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.

The Sovereignty (part 1)

Gray's Tavern

            I downed the last of my beer and tried once again to convince Blaine it was time to leave. It wasn’t late; I just hate drinking at Gray’s Tavern. It wasn’t the prices, which were pretty standard for your local bar. The place also had a decent location and a good size to seat the regulars as well as anyone who wandered in out of curiosity with a long bar, a couple of tables, and several booths in the back. Actually there wasn’t really anything bad about Gray’s Tavern at all, it’s just that I hate drinking at a bar populated with superheroes and supervillains alike.

Blaine wouldn’t hear it. “Come on, Peter. Happy hour isn’t even over yet,” he said as he ordered two more beers. I let out a sigh and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I brushed my hair back to the side and readjusted my tie. The rest of our coworkers from the bank left about a half hour ago when two pyrokinetics started launching fireballs at each other, setting their table on fire as well as some of the surrounding walls. The fact that the place didn’t burn down nor the rest of us reduced to ashes before the bouncers tossed them out proved they weren’t A-class Supers like Phoenix or Dragon. They probably weren’t even B-class either. Possibly just some small-time punks looking for trouble when they’ve had too much to drink. The bouncers, as well as a few patrons who had their nachos roasted and drinks boiled, took care of them easily.

            I looked around the room, though not really expecting to see the more famous Supers. Some patrons were still dressed in costume as if they just got off work as well (or trying to avoid anyone finding out who their secret identity was). I saw Captain Shield and Pandora shooting pool, his stick resting on the table while he held his pool cue above his head. The remaining members of The League played cards with the members of The Titan Three in one of the booths in the back (which they surprisingly did often when they weren’t arresting them for bank robbery and property damage). Supers were, after all, just normal people who needed to unwind and Gray’s Tavern seemed to be the place a lot of them frequented. Perhaps just for the company of those who were just like themselves.

            It’s no surprise that Blaine felt right at home here. I sat on my stool, nursing my beer while he made jokes with the other Supers at the bar and ran his fingers through his blond hair in what he imagined was an enticing manner. Unlike me, his tie was currently around the neck of the bartender who continued to tease him by dissolving into smoke everytime he pulled her closer. Blaine always was more of a people person. Plus he had some basic mind control abilities. Not enough for anyone in The League or The Sovereignty to take particular notice, just the basic D-class, possibly C-class on a good day.

            Suddenly there was the sound of a bottle smashing on a skull and the bar went silent, which was never a good sign (fights occur at Gray’s Tavern nightly and the band never skips a beat, much less stops, unless a lot of shit’s about to hit a really big fan). I turned to see Captain Shield, leader of The League, covered in broken glass and drenched in whiskey. Forming a circle around the table was The Doppelganger and roughly a dozen of his clones, all of them looking exactly like Captain Shield except the blue and silver of his costume was inverted on the clones. One of the clones grabbed the arm of Pandora, pulling her out the seat and behind him while muttering something about cheating on his brother (I wasn’t sure if he meant The Doppelganger himself or The Doppelganger’s actual brother, if he had one).

            Pandora touched the clone’s forehead and instantly his body began to decay, from rotting flesh to bare bones to dust. Captain Shield grabbed the closest clone and threw him into the far wall and the sound of every bone in its body breaking echoed throughout the bar. This seemed to signal for the rest of the bar to erupt. Old rivalries awakened and new ones sparked as strength met speed, elementals challenged technopaths, and other powers I’m almost certain are still undocumented went flying indiscriminately around the room.

However, not everyone who came here was a superhuman. Some normal people just wanted a chance to catch a glimpse of their resident Supers, or perhaps catch one or two of them unmasked when they’ve had too much to drink (secret identities paid out in the five figures if you could find a newspaper to sell a picture to that wasn’t afraid of a Super bringing down their entire building the next morning). The curious types always wandered into Gray’s Tavern to see what Supers were like in their down time away from saving or destroying the world. The adventurous come to Gray’s Tavern to see the almost inevitable fight that is sure to break out. And right now, they were all definitely getting their monies worth. Cameras were going off left and right, only to be met with a fist, kick, or a stray blast of something or other.

I, being one of the normal humans, jumped over the bar to find Blaine already there, helping himself to a beer he’d clearly just taken from the cooler.

“Shouldn’t you be out there, fighting with your fellow Supers?”

He laughed, grabbed another beer and tossed it to me. “Hell no. Using mind control in a cramped place like this is a sure way to get blindsided, especially with all of them just randomly attacking each other.”

The various crashes, smashes, and screams on the other side of the bar started to get louder. Jets of flame, lightning, and psychic beams flew over the bar, destroying whatever bottles were left. “Shouldn’t this place have security measures for something like this? A-class bouncers? Stasis fields? Neutralizing waves?”

Blaine laughed again and tossed his bottle over the bar and into the mob. “You really think your local bar prepares for something like this?” He opened up one of the cabinets below the bar. Inside was an uncovered black box filled with neon red tubes and smelling of exhaust. It was a neutralizing wave emitter (I recognized it from the one we have under each teller desk at the bank). From the color of the tubes, which were normally green, and the burning smell filling my nostrils, it clearly wasn’t built to cancel the amount of abilities going off at the moment, but was doing the best it could (which was probably why we all weren’t buried under rubble yet). “There’s probably a couple of these around the bar, but it doesn’t look like it’ll do any good with all those Supers, not to mention half the members of The League, out there.”

“I told you we should have left earlier,” I said as I pulled my knees into my chest and sat on the floor. I looked over at Blaine, still drinking any bottle he could take from the cooler without poking his head above the bar. Between the two of us, I was never the planner but right now I wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of here. I only needed to get passed the mob of Supers in an old-fashioned, alcohol-fueled, bar brawl.

This will be my first time posting an incomplete story. If you're hoping for the next part of the story to follow as quickly as the other stories did (see Mr. Thompson or The Final Case for Detective Jones), well those were finished when I posted them. So far its just this, a rough section on how Peter and Blaine make it out of the bar, and a rough outline of the story. I'm hoping that this will eventually turn into a bigger project than the other short stories I've got, though we both know that hope will probably fade into just wanting to put in a proper ending to the story. Fingers crossed for part 2 to be finished in a couple of weeks and the hopefully part 3 next month...

Lost in the Woods/ update into real life

 The woods are dark and deep and I’m not sure I want to leave just yet. Escape is the easiest thing to do – just pick a direction and walk. Everyone knows the woods have to end somewhere. We’ve ensured that nothing so wild and untamed goes on forever. Eventually we all leave the journey behind and settle with the rest of civilization. We left the safety of our homes to play in the woods and one day we all leave the woods for the structure of life, though some stay longer than others. The paths converge and diverge, some we travel together and some we make on our own. So many directions to go and adventures to have but none of them detours.

But now we stand at the woods’ edge (me, you, him, her, us, them). Behind us, the trees wouldn’t let in a single ray of light nor the slightest breeze. Now the light’s glare shines brighter than anything I’ve seen for as long as I can remember, than matches, flashlights, hope. The wind chill cuts colder than the night air, than despair.  Uncertainty, after all, lies not in the woods themselves, but at its borders and I’ve never been more uncertain or afraid. I’ve played in the woods for so long, I’m not sure where I am anymore. I’d like to say the fear is just that – the fear that comes from not knowing what’s outside. If it wasn’t the right path it means returning back to the deepest and darkest parts of the woods again. Through trees dense and overgrown and looming like despair and desperation. Crunching through dead leaves and twigs, snapping like dreams.

Yes, I’d like to say that’s what I’m afraid of, but the truth is I’ve already been there before. Confronting old fears is comforting in that they are old fears. What I’m afraid of is losing you. We’ve been following this path for so long, I’m not sure anymore as to which of us chose the direction. I can’t leave you here to fumble and misstep on your own, and I can’t go without you to face the harsh realities of the “real world” (at least that’s what I’ve heard it called by those who retreated back to the woods). I look at you, and him, her, us, them and wonder how we all followed this path to the same goal? And maybe it isn’t a similar goal, but a similar reason for heading in this direction that brought us all here – here to our mutual end. I laugh. You laugh. This is the ending. Our ending. We turn and head back into the woods. After all, the end will still be here tomorrow but there’s much more fun to be had today.

Once again (just like last year) I did plan to post this on my birthday in the hopes that it gives me, and I guess to some extent yourself, a glimpse of how I see or want this coming year to be. I'm still working at the same job that I've been at since last October and I finally made it to a full-time employee (rather than temp status). I've been trying to keep up with writing but it does seem I've gotten lazy. There's a couple stories right now, but the main characters seem a bit too uncertain as to what they're doing yet.

If you were wondering, I did plan to go to Cafe Duck Butt to celebrate, but the best laid plans of man always succumb to pure bad luck. "Why there?" you may be asking, especially since I've only been there once before. The prices? The food? The drinks? The atmosphere? Actually its none of the above but simply this:

and yes, Kristian, I blame you entirely for this

Mr. Thompson (Alternate Ending... sort of)

"Just promise me you'll give him a choice," Mr. Thompson said.

Captain Shield put his arm on Mr. Thompson's shoulder and looked his former comrade in the eyes. With a twitch, he shoved Mr. Thompson to his knees. As Mr. Thompson's eyes grew wide, so did Captain Shield's smile. "That is not something I can do. If I may speak frankly, your family has a poor history of making good choices. You left The League out of pure selfishness and when the time was right for your return you were too broken to be any use. Your son has been neglecting his training and, thus, I will be taking him untrained, and unskilled. Your daughter turned down The League's offer entirely to live just like the mundane people we protect everyday. I even had to take some extraordinary, though somewhat illicit, means when Nancy blatantly refused to leave after I explained just how dangerous it was to get involved with a superhero."




Originally, I never planned for Mr. Thompson to find the closure he did at the end of this story. Instead, before that happened, he was supposed to figure out that Captain Shield was actually the one who either killed his wife or had his wife killed by leaking The Count's secret identity to his enemies. I still held onto the idea, thinking that I could place it at the end of this story: Mr. Thompson would drink the contents of the vial but it would only give him his healing abilities and slightly-above-human strength which wouldn't be enough to fight Captain Shield; later Kyle would walk in and, using his "terrible healing abilities" rip the blood from Captain Shield's body. As great as it was when I visualized it, I stopped for two reasons. 1) It feels weird to place it in now that I've finished the story and actually like how it ends. 2) When I tried to write it, it reminded me too much of the bloodbending from "Avatar" and "Legend of Korra" and Accelerator's ability from "To Aru Majutsu no Index" and so I got bored and just decided not to (but since I already wrote the lead in into it, I decided to put it here anyway).

I guess since this is now done I'll try to immediately start on something else so it doesn't take me another 6 months to start writing again

Mr. Thompson (part 4)

            The two men stood firm, neither making any move which would set off something the world hadn’t known since The League stripped Mr. Thompson of his powers.

            “What the hell do you think you’re doing, old man!” Kyle was face to face with Mr. Thompson now, his eyes looking square into his eyes and Mr. Thompson couldn’t remember when his son had grown so tall.

            “What am I doing? I’m trying to pro–”

            “No you’re not!” Kyle’s red, tear-filled eyes consumed Mr. Thompson’s entire vision as his son spoke. “I’ve got a gift I need to learn to use and they can teach me because you won’t. You’re only obsessed with mom’s death while there’s still a whole world out there that needs people like us.”

            Mr. Thompson could see Kyle trying to grasp at the next words but with the pause Kyle was extinguished. Kyle was never one to maintain his fire for a long period of time but when his flame got lit it erupted. As quick as his outburst appeared, it was gone – as was Kyle. Suddenly, Mr. Thompson realized he was standing in a room with only Captain Shield and the echo of a front door slamming shut.

            Mr. Thompson looked around the room and finally saw the truth – the newspaper clippings taped to the wall with certain words circled in red and pieces of string connecting certain ones – all trying to tie together who killed his wife. His eyes spun around the room until he found what he was looking for.

            Just one family photo still uncovered and untouched by his obsession. Two small children, Katy and Kyle, holding their mother’s hands at the park. He couldn’t remember how old they were, or when the picture was taken. He couldn’t remember if all the pictures he covered were the same – just a mother and her two children – or how many pictures he covered up.

            “He’s not mine to give away,” Mr. Thompson said to Captain Shield. “Just promise me you’ll give him a choice.” He turned his back and walked toward the couch, taking Nancy’s cuckoo clock off the wall.

Mr. Thompson (part 3)

            Kyle, slightly embarrassed, took his dad’s arm and led him back to his chair and took a seat on the chair next to him. He looked at the two men and paused. “First off, why do you keep calling him ‘Count’?”

            Captain Shield looked at the boy and laughed. “I see, so your father never told you? It was his name when he was in The League. Kind of like Count Dracula since he could do all sorts of things with blood, usually like rapid healing which came in handy especially with all the stuff he put his otherwise normal body through. So, instead of bullets bouncing off of him, like they do to me, he would quickly heal those same gunshot wounds and never miss a step.” Captain Shield paused as he saw the boy look wide-eyed at Mr. Thompson. “Of course, there were even times when he would heal other members of The League, even myself from time to time. If you like, you may even be able to inherit his name as long as your father apro –”

            “Not going to happen,” said Mr. Thompson with a laugh. “Kyle has never been much of a healer.” He told Captain Shield about how Kyle never perfected the rapid healing technique he tried to teach him, and how he was even worse at using it on others. “Hell, he left bigger scars than the tiny cuts I had him try to heal,” he said as he pointed to several long markings on his arm. The room almost glowed red from the embarrassment shining from Kyle’s face as a small puddle of sweat and tears mixed into the carpet flooring.

            “Oh, come now Count. He can’t be that bad.” Captain Shield turned to Kyle. “I’ll bet you’ve had moments you’re proud of, right? Which is actually a lot better than some of the other kids we take in.”

            Kyle smiled a little at Captain Shield’s words and nodded his head slightly. Captain Shield knew now was the time to ensure Kyle would join. “And if you make it past the training to become a full member of The League, you’ll be in a perfect position to do the one thing that I know will make your father proud.” Captain Shield saw Kyle’s face light up and Mr. Thompson’s head drop, his face buried in his hands.

            Mr. Thompson guessed that Captain Shield would bring that up to lure Kyle in – and here it was: he told Kyle that he could begin his own investigation into who killed his mother; he told him they already had possible suspects but little manpower to keep cold cases going; he told him how Nancy, his mother, was killed shortly after his father had officially retired and that it was probably some supervillain with a score to settle with The Count. “Though I do recommend you take a more level-headed approach than your father did. No need to go around killing every supervillain you can get your hands on or you could find yoursel–”

            The smash of a breaking bottle and a shower of glass and whiskey stopped Captain Shield midsentence. It wasn’t the bottle breaking on his face, but rather the action of it – that someone would actually throw a bottle at him – which caught him by surprise. He and Kyle both looked with shock at Mr. Thompson, who shouted, “Don’t you say one more word about her! This is my revenge, not his.”

            Captain Shield was not a man to be disrespected, even when he was uninvited in another man’s house. He’d done too much to let even the slightest insult go unnoticed, especially when all he was trying to do was extend an offering. He stood from the couch and the floor under him sagged slightly under his power.

            Mr. Thompson knew full well the extent of Captain Shield’s abilities. He’d witnessed them first hand more times than he could count and been on the receiving end more times than he cared to remember. Even so, there was no way he’d let this man take his son. He fingered at the tiny flask in his pocket, hoping that if it came to it, his abilities would give Kyle enough time to come to his senses and run.

Mr. Thompson (part 2)

            The door started to open. Mr. Thompson rushed forward to slam it back shut. “You can’t have him.” He braced his back against the door and pushed with his legs, trying his best to bar the entryway.

            How stupid. Mr. Thompson felt the door move. “You know this is just a waste of time, don’t you, Count.” Mr. Thomson continued to push, but his feet were sliding across the carpeting now. He heard the chain on the door snap off and fall to the floor, taking small pieces of the wall with it. Mr. Thompson tumbled forward, landing on his back and looking up at the door. It swung open and in its frame stood one of the strongest men on the planet, the one finger he used to push open the door still raised.

            Captain Shield looked down at Mr. Thompson lying on the ground. “If Kyle isn’t home, I still think it best if I waited inside.” He stepped over Mr. Thompson and headed toward the living room. “I did try to avoid breaking your door too much.”

            Mr. Thompson sighed. There really was nothing I could do, he thought as he took a swig from the bottle he managed to avoid spilling.

            When Mr. Thompson managed to get back to the living room, he found Captain Shield sitting on his couch in full costume, the suit he wore now torn in half and lying on the floor. It was the same tight fitting spandex, boots, and cape he always wore, except the colors were now black and gold instead of blue and silver. “Why are you wearing that?” Mr. Thompson said as he took a seat on the chair opposite, with the coffee table separating the two of them.

            Captain Shield smiled and brushed his hair back. “It wouldn’t be polite to introduce myself as Captain Shield without looking like Captain Shield, would it Count?”

            As the two of them waited in the living room for Kyle to come home, Captain Shield and Mr. Thompson reminisced about the days when they were both in The League. Well, Captain Shield talked while Mr. Thompson finished his bottle and started on another.

            “You know,” Captain Shield said, trying to change the subject, “we’ve also made significant improvements in training new recruits as well as providing them with the best gear for when they become full members.”

            Mr. Thompson finished his bottle and placed it on the coffee table. “Unless you want to tell me that you finally found out who killed my wife, stop talking and leave.”

            Captain Shield laughed. “You know full well that there’s nothing you could do to make me leave. I’m staying until I get a chance to talk to Kyle. Especially since we both know you’re trying to keep him from getting anywhere close to The League.”

            Mr. Thompson glared at the superhero and took another swig from a bottle he pulled from the cabinet next to the couch. Captain Shield was right after all – even when he had all his abilities, they didn’t match up to Captain Shield’s.

            “I’m home,” Mr. Thompson heard Kyle call as he entered the house, but the only thing he wished was that his son would turn around and go right back out like he usually did. “And no, I didn’t go to the recruiting station.” His voice was getting louder now as he came down the hallway. “I actually decided to sleep on it like you asked –”

            Kyle paused, mouth agape as he stared at the superhero sitting in his living room. Mr. Thompson looked at his son, then to Captain Shield, and then back to his son. “Kyle, why don’t you take a seat and tell Captain Shield what I told you this morning.”

            But Kyle didn’t move. Instead he continued to stand and stare at one of the strongest men in the world. Captain Shield smiled and stood. “It’s nice to meet you, Kyle,” he said as he shook the boy’s hand. “As you can see, I am Captain Shield and I’m here to offer you membership into The League.”

            Kyle and Captain Shield sat on the couch and he explained to Kyle the trial process for membership, the training he would endure to achieve his full potential, and even setting him up with a room in The League’s headquarters itself. “After all, it’s you youngsters that will be leading The League in the future.”

            Mr. Thompson stood and grabbed Captain Shield by the collar, trying to lift him off the couch and to the door. “Okay, you’ve said your piece. Time to leave.” He pulled as hard as he could but still Captain Shield never budged. Mr. Thompson continued to pull, but he knew that he would only stand when he wanted to.

            “Hold on, Count. We still haven’t heard if the boy’s accepted my offer. Why don’t we see what he has to say?”