HumanMiracle

I hope you check out the City Scoop every now and then, cause you my friend are going to be featured in the Fan Fiction Spotlight next issue Great stuff here man, really awesome.

Hello all, I'm going to be taking over for Mr_Grey for the Fan Fiction Spotlight, so I will now be looking over all your beautifully written fan fictions! I will be contacting the authors myself asking if they have already been featured for a particular story so it is fair and no one person is shown twice for the same story unless their has been major additions that the community MUST check out. I look forward to enjoying your creations! Write on!

Chapter 4: The Darkest Day: Part 1

The Pocket D

Present Day

1 Month after the Warehouse Incident

“One more round!” John’s cry for more alcohol was met with jovial outbursts of resignation and affirmation. Imitation and Psyonika were among those who had agreed that more liquor were necessary and John chuckled as he ordered a drink for all his friends, even the ones who didn’t want anything more. Frogman and Primal Thing were both content to people-watch as the night went on, nursing only their second drinks. Esprit de Lion and Lotos Rose began to dissect French poetry, which was one of the few topics John had absolutely no experience in. Arrelin Windspire sat next to John, still refusing the next drink under the pretense that he was flying home.

John shrugged and picked up his third dry dirty martini, sipping from it appreciatively when Arrelin broke the lackadaisical atmosphere with a rather serious question. “Are you ok?” His inquiry was offsetting at first, due to the fact that his face bore the smile of a friend worried about another friend. John reflected that it was the kind of smile one would give when they were not sure they would offend the person they were asking a question of; using the smile as a cover to explain that the question was merely a joke.

“Yeah! I’m fine, Rel.” John momentarily lifted his glass in a small salute to his good friend. But perhaps friend was not quite the right word. Arrelin had become more of a father figure to John the more time he spent in the LISA Network. The two had talked extensively about the War of the Eye, as well as the Brotherhood. The only reason John had revealed all of this to Arrelin was because he was an immortal as well, but also an immortal that the entire Brotherhood had studied.

Few knew the true nature of the entity that resided within John, which he called The Fiend. Arrelin had told John though that the Count had approached him at one point, claiming that The Fiend was to be Arrelin’s replacement for the goddess Tielekku. But, Arrelin had proven that the title was just that, a title, and rose above it to live a healthy life despite the goddess’s callings. John had since tried to emulate Arrelin in living an honorable life. Between the two of them, it could have been considered a father and son relationship, but they would never admit to the bond openly, or perhaps even to each other.

“You know, you do OWN a club. You don’t have to come to the D to be with us all. We could have all gone to your place.” Arrelin spoke as if he was trying to convince John that what he was doing wasn’t necessary. “What’s really going on?” Arrelin put a hand on John’s shoulder who looked deeply into his shallow glass at the contact. “You’ve been so distant lately, and we’ve all noticed it. Professor Renegade says he’s been trying to reach you for days but he can’t get a hold of you. Now, out of the blue, you take a slew of us out to the D for drinks and dancing like nothing ‘s happened?”

The problem with knowing immortals, as well as being one, was that social discrepancies coupled with the intimate knowledge of thousands of relationships, gives them keen insight into how people work. John grinned as Arrelin had cleverly seen through his ruse and sipped his martini again, leaning closer to his friend so that Imitation and Psyonika would not hear. “I just,” he paused reflectively, “I just want things to be back to normal. I’m so tired of trying to fight a war I’ve already lost without any help from anyone this time.” Even though he smiled, his voice shook slightly.

“It doesn’t have to be you and the Brotherhood against your father. You know that.” Arrelin leaned against the bar with a paternal expression.

“I can’t put others through what happened last time. So many people died. So many people who didn’t need to die, died.” The martini was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to John as Arrelin surveyed the crowd. To relive the war was one thing, but to go through life seeing people he had watched die was another entirely. It was like walking through a memory, each person almost unchanged in the way he wanted to remember them. He was almost glad for Imitation’s rough and tumble attitude which overrode her interior sensitivity that John had been experienced to only a few times during the course of the conflict. He and Psyonika had grown close during the war due to his commission of her services as his personal psychiatrist. Seeing her brought up painful memories of tear-stained sessions in which he cursed his life and his father.

Lotos Rose, his research partner later in the war was so much less human now, and it almost eased HM’s mind since Lotos and he often argued. Frogman was an international hero in the future, now he was nothing more than a B-list name content to save the world one person at a time, as was his nature. Esprit de Lion’s life was most changed out of the group that was with him, even more than Primal Thing’s, who disappeared for months at a time during the hardest years of the war. But seeing Arrelin was the most difficult.

All these relationships, all these memories which he couldn’t share, they ate away at him inside. He couldn’t talk to Imitation about her retirement over a glass whiskey because she wasn’t that old anymore. Lotos’s pet project to recreate an AI like himself hadn’t even been conceived, to John’s knowledge at least. Psyonika’s honorary doctorates from most Ivy League institutions were something she merely dreamed of at this point.

But there were some he couldn’t even approach without tears welling in his eyes. It was a miracle he could even talk to his wife without breaking down. The same went for Michael Holiday and Johnny Turbo. The others like Every-Man, Ascendant, and High Jinks, John couldn’t speak to for fear of speaking of their futures. That was the only connections he really had with them. The worst of those whom he had no connection with other than the war had to be Granite Rock. The few times he had fought alongside him were some of the saddest during the war.

Granite was a unique man who had been mutated severely during the 1800’s. His body, now entirely made of rock, was practically invincible as John had witnessed. Granite was a good man, despite the fact that he was not a man at all anymore, in the traditional sense at least. He fought for the safety of Mother Earth and her children, and didn’t think twice about putting himself in harm’s way to protect people.

“HM!” John’s gaze jumped from his martini to Imitation who was laughing and holding on to Psyonika for support. “HM! We’re gonna go back to the Citadel to sober up. Come on!”

true true true. thank you for the suggestions

huh, ok. thanks

Hey, is there a way to edit baddies that were made in game already. I want to edit a Bone daddy to look different than the rest, is that possible to do with MA?

(( school has been hectic for me in the last couple of weeks since testing and projects are happening, i have not forgotten this and i am still writing for it, just in case there are a few of you out there who actually check to see if there are updates for this, however few of you there are lol ))

Hey, is there a way to edit baddies that were made in game already. I want to edit a Bone daddy to look different than the rest, is that possible to do with MA?

lol!

lol niiiiiice

great pic!

i hope i can do this. i got the money for 5 lol so im going to go for it!

VERY NICE!

That's cool! I like the point of view. Very original!

very nice pic Flame Enchantress!

LR: "Sarah Palin would have been such a better female underling that Ghost Widow. She's like a pitbull with lipstick!"

LR: "Being an evil genius bent on destroying the world is SUCH a thankless job."

LR: "I wonder if /I/ would look good in a costume that immitated a flag like Statesman...Fetch me the flag of Djibouti!" (by the way, that's pronounced Ja-boo-ti, like shake jabooti on the floor)

That's a great style you have! It's kinda 3D. The characters feel round and full but not like they jump out because of the medium. It's so great!

"Um, is this a bad time for the Jehova's Witnesses to come by?"

Chapter 3: Part 3

Kings Row

Present Day

2 Weeks after the Warehouse Incident

“Damn, I hate Rikti.” –Brian Sampson, Gold Cop



The fact that Jones Enterprise troops invaded the city, with his father leading the way, was something that John was not prepared for that day. However, a Rikti invasion happening at the same time was utter insanity and hardly believable; the sheer odds were staggering. John opened his eyes and turned to see Ivan staring at the cement between his legs. Closer inspection told him that his friend was, in fact, asleep. The flashback must have been longer than he realized, and he stood up, surveying the sky above him. The inky blackness of night peeked through the pair of buildings on either side of the pair, and the sounds of a Paragon City night became more prominent.

John sighed. As he began to cover Ivan with the rags he slept in, he tried to forget the horrible image of Johnny Turbo’s lifeless corpse. The last time he had seen Johnny was a week ago, and he had warned him to stay out of town. HM knew that he wouldn’t listen, and hadn’t felt any annoyance or frustration at that fact either. Turbo meant well, even if he was an absolute [censored] to most people. John had met many people in his lifetime and Turbo was one of the good ones. A little confused about himself, but still a good man. To have lost someone like that was earth-shattering, but to be in a position to prevent the death of that person was even more maddening.

As he exited the mouth of the alley, he began the long walk home. His watch told him that it was a quarter until 7 p.m. He would be home late again. E’mi would understand though. She always did. Maybe that was why he loved her so much. Her ability to see through all his faults and absent-minded behavior to the man within was miraculous. No one had ever been able to do that, to see the true man underneath the centuries of life, the centuries of pain.

But since time had rewound, and he had been unceremoniously thrust back to the time just before the war, John had become more distant to everyone he knew. The other heroes of the LISA Network had noticed this and were getting worried. Those who were closest to him, Arrelin Windspire, Electric-Knight, Carlin, Freedom’s Arch Mage, and even Imitation, had expressed concern for his recent behavior. Feeling the cold creep up his body as the wind kicked up, he looked around for a cab. Normally he would have flown home, but tonight, tonight he needed to think.

He knew that he had become almost reclusive, and even though his goal was to change the future, he couldn’t live in the past. As a cab slowed to a stop before him, he told the cabbie his address, and sat down in the back. What had happened in that time-line was not going to happen now, and he needed to focus on the now. He wouldn’t push the mission aside, he knew he couldn’t. Until his father had been successfully killed, or had his book taken from him, there could be no denying the threat. But there were people who needed him in Paragon City, and a wife who needed him at home. For now, he decided, that would be the only thing occupying his thoughts until the next day. As the cab sped through Kings Row to the tunnel leading to Atlas Park, he could see the moon shining above the City of Heroes.


(( more to come as I continue to write! I hope you all are liking this! lots of views so someone is reading this lol, please don't be afraid to speak up and tell me what you think! ))

Chapter 3: Part 2

December 25th

Day 1 of the War of the Eye

“It was like every possible thing that could have gone wrong, went wrong. There was nothing worse than that day, and I can’t even think of anything to make it worse in an attempt to find a silver-lining.”

-Positron



Talos was a favorite haunt for John, especially during Christmas. He enjoyed the snowy beaches and boardwalks, and the uninhibited people who ventured to enjoy the frozen coast. Of course, it was a holiday, Christmas, and there weren’t many people out on the streets, even in Paragon City. His patrol on this specific day was something of a ritual now. He felt that on the day the shops were closed, the criminals would come out to play. He was proven wrong, happily enough, most of the time.

Most of his friends questioned his dedication to the job and thought he should be home celebrating the happy holiday. John smiled at them, saying that they were probably right, but he continued anyway. He needed the alone time really. He spent most of his time entertaining people with his outgoing personality and witty repartee that this alone time in the skyline of Paragon was more therapeutic for him than anything.

But, as always, there was an ulterior motive behind his actions. His “patrolling” was a cover for his visits to his other Brotherhood friends within the Paragon City area. George was always his last stop since he was so difficult to find, which meant Ivan was always the first stop. Ivan was considerably less challenging because he would always stay in the same neighborhood of the city. He had taken a detour to Talos Island because of the festive feeling, but something else had pulled him there.

As according to prior years he had flown to see his “family,” but this year had been marred by the Eye’s Eyes involvement in everything. Talos was the last site of their activity and he felt that checking once before he arrived at Ivan’s alley was a good idea. Luckily enough, it was. Keeping the police band open at all times, he hoped to catch some of their movements as a Christmas present to himself.

“All units, all units, we have reports of suspicious activity near Spanky’s Boardwalk. Any heroes in the vicinity please respond, over.” The crackle of the speaker was barely heard over the oncoming wind that he flew against. The call was vague, to be sure, but it wasn’t like the Eye’s Eyes were going to advertise their whereabouts until after they had committed whatever crime they were up to. Feeling particularly lucky today, he sped towards Spanky’s famous boardwalk.

That place held some special memories for him. It was there that he had first encountered the Warriors gang, and he had made his first real contact with the Freedom Phalanx. It was Synapse to be precise, and the two of them had busted a Superdine ring operating underneath the boardwalk. Synapse and the Human Miracle had hit it off, which eventually led to his meeting Positron, then to their collaboration on certain aspects of Blake’s armor.

The boardwalk in sight, he swooped in low to survey what could be “suspicious.” Not seeing anything immediately, he landed on the roof of a food vendor. No smell of hotdogs wafted from the chimney, and no bustling crowds hindered his hearing. The gentle lapping of the waves on the shore was the only noise, until the distinct sound of voices was just barely distinguished. Ducking low, he ran along the rooftops of the boardwalk facilities in the direction of the voices.

John was caught between two feelings as he sprinted stealthily that crisp morning. Sure, he wanted to catch the Eye’s Eyes and beat a few of them to a bloody pulp to calm his nerves and feel as though he had actually done something, but would that really be enough? Case after case of untraceable evidence with no discernable connection had begun to infuriate him. His reliance on the police department forensics had been severely diminished over the last few months, as well as his faith in LISA and Merlin. The overwhelming feeling of incompetence in himself and those around him, whether it actually was incompetence or not, had riled him up so much he wasn’t sure he would be able to contain himself if he came face to face with the perpetrators.

“Where do we set this?” John halted abruptly. The voice had spoken up from below him a few steps back. He retraced his steps and heard a response quickly.

“Over by the other ones, you idiot.” This voice was closer. Crouching low, he edged himself over the side of the roof. Below him were two men in black hooded robes, each one carrying a large wooden crate. John was disgusted at their lack of professionalism. The very idea of wearing black robes, in broad daylight, on a holiday, on a notable landmark, in a busy city was sheer stupidity. Once again, his faith in the PPD to correctly identify the threat suffered. They were obviously up to something.

The pair withdrew into the door directly beneath the concealed hero, and he hovered down slowly to it. Grasping the knob slowly, he summoned the magic within the mark on his left hand to alert George and Ivan. The other Brothers in the Rogue Isles wouldn’t be necessary to quash this inexperienced lot. He’d be lucky if he got to fight at all between George and Ivan. The two were such a pair of fighting machines that a room could be cleared in a matter of seconds.

The interior of the building had been haphazardly converted into a miniature storeroom. Guns lined the walls and other supplies were stacked neatly in columns opposite the ordinance. But the odd bit was there were no men, none at all. John searched the room for any signs of life but couldn’t find any other than a few opened bags of take-out. John’s investigative skills had never been as good as some of the other heroes he worked with, and when he went out solo, he sometimes found himself relying on the bad-guys attacking him so he could find clues. Several minutes passed before George opened the door behind him; he had obviously teleported to the scene as quickly as possible and the blank face of the Mask of the Reaper scanned the premises.

“Ya called me ta have me inspect a hidey-hole?” His voice was indignant and a little frustrated. John was unsure if George though this was a waste of his time or if he had been interrupted whilst he had been doing other things that day. John informed him quickly of the situation knowing that a long winded and humorous story, usually HM’s trademark style, would quickly make the hunter lose interest in his current state. George’s demeanor shifted to one of concentration and alertness after HM was done. The hunter sniffed around the room, poking his nose in corners and under objects, his hunting senses and skills kicking into high gear. Eventually, George discovered a small hatch, buried underneath a table in the center of the room. Once again John reprimanded himself for not finding the obvious. He felt as if he was purposefully not trying or his skills were inadequate in this field.

“Should we wait fer Ivan?” George lifted the hatch door, but did not enter as he looked up to John for guidance.

“No need. I am here.” The Russian tank trudged through the doorway, dragging his feet as he moved. The faint aroma of garbage that followed him would have been enough of an indicator that he had arrived rather than his speaking up. “What are we waiting for?” He smiled crookedly and dropped down the hatch, ignoring the disapproving looks of both his Brothers. Following suit, the two dropped in after him.

Beneath the sands of the boardwalk was an unwelcome surprise. Groups of men, armed to the teeth, mobilized and checked their weapons in a large room that seemed to stretch the entire length of the boardwalk. John was utterly taken aback at the size and sheer number of men working beneath the landmark of Talos Island, let alone the fact that there was a chamber to house them all. The banner of the Eye’s Eyes hung on the walls in various places, and some men seemed to be in a state of prayer before it. A low growl escaped George’s mask and Ivan cracked his knuckles in disgust. John’s face contorted visibly in rage as he saw the perversion of their sacred order.

“You guys can have whoever ah don’ kill, ‘kay?” George knocked an arrow and aimed his bow toward a group of men. Ivan hunkered down into a fighting stance and grit his teeth.

“That would depend on how many you kill, comrade, after I am done with them.” John narrowed his eyes and allowed the energies within his body to flow freely, the red lighting running up and down his muscular frame like angered serpents, ignoring the comments of his companions. As he scanned the room to find a suitable target to unleash his anger upon, the red hair and tall stature of Donald Jones was visible at the far end of the room.

“Jones…” John said the name as if it was poison, or some sort of grotesque monstrosity. Hatred boiled within him and he could hear his other personalities, Giovanni and the Fiend, shouting for blood, the blood of the traitor. HM was all too willing to oblige. “Do what you want with the men here, but Donald is mine.” His companions looked at him with surprise at his dark tone, but could not question him further as he launched himself towards his target.

Shouts of alarm and fear came from the men he passed while he flew down the expansive of corridor. Many men tried to block his path, but his tunnel vision told him to remove all obstacles. Stray bullets flew past his head and he reflexively dodged, the concentration broken. Infuriated further for focusing on the goal and not the path to it, he started to work his way methodically down the line of men attempting to halt his progress.

As he artfully dodged a combat knife, John dispatched its owner with a sharp and decisive elbow to his face. Guiding the man’s body as it fell; he could see his two companions catching up to him. Ivan plowed into groups of men like a wrecking ball with appendages. Holding his arms in front of his face, he sprinted into groups of three or more, knocking them back with tremendous force that most likely killed them. Ivan roared with fury, grabbing men by the ankle and using them as clubs to assault their fellow cultists. It was an awesome and terrible sight, HM barely saw the next attack come as a man attempted to bludgeon him with the butt of his rifle.

Utilizing centuries of combat skill against the man, he disarmed him and counter-attacked with the assailant’s own weapon. The man staggered back, holding his face, and howling in pain. As the inexperienced fighter nursed his injury, he reached for his side-arm. Before he could reach the pistol holstered to his calve, an arrow struck him square in the chest. John blinked, watching the man collapsed slowly. Before he hit the ground, George teleported by way of his cloak to retrieve the arrow from the man’s chest. Gripping the shaft like a knife, point down, George drove the arrow into another man’s neck as he rushed over in an attempt to avenge his comrade. Tipping his hat to John, George disappeared once more to another part of the fray, ready to fell more Eye’s Eyes men.

As the fight wore on, HM began to feel fatigued. He was sure they had been fighting for a good half an hour before he realized that some of the men were not even clad in the black robes that had been the trademark garb of the cult. Many of them were dressed like special operations soldiers, or just plain soldiers at that. Weapons, ammo, even small explosives were clipped and strapped to the frames of the men they fought. John began to worry that with all this firepower, something far more sinister than petty crimes were about to occur very soon.

But as he blasted men left and right with his energy bolts, more seemed to replace those he incapacitated or killed. The seemingly endless stream of soldiers came at the three immortals in waves. An explosion rocked the room as George let an explosive arrow loose into a group of men who attempted to pin Ivan down as he pelted the men with fully loaded ammo crates.

Cautiously avoiding the sporadic small arms fire that flew his direction, John moved to where his Brothers were positioned. Blasting with both hands and keeping his eyes on the fight, he shouted over the din to George.

“I think we’re going to need some help!” A bullet whizzed between the two and they simultaneously jerked their heads away from the projectile.

“Well everybady else is in tha Isles. Who’re we gonna call, the LISA Network? They’re all probably busy too!” George had a point. Those in the LISA Network were all likely to be engaged in family affairs on Christmas Day, or fighting crime alone. The other members of the Brotherhood could not reach them in time to help them here, and there wasn’t enough room for the rest of them to fight to their fullest abilities in the cramped space. Then, the idea hit him. He turned to George with an apologetic look on his face which George recognized. “NO! Not him! Anybady but him!”

“Sorry George, we need him!” John knelt down as George covered him with a flurry of arrows. Turning on his communicator, he switched on one of the most used frequencies. “Johnny! Johnny Turbo! You there, man?”

“Is this Ed McMahon? Did I win?!” The crass and sarcastic tones of Johnny Turbo, Paragon City’s own egomaniac super-hero, assaulted John’s ears. “Ha, just kiddin’. What’s up HM?”

“In a bit of a jam, could you spare a minute? I’m at Spanky’s Boardwalk. Home in on my signal. There’s a trap door leading to my location.” Another bullet flew past John and he fell over to dodge it.

“Well, there’s a whole lotta jokes in that request. Be right there, buddy.” George groaned as he heard the communicator switch off and John rejoined the fight. Regaining his footing tremulously, he began to return fire to hold off the attacks until the arrival of the blue speedster.

The seconds crept by slowly as he continued to play defense. His relationship with Johnny Turbo was one of the most interesting he had ever had. More interesting, he believed, than his relationship with Marie Antoinette. Obviously there was nothing more than friendship between HM and JT, but the two were at such opposite ends of the spectrum sometimes, it made others scratch their heads in bemusement as they watched the pair. Johnny’s crass and more than off-color humor clashed with HM’s smooth and charismatic personality.

Ducking behind the last crate of ammunition that Ivan had not hurled at the Eye’s Eyes, a gust of wind alerted John to the arrival of his friend. Johnny Turbo sped into the room with his super-speed, skidding to a halt where John was crouched.

“So, you’re lame now?” A sly smile spread across Turbo’s lips.

“Just because I’m protecting myself doesn’t mea—“

“Less talkin’, more fightin’!” George’s rage interrupted John’s verbal self-defense. Turbo sped into the fray, disarming men left and right, delivering concussive punches at high speeds. The blur of blue streaked back and forth across the room at a dizzying pace. John barely saw Donald Jones at the far end, shouting to some men, and holding what looked like a remote. Pointing the Exile out to his compatriots, who nodded, they began to advance quickly.

Turbo cleared a path for them as they ran forward. John had to admit, Johnny Turbo was a powerful force to be reckoned with, personality aside. He was glad someone like him was on his side. Their strides lengthened as they crossed the room with purpose, the other sides of him growling in anticipation of the fight ahead. However, as soon as they were within shouting distance, and far from harm’s way thanks to Johnny’s timely arrival and much needed skills, Donald spotted them.

“Ya must be slippin’! It took ya too long ta get here!” The Scotsman laughed as he gestured for the men around him to take defensive positions. “I’m sure ya want ta know why ah’m here.” He loosely held the remote up and shook it before the three Brothers. “Ah remote detonator. Literally, tons of C4 wired to tha war walls here in Talos just waitin’ ta blow.”

“Why blow up the walls?” John couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Ta let in the guests ah course.” A smile grew on his face and his thumb inched toward the button.

“Oooo! What does THAT button do?” JT had finally finished subduing the rest of the men in the room and halted, panting, between Jones and the Brothers.

“Johnny, it’s a remote detonator! Grab—“ Before John could finish his sentence, Donald had pressed the button. Seconds later, they could hear the cracks and booms, much like thunder, in the distance. Donald cackled wickedly and retreated through a wide door which opened behind him leading onto the beaches. The four heroes ran to the mouth of the portal and saw the systematic explosions occuring all along the war wall leading out to the open ocean.

“Well, you know what time it is?” Turbo looked to the trio of stunned men with a confident smile. “It’s TURBO time!” And without another word, he sped off along the beach. A few seconds later, he sprinted across the water, and sometimes back to the shore, and then finally to the war wall.

“What in the hell does he think he’s gonna do?!” George gesticulated wildly in the direction of Turbo’s departure.

“Perhaps he will try and grab the other explosives before they go off?” Ivan stepped forward watching the wall with intent, and squinting through the one good eye he had to try and spot a blue streak.

“That gonna work?” George’s question went unanswered as he looked to John who merely stared, dumbfounded, at the selfless act his friend had just undertaken. As the moments passed, the war wall began to fall apart. Cracks the size of small buildings shattered the proud infrastructure like a poorly made ceramic pot. The sound of the ocean swallowing the stones was a roar so loud, that the windows of the buildings behind them shook slightly. Then the waves began to creep up onto the shore. Slowly, then suddenly, they raced toward the three men, whose ankles were suddenly submerged within the salty water; all the while, explosions flashing with surgical precision at key points in the structure.

Something happened though. As the wall began to collapse, the detonations stopped sprouting from the surface of the stone, to bloom in the blue sky above. Johnny had outraced the explosions and had thrown several of them into the air, saving part of the wall entirely. But his efforts were in vain as a large portion; more than half at least, exposed Paragon City to the waiting enemies that hid outside its borders.

A blue blur sped towards the Brothers at a breakneck pace, materializing in front of them to display the speedster. Flashing a triumphant pose, he sauntered over to his friend and grinned.

“Oh yeah! Who’s the man?” George began to speak, but before he could Turbo held a hand up. “Hold on, Clint Eastwood. Now before you go all Western on my [censored], I would like to inform you all that I successfully scored this!” Clutched in his hand was a walkie-talkie. “Snagged it from Highlander back there before I got to the wall. Oh! And I cleared most of the boats out on the water before I got to the wall too. That’s why…most of it…got, well, destroyed. I thought,” he scratched the back of his head, “the whole human life being more important thing was kinda my first priority.”

“You did great, JT.” John patted his friend on the shoulder bracingly. Turbo smiled at the praise. But as John finished congratulating him, he fell forward to his knees, coughing violently. The Brothers then saw the wounds. Dozens of cuts and fragments of shrapnel from the bombs and wall littered the hero’s back. His fast physiology was trying to combat the effects of the wounds but, for some reason, he could not heal fast enough. John began to tend to the wounds with care, examining and using his recently teleported med-kit, and had not realized something was wrong until George spoke up.

“What didn’ he mediport yet?” John looked up from Turbo, who he held in his arms as he tried to heal, and realized that George was right. The mediport system hadn’t activated and taken JT to safety. George pulled out his police band radio and tuned in to see if there was something amiss. Sure enough, a frantic voice came across the airwaves,

“—REPEAT! THE HEALING NODE HAS BEEN DISABLED! Explosives have been detonated at the base and a large group of men are beginning to congregate around the scene and fire on civilians and heroes. Anyone who can’t withstand a lot of punishment is advised to STAY AWAY FROM ANY FIGHTING until the node is restored!” George looked to John and Ivan, then back to the radio.

“George, you and Ivan need to go to the scene and help get that thing back online. Go!” The Russian and the cowboy nodded in unison, and disappeared in a flourish of George’s cloak. John looked back to his patient and smiled at his friend. “Yer gonna be ok man. You’ll get through this. I’ll take you to my lab and we can—“

“Save it,” Turbo coughed. He shook his head clutched the Human Miracle by the shoulder. “You do, what you have to do. Save as…as many as you can. I’ve…I’ve done my part…go do yours.” Blood slowly trickled from the side of his mouth and ran down his cheek. “Kick that…kick that guy’s [censored] for me, will ya?” John was caught off guard by the out of character request and shook his head in confusion. Another cough, followed by a wry smile, and the man known as Johnny Turbo, died in the arms of the Human Miracle that Christmas Day. He was the first casualty of what would come to be known as the War of the Eye.

Mouth agape and still holding the body of one of his dearest friends, John Blake began to feel the loss sink deep into his heart. A cold feeling ran through his entire body as he stared at the lifeless body he was clutching. He couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t be happening. Johnny couldn’t be dead, it wasn’t fair. Turbo didn’t deserve to die on a beach alone; he deserved to go out with a bang in front of thousands of adoring fans and appreciative citizens. He was a hero, and HM made a solemn pact that moment to make sure that Johnny Turbo would always and forever be remembered, as the hero he was.

A sound reached his ears that he didn’t quite register at first. He recognized it, but he couldn’t place from where or when exactly. Looking out to the shattered gaping hole of the wall, he could barely make out blurry figures approaching the city shore. Eyes clouded with tears, he blinked and tried to focus, but it was the sound he recognized first. The gentle WHUP WHUP WHUP of helicopter propellers, like those in the Vietnam War he fought in, floated through the breeze. Then the obvious forms of helicopters, hundreds of them, became visible as they headed for the breach. Setting his friend down gently and with respect, he activated his communicator.

“This is the Human Miracle. Is anyone from the LISA Network around Talos Island? I need assistance immediately.” He waited several seconds before the strong, almost calming voice of Granite Rock responded.

“This is Granite Rock, I will be glad to assist you, friend. What is your location?” John sighed with relief.

“I’m at Spanky’s Boardwalk. And, Granite,” he paused as air raid sirens began to ring through the city signaling that a Rikti raid was occurring, “it looks like it’s going to be one of those days buddy.”

ok, thanks for the tip!

well i installed the program and i picked a screenshot from a different drive to use and it doesn't seem like it's working. plus i have Vista so is there anything I can do to make it work?

Chapter 3: The Storm (Part 1)

Kings Row

Present Day

2 Weeks after the Warehouse Incident

John’s feet were cold in his sneakers, the icy wind blowing to try and penetrate the leather jacket that he wore. The cracked cement, uneven and hazardous to pedestrians, illustrated the personality of Kings Row itself. Behind his sunglasses and attempting to be inconspicuous he could even see a mugging in progress across the street from him. Just as he thought about changing into his “work clothes” a hero fell from the sky to break up the crime. The sight warmed his heart, but he knew that one act would not be enough to stop the dozens of other muggings happening at all hours.

It was not every day that he went into Kings Row like this, without his suit on or without a reason to go to the PPD. The brown bag in his hand indicated a special occasion, an occasion which rarely came. As he arrived at the familiar cross-streets, John stopped to look at the street names for a moment. The last time he had been here, it was in the summer and it had been a happier occasion. He had come here to announce his proposal to his wife to a dear friend of his. But that dear friend had now called upon him, and the matter was apparently urgent.

After looking both ways down the sidewalk, he turned to face the alley that was behind him. John strode into the alleyway and wrinkled his nose at the smell. Rotting garbage and the smell of the diner to his left amalgamated to form a stench that made memories of the French sewers rise to the surface of his mind. Fighting back the urge to gag, he walked quickly until a dead-end was becoming visible up ahead. A pile of rags and sheets was crammed into the corner, and opposite to it was a large dumpster. The trash container seemed as though it had been haphazardly slid into position there. Strangely, the dumpster seemed to be positioned so that it was facing the pile of rags as well. John looked around to make sure the coast was clear before speaking loudly in Russian.

“Ivan, I’m here.” His voice echoed off the walls and mixed eerily with the far off sounds of traffic. Several seconds passed before the pile of rags stirred, grumbles emanating from the center of the fabric. John walked over to the pile of rags and waited. How had he and his brothers come to this? They were once the most powerful men in the world, controlling the fate of the world and civilizations with the merest whisper from their lips. As a body tumbled from the mess of clothing he saw the harshest example of how hard they had fallen.

Ivan Medvedev was once a proud son of Russia. His mother and father were well respected in their community and firm supporters of the Romanovs. A seditious cell broke out within his father’s factory, where he was labeled as a conspirator. Knowing he was innocent, he calmly walked home to his family and told them of his day. A harsh knock interrupted his story and his father instructed Ivan to hide in case of trouble.

The soldiers at the door were cold and unforgiving. Without even hearing Medvedev out, they shot him at point blank range in front of his wife. As Ivan’s mother bent low over her husband’s body, she was executed as well. Ivan, still hiding, caught the name of the commanding officer and swore that he would one day have his vengeance on the man. Changing his name and disappearing to make it seem as if his whole family was killed, he joined the military ranks and rose quickly as a good and loyal soldier.

Some months before the fall of the Romanovs, Ivan met the mad sorcerer Rasputin. Leading him deep below the city, Rasputin showed Ivan a large vault and told him that when the time was right, it would open for him. The night the Romanovs fell from power, it did.

Within the ancient and forgotten room were two implements, a solid gold hammer and matching sickle. Inspecting the awesome weapons, Ivan was burned while his hands gripped them. As he lay on the floor of the stone chamber, a warm voice called out to him, the voice of Russia herself. She soothed him and eased the pain of the empty eye socket, an injury sustained that very night. Russia told him that he would be her true son, and grant him the strength to fight back those who wished to take her by force. The strength she gave was immeasurable.

Soon Ivan was approached by the Brotherhood to join, given promises of a chance to renew Russia’s blessed glory. As the decades passed, he grew farther and farther from this goal. When the uprising occurred from within the Brotherhood, and the remaining seven members of John Blake’s inner circle fled into hiding, Ivan chose the path of a vagrant as a self-imposed penance for failing his promise to glorify Russia once more.

Now Ivan sat before John, dirty and drunk. His one good eye gazed up blearily and he nodded as if he needed to be sure that it was truly John standing before him. John knelt down and extricated an old bottle of Vodka from within the brown paper bag he was holding. Ivan snatched it from his hand and sighed after taking a long drink.

“My thanks, comrade,” he spoke in Russian, since it was just the two of them and they feared being overheard, “I have not tasted such in a long time.” He examined the bottle appreciatively and smiled wryly at John.

“Judging by your breath, comrade, you’ve been drinking enough as it is.” No smile greeted Ivan’s, only a disappointed frown. Ivan lowered his head in shame, taking another sip. John had been there to recruit Ivan personally, and he had even been there when he had drunk from the Fountain of Youth, as all the inductees had to. That was the connection and curse for all of them. Their brothers became their only enemies, since only those who had tasted the Fountain’s waters could kill another who had as well.

“There is a good reason for that, comrade.” Ivan pushed himself up shakily and staggered over to the dumpster which was facing his rag-nest. With one hand, he lifted the dumpster and allowed the contents to fall haphazardly out to the alley floor. What came out, however, was not the conventional garbage that an average passer-by would have seen. The bodies of robbed men, members of the Eye’s Eyes, lay before John and Ivan. “They came here last night.” Ivan let the dumpster fall to the ground with a deafening crash and John winced from the cacophonous noise.

“Was it completely necessary for you to dismember some of them?” John’s voice was disgusted as he began to de-hood the men to view their faces. Some of them were young, as young as Hellions or Outcasts. Others, to John’s horror and disbelief, had to be in their late sixties. He couldn’t imagine that men would follow his father’s crazed dogma, or the sadistic and militaristic stratagems of Donald Jones this late in their life-times. But, John remembered all too well the entrancing power of his father’s words, the hypnotic spells he could weave with his voice that were honey to the ear. He felt responsible for allowing the deaths of these men. It was his duty to stop his father, and by not doing so soon enough, these poor people had been drawn to fight an immortal at the cost of their own lives.

“I was drunk.” Ivan said plainly, as if that was an excuse for the barbaric acts he had performed on these men. John had tried to spare the lives of those followers in the warehouse and wished his Brother had had the foresight and civility to do the same. “I think you will find what they were looking for much more important than my methods of dispatching them though.” The Russian sipped lazily out of the bottle as he spoke. The way he spoke made John turn to face him, ignoring the sight before him. This was obviously more important. He felt ashamed though, as if his feelings for the murdered men were fickle and minute in comparison to his interest in this unknown tidbit of information.

“What was it?” Ivan cracked a crooked smile hearing John’s interest, knowing his transgressions would be forgotten, for now at least. He curled his finger to beckon John forward, and the hero obliged, squatting down beside his inebriated companion.

“The Spear of Destiny.” Ivan’s voice was no higher than a whisper and with good reason. The Spear of Destiny, for those who did not know of it, was an incredibly powerful weapon. It is rumored that it pierced the side of Jesus Christ as he was nailed upon the cross during his crucifixion. The Brotherhood, vastly interested in religious artifacts because they felt that by possessing them, they would hold sway over religious organizations, had come into possession of it. John had been dispatched to retrieve this item personally. In fact, he had retrieved all the items personally because his father had trusted him to obey without question. After the uprising John hid all the weapons in places only he would know, secret spots that only the brave and magically knowledgeable would be able to survive.

“Why would they think you have it?” Ivan shrugged.

“I think this is an indication that they do not know who hid the artifacts.” He was right, of course. If the Eye’s Eyes went about questioning each member of the Brotherhood, they would waste valuable time doing so. Already the tactical machinations of the Human Miracle’s mind began to work furiously to find a way to use this against the untrained zealots.

“That would mean that Donald, and perhaps even my father, don’t know who has them or hid them.” Ivan smiled again, a wicked facial expression that would not inspire hope to those unfamiliar to the bellicose foreigner. “It could be assumed that Donald is acting on his own to try and find the artifacts to impress my father. That means he’s using emotion to guide his plans which can work for us.”

John sat down beside Ivan and held his hand out, asking permission for the bottle. His companion passed it disinterestedly as he stared off to the mouth of the alley. If Donald was operating out of Paragon City, he could be stopped before anything could actually occur. Keeping an eye on the Rogue Isles was the hard part. He would have to contact his cousin for that. It was strange that the only contact with the only blood relative he had left in the Brotherhood was so scarce. He hardly saw Raphiel now, especially since the gang wars had started in Port Oakes with him and the Marcone men. He regretted it, and made a mental decision to go to Port Oakes and visit his cousin when the creature of free-time wandered across his path.

“Do you ever think about it?” Ivan’s question broke the stiff introspective silence sharply. John turned to him, taking one last sip of spirits before handing it back.

“Think about what?”

“The day it all started.” John’s eyes closed in painful remembrance. “It was in Talos, yes?” The Russian’s voice was dreamlike, as if he was thinking hard but his emotions were at peace. “It’s funny. That is the day I think about more than any of the other battles we fought. I suppose it’s because of all the civilians that died, and all the heroes.” John could remember that day very vividly

thanks a lot folks! i appreciate it!