. They’ll click together once they’re aligned. See? Now. Hold still.” With the two doors lined up, I removed them, leaving smooth, unblemished skin connecting his hand to his arm. He made a fist and flexed his fingers.

“No real damage. Not even any tingling. Amazing. You realize, of course, that neither the Guild nor the Alliance will want anything to do with you, yes?”

“I know. Like I said; I don’t want to be part of either of them. I’m no Paladin, nor am I a Lich. I’m somewhere between. I-”

Stan held up a hand, silencing me. His voice was calm, measured. “Let’s continue with the interview, shall we?”

I nodded, and Stan clicked a button once more, letting his persona shift back into his Peppy Interviewer mask.

“We’re back, ladies and gents, and boy do I have a- hang on. It seems one of you wishes to speak to us! Go ahead, caller!”

A couple of clicks and an unknown voice filtered through the speakers. “Hello, Portal. This is No-Face from the Dark Alliance.”

“Hello, No-Face. How can I help you?”

“Polite. Good, good. I’ll get right to it. Join us. You’ll never want for anything ever again.”

I stroked my chin in thought. “Tempting offer. May I think on it, No-Face?”

“Of course. Contact us no later than next Sunday. Goodbye, Portal.”

“Thank you, No-Face. I will be sure to do so.” There was a click, and then a dial tone.

“Wow! No-Face himself? That’s incredible, Portal! What will you do? Will you- What’s this? Another caller?” Stan clicked a couple of buttons. “Go ahead, caller!”

“Hello, Portal. This is Brighthawk. Your abilities will be quite useful to us in the Guild. We will give you the same timeframe Mr. No-Face has. You have until next Sunday to declare your allegiance. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Brighthawk. I will think on it and let you know.”

“Holy shit, Portal! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone get an offer from both the Guild and the Alliance before! So? What’ll you do?”

“Stan, I think I made-” For the third time, a ringing came over the speakers.

“Who the fuck is that?” Stan clicked the buttons again, and this time, static was all that could be heard.

“Hello? Caller? Caller? One moment while I look into this, folks. Excuse me.” Stan got up, muttering under his breath as he crossed to the laptop and began fiddling with some settings.

I sat there, drumming my fingers against the desk, when it suddenly became eerily quiet. I looked up and around, seeing nothing unusual, save for the fact that Stan had gone completely still.

“Portal. Come to the Mirleson Building tomorrow night at 7:45PM. We will pick you up. There is much to discuss, my friend.”

I nodded. “Will do.”

Sounds rushed back to me as I watched Stan fiddle with the computer a bit more. “Maybe this one? Ah! Yes. Most excellent. Hello? Caller?”

An excited voice, sounding much younger than anyone had a right to sound, came over the loudspeaker. “Omigawd! I saw that! I saw your hand go in that one door and out the other one! How did you do that, Mr. Portal? How did-”

“Yes, thank you, caller. I think we all know how superpowers work.” Turning his attention back to me, Stan smiled. “And I think the only question we have left is this one: Who will you choose?”

I shrugged. “Not sure. I’m gonna hafta weigh my options very carefully. I’ll be sure to let you know, Stan.”

“Well! I’m certain I speak for the rest of us when I say that I’m going to be watching you very closely, Portal. Very closely indeed.” He turned his attention back to the camera. “And with that, we will bid you goodnight! Stay safe out there, folks. For The Iron News Network, this is Stan Lankholme signing off.” A couple of clicks, and the camera and microphones went off. Stan shifted uneasily.

“So… Now what?” He unconsciously rubbed his wrist, his eyes nervously searching my face.

“Now? Now I go home and sleep. Maybe get some Chinese takeout on the way. Why?”

“Why? Why? Because you have a power that could upset the whole world, man!”

I shrugged. “So? If word gets out that I can do far more than I showed on camera, I know where to go and who to remove. Let them think I need to be able to see where I open a door. It’ll keep us both safe. Am I understood?”

Stan swallowed. “Yeah. I understand. Marge will give you your payment. Don’t…ah… Don’t come back, Portal. I don’t want you near me. No offense.” He raised both hands up.

“None taken, Stan. I’m used to that reaction. And Marge won’t be giving me anything. She left early for the night.”

“Left early? What do you… No. You didn’t.”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “She was unnecessarily rude to me when I walked in, and the way she treated you was disrespectful in the extreme. Besides, there’s absolutely no way to connect it to me.”

“I’ll make sure it’s known what you did, Portal. They’ll all know!”

I leaned in close to him, pitching my voice low. “Remember how I said “Let them think I need to be able to see where I open a door?” Stan?”

He shrank back before my glare. “Y-yes. What of it?”

“Imagine, if you will, that there is now a door that suddenly appears inside a part of your brain. It blocks the flow of information to a very important neural structure. Can you guess what that structure might be?”

The color drained from Stan’s face. He nodded slowly.

“Mm-hmm. You seem to understand, Stan. The effect is nearly immediate, and relatively painless, thankfully. I am not a cruel man. She felt nothing when it happened. Now. I am going to get my dinner, and then I am going to go home and to bed. Don’t even think about sending anyone after me. None of them will survive.”

I got up and walked out of the studio, passing Marge’s corpse on the way. She looked like she’d just had a stroke and died. Which, in all actuality, was medically true. It was just that the stroke had been induced rather than simply happening.

I caused a door to open in the wall, and walked through it, stepping out onto the back alleys of a street in San Francisco, nearly two thousand miles from my home. Dinner in Chinatown sounded like a treat.

Causing the door to disappear, I shoved my hands in my pockets, and walked down the street, hunting for a good restaurant.