Fire_Guardian_EU

[ QUOTE ]
And again! And, indeed, again.

And again.

But that's it.

[/ QUOTE ]

Why do I think you've had more to drink tonight than I have?

Anyhoo, to go wildly OT for a second, g'night, all. I'll be back tomorrow evening with the next thrilling installment of....The Ever Burning Fire!

(What do you mean, you've never heard of it?)

WOO HOO!

... I shouldn't have made that joke earlier. I'm banned for 55.6824578 years.

Nothing like being banned from chatting for half a century to give you time to reflex and pause.

On the plus side, though, I can still do the Snaptooth mission, so life isn't all bad.

Chapter Three

Authorial Interjection: I’m going to be changing 1st person viewpoints from this chapter onwards, as it’s unfair for FG to get third and first person, whereas Sue is stuck with just plain old third. I’ll try to make things clear enough for you to read without resorting to signposting.

*

“Well, some things never change,” I muttered to myself, as I took in the view. “Pocket D is as bad as ever.”
I had been hit on no less than three times in as many minutes from three different people. All Tankers, judging by how they looked, but then again, you can never be too sure in Paragon.
I made my way to the Blue Bar, which was frequented mostly by Heroes, and put down my Paragon Times I.D.
“I’m looking for someone.” I yelled over the music.
“Ain’t seen him.” The barman replied.
“Her.”
“Ain’t seen her.”
I sighed inwardly. “I’m not a cop. I just want information.”
“Ain’t got any.”
“My friend does.”
“Shame. Ain’t seen her.”
I took out my purse, and slowly, deliberately, took out fifty dollars in tens, pushing the five notes towards him. He pocketed the cash quickly.
“Who you lookin’ for?”
“Her name’s Groundwalker.”
He shrugged. “Don’t mean nothing to me.”
“Sarriss Groundwalker?”
The barman looked at me for the first time. “Whiskey?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what we call ‘er around here. Whiskey. She’s a whiskey drinker.”
“So you’ve seen her?”
He grinned. “Got any more notes?”
I pulled out another fifty dollars, and palmed it to him. He checked the notes carefully, taking his time, definitely making a show of it. Or stalling.
“So…” I said, as casually as I could. “Have you seen her?”
“Nope.”
I got up from my stool.
“Order a drink.”
I turned back to the barman. “Excuse me?”
“I said, order a drink. From Isaac downstairs. Whyren’s Reserve.”
I scowled. “I would, but someone just emptied my purse.”
He shook his head. “Did I say ‘buy’ a drink? I said order one.”
“So, if I order a drink here, I won’t get it?”
The barman looked at me, a pained expression on his face.
“No wonder this place is going downhill.” I finished with a smirk, and made my way past the vomiting men, kissers, ravers, and Superpowered beings, to the downstairs bar.
“I’d like to order a drink.”
“Well, honey,” this new barman grinned at me. “You’ve come to the right place.”
“Oh?”
“Well, this is a bar.” He gestured across the countertop. “And I, as a barman can facilitate your need for beverages, alcoholic and otherwise.”
I chuckled. At least this guy was friendlier than the money-grabber upstairs.
“I’d like a Whyren’s Reserve.”
The man’s smile vanished.
“And why would you like that? It’s a rare type of whiskey.”
“It’s for a friend.” I said carefully, never breaking eye contact.
“Ah.”
‘Ah?’ I didn’t sign on to join any club, or anything. I didn’t expect passwords or secret phrases.
“She’s…”
“I know your friend. She’s unavailable.”
Okay. Weirder and weirder.
“What’s your name, Miss?”
“Daniels. Susan Daniels. I’m…”
“A reporter. Paragon City Times. Not a bad one, either.” The barman leaned in close, and smiled. “Although, to tell plain truth, we don’t know why you’re suddenly writing for the society pages.”

How did he know who I was? And who was ‘we’?
“I’m not writing for the society pages.”
“You’re following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he’s wearing, where he goes, what he does? You’re a gossip columnist, in my book.”
I stared at him.
“Look, when will….my friend…be available?”
He shrugged. “I’ll let her know you asked. She’ll be in touch.”
Sighing, I made my way to leave. Bunch of useless…

I suppose I didn’t watch where I was going, but I collided into a man, and nearly knocked him off his feet. Grabbing his shoulder, I looked at him.
“You okay there, old timer?”
“Old timer?” The man blinked at me. “Oh, right.”
He was obviously two or three sheets to the wind, so I let him alone, and started to walk off. I was surprised when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I spun around, the same old man was there.
“I know you.”
“You do, huh?” ‘Great’ I sighed to myself. ‘Another wino trying to hit me up for cash’.
The man nodded. ‘Here it comes…’
“You were at the funeral for that Hero. The Fire Guardian, right?”
“I….yes.”
“The Mayor’s friend.”
I scowled. “Now, why does everyone in this place think of me as just a friend to the Mayor? I have a job. I have a life.”
The old guy held his hands up. “Okay, okay.”
Embarrassed that I had jumped down the man’s throat, I tried to change the subject. “So, you were at the funeral, too?”
“Oh, yeah. Tucker was a nice guy.”
“You knew him?”
“I…” The man froze for a second. “I knew of him. His Foundation used to do good things.”
“It still does.” I reminded him. He laughed at me, which gave me pause.
“The Foundation’s diversifying since the last time I looked.” He grinned at me slightly, and hobbled away, before I could ask his name.

Great. My best contact’s vanished, and has set up some elaborate way to leave her messages, and some old guy was being cryptic about an organisation which helped people out of debt, misfortune, and now, thanks to the Mayor, practically ran the…
Wait.
The Tucker Foundation…owned Paragon. To be more precise, the man who owned the Foundation ran Paragon, but…still…

“You’re following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he’s wearing, where he goes, what he does? You’re a gossip columnist, in my book.”

I don’t follow him around everywhere.
I don’t know what he does.

“The Foundation’s diversifying since the last time I looked.”

‘Founder’s Falls is looking pretty run down these days…’ I remembered. Exactly what was The Foundation doing?

I hurried out, to get back to the offices. As I opened the door, a blast of cold wind shocked across my face, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. Glancing around, I saw the Monorail station in the distance, which would take me back to the office, back to the research computers, back to…

A knife at my throat?

*

The woman struggled in his grip.
‘Good’, the mugger thought to himself. ‘A woman with spirit.’
“Please,” She stammered. “I don’t have any money.”
“That’s a shame.” The mugger grinned into the woman’s hair. “We’ll have to find some other way for you to…pay me.”
“Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…”
The mugger chuckled. This was definitely going to be more fun.
He glanced around an nearby alley. Dark, murky, filled with shadows…perfect.

Although, he suddenly shivered …why is that one shadow moving?

*

I felt the mugger shudder behind me, and then, with one strong push, he shoved me away, and spun around to face an alley.
“Who’s there?” He yelled out, waving the knife in front of him.
Part of me wanted to run. To scream, and hide, and never, ever come back this way again. However…I’m a journalist. I like a good story, and this was definitely a good story. So, despite part of my mind screaming at me to move, I stayed still. I stayed quiet. Watching. The mugger moved into the mouth of the alleyway, and I stared, transfixed, as…absolutely nothing happened. He laughed loudly, and turned back to face me.
“Now, [censored], where were we?”

Before I could say, or do, anything, the alley erupted in light, and a burst of fire shot out…
No, I realised. It was a Fire Sword!
The Sword came down, and sliced open the man’s arm, burning as it went, causing the mugger to drop the knife with a scream. He spun back to face the attacker, only to be met by a headbutt, from a dark, hi-tech looking helmet. The mugger collapsed on the floor, unconscious, and I got a quick glimpse of a tall man in dark armour, with a red cloth mask covering his entire face. Just before the Sword was shut off, I swore that I saw a glint of a large, metallic flame emblem on his chest, and then…nothing.
It can’t be. It just can’t be…
I ran into the alley, and looked around blindly in the dark. Fumbling with my handbag, I pulled out a gift from my parents a few years ago, a credit card sized torch, which provided terrible illumination. As I peered down the alley, I saw nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Something made me glance up, and, for a moment, I saw…something. More a shadow than a person, and it seemed to be looking down at me.

“Mr….Mr Tucker?” I managed to get out. “You’re supposed to be...well…dead.”
Oh, that’s smart.
The figure stayed where it was for a moment, and then slipped away, moments before a police drone arrived.

This, I realised, was going to make a very interesting article.

Well, you should be joining us speaking people round about the same time I7 comes out...

Very enjoyable!

[ QUOTE ]
How is "Rez plz." 5 syllables???

[/ QUOTE ]

Ah, you've obviously never teamed with the same people I have. They can make "plz" as polysyllabic as you like. In all fairness, though, although we traditionally use the 5,7,5 rule for haikus, they can be made up of any length of syllables you like, as long as they express a single thought or observation, and is short, precise, and contains sometimes paradoxial beliefs.

...I'll put away dictionary.com now.

When will this thread end?
Surely we have better things
To do with our time.

Statesman had a kid.
That must have hurt him a lot.
Guys cannot give birth.

Silver Weasel shines
As DreamWeaver drinks a lot.
Me? I just write stuff.

Censorship is dumb
No matter what you might think.
You can all [censored].

See what I did there?
Censored is two syllables.
Clever little me.

Now this is boring
I'm going to write some more
Of my sequel. Now.



I like to move it
Move it. I like to move it
Move it. I like to.

Why won't this game load?
The server is down again
Off to the forums

Paragon City
Is a city of heroes
It's pretty cool, huh?

CHAPTER TWO

Wilks stepped through the portal, into complete blackness.
“Mr Tucker?” he called out tentatively.
“Yo!” A muffled voice replied in the darkness.
“Did something happen to the power?”
“Hmm? Oh, right. I’m working on the generator. Come on through.”
Wilks chuckled. “Unlike you, Mr Tucker, these old eyes can’t see in the dark.”
“I thought you had the same implants I do.”
“No, no. These were the prototypes. I can’t see in any other spectrum other than normal, visible light.”
“Oh.” Jason said, surprised. “Well, hang on a second, I’ve…almost…”
Somewhere, something ticked, thrummed with power, and the light slowly blinked on. Wilks stepped through into the main hall, and looked around.
“Very nice. Someone’s been doing a spot of cleaning.”
“Someone’s had to.”

Wilks followed the muffled voice down to a large power generator in one corner, with two denim clad legs sticking out from underneath it. Jason slid out, and stood up, trying to brush the oil and dirt off his white t-shirt and jeans.

As Tucker tried to make himself presentable, Wilks took a good look around. “Is that…blood on the floor? Oh, my.”
“Base raid, I think.” Jason grinned. “I found some of the original inhabitants, too.”
“Really?”
“Well, what was left of them. At least I have plenty of meat in the fridge, now.” Tucker grinned evilly, before nodding at Wilk’s hand. “What’s that?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Wilks moved over to the large monitor, trying to forget Jason’s cannibalism joke. “I brought SAMI.”
Jason blinked. “Sammy? Uhm…Doc? He’s dead. Remember? The body in my coffin?”
“What? Oh, right, your colourful friend. No. Well, in a …uhm…this is…well…SAMI.” Wilks waved a CD at Jason, who stood there, confused.
“And SAMI would be…?”
“The Synchronous Artificial Mind Index. An artificial intelligence linked up to fifteen satellites in geo-synchronous orbit over Earth, keeping track of crimes and other details, and alerting the users of the program.”
“Clever.” Jason nodded. “So, why is it an artificial intelligence?”
“Something has to sort out the pertinent information from the useless. That’s SAMI’s job.”
“So…it’s a sidekick?”
“No, more of a tech guru.” Wilks slid the CD into a slot on the side of the monitor, and pressed a button.
The screen dissolved into blackness, with big white letters dominating the centre.

Synchronous
Artificial
Mind
Index

…SAMI…

Is ready.

Please enter verbal command.

“I…uhh…took the liberty of installing an Avatar into SAMI for you, to make things easier to use. I scoured through Chiron’s CCTV archives, until I had an exact…”
“Woah, woah!” Jason blinked. “What’s an Avatar?”
Suddenly, a giant face Jason recognised, all too well, appeared on the screen, grinning like a loon.

“I’m an Avatar. What’s up, Wankenstein?”

*

Susan looked over her schedule for the week, and groaned. ‘Another function, another dinner, and then…my weekly Friday meeting with the Mayor’.
It seemed as if Mayor Anson had taken a particular shine to Susan, and invited her, in an ‘official capacity’, to pretty much every event which came from his office. It made her feel as if she was constantly by his side, on his arm, like a piece of eye candy.
‘Get a grip, Daniels’, she chided herself. ‘Maybe he’s using you as a free escort, but you’re getting some good stories out of this.’
Good stories.
‘Since when did I consider a good story to be what businessmen from Talos Island had for dinner?’ She sighed. Life had certainly changed for her since Tucker’s funeral. She had risen through the ranks of her fellow journalists ever since Anson took power, giving her exclusives and letting her listen in on ‘sensitive’ information that he deemed important for the people to know. In return, she felt she had become little more than a glorified PR assistant.

‘The Mayor took some time from playing golf…’
‘Mayor Anson, resplendent in a charcoal black suit, grey shirt, and orange tie…’
‘There must be some news somewhere. There MUST be!’
Scowling, Susan grabbed her jacket from her chair, and stormed off to the elevators.

It was time to hit the streets.

*

I stared up at Sammy. Or…SAMI.

Whatever.

“Dude, say something.” Sa….the face…grinned down at me. “You look like you’re about to freak out.”
I realised I was swaying slightly. Turning to Wilks, who tried his best to hide an amused smile. “It…it can see me?”
“Oh, believe it, baby. It talks.”
I jumped. “Okay, nobody but the real Sammy would say that.”
“I know.”
“But you’re not him! Sammy’s dead.”
“I know that, too. I’m SAMI.”
“No, you’re not.”
SAMI looked at me, indignantly. “Yes, I am. I’m SAMI, the Synchronous Arti…”
“SHUT UP!” I wheeled around to Wilks. “Why does that…thing think that it’s Sammy?”
“Well…it is.”
What?
“You see, Sammy was stunned by a Police Drone shortly before we met. Drones have a built in identification system, based on a mind scan technique which reads…well, it’s very precise.”
“True, dat, ho.”
I glanced at SAMI. “You shut up.”
“But…”
“That’s an order.”
The Avatar (I found it much more comforting to think of the face on the screen that way) frowned, but stayed silent.
“Now, explain to me. What is an Avatar?”
Wilks gestured to the screen in a grand gesture. “That is. It’s an artificial intelligence algorithm, answerable only to you.”
“I don’t need an Avatar.”
“Ah, but you do.” Wilks smiled at me. “The SAMI program is too vast for any one person to traverse successfully. The Avatar, in this case, Mr Edwards…”
“Yo.”
Wilks continued as if the Avatar had never spoken. “The Avatar provides a helpful graphical and verbal interface, allowing you to filter out the facts from the rumours. Also, in this…” He looked around the room in disgust “Place, you could do well to have a friendly face to keep you company. SAMI is, like it or not, an exact duplicate of Mr Edwards.”
I turned back to the screen. The Avatar stuck its’ tongue out at me.
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
“What do you mean, ‘stuck’? I’ll have you know I’m programmed with over 1,000 verbal, visual, and audio games, and can provide stimulating conversation on a wide variety of subjects.”
I was intrigued. “Oh?”
“Yeah, but let’s do all that later. I found a data-feed from some internet porn. Shall I put it on the main monitor?”

This was going to be hell.

*

This, Susan told herself, was going to be hell.
It had been quite a while since she’d been ‘on the beat’, as she liked to call it. Finding her old sources, reminiscing on old times, and trying to discover something actually newsworthy. The job as she used to do it. The job she had found herself hopelessly out of touch with.
One of her old ‘friends’, in the Hellion Gang, took one look at her and decided to make a play for her jewellery. Running as quickly as she could to the nearest police outpost, she took a breather to compose herself, then realised she was completely and totally lost.
Founder’s Falls had never looked so bad.

Once, a picturesque part of Paragon, Founder’s Falls had changed from the type of place people wanted to take photos of, to the sort of place people wouldn’t want to even bring their cameras. Or their children. Or themselves, for that matter. The once pristine lakes, which had shimmered gold at noon, were murky, and uncared for. Gangs roamed the streets in broad daylight, and nobody, not the police, nor the heroes, took the time to stop them. At night, things were worse.

There were rumours…an urban myth which supposedly traced back decades, as such things often did, of a hunter who prowled the streets at night. A hunter with no face, with no body, who was carried on the wind, and struck with a blazing arm made of white fire. Another rumour put this hunter as someone with no face, a body towering at eight feet high, and a cape as black as the night itself. A third placed this hunter as an old man, who hunted the streets, draining the youth and vitality out of his victims, so that he may live another night, always hunting, waiting, watching.
When questioned, why has nobody heard of this hunter until recently, the answers are always the same.
“The heroes are gone, now.”

Susan didn’t believe in myths, or legends, or eight feet demonic hunters with arms of fire. She believed in fact. In proven truths. It was her job as a journalist to set lies, rumours, and myths back in the trash where they belonged.

However, as she ran past a signpost reading “Pocket D”, she kept a close eye on the sun, as it dipped over the horizon.

At night, she reasoned to herself, if would be more difficult to see the gangs.
At night, she tried to push the thought away, something Hunts in Paragon City.

Note: This is the sequel to 'Into The Inferno' which I've been working on. It's coming along slowly, but I've got a few chapters down. Eventually, this and the original story will end up on FF.net.

Enjoy.


Chapter One

(The following is an excerpt from the Paragon Times archives. A copy of the full story can be found, enlarged and framed, where it sits in the main lobby of The Tucker Foundation Headquarters, Paragon City.)

The Ever-Burning Fire
By Susan Daniels

Paragon City has had its’ fair share of heroes in it’s time. Indeed, even today, a normal, everyday person can’t turn his or her head without seeing a caped individual rush past on their way in the pursuit of justice?

But what about the heroes behind the masks?

Whilst few would have heard the name of ‘Fire Guardian’ before, there is little doubt that the name ‘Jason Tucker’ is one everyone would recognise. Recently found out to be the winner of the first Annual Worldwide Lottery, and subsequently, founder and head of the Tucker International War Victim Foundation, Tucker led a quiet life, until an unknown circumstance brought him here, to our own Paragon City. An unknown accident brought him close to death, and then to a rebirth – a rising from the ashes, if you will – as The Fire Guardian. He re-discovered a lost love, the now missing Emily Campbell, former aide to the former Mayor. Alongside his close companion, the recently deceased Samuel Robert Edwards, Tucker began to live his life as a Superhero. One that lived his life in the constant pursuit of freedom and economic equality for all, in spite of his turn of luck that made him one of the most wealthy individuals on the planet. Indeed, this change of fortune did not alter his personality, as we find it does with others. Rather, it sharpened his dreams into definable goals. Goals which he nearly achieved.

His close friend and business partner, Michael Anson, now elected Mayor of Paragon, remembers a bright, funny, and intelligent young man.
“He was a good person,” Mayor Anson relayed to me upon our first meeting, at Tucker’s funeral. “The world will never see another Jason Tucker again.” With Mayor Anson now fully in control of The Tucker Foundation, will he continue the good work that he and his deceased partner set up together?
“Absolutely”, we are assured. “The Tucker Foundation will never stop the work I have set out for it. In Jason’s memory, we’ll continue. We’re even planning on relocating our main offices here, in Paragon. That way, there will always be a part of Jason looking out on the city he helped bring out of financial ruin.”

Whilst Tucker’s death remains shrouded in mystery, we can take some comfort in knowing he is now at rest. Although police are still looking for his missing lover in relation to his death, as well as the death of Mr Edwards, Mayor Anson assures us that it is strictly routine. “I wish to meet Ms Campbell, and look her directly in the eyes when she’s finally brought in.”
So, is she guilty of murder?
“Who’s to say?” Anson says, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I only know that she went missing the same night Jay was killed. And, as Jason used to say, there’s no such thing as a co-incidence.”

With his friend elected to public office, and his charity relocating to our fair city, we acknowledge that The Fire Guardian may be dead, but Jason Tucker will live on. Perhaps forever.

--

Jason Tucker wished he was dead.
‘It isn’t as if this damned disguise is doing anything for me,’ He reasoned to himself. ‘Other than it’s putting my bloody back out.’

It had been a week since he had ‘died’ in a warehouse fire, set by Mike Anson in an overly-elaborate plot to take his money, his Foundation, and his life. Since then, having to hide his face, he had sent his only remaining confidant, an overly chatty doctor from the Chiron Medical Facility named Wilks, out to a tailor to have his Power Belt repaired, and a new costume loaded onto it. Having gotten the idea from his girlfriend Emily, who had used a Power Belt in a similar way, Tucker’s instructions were specific, and Wilks returned, a few hours later, with a second identity programmed into the belt.
“Now, without you there, the tailor had to go by your instructions, so it may be a bit constrictive.” Wilks was rambling. He handed the belt over to Tucker, who snapped it on, and activated the costume by pressing a red disk in the centre of the belt.
Half a second later, he was an elderly man, with a long white ponytail, tweed suit, and a hunched over back.
“Oh….[censored], that hurts!”
“Yes, well, the tailor only went by your instructions. You appear to be hunching over somewhat. Is that the costume, or just you?”
The old man turned and glared at Wilks. “What do you think, Doc? I say something hurts, and you can see my back is more crooked than a politician. Put two and two together.”
“Yes, I see.” Wilks stared at the old man. “At least the facial overlay is working. At least, I assume it is. You currently look like you’re mouthing the words ‘I’m going to kill you’ over and over again.”
“I am.”
“Ah, then it’s working.”
“Oh, yes.”
Wilks surveyed the small room his friend was living in. “You know, I would have thought you’d buy a house, or an apartment.”
“Too flashy.”
“Be that as it may, Mr Tucker, it’s not as if you couldn’t afford it.”
Jason chuckled. “Doc, if you’re going to ask me to move out, I’ll be more than happy to.”
“Nonsense. My house is your house. So to speak.”

It wasn’t so much a house that Wilks was referring to, so much as it was a hospital. Jason had only returned a week ago, and although he was physically fine (Thanks, as Doctor Wilks would be the first to point out, to fine medical care) he was refusing to leave.

“Jason,” Wilks began, before pausing and looking his charge in the eye. “You know, it’s difficult to talk to you when you’re wearing that thing. Could you turn it off, please?”
“Sure.” The ‘old man’ pressed the disk on his belt again, and became Jason Tucker.
“Now, Jason”, Wilks began again. “You know, this isn’t healthy. You’ve become shut in. Your legs were repaired, you’ve had numerous blood transfusions, all quietly, subtly. Nobody knows you’re here but me. I daresay nobody knows you’re alive except for myself.”
“And Emily.” Jason interrupted.
“And Emily.” Wilks allowed. He had no doubt that Emily was still alive, having given Jason a note from her a few days ago. “However, you have a disguise. You can walk about Paragon freely, and nobody will know who you are. Which reminds me.” He fished inside his lab coat pocket, and produced a small card, which he handed to Jason.
“John Fernandez?”
Wilks shrugged. “When I saw the finished disguise, it seemed like a Fernandez.”
Jason shrugged back. “Fair enough.”
Wilks smiled at Jason. “You know…your funeral is today.”
Jason blinked. “Already?”
“It’s been a week. My point is, Jason, you can go to your funeral. Move on, as it were.”
“I don’t know, Doc. Going to my own funeral seems morbid, somehow.”
“Actually, psychiatrists hold ‘mock funerals’ for certain patients of theirs, with them in attendance. It’s supposed to be life affirming.”
“I’m not going.”
“Jason…”
“I’m not going.”

*

Jason stood, hunched over a cane, watching his own funeral.
‘Damn Wilks, and his ‘life affirming [censored]’, He grumbled to himself. Secretly, however, he was stunned, and somewhat pleased, with the turnout he had gotten.
He watched in silence as the priest said some truly nice things about him, about his need to make sure people were safe, and happy. A blonde woman in a nice suit caught his eye, as she was writing in a notebook as everyone mourned.
When the mourners started to leave, a sight caught Jason’s eye.

Mike Anson. Lawyer, chairman of The Tucker Foundation. Friend, advisor, traitorous snake. ‘I’ll get you soon’, Jason swore to himself, as Mike looked on, his face blank. ‘I promise you, Anson, I’ll be coming for you soon’.
He turned his head, and noticed the blonde woman was looking directly at him. Jason nodded to her gently, and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Mike approach her. Jason couldn’t help himself. ‘Watch your back, lady. That guy’s trouble.’ He smiled at the thought, and turned to walk away. As he did, he heard Mike speak to the woman.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
“Oh.” The woman stammered. “No, I’m just here to pay my respects.”
Jason shuffled on, silently cursing the damn tailor for making his back hurt, trying to find a better vantage point on top of a nearby hill.

*

Somehow, I mused to myself, I simply have to find a way to pay back Wilks for these digs.
It had been several months since my funeral. At least, I think it has. Time has an odd way of passing when you live as a hermit, nearly cut off from the world at large.
When I returned to Chiron one day, Wilks had gone off on some errand. He left me two things, however. One was a note (no, not the note from Emily. I’d already received that, remember?) And the other…

Let me explain a few things. Superheroes operate best in teams. Certainly, they can go out by themselves, but the information they get given by their contacts or informants is very rarely complete. A Hero who goes out to perform a simple mission such as ‘meet So-and-So’, or ‘retrieve a piece of Clockwork’ can find themselves overwhelmed. I know, I can hear some of you reminding me that Superman works alone. I’ve got two words for you. Justice League. Besides, I’ve never met the guy, but…come on. The invulnerable, super strong, super fast, super everything Last Son of Krypton doesn’t need any help. Us more…earthbound Superheroes need sidekicks, partners, and mentors. A ‘lone wolf’ Superhero is one who’s, more than likely, intimate with the every ins and outs of the medical facilities scattered throughout Paragon, and has used his emergency teleporter so many times, Statesman would probably have to award him a badge for being so resilient. I would, naturally, replace the word ‘resilient’ with the word ‘dumb’.
If you find you can’t do something right, don’t bloody do it.
Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes. Teams. Sometimes, teams work so well together, they’ll form a more permanent team, which are officially called (and I shudder at the name) Super Groups. Like Super Friends, I suppose, but without the cloying cutesiness. These Groups, once they’ve registered with the City Council, are awarded a plot of land, which can only be accessed by members of that group after they’ve had what’re called ‘Identichips’ embedded into them, allowing them to enter.

It’s one of these Identichips, which Wilks had left me.

I scanned through the note quickly. Something I had discovered was that, with my artificial eyes, if I looked at something once, I could recall it instantly. When I had asked Wilks about it, he mentioned something about .avi clips and JPEG formats, and muttered something else about a hard-drive lodged in my brain. I tried not to think too much about that, as I’ve never had much luck with computers.

‘John.’ I wondered about that for a second, then realised. John was my ‘new’ name, according to my ID. Of course, Wilks would be careful enough to not leave any evidence of my real identity behind.
‘John. Please find enclosed an Identichip, which should allow you access to a SG base. The exact state of the base is unknown, however, all members were unfortunately killed, or left the group for greener pastures, shortly after the war. Normally, you would have to have the chip surgically inserted into you, however, you can embed it yourself in your artificial legs with a minimum of pain. You will find concealed cubbyholes in your legs, where your calves should be.
‘I’ll be in touch with I can, and I meant to be there. Sadly, a patient decided to go into arrest.
All the best, Wilks.’

After leaving Chiron, I made my way to the nearest Base Portal, closed my eyes, and stepped inside.

When I opened them, I stood in a small room, covered wall to wall in metal. The lights flickered on and off, and it was clear to me that the base had fallen into disrepair. As I walked further along, I came into a large hall, with a broken desk covered in cobwebs, cubicles fallen into disrepair, a large monitor which had seen better days, and, to one side, the only new additions I could tell of were a single…I wouldn’t even call it a bed. It was a clunky cot, with a battery operated lamp on a nightstand with three legs, two of them cracked and wobbly.

I made my way through the gloomy room, and turned my eyes over to night-vision. Finding an old, near mouldy desk, I sat down on the battered leather armchair, put my feet up, and leaned back.

The chair broke.

As I picked myself up from the floor, and dusted myself down, I frowned at the chair, the desk, and the horrible base…my new home. It’d take a lot of work, and a lot of money, to get this place habitable again.
Somehow, I mused to myself, I simply have to find a way to pay back Wilks for these digs.

Cool. A lot of work, but cool. I would have used a clone brush on Sonara, but your way is obviously as equally, if not more so, effective.

As for the Perez Park, very nice.

Very cool. How did you get the backdrop like that?

[ QUOTE ]
lol up next... HeroMen By James Blunt i mean.. fire guardian XD

[/ QUOTE ]

Dude. That's just....harsh.

Big in spirit, and enthusiam, and cuteness. And besides, mechs are big, aren't they?

Name me one other person who uses a forum handle starting with Z.

Can't do it, can ye? Therefore, from now on, I proclaim you to be..."Big Z". Said in the American style "Zee", not Zed. Unless you were ever a villain on Power Rangers.

I have spoken. And I...am Batman.

In all seriousness, though, I appreciate the help, and want to thank you in advance for being willing to give it a go. Writing songs is never easy, no matter how many I churn out. You should see the backlog of songs I wrote down but never recorded. My favourite of which was a tribute to R.Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly", called, believe it or not, "I Believe I Can Fly". Guess what it was about?

[ QUOTE ]
Might give it a shot (singing it), if I can get the timing right, might take some practice.

I like it a lot, well done Fire. :-)
But I admit I was expecting 'We will rock you' by Queen as well.

[/ QUOTE ]

Bless you, Ais, for being the first person for saying anything nice about it.

And, as for the Queen thing...I'm working on one. I tried to enlist Big Z's help, but I think I'm pretty much working solo on it.

...Wow. My throat just told me I'm going to pay for this in the morning.
The Blaster's Lament

[ QUOTE ]
[ QUOTE ]
Was I the only person expecting the song to be based on "We Will Rock You" by Queen?

[/ QUOTE ] Nope, you weren't.

[/ QUOTE ]

I use Nero Wave Recorder for my voice, and I get my backing tracks mostly from picking up karaoke CDs and burning them to my computer, or by slogging through various MIDI programs with my keyboard.

I know I was.

I'll see if I can knock one up for you.

It'd be better if I could sing the sodding thing.

Hey guys.

Sadly, with my voice still lost to the cursed flu, I've been postponing a song for a week or so. Since I hoped to be recovered by now (sadly, I'm not) I'm throwing it open to you guys. Anyone who wants to try it out, go for it.

The music

The lyrics:

We Will RP
by The Fire Guardian

Roleplay queen of only 18
Had some troubles with the game
petitioned guys who always bothered her
Now it's empty, not the same

When she went to the park
Her heart it was dark and sad
A casual gamer saw her all alone
And he tried to make her glad

He said

I don't mind when you earn XP
Just as long as you're here with me
Let's get a cape, and an aura too
And we'll play just me and you

And we will RP
Yes we will RP

They went on AV missions then
Side by side the best of friends
Then she found her petitions failed
Those guys came back, and her life was hell
That gamer found he was shunned
He was number one, till they returned
She's now surrounded by people she hates
And he learned how it feels to get burned.

But he still said

I don't mind when you earn XP
Just as long as you're here with me
Let's get a cape, and an aura too
And we'll play just me and you

And we will RP
Yes we will RP
Oh we will RP
When can we RP

Her life went on, and she never looked back
RPing with her storyline on track
But though her eyes were bright as the sun
She no longer found any of it fun.

Yeah

One day she found that young man solo'ing
And she had just this to say.

She said

I don't mind when you earn XP
Just as long as you're here with me
Let's get a cape, and an aura too
And we'll play just me and you

And we will RP
Yes we will RP
Oh we will RP
Yes we will RP

I don't mind when you earn XP
Just as long as you're here with me
Let's get a cape and we'll fly away
I'll RP on some other day.

Chapter Twelve

My life was slipping away, and so was my world.

Emily Campbell was Corruptor. I had lain in bed with the woman who can crippled me, nearly killed me, and contemplated the two of us moving in together. The woman I had never been able to fully excise from my heart had tried to stop it beating all together.
“Surprise, lover.” She still held her smirk. “How’s your day been?”
I grunted, unable to find the strength to open my mouth any more.
“That bad?” She tilted her head downwards in mock sympathy. “Well, I’m willing to bet mine’s been worse.” She walked up to me, over me, and up to the ‘throne’ where Sammy’s corpse was pinned. Yanking out the large blade, Sammy’s body slithered down to the floor, his head narrowly missing me. Emily sat down on the throne primly, and smiled.
“Now, let’s see. Today, I found out that there was a spy in my little organisation. Can’t have spies, can we Jay?”
“Unggh.”
“Yes, quite.” Emily laughed gaily. “So, how to root out this little spy? Well, why not lead it back to it’s source, to the person they were spying for, and kill them? So I did.”
I gasped for air, trying not to cough up too much blood, and failing miserably.
“Sa…Sammy?”
“No, you idiot. My traitor was spying for Sammy. Still, I suppose when you mingle as much with the crowds as Sammy did, you’re bound to meet someone who can help you out.”

That didn’t make sense. Sammy was hardly a spy master. I tried to wrap my brain around it…
“Let me make things clearer for you, Jay. Sammy found out that I was Corruptor. His little ‘friend’ Sarriss told him, and he simply had to let you know. So, he called you and asked you to come to Atlas Park by yourself…probably scared I might show up. And I did.”
I groaned. Sammy got into that car…and Emily was nowhere around.
“You…car?”
“I was in the car, yes. Pointing a rather large gun at his head, too. Sammy played the good little boy, and he was rewarded for it.”
I frowned. Reward was hardly the word I’d use.

I held out hope for one thing, though. Surely, someone from The Brotherhood had seen me enter. Any minute now, the doors would crash open, and The Mayor would lead her men and women in to defend me. It was the one thing that kept me going.
I can’t wait to see Doc Wilks again, I thought to myself. Although, he’s gonna be [censored] that I ruined his work on me.
“I don’t see why you have anything to smile at. This is the end for you.”
I had to stall, to give The Brotherhood enough time to mount a defence, so I tried my hardest to strain out a conversational tone.
“How…you Corruptor? The party…”
“Ah, yes.” Emily beamed. “I was rather proud of that. You see, these Forcefields are quite handy. They can make you seem larger, stronger, older…even change gender. So, when I have to be somewhere as myself, and as Corruptor, I let one of my men take the Forcefield.” Her smile took on an ugly slant. “But, rest assured, Jason, that was me in the Cathedral. All part of the plan.”
“What…plan?”
She clapped her hands together, and looked at the guards. “Leave us.”
Although I couldn’t turn to watch, I heard the guards marching out, and a door slam shut behind them. In the peace and quiet, Emily got off her throne, and knelt down next to me, stroking my face softly.
“Poor Jay. I’m sorry for all this, I really am. You were never meant to get involved in all this. I hated Infern for that. That’s why I killed him.”
“Tried…kill me…too.”
She laughed gently. “No, Jay, I did my best to keep you alive. I could have killed you if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I turned that flamethrower on you to cauterise your wounds, to keep you alive.”
“Then why this?”
She sighed, and ruffled my hair. “I’m under orders. You’ve become too big a threat to my employer.”
“Brotherhood?”
“Jay, when will you wake up and realise…there is no Brotherhood.”

---

Susan Daniels got the e-mail, and deleted it as soon as she’d read it.
“Nobody cares about dead heroes my [censored].” She mumbled, grabbing her coat, and slipping out the door. On her way out, she was stopped by a gaggle of reporters coming in from their lunch break. “Hey, Daniels!” One of them chirped happily. “Did you get a tip that Statesman’s having Lord Recluse’s baby?”
“Yeah, or maybe that Aeronaut’s going to marry War Witch?”
Susan glared at them all. In this city…a City of Heroes…why was reporting news on the heroes considered tacky, schlock writing? ‘They are the news’ she thought to herself, and counted to ten before pushing past her colleagues.
One of them called after her, “You going to the Guardian’s funeral?”
“Damn straight I am.” She shot back. “Why, you coming? Want to file a report on what the well dressed mourner is wearing this season?”
“No need to get testy!” her co-worker complained. “But don’t expect many people there. Fire Guardian didn’t do a thing for Paragon.”
Susan mentally counted to 20 before the lift opened, and she turned to face her colleague, only to discover the group had moved on.
“He did more for Paragon than you ever will. Jackass.”
The doors closed on her triumphant grin.

---

My head was reeling. No Brotherhood?
“You see,” Emily continued, oblivious, “The plan was to find the head of The Tucker Foundation, and get his money. My employer has big plans for your cash, Jay.”
I snorted. “World domination.”
“To begin with, yes.” Emily allowed, nodding slightly. “We set it up beautifully. Even planned the whole ‘Corruptor’ thing so that passers by would just consider it a robbery. But when I discovered it was you…” She frowned. “Well…I didn’t want to kill you. Frank wasn’t a problem, as Jenson dispatched him easily enough…”
“Wait….Infern killed Frank?”
“Yes, of course.” She sighed irritably. “He was expendable, like you were supposed to be. But…I never stopped loving you. That’s why I couldn’t kill you then.” She looked me in the eye. “That’s why I can’t kill you now.”
She handed me a small device.
“This is an emergency teleporter. The one you have on your belt isn’t working, I guess, otherwise you’d be back in Chiron by now. I want you to use it.”
I was stunned. First she tries to kill me, then she makes love to me, then she tries to kill me again, now she wants to save my life?

Women.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I can hide. Hopefully, far enough away from Anson.”
I spluttered. “Mike?”
“Yes. It was his idea all along.”

I was stunned. Mike Anson had plotted to kill me, from the very beginning? A man I had slowly come to think of as, if not a friend, then certainly a trusted advisor?
Before Emily could say anything else, before I could hit the switch, the doors burst open behind me, and I heard a voice I recognised all too well.

“Campbell! What’s the meaning of this?”
Emily stood up, and switched on her forcefield, her features blurring until they became Corruptors again.
“This has gone on long enough, Mike. It’s over.”

“Yes, it is.”

I heard a roar of flames, and Emily screamed, just before everything vanished in a blur of pure, white light. And pain.

---

The funeral, Susan noted, Is far from empty.
No superheroes seemed to be in attendance, but the faint gold and red glimmers underneath clothing meant that she couldn’t deny that maybe some were in attendance. However, what it lacked in heroes, it made up for in normal, everyday people, who had come to pay their last respects. Dozens of people stood in The Hollows, their heads hung low, not even caring about the possibility of Troll attack. The people had come to mourn.
Not for Fire Guardian, Hero of Paragon City.
But for Jason Tucker, a man who had tried, above all else, to do right.

As the casket was lowered into the ground, and people turned away, Susan noticed one old man, withered and pale, bent over a walking stick as he glared, otherwise un-noticed, at a man in an expensive looking suit. The old man seemed to sense Susan’s gaze, because he turned and looked at her, and, for a split second, their eyes met, and the old man seemed to smile slightly, before nodding his head, and walking away.
Susan examined the man in a suit. Middle aged, but fairly strong looking, the man had the mark of a survivor about him, and was surrounded by other men, all in cheap looking suits. Bodyguards Susan realised, almost before the man was upon her, his face one of sadness.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
“Oh. No, I’m just here to pay my respects. And…well…I’m a reporter with The Paragon Times, writing a story on Mr Tucker. Might I ask, did you know him?”
The man bowed his head slightly. “Mr Tucker and I were in business together. He was a great man.”
Susan nodded. “Yes, he was. If you knew him so well, might I borrow a few minutes of your time, so I can give him a write-up deserving of his legacy?”
The man smiled slightly. “Yes. I’m sure Jason would have liked that. But only a few minutes, I have to get to City Hall, to file before the deadline.”
“Deadline?” Susan wondered out loud, before realising what he meant.
“Yes, since the Mayor…passed away so suddenly, there’s a seat to fill in City Hall. I’m going to run. With the full backing of The Tucker Foundation.”
“Well, with all the money, I’m sure you’ll do well, Mister…?”

“Anson. My name is Michael Anson.”

Anson led Susan to his limo, to tell of his sad tale about his dearly missed departed friend, Jason Tucker, whom he would mourn forever.

---

The old man watched everything from atop a hill, his old frame belying his eyesight, which was, for a man his apparent age, extraordinary. Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, “Bastard”, before turning his attention to a note.
It was handwritten on a scrap of paper that, judging by it’s rumpled, and tear-sodden form, had seen better days. Whether the tears had come from the old man who read it, or the writer, is hard to say. Perhaps, dear reader, we shall find some comfort in believing it was both.
The old man read the note to himself, as he had done several times every day, and although he had it memorised by now, he couldn’t part with the paper.

‘I hope Doctor Wilks gives this note to you. If not, I won’t be too impressed.
‘I wish I could be there with you through your recovery, but things took a turn for the worst after I used the remote to send you to Chiron. I’m in hiding, now, with friends I trust. Please, don’t try to find me. You won’t. You’ll never see me again, Jay, and that’s how it has to be. I can never forgive myself for hurting you, and my penance for it will be to know you live, safe from attack, but never being able to contact you.
‘I wanted to find out who the spy was so I could go underground, with you. Guess that won’t happen now, huh? We’re moving about a lot, and it’ll be a long time before this woman trusts me. You, on the other hand, she’s crazy about. I’m almost jealous.
I love you, Jay. I always have, and I always will.
Be well.
- E’

“I love you too, Emily.” The old man muttered. “And some day, I’ll find you, no matter what you think.”

---

I know what you’re thinking.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? I had a funeral, but I’m still alive. I said I never saw Emily again, and there she was, trying to kill me, not a day later.
The body in the casket was Sammy’s. Anson…the bastard…fried Sammy so that his corpse was so badly burned, it was mistaken for mine. There was a report, apparently, of another body which was mistaken for Sammy’s, but the idea of double identity mistakes just makes my head spin.

As for never seeing Emily again? I technically never did. See, I said I never saw ‘Emily Campbell, the love of my life’ again. The time I saw Emily next, she was Corruptor, and I was furious at her. My eyesight, such as it was after the fight with the guards, was so badly damaged anyway, I could barely see anything. Now it’s better, she’s gone. And before anyone starts splitting hairs, yes, to tell the truth, I lied. It’s called dramatic licence. Get over it. I haven’t seen her since the warehouse fire, and I don’t know if I ever will.

Oh, I’m very much alive. I’m broke, but alive. Well, that also isn’t technically true. I did put some money into a personal bank account when I won the lottery, so I could have some ‘me’ money. Not much, about 100 million or so. Somehow, I doubt I’ll starve. However, I want it back. All my money. Not for reasons of greed, or ego. Mike stole what was most important to me. My identity. Now he’s the general benefactor, the head of The Tucker Foundation, and he’s using my name for evil. He has to be stopped. Since Jason Tucker is legally dead, The Fire Guardian is going to have to be incognito for a little while. I’ll still fight, sure, but I’m staying on the sidelines until I can go after Mike. For now, though, I’m going to have to get comfortable in this damn disguise I had the tailor make up for me. It makes me hunch over, which is causing some serious back pains. I’ll get over it, though. I’ll endure. I have to.

Paragon City is, so I’m told, a City Of Heroes. However, there’s an underside to it, and I don’t mean the colourful muggers and attackers you meet on the streets. Although not as bad as The Rogue Isles is reputed to be, there’s an evil that lurks here. It isn’t an evil you can see in the faces of men, but in their hearts. Bad men thrive in Paragon, if they pretend their intentions are just, and they have honour in mind.

It’s those men I hunt. It’s the corrupt, bitter souls of the wicked that I make my prey. Their streets are my playground, and their homes are my own.

I’m The Fire Guardian. I make the evil burn.

-----------------------------------------------------

[i]To Be Continued In: The Flames of Justice

Auhorial Interjection: Dear lord, it's complete. Twelve chapters, just under 25,000 words, and more Lemsip than you can shake a stick at. I owe Syra and Augury a huge debt of thanks, since they got stuck with being hassled to be my proof readers. I don't know if they ever -did- proof-read. Oh, and despite the last two chapters being fairly dark and melodramatic, I did have fun here and there. "Thomas Newromain", anyone? I swear, there's a whole group of Superheroes and Villains waiting to be named after fonts. They could even have their own "Truetype" Supergroup!

Any comments are, as always, more than welcome.

How'd you like THEM apples?

No?

How about this for sheer, unadulterated talent?

Chapter Eleven

To keep myself amused, and above all else, distracted, I practiced my flying abilities. My sudden burst of speed during the fight with Corruptor, I reasoned, wasn’t going to be a fluke, spurred on by adrenaline. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my speed up past my normal snail-pace. It didn’t help matters that I wasn’t really thinking about my flying skills, or lack thereof.

I was worried about Emily.

Okay, so she may be able to take care of herself. And, okay, she may be a member of the Brotherhood, which probably allowed her to carry a Fire Sword. And, yes, she wore a gun under her suit, and sure, she had toned up and worked out a lot since she had left me. How much of that mattered, though, with a gun to her head?
‘Absolutely none’, I said to myself, and flipped in the air. Sure, Sammy might not be Corruptor, but he’s been acting very strangely. I paused my motion, and hovered upside down for a moment. But how would he have learned anything? Who else does he know in Paragon except me?
I sighed, and righted myself.
Had I sent my girlfriend off to her death? Very likely.
Was she willing to go, and aware of the risks? Absolutely.
Did I have to like it? Certainly not.
Could I do anything about it?

My eyes drifted over to my power belt, sitting on the dresser. I could go back to the tailor and get a new costume, one that worked like a disguise. Pad out the stomach to give me a gut, make me look like an elderly man, just out for a stroll in the park…and then, if Emily were in danger, switch back to the Fire Guardian outfit and attack the attackers…even Sammy, if it came down to it.

I drifted slowly towards it, weighing up the pros and cons. Emily might never forgive me if I did. Then again, Emily might not survive to forgive me if I didn’t. If it was a trap, and this offshoot group, whatever they called themselves, were expecting a superhero…then one lone woman armed with only a gun, and maybe a Fire Sword…was in danger.
Oh, hell. I frowned at my reflection, before grabbing the belt and putting it on. I’m a Hero, now. It’s what we do.
Throwing open the plate glass window, I jumped out and hit the belt, the costume’s forcefields rising as rapidly as the ground below me. Just before my head was encased by my helmet, I pulled out of my dive, whipping dead leaves and strewn newspapers in my wake. The people walking on the ground all turned and stared for a second.
“Look! It’s him! It’s the Guardian!”
This, I grinned to myself, Is something I could get used to very quickly.

---

Atlas Park at noon. Deserted? Something was very wrong, here. Usually teeming with life, from newly arrived Superheroes, to normal citizens walking around, to the Hellion gang members looking to rob people of their money…there was nobody in sight. I glanced at City Hall from my vantage point atop a skyscraper, and was oddly disturbed by the sight. Nothing was wrong…the flag made from Statesmans’ cape was still flying in the wind, flapping without a care. In the far off distance, there was a blimp floating around. Everything was serene, peaceful…dead.
Tapping a few keys on my wrist mounted pad, I turned my vision to infrared. Nothing. There was nobody in sight…wait.
There.

I zoomed in with my eyes to get a better look, and flicked my vision back to normal. It was Sammy, looking around, nervously.
He should feel nervous. I glared at him, unseen. The traitor. But where was Emily?
My questions were put out of mind when a large black car sped up the road, screeching to a halt in front of my former friend, and a door opened. I watched as Sammy peered inside, spoke to someone…how I wish I had super hearing…and got in.
As quickly as it arrived, the car drove off.

I snapped my head around left and right, and saw no trace of Emily. Fearing the worst, I jumped off the skyscraper, and flew off in pursuit, trailing a fair distance away so as not to be spotted.

---

From: pct_ed@paragon_times.com
To: S_Daniels@paragon_times.com
Re: Story Filed

Body:
Susan, whilst I can appreciate the ‘human interest’ aspect of this story, I must say, I wonder to your personal level of involvement. I realise that you were one of the orphans assisted by The Tucker Foundation, and so I must ask you if the backstory to Jason Tucker is entirely relevant. Everyone knows who he was.

Regards,
Thomas Newromain
Editor, Paragon City Times

---

I had followed the car for hours, to a warehouse on the outskirts of Talos Island, and waited, watching. The car had entered the warehouse via a loading bay door, and now, all was still. That is, if you don’t count the armed guards performing patrols, the searchlights in seemingly random patterns, and the machine gun emplacements on the roof.

This wasn’t going to be easy. But then, easy isn’t the way of a Superhero. I tried to calculate the best way in…the best being the least risky. However, I just couldn’t figure it out. With the December sun quickly going down (not that it was ever really up) and the guard’s low visibility, I figured my best course of action was to blow the searchlights, then attack the guards from behind, whilst trying to figure out a blind spot for the machine gun emplacements. I would be swift, I would be silent, I would be a ninja…
I’d be dead before I took out the second spotlight I mused. Oh, sod it. I leaped down, aiming myself at the roof, Fire Sword igniting as I noticed the momentary shock in the faces of the guards, a split second before they opened fire.

---

From: S_Daniels@paragon_times.com
To: pct_ed@paragon_times.com
Re: Story Filed

Body:
Tom, whilst yes, I was left an orphan, that has no bearing on my story. The Fire Guardian was a real, accessible person. I know you must have seen the footage of the speech he gave at the Christmas Party before those troopers attacked, and he was nothing but nervous. The fact remains that, although he had superpowers, he was new to them, and he wasn’t even considered a ‘Protector Of The Innocents’. That’s why the story seems so interesting. Please re-consider your position.

Regards,

Susan Daniels.

---

The guards were dead. The spotlights were destroyed. It was safe to enter. If only I could get up. I struggled to get to my feet, my head spinning so much I wished I could throw up. However, I knew any excretions would get caught in the forcefield of my costume.
Oh, wait I thought deliriously. I don’t have a costume anymore.
It was true. Somehow, my belt had been damaged in the attack, along with the rest of me. My right eye wasn’t working properly, and kept cutting out, and my torso was bleeding. I tried to focus my attention away from it, but the pools of dark, near black blood on the floor, from the dripping wounds on my chest were the only thing keeping me alert enough to remain conscious.
I’m coming for you, Emily. I said to myself. Even if I die trying!
Somehow, I knew that was a very real possibility.

The sound of marching feet made me look up, and before my brain could realise what was going on, I was inside the warehouse, surrounded by Corruptor’s men. The dragged me forward, and dropped me unceremoniously at the foot of what seemed to be a throne room. There, sitting on the throne, directly in front of me, was Sammy, a large evil grin on his face.

I stared at him…at my best friend…my betrayer, and tried to stand. “You…you *******. I’ll kill you!”
A voice from behind me rang out. “That won’t be necessary, Jay.”
My left eye drifted down, and I saw what the voice meant. A large knife…identical to the one that killed Frank, and carried by members of The Brotherhood, impaled Sammy to the throne.

Sammy was dead. Corruptor was dead. But…who?

I forced myself to turn around. There, not three feet from me, was Corruptor.

I was wrong.
Part of me wanted to cry for Sammy, although I know he would have mocked me for it. I had dragged my best friend into this…
"No, mate" That internal Sammy I had from time to time whispered in my ear. "You didn’t drag me into this, I went willingly, remember?"
I wished I could. However, events, times, people…they were all blurring into one. "Just hang on!" That little Sammy inside my head urged me. "Hang on, you little [censored]."
I glared up at Corruptor…the real one, armour and all, and spat a globule of blood at him. It spattered against his boot, and I felt a half-second of satisfaction, before that boot drove sharply towards me, kicking my unprotected ribs, and knocking what little air I had out of me. I collapsed on the floor, my face grinding against the metal walkway, and tried to keep Corruptor in focus, although he was fading in and out.
“Who…who are you?” I forced myself to say.
Corruptor tilted his head. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now.”

He hit a black emblem on his chest, and his armour started to melt away. 'Just like my costume!' I realised to myself.
I stared up at Corruptors head, watching as best I could as the helmet faded into nothingness.

Emily stared down at me, smirking, and I knew everything was over.

---

From: pct_ed@paragon_times.com
To: S_Daniels@paragon_times.com
Re: Story Filed

Body:
Susan. If you want the story printed, it will be. The dead best friend, the warehouse fire, all of it. Tell the world that Fire Guardian was a new hero to Paragon, but that Jason Tucker was a hero to everyone long before he put on a costume.

The fact remains that nobody cares about dead heroes.

Regards,
Thomas Newromain
Editor, Paragon City Times

*

To be concluded.