Well, I'm shocked that this has gone to 2nd page of the Creative section already!
This is brilliant 
and here are my reasons for saying this:
- Really nice characterization, nice depth
- well planned & layed out
- Suitably comic like mystery/tension created
- Great original ideas, and articulately expressed
- Incidental humour is a nice touch, not over emphasized
- The description of how he got his claws is simply brilliant, and the characters reaction to this extremely stressful situation is very well written 
Rooks, bud. I'm voting for this in the next round - Great work
[ QUOTE ]
Well, I'm shocked that this has gone to 2nd page of the Creative section already!
This is brilliant and here are my reasons for saying this:
- Really nice characterization, nice depth
- well planned & layed out
- Suitably comic like mystery/tension created
- Great original ideas, and articulately expressed
- Incidental humour is a nice touch, not over emphasized
- The description of how he got his claws is simply brilliant, and the characters reaction to this extremely stressful situation is very well written
Rooks, bud. I'm voting for this in the next round - Great work
[/ QUOTE ]
Think I'll print this out, stick it up on my wall + look at it whenever I get depressed. Thanks for the well explained comment bud. 
@Rooks
"You should come inside the box... Then you'll know what I mean."
Well done mate took me 2 times to read it but well written nonetheless!
Just one thing: please, edit the first post cos it messes up the forum 
Ouch, shouldn't have read that without my glasses on.
Thats a great story-
-A good pace that isn't too fast and isn't too slow.
-Enough humout and wit.
-Uh lots of good stuff!!
Hmm inspired now to wright my own Hero ... villains backstory.
It's not running away. It's advancing in reverse!
This is a story borne of the deadly mixture of MS Word and a little too much spare time.
This is the first story I've written about, well anything really, and I may be coerced into continuing the story if you guys like it.
__________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ ___________________________
He ran down the alley in almost complete darkness, stopping to stare into these six small blades, shining in the moonlight, which had suddenly entered his life without warning, changing it completely
He snapped back into consciousness and continued running. He had to run; whatever it was that was chasing him certainly didnt want to be his friend. It had the jump on him, and he needed to regain his bearings in order to go anywhere except away, although at the time that didnt seem such a bad idea. As he was sprinting with somewhat infinite stamina, his mind wandered to that all too common thought in his life: What the hell just happened?
Michael Shen did not have the richest of upbringings; his 4th generation Chinese immigrant family barely had the money to send him to school. It was hard, but they got by. However on one eventful night, three days after his birthday in fact, his parents were brutally murdered in the night. Mike was just 13 years old.
Michael, not wanting to accept that his mother and father werent coming back and unwilling to take up new parents, ran away to live on the street. Mike was a smart and resourceful boy so he survived.
By 19 he had picked himself up out of the gutter, into a cheap rental apartment in Manhattan near the docks where he worked. This would have been a fairly dull and monotonous life, but Mike always had the ability to find trouble for himself, since when he was a child. His only release was the amateur Sunday boxing league he participated in.
Michael Shen loved boxing. It was a kind of outlet, almost therapy, where he could relieve his stress and built up emotion about his parents, his work, his bills, anything and everything. He was good, too; hed always finish every week at 1am with no scars or bruises. Would any big trainer have seen him fight, or had Mike any ambition to do it professionally, he could have gone pro, but ambition was never Mikes forte, trudging along in his nothing life, always saying jokingly that he was important in that if there were no lowlifes like him then there would be no high-fliers either, through lack of contrast.
After about two years of this monotonous existence, and after one too many quirky miscalculations (his boss pet name for Mikes screwing up export orders) he lost his job (although Mike didnt really give a damn) and was struggling to make rent doing odd jobs for friends, when he saw an ad on the back page of the Paragon Times.
It was small, unillustrated, poorly presented and written in a bold, black generic font, which is why Mike was drawn to it. It was promoting a human test study at Crey Technologies Inc. Mike had heard of Crey before, and had heard the stories of their unethical research methods, but it was either be a guinea pig, or live in the gutter again, and the former sounded healthier to him than the latter. I mean, if Crey were so bad, then the Heroes would have taken them all down a long time ago, right? So he called the number on the ad.
4 Days later he entered the large, neck strain inducing Crey skyscraper in Eastgate, or The Hollows as its inhabitants affectionately called it, because of the giant earthquake induced valley which runs through the middle. The area around Creys office block was desolate, and the street was barely walkable, but Mike didnt care, hed seen it all before, this was a job to him, and he entered the building.
After eyeing up this strange, slightly oriental looking man wandering around reception, the receptionist thought he might have been one of Countess Creys bodyguards, but he looked far too curious, as if hed never seen the heavy chrome interior walls or twenty square foot big screen above her desk, she figured that this was the man to come in for the new study shed been told about around 5 minutes ago. That was one aspect of Crey which she found a little strange, but she was paid well to not ask questions, and she obliged.
Mr Shen? she queried with one of those standard American accents you think are only spoken on the news, followed by a nod that said Yes, you are.
Err yeah, thats me. Mike replied, having some second thoughts about this venture.
Okie dokie. She beamed with an enthusiasm which seemed more paid for by the company than of her own personality. Up the elevator to floor 213
213?! Mike thought, not speaking out loud try not to appear stupid How many floors are there?!
Sensing Mr Shens air of bewilderment, she thought she would follow up with an interesting factette as her superior put it; she came out with All Crey office buildings are over 300 floors up, and over 50 floors down. Oh how she regretted saying that, as to her it took away all of her individuality and left her as some Receptionisto-Bot with no personality, just preset phrases, in what she thought was this mans eyes.
Mike smirked. Do you say that to everyone? he said, trying to coerce some person out of her.
She was a little embarrassed, but although unwilling to show it, she appreciated his notice of her. 213. She said smiling, handing him a card.
Thanks. Mike replied, seeing the numbers 213 on the card. Underneath, it read Special Research Dept. and Professor Nihkov. Maybe I should go see him. He said to himself on the way to the lift. After pressing the buttons 2,1,3 the lift shot up, making Mike feel like a pre-pubescent anaemic girl trying to carry a heavyweight sumo champion on her shoulders.
After the lift stopped, and Mikes stomach caught up with him, he pushed the button to make the doors open, and then it all went black
Jack hated his job. He hated it even more than he hated Nihkov, the big acting pencil-necked pencil pusher from, well some Eastern Bloc country that Jack hated. Nihkov was all happy with himself, which Jack hated, because it usually meant he had something long and dull for him to do, which Jack hated. Today was no different. The dorky Professor was cackling about some breakthrough he made, and Jack was meant to collect some sucker from their special lift, special in that it contains anaesthetising gas which is released by pressing the door open button on the inside. Jack hated that less than most things. Although the guy he picked up was asleep, he looked alert, like he was ready for something, his hair slicked back with a steely determined expression on his face which gave Jack the impression that he was going to wake up any second, and Jack hated that. He dragged this guy to the table Nihkov was standing over.
Excellent The Soviet nerd said, as Jack left the room.
Jack hated that.
Undeterred by the guards lack of interest, he began explaining his plan to, well, no one.
Well, this shot here is what can change warfare forever! No longer will the world be at the proverbial heels of the Heroes as all shall be of even ability .I call it the EQUALISER! He paused as if to wait for some kind of 50s B horror movie dun dun duuuuuun! orchestral sound effect. Anyway, it has the power to unlock the super in everyone, enhancing the abilities of the recipient, granting powers based on, well something, but that is not the point! The point is that we can change a normal person and turn them into a potential rival of a Hero! (Though talking only to himself, he was still unwilling to say that this would only work on someone with dormant powers, and is probably not going to work on this poor fellow, nor would he admit that he doesnt actually know how it works, and that he just took a potion off some mystic and formulised it)
Muahahahahaha!!!! He cackled, followed by a series of coughs. His lungs never were tolerant of his evil laughs, he thought, making a note to get more cough drops. Let us ahem begin! He said, informing his non existent surgical team to ready themselves
About an hour after Nihkov had finished haphazardly needling the man who would later become The Vigilant, and a guard had taken him back to a cell, or recuperation room as was the official name, our run down hero awoke, staring at a digital clock which read 22:30. He was feeling absolutely no different to before he blacked out, save for his own disorientation of What the hell just happened? syndrome, as he called it. Mike tried to work out why he wasnt dead, and why he wasnt injured, in any other kind of pain, or feeling at all sick. Okay, maybe I shouldnt have thought that last word. He said, clutching his stomach, which was starting to turn like a tom bola. He threw up. A lot. He looked up and saw the sign: Recuperation, on the wall, with a mop ironically leaned under it. After staring at the sign, and looking at his half digested burger from two nights ago, he reflected that Crey probably wasnt as above board as he kept insisting they were. He wiped his mouth and stood up. His mind was engaged now as he thought what he could possibly do now. He went for the door. Locked. It seemed to be some sort of electro- magnetically locked door, with no keyholes, which was a shame as lock picking was one of the few things he learned from his time on the streets.
He decided it would be best to get an idea of his surroundings, so he looked around. Then he looked around again. He looked around a third time to find just a panel on the floor, which just looked like a translucent light fixture. He figured its all thats in there, so he may as well take a closer look. After lying down and getting within 3 inches of the thing with his eyes, it looked like a .well it looked like a translucent light fixture. With Mikes highly evolved brain his first thought to decrypting this strange technology was to poke it. Nothing happened. He poked it again. Nothing happened. He played with the idea of poking it for a third time, but thought that the chances are that nothing would happen. Bummer, he thought. Then an idea entered his head, an idea which probably would not have occurred save for the pressuring situation he was in. After about a minute of picking at the cover, he succeeded and found a bulb underneath. He focused on the wires either side of the bulb, noticing that one of them lead to the door, he thought perhaps he could unplug the electric lock on the door, so he pulled on it until it came loose from the bulb with a resentful bzzzt noise. All the lights in the area were cut out save for some very dim red emergency backup lights. Oh well, not quite what I hoped but I cant complain Mike muttered to himself as he opened the door.
The door slammed shut behind him as power was restored, and a very, very loud siren went off with it. Mike heard gunshots, but they werent being fired at him, and were about 200 yards away at least. He collected himself and ran in the only direction gunfire wasnt coming from. Heroes, he thought for once theyre here when I need them.
There were plenty of scientists running as well, but they were running with a lot less conviction, and sometimes seemingly running away from our protagonist, maybe they thought Mike was a Hero too, and Mike smirked at the prospect. Unfortunately, the Crey scientists werent the only ones who thought he was a Hero, as guards began chasing him down. How can they think Im a Hero? he huffed, sprinting for a door marked E XI T. A Hero wouldnt run away.
He must have the formula, dont let him get away! One of the guards pursuing Mike shouted to his colleagues.
Oh. Mike muttered to himself as he ran through the door which crashed open and crashed shut behind him and seemed to lock he surveyed the room around him, with the words Experiment XI Technology printed on the wall opposite a series of cubicles arranged in some sort of neo-public toilet, they each said E XI T Armament w/ integrated door access codes on the door, and Mike figured that this must be the armoury, and these new rifles must have door codes integrated in them so they open automatically when the wielder approaches. Acting on impulse, with a self certainty that this was all he assumed it to be, he entered one of the cubicles, and the door shut behind him. The confined box marked Protector Weaponry that Mike was standing in had one container fixed on the wall, with a horizontal rectangular slot for Mike to put his hands in. I guess a Protector is some kinda Crey guard, yes? Mike rhetorically asked himself as he placed his hand where the container told him. Two loud clamps could be heard in the room as Mikes wrists were mechanically held in place. A unthreatening robotic voice came from the container: Experimental cybernetic upgrade: Class XI, commencing. The container whirred and buzzed as many more clamps activated around his hand, keeping everything still. The voice returned: Recommended test subject be anaesthetised by this point. Mike felt his hands warm up, as the machine was buzzing, warming something up. 3. 2. 1. Activated.
A sharp yet heavy pain fell to Mike, in between each of the knuckles on his fingers, one that had never been known before, and never since, like a needle stabbing itself into you, with a pen sized needle, and in six places where pain is normally shielded from. Michaels teeth gritting in a pain which would cause most people to faint, for 30 seconds these 6 beams cut through his hands, until they made notches in the bones at the pit of his hand. As soon as they stopped red hot metal was fed into his wounds very fast, stopping once the metal hit bone. Implant successful The monotonous voice which Mike now loathed droned out. Implant anatomical integration initiated. Very sharp wires cut through the back of the tubes, through his hand as if it were butter, attaching itself to a nerve and sending a shock to his brain telling it that there were new muscles for it to control. The pain stopped. Complete. Codes installed, you are free to leave. The clamps were released. Mike examined his hands, feeling metal bars in between each of the bones of his fingers in his hand, with no clue as to what they did other than give him a minute of extreme pain. The door unlocked as he turned to face it as the voice added Be aware of yo- The last of the message was drowned out by the shouting of a guard: I found him! he yelled, but the room appeared to be sound proof as there was no response. The guard slammed the door off its hinges with a charge, thinking he could trap the Hero who was probably taking evidence of Creys operations under the door. The door fell back onto Mike and the guard on top of that. Mike felt the stress of both as he tried to push back with his hands, using his fists to channel force from his biceps; however the guard used all his weight so his effort was futile. He fell back but as he did the guard let out a short sharp cry of pain. Mike, now on the floor being crushed by the door, pushed back and stood up, his hands attached to the door from the rear. He pushed back on the door with his head and pulled out his hands, hearing the guard drop on the other side. He looked at his hands. He looked at the pieces of metal protruding from in between his hands. They were claws. He would have thrown up at the prospect of his new found freakishness as he had alienated himself from what he thought to be himself, had he anything left in his stomach from before. He began manipulating the muscles in his hand, hoping to come across a trigger for retracting these new feral appendages, and like he taught himself to wiggle his ears as a child, he focused his mind to retract his claws, and he then appeared completely normal, save for some cuts on his hands which could probably be concealed by gloves or something. After refocusing his mind off the tangent he just created, he exited the room after realising he still had to escape. He followed the trail some of the ridiculously dressed heroes in order to find his way out of the building, and headed for an alleyway which he could barely see in the eye-straining darkness.
So there he was, still nauseous and confused from what happened, he tried to collect his thoughts. He decided to just ride out the storm and wait for Crey to give up the chase so he could go home. Then he saw something in the shadows and focused his senses to see what it was. A strange man wearing covered in purple and yellow spandex jumped out 3 feet in front of him. So, what are you like a Hero or something? Mike snapped, trying to provoke a response out of him.
I am a Paragon Protector, the man said with a large sense of pride. And I work for Crey Industries.
I thought the Heroes were the only stupidly dressed ones Mike said, turning away, almost as if the Protector wasnt worthy to see his face, which knocked any of the patience out of his purple-clad body.
I know who you are, I know you arent a Hero, Crey Industries has records on everyone with a Hero License in the whole of the U.S. Now I think you have the plans, and I may have to hurt you if you dont return them pronto. Mike could tell that this strange man knew that he probably didnt have the plans, and just wanted to hurt someone.
Yeah, about that, dont have em. He replied whilst turning around, anticipating the Protector to attack him.
Fair enough said the Protector, his cockiness restored. He let out a sharp whistle, and two women dressed like him jumped down beside him. The three of them expected this petty being to run at the sight of them, and were surprised to see the man hold their gaze. Mike probably would have run, but he was tired of running, tired of leaving things half finished, tired of just letting things happen rather than making a stand, and most of all, tired of people like these guys thinking theyre elevated 3 miles above everyone else because theyre part of some group. So, is the Purple Crew about to waste me, or what? Cause Ive got a yoga class tomorrow + they make you call ahead if youre not going to be there.
Mike turned around and slowly walked away, inviting the Protectors to attack. He heard something charge up, looked back over his head and dodged a massive bolt of pure energy aimed straight for his head, all in the space of less than half a second.
So, thats a yes? Alright. He closed his eyes and extended his claws, inspiring a look of shock on all their Crey funded faces, before charging and striking their leader, with two cuts straight across the chest, he fell back and didnt get up. After seeing their teammate struck down, the two women let fire two massive bursts of energy at their underestimated foe, which he eluded with ridiculous ease, ducking and weaving their most powerful attacks. The Protectors called for backup, and 12 guards came to support them from their rear. They all opened fire but not a single bullet hit this man. His reflexes had never really been tested before and Mike seemed to like the idea of being able to dodge bullets, previously joking to his friends that he probably could. He then struck the other two purple cat suit wearing Protectors in two flowing movements. All the Protectors lay on the ground around him, causing the average grunts to run away in fear of this new Hero. The first Protector got up, weak, and attempted to shoot the man before him with a barrage of energy, but his attack missed the evasive man before him, and Mike then slashed him across the face, before the Protector fell to the ground due to his prior wounds, Mike spouted Perhaps you were the one who should have turned around and walked away. The Protector, completely ignoring Mike, said to himself That one was very, very vigil Then all the fallen Protectors disappeared before him into thin air, and the Vigilant walked home.
After getting back to his apartment he spent 3 hours retracting and extending his claws until he could control them without having to concentrate. He then reflected on his new similarities to a certain ferally natured marvel hero, but reached the conclusion that all he ever smelled was the stench of the sewers below his apartment, and that he had far neater hair.
@Rooks
"You should come inside the box... Then you'll know what I mean."