A Plague on Romance




"Damn Vaz!" Solaron swore, as he flew across the steel and concrete forest that was Steel Canyon.

The red and black costume, woven from a metalic compound that fit as close to his skin as spandex, was no longer the envy of the superpowerd circles he traveled. It was smeared with dried gore (damn Vaz puke), blood (damn Vaz guts), and scorch marks (oops).

It also smelled.

His condo came into view, spiking into the sky alongside the other buildings, just blocks from the massive statue of a lone hero, saluting. Solaron gave the silent giant a casual wave. That's going to be me one day. I'll have one of those statues. Got a spot already picked out too. But he intended to be around to see it.

Like most of the silent guardians that littered Paragon City, they where the icons of the fallen. Solaron was not dead yet. I will be if I don't take a shower

A touch of his belt, and the large balcony doors opened outward as he flew in to his living room. The condo was spaceous, with a mixture of japanese and african decor. A large plasma screen TV occupied a space on his wall, in front of cozy, yet expensive, couch. A simple glass top coffee table sat before it. Laying across the coffee table a newspaper lay open. On it, a tall grey skinned man with long hair, two cybernetic arms and wearing armor of green and black stood glaring at him. Beside the grim armored figure a moderatly handsome blonde male in blue and white tights looked off to the left, his eyes hidden behind blue goggles, a knowing smirk was playing across his face.

Black Atom and Blue Migraine, his teammates in the Project, just cleared of all charges against them. Solaron was of mixed feelings on that. He was happy that they where off the hook, for assault on a known criminal, but he lost 10 bucks. Also his whole reason for watching the trial was to see Black Atom snap and irradiate the whole court. It didn't happen. Instead it was a long and boring trial. Only thing of real note was the particuarly captivating Caios. She was a bit cold, but if he saw her again he intended to make a better impression. He heard a rumor that she was actually a zombie or vampire of something and he was sick of dealing with corpses. It wasn't that he didn't like them, he liked all the members of The Project. Even though he rarely worked with them.

"Damn Vahzilok!" he yelled, as he took a look in the mirror, one of many, in hallway to his bedroom.

He was covered in everything disgusting known to man. He stripped right there on the spot. He considered the pile of stinking mess, that was once his shining costume, and with a focus of will he channeled a focused flame that cosumed even the fire retardent material of the suit. When it was but ash, he released his will, and watch the ash drift to the hardwood floor. Need to call the Housekeeper. He stepped into the bathroom, and the room wavered.

He felt tired, drained of energy and slightly nauseous. He took a few deep breaths, and felt his head clear.

With that over with, he jumped in the shower and went to work. He scrubbed until he was sure he stripped the color from him his mahogony skin. Leaving the shower he toweled himself dry and got dressed. He was going out tonight. The nurse working for his doctor, asked him out. Once he donned suit and all he looked at himself in the bedroom mirror. His eyes where still glowing, and his goatee was still red. He released the energies that did this with a slow exhalation of breath. Brown eyes and black goatee looked back at him.

His mom was right. Tyrell Baines was one good looking man. But he was tired looking as well. Dark circles under his bright brown eyes, and sagging face where the more visible signs. He was just plain tired.

Since day one of registering as a super hero, he worked the Vahzilok cases. Always the Vahz, and he was well and truly sick of the whole lot of them. He was sick of the sewers, sick of the exploding corpses, and sick to high heaven of the damn puke. That was the most disgusting part. It was the puke. It always, ALWAYS got him in the face. They just shambled up and puked in his face. What the hell kind of villain uses puke as weapon!? Of course the puke was more prefferable then the Eidolons. The Murks or the Mire where the worst. They ran up and just pummeled you till you cried. They too went for the face.

He once again considered a helmet.

He sniffed the air. Something still stank. He considered taking another shower, but thought better of it. He remembered he tracked sewer gunk in his apartment. Mistake.

His headache was back as well, and the chills. He went into the medicine cabinet and took some painkillers and more antibiotics. He couldn't miss another day of work. The slave drivers at Crey would get pissed, and his department supervisor, Helen, was looking for an excuse to nail his ***. Never again will I sleep with the boss, too many complications.

He checked his watch. No time for another shower, so he slapped on some more cologne and dashed off. He didn't notice the small fly swirling in his wake.