The Ever-Burning Fire

Note: This is the sequel to 'Into The Inferno' which I've been working on. It's coming along slowly, but I've got a few chapters down. Eventually, this and the original story will end up on FF.net.

Enjoy.


Chapter One

(The following is an excerpt from the Paragon Times archives. A copy of the full story can be found, enlarged and framed, where it sits in the main lobby of The Tucker Foundation Headquarters, Paragon City.)

The Ever-Burning Fire
By Susan Daniels

Paragon City has had its’ fair share of heroes in it’s time. Indeed, even today, a normal, everyday person can’t turn his or her head without seeing a caped individual rush past on their way in the pursuit of justice?

But what about the heroes behind the masks?

Whilst few would have heard the name of ‘Fire Guardian’ before, there is little doubt that the name ‘Jason Tucker’ is one everyone would recognise. Recently found out to be the winner of the first Annual Worldwide Lottery, and subsequently, founder and head of the Tucker International War Victim Foundation, Tucker led a quiet life, until an unknown circumstance brought him here, to our own Paragon City. An unknown accident brought him close to death, and then to a rebirth – a rising from the ashes, if you will – as The Fire Guardian. He re-discovered a lost love, the now missing Emily Campbell, former aide to the former Mayor. Alongside his close companion, the recently deceased Samuel Robert Edwards, Tucker began to live his life as a Superhero. One that lived his life in the constant pursuit of freedom and economic equality for all, in spite of his turn of luck that made him one of the most wealthy individuals on the planet. Indeed, this change of fortune did not alter his personality, as we find it does with others. Rather, it sharpened his dreams into definable goals. Goals which he nearly achieved.

His close friend and business partner, Michael Anson, now elected Mayor of Paragon, remembers a bright, funny, and intelligent young man.
“He was a good person,” Mayor Anson relayed to me upon our first meeting, at Tucker’s funeral. “The world will never see another Jason Tucker again.” With Mayor Anson now fully in control of The Tucker Foundation, will he continue the good work that he and his deceased partner set up together?
“Absolutely”, we are assured. “The Tucker Foundation will never stop the work I have set out for it. In Jason’s memory, we’ll continue. We’re even planning on relocating our main offices here, in Paragon. That way, there will always be a part of Jason looking out on the city he helped bring out of financial ruin.”

Whilst Tucker’s death remains shrouded in mystery, we can take some comfort in knowing he is now at rest. Although police are still looking for his missing lover in relation to his death, as well as the death of Mr Edwards, Mayor Anson assures us that it is strictly routine. “I wish to meet Ms Campbell, and look her directly in the eyes when she’s finally brought in.”
So, is she guilty of murder?
“Who’s to say?” Anson says, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I only know that she went missing the same night Jay was killed. And, as Jason used to say, there’s no such thing as a co-incidence.”

With his friend elected to public office, and his charity relocating to our fair city, we acknowledge that The Fire Guardian may be dead, but Jason Tucker will live on. Perhaps forever.

--

Jason Tucker wished he was dead.
‘It isn’t as if this damned disguise is doing anything for me,’ He reasoned to himself. ‘Other than it’s putting my bloody back out.’

It had been a week since he had ‘died’ in a warehouse fire, set by Mike Anson in an overly-elaborate plot to take his money, his Foundation, and his life. Since then, having to hide his face, he had sent his only remaining confidant, an overly chatty doctor from the Chiron Medical Facility named Wilks, out to a tailor to have his Power Belt repaired, and a new costume loaded onto it. Having gotten the idea from his girlfriend Emily, who had used a Power Belt in a similar way, Tucker’s instructions were specific, and Wilks returned, a few hours later, with a second identity programmed into the belt.
“Now, without you there, the tailor had to go by your instructions, so it may be a bit constrictive.” Wilks was rambling. He handed the belt over to Tucker, who snapped it on, and activated the costume by pressing a red disk in the centre of the belt.
Half a second later, he was an elderly man, with a long white ponytail, tweed suit, and a hunched over back.
“Oh….[censored], that hurts!”
“Yes, well, the tailor only went by your instructions. You appear to be hunching over somewhat. Is that the costume, or just you?”
The old man turned and glared at Wilks. “What do you think, Doc? I say something hurts, and you can see my back is more crooked than a politician. Put two and two together.”
“Yes, I see.” Wilks stared at the old man. “At least the facial overlay is working. At least, I assume it is. You currently look like you’re mouthing the words ‘I’m going to kill you’ over and over again.”
“I am.”
“Ah, then it’s working.”
“Oh, yes.”
Wilks surveyed the small room his friend was living in. “You know, I would have thought you’d buy a house, or an apartment.”
“Too flashy.”
“Be that as it may, Mr Tucker, it’s not as if you couldn’t afford it.”
Jason chuckled. “Doc, if you’re going to ask me to move out, I’ll be more than happy to.”
“Nonsense. My house is your house. So to speak.”

It wasn’t so much a house that Wilks was referring to, so much as it was a hospital. Jason had only returned a week ago, and although he was physically fine (Thanks, as Doctor Wilks would be the first to point out, to fine medical care) he was refusing to leave.

“Jason,” Wilks began, before pausing and looking his charge in the eye. “You know, it’s difficult to talk to you when you’re wearing that thing. Could you turn it off, please?”
“Sure.” The ‘old man’ pressed the disk on his belt again, and became Jason Tucker.
“Now, Jason”, Wilks began again. “You know, this isn’t healthy. You’ve become shut in. Your legs were repaired, you’ve had numerous blood transfusions, all quietly, subtly. Nobody knows you’re here but me. I daresay nobody knows you’re alive except for myself.”
“And Emily.” Jason interrupted.
“And Emily.” Wilks allowed. He had no doubt that Emily was still alive, having given Jason a note from her a few days ago. “However, you have a disguise. You can walk about Paragon freely, and nobody will know who you are. Which reminds me.” He fished inside his lab coat pocket, and produced a small card, which he handed to Jason.
“John Fernandez?”
Wilks shrugged. “When I saw the finished disguise, it seemed like a Fernandez.”
Jason shrugged back. “Fair enough.”
Wilks smiled at Jason. “You know…your funeral is today.”
Jason blinked. “Already?”
“It’s been a week. My point is, Jason, you can go to your funeral. Move on, as it were.”
“I don’t know, Doc. Going to my own funeral seems morbid, somehow.”
“Actually, psychiatrists hold ‘mock funerals’ for certain patients of theirs, with them in attendance. It’s supposed to be life affirming.”
“I’m not going.”
“Jason…”
“I’m not going.”

*

Jason stood, hunched over a cane, watching his own funeral.
‘Damn Wilks, and his ‘life affirming [censored]’, He grumbled to himself. Secretly, however, he was stunned, and somewhat pleased, with the turnout he had gotten.
He watched in silence as the priest said some truly nice things about him, about his need to make sure people were safe, and happy. A blonde woman in a nice suit caught his eye, as she was writing in a notebook as everyone mourned.
When the mourners started to leave, a sight caught Jason’s eye.

Mike Anson. Lawyer, chairman of The Tucker Foundation. Friend, advisor, traitorous snake. ‘I’ll get you soon’, Jason swore to himself, as Mike looked on, his face blank. ‘I promise you, Anson, I’ll be coming for you soon’.
He turned his head, and noticed the blonde woman was looking directly at him. Jason nodded to her gently, and, out of the corner of his eye, saw Mike approach her. Jason couldn’t help himself. ‘Watch your back, lady. That guy’s trouble.’ He smiled at the thought, and turned to walk away. As he did, he heard Mike speak to the woman.
“Can I help you, Miss?”
“Oh.” The woman stammered. “No, I’m just here to pay my respects.”
Jason shuffled on, silently cursing the damn tailor for making his back hurt, trying to find a better vantage point on top of a nearby hill.

*

Somehow, I mused to myself, I simply have to find a way to pay back Wilks for these digs.
It had been several months since my funeral. At least, I think it has. Time has an odd way of passing when you live as a hermit, nearly cut off from the world at large.
When I returned to Chiron one day, Wilks had gone off on some errand. He left me two things, however. One was a note (no, not the note from Emily. I’d already received that, remember?) And the other…

Let me explain a few things. Superheroes operate best in teams. Certainly, they can go out by themselves, but the information they get given by their contacts or informants is very rarely complete. A Hero who goes out to perform a simple mission such as ‘meet So-and-So’, or ‘retrieve a piece of Clockwork’ can find themselves overwhelmed. I know, I can hear some of you reminding me that Superman works alone. I’ve got two words for you. Justice League. Besides, I’ve never met the guy, but…come on. The invulnerable, super strong, super fast, super everything Last Son of Krypton doesn’t need any help. Us more…earthbound Superheroes need sidekicks, partners, and mentors. A ‘lone wolf’ Superhero is one who’s, more than likely, intimate with the every ins and outs of the medical facilities scattered throughout Paragon, and has used his emergency teleporter so many times, Statesman would probably have to award him a badge for being so resilient. I would, naturally, replace the word ‘resilient’ with the word ‘dumb’.
If you find you can’t do something right, don’t bloody do it.
Anyway. Where was I? Oh, yes. Teams. Sometimes, teams work so well together, they’ll form a more permanent team, which are officially called (and I shudder at the name) Super Groups. Like Super Friends, I suppose, but without the cloying cutesiness. These Groups, once they’ve registered with the City Council, are awarded a plot of land, which can only be accessed by members of that group after they’ve had what’re called ‘Identichips’ embedded into them, allowing them to enter.

It’s one of these Identichips, which Wilks had left me.

I scanned through the note quickly. Something I had discovered was that, with my artificial eyes, if I looked at something once, I could recall it instantly. When I had asked Wilks about it, he mentioned something about .avi clips and JPEG formats, and muttered something else about a hard-drive lodged in my brain. I tried not to think too much about that, as I’ve never had much luck with computers.

‘John.’ I wondered about that for a second, then realised. John was my ‘new’ name, according to my ID. Of course, Wilks would be careful enough to not leave any evidence of my real identity behind.
‘John. Please find enclosed an Identichip, which should allow you access to a SG base. The exact state of the base is unknown, however, all members were unfortunately killed, or left the group for greener pastures, shortly after the war. Normally, you would have to have the chip surgically inserted into you, however, you can embed it yourself in your artificial legs with a minimum of pain. You will find concealed cubbyholes in your legs, where your calves should be.
‘I’ll be in touch with I can, and I meant to be there. Sadly, a patient decided to go into arrest.
All the best, Wilks.’

After leaving Chiron, I made my way to the nearest Base Portal, closed my eyes, and stepped inside.

When I opened them, I stood in a small room, covered wall to wall in metal. The lights flickered on and off, and it was clear to me that the base had fallen into disrepair. As I walked further along, I came into a large hall, with a broken desk covered in cobwebs, cubicles fallen into disrepair, a large monitor which had seen better days, and, to one side, the only new additions I could tell of were a single…I wouldn’t even call it a bed. It was a clunky cot, with a battery operated lamp on a nightstand with three legs, two of them cracked and wobbly.

I made my way through the gloomy room, and turned my eyes over to night-vision. Finding an old, near mouldy desk, I sat down on the battered leather armchair, put my feet up, and leaned back.

The chair broke.

As I picked myself up from the floor, and dusted myself down, I frowned at the chair, the desk, and the horrible base…my new home. It’d take a lot of work, and a lot of money, to get this place habitable again.
Somehow, I mused to myself, I simply have to find a way to pay back Wilks for these digs.

CHAPTER TWO

Wilks stepped through the portal, into complete blackness.
“Mr Tucker?” he called out tentatively.
“Yo!” A muffled voice replied in the darkness.
“Did something happen to the power?”
“Hmm? Oh, right. I’m working on the generator. Come on through.”
Wilks chuckled. “Unlike you, Mr Tucker, these old eyes can’t see in the dark.”
“I thought you had the same implants I do.”
“No, no. These were the prototypes. I can’t see in any other spectrum other than normal, visible light.”
“Oh.” Jason said, surprised. “Well, hang on a second, I’ve…almost…”
Somewhere, something ticked, thrummed with power, and the light slowly blinked on. Wilks stepped through into the main hall, and looked around.
“Very nice. Someone’s been doing a spot of cleaning.”
“Someone’s had to.”

Wilks followed the muffled voice down to a large power generator in one corner, with two denim clad legs sticking out from underneath it. Jason slid out, and stood up, trying to brush the oil and dirt off his white t-shirt and jeans.

As Tucker tried to make himself presentable, Wilks took a good look around. “Is that…blood on the floor? Oh, my.”
“Base raid, I think.” Jason grinned. “I found some of the original inhabitants, too.”
“Really?”
“Well, what was left of them. At least I have plenty of meat in the fridge, now.” Tucker grinned evilly, before nodding at Wilk’s hand. “What’s that?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” Wilks moved over to the large monitor, trying to forget Jason’s cannibalism joke. “I brought SAMI.”
Jason blinked. “Sammy? Uhm…Doc? He’s dead. Remember? The body in my coffin?”
“What? Oh, right, your colourful friend. No. Well, in a …uhm…this is…well…SAMI.” Wilks waved a CD at Jason, who stood there, confused.
“And SAMI would be…?”
“The Synchronous Artificial Mind Index. An artificial intelligence linked up to fifteen satellites in geo-synchronous orbit over Earth, keeping track of crimes and other details, and alerting the users of the program.”
“Clever.” Jason nodded. “So, why is it an artificial intelligence?”
“Something has to sort out the pertinent information from the useless. That’s SAMI’s job.”
“So…it’s a sidekick?”
“No, more of a tech guru.” Wilks slid the CD into a slot on the side of the monitor, and pressed a button.
The screen dissolved into blackness, with big white letters dominating the centre.

Synchronous
Artificial
Mind
Index

…SAMI…

Is ready.

Please enter verbal command.

“I…uhh…took the liberty of installing an Avatar into SAMI for you, to make things easier to use. I scoured through Chiron’s CCTV archives, until I had an exact…”
“Woah, woah!” Jason blinked. “What’s an Avatar?”
Suddenly, a giant face Jason recognised, all too well, appeared on the screen, grinning like a loon.

“I’m an Avatar. What’s up, Wankenstein?”

*

Susan looked over her schedule for the week, and groaned. ‘Another function, another dinner, and then…my weekly Friday meeting with the Mayor’.
It seemed as if Mayor Anson had taken a particular shine to Susan, and invited her, in an ‘official capacity’, to pretty much every event which came from his office. It made her feel as if she was constantly by his side, on his arm, like a piece of eye candy.
‘Get a grip, Daniels’, she chided herself. ‘Maybe he’s using you as a free escort, but you’re getting some good stories out of this.’
Good stories.
‘Since when did I consider a good story to be what businessmen from Talos Island had for dinner?’ She sighed. Life had certainly changed for her since Tucker’s funeral. She had risen through the ranks of her fellow journalists ever since Anson took power, giving her exclusives and letting her listen in on ‘sensitive’ information that he deemed important for the people to know. In return, she felt she had become little more than a glorified PR assistant.

‘The Mayor took some time from playing golf…’
‘Mayor Anson, resplendent in a charcoal black suit, grey shirt, and orange tie…’
‘There must be some news somewhere. There MUST be!’
Scowling, Susan grabbed her jacket from her chair, and stormed off to the elevators.

It was time to hit the streets.

*

I stared up at Sammy. Or…SAMI.

Whatever.

“Dude, say something.” Sa….the face…grinned down at me. “You look like you’re about to freak out.”
I realised I was swaying slightly. Turning to Wilks, who tried his best to hide an amused smile. “It…it can see me?”
“Oh, believe it, baby. It talks.”
I jumped. “Okay, nobody but the real Sammy would say that.”
“I know.”
“But you’re not him! Sammy’s dead.”
“I know that, too. I’m SAMI.”
“No, you’re not.”
SAMI looked at me, indignantly. “Yes, I am. I’m SAMI, the Synchronous Arti…”
“SHUT UP!” I wheeled around to Wilks. “Why does that…thing think that it’s Sammy?”
“Well…it is.”
What?
“You see, Sammy was stunned by a Police Drone shortly before we met. Drones have a built in identification system, based on a mind scan technique which reads…well, it’s very precise.”
“True, dat, ho.”
I glanced at SAMI. “You shut up.”
“But…”
“That’s an order.”
The Avatar (I found it much more comforting to think of the face on the screen that way) frowned, but stayed silent.
“Now, explain to me. What is an Avatar?”
Wilks gestured to the screen in a grand gesture. “That is. It’s an artificial intelligence algorithm, answerable only to you.”
“I don’t need an Avatar.”
“Ah, but you do.” Wilks smiled at me. “The SAMI program is too vast for any one person to traverse successfully. The Avatar, in this case, Mr Edwards…”
“Yo.”
Wilks continued as if the Avatar had never spoken. “The Avatar provides a helpful graphical and verbal interface, allowing you to filter out the facts from the rumours. Also, in this…” He looked around the room in disgust “Place, you could do well to have a friendly face to keep you company. SAMI is, like it or not, an exact duplicate of Mr Edwards.”
I turned back to the screen. The Avatar stuck its’ tongue out at me.
“Looks like we’re stuck with each other.”
“What do you mean, ‘stuck’? I’ll have you know I’m programmed with over 1,000 verbal, visual, and audio games, and can provide stimulating conversation on a wide variety of subjects.”
I was intrigued. “Oh?”
“Yeah, but let’s do all that later. I found a data-feed from some internet porn. Shall I put it on the main monitor?”

This was going to be hell.

*

This, Susan told herself, was going to be hell.
It had been quite a while since she’d been ‘on the beat’, as she liked to call it. Finding her old sources, reminiscing on old times, and trying to discover something actually newsworthy. The job as she used to do it. The job she had found herself hopelessly out of touch with.
One of her old ‘friends’, in the Hellion Gang, took one look at her and decided to make a play for her jewellery. Running as quickly as she could to the nearest police outpost, she took a breather to compose herself, then realised she was completely and totally lost.
Founder’s Falls had never looked so bad.

Once, a picturesque part of Paragon, Founder’s Falls had changed from the type of place people wanted to take photos of, to the sort of place people wouldn’t want to even bring their cameras. Or their children. Or themselves, for that matter. The once pristine lakes, which had shimmered gold at noon, were murky, and uncared for. Gangs roamed the streets in broad daylight, and nobody, not the police, nor the heroes, took the time to stop them. At night, things were worse.

There were rumours…an urban myth which supposedly traced back decades, as such things often did, of a hunter who prowled the streets at night. A hunter with no face, with no body, who was carried on the wind, and struck with a blazing arm made of white fire. Another rumour put this hunter as someone with no face, a body towering at eight feet high, and a cape as black as the night itself. A third placed this hunter as an old man, who hunted the streets, draining the youth and vitality out of his victims, so that he may live another night, always hunting, waiting, watching.
When questioned, why has nobody heard of this hunter until recently, the answers are always the same.
“The heroes are gone, now.”

Susan didn’t believe in myths, or legends, or eight feet demonic hunters with arms of fire. She believed in fact. In proven truths. It was her job as a journalist to set lies, rumours, and myths back in the trash where they belonged.

However, as she ran past a signpost reading “Pocket D”, she kept a close eye on the sun, as it dipped over the horizon.

At night, she reasoned to herself, if would be more difficult to see the gangs.
At night, she tried to push the thought away, something Hunts in Paragon City.

Chapter Three

Authorial Interjection: I’m going to be changing 1st person viewpoints from this chapter onwards, as it’s unfair for FG to get third and first person, whereas Sue is stuck with just plain old third. I’ll try to make things clear enough for you to read without resorting to signposting.

*

“Well, some things never change,” I muttered to myself, as I took in the view. “Pocket D is as bad as ever.”
I had been hit on no less than three times in as many minutes from three different people. All Tankers, judging by how they looked, but then again, you can never be too sure in Paragon.
I made my way to the Blue Bar, which was frequented mostly by Heroes, and put down my Paragon Times I.D.
“I’m looking for someone.” I yelled over the music.
“Ain’t seen him.” The barman replied.
“Her.”
“Ain’t seen her.”
I sighed inwardly. “I’m not a cop. I just want information.”
“Ain’t got any.”
“My friend does.”
“Shame. Ain’t seen her.”
I took out my purse, and slowly, deliberately, took out fifty dollars in tens, pushing the five notes towards him. He pocketed the cash quickly.
“Who you lookin’ for?”
“Her name’s Groundwalker.”
He shrugged. “Don’t mean nothing to me.”
“Sarriss Groundwalker?”
The barman looked at me for the first time. “Whiskey?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what we call ‘er around here. Whiskey. She’s a whiskey drinker.”
“So you’ve seen her?”
He grinned. “Got any more notes?”
I pulled out another fifty dollars, and palmed it to him. He checked the notes carefully, taking his time, definitely making a show of it. Or stalling.
“So…” I said, as casually as I could. “Have you seen her?”
“Nope.”
I got up from my stool.
“Order a drink.”
I turned back to the barman. “Excuse me?”
“I said, order a drink. From Isaac downstairs. Whyren’s Reserve.”
I scowled. “I would, but someone just emptied my purse.”
He shook his head. “Did I say ‘buy’ a drink? I said order one.”
“So, if I order a drink here, I won’t get it?”
The barman looked at me, a pained expression on his face.
“No wonder this place is going downhill.” I finished with a smirk, and made my way past the vomiting men, kissers, ravers, and Superpowered beings, to the downstairs bar.
“I’d like to order a drink.”
“Well, honey,” this new barman grinned at me. “You’ve come to the right place.”
“Oh?”
“Well, this is a bar.” He gestured across the countertop. “And I, as a barman can facilitate your need for beverages, alcoholic and otherwise.”
I chuckled. At least this guy was friendlier than the money-grabber upstairs.
“I’d like a Whyren’s Reserve.”
The man’s smile vanished.
“And why would you like that? It’s a rare type of whiskey.”
“It’s for a friend.” I said carefully, never breaking eye contact.
“Ah.”
‘Ah?’ I didn’t sign on to join any club, or anything. I didn’t expect passwords or secret phrases.
“She’s…”
“I know your friend. She’s unavailable.”
Okay. Weirder and weirder.
“What’s your name, Miss?”
“Daniels. Susan Daniels. I’m…”
“A reporter. Paragon City Times. Not a bad one, either.” The barman leaned in close, and smiled. “Although, to tell plain truth, we don’t know why you’re suddenly writing for the society pages.”

How did he know who I was? And who was ‘we’?
“I’m not writing for the society pages.”
“You’re following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he’s wearing, where he goes, what he does? You’re a gossip columnist, in my book.”
I stared at him.
“Look, when will….my friend…be available?”
He shrugged. “I’ll let her know you asked. She’ll be in touch.”
Sighing, I made my way to leave. Bunch of useless…

I suppose I didn’t watch where I was going, but I collided into a man, and nearly knocked him off his feet. Grabbing his shoulder, I looked at him.
“You okay there, old timer?”
“Old timer?” The man blinked at me. “Oh, right.”
He was obviously two or three sheets to the wind, so I let him alone, and started to walk off. I was surprised when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I spun around, the same old man was there.
“I know you.”
“You do, huh?” ‘Great’ I sighed to myself. ‘Another wino trying to hit me up for cash’.
The man nodded. ‘Here it comes…’
“You were at the funeral for that Hero. The Fire Guardian, right?”
“I….yes.”
“The Mayor’s friend.”
I scowled. “Now, why does everyone in this place think of me as just a friend to the Mayor? I have a job. I have a life.”
The old guy held his hands up. “Okay, okay.”
Embarrassed that I had jumped down the man’s throat, I tried to change the subject. “So, you were at the funeral, too?”
“Oh, yeah. Tucker was a nice guy.”
“You knew him?”
“I…” The man froze for a second. “I knew of him. His Foundation used to do good things.”
“It still does.” I reminded him. He laughed at me, which gave me pause.
“The Foundation’s diversifying since the last time I looked.” He grinned at me slightly, and hobbled away, before I could ask his name.

Great. My best contact’s vanished, and has set up some elaborate way to leave her messages, and some old guy was being cryptic about an organisation which helped people out of debt, misfortune, and now, thanks to the Mayor, practically ran the…
Wait.
The Tucker Foundation…owned Paragon. To be more precise, the man who owned the Foundation ran Paragon, but…still…

“You’re following Mayor Anson around everywhere, reporting on what he’s wearing, where he goes, what he does? You’re a gossip columnist, in my book.”

I don’t follow him around everywhere.
I don’t know what he does.

“The Foundation’s diversifying since the last time I looked.”

‘Founder’s Falls is looking pretty run down these days…’ I remembered. Exactly what was The Foundation doing?

I hurried out, to get back to the offices. As I opened the door, a blast of cold wind shocked across my face, and I pulled my coat tighter around me. Glancing around, I saw the Monorail station in the distance, which would take me back to the office, back to the research computers, back to…

A knife at my throat?

*

The woman struggled in his grip.
‘Good’, the mugger thought to himself. ‘A woman with spirit.’
“Please,” She stammered. “I don’t have any money.”
“That’s a shame.” The mugger grinned into the woman’s hair. “We’ll have to find some other way for you to…pay me.”
“Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…”
The mugger chuckled. This was definitely going to be more fun.
He glanced around an nearby alley. Dark, murky, filled with shadows…perfect.

Although, he suddenly shivered …why is that one shadow moving?

*

I felt the mugger shudder behind me, and then, with one strong push, he shoved me away, and spun around to face an alley.
“Who’s there?” He yelled out, waving the knife in front of him.
Part of me wanted to run. To scream, and hide, and never, ever come back this way again. However…I’m a journalist. I like a good story, and this was definitely a good story. So, despite part of my mind screaming at me to move, I stayed still. I stayed quiet. Watching. The mugger moved into the mouth of the alleyway, and I stared, transfixed, as…absolutely nothing happened. He laughed loudly, and turned back to face me.
“Now, [censored], where were we?”

Before I could say, or do, anything, the alley erupted in light, and a burst of fire shot out…
No, I realised. It was a Fire Sword!
The Sword came down, and sliced open the man’s arm, burning as it went, causing the mugger to drop the knife with a scream. He spun back to face the attacker, only to be met by a headbutt, from a dark, hi-tech looking helmet. The mugger collapsed on the floor, unconscious, and I got a quick glimpse of a tall man in dark armour, with a red cloth mask covering his entire face. Just before the Sword was shut off, I swore that I saw a glint of a large, metallic flame emblem on his chest, and then…nothing.
It can’t be. It just can’t be…
I ran into the alley, and looked around blindly in the dark. Fumbling with my handbag, I pulled out a gift from my parents a few years ago, a credit card sized torch, which provided terrible illumination. As I peered down the alley, I saw nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Something made me glance up, and, for a moment, I saw…something. More a shadow than a person, and it seemed to be looking down at me.

“Mr….Mr Tucker?” I managed to get out. “You’re supposed to be...well…dead.”
Oh, that’s smart.
The figure stayed where it was for a moment, and then slipped away, moments before a police drone arrived.

This, I realised, was going to make a very interesting article.

Ok it took a while but I have read it..
It gets a bit hard to read towards the end with all the first person changes, could just be me though.

I am puzzled over the last bit, but thats the sign of a good tale right?

Has your hero melded with a WS hence his shadow like nature? Or I have completed miss read then entire story. But then again story's are better when you let your imagination roll with them..

Although yes his powers dont fit, but that never stopped the CoH comics or indeed other story's...

K

Ahh. No, he hasn't melded with a Warshade. Not a bad idea, but since my main is still a level 21 Blaster, I don't have the necessary experience to know how an Epic plays.

I was worried about how the changing from 1st to third person would be taken, and now I see, for good reason. Whilst I'm completely comfortable with it, I'm not the sole reader of the story. Basically, whilst this story is the sequel to Into The Inferno, it isn't the -main- sequel, more of a sideline. I realised, when I started writing The Flames Of Justice, the original sequel (if that makes sense) that I wanted chapter one to be already set up, without having to muddle through introducing new characters, such as SAMI, Susan, Sarriss....a whole bunch of characters whose names begin with 'S', basically. I decided, instead of making Flames Of Justice 100 or so chapters long, or giving short chapters setting up the plot, characters, storythreads, etc which wouldn't do them justice, I would have to write another sequel, just to fill in certain blanks. Granted, I could have done this by means of a 'chapter' set aside to character biographies, but as a reader of fan fiction, I generally don't like everything being broken down for me that way, since I find it patronising. Sure, some things have to be explained in greater detail, but not to a stupid degree. Otherwise, it takes a lot of the fun out of reading things.

Just for an example, my idea of a Power Belt. Now, if you've read Into The Inferno, the technology comes up, and is actually a plot device in and of itself. Basically, the belt worn by Jason Tucker/FG projects a forcefield which looks like pieces of clothing, making up his costume. In my version of Paragon, a hero can have a small number of costumes available to him, programmed into the belt, and swappable at any time. This was my way of explaining away the costume slots we get as players, as well as why someone in the game wearing next to nothing has the same amount of protection (powers not included) as someone of the same level wearing a suit of armour. A forcefield seemed like the best solution, so I ran with it.

Now, I could have spent several thousand words on the subject, discussing the science behind it, etc, but why would I want to? It detracts from the story, and breaks the interest of you, the reader. The main problem I'm facing as a writer is to provide credible (for the universe of CoX) explanations for the technologies I use in my story. Writing SAMI gives me a huge headache, since I have to balance 'Supercomputer' with 'foul mouthed best friend', although it did give me the chance to play around with some A.I stereotypes, as well as give a shout out to two forum buddies of mine, subtle as it may be. Come to think about it, there're a lot of things and terms I've had to explain away, which come up in some strange places. Kill-stealing, NPCs, etc, all phrases heard in Paragon, no matter what server you're on. I've tried to blend these "real world" phrases in with my version of Paragon City, and give them a plausible explanation. NPCs, for example, now stands for Non-Powered Citizens. Not bad, eh?

The problem I've had in taking on various phrases and gadgets is, whenever we're asked to read a piece of fiction, watch a TV show, go to a movie, etc, we're asked one thing above all: hold what we see and hear as the truth, if only for a little while. The suspension of disbelief, as DreamWeaver would probably label it. (Which reminds me, DW, since you work in TV, give me a job!) Breaking that suspension of disbelief is akin to breaking a...contract, if you will, between myself as a supplier of entertainment, and you as the reciever.

Ned, you asked about FG's tendancy to be more 'shadowy', hiding in darkness, etc. That's simply a case of cowardice, on his part. Don't forget, at this stage of his story, he's officially dead, and can only afford to be seen by people who either won't recognise him, won't think he's still alive, or won't be believed by the authorities, who are pretty much Jason's biggest fear. The police, after all, are controlled by the Mayor's office, and the Mayor doesn't particularly like our fair hero. Since Susan is connected to the Mayor in this tale, Jason took a calculated risk of being hunted down and thrown in the Zig, or maybe it was simply because he can't stand seeing anyone in peril. I know, if I were in the same situation he found himself in, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from attacking a mugger/rapist - they're scum. At any rate, he didn't expect Susan to be able to recognise him, and things will certainly turn around and bite him on his [censored] in the not too distant future; I try to keep myself a few chapters ahead of what I post, and things will definately start to come together to the stage I want to be at for Flames Of Justice.

I'm pleased you're enjoying the story so far. As someone who tends to do nothing but make little asides in the forum in general, with the occasional serious posting, it's nice to know that people are aware that, although I try to not take myself seriously for the most part, I can bust some literary heads and lay down a fair line without having to sing.

Now, if only I could get over my years-instilled dislike and mistrust of RPers in general, life would be great.

Take care, and keep on reading. The best is yet to come.


Oh, and since I try to not make a post with my stories that doesn't directly lead on to a chapter...

*

Chapter Four

I moved around my new home, cleaning, tidying, whilst SAMI watched.
That isn’t exactly true. What SAMI did was generate a couch for its’ Avatar, which then proceeded to recline, and drink from a large container with a straw.
“Having fun, Jay?”
I glared up at the screen. “You know, this’d go a lot better if you weren’t dead.”
SAMI shrugged. “Don’t blame me. I didn’t get killed. I’m pre-death, remember?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Sammy was a lazy *******, too.”
“Hey! I resent that.”
“Oh, bite me.”
I sighed. This was going nowhere. I glanced up at the screen, where SAMI had finished his…I mean, its’ drink, and was now playing with a yo-yo.
“Is that just a really complicated screen saver, or something?”
“Nope.” SAMI grinned at me, before he ‘walked the dog’. “I’m just bored.”
“How can a computer program get bored?”
“How can a human being who’s supposed to be dead criticise?”
“Uhh…shut up.”
SAMI chuckled. “You know, if you put the table in the middle of the room, it’ll combat the negative space you’ve created.”
“What? Since when were you an interior designer?”
“Since I’m programmed with that sort of thing.”
“What other useless things are programmed into you?”
“Your mum.”
I sighed, and shook my head. Definitely Sammy, no matter how you tried to re-package it.
Something beeped on the monitor, and SAMI glanced off-screen for a second.
“What was that?”
“Hang on, mate.” SAMI pulled out a little mobile phone, and flicked it open. “Go ahead.”
I stared. SAMI…using a phone? I watched as SAMI spoke a few more words into the phone, then hung up.
“We’ve got a hit.”
“A…hit?”
SAMI nodded. “Doctor Wilks pre-programmed me with some specific search algorithms, and any hits on those particular words were to be red flagged, your eyes only.”
“And?”
“And since you don’t technically have eyes anymore…”
“Sam…”
He…I mean it, grinned. “Sorry. There’s someone asking questions about one of the Underground. Might be worth a look.”
“The what?”
“It’s called the Secret National Anti-Foundation Underground. Dedicated to stopping the ‘evils’ of The Tucker Foundation.”
I blinked, trying to sound out the acronym in my head. “The…SNAFU?”
“Hey, don’t blame me. I just work here.”
“Anyway, how is the Foundation evil?”
Sam shrugged. “I’ll feed everything to your optic implants on your way to rendezvous.”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. It’s my job.”
“Okay, where’m I going?”
Sam clicked his virtual fingers, and a map appeared, super-imposed, on my regular vision.
“The Pocket D club.”

*

I’ve been out before, since my ‘death’, and not as John Fernandez. Time to time, I’ve snuck around various places in Paragon where I’ve needed...back-up - places that Jason Tucker couldn't have gone by himself. Since I don’t have any team-mates who can join me out in the field, I’ve had to rely on my Fire Sword, my assault rifle, and my costume’s forcefield. Which means, unfortunately for my plan of anonymity, that I’ve had to become The Fire Guardian again.
Not like last time, though. Last time, I had two ‘official’ outings as the Guardian, and it got my heart broken. Not to mention my right arm, as well as a serious lack of blood from having my girlfriend beat me to a pulp; and that was after she nearly killed me by taking both my legs off with an automatic weapon of her own.
This time was different. This time, I was alone. Solo. A ‘Lone Wolf’. Not that I went on any missions, per se. I entered no abandoned warehouses, or tried to stop the Clockwork from assembling their Macguffin of the week. No, I did what felt right.

I hunted.

This time was definitely different. From the maps that Sam had projected onto my vision, I found a quick and easy way to get into Pocket D. As ‘John Fernandez’, people ignored me, probably believing me to be just another drunken former Archetype, drowning his sorrows. I quickly scanned through the data that had been compiled on SNAFU (what a name) and the newly ‘revitalised’ Foundation, and what I read made me turn cold.
“There.” I heard a voice whisper in my ear. I spun around, and saw…nobody.
“Stop dicking around.” The voice said again.
“Who’s there?” I whispered back.
“Dude, if you don’t stop messing around, I’m not going to be in the right frame of mind for when I visit your mother later.”
“SAMI?” I whispered. “How did you…”
“No time. Actually….stand there.”
“What? Why?”

A blonde flurry collided with me, nearly knocking me down. As it was, she spun me around.
“Yeah, big bad Superhero nearly gets knocked off his feet by a woman weighing, what? 90 pounds?”
I tried to ignore Sam, as I felt the woman’s hand on my shoulder.
“You okay there, old timer?”
Who the hell is she calling…
“Old timer?” I paused, remembering who I was supposed to be. “Oh, right.” The woman looked familiar. Blonde…nice legs…business type…oh!
“I know you!”
“You do, huh?” She seemed…saddened by that, somehow. Women. All of them are insane, even if they don’t try to kill you. Twice.
I nodded. “You were at the funeral for that Hero. The Fire Guardian, right?”
“I….yes.” She seemed stunned, but I wanted to press on. From what I had read, if Anson had discovered a way to shut down this Underground, or had even learned it might be a threat, he’d send someone to look into it.
“The Mayor’s friend.”
She scowled at me. . “Now, why does everyone in this place think of me as just a friend to the Mayor? I have a job. I have a life.”
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t a spy for Mike. At least, not a willing one. I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
We chit chatted for a moment, before I tried to make myself scarce. I had nearly told her who I was, and that wouldn’t be good. Either she’d believe me, and tell Anson that ‘his close friend’ was alive, and well, and spotted in Pocket D looking like an old man, or she’d think I was crazy, try to get me committed, and then tell Anson that some old guy said he was me. Although I’m the old guy, so I would be me…

All this work with disguises and pretence made my head hurt.

I slipped away as quickly as I could, and made it to a back alley, where I took a breather. I saw some movement up ahead, and turned my eyesight to night-vision, where I watched a drunken Hellion stumble about, before approaching a blonde haired…

Oh, no.

*

The next day, for Susan, was a blur. She filed a police report, and was unsure on whether or not to mention the help from the ‘mysterious’ Hero. The police would get a report to all Heroes registered in Paragon, and when it turned out that none of them were the helper, things could get ugly. If it –had- been Tucker who saved her, she might end up setting the police of Paragon after him accidentally, as they might mistake him as a vigilante. It’d be poor form to send a man who had spent millions of his own money to help others, as well as rescue Susan herself, twice over, to the Zig. Of course, it might not come to that. From what Susan had heard, a lot of newer Heroes, as well as more unsuccessful ones, ‘claimed’ to help out more people than they did, in order to boost their own prestige. ‘Kill-Stealing’, some of them called it, even if they never actually killed anyone. Surely one of these people would take credit, whether it was them or not.

The real dilemma, as far as she could tell, was whether or not to tell the Mayor. At her first interview, if she had mentioned that Jason might be alive, and offered the ‘proof’, as circumstantial as it may have been, he may have been overjoyed. After all she had read whilst doing her research, however…

Foundation Allies With Crey!
Tucker Foundation to assist Terra Volta!
Foundation sets up buildings over Paragon!

All in all, headlines which by themselves, meant nothing. However, when compared with other stories…crime rising in areas where the Foundation had put up their flag, Terra Volta having constant problems, as well as long-held suspicions with Crey, it seemed odd. The worst part, for Susan herself, was that she had written the original stories. All those ‘exclusives’, putting a good face on whatever Anson may be really up to.
‘It’s time’, she mused to herself, chewing on a pencil, ‘To go speak with Mayor Anson’.

*

“Susan!” Anson’s voice boomed, making me cringe internally. “To what do I owe this honour?”
“Well, Mayor…”
“Michael, please.”
I nodded. “Michael. I was wondering…”
“You know,” he cut me off. “I just heard about last night, with that mugger. Terrible experience for you.”
“Thank you, sir. But I’m not here about that.”
“Oh?”
“It’s just…there have been accusations levelled at the Tucker Foundation, as well as yourself in particular, and I was wondering if you had any comments.”
His brow furrowed. “I wasn’t aware that anyone had any complaints about me. As Mayor?”
“Oh, no, sir, nothing like that. But people are wondering about your relationship with Madame Crey, as well as a few other things.”
He laughed. “I’m sure that people will gossip. Public figures tend to take a beating, no matter what they do.”
I nodded. This was certainly true enough.
“Pay it no mind, Mayor. I was merely curious.” I turned to leave, but couldn’t resist one final comment. “Oh, last night…I may have run into a friend of yours.”
The Mayor’s usually jovial face tightened somewhat, and I thought I saw a glimmer of something…dangerous in his eyes.
“Oh? And who might that be?”
“Well,” I took a breath to steady myself. “The unknown Hero who helped me. He was dressed like…well…The Fire Guardian.”

The mayor’s face went from being tanned and ruddy to pale, almost as quickly as he had won the election. “Susan…Jason Tucker is dead. I buried him myself.” He sighed, and shook his head. “This is just some copycat wanting to pretend to be something he isn’t, and will never be.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“However…if he should contact you, or you should see him in any way…” He reached into his desk, and pulled out what looked like a pager, which he tossed to me. “Just press the button on that, and my private security detail will home in on that signal and…detain him. For questioning.”
I nodded again, thanked the Mayor, and left his office quickly.

As I shut the door, I couldn’t help but wonder…if it was just some copycat, why did the Mayor look so scared? What did he have to hide? And what, if anything, did this stranger know about him?

*

As soon as Susan left the office, Anson picked up a phone, and punched in a number.
“Yes?” The silky voice purred down the line.
“It’s me.”
“Why, Mr Mayor, how good to hear from you. How can I assist you today?”
“It’s Tucker.”
There was a moments pause at the other end of the line.
“I presumed him to be eliminated.”
“So did I.” The Mayor snarled.
“This may interfere with our larger plan.”
“Do you think so?” Anson snapped.
“If he’s alive, he’ll be taken care of.”
“Good.” Mike paused. “There’s one way we can be sure it’s him. There’s a journalist who’s been doing reports on me. I want her followed.”
Although Anson couldn’t see the individual he was speaking to, he could practically hear the smile. “And if she leads us to Tucker?”
“Kill them both.”
“And if not?”
Mike chuckled. “Tucker’s always thought of himself as someone who’ll right wrongs. Put her in danger. The Fire Guardian will follow.”
“And if he doesn’t show up?”
“Kill her anyway. She’s getting too close for comfort.”

Anson put the phone down, and smiled.

*

Miles away, and belowground, SAMI replayed the entire message for me, which he had recorded by hacking into the phone lines.
“And if he doesn’t show up?”
“Kill her anyway. She’s getting too close for comfort.”

I scowled as SAMI re-appeared on the main monitor.
“So, Chief, what do we do now?”

I shrugged. “Mike wants The Fire Guardian to save this girl? Then I will.”
“It’ll be a trap. You just heard it for yourself.”
“I’m not afraid of Mike, or this new guy.” I grabbed my belt, and clipped it on.

“The Fire Guardian’s going to come out of retirement.”

Ah ok my bad, when I read it again this morning it seemed clearer..

That said, he had been hidden away for a while, was shadowy etc etc hence my reasoning he could be in the first phases of "hosting". Ok so my attempt of covering up my noob'ness have not worked!

The belt idea is great, I really like that. *Weaves into bio*

I am also a fan of the way you include "real" CoH enviroments, I however find it a shame that a lot of the higher end zones are not written about, that said as your toon grows in power you will hopefully write about them..

[ QUOTE ]
The Fire Guardian’s going to come out of retirement.

[/ QUOTE ]



That mayor has had it coming to him for a long time, time to spoil their plans.

K

[ QUOTE ]
That mayor has had it coming to him for a long time, time to spoil their plans.

[/ QUOTE ]

Well, there'll be a wait for that. I've written the first chapter of Flames Of Justice, so now all I have to do is join up the dots, so to speak.

And the joining will continue:

Chapter Five

Authorial Interjection: The first part of this chapter came about after hearing the news that Statesman had a kid. We await his first word, which will, no doubt, be ‘Nerf’. Also, shout outs are going to Weasel Boy and Big Z. You’ll see when. Maybe.

*

It took a few more weeks of planning before I was ready. I found a small room in the base which I converted into a gym, and trained non-stop. I convinced SAMI to pipe music through the PA system to pump me up. SAMI, being SAMI, obliged by playing Abba, Cheeky Girls, and The Spice Girls songs, just to irritate me. I’d wipe his…it’s memory, only I didn’t know how. Sadly, SAMI was well aware I didn’t know how, and continued it’s task happily. It was during one of these sessions when SAMI asked a question.
“Hey, Jay man?”
I sighed, and looked up. Although I could hear Sam, and he could hear (and, thanks to some irritating cameras see) me, I couldn’t see him unless he transmitted his image to a secondary monitor, which he wasn’t doing now, nor could I gauge his moods at any particular time.
Now that was odd. When did I start thinking about SAMI as…Sam? As a ‘he’, and not merely a thing?
“Yes, Sam?”
“Where do babies come from?”
…
“I….what?”
“Babies. Little pink humans that cry, spit, wail, eat, [censored], that sort of thing.”
“Sam, stop messing around. You know where babies come from.”
“That’s just it. I don’t.”
I grabbed a towel, and mopped at my face and hair. “Sammy knew where they came from, and you should have all his knowledge. Plus, you’re a Supercomputer, who was programmed by a doctor. Don’t mess around, Sam, I’m not in the mood.”
“What? No, I know about the biology of humans, and your acts of procreation. Since we started talking, I’ve read up on several poems, works of fiction, and factual thesis on the subject of procreation.”
“And?”
“The Kama Sutra is definitely my favourite.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean, why do you ask about babies? I don’t understand.”
“I understand the biological functions which produce offspring, but I cannot fathom the emotions behind it. What convinces a man and a woman to engage in sexual relations to have a child?”
“Oh. Well, there are lots of factors.” I looked directly into the nearest camera, and shrugged as it focused in on me. “Alcohol, boredom, guilt…the usual.”
“There are lots of mentions on the word ‘love’.”
I shook my head. “So, what, you want to know what love is? Don’t go all Star Trek on me, man.”
“Hmm?” Sam paused for a few seconds. “Oh, yes, I see.”
“What?”
“I just watched all episodes of the television series Star Trek, all of its’ sequels, the prequel, and the movies. William Shatner didn’t age particularly well. However, you’re right, machines do seem to have a hard time understanding the concept of love.”
I made my way from the gym to the main room, watching the CCTV cameras swivel and rotate towards me, watching me advance. “Probably because it isn’t a concept. You can’t define emotions, or categorise and departmentalise feelings. They rule human thought and action.”
“Wow. Sucks to be you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Is this why you’re so intent on finding Emily, even though she told you not to try?”
I stopped at a fridge, and opened it up, grabbing a bottle of ‘Back Alley Brew’.
“Yes.”
“What does it feel like to be in love?”
“It’s…not really something I can describe. Didn’t Sammy know?”
“Not that I can tell.”
I wasn’t surprised. I sat down at the long table, and kicked my feet up, cold beer in hand. “Sammy loved the physical aspects of a relationship, Sam. That was all there was to it, for him. Just the sex.”
Sam paused, digesting this information. “Was he any good at it?”
“How would I know?”
“He was your best friend, and vice versa. If anyone would know, he would have told you.”
“Guys…tend to exaggerate. There’s an old saying that the more you boast about something, the less likely it is to be true.”
“So?”
“So, if that stands up, Sammy was terrible.”
“Ah.”
I eyed the screen. “How does that make you feel?”
“I don’t feel.”
“No, I mean, what’s your reaction to learning that your progenitor isn’t everything your data file says?”
“I do not understand.”
“Verbalise your internal responses to the statement I gave about Sammy, please.”
There was a slight pause.
“There is conflicting data here. Attempting to remedy. Error. End remedial action. Retrying. Error. End remedial action.”
I smiled at the screen. “Enough.”
Sam frowned at me. “What is going on?”
I grinned. “You’re confused. That’s an emotion, too.”
“Ah, I see.” Sam nodded. “So, is that what love is like? A series of conflicting data which you cannot sort through?”
I chuckled. “Most of the time? Yes.”
“Then I stand by my previous statement.”
“Oh?”
“Sucks to be you.”

*

Susan was being followed, she was sure of that. A man had been tailing her for the past half hour.

She had only intended to go as far as Galaxy City, to speak with a donator to The Tucker Foundation. However, things quickly escalated for her, and she found herself in The Hollows, phone in her hand, eyes darting about looking for help.

Wandering past an old building, she used the window’s reflection to look behind her. The man was still following, but had been joined by two friends, walking slowly, casually, and never once taking their eyes off her.
‘Calm down’, she muttered to herself. ‘Maybe they’re just fans. Yeah, right.’
Susan snorted to herself, and ducked into a nearby alley, hiding behind a dumpster, just before she heard a slight thus, then another, followed by one more. Then, nothing.
Straining her ears, she tried to pick out voices, their footsteps, even their breathing, but to no avail. After a few minutes of hearing nothing but the wind, her legs began to cramp. She wanted to stand, to run and hide somewhere she’d be safe, but she had no idea who these people were, or what they wanted. How could she be safe hiding from something out to get her, when she didn’t know who, or what, she was hiding from?

She couldn’t take it anymore. Peeking around the corner, what she saw made her gasp. The three men all had blades out, but they didn’t seem to be much of a threat. Maybe it was because they weren’t looking at her. Maybe it was because they were all unconscious, and on the ground. Or maybe…just maybe…it was the fact that, leaning against the alley wall, was Sarriss Groundwalker.

“What’re you doing down there?” Sarriss grinned at her.
Susan got up, and dusted down her knees. “You could have let me know you were here.”
“This way was more fun.”
Susan glanced at Sarriss and scowled. Always smiling and cheerful, Sarriss towered over her 5’3 frame by nearly a foot, broad shouldered and, as much as Susan hated to admit it, statuesque. That was the only way to describe Sarriss. Light brown curly hair over a red and yellow one piece that left little to the imagination, Sarriss had always made the normally attractive feeling Susan feel like an ugly duckling.
“Still teasing guys at Pocket D, Sarr?”
“Something like that.” Sarriss nodded. “I heard you were looking for me. Does it have anything to do with these three…gentlemen?”
“Possibly.” Susan shrugged.
“Well, let’s go.” Sarriss began floating off.
“Go? Go where? These guys found me, they know who I am, and what I look like. They’ll be coming after me again, and probably more of them, too.”
“Right. So let’s go somewhere they won’t be able to find us.” Sarriss held up a small green computer chip, and winked. “ ‘Welcome to my lair, said the spider to the fly’.”
“What? You’re a spider, now?”
“No. I think we’re both flies on this one. C’mon, there’s a base portal in Atlas we can use.”

*

I paced the floor of the base. Sam was searching for details on the trap Mike had set for that reporter, and he was coming up empty handed. Err….empty memory keyed.
“Would you stop that?” He glared at me.
“Hmm?” I quit my pacing, and turned to look at the monitor.
“It’s very distracting, you walking around like that. Quit it.”
“How can you possibly get distracted?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s just an expression. But, still, it’s irritating as hell.” There was a beep, and he looked off-screen. “Portal’s been activated.”
I stared. “What?”
“The portal…to the base…” Sam spoke as if I were deaf, or stupid. “Has been…activated.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, Jay old boy, I think it means someone’s coming to the base.”
“How?”
“My guess would be an IdentiChip.”
“Really? Well done, then!” I sputtered. “It’s good to see all that artificial intelligence isn’t going to waste. Are you sure you’re not running on a 486 with a big screen?”
Sam glared at me. “If you’re going to be like that…”
“Be like what, Sam? Your idea of an intruder alert is dreadful! ‘Oh, by the way, some guys are coming in unannounced’. You’re useless. I ought to delete you, and let a copy of Theme Hospital run in your place!”
Sam continued to glare, and then, all of a sudden, he winked out, leaving a blank screen.
“Sam? Oh, hell.”
The door keypad beeped several times. Luckily, I had put a lock on the door, so nobody should be getting through…

CLANG!

What the hell?

CLANG!

They’re trying to break in! Okay, okay…think. You’re a smart guy, what do you do? I looked at the screen in desperation.
“Sam!” I hissed. “Stop messing around!”
The screen remained blank.

CLANG!

Okay, that one sounded harder. I looked around the room, and my eyes rested on a small raised platform.
Nah, that only works in movies, and bad stories I mused to myself.

CLA…

Oh, nuts. Out of time.

*

Susan wearily followed Sarriss out of the base portal. She suspected that Sarriss either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that traversing the portals for Non Powered Citizens could be physically draining. She stumbled out of the blue light, and looked around. They were contained in a small metal room, a closed door the only visible entrance to the base, lit up by the harsh blue glowing of the portal, a closed circuit camera hanging overhead.
Sarriss leaned over, and studied the keypad for a moment.
“No way of knowing how many numbers are used in the passcode. Therefore, no way of knowing the odds.”
“Isn’t this your base?” Susan frowned.
“It’s…a friend’s.” Sarriss offered as her only explanation, tapping on the keypad at random.
Susan watched Sarriss guess at the passcode combination, and eyed her suspiciously.
“You have absolutely no idea what the password is, do you?”
Sarriss grinned in the blue light, as she turned to face Susan. “Let’s just say the friend doesn’t know that I’m a friend.”
“So we’re dropping in un-announced?”
“Oh…” Sarriss looked up at the security camera, which had focused on her. “I’d say he knows we’re here.” Reeling back her fist, Sarriss punched the door as hard as she could.

CLANG!

Sarriss shook her hand, and hissed gently at herself.
“What? Did that hurt?” Susan blinked. “I thought you were supposed to be super strong.”

CLANG!

Sarriss’ fist struck again, and, as she reeled back for another hit, she turned to face Susan. “Does that mean things don’t hurt? No.”

CLANG!

Sarriss tilted her head. “I think that got something. One more…”

CLA…CRUNCH!

Sarriss yelped, and shook her hand. “Okay. Definitely a bone or two broken. DAMMIT that hurt!”
Susan peered at the door. “I think you got something, though. I heard a crunching noise.”
Sarriss turned back to her companion, and Susan was glad that Sarriss couldn’t set things on fire with her eyes. If she could, Susan herself would certainly be dead.
“That…was my hand.”
“Oh. Well, anyway,” she said, trying to change the subject. “I think you broke the lock. Look!”

Indeed, a miniscule crack had appeared in the middle of the door.
“Great.” Sarriss frowned. “What do you want me to do about it?”
“Well…open it. You’re the super strong one.”
“…With a broken hand.”
“Ah.”
“Yes.”
“Hmm…” Susan edged forward, and placed her fingers in the crack, trying to push the door open. No sooner had she gotten a firm grip, however, the doors slid open, seemingly of their own accord.
“That…was easy.” Susan stated, looking around the room they had uncovered.

It was a large…chamber. That was the only word that lent itself to Susan’s mind. A large wooden table dominated the middle of the room, in front of a huge LCD monitor, which was currently switched off. Various adornments were scattered about the place, and, off to one side, on a small raised circular platform, was a statue facing the door, its’ back to the monitor, with it’s arms behind it’s back, and on it…

Susan gasped, and pointed to the statue. “Look! It’s the uniform!”
Sarriss took a look, and grunted her recognition. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t realise he’d changed to wearing a real uniform, though. I heard his Power Belt was damaged in the warehouse fight, but that seems so…archaic.”
Susan had stopped listening, if she had even heard a word. She moved closer to the statue, taking it all in.
After all these months of thinking him dead, not counting the recent mugging where she had been rescued, the uniform could only belong to Tucker. Unless…
“Is it really his? I mean, Tucker’s?”
“Huh?” Sarriss looked confused.
“Well, maybe it’s a copycat. That’s what the Mayor thinks.”
“The Mayor…you don’t know everything about him that you think, Susie.” Sarriss mocked her. “He’s up to things you have no idea about.”
“Such as?”
Sarriss paused. “Let’s find the Guardian, first. He’s definitely here.”
Susan tore her eyes away from the costume, and looked at her friend.
“What makes you say that?”
“Well…” Sarriss started, before nodding to the table. “That looks like a bottle of beer to me. And, unless it’s ridiculously cold in here…which is isn’t, there’s no reason there should still be condensation on it. It’s fresh. Therefore, Guardian’s in the base.”
Susan nodded, impressed. “Not bad.”
Sarriss shrugged. “I used to help out the police a bit. I was a homicide detective.”
“I never knew that.”

Before Sarriss could reply, the black screen winked to life, showing a man with a finger to his lips.
“Uhm…” Susan said, unsure of what to do.

Do not say a word. I’m here to help, but you must be quiet. Appeared on the monitor over the man.

“So…” Susan continued. “Where do you think we should look first?”

Hello Sarriss. It’s good to see you again.

Sarriss smiled warmly at the monitor. “I think we should look in the bedroom.” She said, winking at the man on the screen. He winked back.

He’s a lot closer than that. He’s in this room.

“Really?” Susan squeaked.
“Sure.” Sarriss continued, as if Sue had been speaking to her.

Your friend is very close to him right now, as it happens. Flashed up.
If I were you, I’d try tickling that statue.

Susan span and faced the statue. It stayed rigidly still, not moving so much as a millimetre. She examined it closely, but nothing happened. Sarriss came over, and stared into the yellow goggles covering up the eyes.

“Wilks says hi.”
The statue turned to face Sarriss, and nodded. “How do you know Wilks?”
“He’s a member of SNAFU, like I am. Can we talk, Mr Tucker, or are we going to play Musical Statues all day? I mean, if you want to, we can all stand around all day. If, however, you want to get your revenge on Mayor Anson, get your fortune and your company back, and see Emily again, I’d suggest we take a seat.”

Hi guys. For anyone wondering why I haven't updated in a while, it's because of writer's block, concerning the character of Sarriss. Thanks to Wordmaker, Big Z, and some others, I've got some ideas in motion, but it'll take a while to jot it all down.

When I start writing again, instead of it being on here, I've opened a Fanfiction.net account, which can be found by clicking the link in my signature.

Thanks for reading, and don't forget to keep comments coming!