Dark, Darker, Darkest (story)
By
Ravenswing,
Posted on: 2008-11-10 10:52 in Multi-Media Fan Creations
GG could be interesting tonight then. 
Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.
GG is always interesting. But tonight has a lot of potential for fun 
The wisdom of Shadowe: Ghostraptor: The Shadowe is wise ...; FFM: Shadowe is no longer wise.
; Techbot_Alpha: Also, what Shadowe said. It seems he is still somewhat wise 
; Bull Throttle: Shadowe was unwise in this instance...; Rock_Powerfist: in this instance Shadowe is wise.; Techbot_Alpha: Shadowe is very wise *nods*; Zortel: *Quotable line about Shadowe being wise goes here.*
Inspired by some ongoing RP (and copy-linked to the RP IC Story Thread), as well as Ravenswing's Future Imperfect story, here's another characterisation piece about my main.
WARNING: One passage in this post aludes to an unpleasant and very adult topic. If you are offended by what I can only describe as a singularly evil act, please, do not read this post.
Dark, Darker, Darkest
{Port Oakes, Monday 10 November 2008, 11.30am}
It was cloudy, quite dark, and rather gloomy. Just the sort of weather that Rich Hunter liked, when he was patrolling on the Etoile Islands. Dressed in scuffed motorcycle leathers, his spiky blue hair rigid against the wind as a result of far too much gel. He was currently hunkered in the lea of a building, his collar turned up, trying to ignore the occassional drip of water from the gutter overhead. He'd had a busy morning, hitting up his contacts, piecing together details, and for the last half hour he'd been standing here, getting more and more frustrated.
He was watching a warehouse, dark sunglasses perched on his nose. Dock workers were scurrying about all over, and one enterprising soul had already tried to mug him. The man's unconscious body was currently hidden behind some pallets due to be loaded onto a freighter that afternoon. If he was missed, it didn't matter, and Rich would be long gone before he was discovered.
Some people would probably consider his presence here alone to be the height of arrogance. But Rich was a bounty hunter. Not a particularly well-known one, but he had a reputation, in some circles. He was always very careful to make sure there were no witnesses if he used his powers. So far as Lord Recluse's men knew, he was just a guy who knew some guys, and had a dogged tenacity that gained him grudging respect.
And they also turned a blind eye to the more... questionable... aspects of his presence. Like the fake passport. The multi-million-dollar yacht with the rather lethal alarm system. The top-range, imported motorcycle. The helicopter. And the seemingly limitless quantities of cash he was capable of dishing out when circumstances demanded it. It was an unwritten, never spoken agreement - 'Don't ask, and I won't interfere'.
So he felt comfortable with being there, even with the discomfort of the cold and the dripping guttering overhead. All he needed to do was wait.
* * * * *
Buried deeply beneath the facade of Rich Hunter, Richard Huntington studied and analysed the data streaming across the inside of the sunglasses perched on his nose. The information was far from perfect, but it was sufficient to tell how many people were inside the warehouse, roughly where they were, and even pick up fragments of conversation. If he had full access to Helena's processors, he'd get a lot more, thanks to her sophisticated data-scrubbing tools, audio enhancements and telemetry links, but there was always a lot of interference, and signal lag from the telecommunications satellite he used meant that there was a 3 second delay, which could be lethal in a place like this. Better to go with partial, but current, data.
He didn't dare reach out with his other senses. The ones granted by the singularity nestled in his skull. While they would definitely let him pinpoint his quarry, they left him very vulnerable. And even for a superhero, vulnerable was not a state to be in, if you were out in the Rogue Isles in disguise.
Nothing definite, yet. But his - well, Rich's really - information was good, from a reliable source. So he waited.
* * * * *
"Hello, Dicky."
The words broke through Rich Hunter's concentration, and he span into a crouch, energy pulses welling within him, ready to be unleashed with a thought.
"Psychonova," he snarled as he recognised the blonde-haired man in cream trousers and a white shirt. Built like an athlete, Andrew Martin was an imposing figure, but that wasn't want Rich was worried about. Physical strength didn't matter here. Not one little bit.
"We're not goin' ter go through that tired ol' routine are we, Rich? Yer here in my town, an' Ah'm jus' bein' neighbourly, comin' out ter see what yer doin'." Andrew was standing calmly, ignoring the chill weather, but Rich didn't back down, still allowing an energy blast to bubble beneath the surface of his skin. "After all, it's been a while since yer and meself had a chat, ain't it? In point o' fact, last person Ah spoke ter at yer place was that sweet little Vicky. She was a real firecracker, weren't she? Obviously not enough to light a fire in yer cracker no more, though, cuz Ah hear that yer got yerself engaged ter be married. Sweet sentiment, Dicky 'old bean', but the poor girl don't have a clue, do she?"
Unblinking, Rich shook his head. "She knows everything, Psychonova. Everything there is to know about me, and about you. More than you know, that's for sure."
Andrew shook his head. "Dicky, Dicky, Dicky. Why der yer persist in callin' me that? Ah gave that name up quite a while back, yer know? Ah jus' go by Andrew, now. Or 'Mister Martin', dependin' on who's talkin' ter me. So, yer girl, Cassandra, she knows the whole story, eh? That's kinda brave of yer, Ah must say. Never thought Ah'd see the day that yer were happy with yerself. But yer not, are yer? Yer still ashamed of bein' what yer are. Tsk, that's a real pitty, Dicky. When are yer goin' ter grow up?"
Rich knew that he was at a disadvantage, here. A bad one. He needed to regain his balance, and change the course of the conversation, because otherwise it would go downhill, and very soon... perhaps he should... "When are you going to stop messing around with people's lives, Psychonova? So much for leaving all well and good, hmm? You can't resist the chance to tamper, can you? You said you would stay out of my life, but you're back in it up to your eyeballs, and I'm here to serve you notice - Stop, now, or I will put you down. Permanently."
Andrew quirked his eyebrows. "Oh, yer talkin' about little Julie Slater, ain't yer? Still hates yer, don't she? That little one was fun to mess with, and she were a good lay, too. Always enthusiastic. Screaming, she was, all the time Ah was -"
His words were cut off by an ear-splitting roar as Richard gave in to his fury, and poured the rage into an almighty storm of energy that rent the air asunder. It continued for what seemed an eternity, peaking with a brilliant flash that sent a rolling wave of thunder across the docks.
In the wink of an eye, Richard stopped the maelstrom, and glanced around. There was no sign of Andrew. Not even a pair of smoking boots.
"Keep away from me, Psychonova. And keep away from my friends and family," he said, to the nothingness around him, confident that wherever he was, Andrew could hear his words. "The time is coming when you'll regret everything you've done. And I will be there watching you pay." He turned, and moved at a swift walk away from the building, but he heard a whisper in his mind, that sent a chill through him.
We're the same, yer and Ah, Richard. Embrace it an' join me, an' yer can make the world the place yer always wanted it ter be. Take what you want, by God. Take it an' let tomorrow look out fer itself.
Images flashed through his mind, of a peaceful, tranquil world, full of smiling, happy, content people, with himself seated on an Impervium throne, smiling beneficiently down on those who pleased him.
"Never," he growled, and wrapped himself in his love for his friends. Cassandra, who thought she was a monster for the things she had done in the past. Annette, whose abiding love for her brother had almost turned her into a psychotic killer, but who he had helped pull back from the brink. Kit, whom he loved dearly, if somewhat distantly, now. His sister, Sam, who could be the most infuriating sibling ever to grace the world, but whom he would never stop loving, never stop needing. His mother, once dead, and somehow mysteriously returned to the world of the living, whose unconditional love for him made him see that he was a good man. Linda, who was the one of the few people he could open his heart and fears to. Dinah, who loved who and what she was and had become, and whose soft and tender words were making him realise that maybe Shadowe wasn't such a bad person to be. He loved them all, and he needed them all, and he would not allow himself to become the monster he feared. Because... because...
It was almost an epiphany. A brilliant searing light across his mind, as the threads of his life wove around him in a blanket, and he saw the paths open before him.
"Because I am not that monster, Andrew. The man, the monster, I am neither of these things. I'm simply me. Call me hero. Call me villain. Call me human. Call me alien. Call me whatever you want to call me, because I am none of those, and words mean nothing."
He thought for a moment, and twisted the dial on his wristwatch, revelling in the satisfying feel of black leather settling around him as it was teleported from the beacon on his yacht.
"I am me."
He launched himself into the air.
"I am Richard Huntington."
He aimed a blast of energy at the roof of the warehouse he had been watching all morning, ripping the roof from it, and sending the dozen people inside scurrying for cover.
"I am Shadowe."
The wisdom of Shadowe: Ghostraptor: The Shadowe is wise ...; FFM: Shadowe is no longer wise.