Savage Angel - The Prologue - Visiting Hours
By
FloatingFatMan,
Posted on: 2008-10-29 18:14 in Multi-Media Fan Creations
Great! I enjoyed it. I did get slightly confused at points. Other than that, it seems great! 
Nice written, Gid! An interesting twist on the "getting superpowers after a near death experience" cliché! 
It's well paced, I really like the Mac character, and it wasn't the remotest bit confusing at any point.
@FloatingFatMan
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Long coat and a hat? Got your style all over it, Gid I did enjoy it, and the fact that she might just be dreaming the whole thing.
Looking forward to the next part!
The Prologue - Visiting Hours
Um, hello? Angela, can you hear me? The voice was concerned, male, with the slight gravel of age, but somehow off, as if the speaker was unused to speaking, well, much of anything. Angela struggled back to wakefulness, sitting upright in her bed, the hospital room bright and cheery. Sunlight, a spring day, and the smell of cut flowers...and an older man, dressed in hat and overcoat, perched in one of the visitors chairs, helping himself to her grapes.
I didn't know I was due any visitors? Angela said, hoping by her tone of voice to subtly imply that she'd been having a really nice rest, and perhaps this stranger could stop eating her complimentary fruit now, thanks. The visitor seemed thoroughly oblivious to any nuance or subtly, however.
That's a matter of debate. In one sense, this meeting's been due since the day you were born, destined to happen, you might say. In another... no, I didn't organise this. He studied his fingernails for a few moments, as if mulling over what he was going to say next. Actually, this is all rather embarrassing, really. Normally, as these things go, I'd have appeared to you out of a flash of light, told you about your destiny, and told you to get on with it... but it's all gone pear-shaped, and you modern humans are so annoying about this kind of thing. I blame television. Appeared to like the sound of his own voice too, even if he was doing a good job of being genuinely chastened about the embarrassment he'd referred to. Not that he'd explained much of anything, really.
Gradually, as she managed to wake up some more, she became more aware of the little incongruities, the not-quite-rightness of where she was. Last time she remembered anything, it had been October, and raining fit to float a boat. Also, and perhaps more worryingly, she was in a hospital bed, with no staff or active machines in sight... and that nagging memory of bricks was becoming more urgent in the back of her head. Still, in spite of everything, there was still a man, sitting in her chair, eating her grapes, muttering on about... waitaminute, you said destiny? Humans? Now I think about it, who and what the hell are you anyway, and what are you doing here?
The visitor finished off the grapes, and sat up, brushing his hands off in a gesture that looked, well, slightly too well-rehearsed. Like someone who knew what body language was supposed to look like but hadn't quite lived with it. I don't really have a name, but if you want to attach a label to me, Mac will do as well as anything else, I suppose. As for my status and purpose, I guess you could say they're all part of the same thing. See, there's no easy way to say this, without sounding overly portentous, but whatever. You, Angela Thorpe, are chosen of the gods, chosen to wear the title of the Savage Angel, chosen to fight evil and injustice wherever it raises its head, latest in a long line of.. yadda yadda yadda, but you've heard the shtick before, right? Warrior against evil, unto every generation... see, too much television?
Angela looked at him steadily. She knew she should be shocked, confused, asking stupid questions like who, how, and above all why me? Depressingly, though, what he was saying didn't even seem like much of a surprise, now she heard the words. Still, she had her pride, and one of the things she was sure of was No. There's no way I can go off and be a hero, not because of some damn-fool Power. I don't have any magic, they said so that day they did the Power Testing at university. There's no way, I can be.... she stopped, as something else flagged itself up in her head, something else Mac had said. You said pear-shaped. What's gone wrong? Why am... She trailed off, as the nagging memory of bricks loomed in her head, transmuting into a distinct memory of bricks, of rubble, plummeting down from above. Wrong Place, Wrong Time, and a building falling on me. Well, that explains the hospital, anyway. She had the feeling she shouldn't be so blasé about the thing, but at the moment, she really did feel kind of abstracted.
So you remember? Good, that makes this a little easier. Mac got that same slightly embarrassed look. See, all of this started a number of thousand years back, in one of those Lost Mystical Kingdoms (she could almost hear the letters T M, the way he said it.) They were beset by foes, so decided to appeal to their god for aid. Now, he was a nice enough chap, strong, brave, well-mannered, urbane, the light and hope of the people who followed him. Mac lowered his voice, as if not wanting to be caught saying the next bit. The one thing he wasn't was especially bright. Didn't consider the details, you see. He just waved his hand, and set up this whole destiny and responsibility thing. Created a line of heroes, down throughout the millennia. Kind of forgot to specify exactly how that was going to work, how his patsy was going to get their power, and under what circumstances their destiny would occur. Mac rolled his eyes. that's more or less where I come in. The world had what I can only describe as a mystic allergy to the fact that that power was floating around without any guidance, and I, or at least something that I am the current example of, was formed. Basically, your expectations combined with your need for guidance and the destiny pressure form this little pseudo-construct that explains it all, and then evaporates, job done. As I said, in the old days, it was easy. Golden trumpets, choirs,and most people took that as a sign from on high, and acted accordingly. Modern humans are a lot odder about the whole thing. Still, my essential function is to whisper, influence and suggest to minds and spirits to manoeuvre you into the place where your future manifests itself. he poured himself some of her complimentary water, and went to the window.
So, now, I just have to choose to accept my destiny and go off and be a hero? What, if I might ask, happens if I refuse? Or if I just do nothing either way? Do you disappear up your own backside, and go off and bother some other sap?
Mac sighed, and turned around to face her. Something in his eyes was different, apologetic, and yet at the same time iron-hard. You know you're in a hospital, yes? Well, do you really know what's happening now?
As he spoke, the room shifted, becoming subtly different. The curtains were drawn the room slightly darker, less inviting. Machines beeped and whined, the hiss-click of an artificial respirator. She was now standing at the foot of the bed, looking down it at herself, wired up to tubes and cables nine ways from Sunday. Silent, sleeping, except for the hiss of the mask. Now she really did feel the panic, suddenly finding herself on her knees, the shock robbing her of practically every emotion but fear. You never did wake up. Five months you've been there, waiting. Waiting for the future to happen. Destiny came up, and beat you over the head to get you to this point. The worst mistake in the world... unleashing power without ensuring control over its application, and you're the unlucky sap it happened to. You know this is true, deep down. You know.
Angela finally found the power of speech again, her throat dry, suddenly. What happens now? If I refuse...
if you refuse, then I leave. You never hear from me again. And in a few days, maybe a few weeks, when even your insanely strong will to live gets tired, then you'll just drift away. And they'll turn of the machines and that, as the man says, will be that. No more Angela, and some other poor kid,just being born, gets a destiny. It was the matter of fact way he said it that chilled her just then. Like it was just another of those things. If you choose it, however, then you get a chance. You'll get to go home, live, enjoy the world, and maybe save it. No guarantees, but it's a chance. Also, you forget I'm partly based on your subconscious. Deep down, I think you'll enjoy it. Once you get over how you got into it...
Angela stood up, the room spinning back around her until she was where she was, back in her bed, though the memory of what she'd just seen was still there. That's really no choice at all is it? she said accusingly. Die or be a hero? She stopped, looking at her fingernails, unconsciously mirroring Mac's gesture earlier. Alright. You've got me convinced. A chance at a life, and doing something to help the world? I still think you need someone better qualified, but that's just between you and me. So.. what happens now? You wave a hand, and I get magic powers?
Right this second? Nothing. I can only guide and suggest people. I don't have the power for such an imbument. You just go back to sleep, and in the unlikely event that you remember any of this at all, it's as a coma-dream, a vague might-have-been recollection, even with the powerful senses that come with this little gig. Your will will stay strong, and very soon, one will come and put you back together, will see to your empowerment and will be something of a mentor. He's a bit of a Fool, but I think he'll do. And his wife will make his life a living misery if he doesn't do his best by you. With this cryptic remark, Mac doffed his hat, and Angela found herself suddenly tired. Sleep really did seem like a good idea, but she did have one parting comment. You owe me more fruit, Mac.
Elsewhere
Arthur Savage, Doctor, Medical Nanotech specialist, and sometime wearer of the name Jester Savage sneezed... and had a sudden urge to buy some grapes.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.