Yippie! That didn't sound very appropriate to the current story but I am glad you have started the next one
((Dont quite follow you on "current story". This has nothing to do with any other stories besides some slight references to in game history. Anyways, here is the next chapter.))
Chapter 2
Before I was a detective I was a patrolman in the Hollows before it was known as that. The crime rate was soaring as trolls suped up on drugs overwhelmed us. We were fighting a war and we were losing. Eventually it became known to several companies that specialized in police equipment. With the new demands of the police force they raced to find the next biggest tool in the war against super powered crime. It seemed to good to be true when they donated their services to us in the hopes that it would be a huge success when field tested.
Before the Hollowing
Several officers sat in a presentation room in a high rise office in steel canyon. Most watched the cloth draped over some mysterious object, but John Kimber kept his eyes on the man in his expensive suit. He eyed him suspiciously. He was from Gyrospear Industries. A mega company that designed military weapons.
Officers, I give you the latest tools to keeping the streets safe. The man said.
He took a cloth off in a manner almost fit for a second rate magician. Underneath the cloth was a very high tech, very powerful looking rifle. It was close to .50 caliber.
This is the 'XT9 - Savage'. It is specifically designed to take down the biggest threat you face out there, meta-powered criminals. While the rifle itself is light years ahead of anything out there now, the real miracle is the bullet itself, so I will begin there.
First, it is made of a special alloy. This alloy doesn't break down while in flight or while travelling through objects." Objects. Ha, funny. He meant people, "This means it travels farther and straighter. It also adds to its ability to penetrate. Second, in the bottom of the bullet is a solid fuel core, effectively making the bullet a rocket. This has many benefits. The kick on this puppy is really strong and we didn't want it to be any stronger, but we wanted the bullet to have more power, this does that. It also adds to the accuracy and range, but here is the really great thing about it. We discovered that the fuel core speeds the bullet up to the point where it breaks the sound barrier. Meta-humans can sometimes be so fast that they can dodge bullets from hearing them incoming or even feeling changes in air pressure. This eliminates that. Depending on the distance, a sonic boom reaches the target nearly a full three seconds after the bullet arrives. The bullet gets there before the shockwave.
Third, and this is where the actual rifle tech comes into play, the barrel gives the bullet an electromagnetic charge as it exits. This helps the bullet to penetrate any kind of energy that might be protecting the meta human. Think of it as making the bullet very slippery, allowing it to squeeze through about ninety-eight percent of nearly every kind of energy out there.
John found it interesting, but they were in close quarters battles. Not much use for a sniper rifle there. Before he could ask a question he got the answer as the presentation moved on to the next company and the next project. Another man in a slick suit from the Biotechnologies corporation.
Ladies and gentlemen. For years we have studied these meta powered criminals. Trolls, Outcast, Tsoo. We have discovered several technologies, training and procedures that could level the playing field, sometimes even giving you an edge in the war on crime. We can safely make people faster, stronger, able to heal themselves nearly instantly. We can make you Meta-Cops. We call it, 'Project Steel Eagle'
One man raised his hand, concerned.
What about side effects, or risks? he said.
These procedures have been thoroughly tested and been found completely safe sir. Most are even reversible if you ever decide you don't want to be super powered." He said with a smile. Most of the men gave a little laugh at his charm, "We assure you that we will take every precaution to ensure your safety. I would also like to mention that all volunteers for this project will receive a 20,000 dollar incentive award. We need brave young men like you to help keep the streets safe. Think of your fellow men. Think of all the good you could do for not only the city, but the future of law enforcement. We will have a contact sheet for you after the presentation, just leave your name and number and you will be contacted. I will also mention that there is no obligation to do anything if you sign up. This is only for an in depth consultation. I thank you for your selfless service gentlemen. Allow Biotech to serve you. Thank you.
There were more presentations but that was the one that stuck on everybody's mind. Afterwards, men talked and joked about wearing spandex like the heroes that occasionally helped out. They made a huge line to sign up to get the consultation. Who wouldn't? They were paying to give power. John Kimber thought it was just too good to be true. He noticed some of his precinct buddies were lining up. Mike, a skinny tall guy, and Jase Mitchell. He was a big brute, but was generally harmless, unless his friends were threatened, then he was a bull on a rampage.
What are you doing Mike? John asked.
This is a chance to help keep other cops safe. The money wont hurt, but if I can keep a family from waiting for their mom or dad to come home, only to get squad car with his uniform and badge in some apologetic stranger's hands then by god I will do it.
Thats what Mike got waiting for his dad one night. He was ten years old when his father was hit by a stray bullet came through the windshield of his squad car because two drug addicts were fighting over the last hit, or turf, or who knows what. It was never solved. When the doorbell rang he had been the one who answered the door. He said he could see his father's blood all over it, even though it wasn't the uniform he was shot in.
John decided to keep an eye on his friends by signing up, after all it was just a consultation. He could just check it out. See what exactly these philanthropists were up to. He got in line with his friends and was silent, ignoring all the chatter around him. He wore a look of deep thought on his face.
What did two giant corporations care about some underfunded precinct? The same one at that. Nobody is that generous. Not without strings attached.
I never did get a call though. Two weeks later there was a APB to all officers in the Eastgate area. A raid had gone sour on a superadine storage area in the tunnel network and backup was needed. It was just bad luck that it happened to be right next to the explosives cache that made Eastgate what it is today. Our entire precinct was destroyed. Gone, like it never existed. Many of my friends died that day, and I would have too, but my car had its tire shot out by a gang member on the way to the scene. I was driving on a rim when suddenly the ground beneath me collapsed into the pit that lies there today. My car tumbled down the street that was now nearly vertical. It seemed like the whole world was spinning around me until I slammed into the crumbled remains of a building. After what seemed like hours I crawled out of my car, scraped and bruised. Then, everything went black in an instant.
I woke up a full two days later to the sound of a rescue crew. I had been half-buried in some debris. Mike, Jase, and I made it out all right as well as a few others. We were transferred to different precincts. My injuries were found to be too long term to be on the streets. My joints were shot, so I took the detective's exam and was transferred to homicide in the King's Row precinct. If only I had known.
Nice job man, sweet chapter. Also, when I meant current story, I meant the chapter you had just posted. I said Yippie right after a man blew his brains out.
Chapter 3
I ordered an autopsy on Mike. In my report I referred to the small pieces of metal that came from inside Mike's brain. I want to know about them specifically, but it would be another day before the autopsy report came back on Mike. So I go back to my apartment in King's Row and decide to drink myself stupid. I take a couple pills and go to work on a bottle of whatever is handy. I sit in a beat up red leather recliner that I assure you, is more comfortable than it looks, and turn on the TV. The news talks about an upcoming election in the senate. Its a debate between two candidates.
Paragon City is the focus today, as the two candidates, Senator Harry Whittaker the current Senator, and James Schaeffer the challenger, clash on issues regarding the method of hero registration. We go now, live to the debate floor.
Senator Whittaker was an older looking man, his white hair and glasses accentuated his nearly regal presence. James Schaeffer, on the other hand was a slick young man in his early thirties with an Armani suit and a killer smile.
He began his argument, Increasing the time it takes for heroes to register will only hurt Paragon City. With the current level of criminal organization activity lengthening the process will only prove to be dangerously beurocratic. At this point in time we cannot afford to do this.
James Schaeffer gave his counterpoint, However, Senator Whittaker, the current registration process is irresponsible. Downright negligent! Anybody can walk into city hall and walk out as a licensed vigilante that day! Where is the screening process? I agree that slowing down registration would be dangerous, but giving contracts out to private organizations to screen, train and equip these heroes will keep the rate of new heroes in the city up while still being able to see who we are giving such authority.
Senator Whittaker raised his voice over his challenger, I refuse to hand over the city's most powerful assets to the hands of private companies! They do not have the same agenda and I believe, and I am sure even you Mr. Schaeffer, can agree that they would not have the city's best interests at heart. The Citizen Crime Fighting Act protects these fine heroes from being exploited and owned by corporations. I will do everything in my power to protect them.
James Schaeffer snapped right back fearlessly, And I will do everything in my power to protect the citizens of Paragon City. Contracting out to companies that have the manpower to do this, under strict regulations and guidelines of the city is the only way to see who these heroes really are.
John was drunk now, but the suits on TV gave him a headache with all their bickering. Mixing his medicine with brown liquor made him drunk fast. At least when he mixed it with alcohol the pills took all the pain away. He turned off the TV and drifted off to sleep still gripping an empty bottle of whiskey that was rested on the floor.
Where am I?
I cant move. Strapped to a chair.
I look down to see what is holding my hands down. Oh god, my arms. My arms are cut open. Muscles pulled back like I am being studied in a lab.
"Look at me."
I slowly pick my head up and look in the direction of the voice.
I see a man, but not his face. He hides in the shadows.
Jonathan... Michael ... Kimber.
As a machine gives a mechanical high pitched whine and drills into my brain a buzzing sound rumbles my body so hard I try to scream. I cant hear myself over the noise.
John awoke with a start again. He hated that dream. He wiped his face as he yawned, then looked at his watch. Half past five in the morning, he had slept for almost twelve hours. That autopsy report should be done by now. He got in the shower to wash the smell of booze off, then put some fresh clothes on. He wasnt one of those suit-wearing detectives, he wore a leather jacket, t-shirt, and jeans. He found not looking like a cop worked to his advantage when talking to civilians. He grabbed his badge, pills, and gun on his way out the door. Then he remembered the small silver tab. He had hid it away in a secret compartment in a desk he had. He got it out and studied it for a moment. It still had dried blood on it from his friend. He furrowed his brow as he tried to decipher what it was fruitlessly before putting it in his pocket.
He got in his car, an '88 oldsmobile, and headed for the country. As he drove he saw some heroes occasionally, on their way to serve justice. He arrived at the little rural police station. Stepping out of the car, the heat of late June slammed him. He squinted from the bright sun, looking at the much nicer police station than his, it had pine trees on either side of it and a wooden sign in front. Backwoods rednecks probably. Much less busy looking too. He put on his sunglasses and walked in.
He walked up to a rather bored looking kid of a cop at the desk resting his face against his hand. He couldn't have been more than nineteen years old. Small town. He was watching the news, still talking about the election and was unaware of John's presence as he walked up to him.
Excuse me. John said to get his attention.
The kid looked up at him with half open eyes, hmm?
I'm Detective Jonathan Kimber. He showed him his badge, I am hear to see the autopsy results of Mike Ellis... You do have a morgue, don't you? He said a little impatiently, raising an eyebrow.
Yeah, its through those doors and follow the signs. He said pointing towards the double doors.
He walked through the doors and down the hall following the signs to the morgue. Just outside the morgue was an older man. It was Sheriff Brady from the cabin.
Hello Sheriff, have you guys found anything out from your autopsy yet? He asked.
The doc is in there now, writing his report. The sheriff hesitated a little, Are you sure you wanna do this? Your friend is pretty messed up in there. He said.
John ignored the sheriff's inappropriate comment, then pushed the door open went inside. He walked over to the small, slightly creepy, thin man in his surgeon outfit.
Can I help you sir? He said.
What did you find out about Mike Ellis? What are the metal pieces? John asked.
Ah, Mike Ellis. Are you the officer who ordered the autopsy?
Detective. And yes, I am.
Well I found nothing of the sort Detective. No metal pieces, I assure you.
John flustered for a second, No. I saw them myself. I know they were there. Show me his body.
Certainly sir. The coroner said.
He walked over to a metal drawer in the morgue and pulled it out. The man unzipped the body bag and opened it up to show John.
There it was. Mike's body laid out cold on the drawer. Not a single silver piece of metal in his wound. He couldn't believe it.
Open his head up. I want to see everything. John said.
Right away Detective.
The man put the body on a table and fetched a bone saw. John winced and looked away as the man worked. Then the coroner opened the head, exposing the brain. Nothing. No small pieces of metal. Something wasn't right.
Maybe what you saw was... your imagination, Detective. Its just a suicide, nothing more. The man said like he was telling him that was what he had better believe for his own good.
John's hand was in his pocket, feeling the small silver piece of metal that had come from his friend's wound, Yeah, you're probably right. He said taking a step back, No need for that report then. Thank you. He said as he turned around and left the morgue. As he did the coroner eyed his hand in his pocket.
Out front was the kid cop at his desk, still watching TV. He nearly walked out the door when the kid spoke up.
That coroner is pretty creepy huh? Our regular guy called in sick today and referred us to him. That guy never calls in sick. I remember this one time he had a really bad cold, but he still came in. He musta caught something really bad.
John froze in with his hand on the door at that. Then he quickly resumed towards his car. He got in and sat down, breathing hard. He tossed his badge on the passenger seat and it bounced to the floor. He almost reached for it but decided it wasnt worth the trouble. His heart was pounding.
The coroner stepped outside the morgue, Thank you Sheriff. Make sure this room goes unused for a little while longer, my associates will be by shortly to relieve you of this burden and you will receive your money. Now if you will excuse me, I have a call to make. he said glaring in the direction John had went.
Every muscle in my body tells me to get out of there as fast as I can.* I want to.* But I freeze there in my car.* Somebody did something to Mikes body.* Somehow they took those little pieces of metal out of him.
*
Go John.* Put the keys in the ignition and go.* Now!
*
John took his keys out of his pocket with a trembling hand.* He forced himself to start the car and start driving back to the city.
Someone was trying to cover this up now. Who was it? What did Mike get into? I decided I probably wouldn't get answers from this side of the table. So it was time to see my friends who didn't operate on the straight and narrow.
Just keeping this great story in the lime-light
((This story can get graphic in some parts.))
Chapter 1
Where am I?
I cant move. Strapped to a chair.
I look down to see what is holding my hands down. Oh god, my arms. My arms are cut open. Muscles pulled back like I am being studied in a lab.
"Look at me."
I slowly pick my head up and look in the direction of the voice. In a mirror is my reflection. The top half of my skull is gone and the skin is peeled back. As a machine gives a mechanical high pitched whine and drills into my brain a buzzing sound rumbles my body so hard I try to scream. I cant hear myself over the noise.
The buzzing in his dream faded into the real world slowly but he still jerked awake. It was someone at the door of his apartment. He grabbed the pistol by his nightstand and shambled for the door, half asleep but heart still racing from his dream. They were pounding on the door now. Looking through the peephole he saw that it was two uniform cops.
He rested against the wall next to the door, "Whattaya want?" He said loudly.
"Detective Kimber? This is the Paragon City Police, we need you to come with us." One of the cops said.
After a few locks turning the door opened revealing a strong young man in boxers, a three day old shave, and a look of apathy. The cops noticed the gun he was holding by his side right after that.
"Detective, we need you to get dressed. We have a hostage situation in the outskirts of town."
He looked confused, "What do you need me for then? I'm a homicide detective, not a negotiator."
"The man who took the hostages says he knows you."
Who?
We don't know yet sir, he hasn't given his name yet, but our negotiators are working on it.
"Oh... Okay. Give me a minute."
He shut the door and began throwing on some jeans and a T-Shirt, making sure to grab his pills on the way out.
The drive ended at a plush cabin style house just outside of town in a rural area. It was a beautiful house. Out front were several squad cars with lights flashing. Off in the distance was the sharpshooter team and behind the Police lines were the few spectators. Detective Kimber walked up to the police chief who happened to be on the scene.
"Hello Sir, I am Detective Jonathan Kimber. I heard the guy here knows me? You got a name yet?" He asked as he took two of his pills.
"I am Sheriff Brady, we got a name a few minutes ago, it's Mike Ellis. He says he knows you, but we couldn't find anything on him connected to you. Do you know him?"
"Yeah, he and I were in the same district in Eastgate before it became the Hollows." John said.
His expression grew serious at the sound of his friend putting himself in such a bad situation. He was always such a straight shooter. Nothing seemed right about this.
"Well, he is demanding to talk to you. You don't have to, but if you could help, it would be appreciated."
"Of course. Where is he? I will go to him. I don't think talking to him in front of all these people is going to get us very far."
"I would advise against it, but we haven't gotten anywhere with him and I am willing to try anything at this point. You will wear a vest though."
He submitted to that, and followed a SWAT team up to the stairs leading to the third floor. They held back while he continued to the floor his friend had fortified. There were signs of a struggle and some blood. He made his way slowly through, following the path of damaged designer furniture, household goods, and blood. Then he saw the body of the man who owned the house with a bullet hole in his head. Mike was standing next to a window peaking through the closed shades.
"Mike? It's me, John. What is going on here? What are you doing? Who is that?" He said slowly taking off his bullet proof vest.
He continued to look out the window as he talked, "He is one of them... Something is wrong with me John. I can feel it. Underneath my skin. Behind my eyes. In here." He whispered pointing at his temple, I can hear them in my head. Telling me to do horrible things, and I cant fight them.
"We'll get you some help Mike. We can see some people and - "
He spun around pointing the gun at him, shaky, sweating, and with tears rolling down his face. John put his hands up. He regretted taking his vest off now.
"No! No, John. Nobody can help me. But I can help you, us. I will show you what they put in me. I will show them they cant do this to me." He said trembling as he put the gun up to his temple, "I'll show them."
"No!" John yelled.
The sharp crack of a pistol is so indifferent. It made me flinch. I have seen countless murders and suicides before. But I have never seen anything like this. My jaw dropped in disbelief. From the exit wound, coming out from it and in the wall were several small silver pieces of metal. Slender and flat, but long. They probably run throughout his entire brain. I look around to make sure no one is here yet. I only have a few seconds before the SWAT team bursts in, so I quickly get one of the small pieces of metal I can find and with no other place to put it, pocket it away. I'm not sure why, it could get me arrested. But deep down, I feel that I might need it. I will find out what happened to you Mike. I swear.