Sooner

Book II, part IV is up.

Part IV

Six-Four's apartment
"Standard Hellions," Six-Four announced, tossing a handful of pictures and hand drawn sketches on the table in front of his new friends. They were the first guests he'd ever had inside his apartment, but his strictly utilitarian space was ideal for this briefing. He had a large whiteboard mounted on the wall, a spacious table for laying out papers and maps, and enough space for everyone to move around. What he didn't have was chairs. When a man didn't expect guests, he had no reason to have more than one chair. Moon Dancer was curled in his recliner, Pipe Hitter balanced on a barstool, and Rosemarie perched on one of his file cabinets. With a little rearranging, everyone could see the information Six-Four laid out. The remains of a quick dinner from Up-n-Away had been cleared away, and the odor of fries and burgers lingered in the air.

Denied his Ghosts Reborn uniform, Six had reverted to what amounted to a new uniform of tee shirt, BDU pants, and boots. He looked fierce and focused as he paced behind the table, a pair of knives tucked in his belt and a folder of papers tucked under his arm. He leaned forward and tapped a careful hand drawn rendering of the Hellions symbol. "Most of them will be wearing this as a tattoo somewhere clearly visible on their body - a red circle with a horned goat head and some arcane symbols, and they mostly use fire as a form of attack. They're always trying to expand out of Atlas, Galaxy, and Perez Park, but usually get smacked back by the other gangs. Now, however, I've been tracking THESE guys in Kings Row." He tossed a few dozen photos and drawings. Pipe Hitter didn't flinch at all as he started rifling through the pages. Rosemarie took a deep breath and leaned forward to study over Pipe Hitter's shoulder, but he saw Moon Dancer's pretty face wince at one particular close-up showing the harsh after-effects of a lost fight and her big blue eyes turned away. He instantly felt like an ***. He should've known better than to show some of these photos to that soft hearted girl.

"Near as I can tell, the leaders of this group of Hellions - who I'm calling the Black Hand Hellions - have actually had that symbol branded over their tattoos. Their followers usually have tattoos instead of the brand. They've moved into Kings Row and so far, no one's been able to stop them. They've done a nice job flying under the radar as far as hero intervention goes, but I suspect they have powerful backing."

He leaned forward onto the table and took a moment to make eye contact with each of the three, letting his blue eyes go icy and hard. "I've been studying the Black Hand Hellions for months now. I want to know who's behind them, and I want to know what they're doing in Kings Row. I'm ready to start taking some action. You guys with me?"

The Spirit World
Ben turned his face to the sun burning high overhead and smiled. He didn't really care if it wasn't real. It felt real and it felt good. Grandfather had brought him back to the open plains of the land that would become Oklahoma. It was beautiful and wide open and he felt free.

"Open your eyes, Benjamin. You are here to learn." Grandfather scolded.

"Yes, Grandfather," Ben answered. He smiled and turned towards the tall glowing shape of his ancestor. "What's the lesson today?"

"First, I have more of your ancestors to meet." Ben's eyes widened as more and more glowing shapes appeared. One by one they approached, and stood nearby. "They are all your ancestors, but to avoid confusion you may call them your aunts and uncles. Except that one, of course..." Grandfather gestured to a eerily floating form hovering nearby. It emitted a high pitched wail that set his teeth on edge.

"Who is that?" Ben said with his eyes wide.

"You may call her Mother-in-Law." Grandfather answered with just a hint of emotion coloring his voice. "Do not worry. She's still your ancestor. She's on your side and will manage to annoy your enemies more than she does you." Grandfather turned to look wistfully out over the plains. "Ben, you are magic. Your family is magic. If things had been different, you would have been taught to use your magic at a young age, but among the harm Akando's family did to our tribe, they encouraged us all to turn away from our magic, to try to become more like the white men. And so our family forgot their magic. But you, Ben... you must relearn it all if you would help fight the demon."

"How do I do that?" Ben asked.

Grandfather's head whipped back toward Ben and his eyes glowed red. "Run..." he growled. The glowing man-shape suddenly exploded into the form of a bear - taller and more powerful than a man. "RUN!!!" it roared.

Ben fled across the plain, once again terrified and confused. The bear lumbered behind him, but Ben could hear that it closing fast. He tried darting left and right to evade, but the bear kept coming. A giant paw tripped him, and then the bear was on him. Powerful paws tumbled him helplessly over the ground. Ben let out a yell of protest as the bear's teeth closed over his head, and then Grandfather stood there again, helping him up.

"What-" Ben started, but then one of the Aunts stepped forward.

"Run!" she demanded. Before he could react, she and a half-dozen others became leggy yellow eyed wolves, snarling and howling, their yellow eyes fixed hungrily on him.

Ben stumbled away from them. He could see a rocky hill in the distance. Perhaps if he could get to it, he could evade them. But no man had a chance of outrunning a pack of wolves. They toyed with him, circling him, darting in to nip at him when he slowed. His lungs burned, his heart was pounding its way out of his chest. He tripped over something in the tall grass, flailing his arms to try to keep his balance, and then they were on him. Their teeth sank into his arms and legs as he fell, and they began to play with him like a pack of pups with a rope toy.

"Enough!" bellowed Grandfather, and the wolves released him, fading into the grass.

Ben pushed himself to his feet, heaving for breath. His wrists were marked by the wolves' teeth, but they hadn't broken the skin.

"Grandfather... what is..."

"Hush. I'm teaching, youngster." Grandfather answered.

Another glowing form stepped forward. A powerfully built young man. His teeth bared in a smile. "RUN!" he demanded.

"You're not going to hurt me," Ben answered, still panting. "Why should I wear myself out?"

The glowing shape turned into an eagle with a wingspan wider than Ben's outstretched arms. It swooped down on Ben and its talons raked Ben's face. It let out a shrill eagles cry and Ben could clearly understand, "RUN!"

Once again, Ben ran for the rocks, but the eagle swooped and dived, herding him away from it. Every time Ben tried to turn back to the rocks, the eagle stooped on him, powerful wings beating the air around his face, those deadly talons reaching straight for his eyes. When Ben was quite certain he couldn't run another step, the eagle swooped down and sank it's talon's into his shoulder. Its wings beat powerfully, and nearly managed to lift him. Ben cried out in pain as the talon's began to tear his flesh, then the eagle released its grip and he tumbled roughly to the ground.

He lay there, panting. Grandfather stood over him, shaking his head. "Why are you doing this, Grandfather?" Ben asked.

Once again Grandfather offered a hand and helped Ben up. He glanced at the rocks. "You want to go there. You imagine you'd have a chance to defend yourself there."

Ben tried to still his breathing. "Yes..." he agreed when he could draw enough air to speak. "I've been trying to make it to the rocks."

"Then go there." Grandfather said.

"No... Grandfather... no. I can't run any more."

"I didn't say 'run," Benjamin. I said 'go there.'"

Ben leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "I don't understand."

"See the rocks. See their shape. Feel the hard edges under your feet. Smell the moss growing in the shade. Hear the quiet sound of the pebbles shifting underneath you. Ben... you are human. You cannot outrun a bear, a wolf, or an eagle. You certainly cannot outrun a demon. You can simply chose to be somewhere else. Now. Go. There."

Ben took a moment to fully visualize the spot in the rocks where he wanted to go. He glanced doubtfully at Grandfather, then thought himself there. For a moment, nothing happened at all. Then his stomach flip flopped and he found himself standing among the rocks. He was so surprised his feet fell out from under him and he landed hard on his butt, laughing and yelling as the sharp edges of the rocks cut through his tattered clothing.

Once again, Grandfather appeared and helped Ben to his feet. "Well done, Benjamin. Well done." He bared his teeth in a smile. "Now... RUN!" Grandfather turned into the bear again and roared. Ben glanced higher into the hills, aware Grandfather was giving him the moment he needed to remember how to teleport himself... then he was there. He laughed again just as the wolves surrounded him. "Run!" the pack leader growled, and Ben teleported away just as the pack leapt for him. The eagle stooped on him, screaming a war cry, and Ben vanished as the talons closed on empty air.

Ben stood on top of the rocky hill, smiling triumphantly as the animal shapes all transformed back into their glowing human forms. One by one they nodded and faded away.

"Rest now, Ben." Grandfather said. "You still have much to learn."

Crowne Memorial Hospital, ICU
Less than five minutes after arriving at the hospital Vir was submersed in the dim lights and quiet of the Intensive Care Unit with a woman who looked far far too young to be his brother's doctor. She seemed confident and competent as she stood before him wearing rumpled green scrubs and a surgical cap struggling to contain unruly brunette curls.

“His condition is very serious,” she offered. “He's still battling shock, he's in more pain than we can effectively control without risking complications, he is still at grave risk of infection, and the long term consequences to his heart and lungs are.... well... we'll have to see how does overnight before we'll be able to address that.”

Vir nodded. “I suppose our father is with him, now?”

The young doctor cocked her head at him thoughtfully, and he suspected he had just become another case for her to ponder. “You were the only next of kin on record.” she answered.

Vir paused to let a complex reaction comprised of anger, frustration, and relief wash over him before speaking again, “Can I see him?”

“For a few minutes, yes. I think he'd like that. Don't tire him, of course.”

Vir entered the dimly lit room. His brother looked terribly young lying there, the sheet pulled up to his chin, surrounded by tubes, wires, and buzzing, whirring, and beeping machines. Seamus's face was a younger mirror of Vir's own, same eyes and nose, same chin and jaw. Seamus's hair was a shade lighter and a touch longer, his face a little more round and soft due to his peaceful life with all the amenities their father's wealth provided. Lying there, dozing, he was terribly pale, but the relationship between them would be plain to anyone who saw them together.

Vir moved quietly across the room, pulled over a chair and sat close to the bed. “Seamus,” he called out quietly.

The younger man's face was marred by bruising, and his left eye was swollen nearly shut, but his eyes flickered open. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, then his head pivoted a few degrees toward Vir and his eyes, the rich brown they'd both inherited from their father, focused.

“Hey.... Mikey.” he whispered. "I think something's wrong.... with my arms...."

Vir let one shaky breath escape before he asked, “Seamus, where's Dad?”

Seamus struggled to sit up and became instantly more alert. “I don't want him to know.” he took a deep breath. “Don't call him, Mike.”

“Why not? He really should be here. You're his son.”

“He can't know," Seamus's eyes glazed over and then closed again. Vir could see the drugs taking over his brother's mind again, so he didn't let it hurt when his brother added, "I'm the only son he has left...”

Seamus drooped, and the blankets fell away from him to reveal the thick bandages over the stumps of his arms. Vir grimaced, both angry and helpless, and tucked the blankets back up over his brother's shoulders.

Hey now! What's this now?

Wait... if it's Pax's B-day...who's setting up the buffet?

*organizes a pot-luck list*

Happy Birthday!

I hereby designate the task of correcting Blaze Rockers misconception to.... Mr. Grey!

I'll be there!!!

Ah... obviously, I left my comment on you OTHER post before I read this one.

So, I'll say this: I recognize THIS character as your archer. Not sure who the other is.

B, you do a really nice job with these.

I'll make one suggestion: Let us know who the speaker is?

I felt the emotions of this character, I felt his anger and grief and determination.

But... I don't know who it is....

Even just adding the character's name to the title would go far to helping us get a picture of our narrator.

Other than that... this was really good. I had a picture in my head of the speaker, chained to his rock in space, watching, and likely screaming and cursing as his planet died.

I know she's crazy and all... but I feel for Jill.

And Hunter was an *** to her, before.

I already got my nukes for next time.

Book II, part III is posted.

Part III

Kings Row
Six-Four didn’t remember when he’d enjoyed a day so much since... well... since before Ebony Rose killed his best friend. He was normally a solitary man, but he had stepped easily into the role of mentor to these three young heroes, and he had enjoyed it immensely. He’d spent the day with them, showing them around, introducing them to shopkeepers and helping them find their way around some of the rougher neighborhoods.

They’d ended the day with a few beers at Pipe Hitter’s small apartment where Six had shared stories of his time as a hero. An interesting trio, they were. Obviously good friends, but so different from each other. Pipe Hitter was a hard, no nonsense kind of man who nonetheless had an obvious soft place in his heart for his two companions. And appeared to be holding quite a torch for the lovely Moon Dancer. Pipe Hitter and Six-Four fell quickly into the sort of camaraderie that men who'd served together for months develop. Rosemarie was enthusiastic and not nearly as tough as she wanted others to think she was. She was still naive, but willing to learn. She was like the tomboy next door, pretty and lots of fun to hang out with. He suspected that she wouldn’t flinch from some of the hard choices she was going to face over her career as a hero, even if she did continue to be taken by surprise by them. ...And then there was Moon Dancer. Beautiful, sweet, caring, and completely innocent. Even a man as hardened by the world as Six-Four was charmed by her. It would be very easy to fall for that one, but Six had been around long enough to know that a woman like her - soft and innocent - was not for him.

Six remained after the two women said their good nights. They had their own apartment just across the hall, and Six lingered after the two left. He and Pipe Hitter sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, then the younger man offered Six another beer.

“So... you and Moon Dancer... are you together?” Six asked abruptly. The look Pipe Hitter turned on him was telling. Flat, dark, and protective, a look that said no one had better even try to hurt that woman. Six raised his hands in a show of good intentions, and the younger man’s expression cleared.

“Not for a long time,” he answered finally.

“But you were?”

Pipe Hitter drained his beer, set it down with a thump, and grabbed another. “Ya. Before I joined up. We were all three friends, for as long as I can remember. When we got into high school, she and I were together... all through high school. But things got tough between us after I joined up. At first I thought she just didn’t like me being away, but... she just couldn’t handle what I was doing. She doesn’t ... have the heart for it. Even when someone else is doing it. I did... some rough work... and I finally learned to just quit telling her anything. But she still knew, and, ya know, not talking isn’t a great way to build a relationship. So... we broke up. I finished up my time in the service, came home, and the three of us took up as friends again.”

“You still want her, though, don’t you?” It was the sort of personal question Six normally would avoid, but he was intrigued by this trio, and was sincerely curious about them.

Pipe Hitter was quiet for a long time, long enough that Six thought he just wasn’t going to answer. Finally, though, he sighed. “It’s never going to happen. She needs a knight in shining armor. And... I’m never going to be that.” Six could hear the unspoken, “no matter how hard I try.”

Six nodded. He knew a very few “knights in shining armor.” They were out there, though most of them still had a few dents and stains. Still, he wondered how Pipe Hitter would react when Moon Dancer finally found her knight.

“I should go,” Six said after another long silence.

Pipe Hitter nodded. “Ya. This is was good. See you tomorrow?”

Six nodded. “Ya, I think you will.” He crooked a smile. "I've been tracking some weird stuff goin on with the Hellions for awhile now. I think that's just the thing for you guys."


Campbell Shelter
Cydney Nation arrived at the Campbell Family Trust Shelter with boxes and bags of canned goods and other non-perishables. She came here at least once a week, when time allowed. She came as Cydney, rather than Sooner Spirit. It was a way of doing good and helping that didn’t require violence, and with the battle between the Ghosts and the Shades growing more fierce by the day, the peaceful work did her soul good.

She puttered around in the pantry, putting away the food when a nondescript man of indeterminate age shuffled into the kitchen, humming a familiar tune. His clothes were worn and stained and he had the rumpled look of a man who'd been sleeping rough. He had likely been tall in his youth, but now his tired slump stole inches from his stature. His face was lined with hardship. His eyes were a faded blue and his hair was a silvering carrot-red. Something about him attracted her attention, something tingled against her sense of magic. She turned to him with a smile. “Can I get you something, friend? A sandwich? Some coffee?”

“Aye, to both,” he answered with a faint hint of Ireland coloring his voice. “That’d be welcome.”

She poured the coffee for him and began putting together a sandwich. While he waited he resumed humming that lilting yet sad tune.

Without thinking, she began to sing the words that went with the melody he hummed,

“To the clan ó Floinn The Beast came, covetous and greedy.
The evil craved the light of the daughters ó Floinn greatly.
To works its most foul will on the world it would steal their might.
But ó Floinn would not surrender, the warriors joined the fight.”

Cydney turned with shocked surprise when the man's rough but still pleasant voice joined in on the next verse,

“The brave men ó Floinn met The Beast, fought The Beast, and tried.
The warriors ó Floinn charged The Beast, attacked The Beast, and died.
The Beast drew closer, the grandfathers and the boys took arms.
Bravely they fought, bravely they fell, and still The Beast came on.

Cydney finished the entire song with man, as much to see if he knew all the words as anything else, then placed the plate with the sandwich and a generous spoonful of pasta salad she’d found in the fridge. “I’ve never heard anyone but my mother and grandmother sing that song,” she said with equal parts surprise and suspicion.

“It’s an old lay,” he said and bit into the sandwich. He spoke around the food as he finished, “and it tells a story true.”

“Does it now?” she said, trying to color her question with skepticism and hiding the shiver the song had given her.

“Aye, it does.” he nodded and took another bite. “If ever three daughters are born to the maternal line of my family, the beast could be freed. And only those three together could defeat her.”

“Wait...” Cydney lifted a hand. “Your family?”

“Aye...” he chewed, sipped his coffee, and looked up at her with a smile. “Clan ó Floinn was Anglicized to the Flynn family.” he held out a callused hand to her. “Rory Flynn. Pleased to meetcha.”

“Cydney Nation,” she said. She gasped at the spark of magic that passed between then, but he didn’t seem to notice it.

“Nation? I’d’ve thought ya a Flynn for certain. You’ve the hair,” He fingered his own tired curls and then gestured to her plait of strawberry blonde.

“One of my great-great grandmothers was a Flynn,” she answered absently.

He took her hand again and held it tight. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were serious as he held her gaze. “Then you’re from the maternal line? Well, then, if you’ve not been told, whatever you do, don’t have three daughters.”

The Ghosts Reborn base
Vir studied a list of names. A list of the members of the Ghosts Reborn. One of the people on this list was a traitor, a spy for their mortal enemies. The duty for reviewing the list fell to him. He suspected it was because he was the most capable of detaching his emotions. He also suspected - no, hoped - that he wasn’t the only one performing this duty. At this point, no one- including himself - should be above suspicion.

Having said that, however, he made his first cut based on time as a member. If the Ghost in question had been a member before Ice9’s death, the likelihood was very low that they were the spy. And, of course, anyone who joined in the year or so before the discovery of the spy would necessitate a much closer look. In fact, Anjali might be the only member of the Ghosts he was willing to rule out, since she was still trying to escape her captivity from the Shades when the spy was discovered.

Then there were a few special cases. There was Cherished, whose sister was both a Soldier of Arachnos and a member of the Shades. That sister had been funneling information to Cherished, but might Cherished be sending information back? The circles within circles were a bit dizzying - why would she reveal the existence of a spy if she were the spy? Jagged Fortune also had a line into the Shades, he could be playing the same sort of game. Hmmm…. Six Four was not above suspicious by any means, even with his membership suspended. He was erratic and unpredictable, though his single minded vendetta against one of the leaders of the Shades would seem to make that unlikely. Of course, if it was part of a power play within the Shades… Vir worked his way down the list while a spike of a headache began to form between this eyes and bore into his skull. The double and triple think required made almost anyone a possibility. And with that… he sighed sadly and wrote Ahren and Glacius9 down on the “special cases” list. Both of them had spent significant time as unwilling guests in the Rogue Isles. He knew both men would die before betraying the Ghosts. But… either could be a sleeper. He shook his head, finding that it was more difficult than he’d thought to detach himself from the possibility that somewhere on these lists of people he trusted was the name of someone betraying that trust.

He lifted his head at a knock on the door frame. “Yes?” he inquired of the young Ghost recruit standing there.

“Ah.. Phone call for you, Vir,” the young man’s voice cracked nervously. “Its from Crowne Memorial hospital.”

His head was still full of names and possibilities as he took the phone and distracted answered, “This is Vir.”

“Ah… Vir. This is Michele calling from Crowne Memorial hospital. You are listed as next of kin for a Seamus Campbell.” Vir’s attention focused suddenly and utterly on the gentle voice. “There’s been an accident. We need you here right away.”


Vir launched himself skyward and turned towards Kings Row with a knot roiling and twisting in his belly. He was a man more prone to deliberate and rational thought than confused emotional reaction, but this was family. Guilt, worry, anger and fear twisted up his thoughts and spurred him faster.

It had been too long since he’d talked to Seamus. In the 15 years since his explosive falling out with his father, Vir had made a point of maintaining a relationship with his younger brother, but the last few years of life and death struggle had gotten in the way of his goal. It has been weeks since he’d talked to his younger brother, and months since he’d seen him. A movie, a couple beers after and then… he just hadn’t had time for more than a phone call.

And now… Vir couldn’t put aside his fear that the accident had been a deliberate attempt to affect Vir himself. He didn’t hide his face. For a wonder, the media had never really caught the connection between him and his wealthy, respected family. But still, it wouldn’t be hard at all for one of Vir’s enemies to realize that hurting Seamus would distract Vir. Not hard at all.

Vir put more energy into his flight to get there faster, even though a part of him wanted to turn the other way. His father would certainly be there. It had been nearly fifteen years since he'd walked out of his father's house full of righteous anger. Even a decade and a half later, Vir was still frustrated and angry at his father's demands. In hindsight, he had to realize that the argument could have been handled better, and that his own stubbornness had prevented from ever trying to reconcile. Of course, his father didn't have the excuse of youth for his own stubbornness, and Vir knew that his father was at least as much to blame for not attempting a reconciliation.

Vir knew once the media that surrounded his father finally made the connection – once they realized that Vir wasn't just some guy named Michael Campbell, he was Michael Campbell, Jr, eldest son of THE Michael Campbell, philanthropist and entrepreneur – well, once they got hold of that, it would play non-stop. Add in the injured youngest son bringing about the reconciliation and someone would be trying to make a movie of the week out of it.

He swooped into the lobby of Crowne Memorial and ran to the desk. “Seamus Campbell.” he demanded.

The hospital staff were used to Heroes coming and going, but perhaps not often with this degree of urgency. The desk clerk blinked bleary eyes at Vir, “Are you-”

“I'm family! Just tell me where he is!”

A look of sympathy crossed her face. “ICU,” she answered.

-----
Editorial comment - This last scene, and the storyline it kicks off, was born after Ice9 made an observation about my handling of his characters. He pointed out that everyone one of his characters I wrote had flaws and faults in addition to their good qualities. Every one except UPS (now Vir). He said that Vir never failed to be good, strong, and heroic, and never revealed a weakness of character.

I pointed out in response that his other characters had pasts and histories, and that Vir did not. My only frame of reference for Vir was watching him in play. And Vir is one of the best tanks out there - which has a lot to do with how Ice plays a tank - always watching out for team, always the protective shield keeping the rest of the team safe. And, if Vir DOES go down, he has still done everything possible to get the rest of the team to safety first. Pretty damn heroic, especially when that's ALL you know about the character!

Ice then described to me the back story he had imagined for Vir: son of a well-to-do family who'd had a falling out over the path of his life. I grabbed it and ran with it - starting by redefining "well-to-do" as "fabulously wealthy."

You may have already noticed that Book II is introducing new characters and new story lines. I know it's a little much for me to keep straight, much less you guys who aren't immersed in this stuff! ... and I cut a bunch of story lines OUT of this section!!! We're still headed for a big showdown... just taking a few winding paths on the way.

I got a Bio nuke on Ms. R. So... that's two from me!

Ici has both a bio and a chem. I THINK Ms R has a bio (if not, I'll correct that).

Think it's best we just leave it behind us.

C'mon back soon, Pax.

I just got caught up.

Very nice, B. Will there be more?

I think we'd pretty much let the idea die.

I don't believe there's currently any need for this.

Do you?