Okay, I'm not the writer, or not much of one at least. My grammer is awful, as is my spelling normally. However this was in my head and I spent a good hour and a half on it (yeah the hard-core writers on the board are allowed to scoff) so I'm posting it in here.
I enjoyed writing it. But more of, I enjoyed thinking it all up. In the end its playing the game as this character that sparks off these over the top mind ventures in my head and now and then I maydo one or two that I think deserves a little fleshing out.
Introductions aside, if ya read it, I hope ya enjoy it.
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Just me and an old friend watching the time tick by, it is how retirement nights are meant to be spent. I catch my breath, breathing in the air deeply around me, which was a horrible mistake and done more harm then good. I cough and splutter as my lungs hack up whatever it was that got inside. I feel my friend smack my back as I try to find what little good air there is.
God I hate the sewers.
I look up, half expecting to see my last sight ever, but my prey didnt hear me, or they did and didnt recognise it outside all of the other sewer sounds. The machines pumping the dirty water around and around, the cogs turning and groaning, half of them rusted and in need of fixing and the filth of man gushing around the pipes.
God I love the sewers. So picturesque.
Im a hero. Registered. They let me have a card so obviously it must be true now. Heavens know what I was all those years ago. I have a suit, spikes on it, to catch eyes, all black, because I prefer things simple and useful. Im also old. Too old. Out of retirement even, in a city I hate, doing something that Im obviously unable to do anymore. I never had any powers and I didnt suddenly get any either. Though if you heard my age you would wonder if Im human because I know I wonder.
My friend here doesnt show his age.
Hes a mess. Some people get to have super powers you can show off about. Some get to fly, being the envy of all those who are stuck on the ground. My friend? Hes stuck in the sewer because its the only place thatll have him. More gunk then man, the very sewer water joins into his flesh. He isnt pretty and he stinks.
And Id have no one else by my side right now.
My lungs still ache from the coughing, Im still out of breath and I find my knees dont want to move. Ive been standing still watching for far too long. Not that there was much to watch, outside of this groups leader there isnt a brain between them.
Looking at my prey that statement could be true.
I try to remember what theyre called, Ive read enough reports on them, defeated a fair few on the streets, enough to lead me here at least, Ive even heard young would-be Heroes gloat over the defeats theyve dealt to them. So why in blasted cant I remember there names?
Not as easy as it used to be, huh?
That was my friend, looking at me like if Im doing the most stupid idiotic thing in my life. I say its a bit too late in the game to be staring at me like that but he is right on some level. Its not as easy as it used to be. I remember how to do things but my body just doesnt respond right, too tired, too old, and not quite quick enough.
Then again, my prime was near forty years ago. I have forgotten what it is to be young.
My prey walk around the tunnels probably meant to be patrolling. The man in charge must realise how ineffectual such a guard system is, no one who can make those walking heaps of flesh could be that stupid. Which means hes confident enough that he can handle himself when he is found. That makes my moustache twitch. Not fond of that idea. Twenty years ago taking down a lad like this in my city would have been a penny-dollar. Id have him down in a few clean hits, before he even had a chance to blink. Now Im starting to wonder if Ill even be able to make it to him before I collapse.
Hows the wife? That was my old friend again. I remember now, we havent seen each other in ten years. It seemed like only yesterday.
Dead.
The quick answer says it all. Her death was good. Clean. A death any husband would want, only for it to be after his own, or not at all. She died, old, in a chair, looking at the sky and went silently and peacefully, like it was only an afternoon nap she would wake from in a few hours. She hadnt been that ill, just old and tired and wondering what the future would bring.
I hear him nod, his sludge making odd sounds. And the girls?
I breathe in heavy and feel like every bone has gotten heavier. I hadnt even put them on my official forms. As far as Paragon City is concerned Im an old man with two dead wives only. Was it wrong for me not to? Yes. But this city has no right to know, not by my hand. If it must know it can dig that little deeper, if it even cares.
Oh no. Suddenly I realise I had been silent and didnt answer the question, which, in this case, told all it had to. The War? He asks.
We call it The War now. Or The Invasion. Always with capitals, its even said that way. Like if no other war had happened before it, or no land had ever seen an invasion force. Like if it defines the very words.
I hate it because it feels right that they do.
One. She died bravely, like a hero, a true hero, defending the innocent against an enemy. It was a heroic death, if not a good one. Damn it thats not true! I growl, nearly shouting, having to force myself to a harsh whisper that makes my throat flare up in pain. I lost both to that war but one
My hand finds something in the sewer water and I crush it with my grip, anything to get the anger out of me.
I didnt see it happen but its so clear in my head.
My friend looks sad; the big simpleton wears his heart in his face and couldnt hide his emotions if he wanted too. Right now his face is long enough to touch his feet. I forgot how close he had been with this family. I forgot how I took the girls down to see him. How they somehow managed to love the man for who he was.
I find my words again; age has a good way of teaching you how to be calm. Being angry for too long tires you out. Cosmic Comets
I use her code name until I hear how stupid it sounds. Julie
Well after the war people started to rebuild but the gangs activity was high and she came to Paragon to help soothe things over. I hear my friend breath in, as he has came to his own conclusion to how the story ends. But he doesnt know it yet.
There was a sudden violent gang attack and she was there, but was out of uniform. Still she fought the gang members, in civilian clothing and probably was doing a good job of it.
Then she was shot. I heard she was alive, her side opened and was crawling to safety but the man who shot her came up to her, saw her, looked her in the eyes, and shot her again, and again and again, and again. I dont feel old now. I feel young, filled with fire. Telling the story out loud was the breath of air I needed.
Of course I found out who did it.
My friend looks at me, waiting. He doesnt wait long. Commando Shootdown I say, playing with the words, trying to make them sound menacing and evil, but instead came off as some sick joke. That Jackass
That murderer was a registered hero. He had mistaken her for a gang member, or so he said, and had taken her down like he would any other.
There were rules! There were guidelines. Oaths and codes and sworn words! Im up, standing, sword in hand. He ignored them all! I hear a groan from the tunnels. Good. Im good with this sword. I have been for years longer then most of these heroes have been alive. He took her down as any of those thugs would! And she knew! As she died she knew she was dying by a heros hand! I can take anyone down, cut them, bleed them, do all manner of things, and always keep them alive, despite how much they might hate me for it.
We move in. Old flames burning.
In the after mash we have twenty-one arrests and zero deaths. What I have to show for it is another cold sleepless night and one hell of a headache. Im retired, Im too old and the world has changed too much for me to ever be content with it but my flame is burning and its as black as the night. So I wont rest, I wont die. Not yet.
Far too much to do.
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1530 words. Not bad for a little fun eh?
