Chapter 1: The Second Coming
Opening the sliding glass door to his penthouse on the upper levels of the famous club, The Lions Den, John Blake strode from the balcony into his living room. He had taken the long way home from the bust in the warehouse; needing time to think on what had happened with the Eyes Eyes men. It was not the first time he had encountered them, at least not in this timeline. That was troubling him the most. After time had rewound the events of the horrific War of the Eye, he had begun to experience a sort of déjà vu of certain events that had already happened to him. They had not happened exactly as they had before, especially since his father and the Exile, Donald Jones III, and the other members of the Brotherhood remembered the events of the war as well.
This being the case, he had been trying his hardest to stop the previous events from occurring again. Trying to prevent the future from happening was the most tasking job he had ever encountered and quite frankly, he was exhausted. The sky outside had grown darker with twilight, and the internal lights of the penthouse turned on at his presence. Merlin was obviously aware of him now and his personal settings for the house were being uploaded.
Welcome home, sir. I did as you instructed and informed your wife you would be late tonight. She expressed heightened levels of agitation, as usual. Shall I see what is on the television for you, sir? The omnipresent computerized voice sounded all around him as he stepped to the lower level of the living room, which had a couch, coffee tables, a fire-pit in the middle, and a flat screen T.V. on the wall to the north of the elevator doors. Plopping on his couch, still in his Nautilus armor, he put his feet up on a coffee table in front of him and exhaled loudly.
No thank you Merlin. He looked around the richly furnished room and sighed appreciatively. It had been refurnished since he got married and there were numerous paintings now, and some selected sculptures around the large room. It had to be somewhere between 120 meters by 150 meters, it was an entire level of an apartment complex with all the walls knocked out after all. A grand piano sat in one corner of the room where he often played, while his wife cooked in the open kitchen a few feet away. The two traded nights to cook and clean which meant he always got a healthy dose of real food when he didnt cook pasta each night it was his turn.
Glancing to his right, he saw a large decanter of whiskey that he had begun to favor as of late and took the stopper off. Finding a glass from the set on the table the whiskey resided on, he poured. Eyeing the amber liquid with a slight grin, he sipped it in appreciation. Leaning his head back, he rubbed his eyes with his gloved hand.
Rough day at the office, sir? Merlins voice chirped from the ceiling above him, as to not be overwhelming. His behavioral studies program must have become accustomed to John finally, knowing how to approach him when he was in certain states.
Howd you guess?
Your elevated stress levels tend to shift your preference of drink from wines to Irish whiskey. The program was working indeed. His stress levels were very elevated. Chuckling, John rose from the couch and strode to a large floor-to-ceiling bookshelf next to the elevator doors which lead down to the club. Even from the door he could hear the music of the Members Only section and he smiled to himself at his successful hobby.
Perusing the bookshelf, he ran his fingers along the spines of various tomes and albums. Finally resting his finger on a black leather-bound book, he slid it out carefully. It was his diary that the Brotherhood had given to him as a wedding present. The book had an unlimited amount of pages within its small physical form, similar to the one his father possessed which gathered dust on the podium in the Brotherhood headquarters now.
Settling back down on the couch, he began to flip through the pages. He had filled several pages out, some about work, others about the marriage and the wedding. Finally he reached the section marked with old bookmarks at the beginning and end. The large heading read The War of the Eye, and he sipped from the glass again as he began to read
November 31, 2008
2 Years Pre War
I cant remember a time when we had it easy. I mean, we never had it easy, being who we were. In retrospect though, the enemies have never been so much fun and the problems so straightforward. Burn enough of them to stop them from winning, and keep enough gas around so you dont stop.
General Sgt. Carlin, Third Debriefing to Global Alliance Forces after the Battle of Tokyo
John strode through the Members Only section at a brisk pace to the elevator leading to his penthouse. Calling an abrupt end to the staff meeting he had been attending for the last three hours, he was not too broken up about leaving, knowing that his boys could handle anything to do with the club with Emi there. But it was not the fact that he was leaving that was bothering him. Indeed he left often for hero duties and Rikti invasion forces. It was the burning red glow from the mark of the Brotherhood on his left hand that unnerved him. He had not scheduled a meeting today, which meant that this was an emergency.
As the elevator slowed to a halt, he strode through the doors as they opened and walked to the nearest door. A closet, some ten feet away from the elevator caught his attention and he marched in its direction. The only way to get to the inner sanctum of the Brotherhood was to open a door, any door really, and call upon the magic within the mark to open a hidden portal. Grasping the handle firmly, he swung the portal open to reveal not a closet full of coats and jackets, but one of the most sought after wonders of the world.
As his eyes adjusted to the perpetual morning sunlight within the Library of the Eye that flooded from the windows, he approached the podium some fifty feet in front of him. The Library had many names. Some called it the Library of Alexandria, which was a common misconception. Others referred to it as the Birthplace of Knowledge, or The Enclave. John had always referred to it as the Library of the Eye, which was the more familiar term to those within the Brotherhood. In reality, that was what it was, an enormous library with seemingly no end to the eastern and western branches. If one looked in either direction, books would stretch on for miles, with hundreds of sub-branches and sections within sections. A copy of every book ever made sat on shelves in every language imaginable, providing reading for anyone of any nationality.
John ascended the three stairs to the podium where his fathers journal sat, untouched for the last few years. The light that illuminated the Library came from stained glass windows, enchanted of course, which were versions of the most famous stained glass windows the world over. The closest one to the ground floor was the Rose Window in Notre Dame. If one looked through the window, he could see into the cathedral or church that it resided in reality. Closing his eyes he could focus and hear various animal noises such as birds, primates, and the occasional lion. This was where he was at peace. This was his domain which he ruled.
He knew they had arrived because he felt their presence before he saw them. Raphiel Gambino, his cousin, was the first to show himself. The self-proclaimed King of Port Oakes sauntered into the clearing littered with tables and chair which expanded before the altar. Nodding to his only blood relative in the Brotherhood, John registered three more figures in the shadows. Alejandro, the large wolf-man hunter of Arachnos, Thierry the sonic demolisher able to mimic any sound 10 times its normal volume, and Joseph who controlled flame and ice from within his own body. The three had joined Arachnos to try and destabilize it from within, but had not produced any results so far. They had paid for their mission in the form of horrific experiments, which gave them their fantastic powers, to convince Arachnos they were truly loyal.
George slunk from the shadows next, plopping in a plush arm chair and propping his feet up. The lone-wolf tracker tipping his hat in acknowledgement to his leader. John grinned at him and turned his head at the sound of metallic feet stomping through the carpeted floor of the Library. Harold Album, the brilliant scientist cyborg, clumsily maneuvered with his large metallic body. Giving a half bow to the others, he stood stoically in the rear of the assembly. The last, and most unsurprisingly so, was Ivan Medvedev. Living the voluntary life of a transient in Kings Row had made him hard, harder than his life in the Russian army for the Romanovs. Dragging his feet to a table, he sat on its edge and waited for the meeting to start.
Since I didnt call this, Ill let whoever did start us off. Johns voice rang out to the group of men, his Latin a little rusty. His opening statement obviously discomforted his Brothers since they knew now the meeting was of more importance than they had previously thought.
Thank you Primoris Frater. Raphiel spoke unexpectedly and the group turned to face him. Speaking swiftly in Italian, he explained his reasons for the emergency meeting. Ive had reports from my soldiers and several capos that the Exile has been moving in on some warehouses in Port Oakes. I investigated with a few men and saw that he had several artifacts in his possession that I feel we should have. He puffed on his cigar, seeming to prepare himself for what was next. He had The Book. At first it didnt register what he had meant, but the realization of what he had just said struck several of the members.
The Book, as they referred to it, was Count Blakes personal book of magics. It had hidden things in it that had driven men mad at the mere scanning of it. Supposedly possessing magical properties itself, the book could only be held and used by those whom it deemed worthy. It was indeed something that Donald Jones had come into possession of the book, especially since he had not had contact with dark magic since his expulsion from the Brotherhood all those decades ago for attempting to sell their secrets.
You give the Exile too much credit. Joseph said, scoffing in German. I do not think that he could find it, let alone be counted worthy by that wretched thing. Raphiel nodded, as well as a few other Brothers.
What makes ya so sure its The Book? George inquired from his seat, catching a few off their guards. Raphiel looked at his feet and threw down the cigar, extinguishing it with his feet.
One of the men I had with me said he experienced a waking nightmare. A hush fell over the assembly, and the animal noises of the Library could be heard in the distance. That was the only symptom that could identify the book. If the book found someone who was not worthy in its presence, it would assault their mind with horrific images, driving them mad. After a few minutes, the Brothers looked to John, wondering what action they should take.
We go. Now. Johns reply was simple, but filled with dreadful purpose.
The problem we face is that we have an enemy vast in number and vast in intelligence. The combination alone makes a lesser man shudder. But those who are like me find this a unique opportunity to test ourselves in the most trying of times.
-Lord Recluse, Personal Memoirs
This is George. Theyve got several men patrolling the parameter, all armed ta the teeth. It looks like the Exiles business is very lucrative. The mental strategies they had been working on during their journey were already in motion. George had finished scouting the area, and Ivan was already moving in to take out the guards at the front entrance. Joseph, Alejandro, and Thierry were positioned on the roof and prepared to make the attack look like an Arachnos raid if the occasion called for it. John, Raphiel, and Harold stood on a rooftop across the street and surveyed the action.
Ivan played his part well, begging for change from the guards at the gate and smashing their heads in with his incalculable strength. With their deaths, the rest of the group was free to move in as George eliminated the rest of the guards on the parameter. John, blasting the doors of the warehouse open, took the men behind it by surprise and crushed them under the heavy weight. Harold strode through the hail of bullets that greeted them. His metal body shielded his oh so precious brain as he released the radiation held within in his figure, disintegrating some of the men with the levels of concentrated radiation.
The men they fought were all garbed in the semi-military uniforms of the Jones Enterprises soldiers. They had considerable training in combat and firearms, but it was not enough to fight the wave of experience that assaulted them. Their foes were smarter, faster, more powerful, and most importantly: immortal.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Men were slain left and right by all members of the Brotherhood. The military grade weapons did not harm them due to the magic of the Fountain of Youth that gave them their longevity and invincibility. John had not killed in a long time, but the feeling was good. It was familiar to him and made him feel as if it were the old days, the bad days. A dark feeling welled up inside as Giovanni and the Fiend hungered for more blood in his mind.
The team finally cut a swathe through the men of Jones Enterprises to reach their leader. Donald stood before a ring of men all clothed in robes, chanting in Latin. Holding a large staff above his head, he began to thrust it down into a small red circle on the floor before him. He did indeed have the dreaded Book of the Count in his opposite hand, and was not surprised to see the other Brothers.
He was a tall man of Scottish descent. Fire-red hair cropped in a Princeton hair-cut served as more evidence of his nationality. The starburst mark above his left eye, The Mark of the Highlands, glowed a light blue, showing that he was protecting himself with his own magic. He had no special abilities like the others, but had knowledge of magics and combat that the others did. He also had his own personal rent-an-army business.
Ah see tha welcome wagon has arrived. His accent, hard to understand to some, gave him a sound that was permanently angry. I knew tha Raphi wouldn keep this ta himsel. S a shame that none of ya shared ma dream, we coulda done well togetha
Lowering the staff somewhat, he turned to face the attacking force. Ahm a little disappointed that you chose to blast yer way in here. I paid a lot for those men ya killed. Itll take me months ta replace them.
You shame us with your possession of that book Exile. Johns voice was that of disappointed resignation and exhaustion. The killing wore him out, and his armor was covered with blood. Donald cringed at the word Exile and his face twisted to one of absolute anger.
Ah have ah name ya git! The staff was now lowered all the way in his anger. The men in the circle began to slowly disperse, reaching for weapons within their robes. John noticed that the men who made up the circle all wore long black robes, with the symbol of the Brotherhood of the Sightless Eye above their breast. Disgust welled inside of John, and it must have showed on his face as Donald grinned.
Alejandro, circle around them to flank them from the rear. George, well cause a distraction for you to get in the rafters to fire from above. We do not want to kill Donald. Just disrupt the ceremony.
You have no name to us Exile. John raised a fist and shot a bolt of energy into the crowd of men. Donald roared in rage and picked up a nearby Uzi and fired a few rounds in futility at his former Brothers. Alejandro, however, had already darted behind the men and was in the process of maiming a few. George had teleported using the Mantle of the Nightstalker to reach the rafters. Knocking several arrows, he let them fly and hit a collection of the men protecting Donald.
Complete tha ritual! We must succeed! Donald grabbed the men he knew would sacrifice themselves for him and thrust them into a circle again. Beginning the chant anew, the circle began to flare with internal red fire.
We gotta stopim! Raphial shouted as he fired his duel magnums at the men trying to fend off the Brothers. John knew what had to be done and flew straight for Donald. Roaring with rage and determination, he raised a fist to slam it into Donalds jaw. He could feel the magic welling up inside the warehouse, thick like a fog. The smell was intoxicating and brought memories of the old days again.
But just as suddenly as it had arisen, it died. John hesitated for a moment as his senses registered the drastic change in the atmosphere. His ears told him that the sounds of battle had died away. It was then that John realized he was floating in mid-air before Donald, who was smiling wickedly. Wondering what caused such a change in his opponents demeanor, he investigated why he was not flying under his own power.
A cold bolt of fear ran through his spine as his vision traveled down his own body, to the hand that gripped him tightly by the ankle. The man who held him was clothed in a black trench coat with a suit underneath. The symbol of the Brotherhood was above his breast as well, and the full moon glasses on his face rested on the bridge of his nose. He had a wry smile on his lips as he surveyed the look on his sons face that was one of pure terror.
Hello, son.
I have learned to live by one rule my entire life. No matter how big you are or how much power you have, you will always get scared by something.
-Justin "Manticore" Sinclair, Of Heroism and Riches
John finished the decanter of whiskey as he read the passage of the fateful day his father returned. Rubbing his tired eyes, he placed his glass down with a slight clatter. His hand shook as he placed it on the top of the book, his nerves needing a little more than just whiskey to settle them.
Hon? The voice was like a small birds chirp after the clamor of a storm, innocent and pure. Emi had entered the penthouse from the elevator and spotted her husband. When did you get home? And youre still in your work clothes? She looked concerned, her eyes displaying the affection of a lover and companion.
Only a little while ago. The clock on the wall read 12:30 A.M. and he hoped she wouldnt ask Merlin later for the truth. Needed to unwind so I decided to read something. He threw the book onto the couch and walked over to his loving wife. He put his arms around her and drew her close.
You decided to unwind with THAT thing? she asked skeptically. She knew all about the war as John had allowed her to read the journal. She didnt think it was good for him to read it because it put him into such a state of unrest that affected her as well.
I was just browsing through it. Kissing her forehead he returned to the couch and picked up the book. Taking it back to the bookcase, he put it back in its proper place. Finishing this, he gestured to the journal and said, See, back on the shelf where it belongs. Kissing her forehead once more, he looked into her eyes. I need to go to my lab to put the suit back ok? Ill be back.
Watching him leave, Emi waited until the elevator doors closed behind him. Turning to the bookcase, she retrieved the hated book and looked to see where John had marked his place. Reading a few lines, she frowned and returned it back to its position, a cloud of unease over her mind.
Chapter 2: The Calm
December 27, 2008
363 Days Pre War
When somethin ya shoulda done comes back to bite you in the [censored], you know its yer fault.
-Don Raphiel Gambino
Sir, you have a call from a Mr. Holiday. Records show he is a common correspondence of yours. Will you take the call, or shall I say that you are out? The computerized voice of Merlin, the central intelligence of the laboratory, suit, and home of the hero John Blake broached the low hum of the large lab. John Blake, the Human Miracle, looked up from his workbench and thought for a moment. It had been a while since Michael had called him and not come to see him. The method of communication indicated that Michael was on the job, or in transit and the matter was urgent.
Put him on. Turning back to his suit, he waited to hear the familiar voice of his good friend. As he began to repair the bullet holes made by Outcast goons the crackle of white noise came over the loudspeaker in the lab.
John? Did you just try to bump me over the phone? The voice was agitated, but friendly. John chuckled and put down his tools. Flattening out the plan he had made recently on strengthening the suits integrity, he sighed loudly so his friend could hear.
Of course not, Mike. What can I do for you?
Well, Ive been getting a lot of business lately. More than usual this time of year. Not many people seem to have a problem with Christmas magic as they do Halloween magic, you see? A chuckle floated from the speaker to John and he shook his head. But its the jobs that are worrying me. Lots of magical items being jacked from mystic shops. The attempted break-in at the M.A.G.I. vault, even some stuff from the Midnight Club was taken without proper authorization. This statement made John sit up and actually stop his work. He had heard of the M.A.G.I. break-in scandal since it had dominated the news stations in Paragon for the last two days.
Apparently, an employee of M.A.G.I. had tried to forcibly tear open the vault door with magic. Azuria, being the only one who had access to the vault, had placed powerful spells to protect the contents within, thus thwarting the would-be thief. However, the sheer enormity of the security breach and the alarming time in which it took place, Christmas Day, was a source of much investigation. The fact that Holiday had been called in personally meant that the matter was definitely serious and the city was trying to cover all of its bases.
The Midnight Club information was troubling. With such high security and thousands of people around the club at all times, how could someone just leave with something without anyone noticing? John decided he would help Michael investigate this when he was done in the lab. Standing up and wiping his hands off with a rag John moved to his mainframe computer to look up some information on the cases in question.
Thats some pretty heavy stuff Mike. Howre you doing? Punching in some dates and certain papers that would have covered the crimes, John began to skim some of the info to see if he could find any outside connections that the police or Mike hadnt found. A few news articles popped up, the obvious Paragon Times and CNN article online, but nothing out of the ordinary. He had trouble focusing as Michael spoke again.
Eh, good and bad. Its a big case and frankly Im a little worried. Im a paranormal investigator, John, not a hero with resources like you. Mike chuckled on the opposite line and John smiled. But, thats not why I called, big guy. Johns eyebrows raised and he looked at the speaker as if it was Holiday himself. I take it youve seen them?
Seen what? There was a pause on the other end as a door closed and locks were put in place. Mike must be at home or his office, John thought.
The symbols, John. Theyre friggin everywhere. Now John knew what he meant. Turning to his computer he closed all of the articles and then opened a file marked Art Appreciation. The file opened and pictures taken of crime scenes floated across the screen. The reason these pictures were marked under a password encryption and Merlin protection was for one connection between all of the pictures. Each symbol, whether it was on a door of a homicide or plastered to a wall of an alley, were all the insignia of the Brotherhood of the Sightless Eye. The red spray paint, the common medium for each mark, was reminiscent of the color the mark turned when a meeting or a call to arms was scheduled.
Ah, those. John could hear Mike sigh wearily and the creek of a wooden swivel chair could be heard as he apparently sat down.
You know I have to ask, John. He could hear the strain in his friends voice. John nodded as he surveyed the pictures which flowed and meandered across the screen.
I know. Michael knew of the Brotherhood since he was one of the first non-members that John ever told. He was very in-the-know when it came to Brotherhood situations. The Brothers even voted to send him an invitation to join, after a recommendation by John personally.
Just
Please, tell me its not you. The pause that followed was cold, but expected. After escaping his fathers clutches following his resurrection, too easily as George insisted, the Eyes Eyes had been ridiculously active. At first the crimes were small: a robbery here and a disappearance there. A week ago, however, the crimes began to escalate. Several homes where gruesome murders had taken place sported the sign like a bad rash, angry and hard to get out of mind. Suddenly, a new picture floated onto the screen and John recognized the vault at M.A.G.I. and wiped the sweat from his brow as he observed the insignia splattered hastily across the vault door.
John?
Its not me. A sigh could be heard and John leaned back in his seat, making a steeple with his fingers.
Brotherhood thing?
Brotherhood thing. A knowing chuckle tripped out of the speaker.
You wanna let me in on this or
? John couldnt leave Mike grasping at straws, but couldnt involve him in this either. The situation had become increasingly more complicated, that much was clear. Homicides were expected from radicals, but attempted thefts of powerful magical items were a step in a bad direction. This meant his father had raised the minimum and was playing all the seats with an ace up his sleeve, as George would say. John would say that his father was mobilizing for something. An attack? Did he intend to blackmail the world for the magic items in question? Had he been recruiting and the victims of the homicides refused? Were the murders linked in some way the police couldnt find? What was in the vault that his father wanted so badly?
HM?
Its being handled. An awkward silence followed this. He knew he had caught his friend off his guard and was trying to figure out why he was being given a blindfold.
Alright. His reply was apprehensive, and harbored a slight tone of offense. Ill call you later, when I have some leads.
Ok Michael. Stop by for dinner sometime.
Sure. See ya. The line went dead as he hung up and the sounds of computerized atmosphere from machines and mainframes filled the silence. The Human Miracle continued to stare at the photos for a long while.
February 27, 2008
302 Days Pre War
It just goes from bad to worse once you refuse to acknowledge the problem at its emergence.
-Professor Renegade, Personal Observations
The sound of the banks alarm overbearingly loud, yet appropriate for the situation. Scanning the room from side to side, John tried to identify the threat as quickly as possible. A few panicked civilians pointed the in direction of the vault as they saw the hero. John acknowledged them, pausing quickly to see if any of them were seriously injured, then sprinted off in the direction indicated.
Smoke filled the passage and he coughed a little. Racking his brain, he attempted to figure out who would have enough power to break into the main bank of Atlas Park. Several small-time villains were at the top of his list, along with Outcasts, Hellions, and anyone in possession of explosives. The flashing red lights illuminated then hid the bodies of guards who were either unconscious, or sadly, worse. Some had bullet-riddled bodies while others had been executed.
The closer he got to the vault the thicker the smoke became. Letting energy begin to flow to his fists he slowed his pace to ready himself for a surprise attack. If this was the work of someone like the Council then there were sure to be guards posted along the route to the central operation. The brown uniform of the security captain caught Johns attention, and he knelt down to tend to the wounded man.
The captain sported a shoulder wound that was bleeding steadily and John used his personal teleporter to retrieve a med-kit. Beginning to patch the man up, HMs patient suddenly came to life. The captains eyes were wide with fear.
They came with guns
So many of them
They were too fast
We never had a chance
John sedated the man and ceased his bleeding. Now prepared for the worst HM readied himself. Sprinting toward the large wall of smoke that obscured the vault chamber, John let the energy flow freely through his entire body. What greeted him was an altogether different situation than he envisioned from the start.
Several Hellions stood before the open vault door in varying states of confusion. Looking to each other in a puzzled manner, then back to the vault, it seemed as though they were just as puzzled as John was. Several moments passed as John observed them until one Hellion finally turned to see the hero standing behind them. His yelp of fear roused his comrades and a couple raised their weapons while the rest cowered in fear. One, however, threw his arms up in disgust.
Aw cmon man! He looked at John with exasperation, then to his conspirators in an I told you so fashion. This is redic! First we get here an theres no money. Now were gonna get the crap kicked out of us by a cape! John, still in fighting stance, narrowed his eyes in confusion.
Come again? John lowered his raised fists but didnt let his guard down completely.
Its like this, yo. We come in here to see what all the noise was about, right? And as soon as we get in, we see these damn Circle o Thorns boys runnin out with guns and cash. We figure they couldnt take it all so we come in here and find this mess. The other Hellions nodded. John looked at them all, still a little confused and somewhat amused.
So, this place was robbed before you got here?
Fo reals.
By Circle of Thorns mages, with guns? The group nodded again in affirmation. Alright. Get outta my sight. The Hellions looked utterly confused by this. They obviously expected a horrible beat down. Before I change my mind! Not needing to be told twice, the Hellions sprinted from the heros presence and headed for the door. John strode forward to the vault, seeing something he had not noticed before. As he stepped into the vault itself, John examined the mark which was plastered on the central wall of the vault interior.
The angry red eye, the now obvious calling card of the Eyes Eyes, stared back at him. He snarled and kicked the empty money cart aside, sending it crashing into the wall beside him. The gaze of the All Seeing Eye unnerved him when it was being used by those clods, and a chill crawled up his spine. He retreated from the vault, greeting the police officers who had just arrived to respond all too late to the robbery.
April 27, 2008
241 Days Pre War
When you underestimate your enemy, he will continually surprise you. Statesman, New Heros Field Guide
As the crowd cried in desperation and defeat, John smiled to himself. He had been watching the Legion and affiliate members card game for about an hour now, and George was winning by a land slide. The players he was against, Freedoms Arch Mage, Sgt. Carlin, Primal Thing, and Paladin, all grumbled as George whooped in triumph. John could tell the bounty hunter was smiling beneath the Mask of the Reaper as he raked in the chips; it was obvious even out of the corner of Johns eye as he tried to continue reading. George didnt cheat at cards with the mask, he didnt need to. With more time than most to perfect the craft, George had become one of the greatest players in the history of the game itself.
How many times is that? Carlin removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair.
Fourteen times in a row, Primal Thing said from behind the hand covering his face.
Perhaps I am still not good at Texas Holdem? Paladin looked at the others innocently, having not played many card games before this. Ray shook his head and patted Paladin on the shoulder.
Trust me, big fella. Its not you. George began to deal again and the others groaned. The falling cards landed gracefully in front of the victims.
No mas! Carlin stood up and headed quickly for the bar. The others agreed and refused to play another hand.
I havent got any money left tonight, George. Primal Thing pushed the cards back in disgust towards the dealer who shuffled them back into the deck.
Cmon now! I was gon give ya a chance ta win yer money back! Georges offer fell on deaf ears as the players retreated from the card shark. Ya just can find good competition these days. John turned the page of his book and shook his head at George who began to play solitaire.
The somewhat jovial atmosphere was shattered as Gold Cop, Electric Knight, Imitation, and other members of S.T.O.R.M. entered the recreational room of the Legion base. Their raised voices indicated their mission had not gone well. Sampson threw himself into a chair while Imitation made a bee-line for the bar. EK sat down beside John and nodded to George.
Rough night? John placed his book down to give EK his undivided attention.
Ill say. These nut jobs ambushed us on our way to check out a distress signal in Independence Port. Electric Knight rubbed his temples and George continued to play, surreptitiously listening.
You didnt know who they were? John asked. S.T.O.R.M. had an unlimited supply of information due to LISA, Professor Renegades AI computer. John had modeled Merlin off of LISAs design, but he was much less sophisticated. The fact that the crew had not know anything about their assailants was somewhat puzzling to John.
Nah. Wackos in hoods with automatic weapons. Called themselves the Eyes Eyes or something. George paused his game for the merest fraction of a second and John raised his eyebrows in mock surprise at EKs matter-of-fact response.
Really? Thats
strange.
I think they set up that distress signal really. How else would they be able to ambush us in the exact location the signal originated from? The only other explanation could be that they were the cause of the distress signal and dealt with whoever sent it out in the first place. Imitations raised voice penetrated the din of voices and this time, John and George both shared a hidden look of concern.
September 1, 2008
113 Days Pre War
Mother nature is the greatest gauge for telling you when something isnt on the up and up.
-Sister Psyche
Its--its snowing!
Well we do live in Rhode Island, honey. John grinned at his own joke from behind the newspaper he was currently reading. His wife looked at him exasperatedly and snatched the paper from his hands. Her frown told him this was serious and he obliged her by looking where she was pointed. There was indeed snow outside their windows, a lot of snow in fact. John would have even ventured a guess as to say that it was more snow than would normally be seen this time of year. The amount confused him for a moment as his internal clock told him that it must be mid-December. Thats lovely. Now when I fly Ill be twice as cold.
Snow. A LOT of snow! On the first of September? Its not even winter yet, John. It took a few moments for her words to register with him. He strode to the window and opened it. Snow assaulted his face. He closed it quickly, the cold biting at his extremities beneath his robe. John looked back to his wife, then to the window again. Rubbing his cheeks, he strode to the fire-pit and began to light a sufficient fire to warm his body from the sudden system shock. John finally got a blaze going and then looked up to his ceiling to address his computerized assistant.
Merlin!
At your service, sir.
Pull up all weather charts available without accessing the government files and categorize all abnormalities closest to home. He waited a moment for the computer to process the data.
Would you like the list alphabetized, sir? John cocked an eyebrow.
Theres that many? A list appeared n the window in front of him due to miniscule electrical wiring that he installed during construction. Johns large stride carried him over to the window and he examined the names and weather occurrences. The scroll bar had to be smaller than a millimeter and the countries listed seemed to span the globe.
According to global meteorological databanks, every country is experiencing some sort of obscure weather. There is even a hail storm in the Gobi Desert. Would you like to view it on the television, sir? Emi looked to John and then to the list in front of him.
What is going on, John? Her voice was confused, and a hint of fright could be heard underneath. He couldnt begrudge her for this though. He was downright baffled.
December 1, 2008
24 Days Pre War
Once it gets personal, its already too late. -Synapse
Michael Holiday whistled as he carried his groceries to stairwell of his apartment building. The snow that had landed on him outside fell off of his hat and jacket as he trudged up the stairs, the brown bags in his arms weighing him down. The peculiar weather around the world had continued for months now, and frankly, he was sick of it. It was not just the weather that was bothering him, however. His phone had been ringing off-the-hook lately with hundreds of calls from bamboozled citizens who had experienced some sort of mini-weather within their home. Thunderstorms in bathrooms or blizzards in kitchens, the list went from inconvenient to positively dangerous. His workload had doubled since Halloween, which was around the time weather had started appearing in peoples homes.
Reaching the landing for his floor, he placed his parcels down. Opening the door then propping it opened with his foot he hopped inside, jostling the groceries in his arms. A Christmas tune popped into his head and he began to whistle it merrily as he approached his door. The faint smell of home cooking wafted from one of his neighbors apartments and he turned his head to see if he could locate the smell. Having no luck, but still determined, he reached his door with his eyes still wandering to either side of the hall. Placing the bags down on the floor, he fumbled for his keys buried within his jacket. The object of his search fell out of his pocket and he groaned mid-tune as they plummeted to the grocery bag below him. Cursing his inattentiveness and his neighbors good cooking, he began to search for his keys.
Retrieving them from the depths of the brown bag, he finally looked at his front door for the first time. His grip slackened in shock and his keys fell once again to the bags below. The lock had been broken clean off of the wooden door which rested loosely on its hinges. The doorknob had even been severed and lay several feet from its original position. What really caught his attention, however, was the large image spray painted on his door, the symbol that had haunted him for almost a year now. The symbol which had been the link to all the unsolved cases, all the disappearances, and the jobs he had to drop because his employers ran out of money to pay for his investigations. The large red eye glared at him coldly and a sense of anger flooded through his entire being.
Holiday thrust his hand into his pocket and retrieved his phone hastily. Pressing the speed-dial hard, he waited for the line to connect. Several rings later, his call was answered. Holiday cut the voice off before it even had time to greet him.
John. We need to talk, NOW.
Present Day
When looking back on my life, I can honestly say that I have walked two distinctly different paths. The one of a man determined to do well and give back to the world, and the path of a tool wielded in absolute determination toward the domination of mankind. I cannot tell whether this has given me insight into the lives of other men, thus enlightening me and creating empathetic feelings, or it has hindered my development in a specific direction. Whatever the case may be, I cannot change this fact, nor do I wish to.
-John Blake, Personal Reflections
So thats ten cases of wine, plus the thirty cases of vodka you asked me to order last week which just arrived. That sound about right, boss? The voice of Charles Turner brought John Blake back to reality. Charles had come to do his weekly liquor report for the club and John had been in his study. What he was doing, was reading his journal about the War. Feigning interest in the routine report, John had slowly become more and more engrossed in his own accounts of the events of that timeline.
Im sorry, Charlie. Run that by me one more time. Charles did as instructed and John agreed that all was in order. Charles was a good floor manager for the club John owned and was glad to have him at his side. It was a shame that he was a civilian, or John might have told him about the War to warn him. Upon further thought, John felt that it would do more harm than good to Charles.
Interesting book, boss? Charles put his papers together and pointed to Johns diary with his pen, which he then stuck behind his ear.
Real page turner. John smiled at his friend who nodded in interest.
Mind if I borrow it sometime? Ive been looking for a good book ever since I finished that Harry Potter series. John chuckled and stood to see his best employee out.
Maybe in a little while. Im getting to the good part soon. Charles nodded and said goodnight as he headed for the elevator. Good man , John thought, hes a good man. It almost saddened him to see Charlie disappear behind the steel doors of the elevator. It would have done John some good to talk to someone not related to the hero business at all. Sadly, he didnt have the luxury of getting the things he wanted often. When he did though, he made sure that he would never lose them. As this train of through meandered through his mind, Emi appeared from the bedroom and smiled to him.
Hungry for some dinner?
Starved, babe. As he watched his beautiful wife disappear behind the refrigerator door, John made a mental vow. Not this time. I wont lose her this time.
well the next chapter will be up soon, some RL stuff has prevented me from finishing it but it is close to being finished
Chapter 3: The Storm (Part 1)
Kings Row
Present Day
2 Weeks after the Warehouse Incident
Johns 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, Im 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 fathers 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 Ivans mother bent low over her husbands 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 Russias 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 Blakes 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, youve been drinking enough as it is. No smile greeted Ivans, 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 Fountains 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 Eyes 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? Johns 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 Johns horror and disbelief, had to be in their late sixties. He couldnt imagine that men would follow his fathers 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 fathers 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 Johns 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. Ivans 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 Eyes Eyes went about questioning each member of the Brotherhood, they would waste valuable time doing so. Already the tactical machinations of the Human Miracles 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, dont 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 hes 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? Ivans 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. Johns eyes closed in painful remembrance. It was in Talos, yes? The Russians voice was dreamlike, as if he was thinking hard but his emotions were at peace. Its funny. That is the day I think about more than any of the other battles we fought. I suppose its because of all the civilians that died, and all the heroes. John could remember that day very vividly
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 cant 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 werent 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 Eyes Eyes involvement in everything. Talos was the last site of their activity and he felt that checking once before he arrived at Ivans 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 Spankys 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 wasnt like the Eyes 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 Spankys 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 Blakes 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 Eyes 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 wasnt 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 wouldnt be necessary to quash this inexperienced lot. Hed 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 couldnt find any other than a few opened bags of take-out. Johns 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 HMs trademark style, would quickly make the hunter lose interest in his current state. Georges 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 Eyes 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 Georges mask and Ivan cracked his knuckles in disgust. Johns 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 mans 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 assailants 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 mans chest. Gripping the shaft like a knife, point down, George drove the arrow into another mans 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 Eyes 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 were 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. Whore we gonna call, the LISA Network? Theyre 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 wasnt 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 Citys own egomaniac super-hero, assaulted Johns ears. Ha, just kiddin. Whats up HM?
In a bit of a jam, could you spare a minute? Im at Spankys Boardwalk. Home in on my signal. Theres a trap door leading to my location. Another bullet flew past John and he fell over to dodge it.
Well, theres 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. Johnnys crass and more than off-color humor clashed with HMs smooth and charismatic personality.
Ducking behind the last crate of ammunition that Ivan had not hurled at the Eyes 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, youre lame now? A sly smile spread across Turbos lips.
Just because Im protecting myself doesnt mea
Less talkin, more fightin! Georges rage interrupted Johns 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 harms way thanks to Johnnys 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. Im sure ya want ta know why ahm 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 couldnt 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, its 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. Its 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 hes gonna do?! George gesticulated wildly in the direction of Turbos 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? Georges 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! Whos 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. Thats 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 heros 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 hadnt 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 cant 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 Georges cloak. John looked back to his patient and smiled at his friend. Yer gonna be ok man. Youll get through this. Ill 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. Ive
Ive done my part
go do yours. Blood slowly trickled from the side of his mouth and ran down his cheek. Kick that
kick that guys [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 couldnt believe it. This couldnt be happening. Johnny couldnt be dead, it wasnt fair. Turbo didnt 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 didnt quite register at first. He recognized it, but he couldnt 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.
Im at Spankys 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 its going to be one of those days buddy.
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 Turbos 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 wouldnt listen, and hadnt 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. Emi 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, Freedoms 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 couldnt 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 wouldnt push the mission aside, he knew he couldnt. 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! ))
YEAH
I'm the first guy to die!
Loving this HM
Johnny Turbo | Phanto
THE CHALLENGERS: Challenge Accepted
HONORARY MEMBER: WARE.gov (Said I couldn't officially join because I'm too good at PvP)
(( 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 ))
Chapter 4: The Darkest Day: Part 1
The Pocket D
Present Day
1 Month after the Warehouse Incident
One more round! Johns 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 didnt 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! Im 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 Arrelins 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 goddesss 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 dont 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 wasnt necessary. Whats really going on? Arrelin put a hand on Johns shoulder who looked deeply into his shallow glass at the contact. Youve been so distant lately, and weve all noticed it. Professor Renegade says hes been trying to reach you for days but he cant 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. Im so tired of trying to fight a war Ive already lost without any help from anyone this time. Even though he smiled, his voice shook slightly.
It doesnt have to be you and the Brotherhood against your father. You know that. Arrelin leaned against the bar with a paternal expression.
I cant put others through what happened last time. So many people died. So many people who didnt 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 Imitations 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 HMs 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 Lions life was most changed out of the group that was with him, even more than Primal Things, 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 couldnt share, they ate away at him inside. He couldnt talk to Imitation about her retirement over a glass whiskey because she wasnt that old anymore. Lotoss pet project to recreate an AI like himself hadnt even been conceived, to Johns knowledge at least. Psyonikas honorary doctorates from most Ivy League institutions were something she merely dreamed of at this point.
But there were some he couldnt 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 couldnt 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 1800s. 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 didnt think twice about putting himself in harms way to protect people.
HM! Johns gaze jumped from his martini to Imitation who was laughing and holding on to Psyonika for support. HM! Were gonna go back to the Citadel to sober up. Come on!
This is where I will be posting the ongoing story I'm writing for my character The Human Miracle. For more information on him and the characters in this story, check out Virtue Verse (Search:Human Miracle) and The Paragon Universe on Guild Portal.
Comments are welcome as well as CONSTRUCTIVE criticism
Enjoy!
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Prologue: And So it Begins Again...
John Blake, the legendary and phenomenal Human Miracle, hovered above the small warehouse in Skyway City. The police band had informed him that there was strange activity in the neighborhood, something along the lines of fleets of moving vans coming and going. This would seem strange to a normal person but upon investigation, the officer who called it in saw that the warehouse was still up for rent. Thats when he called for cape backup. Knowing a smuggling operation when he heard one; HM left the Lions Den, his club, to investigate.
Hed been floating for several minutes now and saw multiple men patrolling the perimeter. They were easily the ones up to no good, and it was obvious because they were carrying automatic weapons. Several had Uzis, some AK-47s, and a couple had MP-5s. Those were not the sort of things one would see here in Skyway, and that was proof enough that there was major weapons smuggling going on here.
Merlin, you listening? He addressed the computer AI that he had built into his home and his Nautilus-armor.
Constantly, sir the synthesized voice chimed in.
Access my Longbow clearance channel and inform them I am about to engage hostiles with heavy automatic weapons. Possibly large in number. He squinted and frowned slightly. Tell them there are heavy explosives here too. His eyes followed the group of men carry RPG launchers beneath their arms into the back entrance of the warehouse.
Will that be all, sir?
Tell Emi Ill be home later than expected this evening.
Ah, of course sir. Good hunting.
Thank you Merlin. Gliding down on three patrollers, he readied himself for the coming fight. As the men turned a corner into a secluded area to smoke, he delivered a swift blow, knocking the leader out. The other two, dumbfounded, raised their weapons. John grabbed the firearms and pulled the men into a clothes-line with his arms. Hitting them in their throats, the men fell to the concrete, gasping and wheezing.
Grinning to himself, he moved stealthily to the nearby door. Trying the knob, he found it to be unlocked. Opening it slightly, he checked for any other men. Seeing none, he entered the warehouse. He stopped in his tracks at the enormity of what he saw. Rows upon rows of weapons lined the first floor of the warehouse, like soldiers standing at attention. These, were much more advanced than the ones the guards outside were carrying and were certainly military issue, the kind that the Council and 5th Colum were likely to get a hold of.
The warehouse itself was dimly lit, apparently as to not draw attention. Men scurried about here and there to check ammunition caches and take inventory of certain types of weapons. Moving behind a weapons rack, he began to follow one worker with a clipboard, meandering lazily through the aisles. Catching up with him before he rounded the corner HM grabbed his collar and clapped a hand over his mouth to stop him from shouting. He struggled at first, but John ran his head into the wall to knock him out. He wasnt going to take any chances in here, too many men with too many weapons.
He peeked around the corner and saw several men setting up a portable generator for a bank of computers they had lined up. Wondering what they were for he waited to see if he could hear anything. With all the noise however, he didnt catch a thing.
Feeling that it was about time to make his presence known, he aimed for the generator and let fly a bolt of energy. It struck the generator and blasted it to bits. The men around it flew in all directions, some unconscious and others badly wounded. Running forward, an assailant jumped out from behind the racks and tackled HM to the ground.
Hey! Play nice. Letting the energy flow through him, he released it from his body making a concussive shockwave, which flung the man backwards and into the weapon racks, toppling them like dominos. Brushing himself off, he went to make sure the man was still alive. Tossing weapons aside, he found the man and pulled him out from under an ammunitions crate. He was alive, but his clothing was the most interesting thing about him.
He was clad in robes that looked like they were made by the Circle of Thorns, but they were all black except for a small symbol over his left breast. Johns heart skipped a beat as he recognized the clandestine symbol of the Brotherhood of the Sightless Eye, the All Seeing Eye. Tracing it with his gloved hands, questions raced through his mind. The cocking of guns brought him out of his reverie however. Turning around slowly he faced about two dozen men, dressed identically to the man at his feet.
Primoris Frater, we did not expect to see you here. One man removed his hood and stepped forward with a smile on his lips. Despite his calm demeanor he was still totting an Uzi which he had a tight grip on. HM scowled at them all and tried to play it as if he didnt hear what the man had addressed him as.
Sorry, Ive been called a lot of things, but never that before. He moved to meet the man halfway. Lets all take a deep breath and put the boom-sticks down eh? I dont want to hurt you like I did your friend there he jerked his thumb towards the unconscious man behind him. Scanning the group behind the apparent leader he was now face to face with, he saw that many of them were exchanging nervous glances with each other. Clearly they did not want the same treatment and their lack of training with the weapons showed in how some of them were holding them.
Please Primoris Frater, we know who you are. We are the faithful servants of Primoris Abbas, the First Father. Count Blake. Johns blood ran cold at the mention of his father. And, we have strict orders to keep you from stalling our work here. The man raised his Uzi to Johns face. HM grinned and swiftly ducked under his arm, charging into his chest and grabbing his wrist. Holding the man thusly, he twisted his hand and snapped the wrist holding the gun. The leader howled in pain and fell to his knees.
Empty threats. Alright chuckle bunnies, which one of you wants to take a crack at killing an immortal? John spread his arms wide and some of the men fired their weapons. The bullets, which would not have harmed him anyway, were stopped by the armor he wore and he strode into the hail of ordinance. He was five feet in front of the group before they started to reload. Really? Youre really gonna try that again? After what you just saw? He rolled his eyes and sighed. Sweeping his arm out, he let loose a torrential wave of energy that knocked them all on their backsides. My father is really scraping the bottom of the barrel here.
One of the men leapt to his feet and charged at the Human Miracle. Remembering his Pankration training, he flipped the man on his back and readied himself for the next wave of assaults from his fellows. It was a How-to Video for heroes on how to tackle multiple enemies. Men were thrown far, smote down with energy fists, and blown back by energy bolts. It only took five minutes for the fight to conclude, and Blake dusted off his hands as he strolled back to the leader, still clutching his wrist.
Alright friend, cmere. He knelt down and pried the injured mans wrist from his grip. Looks like a clean break, it should heal fine in a few months. But, something was wrong, the man was laughing.
Oh Primoris Frater you were brilliant! You were magnificent! He laughed in awe of Johns fight beforehand and John scowled at him again. He had had it with the charade now, he was done pretending. If this man wanted to see the man he wanted, hed get him. Letting the barriers he had built up in his mind fall free, his suit changed from white and gold, to black and red. His eyes burned with a deep fire and energy lanced up his body like lighting snakes.
What is my father planning you sycophantic lapdog? This was not the hero the papers saw, nor his friends, this was the leader of the secret society who had sworn an oath to protect mankind, whatever the costs. Still, the man laughed. Now though, it was more of an awestruck giggle. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared into Johns.
Youve youve amalgamated your personalities. Its marvelous. His voice was faint but reverent. This was not the desired affect that John was going for and decided it was time for the big guns. Relaxing himself more, the shadows in the room began to flow across the floor to his figure. They crawled up his body, engulfing him, and some making a cloak and hood. Now all the only things that were distinguishable about him were his pure white eyes peering from beneath the dark hood. He was a walking silhouette, the dreaded Fiend.
What is my father planning? Johns voice was no long smooth and regal. It rumbled like gravel, and echoed like a canyon would. This achieved the desired effect. The man trembled in his hands and seemed to be caught between adoration and outright blatant fear. It amused John and he brought his victim close to his non-existent face. Where is he?
InIn hiding The mans voice was a small croak, barely audible.
Where?
I cant. I-I cant. Hell k-kill me.
And you dont think I wont? This made the man quake even more and HM could smell a faint but distinct aroma of urine now. The mans head lolled back as he fainted from shock and Blake growled hungrily. He wanted answers, but this man was not the one to ask.
He was once more brought out of his reverie by a different noise, the sound of a helicopter. Longbow had arrived and he returned to his normal form. Turning around to leave and greet the public servants, he was once again stopped in his tracks. There, along the entire wall, was an enormous black and red banner. The Brotherhood symbol was plastered to it and a there was writing beneath the symbol, We are the Eyes eyes. The Longbow troops were inside the building now and he knew he had to keep this from them, to keep it all from happening again. Raising a fist, he let loose a burst of energy the burned the banner, disintegrating it entirely. By the time it was all gone, the Longbow men and women had entered the room and saluted the Human Miracle.
At ease. Here are the men yer looking for. They were smuggling military grade weapons. The symbol on their cloaks is some stupid thing from the Internet. Ill get to work on it. Book them. With that, the Human Miracle left without another word, his mind preoccupied on other matters.