ERA Of Challenge #4: Beam Time

IC:


Booker Wheldon Calhoun slammed himself back against the wall of the hallway as hard as he could, to keep himself from moving and to keep himself upright. This was more than he could handle. He'd been told that this would be right up his alley. He'd been told he could walk in, work his magic, and walk out. What he'd walked into was a veritable war zone. Walking up the hallway with heavy thudding noises was a man—at least he thought it was a man—in a gargantuan suit of pneumatically assisted armor.

"Come on, hero. I know you're here. You screw up my heist, you die. Now man up."

Calhoun shouldered his plasma cannon. It had been his since his brother had designed it for him. With it, and his trusty (and patented) armor, he'd been on the streets of Paragon making a name for himself as (and he loved this name) "Beam Time." He tapped the side of his helmet, his targeting computer refocusing and analyzing the reflection of the monolith war suit in one of the jewelry cases nearby. With a pump of the charging rod on the underside of his cannon, he spun around.

"Stop right there, Mechanoxx! Do you know what time it is?!"

The enormous hulk stopped, and stood motionless. "You're… you're kidding," the distorted voice projecting from it said. "I know exactly what time it is, it's on that clock over—"

His words were cut short by Calhoun, the young man's roar of confidence being swallowed by the sound of an energy source whining to full power.

"IT'S BEAM TIME, SUCKER!"

"What the **** is beam ti—" was all the powered villain could say as he staggered backwards before an absolutely eye-searing beam of orange light erupted from the barrel of Calhoun's comically-oversized plasma cannon. The sound it made as it tore across the room was not at all unlike the thumping "wob wob wob" of recent dubstep songs. The beam smashed into the pneumatic robber, arcing around him with visible momentum, blowing out the back wall of the high-security artifact warehouse and liquefying the metal-clad man from the knees up.

"Oh ****," he said as the two legs fell to either side. "Oh man, this is bad." He sprinted over to the smoldering lower legs, almost hurling up his breakfast as he saw that—yes—there was a man in there. The operative word being was.

"Drop your weapon" a young voice bellowed from behind him. Lined up along the wall, as silent as they had been as they entered, was an entire firing line of Longbow Nullifiers. "Drop your weapon," the man in front of them said again. He stood at a modest five-foot-eleven. That was all that was modest, however. From head to toe he was clad in gunmetal gray, white and gold plated armor. A soft buzzing noise was coming from his right arm. Calhoun identified the sound immediately: It was a very long, very bright, very deadly-looking energy sword. It hummed and sparked from blade to blade, glowing brightly even in the lights of the warehouse. His hair spilled out from atop a faceless visor, soft beeping sounds and glowing designs scattering across the interior. Behind that were a pair of startlingly green eyes; bombardier's eyes. Accenting it all were a flared pair of metallic gray wings. Armor plating was wrapped around the joints and the feathers looked like knives.

"I… I didn't mean to kill him," Calhoun began. "I had no idea my plasma cannon would—"

The armored man stepped forward. "Drop your weapon or die at the hands of Andret." He raised his sword, the blade crackling and humming.

"Whoa whoa whoa, Andret guy. I'm a hero, like you!" Booker reached around to his utility belt and popped one of the compartments open.

"DROP IT!" The armored angel-like man rocketed forward and crashed into Calhoun, slamming him backward into a glass case holding a collection of old pocket watches. The barrel of the plasma cannon smashed into Andret's body, the weapon firing. Orange light burst from the back of Andret's shoulder and seared another hole in the roof of the warehouse.

"Jesus Christ," Calhoun shouted. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" He rolled Andret off of him putting the plasma cannon down and going for his medical nanodevice emitter. Andret looked at it, his eyes widening behind his visor.

"K-kill… him," he groaned at the firing squad. They responded immediately, opening fire on Calhoun. His life flashed before his eyes, his muscles seized, his body reeled backwards into the shattered shelf of pocket watches, his heart stopped—

— and so did everything else. He took a sudden breath. Another. A third. He jerked slightly and the shelf of watches shook. The bullets that were just a few feet from ripping him several structurally superfluous new orifices inched forward. He looked back at the watches. No, it couldn't be. He reached an arm down to grab his plasma cannon and the bullets began to inch forward, faster now. Reactively he slammed his hand back against the shelf.

"Oh, my, god," he spoke aloud. He reached back gingerly and plucked one of the watches from the shelf. Then another. Then another. Finally, he had all six of the positively gorgeous and masterfully-made watches in his hands. He stuffed them hastily into his belt pockets and picked up his cannon. "I guess I'm a thief now, too."

He noticed his hero ID card on the floor, and picked it up after weaving between the bullets hanging in midair. He picked it up.

Beam Time

"Beam Time," he read aloud. He suddenly laughed, a bark of a noise. He glanced up at the frozen faces of the Nullifiers. "Beam TIME," he laughed out. He stepped forward and got in the face of one Nullifier who wore a particularly scornful expression.

"Do you know what time it is, sucker?" He began to laugh even harder, holding up his ID card and his plasma cannon as if both were equally powerful weapons. "It's Beam Time! I'm Beam Time!"

He left, laughing, into the bright afternoon, flipping up the helmet visor of a passing motorcyclist.

Part II
The Face of Time
Everwood Grove Apartments, Seven Gates, Brickstown

"Thom! Thom, where the hell are you?" Booker slammed the door shut behind him and locked it, starting with the deadbolt and ending with the forty-two digit biometric lock. He set the plasma cannon in it's storage tube and nodded with approval as the tube sealed and the words "CHARGING: 20%" crawled across the smooth gray exterior of the tube itself. "THOM," he roared into the house. From under the floor came a heavy thunk followed by a series of about six whirring noises all of which differed in tone and speed.

Thomson Clerk-Maxwell Calhoun rushed up the stairs. He looked almost identical to his older brother; blue eyes, short cut black hair, high cheekbones, a stern mouth, and a sharp jaw. He was wearing his usual white sweater and blue jeans, with the occasional marring of soot from possible explosions or singing. "What, Book? The hell's gotten into you?" He looked at his brother as the elder Calhoun's armor opened up like a body-shaped double door refrigerator.

Booker stepped out of the suit and snatched a canvas grocery bag labeled "Paragon Prime Marketplace" from the suit's hand. He opened it and dumped the pocket watches gingerly onto their kitchen table. "This is what's gotten into me, Thom. Pick one up. Go on."

Thomson eyeballed him for a moment, then did as requested. The moment his hand touched the watch he could feel time slow. It was eerily similar to the way it felt when one submerged oneself in water; the sudden depth and sluggishness of the new environment coupled with the constant embrace of a substance that was no longer air. "Holy hell," he said aloud. To Booker, it sounded like his brother had been recorded at 25RPM and played back at 33.

"I know, right?" Booker said with a grin. To Thomson, his words were slow and elongated, just like hearing something underwater. He continued to grin as Thom set the pocket watch down. "I found them in a dumpster in Kings. I thought they were awesome looking so I snagged 'em. Turns out if you touch one time slows. If you touch all six, time stops. Now, here's where you come in."

"You want them in the X-0 suit," Thom said.

"Y-yes, how did you—"

"Because that's an incredible idea! Not only will it make you that much more efficient in combat, your hero name is even better! Beam Time!"

"Exactly, that's exactly what I said! Now it only works if you're touching them, I've noticed. So I need a way to turn them on and off, if that makes sense."

"I have an idea. You'll need to take a break from hero-work while I work on the suit though."

"Yeah," Booker said. "I think it might be time for a break anyway."


Longbow had organized an investigation of the "Millstone Incident," the name they had given to the theft of the Timepieces of Millstone; these were the gorgeous and intricate pocketwatches Booker Calhoun had stolen to both save his own life and further his own power. Gathered in a dimly lit Longbow conference room was a group of heroes designated Task Force Fugit: The swordsman Herr Geist; the frozen queen Zambonia; the impervious Safeguard; the undetectable Desert Runner; the Freakshow-Champion-turned-hero Dr4k3 M1tch3llz.

"Zis comes as no surprise to me," Herr Geist said, the mask he wore flexing with his jaw as he spoke. Dressed like a very eccentric man from the mid 1800's and wearing a ghostly white mask, the most striking thing about this extremely tall, extremely lanky hero was the two glowing orbs hovering just in front of where his eyes would be behind the mask. "Zese new heroes, vith all ze gusto und all ze fire are almost always after somesing greater. For Beam Time, he vanted to steal ze Timepieces of Lord Millstone. Und he did, just like zat. Now, Andret is in ze hospital and ve are ze ones tasked vith finding ze fool."

Behind him, an even taller figure emerged from the shadows of the Longbow conference room. His well-built frame was coated in a flexsteel fiber bodysuit. Teal, white and gray colored the bodysuit in sharp, clean patterns. Cold gray eyes regarded the room from a very handsome but stern and tanned face. Polishing off this herculean hero was well combed blond hair. "Your hubris aside, Geist, our first task should be finding out how to track a man who can bend time in any way he likes. We have an advantage already; he hasn't had the Timepieces for long. He'll only know how to control their most basic aspect."

"So vat do you propose, Safeguard? Surely ze juggernaut of our little posse has ze plan of ze century," Herr Geist quipped.

"We need to find someone with the technology to detect temporal abnormalities. The Timepieces will show up like a hot iron on a thermal camera."

"H0w exactly," Dr4k3 began while fiddling with his absurdly yellow mohawk, "do y0u know this, d00d? 4 all w3 know t3h w4tchez 0nl33 ma3k wa\/ez when th3y'r3 j00zed."

"He's right. I watched this Paragon History Network show about them. Some ancient guy in Steel Canyon had a "tempor-ometer" or some crap and it spiked whenever the watches were nearby," Zambonia said in a flat and fittingly cold tone. She shifted her hips and tugged her thigh-highs up her strong-looking legs. (In truth Zambonia could kick in a steel door despite being classified as a Defender; she was very satisfied with her kickboxing class.)

Safeguard tapped his chin. "Then the problem is finding someone with that technology."

Sitting at the head of the conference table was another man clad in khaki rags and baggy clothing. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a post-apocalyptic style video game. Over his face was a faded green bandana and a pair of goggles with reflective blue lenses. "I know someone," he said with a dry, hollow voice.

Safeguard nodded. "Do tell, Desert Runner."

Desert Runner took out a battered ballistic-looking phone. "Her name is Terri Malevolon, and we're going to need to meet her in the Isles."


"Okay Book. Try it out. Just like I said; all you have to do is focus. The neural transmitters in the helmet will do the rest," Thom said.

Booker nodded in the suit, his HUD booting and outlining the room's various power sources with a faint grid overlay. He wished he could turn off the ability to recognize lamps and the like, but he wasn't about to ask his brother to code out light sources. "Systems online, Thom. Say when."

"Okay then. I want you, on my mark, to focus and move from where you are to the other side of the living room," Thom said, gesturing to the china cabinet at the opposite end of the room. "Three, two, one, mark— JESUS!"

"What, what?!" Booker looked around and almost fell on the couch, an accident that would smash the furniture to splinters.

"That was FAST! The second I said 'mark' you were over there!"

"Then it works?"

"It works like a champ! Now remember, you can remove the watches from each compartment with your ring and thumb prints on the surface for three seconds. Sound good?"

"Sounds great, Thom. You're the best damn brother a guy could have. It's too bad I don't have more of these watches; you could join me in the fray! Beam Time and," he thought for a moment. "And Tempus Fusion! Scientist and time-traveller extraordinaire!"

Thom laughed, standing and patting his armored brother on the top of his helmet. "Crime fighting isn't for me, Bookie. I'm the guy that makes your awesome gadgets, remember?"

"If you say so Clerky." Booker laughed and shot his brother the bird in jest. The two chuckled idly and, after exiting the armor and putting away equipment, sat down to shoot the breeze and watch Deadliest Warrior.

Twenty minutes in, a "boop boop boop boop" sound came from the basement. "Oh hell," Thom said. "I gotta go get that, it's a call from a colleague I've been expecting since noon."

"Go dude, go, make history," Booker called after his brother.

((In a good way? XD))

(( Of course in the good way. Also, the second part is good, too, just not as funny. ))

((Many thanks to you Mr. Kaison. There will be humor here and there, but the story will get progressively less humorous and more serious as Calhoun begins down the path to ERA.))

(( I would expect no less. Humor's a great way to get people to start reading, but you need more to keep them reading. Don't be like Trigun and get to the serious part 2/3's of the way through. ))

((Zing.

But seriously, Calhoun's sense of humor may just save his ***.))

Ditto. Just noticed it today. Looks very cool.

Part III
No Time for Tomorrow Today
Nerva Archipelago, Rogue Isles
"I know we've been friends for a long time, Mordechai, but I can't just give you the chronotometer. Do you have any idea how long it took me to build that thing? I mean, I started it before my husband died and he's been dead for six years!"

Doctor Terri Belinda Malevolon sat in her favorite swivel chair, arms crossed under her chest. Her sky-blue eyes surveyed Task Force Fugit with some amusement. Seeing the group of heroes in her Rogue Isles stronghold was kind of funny. Herr Geist, who stood behind Desert Runner (or Mordechai, apparently) had been staring at Malevolon's chest for some time. She was one of those women with a gorgeous face and a wide frame; Geist believed the term would have been 'thick in the right places.'

"I know, Terri. I know. But I don't think he'd object; he was a man of science just like you're a woman of invention. Besides, he's right there. He could tell us himself." Desert pointed over to a positively enormous robot. It raised it's head, shook it as if to say 'no way' and promptly went back to looking lifeless.

"Oh screw you, Ignatius," Terri barked at the giant machine. It sagged like a man scorned. "What exactly do you need the chronotometer for anyway? It's not like someone stole the Timepieces of Lord Millstone."

Desert Runner scratched his neck.

"No. Way," the doctor said excitedly. She shot up out of her chair and walked briskly across the room. Herr Geist's glowing eye orbs followed her hips as she did so and, with a 'thwack,' were both knocked out of alignment with his head by Desert Runner's swift backhand. The neon green orbs spun wildly around his eyebrows for a moment before syncing themselves up with their rightful areas. He shot Runner the finger and quickly stashed the offending appendage away as Terri turned back around. She was holding a device that looked like an oversized compass.

Dr4k3 piped up immediately. "D00dz! Th4t thing l00ks li3k a Dr4g0n R4daR!" The room stared at him. "… j00 kn0w, from Dr4g0n B4|| Z?" He looked around and threw his arms in the air, nearly taking out a section of ceiling with his left hand hammer. "D1d n0 1 h33r h4v3 a fr33k1n' ch1ldh00d but m3? J33zu5!" He fiddled with his mohawk and stormed off to another corner of the room.

"How does it work," Safeguard said calmly. "And how durable is it?"

"Your Freakshow buddy is right, actually," Terri said. "t's a lot like the Dragon Radar. It's solidly built; I dropped it down the stairs a lot when we moved here in March. To use it you just hit this button on top and it'll scan a one-thousand yard radius area for temporal anomalies. I actually got the idea from that old anime, and thought 'I should make one of those but for time!' and Ignatius said '47 6f 20 66 6f 72 20 69 74 20 68 6f 6e 65 79 2e.'"

Safeguard stared at her blankly for several seconds. When she'd spoken the numbers her face had gone completely blank and her voice a flat monotone. Once the last number left her mouth her face went right back to the 'Maybe I am crazy' smile she'd been wearing since they'd arrived. "Very well then," he said after that awkward pause. "It will be returned to you as soon as our investigation is complete. Any attempt to retrieve it during our investigation will be considered obstruction of justice."

"Just don't break it, muscles." Terri went back over to her chair and plopped down. The enormous robot hummed to life again. It stomped idly over to Herr Geist and leaned in close.

"4c 61 79 20 65 79 65 73 20 6f 6e 20 6d 79 20 77 69 66 65 20 61 67 61 69 6e 20 61 6e 64 20 49 20 67 72 69 6e 64 20 79 6f 75 20 69 6e 74 6f 20 68 61 6d 62 75 72 67 65 72 20 6d 65 61 74 2c 20 75 6e 64 65 72 73 74 61 6e 64 3f," it blasted out in a grating electric monotone.

"Vat, I don't—" Geist began, stepping backwards.

"You should leave. All of you. Best of luck getting those watches back." Terri Malevolon pressed a button on her workbench and the ceiling panels over each of the heroes lit up. "Oh and don't break my chronotometer!"

With that, the tiles fired pillars of downward pink light over Task Force Fugit.



"Great work, Geist. Now when I take that thing back to her I get to listen to her yell about your wandering eyes and have my ears destroyed by her husband's exoskeleton."

"I cannot help it," Geist said while adjusting his cravat. "Ze Geist is a vinner vith ze ladies." Geist's eye orbs were once again sent for a spin around his head courtesy of a slap upside the back of the head from Zambonia. She grabbed the cravat and pulled Geist's face close to hers, her breath frosting his mask.

"We're here to do a job, Geist, not ogle mad scientist women. Stop being a chauvinistic buttmunch and focus." She pushed him away and sauntered over by the rest of the group.

"Zambonia is right. We're back in Paragon, and we have the exact tool we need to finish this little runaround before it turns in to something worse. Let's get started right here in Brickstown," Safeguard lectured impatiently. He hit the top of the device, and after a few seconds it made a buzzing sound. "… I don't believe it," the herculean hero said. "It's five hundred yards north of where we are." He suddenly looked at his wrist. With a tap of his finger, a thin band the width of his wrist popped off of his suit. He held it to his ear like a bluetooth headset. "This is Safeguard. Yes. We're actually here now." He nodded a few times. "We'll be there before you know it." He replaced the small device and looked to his fellow heroes.

"Follow me."


"Thom?" Booker hopped down the stairs sideways, coming up on Thomson's lab door. It was an impressive 9 feet high with interlocking deadbolts and securing rods all originating from a centered half-sphere with an indentation of a hand in it's center. He put his hand in the imprint and it passed a glowing blue line over his fingertips. A panel slid open on the door, displaying the words "HELLO BOOKER." All of the rods and deadbolts slammed inward, and the door sank into the foundation of the building.

"Thom," he called again. "Dude, where's that hydraulic plunger you made? I clogged the can again. We gotta move Tamale Tuesdays to every other week."

"Hey!" Thom barked out as he swung around the corner of a hallway. Booker reeled backwards and made a startled squawk.

"Good gravy man, do you want me to crap or something?" He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "Did you hear about the plunger? I really borked the toilet this time around."

"Gross," Thom said and produced the plunger from a wall panel that slid open with a soft metal sigh. It looked like one of those bizarre steampunk rifles Booker had seen in Atlas. "Hey, how's the cannon holding up? I took a look at it's readouts and you've really been putting it through it's paces."

"It's great, actually," Booker said as they walked up into the living room. "I've been trying to—

A knock at their door interrupted Booker's explanation. With a shattering noise, the door just… opened, the deadbolt sending pieces of the door frame plunking to the floor. Standing in the doorway (with four other heroic figures behind him) was Safeguard. "Booker Wheldon 'Beam Time' Calhoun, you're under arrest for the murder of Wayland 'Mechanoxx' Trent and the theft of the Timepieces of Lord Millstone. You can surrender by placing your hands on your—"

But Booker was already sprinting across the room. He jumped, spinning in midair and landing perfectly in the X-0 suit. As his back hit the interior of the suit the wind was thrust from his lungs; didn't matter, he thought. Had to keep Thom safe. Had to stay alive. Fight or flight. Fight and flight. Fight then flight. Belts and straps slapped across his forearms, thighs and middle. The suit closed and fitted to his form. As soon as the suit sealed, the HUD began to boot. No time. He flung his right arm forward. "X-0 Cannon," he barked. The cylindrical pod holding his trusty plasma cannon slid open and the oversized weapon fired out of it handle first into Booker's hand.

"Oh no you don't," Safeguard said and moved in on Booker, landing a strong right hook into the chest of the suit. Booker went spiraling into the back wall, smashing it to pieces and demolishing the guest bathroom. "You have ten seconds to surrender, Calhoun. Comply or be destroyed."

Booker's reply took the form of a brilliantly orange plume of energy that exploded from the dark hole in the wall and collided with Safeguard in that strange, deep "wobwobwobwob" that sounded so much like dubstep. The muscular hero flew backwards and knocked Dr4k3 off of his feet. Zambonia stepped into the apartment and took a deep breath, her eyes focused on Thomson. With no warning at all Booker smashed out of the wrecked bathroom in a hail of splinters and slid in front of Thomson at just the right moment. His HUD began to blink a message on the lower left of the readout. 'SCAPULA SERVO TEMPERATURE -45°C AND FALLING. SEIZE IMMINENT.' Behind him, Zambonia had let loose an arctic exhalation in an attempt to freeze Thomson. He tried to turn, but the motion-acceleration servos in the back of the suit did just as the HUD warned. His upper body was somewhat limited now.

Then it hit him. The watches. DUH, his brain yelled at him. He focused just slightly and—

The world stopped. Just like that. Safeguard was hovering back into the apartment, Dr4k3 was dusting off his butt, Zambonia was pulling the heat from the air to form a patch of icy wind. Booker identified Safeguard at once; he'd met the hero during a joint operation to stop Arachnos in Faultline. He'd never seen the Freakshow guy and was puzzled about his being there, and Zambonia… well, he stared at her skin-tight black and light blue costume, admired her thigh-highs, and made a mental note to dig chicks with her swept-back hairstyle. He turned, and saw his brother lit up with fear. He grabbed him gently and suddenly Thomson was moving with him.

"Don't freak, it's just me," Booker said. "You need to get in your lab and seal it tight.

"Book, I—"

"Thom, just get to safety. I can't have you involved in this, okay? Some **** went down, I had to make a few really poor choices to save my own life, and you're not about to get caught up in it. Whatever happens we'll both be fine but for now you need to get in that lab and hit that big purple lockdown button I saw you installed on the wall."

"But Booker I'm—"

Booker's helmet opened in four places, the three faceplates and the visor spreading open like a mechanical flower. They sank behind his head and formed into the neck of the suit. He leaned forward and kissed his brother on the forehead. "Save it, man. I don't know how I'm gonna make it through this, so if it gets heavy and you never see me again, I love you. I'm serious. You're the best brother a guy could have. Now get. To. Safety."

With that, Booker released his brother. Thomson fell backwards onto his butt, looking around. The three present heroes stopped, and began searching the room along with Thom. Booker was nowhere to be found. The suit, the cannon, the watches had all gone with him.

"Where is he," Safeguard said darkly. He stepped forward and helped Thomson up. "He can't be allowed to roam free like this, he's a dangerous man."

Thomson brushed himself off and stared at his feet. "I don't know where he's going," he said quietly. "He could be anywhere by now. I'm sorry I can't help you any more than that. I need to get to my lab." He dashed down the stairs before any of them could make a move, skidding past the door and hitting the lockdown button. The door slammed shut so hard the building shook, the rods hammering into place.


Booker appeared in the very heart of one of Baumton's biggest fallen skyscrapers. He sat, thudding to the concrete in the X-0 suit. His heart was pounding, his mind racing, his thoughts on his brother's safety and his own situation. The sun was setting, and no one knew he was here.

He needed sleep.

Yeah…

Sleep.

Part IV
Mister Sandman
Baumton, Paragon
"Booker, I'm…"

Orange. Lots of it.

The sound of laughter, derisive and venomous. Cold steel. Thunderous and hollow metal thuds.

Thomson. Thomson's familiar face, lit in orange. He was screaming. His eyes were filled with terror, pity, mania. He was screaming, screaming like he was being drawn and quartered.

The herculean hero, Safeguard. His face. Solemn, stern, but mingled with apprehension. "… coming with me, Calhoun," he said, staring.

Thomson's face again, burned and charred, the eyeballs having popped and melted out of their sockets onto the cold steel floor. Cold… steel…

Larger now, louder now, eyes becoming bloodshot, tongue swelling, skin frying to a deep red; Thomson's screaming, ghastly face.

"BOOOOOKKKEEEEERRR NNOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAUUUKKKKCKKCHHkk…"

Booker shot bolt upright, screaming even louder than the disintegrating face of his dreamworld-dead brother, the cannon snapping into his hand. He screamed and screamed as he sent a plume of orange energy at an eighty degree angle into the dusty Baumton sky. The rifle overheated, opening in two places to vent viscous, glowing blue smoke.

He gasped for air, his lungs burning as if he'd been deprived of oxygen for several minutes. His heart was hammering like those cold steel thuds in his horridly vivid nightmare. Cold steel, his mind repeated to him. Orange light and cold steel.

He finally grasped reality and swallowed hard, laying back down on his stomach. He began to weep quietly. His eyes clenched tight, the sweat from his brow mingling with his tears and stinging his already watering eyes. Thomson's face was so clear, so detailed. Booker had seen things in less detail under a magnifying glass. Tears streamed down the side of his face, dripping onto the inside of his visor. The suit, motionless from the outside served to conceal his occasional sobs from the rest of the unwatching world.

He was suddenly and acutely aware of six very present spots of dull, throbbing pain along his upper body. There were two on the sides of his shoulders, two on either side of his navel, and two on either side of his sternum above his nipples. He went to rub at them, but only patted metal with metal, realizing too late that it would do no good. He kept his eyes closed, swallowing with an audible click in his throat.

"Pull it together, Booker," he said to himself "you're not out of the woods yet."


"You really aren't," Desert Runner said quietly, a pair of binoculars pressed to his goggles. "Not for a few miles yet."

He was camped out among the ruins of a small gas station about two hundred and two yards east of Booker 'Beam Time' Calhoun's location. He'd used Boomtown as a sort of getaway when things got hot, whether it was hiding from Paragon or avoiding flak from the Isles. On a whim he'd decided to start his own personal offshoot investigation here. Couldn't have turned out better, he thought. A minute or so after Safeguard radioed him that they were moving in, he'd seen a sudden shift in the wind pattern about a mile north of where he'd been. Acting on intuition he set up camp at this very gas station. The past four hours had been about to convince him to move on, but the faint screaming and startling beam of orange light spiraling into the early morning sky had confirmed his suspicions. Calhoun had given the three heroes in Bricks the slip and had fled here for some downtime.

But Mordechai "Desert Runner" Escarceda was not about to notify any of his task force allies about this; he was going in for the kill. Calhoun would still be in the dreary stages of post-awakening, and now was the time to strike. He stashed his binoculars and rolled down the side of the gas station, breaking in to a quiet sprint towards the building Calhoun was in. Upon reaching it he ran up the steep angle of the fallen structure with no effort at all. His cloth-wrapped right arm pulled a handle from the back of his belt. It folded open into two angular rods and whispered two opposite-facing blades to life. He steeled himself; the kill was just over that shattered section of wall…


WARNING. WARNING. PROXIMITY ALERT. ENERGY WEAPON DETECTED.

Booker shot to his feet and hoisted the cannon to the ready. His targeting reticle was slowly rising from the bottom of his HUD, indicating the energy source rapidly coming up towards the ridge of shattered cement and rebar. He pumped the charging rod on the underside of the cannon. Three… Two… One…

And there he was, sailing over the broken ridge with a blue energy sword in his right hand. He was headed for Booker, poised to thrust the huge blade forward. Booker had his number though, and he fired the cannon right as the HUD measured eight feet distance. The beam seared through Runner's midsection, barreling out into the early dawn.

"Hahaaaa! Not so—" But Booker cut his quip short. Runner was still hanging in the air. Except… he was light brown. Completely light brown. Booker lowered the cannon and touched the man; the entire floating silhouette suddenly fell to the floor, some of it blowing away on the wind. Sand! He turned into sand! How did—

The thought was silenced by a rough slam on the right side of his helmet. He staggered sideways and rammed into the wall, the cement cracking. He was standing there spinning the sword idly.

"Nice trick," Booker spat and shook his head around. "Now hold still."

"No thanks," Desert Runner said and blew away on the wind again. Booker hesitated, and ducked out of the way just in time to avoid being decapitated by the crackling blue sword. He whirled around and sent a left hook into Desert's face, and watched his head puff into a cloud of sand.

"Son of a *****," Booker roared and focused his mind. Time came to it's usual halt, and he started to run down the angle of the fallen building. At about three hundred yards from his resting place, he turned around and allowed time to resume. Find me now you sandy jackwagon, Booker thought.

But without a sound Runner was in front of him, catching him in the visor with a solid punch. Booker stumbled backwards and swore. He fired the cannon and cut Runner's sandy silhouette in half. Time froze again, and he made his way another few hundred yards away. As soon as he let time flow again Runner was there. He fired, scattering more sand. He gritted his teeth in rage and had the strangest feeling to duck. So he did. The blade sizzled just over the top of his helmet.

"ENOUGH!" Booker's voice exploded outwards like a cannonball being shot into a cement wall. Time seemed to crumple and fold before him, and he could see where the sandy assailant was going to be next.

Ho-lee hell, Booker thought. These watches do more than just stop time, they can manipulate it in more ways than one! He looked around, and saw Runner materialize, semi-transparent, before him. He decided it was time to throw the Runner for a loop. He turned his back to the temporal prediction.

He thrust his elbow backward just as the 'shadow' faded and actually landed a hit to Runner's gut. He heard the hero's breath fly out of his lungs and he knew it was his time to strike. He shot his right arm backward, dropping the cannon and seized Desert Runner's right hand, the one holding the sword. He swung Runner with the incredible strength of the X-0 suit, and just as he was about to let go for a hail-mary hero hurl, he felt the man's arm give.

"Oh **** no," he cried out as he felt the limb tear from Desert Runner's torso. Runner skidded to a halt on the ground, the rubble of Baumton slowing him rapidly. Booker flung Runner's arm aside with a horrified yelp. He ran over to the crumpled form of the hero and dropped to his knees.

"Jesus Christ Jesus Christ I'm so soooo sorry, are you okay, oh god," he stammered out. He popped open his utility belt and took out his medical nanodevice emitter.

"Eat me," Runner said and punched him in the jaw. The hit was substantially weaker; the X-0 suit's servos cushioned the hit. Booker then noticed the sparks flying from Runner's shoulder. The blade sprouted out of nowhere and almost took Booker's left eye had he not moved to the left to avoid it. Rage boiled up inside Booker again and he grabbed Runner's head and smashed it into the ground.

"I don't want to kill you, you idiot! Stop giving me reasons! Now listen to me!" He pulled Runner's face out of the rubble and held it close to his helmet. "You tell them I'm gone, you tell them I fled to the Isles! And you go back to my damn house and you make sure my brother is still alive, you hear me?"

Pain arced through his midsection as he heard the energy blade's static pop. His HUD began flashing, warning of structural damage in the abdominal region. Booker looked down, watching his blood sizzle and dry on the hot energy blade. His teeth clamped together and the rage he felt before amplified ten times. With a swift and brutal motion he hammered Runner's face into the ground so hard he felt the hero's skull shatter. His left hand swung around and grabbed Runner by the stomach. He focused, he focused hard. He ignored the pain and felt time begin to crumple and fold.

Desert Runner's body began to age. Slowly at first, then at an astonishing rate. Blue and tan wisps of temporal energy crackled about the near-dead man's body, and in less than eight seconds his clothing, his skin and his bones all dried to dust. He blew away on the wind, and Booker knew that he wasn't about to come back to hit him.

The energy sword blinked off, and the handle fell. He slumped backwards and picked up his nano device emitter. With a small flick of his pinky the green-tinted machine began to spew a cloud of neon green nanites into the hole in the X-0 suit.

The pain faded, and the device made a happy little chirp. His hands fell to either side and he lay there.

He really was a murderer now. He wasn't noble. He wasn't a man wrongfully accused. He wasn't a hero.



The worst part was, that didn't sound so bad.