Heroid

((A few months ago, comic book writer, Todd Dezago had a story contest on his blog , and I won. Now, I am going to be a comic book character! They had me send some photos and the character is gonna have my real name! And in a case of fiction copying virtal-life -- I'm head of security at BEDLAM, the organization in the Perhapanauts comic book! (Roy "HEROID" Kirby is head of security at Maggie's Rock on CoH.)

Here's a copy of the letter!

I'm so happy! ))

((Pft. What she wrote was better. ))

((That's impressive, but it's hardly small and brown...))

((It brought back some fond memories. I hope you're still writing. ))

((Um... yes it is. Am I in trouble?))

(( ((... and I hog the ground.

Best song ever.))

((I found something I saved on my computer called In the Pale Moonlight. It's freaking awesome!))

Smith and Jessie are no longer a couple. On top of that, Smith discovers his powers feed off of his emotions, and have grown strong enough that they can cause emotional surges, which in turn create power surges. It is a self-feeding cycle.

After trying to simply turn off his emotions (which did not work) Smith has decided he needs power inhibitors...


In a lab near the Kirby Farm, Smith sits in a chair and lets Dr. Werner attach wires to his scalp and sensors to his hands and fingers.

“Now, just relax and… well… discuss things,” Werner says. “I just need some emotional responses in order to calibrate the inhibitor circuit.”

Smith had gone to Ms. Love this morning and told her that in order to keep his powers in check, he needed an inhibitor. Ms. Love was busy today and had given Smith a choice of who he’d like to accompany him to visit with Dr. Werner. Really, Smith didn’t know any of the other faculty and staff very well. Mr. Kinsolving was available, but when Ms. Love brought him up, Smith maintained a cold indifference and she got the message that he might not be a good choice at the moment. So Ms. Love sent Mr. Kirby.

Not a whole lot better as far as Smith is concerned, but still, better.

“Whatcha wanna talk about, kid?” Kirby says.

Smith shrugs.

“Ya know yer grounded, right? This might be th’ last chance ya git ta see th’ sunshine fer a while. Don’t ya wanna take advannage o’ gittin’ out fer a day?”

Smith looks out the window. It is pretty down here in the South, he muses. All the trees are bright green and flowers blooming everywhere…

Dr. Werner shakes his head.

“Look, kid. Gimme some emotin’ here. If we git done ‘fore Maggie suspects us back, I’ll take ya four-wheelin’.”

Smiths shrugs again. “I’m trying. I want this very much, but…”

“All right. Let’s play some hard ball then. Lessee… somethin’ ta git a rise outta ya… Hmm… ” Kirby leans forward and says, “What happened ta yer parents, kid? How’d ya wind up a orphan?”

Dr. Werner flinches as the ceiling lights flicker.

“I… never had parents. They’re… gone. I never knew them.”

“Yeah? That’s tough. Might be better off. Some people ain’t much good fer anything, let alone raisin’ a kid.”

Smith shrugs

“Maggie tells me yer a semi-god.”

Dr. Werner turns some dials on the calibration equipment.

“Demi-god. And I don’t know… I guess.”

“Yeah…”

A few moments of silence are followed by an impatient gesture from Dr. Werner for them to get talking.

“I hear ya can make crayons with yer feelin’s.”

“I did. I’ve stopped now.”

“Heh. Seems like a handy thing ta do. Free crayons fer th’ kids.”

“You’re mocking me.”

Dr. Werner works the dials a little more.

“Sorry, kid,” Kirby says. “But if it wuz workin’ why’d ya stop? Why’re ya goin’ this route?”

“Jenny showed me how ridiculous it was. Besides… I was fading.”

“Fadin’?”

“Yes.”

Kirby shrugs and looks to Dr. Werner.

“Got ‘nuff, Doc?”

Dr. Werner shakes his head.

Kirby sighs. Smith sighs.

“All right. I wuzn’t gonna bring it up, but… I heard ya broke up with Jessie.”

Dr. Werner smiles and starts flipping switches and spinning dials as fast as he can.

Smith shrugs and looks away.

“Hate ta hear that. Ya wuz a cute couple o’ kids.”

Smith doesn’t respond, but Dr. Werner continues working frantically.

“Looks like ya still got feelin’s fer her.”

Smith nods.

“Then why’d ya break up with ‘er?”

“She… broke up with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Well… I don’t know… we just…”

Dr. Werner turns off his machines, stands, and says, “All right, boys, I have everything I need. I’ll put this chip in a fashionable housing and you’ll be good to go. Just give me about an hour.”

Kirby and Smith watch him leave.

Kirby leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. Smith looks a bit sad, a bit thoughtful.

“Ya just… what?”

“We just… got… separated.”

Kirby nods.

Smith sits in the chair and begins removing the wires and sensor from his head and hands.

“I don’t know how to explain it. It was so perfect… too perfect I guess… When we got back from Florida..”

“Florida?”

“I… took Jessie to Florida…”

“Like a class trip?”

“Like… just the two of us…”

Kirby takes a deep breath, then nods.

“Can’t say ya done right there, kid, but I ‘member bein’ young an’ in love…”

Smith sighs. He doesn’t really want to talk about this with Mr. Kirby. He barely knows Mr. Kirby, but he needs to talk about it with someone who might understand.

“After we came home, I messed up our alibi. Mr. Kinsolving found out and I got grounded and Jessie got sent to Colorado to stay with her sister and her sister’s… fiancée.”

Mr. Kirby remains silent, but there’s sympathy on his face. And concern. And he’s listening, so Smith continues –

“She had… I mean she and Cayt’s fiancée… they… um… they figured out Jessie had a heart problem and well…”

“Yeah. I heard she came home with a new heart.”

Smith nods.

“Anyway, we broke up right after that.”

Kirby nods.

“Ya broke up ‘cause she got sick?”

“No! We broke up because she… I mean… We broke up because I met a girl at Pocket D and cheated on her.”

“Ya met a girl at th’ D?”

Smith knew it was a terrible lie the first time he’d said it.

“Yer grounded, an’ ya went ta th’ D?”

Smith shrugs.

“Kid, swaller yer pride an’ admit ya broke up ‘cause o’ no good reason.”

Smith looks at him, wishing someone could understand.

“Look… sometimes we fall in love an’ jus’ when things’re lookin’ like they’re gonna work out – whammo! Life comes along an’ smacks th’ hell outta one ‘r th’ both o’ ya.”

Maybe he did understand.

“Fer instance, take me an’ Maggie.”

For a moment, Smith wonders if he’s heard him right.

“When I first got ta Paragon, I wuz stuck inna robot body. I wuz strong an’ indestructible, but I wuz also… well… a robot. An’ I had one other problem…

“There wuz this place called Gemini Park. It wuz a gatherin’ place fer capes. An’ in that park, there wuz this lady called Ireland Love.

“Geez… I can ‘member th’ first time I seen ‘er… She wuz sittin’ by herself on this big rock b’side th’ river. Man… she was… beautiful. As perty a sight as I ever seen b’fore, with hair that fell in red rings on her shoulders…”

Kirby sighs and Smith pictures Maggie sitting on a rock by the water, like a mermaid, and understands how it might affect someone Mr. Kirby’s age.

“Anyway, she’s sorta datin’ Smersh at th’ time, so I kinda figger me – bein’ a robot – wouldn’t be no competition fer a flesh an’ blood fella.

“So a few months later I find out her an’ Smersh is kinda broke up. An’ havin’ recently been cured o’ bein’ stuck as a robot, I thought it wuz time I made my move.”

Smith listens. He doesn’t know what point Kirby is getting at, but this story… it’s going to be awesome to tell later.

“So, I tell ‘er outright, ‘Maggie, I’m in love with ya.’ An’ she’s all, ‘Ah Roy’ – did ya know she’s th’ one what named me ‘Roy’? – ‘It’s too soon, I need time.’ Which, o’ course I didn’t give ‘er.

“An’ then, outta nowhere comes this new guy, Nick Kinsolving…”

Smith leans forward, his eye wide and questioning.

“Yeah. That Nick Kinsolving. He falls fer her too. Me an’ him nearly came ta blows over it. Maggie wouldn’t have none o’ that. Th’ both o’ us fightin’ over her kinda drover ‘er away from us both. Happens when ya don’t give a gal ‘er space.”

Smith nods and sighs.

“Y’know, at one point I think I had ‘er won. I think she wuz fallin’ fer me. She even kissed me – a good one – in the park, right in front o’ everybody. It wuz… “

Kirby sighs, looks wistful, then continues --

“Seemed like a perfect moment but…”

Smith muses that there always seems to be a “but” where love is involved.

“This… demon guy, Runo… hell, he says he’s in love with ‘er too, an’… well… he blows hisself up all over us. Ruined th’ moment.

“Short story long, it never worked out fer me an’ Maggie. Stuff kept happenin’. She got back t’gether with Smersh an’… well… ya perty much know what happened there.”

Smith nods, feeling sorry for Ms. Love. Seems to him as though she hasn’t had much luck in relationships either.

“But look how it turned out fer me an’ Nick. We’re both married an’ happy with our families. I hope someday Maggie can find that kinda happiness.”

Almost as if on cue, Ms. Love enters the room. Only… she’s not quite as slender, and with her hair short and wearing a pair of denim jeans and a plain tee-shirt. She’s carrying a plate full of fried chicken and two colas with moisture condensed on the bottles. Kirby rises to greet her with a kiss.

She says, “Ma thought you and Mr. Smith here might be hungry.”

Smith was.

“Smith, this is Peggy, my wife.”

Peggy, Kirby’s wife smiles and says, “I have some ‘special needs’ kids coming to ride horses, I’ve got to run. Nice meeting you, Mr. Smith.”

Peggy Kirby then leaves, and she leaves Kirby smiling broadly.

“I know what yer thinkin’ kid. An’ yeah, she looks jus’ like ‘er. There’s a reason fer that an’ it involves paralateral universes.”

Smith nods.

“Yeah. She’s perty much Maggie, without th’ baggage.”

“Baggage?”

“Yeah, kid. Baggage. Ever time a woman gits her heart broke, it makes what ya call ‘baggage’.”

Baggage…

“Yeah, ya might as well figger yer prob’ly Jessie’s baggage now…”

At that very moment, Dr. Werner returns.

“I have it here, my boy, and here’s how it works. Pay attention, now...”

And some part of Smith listens and understands and remembers the instructions, but the deepest part of him can only think of one thing…

Baggage.

((Bump while ideas percolate and charater develops via rp.))

“Concentrate!”

Lee jerked when he should have floated. The clumsy movement killed his upward momentum and his feet barely left the floor. The chain caught his leg and sent him tumbling ungracefully onto the mat.

Sensei Kinsolving looked down at him with the usual stern expression.

“Where is your chi now, Canine?”

Sensei Kinsolving usually only called him Canine in derision.

“Forgive me, Sensei,” Lee said, “I am distracted.”

Sensei Kinsolving walked to the equipment rack and hung the chain in its place.

“Dissociative identity disorder,” he said.

“Sir?” Lee was confused. Why had Sensei Kinsolving brought up his condition?

“Typically, there’s a memory loss involved. Yet in your case, the Lee side seems to remember everything the Canine side does, and visa versa.”

“Sir?”

“Of course, therapists are loath to admit when they’ve been had.”

“I’m not following you, sensei.”

Sensei Kinsolving took a white towel from the table beside the equipment rack and tossed it to Lee.

“I’m saying there’s nothing wrong with you psychologically.” Sensei Kinsolving took a towel for himself and wiped his brow. “Well, that’s simplifying things. I’m saying you don’t have dissociative identity disorder or multiple personality disorder or whatever you wish to call it.”

“But I do, and I’ve made progress…”

“Until you do something stupid or foolish and then it’s back to ‘Canine, the Awe-inspiring.’ It’s just a cover for being an [censored]. We both know this.”

What? Lee stood motionless as Sensei Kinsolving smirked at him.

“What’s the matter, son? Can’t you handle the truth?”

A rage grew within Lee. Like a blind and wounded animal he charged forward knocking Sensei Kinsolving to the mat. At that moment, he wanted to kill him. He sat on Kinsolving’s chest and raised his fist to strike.

Sensei Kinsolving flipped Lee over his head, sending him past the edge of the mat and onto the hard floor. Lee landed on his shoulder and he could tell by the shot of pain he felt that it was dislocated. He grimaced for a moment then pushed the pain back down, deep down so that he could not feel it. Then he rolled over sharply so that when his arm hit the hard wood, it was knocked back into place.

“I could have done that for you, more cleanly, I might add,” Kinsolving said, already standing over him. “You likely just inflicted more damage with that little move,”

Lee didn’t want to hear it. He was angry. Why was Sensei Kinsolving riding him so hard?

“You – old man! You don’t know me! You don’t know anything about me!”

Sensei Kinsolving offered a hand up. Lee looked at it for a moment, but when Kinsolving jutted it toward him, he decided he’d better take it. Sensei Kinsolving pulled Lee up with a strength that was surprising for the teacher’s size.

“Today’s lessons: One – you lost your temper. Never lose your temper in a fight, it will get you and your companions killed. And two – you think your ‘chi’ is just a device to ignore pain. You’re wrong. You’ll never find that inner power until you face your pain – all of it.”

Lee, still angry, didn’t reply.

“You’re a decent lad, Lee. If you weren’t, Stephanie could be in real trouble right now instead of just being mad at you.”

Lee wondered who all knew about that.

“But you’re self-destructive. For some reason, you seem to hate yourself. When you could be building relationships, you’re tearing them down. Why?”

Sensei Kinsolving didn’t wait for an answer.

“Figure out what the real pain is you’re hiding, son. Figure that out and maybe we can make some progress.”

Then Sensei Kinsolving walked toward the door.

“Clean this room up,” he said. “Straighten up the racks. And think about what I said. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”

Lee drove his fist into the rack of practice weapons, sending wooden swords falling to the floor like pickup sticks. Lee grabbed a rag and started wiping down the swords before replacing them on the rack.

The door was locked and if anyone knocked on it, Smith wouldn’t answer.

It suited him to be alone right now. If the world were going to abandon him, then he would abandon it first. That was the lesson of the past several days.

The room seemed cold and he wondered if the house was behind that – an attempt to force him out of his solitude. It wouldn’t work. Besides, the chill fit his mood.

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell Jessie all about finding his parents only to watch them leave him. He wanted her to hold him and tell him that he wasn’t alone, that he still had her.

Weak.

Better to keep a stiff upper lip. To maintain. To be strong, and if you can’t be strong, at least don’t be vulnerable.

Stiff upper lip? He almost laughed at himself for that one. His lower lip was split, sewn together with surgical thread, from that parting shot from Ares.

God, Jessie – how could you?

But it was probably better not to think about her. Doing so would make him emotional and he didn’t need to be emotional. He didn’t need to broadcast anything that the many empaths around the school could catch. Especially Jessie.

The exhaustion of the week set in, but still he couldn’t sleep.

No past. No present. What kind of future could he possibly have?

Etoile. The thought intrigued him. Go back to his roots, so to speak. No one would really miss him, except maybe Ben and Cassi.

Apparently Jessie wouldn’t.

And he was thinking of her again. Why? What had happened? Four weeks without seeing each other and now everything was shot to hell!

Suicide crossed his mind. He could slash his wrists!

Oh! That would be classic! Mr. Kirby or Jericho Stone would come crashing in his door and Jessie would come in and take his pain for her own and he’d feel guilty for hurting her again on top of everything else.

A thought occurred to him and Smith looked to the small table beside his bed. The drinking glass was gone. His ink pen was gone. He was sure if he looked, his utility belt with its various sharp utensils was also gone.

“Fine, house, you win,” he said quietly, “But I’ll need my needles and meds back in an hour, you bloody bully.”

The door was locked and if anyone knocked on it, Smith wouldn’t answer.

No one knocked.

((Thanks. ))

Alias, Smith will return in What Doesn't Kill You...

Wake up.

The voice came from inside me.

Get up.

I find myself getting to my feet.

You can stop this.

I don’t know who is speaking to my mind, but I feel compelled to do as I am told. Besides, it seems to me that it is in my best interest to stop my parents from killing each other if I am ever to get to know them.

I’m a bit dizzy, but still I sprint the length of the pier to where my mother has the gun leveled at my father’s head.

“You took him away from me! You took my baby away from me!”

“We both agreed it was in the best interest of your chosen career with Arachnos.”

“I was young! I didn’t know any better! And Carli… Carli never gave me a baby!”

A week ago I had no past whatsoever. Now, I’m hearing details I could live without.

“Mother?” I say, my voice soft and moderated. “I’m here now.”

She looks back, over her shoulder at me, and my heart breaks for her when I see grief.

Still, the .45 is aimed at my father.

Touch her.

And I do. I reach out with one finger and catch one of her tears.

Whatever entity had been inside me, guiding me, speaking to me, flows through the touch from me to her. Then the tears really start to fall.

“Oh, Paulie… we should have got married.”

I hope my father has sense enough to…

“You’re right, Angelina. Giving you up is the biggest regret I have in life.”

That might do it.

“We would have been good together. I would have given you children, lots of children…”

The biker’s been just standing there smirking, listening like it was his business.

“Come out of her Aphrodite,” he says. “Let her shoot him.”

Angelina sort of shudders and her voice changes a little as she says, “I cannot, my energies are depleted. Here, my essence must stay.” And then she shudders again and it’s like she’s Angelina again.

My father takes this all in stride like he’s seen it before.

He says, “It’s not too late, Angelina. You’re young enough. We can still have children.”

I blink. Not from what he says, but from what he means. All this, “We’re going to take your blood and use it to plant your seed into the belly of a meta-powered female human…” Cassi said my father was a god. But now he seems to be confined to a mortal body. A demi-god like me. With a meta-powered mate.

The biker growls. “NO! I demand blood!”

Angelina shoots him.

It doesn’t kill him of course. It probably would have, but since Ares is borrowing his body, all it does is knock him down and make him hurt. That seems to calm him down a lot.

Mom and dad talk for maybe another twenty minutes while Ares sits and waits for his wound to heal. I think they really do love each other, but gods and mobsters aren’t really that good at expressing things like that. Still, it’s good to see them together. I just know that once we get to know each other, they will both reform from their criminal lifestyles and move to Paragon City with me.

Then Ares has to go and spoil the moment.

“We should go. We should work together to create a portal home.”

Home? Wait… here’s home…

“Yes, you’re right. I’ve been here for far too long. One cannot avoid one’s fate.”

But…

They do some sort of little choreographed thing with their bodies. I can’t explain it to you. It’s… weird.

And then their portal opens, a ring of light with a dark center, like a corona around an eclipse.

“Wait…”

Ares doesn’t stop. He steps on through. Mom and dad, they stop and turn toward me.

“Go home, Mickey,” my mother says, “This is where you belong. You can’t go where we go.”

“She’s right, Mick,” my father agrees, “This is where you belong. You are a child of this world. Like us, you cannot avoid your fate.”

“But—is this all I get? Is this all you have for me?”

I’m so freaking angry! I’m being abandoned! After all they’ve done to me!

“What do you want?”

I don’t know… really… I don’t…

My mother kisses my cheek and hugs me tight, then kisses my cheek again.

“There. You will have love in your life, no matter how difficult that life may be. That is my gift to you.”

Then she steps through the portal.

“I have a gift for you too,” my father says, “I give you this.”

He touches my forehead.

“They called me the god of light. More correctly, I was the god of illumination – of truth. I give you the power of truth. You may use it once, at your discretion, to either reveal, or to hide.”

I’m stunned. What kind of gift is that? One time? I can only use it once?

He turns to step through the portal.

“Wait! I have questions! Why did you wipe my memory? Can you give them back? I –“

They’re gone. Only the ring of light remains. I’m alone.

All alone.

Then a the black center shimmers and someone starts to emerge. Have they changed their minds? Are they coming back? All I want is just a little more time to get to know them.

A voice from inside the portal says, “I still want blood!” and Biker-Ares’ fist flies out of the dark and smashes into my face.

Moments later, I wake up to the taste of my own blood. I’m still on the pier. It’s still night time. The portal is gone.

High above the fray, from the night sky, Aphrodite watched events unfold. She was not happy.

Ares’ bloodlust was getting the better of him. He was going to kill Helios and forget all about the bigger picture. Though from the looks of things, Helios was holding his own, employing mortal magicks and fighting techniques to hold the war god at bay.

The biggest danger was that in possessing the giant biker her former lover might well expend the last of his essence and, even if they did somehow get what they needed from the demi-god boy and a meta-human female, they’re combined energies might not be enough to open a portal home. They could be stuck here, fading gradually into the mists of myth.

The plan had failed and it was time to come up with a new one, or to go out in a blaze of Olympian glory.



Paul Heller was beginning to tire. This human form had its limitations and Ares was pushing him past them. Simply avoiding the whipping chains was taxing, and maintaining the magical fire swords was draining his endurance even quicker.

The bikers were all down except for this one which housed he essence of the god of bloodlust. He had taken them down quickly so that he could focus on the one opponent. But as the chains ripped more and more of the pier away so that Heller was now surrounded more by holes than planks, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He had only one chance. He dropped to one knee…

“Quarter?” he said.



Angelina Marcone raised her head and looked at her son. He was indeed handsome, like his father, but he was strong and ruthless in battle like herself. She smiled.

He was speechless at the moment -- confused, no doubt at the revelation with which she had just hit him.

Her own head was clearing – her son packed much more pure power than she did, even if he still lacked finesse. She could think straight now, defend herself if needed, but she didn’t think he would attack her again.

She wondered what kind of life he had now, without his memories of childhood. He had told her about his girlfriend, Jessie. Any time she’d stroked his face or kissed his cheek, the conversation always went back to “Jessie”. She hoped the girl made him happy. She hoped the girl had made him a man.

“Mother?” the boy said. The word sounded wonderful rolling off of his tongue.

Then something toward the end of the pier caught the boy’s eye. She turned to follow his gaze.

The battle had stopped. The big biker was just standing there like an idiot with Paulie kneeling in front of him. Why didn’t the giant finish it?

Angelina growled in disgusted annoyance, then quickly got to her feet. As she ran past it, she scooped up her .45

“Angelin -- Mother, no!” the boy the boy shouted.

The sound almost stopped her, but no. She would not stop. She looked back at him and, before he could gather his wits, knocked him cold with a mental blast.

One way or another, Paulie Heller had to die tonight.

My feet hit the pier and I’m almost to the bikers when out from the midst of them steps Angelina. She still has her gun in her hand and I’m fairly certain she’s going to use it.

Before she can mute my powers again, I unleash a psionic barrage that knocks her off her feet. She looks up at me, her eyes widened in surprise and I hit her with another, harder one.

I’m angry. She has pulled me away from my life – from Jessie – and though there seems to be some strange bond or attraction between us I want to show her she can’t push me around any longer. I will not be her toy, her tool.

Ahead, I can see flames swirling among the motorcycle thugs. Some of them dive off the pier; others fall down engulfed by flames. One, larger and taller than the others swings a chain in each hand, smashing through the pier’s railing, through his fellow bikers, through the pier itself in his attempts to kill my father. Above the battle and the waves I can hear the giant biker’s maniacal laughter.

My father seems to be the source of the swirling flames, and for now, seems to be holding his own.

All that, I take in with a glance because Angelina may be down, but she is not out. She struggles to her feet just in time for me to lay her back down with another psi-bolt. When she tries to speak, I hit her with another.

I’m relishing my dominion over her almost too much, and I know it’s the manifestation of the anger I keep subdued deep inside me. It occurs to me that I could kill her right here, right now, and that, though she showed me mock-kindness, still she would deserve it for the untold evils she has committed in her life.

Her body is limp, her arms thrown out to her sides and the pistol several feet away. She’s still breathing. I can see her chest rise and fall. Her eyes are open, though slightly glazed from the psionic beating she has taken. Her head probably hurts like hell. I know that one more attack could cause her brain to hemorrhage.

I do not attack again. Instead I tell her, “If you try to rise from where you are, I will kill you.”

“I’m sorry, Mickey…”

She said it so softly, I barely heard her.

“I’m sorry, Mickey. I didn’t mean for it to go this way. You’re strong. I’m proud of you.”

I can still barely hear her above the noise of the battle and the waves. I kneel down closer, prepared to strike her again if this is a feint.

“I’m proud of you, Mickey… proud to be your mother.“

Angelina Marcone kissed Paul Heller on the lips. Actually, “on the lips” wasn’t exactly accurate. She kissed him deeply. She kissed him with her body. She kissed him with her soul. And when she was done, the heat was stifled by the ice in her veins and she said, “Kill him.”

The thirty-four members of the Gods of War Motorcycle Club parted like a pack of animals giving way to a deadlier predator, and then closed again around Paul Heller. When they moved, the sound of heavy chains rattled mutely under the roar of the surf. Their victim could scream all he wanted to, and no one would hear him.

“I’ll pay you,” Heller said, his voice calm and level. “I’ll pay you ten million dollars to just walk away from here.”

“Ten million?” one of the Gods of War said. “And you have that in cash?”

Before Heller could answer, a logging chain smashed through the speaker’s skull, pushing his eyeballs and teeth out of his face. The man fell at Heller’s feet.

Heller followed the chain from the mess of blood and brains to the giant hands that held it. The fellow was at least six-feet, nine-inches tall, with a shaved head and a handlebar mustache. He was buff, with biceps bigger around than his head and forearms to match. He wore nothing under his leather vest and his bare chest was covered with tattoos of dragons and skulls. A large, black, intersecting “GW” was over his heart.

“The Marcones have been good to us,” the brute said. “They ask a favor, we give them the favor. You think ten million dollars is enough to buy our loyalty? You think we’re for sale?”

Heller looked at the brute. There was something in his eyes, his expression. Something familiar.

“Very well then,” he said, “I have nothing to lose at this point anyway, “

Then he raised his arms up high over his head and when he brought them down again, he held a flaming sword in each hand.
“Let’s have at it, shall we?”

Ouch. Automobile glass is hard to break. I thought the back glass would never come out. Probably should have tried the rear door glass – it might have been easier.

Angelina left me in the car and walked away. Not long after that, the motorcycles came. Not long after that, the dampening effect she has on my powers faded. I was able to use my TK to quietly push out the back glass, and then it was simple matter to cut my bonds on the twisted metal window framing.

I’m standing in the driveway of a beach house. There are two others on either side. The tiny front yard is filled with big bikes. They spill out of the yard and onto the edge of the road. I can hear the sound of boots walking on wood behind the house. It’s the sound of death marching.

I wish I had my stealth suit, but when I went out to that bookstore, I wasn’t planning on doing anything requiring special equipment. Actually, I wasn’t planning on being out that long. I’m lucky I happened to have my medication on me or I’d have that problem to contend with also.

Angelina has been great about giving me my injections. She’s taken much better care of me than your average kidnapper would.

Even without my stealth suit, I’m very cat-quiet, and the sun is nearly set, so it’s no problem to sneak around to the back.

There’s a pier out here. A long one. There are like two or three dozen bikers – Gods of War, their vests say – marching down it. At the far end I can barely make out Angelina and…

That man. That has to be him.

I feel like vomiting. They’re going to kill him! These brutes must be who she was talking to on her cell.

I don’t know him. But if I’m ever going to get a chance to, then I’ve got to save him.

I forget all about sneaking and charge headlong into the mob.

The ocean breeze blew in, bringing with it dark clouds and the smell of sea foam. The dying sun set behind the tree line on the shore, giving the ocean a surreal look in the twilight. In the distance a pack of motorcycles roared toward destiny.

Two people stood facing each other at the end of a long pier. One of the people held a gun.

“Angelina.”

“Paul.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Don’t start that. You always do that and it always makes me feel like crap.”

“Fair enough. Where’s the boy?”

“He’s safe.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“I’m taking him back to the Isles, where he belongs.”

“He doesn’t belong there. He’s not cut out for your kind of amorality.”

“Don’t tell me what he’s cut out for! He’s mine now! He goes where I say he goes! He’ll do what I tell him to do!”

“Angelina, please… you’ll kill him.”

“He’s a strong one. Lots of life in him. He’ll make it. Your odds, however...”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes. I do.”

“You never loved Carli. He’s happier now, believe me.”

“What do you know about happiness? You with your cow of a wife!”

“I never loved her either – I admit that.”

“So… you came alone like I said?”

“Yes.”

“With the money?”

“What’s left of it.”

“I guess we should do this then.”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“Are you going to do it yourself?”

“I had thought about it, but… I can’t.”

“Then why do it at all?”

“Oh, it has to be done. You have to pay. Not just for Carli, but for betraying the Family.”

“To whom are you giving the honor?”

“Someone who can’t be traced back to the Marcones, the...”

“What was that? Between the surf and those bloody motorcycles, I didn’t hear you.”

“I said a biker gang, the Gods of War.”

“That’s what I thought you said. You know, that might have been a bad choice…”

The ocean breeze blew in, bringing with it a dark god...

[ QUOTE ]
((so uh...i just wanted to pop in to say i liked these stories, bit complex but i don't care they're cool!))

[/ QUOTE ]

((Thanks! That was a very nice thing to say. ))

Okay. This is weird.

Last night I was singing opera to this woman. She was giddy about it. She was kissing me all over my face and hugging me and I thought she was going all cougar on me. But then she started crying. That was pretty scary to be honest because she was really going through Kleenex and waving that .45 around.

Maybe I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome, or maybe I’m thinking there is some sort of chemistry between us, but when I hugged her and asked her what was wrong, she just looked at me kind of sad and psi-zapped me to peaceful oblivion. Again.

Somehow she’s dampened my powers. (I’ve had it happen before when fighting Night Widows. I’d really love to learn that technique.) So I’m pretty helpless right now. And right now is me laying in the back seat of a rental car, hogtied and gagged while she drives past palmetto trees and listens to Vikki Carr on the mp3 player.

She’s been talking to people on her cell. I’m not sure who, but it seems to involve an ambush. The victim of that, now, I am pretty sure of.

Over the past couple of days, she has told me why she is so enraged at Paul Phillip Heller. He made her husband gay.

I know, that doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense, but that’s what she said.

Carli was straight until he went hunting for Paulie!

That’s exactly how she said it, accompanied by dramatic hand flourishes that involved waving her pistol around. Millions of dollars were involved also. Family business is complicated to say the least.

She just turned off the music. It was in the middle of “It Must Be Him”, so something is probably about to happen. Something bad.

It’s always something bad lately.

Paul Heller Stood on the pier and waited. His rental car sat alone in the rental beach house’s driveway. The pier came with the house, and so it occurred to him that he stood upon a rental pier.

There was a time, he mused, when he wouldn’t have been so careless as to bring his enemies down upon him. Among the Olympians, he had been one of the most clever. Perhaps only Aphrodite’s protégé, Eros, was more clever. Or perhaps swift Hermes. (Ah… poor Hermes – no sentient being, mortal or immortal, should face such a fate.)

The cigarette was comfortable in his hand. Its smoke rose and circled his head and enticed him to put it to his lips and draw its full, rich tobacco flavor into his lungs.

Such creature comforts held power over him now. Perhaps taking human form and remaining such for so many years had rooted him in the role. If he tried right now, could he return to his former, glorious self?

Still, he had been wise to use the last of his waning divinity to take this form. His peers had largely squandered their last energies making desperate, useless displays of vanity before a human race that largely considered them to be abstract aspects of the collective consciousness, which left many of them little more than vague suggestions of the splendorous beings they once were. The catastrophic events that soon after had rocked their world all but sealed the eventual extinction of the Olympian race.

So he had left the universe of his origin and came to this Earth to begin a new life. A different kind of life. A life among the mundane, ordinary finitely-lived humans.

Why had he decided to settle in the Rogue Isles, he had no idea.

He glanced at the house sitting on the hill above the sandy beach. There was still only one car in the drive.

Two-hundred feet to either side of the house was another house just like it – smallish, with blue vinyl siding, sitting on stilts. Further south, Myrtle Beach was a loud, gaudy, ocean resort; the kind of trashy town that mobsters loved to go to for a quickie weekend, or a weekend quickie; a town that hosted biker gang conventions, with all the amenities the open road barbarians demanded. But here, on the north end of the “Grand Strand”, things were smaller, slower. Rentals and campgrounds and mom and pop motels.

In the distance a pack of motorcycles rumbled down the highway.

The god of light put out his cigarette tapped another out of the pack.

Angelina would be here soon. He couldn’t wait to see her. He just hoped he had time to tell her that before the other gods gathered.

The climax almost makes me pass out. At the end of it, I sort of go limp, my heart racing and my lungs straining for air.

I woke up in a seedy motel room in a tourist-trap town called Myrtle Beach with a former Night-Widow-turned-gangster’s-wife named Angelina Marcone. We’re all alone and I am desperately trying to keep her happy.

“Oh god, you’re good.”

Angelina’s compliments do not mean much to me, but I have to admit, I was good. Which helps with my goal of keeping her happy.

“Though it would have been better if you had put more emotion into it.”

I sigh in response. Still gasping for air, I can’t talk yet, but if I could, I’d tell her it would be easier to get into it if she hadn’t forced me to perform by holding a .45 to my head.

“Your father was good, but you’re better.”

That kind of hurts. I have yet to meet the man, and all she does is compare me to him.

“He’ll be here tomorrow, you know. He’s a smart one. I knew he’d figure out where we were after I took you.”

I knew it! I knew she was using me to set him up!

She touches my face again – I hate when she does that – and tousles my hair like I was a little boy.

“I want you to do it again.”

Oh… god… I barely made it through the first time…

“But try harder this time. More… oomph.”

I tell her, “I could ‘oomph’ more if you would untie me.”

“I like you in the position you’re in,” is her reply.

“But this is so restrictive. Wouldn’t you like to see what I can really do when I’m standing up, putting everything I have into it?”

“Ooooo... You’ve talked me into it.”

She unties me and says, “Remember – I don’t have to use ropes to restrain you.”

“Understood. All right, and I hope you’re satisfied after this. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do any more tonight.”

“You’d better make it really good then.”

I sigh, then take a deep cleansing breath and begin…

“Che gelida manina! se la lasci riscaldar.
Cercar che giova? al buio non si trova…”

I make it through “Che Gelida Manina” from La Boheme out of breath, but flawlessly. I’m hardly a Pavarotti, but for an amateur, I’m excellent!

I’m just glad she didn’t request Verdi – I don’t know any Verdi.

Paul Heller arrived in Paragon City two steps behind Angelina Marcone and many more than that behind Ares and Aphrodite. Two deities and a gangster’s angry wife. Formidable odds, that.

If not for those pesky Arachnos goons, the Olympians would never have found him. He’d been in this universe for nearly 17 years, living the semi-normal life of the legitimate business front for a branch of the Family. But then those spiders had tried to take his son, Mick for Lord Recluse’s twisted youth program, YIKES.

He’d had only three words to say about that – “No damn way,” – and then he’d just shot them. Although it did happen on occasion, killing spiders was generally looked down upon by the Marcones, simply because Arachnos keeps Etoile a safe haven for Family operations. He split his family up and made his getaway.

Mrs. Heller now lived in Belgium with a former Chippendale dancer, a setup which has often given her former husband second thoughts. Since she was the one who got Arachnos involved to begin with, perhaps that was too good a fate for her.

Paul stepped up to the front door of Maggie’s Rock, the school where his son now resided. He lifted the heavy knocker and prepared to make his presence known. Then he had the strangest feeling.

What was that? Paul quietly put the knocker back in its resting place and stepped back. He looked at the school’s façade and he could almost swear it looked back at him.

Then he heard it, clear as day. No welcome for you.

He smiled, then bowed slightly and nodded. The school was a sentiens domus, and as such it held secrets. Such a being would never allow one such as himself inside it. But if his son was inside it, he was safer there than anywhere else.

“Fair enough,” he said to it. “May your mysteries always remain thus, and your occupants blissfully unaware of them.”

There were other resources available to Paul Heller with which to locate his son and his enemies. He didn’t really want to use them, as the very act of doing so would alert Ares and Aphrodite to his exact location. But at this stage of the game, perhaps that didn’t matter. It would be far better for him to find them first than for them to find him.

He just hoped that, wherever the boy was, he was safe.

“Neutral ground. Always demand neutral ground. And then make sure we have more guns in hand there than-- You know what I expect. Just do it. I’ve got to go. My guest is waking up.”

A voice at once soft and sharp. Snow falling on razorblades. I open my eyes and raise my head to see who is speaking.

“Ah. I thought I heard you stir.”

She’s beautiful. I mean for a middle-aged woman. Actually, she’s beautiful for a any-aged woman. Long dark hair. High stiletto heels. A low-cut, very tight black dress that ends mid-thigh. Looks that could kill and dressed to do so.

I try to move, but find that I am tightly bound with ropes to a wooden chair.

“Indeed, I am awake, but I seem to have misplaced my freedom.”

She smiles at my little joke.

“Quit-witted, like your father,” she says.

And now I wonder if she is the “they” I was warned about instead of the angry Olympians.

She approaches me, kneels in front of me and strokes my face.

“And you have that… that je ne sais quoi like your old man.”

She is uncomfortably close. Odd thing when one is faced with an abundance of attractive bosom; it is nearly impossible for us males to focus on either conversations or faces. In my maleness, I neglect to assess my surroundings. I realize far too late – moments ahead in this conversation, in fact – that I do know neither where I am, nor how many others might be in the room with us.

“You do remember me, don’t you, Micky? Auntie Angelina?”

I do not respond – partly because of the bosom-hypnosis, partly because I am simply afraid to admit that I do not recall her.

She leans in and coos into my ear, “That’s all right, cutie. That was a few years ago – you were ten last time I saw you – and you’re almost a grown man now. I can’t expect you to remember an old frump like me.”

I swallow hard. She’s breathing on my neck. I strain against my bonds, but I am totally helpless. I feel like I’m trapped in a bad fetish story.

“You’re hardly an old frump,” I say. I’m not merely trying to be polite -- if it keeps her in a good mood and buys me time to assess my situation…

“You’re such a sweet boy,” she says.

Then she raises slighty and kisses me on top of my head. I blush a little, then I blush a lot as she embraces me, clutching my face to her breast.

There is a fragrance there, soft, sweet, warm. I inhale it through my nose and mouth and it goes straight into my brain. Mimosa – the ancient Chinese will-breaking drug. Damn.

“Have you been in contact with your father?”

“No,” I whisper against the softness of her bosom.

“Has he been in touch with you?”

I cannot help myself.

“Yes.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“Does he know where you are?”

“He seems to find me wherever I am.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

She leans back, taking the scent of mimosa and woman with her. Still, the effects linger and though I try, I cannot manage so much as a single psi-dart.

She smiles. Somehow she knows what I have attempted.

“Oh, Micky, you have powers! How wonderful!”

I can’t think of a witty comeback.

“I wonder how long your father has kept that secret from me? I’ll ask him when I see him – just before I kill him.”

Oh great. I haven’t even met him yet and I’m setting him up.

“Well, amore mio, get some rest for now. Sweet dreams.”

The she looks at me and I can see something familiar in her eyes – something I know my targets have seen in mine.

She shoots me with a psi-dart strong enough to --