Bank Heist: A Sovereignty Story

At 3:47pm, exactly on time, we began the mission, first shattering the front windows of the bank. Through the door strode a costumed man in a yellow and green suit with green leather-like wings, myself following right behind. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a robbery!" Thunder Dragon announced as he let loose a bolt of lightning that tore a hole through the lone bank security guard. "Everyone move over to the other wall and put your foreheads against it. You better be kissing that wall!" Without hesitation, everyone in the bank ran to the other side of the building, leaving just Thunder Dragon and I striding through the bank lobby, as well as the tellers still behind the counter. Two of them, as planned, easy enough to for both of us to watch along with the hostages.

Well, not all of the customers ran. One or two others in the room made a move to stop him, some lowly D-rank Supers who had been standing in line to cash their paycheck or pay off some loan. Luckily, we already predicted there might be a couple of Supers hiding amongst the crowd. The Mystic, our own A-rank psychic supervillain, blending in with the other hostages, covertly slowed their movements. If I needed to guess, some sort of illusion making them think they were moving faster than they actually were. I moved toward them, focusing my copy abilities to mimic Thunder Dragons's powers so that I could send a tazer through them both and knock them unconscious.

Instead, Thunder Dragon stepped between me and the other two men. In the next second, Thunder Dragon electrocuted both of them, killing them before their lifeless bodies could hit the cold linoleum floor. Then he laughed.

I glared as he walked over to the teller stand. "You didn't have to do that," I said. It wasn't that I opposed killing, I was a supervillain after all and it was part of the job we were getting paid to do. I just hated that he took so much pleasure in it. Our bosses at The Sovereignty understood too that supervillains needed to kill, that way we could maintain a sense of fear in the general population. The Sovereignty, a group of powerful corporate leaders just wanted to keep the world the way that it was without the Supers, especially those in The League, trying to go about changing that. Best to keep them fighting other supervillains than toppling dictatorial governments or oppressive regimes or corporations that didn't give full refunds, especially those which hold value to their business interests. After all, who knows what kinds of changes a single man with the power to control the weather, or a woman who could bring down the moon would make to the world.

"Hey," Thunder Dragon said, shoving one of the tellers hard into the wall, "fill up the bag. No funny business." He tossed the duffel bags over the counter.

I jumped over the counter and began filling my own bag. One of the tellers looked to me and I created a cluster of sparks in my hand, lightning forming around my arm. Terrified, he started shoveling money into the bag, hands shaking. Unlike his, I had fast hands, fast enough to finish clearing my register long before him and to move onto the next, unoccupied register. Fast enough to ensure that only two tellers would be the only two working today by slipping a laxative in a coffee cup or puncturing tires on a street-parked car. Fast enough to pocket several stacks of bills into my own pockets.

"We're done," I said, grabbing the full bags and jumping back over the counter. When I'd gotten next to Thunder Dragon I emptied my pockets onto the floor and whispered, "You brought this on yourself." I backed away, lightning formed in one hand. "What the fuck is this! Did you really think you could steal from us!" I paused, turning slightly to make sure some of the braver hostages turned their heads toward us. I could hear some of them whisper as they pointed and got others to turn as well.

"What the hell are you talking about!" Thunder Dragon shouted back at me, empty hands in the air. Then he saw the money on the floor and the lightning in my hand. "Hey, no, wait." Before he finished, I put a bolt through his chest, making sure he couldn't reveal my own deception. The murmuring from the previously silent crowd was practically deafening as they watched one supervillain kill his own teammate for stealing from them. That would definitely keep them afraid of us.

Then came a loud Boom! and plaster rained down upon me. "I guess there's no honor amongst thieves," said Captain Shield, his blue cape fluttering as he hovered down, stopping inches above the floor.

"Oh no, it's Captain Shield," I said, trying to convey as much worry in my voice as possible, but finding that hard to do as well. This was part of the plan too, after all.

In an instant, his superspeed put him right behind me, one of my arms retched behind my back. "Surrender evil-doer, you are under arrest."

"I surrender! Oh God, please don't hurt me!" I said, again loud enough for everyone in the bank to turn and watch the show I was about to put on. With my copying ability, I channeled The Mystic's psychic abilities and reached into Captain Shields mind to find what angered him the most. Then I prepared for the beating.

It came quicker than I expected. Suddenly, everything went white as I felt the weight of a sledgehammer hit me from behind, sending me flying into the far wall of the bank. Then I was flying again, lifted airborne to the roof before crashing into the desks below. I'd managed to tap into some of Captain Shields super-strength as he pummeled me across the bank interior for what felt like an eternity. Though stronger than usual, I could still feel the damage already done, and the blows he continued to rain down, though not lethal, were going to hurt and bruise.

Then came a voice from across the room. "Captain Shield, what are you doing?" she said, bringing the crowds' focus onto the Super thrashing a man who had already surrendered. "What are you doing?" she repeated, her voice on the verge of crying. A psychic wave of sadness and disappointment ebbed through the bank and I felt myself dropped onto the floor. I had to smile, just slightly, as The Mystic worked her powers onto the crowd.

"No, no, I'm not sure what came over me," Captain Shield stuttered. He backed away several paces as the crowd continued to stare. Then he took off through the roof, leaving them silent and agape. I lay still on the floor, bruised, battered, beaten. Inside, I laughed as the mission couldn't have gone any better. A couple nights in jail and then I would be out on bail. A supervillain crime requiring a superhero response would keep the Heroes too busy to change other parts of the world. Thunder Dragon, that psychopath, had been taken care of. I'd maintained that sense of fear of supervillains in the general population. Doubt had been sown within the people for putting too much trust in their own heroes. Mission accomplished.



So, it's been awhile since I've written a story for, well, various reasons. Anyway, the other night I was looking to get back into writing so I started scouring Reddit Writing Prompts just to start diving into something, and what do I find right there on the front page but the prompt: "Superpowers exist, but the world is still controlled by money. Business moguls, oil sheikhs, etc. employ the world's supers." And sure, I found a couple of other interesting prompts to write stories on, but this one immediately stuck out as it reminded me of the superhero story I keep finding myself coming back to, "The Sovereignty." Though I never got too far with that story, there were several stories that I wanted to tell within that universe. This one is close to one of those stories: the main character goes on a heist job with another supervillain, during which they would be confronted by a superhero, and the main character would kill the other villain he is supposed to be working with. Obviously, there are some differences too, such as the main character being so confident in his plan (in the original, he is new to supervillainy) and the hero he would confront would be more of an asshole. Well, either way, here's another story, maybe I'll actually return to The Sovereignty, hopefully it won't be months again until I start writing stories again.

Resurrection

I pressed the barrel hard to the back of his head. I switched the safety off. I pulled back the slide. I cocked back the hammer. Then, I took a breath. The stench of death filled my nostrils as the corpses around us began to enter the first stages of decay. The buzz of millions, maybe billions of flies began to fill the empty air, an unusual quiet for a city of just over a million people.

He laughed. "I was wondering how this would end, old friend?" he said, his arms spread wide, hands empty. On his knees and his back to me, he looked as harmless as a child. I just needed to remember that he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Just pull the trigger and be done with it, I thought to myself as my heart pounded with anticipation, that was the plan after all.

I took a glance around the battlefield: buildings destroyed, vehicles burning, and countless dead at our feet - monsters and civilians lying lifeless. They'd struck so quick, so precise, we were completely unprepared. So many heroes fell in the first moments, we had no time to formulate a plan, no time to regroup. Even now, I'm not sure what they were: aliens from another world; monsters from The Dark Beyond; an invading army from an alternate dimension. Whatever they were, I knew there was only one option for us to survive.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he said with his arms still spread, "after all, you're the one that asked for my help." I imagined the murderous smile on his face, not a drop of sweat despite the battle we'd just survived and my gun currently pressed to his head, all while wearing a long black trenchcoat he must've picked off of one of these unfortunate dead. Out of spite, I kicked at the top hat and the wand that lay at my feet. "After all, Saint Lazarus, you're the one that brought me back"

I thought back to that moment, with the world outside turning to hell as the creatures killed everything in their path. Back then, it wasn't silence, but screams that filled the air. Desperate I ran from the battle back to the office, past the reception area, past the meeting rooms, past the rows of desks and cubicles, to the very back of the office. To the mail room. I found Marty cowering behind a cabinet, shaking, though I couldn't tell if it was from fear or from the war just outside.

I stared at the man, nearly fifty years old, hair starting to thin, an old mustard stain on the blue polo shirt he wore untucked, though not from the lack of trying. This was insane, I thought as I started to walk away.

"Blaine, what the hell is going on?" said Marty as I heard him start to move behind me, "and what happened to your clothes?"

Turning, I saw that Marty had pulled himself off the ground and was staring that the holes, rips, and tears in my jacket, shirt, and pants. My clothes in tatters, I walked back to my desk and pulled out my suit from a locked cabinet, the suit of Saint Lazarus, the Immortal Man. "Marty, what if I told you I was a superhero. And what if I told you that out there me and all of the other heroes were fighting an enemy the likes we've never seen before. And what if I told you that you were our last hope?"

Marty stared at me. I could see on his face as his brain tried to process everything I just said and what was going on outside. "Blaine," he said finally, "you're a reporter."

"Yes, Marty," I said as I began to take off the remains of my business clothes and change into my costume, "I'm a reporter. And just like every reporter here at The Daily Post, I'm also a superhero. We're all superheroes. And though no one else wants to admit it, we need your help."

He stared again. "Am I a superhero?" he asked, a faint smile spreading on his face.

Geez, I thought, those psychics sure did a number on you, Marty. "No, Marty you're not a superhero. You're a mistake. My mistake," I said, hanging my head as I said those words. "You were powerful, you were dangerous, but we were friends."

"We are friends," Marty said with a smile. I smiled too, thinking about the years we'd spent at the Post, lunch in the breakroom, beers after work, watching football on the weekends with the boys.

"Yeah, we're friends, Marty," I said, "but a long, long time ago, we weren't. In fact, we were enemies. Mortal enemies. And when I finally caught you, I convinced them to wipe your memory instead of killing you. I said we could change you as long as you didn't remember. But now I need you back. Now we need you back. The thing is, I'm not sure if I can trust you."

"We are friends," Marty said, putting his arm on my shoulder. I shivered as the touch of his hand on my costume brought back memories, old memories. "You can trust me," he said, and looking into his face, I believed I could.

I nodded. "Okay, let's do this," I said and then began the password to unlock the prison our psychics had placed on his mind. Just as I finished the last word though, something smashed through the wall and exploded in our office, sending Marty deeper into the building and me tumbling twenty floors to the pavement.

It took a minute to pull myself back together. The chaos around me now consumed the entire city as just a few heroes remained and the invaders ranks grew ever larger. I picked up as many weapons as I could carry and started to make my way into the carnage when I heard the whistling. I stopped in my tracks, as did a number of the other heroes. The enemy paused too, briefly, confused as to why the enemy they'd been viciously fighting for the past half hour would suddenly be consumed by a fear they'd never seen before.

"It's the Murder Magician!" shouted Eagle-man as he flew as fast as he could out of the city, "Everyone get the fuck out of here, the Murder Magician's back!" And so they all ran: flyers, speedsters, teleporters, some of them even jumped into whatever working vehicles still remained and drove off. The enemy, however, focused their attention on the man striding out of The Daily Post, a man wearing a blue polo shirt with a mustard stain and the biggest smile I'd ever seen.

"It's going to be glorious," was all Marty said as he snapped his fingers and one of the enemy fell to the ground, dead. Pulling a finger out of his nose, he flicked away the booger and another enemy died. He pointed at another, and it died too. He motioned at one of those things hovering in the air, as if he was merely trying to shoo away a pigeon, and it fell out of the sky.

Finally figuring out what was happening, the enemy began their assault, but it was too late. The Murder Magician was back. I watched briefly as he dodged enemy attacks as if he were in his twenties again, his hands and fingers moving like a conductor, directing the demise of his enemies. It wasn't until one the enemy blasts tore a hole in my side that I remembered I was also part of the fight. I healed and launched my own attack, calmly walking amongst their ranks and putting bullets into anything that attacked me. And, as quickly as it had begun, we'd managed to kill them all.

With his back to me, I put one final bullet into Marty's leg, then ran as fast as I could before he could turn. His top hat hit the ground as he fell to his knees. Line of sight and a hand-motion, that's what we had determined his weaknesses to be. If I could control that, then he'd be vulnerable.

"So, was this really the plan?" Marty said, "Wake me up, have me clean up this mess and save the day, then kill me?"

"I can't risk you free again, Magician," I said, "this is the only solution." I looked at the dead and imagined them as the bodies he left in his wake the last time he walked these streets. Thousands dead in a month for no reason other than one man's amusement.

"I could've killed you at anytime, Blaine. I'm trusting you that you'll do the right thing. That we're still friends. But I still can still change my mind."

As if on cue, one of the creatures stirred and began to rise, the bullet I'd put in it not having found a lethal target. Before I could turn my gun on it though, it slumped forward, dead.

"My hands were always just for showmanship," Marty said, standing and turning despite my gun trained on his head. He shrugged off the coat, and I saw the mustard stain on his shirt, the murderous smile gone, replaced by the familiar one that used to laugh at my horrible jokes as we ate lunch together. I saw Marty. I dropped the gun. After all, we're friends.



 So this is something I haven't done in a while, write a story on the fly without any real preparation. As I was going through Reddit Writing Prompts last night, I saw one that caught my attention: "You have a choice. Pull the trigger, or walk away" and just decided to see if I could write a story out without any of the typical planning I do. It's one of the reasons I usually never have a story done on the same day a prompt comes out. Obviously, if you scrolled to the bottom already, you'd see that I cheated as this is based (sort of) in the same universe as "The Sovereignty" superhero universe. I didn't have a healer character (and I wouldn't name him "Saint Lazarus" but I was tired and when I Googled 'resurrection' his was one of the first to pop up), but I did have "The Murder Magician," a supervillain who could kill by just willing a person dead. And yes, I realized later that I'd actually stolen the same from Gerard Way's "Umbrella Academy" comic books (seriously, it took me forever to remember where I'd heard that name before to the point that I almost thought I'd come up with it on my own). As I was busy writing this before I went to sleep, I didn't have a lot of time, so I think the one part I definitely skipped on was the enemy. Without a lot of time, I just tried to pass it off as an enemy as vague as possible and hope no one would notice I provided absolutely no details regarding them. For the most part though, this is kind of how I imagined introducing this character. Letting him live, though, that I hadn't decided upon.

No Rest for the Wicked: A Sovereignty Story

I ran through the street, dodging and side-stepping every business suit and skirt out on a lunch break. Behind me, an epic battle between The League and the Chaos Carnival was being fought, explosions and crumbling buildings and all that other exciting stuff. I'd heard The Ringmaster even managed to resurrect both The Murder Magician and Big Lizzy, the Bearded Lady. It was all hands on deck for The League membership, which was the only reason I was allowed to work this job on my own. Honestly, I thought as I leapt clear over another hot dog cart while my cape fluttered in the wind, what kind of inconsiderate bastard robs a bank not only while the Heroes are already engaged, but at lunch time no less? I turned the corner and couldn't get my feet to move fast enough before I plowed into a trench coat.

"Sorry about that, citizen," I said, not taking the time to determine if the person in the coat was a man or woman, or even injured. I got to my feet and took off running, though noticeably a step or two slower and where I was going that was going to be a problem. My powers were starting to fade and I was still a block away from the bank. What I needed, unfortunately, was a quick boost.

I scanned the crowd ahead of me until I spotted a target. Immediately I broke from a jog to a flat-out sprint. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Most people are smart enough to get out of the way of a man in a mask and cape sprinting down the sidewalk. The nearest dove into bushes or stepped off the curb and into the street. The ones with more time pulled others out of my way. An old couple still up ahead began shuffling to the very edge of the sidewalk, maneuvering their walker and cane as quickly, but still carefully, as they possibly could to allow me to pass. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. The old couple was now lined up on just one section of the sidewalk, a clear path to the bank laid out in front of me. Ten feet. For a split second, as it always does, my mind flashed back to the day I became who I am - an eerie, red glow; a dozen voices chanting in unison; a woman's scream; the smell of blood clogging my nose. Most of all, I remembered the high-pitched, maniacal laughter and a horned face with red eyes and yellow fangs. In that moment I hesitated, nothing noticeable to the normal, human eye, but I knew, I felt it. Besides, my powers wouldn't work if I didn't. Then I stepped forward and shoved the old man. It happened fast enough that I saw it all before I sprinted passed them, but slow enough for my mind to capture it all, every single detail, another memory to haunt my thoughts. The story of my new life.

The old man flew backwards, his cane flying into the air. He went over his wife's walker, slamming into her with enough force to send the two of them airborne for a moment. Two sets of dentures as well as the cane landed on the grassy hill before they did. At least the sprinklers were running and the wet grass and mud might cushion their fall slightly, I hoped. And with that, my speed picked up again and I ran the rest of the way to the bank, the wind wiping a drop or two of water from under my eye.

The police had already set up a barricade and perimeter around the bank entrance. Unfortunately I didn't have time to stop and chat, risking the old couple's forcible sacrifice draining away. Instead I blew passed the perimeter of onlookers and cop cars and smashed through the bank's reinforced glass window and steel security gate. Glass and a few metal fragments scattered on the linoleum floor, as well as in my arms, shoulder, two in my side, and one in my cheek. I yanked out a couple pieces, letting my advanced healing take effect as I did a quick scan of the room. Several business desks on my left, teller line directly in front, and two dozen hostages sitting on the floor to my right. At my feet was a security guard, a fist-sized hole blown through his chest, still smoking but not bleeding. Kind of what I was expecting since the report was that this robber wielded some lightning abilities.

"Come on out, Sparky," I said, taking note of the confused look on the faces of some of the hostages.

In an instant, a bolt of lightning punched a hole in my stomach and knocked me to the ground. As I lay on my back on the cold floor with a sizzling hole in me, I heard footsteps scuff the tile floor. "The name is Thunder Dragon," Sparky said.

Slowly, I brought myself up into a sitting position, though I still didn't have the strength to point out the flaw in his name. That's when I noticed two very important things: One, the hole wasn't closing as quickly as it should, which meant that I used up too much of my powers breaking into the building. And two, the lightning-thrower was already charging up another bolt. I felt all my hair start to rise as a loud, crackling noise filled my ears. A big, murderous smile plastered itself on Sparky's face. Terror spread on the faces of the hostages. Stupid, I scolded myself as I forced myself to move. I wasn't going to get many chances to prove myself to The League, especially with my particular abilities and there was no way I was going to fail this mission. I reached behind my back and unholstered my trump card.

"Really?" he said with a mix of surprise and amusement as he looked upon the black handgun, "You're going to use a gun against me." And from where he was standing, a lightning bolt nearly complete and his opponent, wounded and on the floor, I could see where he would find this funny. Plus, in the time it would take for me to aim and shoot, he could unleash the bolt, vaporizing the bullet and whatever body part of mine that might also be in the way. It was a pretty stupid plan. Good thing the bullets weren't for him.

I pointed the gun and saw the demon's face again. Bang! One of the hostages hit the ground, a spray of blood from his arm. Bang! Another hostage turned over, a pool of red slowly spreading on his jeans. Bang! Bang! Bang! Three more hostages screamed, rolling in pain. And the demon laughed its maniacal laughter. And someplace deep, deep down, I was scared that I did too.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sparky shouted, staring at the injured hostages as the lightning bolt flickered momentarily. It's always a shock for those villain-types to see the Hero cause harm. It mostly surprised me that they would care after so casually taking lives of their own. The confusion in his eyes turned to fear as he saw the hole in my stomach start to close. "What the hell are you?"

I tossed the gun aside just as the hole in my stomach finished sealing, what would have taken an hour, now healing in seconds. Yep, my powers were back. "Let's just say, when you ask for Immortality, don't drop that first 'T'," I said with a smile. The next moment I was on my feet and sprinting toward Sparky. The lightning flew from his hands. I don't know exactly how fast lightning travels, but I do know that I was faster. I dodged, avoiding the bolt and continuing forward without missing a step. He fired again, a weaker bolt, but twice as fast as the last one. Still I was faster. A heartbeat later, I was on him. I paused. My thoughts quickly flashed back to the old couple on the street; the five hostages with bullet wounds; the faces of every single person I had to hurt to get to this place. Finally, the hooded woman and the knife in my hand. All of them, it was all their sacrifice that gave me this power. I smiled, wide. My fist swung and launched him high across the room, leaving a small crater in the wall before he fell hard to the floor.

I walked back to the hostages. Most of them had already escaped out the door. Several were helping apply pressure to the five gunshot wounds. One of them slapped me in the face.

"What the hell is your problem?" she screamed as her eyes looked from me to one of the men I'd shot in the leg and then back to me.

I sighed. "Call it a Satanic ritual gone wrong," I said. Still she looked unsatisfied with my answer, though to be fair, most people usually do. "Yellow Dress," I said nodding to the woman with the bullet in her arm, "Red Baseball Cap. Sunglasses. Sweat Stains." I looked at the man on the floor next to me holding a cloth to his leg. "And your boyfriend was Gray Jacket."

"He's my husband," the woman said quickly, "and what's that got to do with anything that just happened?"

I sighed again and I could hear the demon's laughter again. "I chose them as soon as got into the bank. The way my powers work, I need to do something wrong, something bad in order to.. well, you saw it first hand. Super strength and speed. Fast regeneration. It's all linked to that. Your husband and those other hostages, well, no offense, but they're all a little on the thicker side, if you know what I mean. I assumed that if anyone could take a bullet, it would be them. It's not as if I just rushed in here and shot 5 random people for power."

The woman stared at me in silence for a second. Two second. Five seconds. Her face changed from rage to confusion to a face I hadn't seen in a while, pity. "That's horrible. Doesn't it terrify you to know that in order for you to save people, you need to hurt someone else first?"

I shook my head and turned to leave. "No," I said and that was the truth. What terrified me is that one day I'm going to hurt someone not to save someone else, but because hurting people becomes who I am. After doing these horrible things everyday, one day knocking over old folks or maiming innocent people isn't going to be enough for me, and I know that. It's just going to be something I do because it's what I do and that scares me, that one day I'll need to do worse things than what I've done today to feed the demon and activate my powers. And one day, when the guilt doesn't come, when hurting becomes habit, the powers won't come but I won't be able to stop. And though no one ever said it, I knew that was the real reason The League never let me work alone.



So that took 2 weeks, but finally I've got a story. Last week, there was a Reddit writing prompt that went "You asked for Immortality, but you misspelled it and got Immorality" or something like that. Well, a while back, there was another prompt that was basically the same thing which acted as the bare bones for this story. I took the old story and, with some (a lot) of editing, I got this story. As for the superpower itself, well, I salvaged it from that Superhero mess called "The Sovereignty."  In the original storyline, I never got around to it, but the main character was supposed to meet a group of other super-people whose powers were supposed to be too powerful to use in public. One of those characters had an ability called "No rest for the wicked" and I was basically going to make him like Wolverine in terms of powers minus the adamantium skeleton. He was supposed to be hundreds of years old, doing one guilty deed was enough to keep him alive for one more day, but every day he needed to do something like push a child off his bike or flatten his neighbor's tire, just one thing a day to keep him alive. Anything more went to his abilities, and the guiltier he felt from the deed, the more power he would gain (which is why he was more powerful after shooting five people than when he shoved over the old couple). After all that, it seems like it would be a good character at least to revisit, maybe not within the whole Sovereignty context, but something else. I don't know. What I really wish I could do is take out that huge chunk at the end, maybe find a way to spread it out in the rest of the story. I was also going to splice in bits and pieces of the ritual and how he got his powers, but I couldn't find the appropriate parts to pause and throw in backstory. Yeah I guess that's it. Hopefully it won't take another two weeks. Maybe pictures next time. I like having at least one picture, it makes it look a little professional, like a book cover, though I suck at drawing, and it's not like I was going to find a bank hostage situation on demand just so I could get a picture. Meh, problems for future Alan.

The Sovereignty (part 6)

     I propped Blaine up against the far wall of the break room then ran back to lock the door. "That's not going to work," he said, barely loud enough for me to hear across the room. Hell, it would've been quiet in a monastery. I took a seat at the single, round table in the center of the room and tried my best to slow my breathing. I knew the door wouldn't hold for long. We needed a way out. In the corner of the room was a mop and bucket, nothing that would stand up to that psychic armor. Materialized imagination. Complete bullshit. And no way for Blaine's mind-control to get to him with that helmet.
    "Why'd you come back?" Blaine wheezed with every syllable, confirming the broken ribs theory. But he still asked, knowing how much pain every word caused as he uttered them. One of his arms held his side as he spoke. His ceramic mask was cracked and parts of it had already fallen off so I could see his bruised and swelling cheek. There was blood on his shirt and coat though I couldn't tell where the blood was coming from.
    I looked at my left arm, still hanging at my side and throbbing with pain. "Because you're an asshole." I paused and shook my head. "Why do you think I came back." I stared at the floor. I really should've just ran away. Now I was stuck hiding in the break room with a half-assed supervillain and the cops would probably be charging me with aiding and abetting if I got the chance to get out of here without being killed by the possible sociopath that the League sent. All because of Blaine. Would a friend force you to break your own arm? Would a friend put you in a possible life or death situation? Would a friend rob a bank you work at without telling you to at least take the day off?
     Blaine reached up, slowly, and took off the mask. Underneath, his face looked a lot worse than I thought: a mass of swelling and bruising and bleeding. That Red Armor guy had turned his face into a Picasso painting.
     But he was smiling. That fucking asshole. Reluctantly, I smiled back.
     "Come on out, little piggy's." One knock. Two knocks. The third felt like it shattered my eardrums as the sound echoed throughout the room. The force of it shook the shoddy cabinets and even shifted the table a couple inches. Have you ever felt shock? That moment when everything stands still and your body and brain aren't even sure what to comprehend, can't seem to figure out what just happened? Because I think that 's how the door must've felt. Hell, from the sound alone, I thought the door was going to fall off its hinges. Instead, it just stood there, steady. For about two seconds. Then it exploded. Splinters spread like shrapnel across the room: lodging into the cupboards, the table, and three in my legs and roughly a dozen in my arms.
     There he was, standing where the door just was a couple seconds ago. A thin red line ran across his forehead and down the side of his face and his red coat was slightly singed and ruffled. Pretty good for just getting blasted across the bank lobby with a bolt of lightning. "So, you fuckers think that was funny, huh." He cracked his knuckles and started forward.
      I fell off the chair and crawled on my ass back to the wall where I had leaned Blaine. I was up against the wall now, literally, praying that I might be able to just slide into it and disappear - either into the wall or even through it. Last resort time, I thought as I saw the red gauntlet start to materialize around his fist and forearm. "I think we all know that you've got us beat so let's just call the cops in here and we'll surrender." Better jail than dead, after all.
     He let out a laugh and brought his right arm back. I looked over at Blaine. He was either pretending to be asleep or he was unconscious. "Actually, I don't think anyone's gonna mind if we have a little fun together first." The red knuckleduster formed, perfectly as before, and he swung.
     Even as I threw my hands in front of my face out of fear (as if that would protect me from something that could vaporize a door) I couldn't take my eyes off of the gleaming red, shinning bright and bathing the room in the same glow. And, as I stared, my eyes began to burn. No, not my eyes, but that area just behind your eyes. A searing pain, like a migraine on steroids, traveling, no blazing like an avalanche of fire across the rest of my skull, my brain. I tried to shut my eyes, thinking it would help, but I couldn't get them to close. No, looking back, I think I just didn't want to close them, not with his fist so close. And just as it approached my outstretched hands, it appeared.
      It was red, too. The same tone and tint, identical. It was small, square, about the size of a quarter. Yet I couldn't see any of this from the other side of my hands, but I could feel it, sense it, just on the other side of my palms. Another wave of pain scorched my skull and the red square grew, doubled, tripled. It continued until it was twice the size of my hand.
     Then the fist connected. And it stopped.
     The fist - covered in the epitome of what every gauntlet dreams of growing up to be from the time the iron is first poured until the blacksmith pounds in the final details, that same gauntlet imagined into reality by a Super who could create weapons from merely his psychic thoughts - collided with the red square -  a red tile stolen right out of a checkerboard or from the toy store's colorfully-patterned floor, manifested through some unknown, almost deus ex machina means, while a scalding wave of pain burned over my brain - and it stopped.
     I stared at the two red objects, the gauntlet and the tile, frozen in the air. The gauntlet didn't advance and the tile didn't give an inch. I exhaled a little, but didn't dare drop the hands in front of my face. Red Coat's eyes were wide. Psychic armor was notoriously hard to stop. Strength only played a small factor in its power, the rest coming from its user's mental will and desire.
      His eyes narrowed and he released a roar that made me cringe, a roar that I would hear in my nightmares for the next month. Obviously he was mentally focused on crushing me. He strained his fist forward and I watched tiny fissures crack into the tile.
     I screamed. Not a yell or a shout of surprise. No, I'm not proud of it, but there's definitely no use lying about what it was. And as my voice hit notes I thought I'd lost after puberty, the space in front of me erupted.
    No heat or fire, just pure, concussive force. Tears ripped through the plaster walls like a chainsaw through thread. The glass cabinets exploded, raining shards everywhere. Though the force of the blast should've been enough to fly me through the wall, most of the energy went into a psychic wave that curled me into a ball on the ground, withering in pain as a brush fire engulfed my mind. Imagine the throbbing, constant pain of the worst migraine you've ever had. Introduce him to a ladle-full of wasabi and that scorching sensation she delivers as she moves from your mouth, through your nose, and eventually up behind your eyes. Now supervillain-style meld the two beings into a single creature with all of their abilities and none of the weaknesses and bathe it in a vat of radioactive goo until its power level increases so far that the overdose of Tylenol would not only kill you but you'll be the only person in the afterlife still asking God if he's got an aspirin. So yeah, I screamed again. Don't judge me.
     In a minute, the pain eased up just enough that I could open my eyes to a squint. Red Coat was already on all fours, panting, but starting to rise to his feet. I tried to move and instead felt like I was going to puke. I heard grunting. I coughed, phlegmy. I heard the sound of boots scuffing the floor. I rolled on the floor trying to stand, like an eighteen-year-old at his first college binge trying to right himself, and something stabbed me in the thigh. By the time I finally got to a seated position against the wall again Red Coat already managed to get to his feet and was standing over me.
     "I don't know what the fuck just happened, but I'm gonna beat you til my head stops pounding." With one hand, he grabbed my chin and steadied my head. The other hand reared back. His eyes tightened and the thin line of blood from his nose darkened slightly as he concentrated on what I assumed was the last of his energy into his fist. The red light of his psychic helmet flickered and dulled slightly as he focused more on the gauntlet. A faint red glow enveloped his hand. Unrefined, it looked more like he had pulled his hand out of a big blob of red Jell-O. In my daze, I reached into my pocket to find the source of the stabbings. Inside I felt tiny pieces of glass and some sort of grainy powder, like sand but slightly finer. My vision blurred slightly as I started to lean. I remembered Blaine, still against the wall next to near me, probably waiting and waiting for an opening to use his mind control once his helmet faltered. Red Coat yanked me back upright before I hit the ground. The sudden jerk sent another stabbing pain in my leg and I smiled. His fist flew forward.
     I smiled wider. "Fuck you." I pulled my hand from my pocket and flung the mixture of glass and black pepper into his face. It was enough. His fist stopped and the glowing red light surrounding his hand and head disappeared as he let out a series of sneezes.
     My vision blurred again and I started to slide to the floor but I didn't care. I only wish that I had said something more clever than just Fuck you. I'll work on that later. "Now, get him Blaine!" I shouted. Just before I blacked out, I managed to turn just slightly and saw Blaine sitting on the floor against the wall. He was unconscious.



As promised, part 6 of The Sovereignty within the week. Sorry, its a little longer than I would normally like these parts to be but, as you read, there really wasn't a part that I felt comfortable stopping at and leaving the rest for part 7 (I'm still not sure if they actually count as chapters so I'm not going to call them that). Besides, this finishes all that I have written and actually planned for the story. It has a lot more potential (I think, anyways) but I'm not sure yet how to continue the story. I've got a couple directions to go, but I've also got other stories I'd rather be working on. I will also have another post hopefully within a week as well (as I promised last time, the new format calls for a, non-fiction-story post).

The Sovereignty (part 5)

     Typically, one of the positives about being under mind-control is you don't have your own thoughts and, in my case, you don't feel your own pain. Not this time.
     I had just released my arm and turned to walk into the bank when it all came back at once. All of my senses. The slight breeze on my skin reminding me I was outside the bank. The glare of the setting sun blinding my eyes and the sirens piercing my eardrums. And there was my shoulder. All that pain, all at once. I dropped to my knees and reached for my shoulder. Dislocated. I tried my best to steady my breathing. Panic took my chest and raced my thoughts. My arm, my arm, how was I going to get it back in, why would Blaine do this, the pain, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Pain.
     Then it all stopped. Well, not completely, but it did dull as a new thought entered my mind, Why could I feel pain? Why could I feel at all? I looked up to the bank door but couldn't see much through the tinted glass and closed blinds. For all my senses to come back at once, it could only mean the connection was broken, forcibly. In the same way you don't just go unplugging random cords from a computer, you don't just disconnect from mind control or there's a chance you'll fuck up your victim, or worse, yourself.
     "Son, are you okay? Come down here, if you can," the guy with the megaphone said from behind the police barricade at the bottom of the steps.
     My senses blurred for a second, just long enough for me to hear Blaine's voice in my head. Just two words. "Help me."
     I blinked twice and then I could see clearly again. There was an officer crouched next to me, one arm around my shoulders and trying to help me to my feet.
     You would think it would take longer to decide to break the law and aid a criminal, especially one who not even five minutes ago, took over my body and forced me to break my own arm. A smart person would probably need to take some time to contemplate the decision and heal their wounds before taking on such a venture.
    Its too bad I was never known for making good decisions.
    Before he could steady himself next to me, I shoved the cop over and ran into the bank. The bank lobby was empty. All the hostages, the two security guards, even the two duffel bags of cash that were left at the teller windows, all of them gone.
     "Blaine!" I let my voice echo around the huge lobby before shouting again. "Blaine! Where the fuck are you?"
     I heard the solid, sturdy footsteps of steel-toed boots on the linoleum floor from the other side of a set of cubicles to my left as well as a familiar voice call out to me. "Ah, sounds like you've brought reinforcements."
    Wrong voice. The man stepped into view, his red coat billowing around his ankles. He still wore no shirt, allowing his abs to gleam in the florescent lighting. On his face, a black, racoon's eyes mask, worn seriously, as if it were actually meant to fool anyone. Over his head, however, a shining red helmet, like the old leather helmets football players used to wear back in the day, except it looked as if it were cut from gleaming red glass. Psychic armor.
     He paused, studying me before he spoke. "You know, you look familiar." He started forward and I could see a red glow beginning to emit from his fist, like the first spark of a campfire before it burns the whole forest down.
     I started backing away toward the door, muttering such a string of profanities under my breath so long I wasn't even sure it was in English anymore. Just before I got to the door, I tripped and landed hard on the tile floor. Now, I officially regretted my decision to come back.
     "Ah, the psychic," Red Coat said with a snap of his fingers. "Well, let's just consider this payback for last night. Oh, and before you try, just like your friend you'll find your mind control won't work on me with this baby sitting on my head." He pointed to his helmet with his empty hand while the gauntlet finished forming on his right.
     "Hey, asshole," called Blaine's voice. I couldn't see him from the floor, but I saw Red Coat turn toward the source of the voice and all I could think was what's the point of getting his attention and losing the element of surprise, you dumbass. Red Coat's jaw dropped and the gauntlet disappeared from his hand. He raised his left and a wall like a red pane of glass appeared in front of him. "Does it protect you from this?" A bolt of lightning struck the psychic shield and shattered it. Though the shield stopped a majority of the blast the force still sent him flying across the room, colliding hard twenty feet up the wall under the raised ceilings of the bank before crashing back down onto some brochure tables.
     A dull thud brought me out of shock and I walked around the corner to see Blaine staggered, holding onto a cubicle wall for support while the security guard who still had both arms lay on the floor at his feet. "We should get out of here before he wakes up. Or The League sends another super in here." He tried to stand on his own, but instead started sliding down the cubicle wall. I didn't catch him.
     "Where's the money?" His clothes were a mess, one sleeve of the coat torn and blood partially soaked the collar of his shirt. His green and red ceramic demon mask was cracked and parts of it were even chipped away, revealing bruises underneath.
      He laughed, painfully holding his side as he did. "He took it. Managed to get in, free the hostages, and take the cash while both of us were outside." He shook his head. "He got all of it." That part he said in barely a whisper. It would've been hard to hear if we were in a monastery.
     I looked at my arm, still dangling at my side. In all the excitement, I'd forgotten about the pain, but now it flooded back. "Why me? Why my arm?"
     He laughed again, even harder, knowing that every breath put more strain and more pain on what I assumed were broken ribs. "Because I knew you'd be the only one to forgive me."
     I started at him. Because I'd forgive him, he said, what the fuck did that mean? Well, I did come back, even when the mind control broke. I did come back to see what was happening. And I was going to rescue him. I reached down, punched Blaine in the face, and he fell to the floor. Judging by the almost cartoonish fall - mostly he just slid slowly against the wall until he landed on his side - I guess I didn't hit him as hard as I thought I would. "Now you're forgiven." He lifted himself back up and I helped him to his feet with my good arm. We leaned on each other as we headed down the hall to the emergency exit.
     We'd gotten halfway down when I heard boards move. I looked over my shoulder to see Red Coat start to stir. No time to get to the door, I thought as we half walked, half dragged each other into the breakroom off to the side.



And that ends part 5. Oddly enough, I should have part 6 up in a week. Before you start making bets, I actually do have it written out and the only thing left is to type it. I had planned to put the whole thing together as one piece, but that would be too much to ask anyone to read (and too much for me to type at one time). Also, I like these alternating blog post so I think this will be the new layout: one story post and one "not-a-fiction-story" post (the last one being "Office Awkwardness and You"). Those are actually a lot easier to write, require less thought (since I don't really need to plot and write them more stream-of-consciousness), and maybe I'll even add more pictures to those ones (don't get your hopes up, its just a thought).

The Sovereignty (part 4)

But first, a brief recap of what's happened so far: Peter and Blaine get caught up in a super-powered bar fight; they escape with some ingenuity; Peter goes to work at the bank; the bank is in the middle of getting robbed by a figure in a black coat and demon-like mask. And that's it (I know, I thought I would be further in than that by now, too)


I looked down at the dozen or so people lying on the ground. They were lying flat on their stomachs, some with their hands behind their heads, some with their arms spread wide. All of their expressions, though, said they were all as high as kites. Smiles, all of them, some goofy, some almost laughing. One man actually looked like he just came in his pants.I looked at the robber and the demon mask glared back at me. A psychic, I thought, and a pretty good one by holding that many people at once. Either C, maybe even a B-class if it wasn't the full extent of the abilities.

If the person was a psychic, then I was fucked. Not only had I been pressing the alarm button, but I'd been thinking about it this whole time. Hell, I was still thinking about it right now. Stop thinking about it. I looked back to the demon mask, unable to see any facial expression underneath it. From the foot-tapping though, I could see impatience.

I opened the cash drawer and started emptying out the bills. Maybe it wasn't psychic, or at least not the mind-reading type. The police might still have a chance to get here before he realizes that I already pressed the alarm. Slowly, I placed each bundle of bills into the duffel bag, making sure to separate them by denomination and sometimes even the color of the band wrapping them together. Maybe The League would send someone as well. This was a bank after all. I watched the robber's coat drag across the linoleum floor as he paced the room. None of the people had moved since they fell to the floor. Neither had the two guards at the door. My co-worker was still packing money into her bag, eyes focused solely on the bag in front of her. All I needed to do was stall until everyone showed up. I smiled, briefly, as the plan was fool-proof.

"Hey, what are you smiling about?" the voice was all bass this time and I dropped the duffel onto the floor, spilling the cash. Quickly, I dropped under the counter to pick it all up while my mind let out a string of profanities against my betraying face.

"Uh," I stuttered, "nothing." I grabbed another handful of bills and put them in the bag. I bit my lower lip and a bead of sweat made its way down from my temple to my cheek. My eyes went quickly to the alarm, still pressed under the counter, to the demonic mask towering over my crouched self. His eyes did the same.

"You pressed it! You fucking pressed it!" He (I think by this point it was a safe bet to guess that the robber was male), stumbled back several paces. I managed to make eye contact with my co-worker. She dropped her bag on the table and shook her head as she backed away to the wall. Her hair fell over her face, but I could still hear the sobs as she crouched to the floor.

There was a loud bang as the man in the green and red mask slammed his hands against the table. "Did I say to stop filling the bags!" After filling my bag without anymore delays, I started over to my co-worker to finish her bag. Then the sirens came.

I froze. That's the only way I could describe it. I just froze. There was nothing else. I didn't twitch. I didn't breath. It was the moment when all your faults just come crashing down. I panicked and triggered the alarm. I tipped him off about the alarm. I thought I could stall, that the cops out there could help us in here when I really had no idea what this guy was capable of. I could have just done as he asked and he would have been out of here without anything more happening. All these people in the bank. My co-worker crying against the wall. The two guards in need of serious medical attention. They weren't going to be hostages anymore; they were about to become victims, casualties.

There was the sound of a megaphone being turned on that brought me back to reality. I exhaled, tasting stale air as it emptied my lungs. A faint buzzing sound appeared, droning louder and louder until it dulled out even the amplified voice of the megaphone. Everything else, everyone of my other senses dulled as well. My vision started to blur, first starting around the edges and moving in until my eyesight felt like it had plummeted by a hundred points.

And yet none of it mattered. All that mattered was him. He was the only thing that mattered, the man in the black coat and mask. Yes, I was certain he was a man now. His presence dominated all of my senses. There was nothing else. I was vaguely away of the smile spreading across my face as I moved around the counter, through the lobby, and out the door. The sun was shinning right into my face, but with my blurred vision, it didn't matter. Through the glare, I noticed the flashing blue and red lights and the crowd of people, blurred together into a single mass with a yellow line through the center of it.

He was still in the lobby, grabbing the two duffel bags. They were heavier than he thought they would be and he smiled briefly. Still he hadn't expected the robbery to take so long that the cops would get here. The arctic air conditioning in the lobby kept him from sweating, especially in the black coat. He knew he needed a show of force to keep the police and eventually the Supers away until he escaped. He made his way outside. Even with all of my senses dulled, I still knew that he was just three feet behind me. Or, more precisely, twenty-seven degrees behind me and to my right at a distance of forty inches.

He spoke and it came through clear. "I am taking this money. I will be leaving out the back. No one follows or I kill all the hostages. That's twenty lives versus my one. Back off. Now." It sounded calm, his voice, but I could feel it tremble. He didn't come here to kill anyone. It wasn't in him to do it. I was in tune with him now. It was one of the side effects of his ability after all. Invading his victims minds to the point that all they knew was him, and wanting to please him. Invading so thoroughly that a back-door opens up and the victim is able to feel everything about him as well. The last time I felt this way I woke up in my underwear doing a handstand on the fourth floor balcony of my dorm during finals week. Yes, this was Blaine's ability. And this person was Blaine.

He gestured with his hand and my smile grew wider. It was an order. No, a request. Kings don't command after all, they merely ask and their subjects are pleased to obey. I knew it was Blaine, that all I needed to do was fight it, but I couldn't. My body went partially limp - my chin dropped to my chest, my arms hung by my side, my knees bent. I swayed a bit as I lifted my face to the audience. "This is your only warning," Blaine said as he turned his back and returned into the bank. The door closed just as my right hand snatched my left wrist cobra-quick and yanked the shoulder out of its socket.



Pretty decent for having no editing besides spell check and giving it a once over as I typed it all out. As bad as I am at plotting, its not completely stream of consciousness since I don't write exclusively on the computer and I do try to plot a little on paper before writing scenes. Honestly, I spend enough time during the day staring at a computer screen to do the same thing when I get home. And I would write in and fill-up all those extra notebooks I've got lying around, but right now I prefer using all the scratch paper I've been taking from work (don't worry, they're all blank cover sheets and fax transmission reports, nothing with any client data on it). If any of my co-workers are reading this though, its not like you were going to use it. Besides, how else would that box under my desk get emptied from time to time. I'll try to keep going with this story but I think I'm only one or two more posts from knowing what the hell is going on and them I'm really gonna really have to start making stuff up as I go (which, according to my last English professor, I am not as good as I think I am at it).

The Sovereignty (part 3)

“Peter, is that you?” The smile on my face disappeared and I immediately turned into a caught child. Standing by one of the cars was Jeffrey, his blue police uniform fitting perfectly like an obsessive-compulsive robed in anal-retentiveness. It made sense that his Power would be to sense danger or anything else that disturbed the status quo. From the day I accidentally told Blaine about Jeffrey’s ability he’s used every moment they meet to use his mind control on him, failing everytime so far.

“Jeffrey could get us out of this,” I said, looking sideways at Blaine. He looked back at me and winked.

Blaine dropped the two bottles. As they shattered and caught everyone’s attention, he took control of Jeffrey just long enough for him to give the warning for everyone to drop to the ground. And why wouldn’t they believe him, his only power was to sense danger after all. Every cop dropped to the ground and tried to bury themselves in the dirt.

            The two of us bolted down a side alley and turned down the next street, ducking into a hole-in-the-wall convenience store. When I was sure none of the cops followed us, we headed home. Blaine headed just up the street to his apartment not even a block away (which I think is the real reason he likes drinking at Gray’s Tavern). I, however, needed to go up several blocks back to mine and Jeffrey’s apartment. It took another half hour to walk there, but I needed the time to calm my nerves as well as the money I saved from not hailing a taxi.

The Robbery

            I woke up the next day with the sun already shining bright through the open window and the sound of rush hour traffic already dying down. I was on the couch in the same clothes I wore the night before. Even though I knew no one was home all day yesterday, the apartment was still spotless and smelled like cleaner. It was part of Jeffrey’s morning routine to wipe down certain dust collecting parts of the room with disinfectant such as the coffee table and all the door handles. He also like to spray his chair and the couch with air freshener, which from the smell I think he did this morning even though I was sleeping on it.

            On my chest I found the notepad Jeffrey used to write messages he thought were important. I have not forgotten about last night. The two of you better start working on your excuses. And change your clothes before you go to work. Have a nice day. I tore out the page and crumpled it up before tossing it on the floor. When I first moved in with Jeffrey in my freshman year in college, I would throw his notes on the floor just to annoy him. Unfortunately, now I think Jeffrey just sees it as my reply that I got his message.

            Except for its unusual cleanliness, the apartment looked like it was put together with your typical My-First-Apartment starter kit. Everything in it from the fridge and microwave to the bulky TV set and the couch I was currently lying on was second or third hand, some from places that made me itch from just thinking about them. Standing out from the collection of used furniture was Jeffrey’s chair – a black, leather recliner he bought with his first paycheck. No one except Jeffrey sat in it. No one.

            Dragging myself off the couch, I wandered down the hall to my room. Resolving my pants from last night were still okay for another day, I grabbed a clean shirt and the only tie from my closet. After making a mental note to buy a new tie I headed out the door.

            With an hour before I started my shift, I walked over to the deli just a little farther up the street. However, along with an empty wallet, I only found about two dollars worth of coins and a couple of pepper shakers. I used the coins to buy a bag of chips and walked to the bank. Two Supers flew by, heading up the street. Three police cars heading in the same direction with sirens blaring pulled over to the side to allow the iconic blue and silver motorcycle to pass. It had no flashing lights or sirens, but when Captain Shield was on the road, everyone got out of the way. The motorcycle parted traffic where it could at this hour and cut through the rest like a surgeon operating with a battle axe. After all, when you’re invulnerable to most bodily harm, you don’t care about bouncing off a car or three (or five by my count before he turned at the next block). Looks like The League is out in force, I thought as I straightened my tie and walked into the bank.

            Inside, the afternoon lines were already starting to form. I hated working on payday Fridays. By closing time, I had been complained to seven times about how slow the lines were moving and why we didn’t open up another window. After the first couple of times explaining how I had no control over how many people we had working, I gave up and just nodded in agreement. Unfortunately, there were about twenty people still in line and the manager didn’t allow us to leave until everyone was helped. I swore silently as I called the next person to my window.

            Don’t get me wrong, I needed the overtime pay like a prostitute needs johns. The extra pay was the only way I was able to make rent as well as pay off a portion of my student loans every month. Still, I hated dealing with so many customers just because the boss refused to open anymore windows, leaving just two tellers everyday to handle the lines and complaints.

            I handed a customer three hundred dollars in crisp, twenty dollar bills when I heard the crash. Both of the security guards stood from their seats on either side of the door. Ex-League members from what I remember. The lights flickered and my hair stood on end. The air crackled and it felt like I was inhaling fire. One of the guards blasted the other with a lightning bolt, cutting his right arm clean off. No blood, only the smell of cooked flesh. Then he ran head-first into a wall, leaving behind a bloody stamp and falling unconscious to the floor. Standing at the entrance stood a figure in a large, completely buttoned-up black coat, the hood pulled over his (at least I thought it was a he) head. He, or maybe she, wore a demonic, green and red mask, complete with yellow fangs sticking out from the mouth and mirror lenses over the eyes.

            There was something in the demon-mask’s walk as the figure moved into the center of the lobby, a playful showmanship in its strut, like a magician about to make the entire building disappear.

            “Ladies. Gentlemen. Victims. Though you may not recognize me, I assure you that I have the full backing of The Sovereignty. As you should have guessed by now, I am here to rob you.” The figure waved its arms in grand gestures as he/she spoke with its voice masked electronically, alternating between the deep bass of a thunder’s boom and the high-pitched squeal of a thirteen-year-old boy-band groupie. “Now, on the ground,” the demon-mask said, lowering its hands. Simultaneously, all the customers dropped to the ground, the looks of fear disappearing from their faces.

            I looked down just in time to see the light from the neutralizing wave emitter at my feet turn from green to off. I kicked it once, twice. Nothing happened. A duffel bag hit me in the face. “Fill that up,” the figure said after tossing another bag at the only other teller. “And don’t even think about touching the silent alarm.” And now I was fucked, I thought as I realized my finger had been firmly placed on the button since the demon-mask walked in.

The Sovereignty (part 2)

I looked around behind the bar where we both hid. Blaine and I had been getting in and out of trouble since we were nine years old. There had to be a way out of this. If the bank found out we got involved in a bar fight, they would fire the both of us. Unlike Blaine who seemed to have no problem finding a job after moving to Central City, it took me three years after graduation, waiting at two different diners, several office temp jobs, and a couple months of unemployment before I could swallow my pride and ask Blaine to put a word in for me at the bank as a teller. I needed this job. Jeffrey would kill me if I couldn’t make rent for the third month in a row, or worse, kick me out of the apartment.

“How about helping us get the hell out of here instead of drinking every damn bottle you can get your hands on!” Blaine drained his current bottle. After taking a look around the back of the bar, he started tossing several small, glass containers at me.

I managed to catch a few of the vials while the rest shattered on the ground around me, scattering salt and pepper all over the ground. “Maybe you can blind them with those,” he said with a laugh. I tossed one of the shakers back at him and, reluctantly, decided to pocket a couple of the pepper shakers. It’s not like I had a better idea.

The neutralizing wave emitter in the cabinet caught my eye again. “I think I just found our way out of here,” I said. I yanked the box out of the cabinet and almost had a panic attack when the battery pack dropped out from the bottom. The light shut off and an energy blast shot over the bar and phased through the wall into the building next door. Quickly, I reconnected the battery pack and strapped it to the machine with my tie. I changed the range to 3 feet, hoping that the machine still had enough power to completely shut down all Powers at that range rather than just weakening them at 100 feet.

Blaine, unimpressed, shrugged and grabbed another beer from the cooler as well as putting a two more in his pockets. “I guess I can take these to go,” he said as he got to his feet and immediately took hold of the nearest Doppelganger clone. He liked to explain it as not pure mind control, but rather planting “suggestions” in someone’s mind (as far as he knew, he could only control one person at a time). The target could disobey, but the euphoria from following the command was so overwhelming and intoxicating that anyone on the receiving end didn’t want to defy them. He decided to send the clone charging straight into a group of Supers fighting amongst themselves. Apparently, by copying Captain Shield the clones also inherited some of his super strength because it took down at least seven other Supers behind them as well.

I jumped over the bar and was immediately punched in the face, dropping the box on the ground. My head snapped back and I tasted blood. Dizzy and blinded by a bright light, I reached around the bar, looking for the black box. I felt someone push me into the bar and tilt my head up.

“Wait!” I shouted, “I’m normal. No powers. Not a Super.”

I heard laughter until my eyes came into focus. Before me stood a Super dressed in an open red trench coat, completely unbuttoned and shirtless to reveal his toned physique. It was the shimmering, red gauntlet materializing around his right fist and forearm that caught my eye. “Looks like you picked the wrong day to wander into Gray’s Tavern, tourist.”

He swung his fist and the shimmering, red gauntlet headed for my head. As it got closer, I saw the little details put into the gauntlet and was impressed, like a swimmer is in awe of the shark’s teeth. The red material didn’t form just a single piece of armor, but a full-fledged gauntlet. The red material looked like solidified light as it created a solid piece along the forearm and back hand as well as dozens of tiny plates over the fingers to allow flexibility. Most impressive was the bonus spiked knuckleduster. I dodged at the last moment and the gauntlet collided with the bar behind me, exploding a section of the counter as well as cracking fissures in the far wall further back. My ears rang and I could feel the sting of splinters in my skin as I looked up to see the red gauntlet winding up for another punch.

            “Stop!” I closed my eyes and brought my empty hands in front of my face, bracing for death. Time passed. Too much time. I opened my eyes to see the shimmering, red gauntlet stopped inches from my face, shaking and struggling to surge forward as muscles rippled like they’d just hit a wall. The look on the Super’s face was blank except for a drugged smile. Blaine stepped out from behind him and grinned.

            “You did want him to stop, right?” He handed me a bottle he took from the bar and tapped two fingers on the Super’s forehead. “Come on. He’ll barely feel it.” He paused, smiled. “Until tomorrow, that is.” The Super started to sway and I wasn’t sure if it was from the euphoria of obeying Blaine’s command or if he was already trying to resist the mind control. Either way, he just tried to kill me knowing that I wasn’t a Super, I didn’t have any powers to fight him with. I forgot about the brawl going on around me and looked at the bottle in my hand. It asked to be smashed and the Super certainly deserved it. I lifted the bottle … and tossed it at the wall, spraying glass and beer on Supers with a lot more to be worried about at the moment.

I found the neutralizing ray on the floor and brought it close to the Super, shutting off his red armor. Blaine took control of another Captain Shield clone and ran him to into another group of Supers, giving us a straight line to the door. “By the way,” he said, “you also have that same stupid face when I use on you too.”

Before I could respond with a witty comeback of my own, we were out the door and in front of a squad of police cruisers and a dozen riot officers in full gear – body armor, neutralizing rifles, and disruptor shields. I dropped the box and slowly raised my hands in the air. From the corner of my eye, I could see Blaine raising two beer bottles he’d apparently snuck out with him. I let out a sigh of embarrassment but at least we were out. 

So it took a little longer than I planned but I finally got the second part finished and I promise I'll try to pick things up in the next part and get into the main story already. I'm already seeing some problems but I'm hoping I can fix those as I go. If you're wondering about the title (The Sovereignty) I'm hoping I can get to that in the next part or the part after that. And yes, there is a good excuse for taking so long: I finished a story for Halloween (I'm thinking about doing a theme short story depending upon the month or something like that) and the TV started its fall season of new shows and episodes and as one of my oldest friends, I feel an obligation to watch them. Also, its the MLB playoffs and though the Braves are out I'm still gonna watch the games I can.