Topic: Spin the Bottle

[Commander La'ra]

Well, here's the first scene of the super-hero story I warned you all about.  It's set in the world of the City of Heroes MMORPG and was written for a friend's CoH-themed website.  I've been told that most of the action is more kung-fu movie-ish than comic booky, but that's okay considering the nature of the protagonist.

Hope you enjoy it, even if it's off genre.

------------------------------


Spin the Bottle



It was three-thirty in the morning and someone was knocking at my door.

This wasn't a normal occurrence.  When I was in college, I'd had friends who'd show up at odd times of the night to hit me up for beer money.  After I'd dropped out, I'd mostly slept on benches and was pretty used to being rousted by cops in the darker bits of the morning.

Now, though, I was home, in my shabby little apartment in what used to be Eastgate before half of it fell into a nasty sinkhole.  Gangs fought for control of the streets, weird magicians lurked on the fringes of my neighborhood, and if you wanted to get out of the area you needed a temporary security pass from the Paragon City Police Department or a permanent one that was only given to guys in tights that called themselves super heroes.  Start banging on a door in the Hollows at three AM and if you get any kind of response, it'll probably be a shotgun blast.  So, someone knocking was a bit unusual.

I was sitting on my couch, watching M*A*S*H reruns on an old flickering television.  I didn't move.  If there was a real reason for someone to be knocking, they'd knock again.  They didn't.

I took a drink of my coke.  Hawkeye said something clever.  In the distance, there were sirens and gunshots.

I cursed, stood up, and walked for the door.  I didn't pick up a baseball bat or a revolver; unless something really nasty was waiting outside, I wouldn't need one.  More about that later.  I stood to one side of the doorframe, leaned over and looked out the peephole. There was no one there.

I waited a second or two, and opened the apartment door.  There was no one in the corridor. No footsteps from the stairwell.  Someone had lain a bottle on my threshold.  I stared at it for a minute and wondering why anyone would do that. There are a few nice people left in the Hollows.  I know most of them, and they know I rarely drink.  Anyone who wasn't nice, would've left a bomb or a horse's head or something.  I sighed, and picked the thing up.  It was old-looking, but plain, and had an odd design.  It had probably been used to hold 'ethnic' liquor at some point.  It looked sort of Arabian.

It was also warm.  Not warm like unrefrigerated liquor.  Warm like an electric blanket turned all the way up or the hood of car on a summer day.  I gazed at the bottle suspiciously for a moment, then went back inside.

The bottle was stoppered with a fresh cork, obviously much newer than the container itself.  I thought about pulling it free, even considering the bad ache in my belly the idea produced. The ache was of a specific type. I've been taught some things most people haven't...that's why I hadn't felt the need for a weapon when answering my door and why my next door neighbor thinks I should apply at Hero Corps.  One of the things my old teacher had taught me was to never ever ever ignore a bad ache in the belly of that particular kind.  So I didn't pop the cork.

I sat the thing on top of my television, where I could contemplate it while watching 'Newhart'.  I'd missed the last bit of M*A*S*H.  Larry, Darryl, and Darryl had just shown up when I fell asleep.



*   *   *



I didn't wake with a start, but when my eyes crept open, I was completely alert.  That really only happens to me when I hear something or sense something.  The little green numbers on the clock read five-fifteen.  On the television, a muscular woman in tight shorts and a sports bra extolled the virtues of an exercise machine. The bottle was where I'd left it.

I didn't stand.  I let my eyes flick around the apartment.  I didn't see anything I didn't expect to, but there are other senses than sight.  There was something cold outside my window.

I closed my eyes, shifted around in my chair.  I slowed my breathing, trying to mimic sleep.

There was a low squeal as my window was opened.  The wind that came in was way too cold for a Paragon City summer. 

Sleep, instructed a voice in my head.  For effect, I let my head fall back, my mouth open a little.

The chill wind grew stronger, and I could hear...something like a scream, but it was nearly silent.  I cracked one eye open just enough to see. The thing was clad in brown rags that might've been a cloak and cowl, once.  It's hands had no flesh, but the finger bones were long and sharp, like claws. There were no legs.  It hovered.

It was reaching for the bottle.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

The thing's head whipped around.  The sleepy guy in his boxer shorts had surprised it.  A black gaseous cloud began to grow around it, and suddenly its face was visible, as skeletal as it's hands, eye sockets filled with a blacklight glow.

Then it lunged.

[Jaeih t`Radaik]

Oooooh! Nice setup! I like anytihng you write, La'ra, and I think I already like this more than I like your SW shorts.

I'll be waiting for more. 

[Commander La'ra]

Second bit of this.  It's not written in 'chapters' so I'm having to pick severance points....

---------------------


I rolled out of the chair, the creepy demon thing slamming itself hard into the padded back of the recliner.  The seat fell backwards and the hissing monster went rolling across the floor.  It was hovering again in an eye blink and sprang right back at me, but I was on my feet now.  I greeted it with a side-kick into what passed for its abdomen.  It flew back again, hitting my door hard enough to crack a few splinters off the frame.

I winked at it.  It lunged again, slower this time, but maybe a little smarter. It dodged a kick towards it's head, then swiped at me furiously with it's clawed hands, my efforts to ward off the talons pushing me back a step, then another.  I got hold of its wrist, tossed it over my shoulder.  That wasn't too effective on a creature that can hover and it was back up in a flash, cackling and hissing.  I fended off another flurry of claws, threw my shoulder into its chest.  It went, face first, for my left eye; I weaved away, but it's jaw clamped shut close enough that I could hear the snap.  I chose that moment to grab the telephone off my inn table and slam it into the side of the demon-things head.  It howled and glided away.  I followed, too close, and a backhand sent me flying back, onto then over the counter that separates living room from kitchen.

I sprang to my feet, ready to defend, but it wasn't interested in me now.  I put one bare foot on the kitchen counter and propelled myself forward and up, harnessing a little chi in the way my old teacher had instructed.  My damn fool leap got me to the bottle first, fingers closing around the neck just before demon-boys hands had a hold of it.  Then I hit the wall shoulder first, heard that interesting pop of a joint being dislocated.  It was my left shoulder at least.  I rolled back into a crouch and the thing was on me again.  I ducked one swipe, two, three, then leapt away, landing in the center of the room with the bottle held under my mostly useless left arm.

"Gonna have to work for it, gruesome."  I winked again.

Demon-Boy roared in frustration.  Suddenly my television was flying at me, and I yelped in pain as the screen shattered against my unfortunate shoulder.  I didn't fall, but the spectre lunged again, flying in on my left side.  I ducked, stepped away, and put him against the wall with a hard kick to his spine.  He was close enough this time that I got to him before he flew up again.  I kicked him again and again and again, my angry stomps coming faster every time I thought about how much a new TV was going to cost.

Then he wasn't there.

I blinked, then noticed the blackened shape retreating across the floor.  I could tell roughly where it was, but suddenly my foe was indistinct, hard to track.  It'd be tough to hit him...which I could even if he weren't solid, thanks to my old teacher.  I circled away from the shape.  He didn't attack.

"Can't hit me when you're like that, can you?"  I goaded.

There was an unearthly howl, and sure enough, he became visible again.  I braced myself for a lunge and got a vase upside my head for the trouble.  Then a book, and another book, and a table leg were avoided as the thing tore up and threw anything it could get its bony mitts on.  I ducked my remote control, jerked away from the same telephone I'd beaned him with earlier. The storm of household objects chased me behind the kitchen counter again.  I heard another screaming howl and the thing came over the counter at me as I rolled onto my back and kicked upward at it, the heel of my foot finding it's face and sending the almost-weightless spectre into the cieling.  Plaster and tile fell, but it didn't, so I grabbed something off the floor and threw it.  It was the telephone again, and it caught the thing in the glow of its left eye.  It screamed and dropped toward me, but I rolled away, and it hit the floor spreadeagle, like an unlucky skydiver.

I began stomping it again, and once more it faded out, the black miasma that showed it's rough location retreating across the apartment and out the window with an unearthly yowl.

I crouched behind the counter until the clock, miraculously undamaged, said five twenty.  My visitor didn't return.  Then I stood, walked to the fridge, and slammed my shoulder back into place.

It hurt like hell.



*   *    *



I was a little pissed off.

The thing had torn up my apartment and busted my TV.  I suppose I could've blamed whoever had left the bottle--clearly the reason why a freaky demon thing had invaded my apartment--but whoever had delivered it hadn't thrown a Panasonic across my living room.

I needed to do something with my little gift.  Ghosts and old bottles seemed to scream 'magic' to me.  I knew a girl who might be able to take the bottle off my hands, make sure it ended up in the right place real quick, but she was over in Steel Canyon.  I'd have to go see her, preferably before Demon-boy came back with help.

I dressed in the same clothes I'd worn the day before: Black T-shirt with an eagle's head, camoflague pants, and my hat, a wide-brimmed brown duster I'd picked up in Austrailia.  The mirror was miraculously unbroken; I saw the same broad-shouldered, six foot something guy with a hawkish face and dirty blonde goatee that I did every other time I looked but he looked a little irritated this morning. 

I secured my feet with black cloth and cord; I'd been going to buy some boots.  My last pair had disintegrated.  I'd get a new TV instead.  I'd tromped through the Great Sandy Desert barefoot.  Paragon City streets were nothing.  I looted my money stash.  It was lying on the floor with everything else.  Then I considered the bottle.

First I wrapped the thing in newspaper, then I crumpled up some more of my last copy of the Paragon City Times and threw it in my old backpack.  The bottle went in amongst the newsprint where I hoped it wouldn't break.  I had a feeling that breaking it would be bad.

I went out the door.  Someone was waiting.

"What happened?"  Mrs. Jimenez asked.  She's old and wrinkled and dark.  She had a slight Chicago accent.

"Someone busted into my place.  Weird type stuff."

"You all right?"  She asked. She started touching my forearms.  Gruesome had left some bloody stripes, and the old woman was fretting. Probably good that she couldn't see the giant bruise on my shoulder.

"I'm fine.  Need to get into town and find out what this is about.  Someone left something on my doorstep. Think that's what my burglar was after."

The old woman frowned.  "Hero type stuff, not just weird."

"Probably."  I said.  Mrs. Jimenez loves superheroes.  She thinks I ought to be one, but she worries if I leave the building for long 'because I might get hurt'.  It seemed like her caution was overruling her urge to see me in tights.  "I'll take it to a chick I know.  She knows a few capes and such.  I'll let them figure it out."

Her wrinkled brown face twisted into a grin.

"You'd do better, Commando Bob."  She proclaimed.  She calls me Commando because of my favorite pants.  She calls me Bob because my name is Robert.

"Don't start."  I said.  She cackled as I walked past her.  Other denizens of my building were awake, peering out cracked doorways or eyeholes.  I didn't like the idea of a bunch of those ghost things coming into the building. I didn't know if Fat Horace's shotgun would stop a bloody-clawed demon, and I wouldn't be here to help.

I went toward the Hollow's security checkpoint.  Eastgate is considered 'unenforceable' by the Paragon City PD.  They send in patrols occasionally, to check on holdouts like Mrs. Jimenez, but that's pretty much it. Heroes are around a lot though.  Wincott, the guy that oversees what little police presence there is, encourages them.  Helps keep the Outcasts and the Trolls in check.

I'd have to talk to him to get into the city.  I wasn't looking forward to it.

"You need a what?"  He asked.  Wincott's a small guy, about five-six.  He looks wormy, but he's all wiry muscle, and he rarely takes off the shades that go so well with his police blues.

"A temp pass."  I said again.

"You used yours this week already." He muttered.  We were standing among the sandbags and wire mesh of the Atlas Park security checkpoint.  There were cops in body armor standing vigilant and those little hovering drones with police lights and ray guns keeping any gang types from leaving the Hollows.  Problem is, they had orders to keep anyone out of the Park.  You can usually spot Trolls and Outcasts, since the drugs they do turn them funny colors, but the PD was determined not to let them spill over into civilization.

"Need another one."  I said.  There was gunfire in the distance.  There usually is.

"Only way I'm supposed to let you through more than once a week is if you have an FDSA pass.  You know that."

I knew that, but I wasn't planning on applying for my superhero license.

"Thing busted up my apartment.  Was after something someone left me.  It looked...magical.  Circle of Thorns type crap."

Wincott sighed. "So turn whatever it was after over to me.  I can find out what's going on."

I shook my head.  "Take too long."

Wincott nodded.  "Fine."

He pulled out a ticket book, scribbled something, then ripped the sheet of paper off and handed it to me.

"Waiver.  Good for today.  I'll send some capes over around your building while you're gone, so don't worry about the old folks."

I nodded, took the paper, walked toward the yawning blast doors that were the only way through the giant wall surrounding Eastgate.

"Hey Bob."  Wincott called.  I growled, knowing what was coming next, but I stopped anyway.

"I have a FDSA application on me."  He continued.  "You could come and go as you like."

Wincott really wants me to sign up for one of those things.  He knows what I can do, and he's big on responsibility and how it comes with power and all that.  In a way, so am I, but I've picked what I want to be responsible for.

"Keep it."  I said.  "I don't look good in spandex."

Wincott snorted.  He didn't say anything else.  I walked through the gate.

[Lara]

Cheers, dances and otherwise carries on in a demented manner!


But at least I am not posting Cleo

[Commander La'ra]

But at least I am not posting Cleo

And just why the hell not?

[Lara]

cuz its LoTR fanfic and no on ebut you will want to read it   

[J. Carney]

EXCELLENT!

This is going to be good, I haven't had the chance to read much in here in the last month or so- MicroBio is eating up a LOT of my time...


but I'm gonna find time for this one.

[Scottish Andy]

This is interesting stuff, Larry. I think you're slightly overdoing the "short, bitten-off dialogue" bit, but everything else is looking good. Keep it up. I've started writing 'Raider', my next Karen&Andrew story, so I hope to have it completed in about 4 months max.

If I can cut out the procrastination time, maybe I can cut that down some more... heh.

[Commander La'ra]

*part three arrives with a battle cry and a flurry of spandex*

 


--------------------------------


If you live in the Hollows, Atlas Park is another world.  It's clean, modern, and controlled by cops. Police airships cruise between skyscrapers, and unless you want to go into someplace the five-o have cordoned off you don't need a security pass to leave.  If I was smart, I'd live in Atlas Park or some other part of the city that still operated.

Instead, I just leave my car there. Most superheroic types don't bother with automobiles.  Who needs one when you can fly or outpace a cheetah?  Despite my abilities, I'm not a superhero, and thus, I have a '74 Impala that sits idle in a pay lot until I need to tool about town.  I was sitting on the hood as I called my magically inclined friend.

"Pandora's Box."  She answered.  Her name is Jill.  She runs a magic shop.

"It's Bob."

"Hey. You coming into town today?"

"Yeah."  I answered.  There was some kind of ruckus across the street.  I couldn't see details, there were too many pedestrians, passing cars.  I didn't worry about it.  I was in Atlas Park; some costume would be along any time now.  "Got something I need you to look at for me."

"Hmm?"

"Someone left a bottle on my doorstep."  There was a flash of light across the road, a sizzling hiss.  Between the gawking pedestrians, I caught a glimpse of spandex.  "Feels magical.  Floating demon thing came in my window about an hour later and tried to get it back."

"Oh God...are you all right?"

"Yeah, I chased it off.  Figured the bottle's important to someone, though."

"It does sound like it...why not turn it over to the cops."

I shrugged, though Jill obviously couldn't see me.

"Got one of my feelings.  Don't think this thing needs to be collecting dust on a shelf."

"Ahhh."  Jill replied.  Her view of the world is colored by her abilities; she thinks in terms of spells and wizardry and enchantments.  She doesn't quite grasp how the 'chi thing' is different from those, but she admits that it is.  "Well, bring it over, I'll take a look."

"Be there in a few."  I closed my cell.  I could see the hero across the street now.  He was big, square-jawed, and wore yellow tights with splashes of red.  A knot of pedestrians were forming around him and the two gang members he'd chastened and restrained. I got in the car.

I got a better look as I pulled out of the lot.  His hair was long and blonde, and his banana spandex had an anarchy symbol emblazoned on the chest.  There was a cigar in his mouth, which bobbled as he worked the crowd.

"Capes."  I chuckled.



*  *   *



"Coffee or tea?"  Jill asked.

"Tea."

She nodded.  She went over to her little fridge, moved two stack of books out of the way, and fixed two glasses.  I watched her.  I usually watch Jill.  She's tall and a little bit on the skinny side, but she wears librarian glasses and talks smart.  That wins a lot of 'Bob points'.

"So what did ya' bring me?" She asked.

"This."  I pulled the bottle out of my bag and sat it on her little dinner table.  She lives upstairs from her little magic shop, but she usually entertains in the storage room that doubles as her office.  We were there now.

"Hmm."  She said, staring down at the thing over the top of her glasses.  "Have a seat."

That meant I was allowed to move books out of chairs.  I did, sat down at her table and took the iced tea she offered me.

"Looks old." She said, plopping down in the other seat.  She pulled the bottle over with her too slim hand, tilted it one way then the other. "Markings look...not Arabic…"

I didn't say anything.  She was in analysis mode.

"Sumerian...Babylonian maybe."  She nodded.

"Really that hard to tell?"  I asked.

"If it was normal language, no.  These are wards.  The symbols have to be at least similar, but most cultures put their own...accent on things.  I think this is a genie bottle."

I gave her my skeptical expression. "I've been carrying Barbara Eden around?"

If Jill notices sarcasm she either ignores it or she declines to comment.  "Not exactly.  Ever wonder where the whole 'genie in the bottle' thing comes from."

"Not really."  I admitted.

"When you trap a spirit, you need some kind of physical markings...wards or something like that.  If you just wanna ask it a question or something, you can just make a circle.  Call the corners.  But that's a temporary thing.  Something will break the wall hemming your subject in eventually.  So if you wanna keep one around permanently, you etch the symbols into something that'll last, like a building or a bottle."

"Uhm...so there's something in there?"  I regarded the bottle warily.

"Probably."  Jill went on.

"Is that why it's warm?"

She cocked her head.

"I hadn't noticed."  She admitted.  She stopped examining the thing for a moment, slid the palms of her hands around the object.

"Huh."  She frowned.

"What?"

"I've never heard of anyone binding a spirit powerful enough to get even that much through a spell ward...not for any length of time."

"So…"

"So something's definitely in there, whoever bound it did a really, really good job, and it's either powerful enough to blow up the city, or it had manifested physically before it was bound."

"Uhm..."

"That's rare."  She explained.  "Most spirits are content to remain spirits unless you can order them otherwise.  They really don't much care what happens in our world, at least not to the level where they'd want to be able to affect it directly."

"So...what does that mean."

"We'd have to ask it."  She said, setting the bottle in the center of the table.

"Can we do that?"

"Not unless we open the bottle."

My stomach twisted again.

"Not a good idea."  I advised.

"I can set up a ward circle, I doubt..."

"Not a good idea."  I said.

"All right..." Jill frowned.  "...so if you don't wanna find out what's up with this thing, why'd you bring it to me."

"Wanna know why a ghost thing tried to come and get it and trashed my apartment."

"Oh!"  She chirped.  "I'd forgotten about that...what'd it look like."

"No legs, skeletal, claws. Howled and screamed a lot.  Hovered."

"Sounds..." Jill frowned, tapped her chin with her finger.  "...it sounds like one of those spirits the Circle of Thorns likes to bind into service."

"Circle of Thorns, huh?"  They were the lunatic mages that lurked on the outskirts of Eastgate.  There were all sorts of wild rumors about them, from underground cities to back alley kidnappings and rooftop rituals.  They kept to themselves in the Hollows, only occasionally clashing with the Outcasts or the Trolls or the Police.  In other places there were less ardent about a low profile.  I'd heard that you couldn't walk through Perez Park anymore, lest you end up as one of their sacrifices.

"Yeah."

"Why would anyone want this thing?"

Jill blinked and gave me the look schoolteachers reserve for truly stupid children.  It faded quick, probably when she remembered that I wasn't a wizard or sorcerer.

"Well...like I said...whatever's in here is either very powerful or it was physically manifested before it was bound.  It might be a little of both.  If you had its true name or enough of the right kind of magic, you could probably enslave it, make it do whatever you wanted."  She sat the bottle on the table, took off her glasses, and rubbed her eyes.  "That's not ethical, of course, but..."

"...we're not dealing with ethical folks."

"No." She said, replacing her spectacles.

"All right...so what do you think I should do with it?"

"Uhm...that's a good question."  She said.  "Obviously we can't let it fall into the Circle's hands. Turning it into MAGI or Freedom Corps would probably keep it safe, but..."

I stared at the bottle for a moment.

"But that'd leave this thing trapped."  I said.

Jill nodded.  "Some magicians wouldn't think anything of that, though."

"I'm not a magician.  And I wouldn't wanna be cooped up in there."

Jill smiled.  She had a big, girly smile.

"I like you, Bob."

"Thanks.  So assuming this thing is mega-powerful, how do we get it out of the bottle so it won't kill us all cuz it's pissed off?"

"Could take some doing.  I know a few people who might..." There was a sound of breaking glass from the front, a female shriek.  Jill was on her feet and headed for the door before I could stop her.

I followed, stuffing the bottle back into my backpack as I went.



*   *   *



"You know what we want."  The intruder declared.  He was scarred, tattooed, and big enough that his black jeans and red leather had to work to hold him in. He had on some funky horned mask.  Around him about ten guys, also scarred and tattooed though they just had kerchiefs covering their faces, aimed a variety of weapons at Jill and the mousy little blonde behind the front counter.

"No, I don't."  Jill responded. There was iron in her voice.

The intruder growled.  Shotguns were cocked, knives were drawn.  Jill wasn't going to get a second chance.

"I do."  I said. I stepped forward, past the front counter.  I pulled the bottle out of the backpack held it up.

The intruder held out his hand.  I winked at Jill.

She swallowed nervously.

I tossed the bottle her direction and pounced.

[Grim Reaper]

you know this guy reminds me of:

David Gemmell's Jerusalem man

[Commander La'ra]

you know this guy reminds me of:

David Gemmell's Jerusalem man

ROFLMAO!

Never read any of those, but I can see how one might imagine him and Bob in a similar fashion.  I tend to picture Bob more friendly looking, but the overall effect is probably close.

I'll try and get a good screenshot of him next time I play and post it.

[Scottish Andy]

I like your characterisation of these people, Larry. They are very 'real', despite the wierdness of the setting. As for Grim's picture of Bob, I don't see that at all. Maybe it's just the name, but I see him with his camouflage trousers, maybe a grey tshirt underneath with bare arms without his jacket. That "Mysterious Bounty Hunter" look is a bit to OTT for the way you're writing him.

I do like Jill. Reminds me of me a little. "Oh, that's riiiight[/i[, you wouldn't know that because you're not involved in my little world." *sheepish grin* "I guess I'll have to explain..."

[Governor Ronjar]

 

I've read most of this by now. You know my impression. F*ed UP Good Entertainment is what it is.

[Commander La'ra]

Thanks, Guv.

And here's some more...

------------------------



The heel of my foot slammed hard into the lead intruder's jaw. There was a row of bookshelves behind us.  He flew back into them, toppling the stacks, and I barely managed to roll out of the way before a barrage of gunfire sent up a cloud of paper and wood.  Bullets can still be lethal to someone of my abilities, but they have no chi of their own; they can be dodged, deflected, caught, and in some cases ignored.  I sprang to my feet, picked a target, and charged.

My hand knocked his shotgun barrel aside just as he fired.  The blast set my ears to ringing, but my fingers locked around the front grip.  I pulled it away from him and swung the butt end 'round, the stock catching his lower jaw and sending teeth flying.

There were other guys around me.  My foot found one's solar plexus, my hand a pressure point that sent one of the attackers to the ground.  Bullets were flying again, whizzing past me, and a knife slide in under my guard.  I wrenched away, a bloody gash in my side.

I saw Jill and her clerk scurry into the back room. I leapt that direction, landing behind the counter as the gunmen sorted themselves out.  They opened up, riddling the cash register and display cases, but I was gone.

The door slammed shut behind me, and there was a crash as Jill pushed over another shelf to block the exit.

"This way."  She demanded.  She had her employee by the wrist and pulled her along.  I followed.  We went out of the little office, into the real storeroom filled with boxes and crates.  I heard a ruckus; the gunmen trying to force the door.

The back entrance was locked.  Jill fiddled with her keys.  The clerk whimpered.  There was an explosion from the office.

"Hurry."  I advised.

Jill found the right key just as the leader guy burst into the storeroom.  His hands were ablaze.  I'd heard some Hellions could do that...and judging by the scars and the masks, that's who these guys had to be.  He threw out an arm and his flaming hand seem to flare up, a ball of fire leaping out toward me.  I jumped aside, taking down Jill and her clerk as I did; the fireball melted a watermelon- sized hole in the rear door.

It was around this time that I noticed I was still carrying the other guy's shotgun.

I rolled into a crouch and fired three times, each shot echoing like cannonfire in the storeroom.  The leader guy dived away from the buckshot, howling in response to what I hoped was a hit.  Behind me, the door swung open.  Jill was apparently as fast as she was smart.

We ran out the door and down the alley.  The clerk kicked off her heels, which sped things up.

"Car's that way."  I pointed toward the lot across the street and we made for it.  Traffic is never heavy in Paragon City, but I suddenly wished it was; Behind us the Hellions were emerging from the store and bullets were, once again, whizzing past my head.

I pushed Jill and Blondie behind a convienient Toyota.  My car was farther across the lot.  The Hellions were running toward us.  I counted seven of them.  If leader guy didn't show up, I could probably take them, but what if one got past me, got hold of one of the girls?

I nodded to myself, adjusted my hat.

"Head for the car."  I said, handing Jill the keys.  "I'll keep 'em busy.  Honk when you're moving and I'll run like hell."

"Bob." Jill warned.  She held the bottle.  It was shaking.  "It's getting hot."

"Get to the car."

She nodded.

"Run!" I shouted.  Jill and Blondie took off just I popped up and fired the last two rounds from the shotgun.  One Hellion screamed and dropped his gun.  Another fell the ground clutching a bloody leg.

I tossed the shotgun aside, leapt over the Toyota, and charged.  I'd been holding back some in the shop.  I hadn't wanted to inflict permanent injury.  I had more to worry about now than my own soft-heartedness.  My first chi-charged kick sent a Hellion flying across the street.

I ducked, weaved, slid through bullets in ways that'd seem miraculous to normal folk.  I broke a Hellion's gun and he drew a knife.  I grabbed his wrist when he lunged, twisted his arm and slammed my fist into an elbow.  He screamed.  I whipped him into one of his buddies.  Both fell. There were three on their feet now, but I was in amongst them and they were hesitant to shoot.  I heard a horn honk, heard the snarl of an old but well-maintained engine. I dove, rolling between two of the Hellions and coming up on my feet.  My Impala was barreling toward me, Jill at the wheel.

I noticed, in the split second before the car hit me, that the figure in the passenger seat was not Blondie, and that the look on Jill's face was quite fearful.

I was in the air when the actual impact took place, so instead of being flattened, I rolled neatly onto the hood. I grabbed hold, fingers finding purchase in that hollow place under the windshield.  Hellions scattered to either side as the old Chevy roared heedlessly through them.  Somehow in the middle of all this, my eyes locked with the man in the passenger seat.  He was a bronze-skinned oriental with hypnotic green eyes and glossy black hair pulled back in a ponytail.  He said something to Jill, and she slammed on the brakes.  The action should've thrown me clear, maybe ripping my fingers off in the process.  Instead, I let go, hopped to my feet and stood firmly on the hood of the car. I haven't mastered my old teacher's limb-dancing routine yet, but my balance is still pretty amazing. 

The Oriental's eyes narrowed.  His mouth started to move, probably to issue another order to a drugged-looking Jill, but she had already opened the car door and was running down the street.

He went after her, quick as a flash.  I followed, and so did the Hellions, just now getting back to their feet.  Bullets flew yet again, but as many plinked and buzzed around the Oriental as did around me. 

His fingers were grasping at the back of Jill's shirt when I caught up to him.  I barely touched him, hand just tapping his shoulder, but we were running full tilt and his feet lost traction.  I stumbled. He fell, rolling down the street only to come up in a stance I didn't recognize.

He struck, a lightning-fast kick jetting toward my face.  Crossed forearms deflected the blow, and I risposted with a flurry of jabs, his hands parrying each one competently if not easily.  I dodged a low kick, he avoided a haymaker and I jumped an attempted sweep. He spun away from me, his loose black pants billowing.  Hellion bullets whizzed by both of us.

We locked gazes.  His eyes narrowed.  So did mine.

There was a clang of metal nearby.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jill scrambling up the fire escape of a nearby building.  The Oriental saw her too.

"Another time."  He snarled.  His legs coiled and propelled him upward in an impossible leap, his feet finding purchase on the sixth tier of metal stairs, just in front of Jill.  He seized her by the arm, began manhandling her around roughly as she attempted to keep the bottle away from him.

I did the only thing I could do.  I ran and leapt, trying for the thousandth time a trick my old teacher had insisted I master.  It was a hell of a jump by normal standards, but it wasn't the chi-propelled leap the Oriental had just performed.  It certainly wasn't the building hopping vault my old master had tried to teach me. I caught myself on the second level of the fire escape, hung on tight.  Above me the Oriental claimed his prize, jerking the bottle away from Jill.  She shouted and screamed and pounded on him with her fists.  He sneered.

Then his eyes went wide.  A wave of heat passed over me, the ball of fire that'd caused it jetting straight for the Oriental.  He avoided it neatly, leaping off the fire escape and into the street below.

Jill didn't.

It didn't truly hit her.  It'd been aimed at the Oriental.  Instead it slammed into the fire escape, flaring out and catching her in its periphery.  Her clothes immediately caught fire, and her hair.  She screamed terribly, and though I felt no shock wave from the blast she teetered and lost her balance.  I didn't wait to see her fall.  I braced one foot against the fire escape and made a half-ass leap.  I caught her, flames from her blazing sweater singing my arms and eyebrows.  We fell.  I managed to land first, on my bad shoulder again.  I didn't yell, amazingly enough.  I was already trying to beat out the flames.

Nearby the Hellions advanced on my Oriental buddy.  Their leader, the source of the fireball, had apparently found his way out of the storeroom.  A cold wind blasted out from a nearby alley, and a quick glance told me some other players wanted some time at bat: Hooded men with glowing emerald eyes.  They charged into the fray accompanied by howling spirits just like the one I'd fought that morning.

I didn't watch.  Jill was screaming and crying.  I scooped her up in my arms and ran for my Impala, and to hell with the bottle and anyone after it.

[Grim Reaper]

That's gotta hurt. for both. but i wonder what happens if the bottle had broken...

[Scottish Andy]

Me too. Ouchie! Poor Jill, she didn't ask for hershop to be torn apart or her hair to be set on fire.

I'm wondering just what kind of abilities Bob actually has. Sounds like he as a bit of Neo's In-the-Matrix skills. Care to explain the what chi-enhanced moves are?

[Commander La'ra]

Yeah, it didn't strike me until after I wrote it just how horrific that might've been from Bob or Jill's perspective.

Here's the next bit!


------------------------------



"How is she?"

"She'll live."  The doctor began.  He was a gray-headed fellow.  He looked too much like a TV doctor to be real.  "She wants to see you."

I nodded.  The doctor lead me to Jill's curtained off section of the ICU and left me there. I slid inside.

Jill looked awful.  The long brown hair she prized and fretted over was mostly gone.  What hadn't been burned away had been sliced off by the medics as they tended her.  Her face was a bright cherry save for around her eyes, where her normal skin tone had been preserved by her spectacles. Her arm and chest were covered with some kind of plastic.  A regeneration sleeve, I figured. I hadn't seen one before.

"Did you get the bottle?"  She asked.  Her voice was weak, but determined.  She certainly seemed more coherent than her clerk; the police had found Blondie gibbering helplessly behind a dumpster.

"No."  I said.

She frowned.

"I was more worried about you."  I said.

She looked at me with utter amazement for a moment, then her face softened a bit.

"I guess I was kind of on fire."  She answered.  Her voice was a little distant, and her eyes were glazed.  Pain killers, no doubt.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."  She said.

"For what?"

"For running you over.  I..." She looked away.  "...when that man looked at me, I just sort of did what he said.  I tried not too, but..."

"S'all right."  I said.  "How'd you get away from him?"

"I’m a witch, ya' know?"  She tried to smile.  "I have defenses, but they didn't really work until you distracted him."

I nodded.  I pulled up a stool, sat down.

"Sorry I couldn't jump up there and get you."

"Huh?"  She asked.

"Nuthin'.  What'd the doctor say?"

"He said I'm lucky.  Nothing permanent, at least not with a little regen therapy."

"Good."

"You didn't get me into this, you know."

"Yeah I did."

"No."  She shrugged.  "The bottle's important, you think I'm smart, so you brought it to me.  The other guys were the ones who got huffy about it."

"Guess so."  I said.  I was feeling a little guilty.

"Bob, if you make me argue, so help me God, I'll put a hex on you."

"What kind of hex?"

"I dunno.  Something really bad. Impotence or premature baldness or something."

I chuckled.

"Fine.  Wasn't my fault."  I conceded, verbally at least.

"We have to get the bottle back."  She declared.

"I don't care about that thing."

"Bob, it's important."

"I told the cops about it.  They're calling Hero Corps or the FBSA or someone."

"You didn't want to do that before.  You said they were too slow."

"I got better things to worry about."

She groaned.

"You brought that thing to me, right?"

"Yeah."

"Because you wanted my opinion, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well my opinion is that if any of those screwed up people that trashed my place do what they want to with it, it'd be a very bad thing.  And I think it ended up with you for a reason.  Karma or something."

"Tights can handle it.  I'm sure someone's putting together a whole group of them right now to go get the thing."

"Do they know where it is?"

"How should I know?"

Jill rolled her raccoon eyes.

"What're your little funny feelings telling you about that bottle right now?"  She asked.

I frowned and didn't say anything.

"Thought so."  She said.

I sighed.

"What do you think they're going to do with it?"  I asked.

"I think they're going to do a binding ritual and open it up and subvert whatever's in there into doing their bidding."  She said.  "And I think that whatever's in there is exceptionally powerful, and they have to be stopped from doing that."

"They've had plenty of time to do whatever they're gonna do."

"I don't think so."  She said.  Despite the drugs, she was talking in her professional voice.  "If it's as powerful as I think it is, they're going to need as much energy as they can get.  They'll wait till dusk, till the sun's going down.  Twilight Shift."

"All right."  I nodded.  "Capes showed up after you got hit.  There was a big fight.  They think the mage guys got away with the bottle.  After I told him what happened, they locked down the area.  Don't think they'll be able to move too far."

"If the Circle has it, they'll make for the park."  Jill advised.  "They're strong there...and I'm not talking numbers." 

I nodded again.

"Perez Park is a pretty big place."  I said.  "Be hard to find the thing."

"It shouldn't be.  Even if they warded it, it's too powerful to not find if someone looks for it the right way...magically, I mean."  She chewed her lip.  "I can help with that a little, I..."

"I'll find someone else."  I began.  She shook her head.  Her mouth was moving and she swept her hands about in a deliberate pattern.  Something settled over me.  I could feel a presence in my mind.  It was far away, though sure enough, it was from the direction of the Park.

"The bottle's powerful.  Easy spell, to track it."  She explained.  She sounded very sleepy.

"Why don't you close your eyes, rest for awhile?"

"Promise you'll do this yourself?"  She demanded.  I admit it felt important to me that I do something about the damn bottle.  I don't know how or why Jill knew that, but it was apparent she did.

"Yeah."  I said.

She smiled and closed her eyes.  I stood up and kissed her on the forehead.  She was asleep before I opened the curtain. 



*   *   *



The presence in my head was hard to ignore and not because it was intrusive.  Jill was right about my funny little feelings, and I had promised her I’d do something.

Perez Park was a security zone, though, just like the Hollows.  I didn't live there.  The cops wouldn't let me in without a Police ID or an FBSA pass.  Worse, once I got in, I might need help.  I doubted that after all the ruckus the bottle had caused that whoever had gotten hold of it would leave it unguarded.

I paused in the hospital doorway.  Only one person I knew could help me with either of those things.  I walked on out, got my cell phone and dialed.

"Wincott." He answered.

"This is Bob.  Still got that FBSA application?"

There was a pause.

"Yeah."  Wincott was cheerful all of a sudden.  "Why, exactly?"

"I need to get into Perez Park."

"Take a couple days for the app to go through."

"Oh."

"Unless it's pre-approved, which it just so happens to be."

"What the hell?"  I growled.

"Knew I'd get you sooner or later.  Come by and sign it."

There are times I truly hate Wincott.  This was one of 'em.  Worse, I had yet another favor to ask.

"I need something else."  I said.

"You're in luck. I'm in a giving mood right now."  He was trying not to laugh.

"Think you could find a couple..." I stopped.  There was a man in banana-yellow spandex walking up the hospital steps.  He still had a cigar in his mouth.  It was probably the same one he'd been smoking when I’d seen him take those Atlas Park thugs down.  He was in a black leather trench coat.  That was new. "...never mind."

"Wait.  I need an alias to put on your app."

"A what?"

"Your super hero name."  He explained.  The yellow guy was about to walk past me.

"Commando Bob."  I said.

"What?"

"You heard me.  Bye."  I hung up, turned toward yellow boy.

"Hey."  I said.

"Right."  He said, pulling a pen out of his coat pocket.  "Who do I..."

"Don't want your autograph."  I said.

"Oh?"  He put the pen away.

"Bunch of people hurt a girl I know and took off with some artifact thing that's really powerful.  They're hold up in Perez Park where they're gonna do something bad with it.  I need help stopping them.  Interested?"

"I am so there."  He declared.

I grinned at him and didn't know why.  "I'm Bob."

He took his cigar out of his mouth, flipped his shoulder-length blonde hair.

"Bytor the Great."

"Bytor?"

"Bytor the Great."  He corrected proudly, punctuating the last two words with a thrust of his cigar.

"Riiiight..." I said.  Ah well.  Wasn't any worse than 'Commando Bob'.  "Let's go."

We headed for the car.

[Scottish Andy]

I like this more and more with each installment. I just love Bob's cynicism/mild contempt of the "tights". I also like that you didn't gloss over the human aspect of the supernatural events. Someone got hurt and you showed that, as well as the all-too-human feeling of guilt on Bob's part.

Keep this coming.

[KOTH-KieranXC, Ret.]

Commando Bob.... *snicker*...

Just giving you grief, La'ra. I'm enjoying it so far. I was wondering when Bob would finally give in and throw his lot in with the 'capes' he disdains so much.

[Commander La'ra]

Sorry I didn't post this bit sooner.  Took a few days off and descended into utter, blissful, laziness.


--------------------------------




Wincott had temporary papers for me.  He kept grinning when he handed them over.

“What’s with that cop?”  Bytor asked as we got back in the car.

“He likes you.”  I answered.  The Impala roared to life, and I slid her into traffic.  Banana-boy relaxed in the passenger seat, occasionally dropping cigar ashes out the window.

“Hellions are in on this.”  I told him as the car passed through the Skyway City tunnel.  “They still got the east side of Perez?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Figure we’ll come in from the west side.  Don’t think the Skulls are involved.” 

“Your idea, man.”

I nodded.  Bytor kept talking.  I halfway listened.  He was young.  Nineteen.  Apparently he could shoot electricity and do some tricks with fire.  He had decided being a super hero was the only way he’d get to legally zap people and applied for his license.  I smirked at that.  Figure that’s the real reason a lot of heroes get into it, whatever their stated motives.

I didn’t say anything.  I wasn’t in the position too, really, and I had the sneaking feeling that Bytor would be good backup.

The part of me that wasn’t listening kept noticing how the sun was creeping closer to the horizon.  If Jill was right about timing, we’d have to hurry.  We parked the car in Galaxy City.  There was a park entrance close by.  The cops at the checkpoint grinned at us.

“They know me.”  Bytor explained.

Perez Park is a maze of forest paths surrounded by a big wall and what used to be a business-class street.  The King’s Row Skulls run the west side, but there weren’t any in evidence.

“Let’s go over the wall.”  Bytor suggested.  “If this is as big as you think, they’re probably watching the gates.”

“Yeah.”  I replied.

We ambled down the street.  There was some movement in the alleys, behind windows.  No sign of the Skulls, though.  Bytor had an odd look on his face, but he didn’t say anything.  We found a nice spot and scaled our way into the park.

“This way.”  I said.  The bottle’s pull was strong, now.  Direction was easy to figure.

We moved out of the grassy periphery and into the woods that dominated most of Perez.  We took it slow, staying near the trees, stepping quiet.  Bytor had closed his trench coat.  It helped, though his boots were still remarkably yellow.

About halfway into the forest, the noises began to reach us.  Voices, footsteps, something else I couldn’t place.  I followed the bottle, the noises got louder.  I was curious now, curious enough that I almost stumbled into the giant clearing filled with magic-wielding psychopaths.

“Man…” I whispered, stepping back and flattening myself against a tree.

Ahead of me was a wide expanse of open ground.  Shade from the forest kept part of it in shadow, but there was plenty of sunlight in the center despite dusk’s approach. There was a dip in the ground on the shady side.  I couldn’t tell what might be down there, but there was plenty of stuff I could see.  Hooded men wielding bizarre kris-bladed knives, floating spirits like the one that had woke me up that morning flitting around, and creatures in ornate robes and headdresses, each with a staff, each laying out candles and carving designs into the ground.

In the middle of all the activity, hemmed in by the robed men’s artwork, was the bottle.

“Good thing you brought help.”  Bytor chuckled quietly.

“Yeah…” There was no way the two of us could take all of them.  I counted at least a dozen robed guys, twice as many of their knife-wielding thugs.  There weren’t that many spirits.  Good news where I could get it, I suppose.

One of the spirits, howling quietly, stopped.  We ducked completely behind our tree.  I could feel the thing looking at us.  We waited for a minute, maybe five, before it moved on

“So what’s the plan?”  Bytor asked.

I had to try and get the bottle.  I’d promised Jill, and for some reason I was feeling that promise very acutely.  Even worse, I was starting to feel responsible for the thing.  Whoever had left it on my doorstep had trusted me, I suppose.  Couldn’t just toss that out.

“Bottles the important part.  Figure you can cause enough ruckus for me to get in there and grab it?”

“I’m good at ruckus.”  He answered. 

I nodded.  It was a stupid plan.  It was dangerous to both of us.  I couldn’t think of anything else.

Ahead, in the clearing, the robed guys were forming a circle.  The hoods and the spirits fanned out.  They were taking stations, ready to fend off any interlopers.  Whatever they were planning on doing with the bottle, they were about to start.

"Gotta go now."  I said.

Bytor grinned.  Electricity leapt between his fingers.  I crouched, ready to pounce out into a full-tilt run.  Banana-Boy stood fully, ready to jump up and send out the lightning. I peeked around the tree for one last look.

I frowned.  The shadows around the clearing were moving.

"Wait..." I said.  There was the sudden flurry of gunfire, a small explosion.  As I watched, the hooded defenders and howling spirits rushed to face their attackers, a band of tattooed men in devil masks, just like those who'd ransacked Jill's shop and tried to set us all ablaze.

I grinned.

"Hellions."

"More the merrier." Bytor offered.  "Now?"

"Now."

We sprang out from behind our tree and charged into the melee.  A pair of hovering spirits saw us, tried to intercede.  There was a crackling noise and streams of lightning sent them flying back.

“Oh yeah!  I gotcha!  I will dominate your face!”  Bytor whooped.  We had a number of folks attention now.  I ducked and rolled under some kind of energy ball, jinxed and weaved to avoid a hood’s spinning blade before dropping it’s wielder with a kick to the knee and a punch to the face.

We were about halfway to the ritual circle, halfway to the bottle.  A flaming scimitar came to life in Bytor’s hands.  He dueled a pair of Circle goons as I pressed forward.  Three hooded men confronted me, jabbing and slashing with their knives.  A thrust nicked my shoulder, a slice tore a hole in the belly of my shirt.  The third fellow did his best to impale me, but I sidestepped, caught his wrist and flipped him onto his back.  The other two attacked, but without their now-moaning buddy they were easier to dispatch.  My hands batted weapons away, my feet landed punishing blows.

“More company!”  Bytor shouted as my adversaries fell.  Sure enough, another mob of people were tearing into the clearing.  They wore loose-fitting jumpsuits in red or white or black and bore primitive Eastern-style weapons.  The man leading them was familiar.  He'd put his hands on Jill.

I told myself to focus on the bottle and ran forward.  The battle was growing wilder, Hellion fighting Circle fighting Ninja-dudes fighting us.  I snapped the leg of a Circle guard, ducked the shurikens of a hooded assasain.  A Hellion came running out of nowhere, screaming and focused on me.  A blast of lightning took him down.

"Thanks!"  I yelled.  Bytor didn't hear.  He was fending off six assorted bad guys with his fire sword and laughing like a madman.  I took a step toward him.  A yellow-skinned, tattooed man confronted me.

"I did not expect a second meeting so soon."  He smiled, then attacked.

He was incredibly fast, fists flying at my face from a hundred different directions.  I deflected and dodged and riposted, my attacks as useless as his.  He sent a kick toward my groin, but I wasn't there.  My foot went for his chin but he ducked and I had to pirouette to avoid another strike at my crotch, a punch this time.  Fancy wasn't working for either of us so we resorted to basics, flurries of short punches deflected by lightning forearms.  Somewhere in there my hand slipped past his defenses and nicked his chin.  It couldn't have hurt much.

He frowned.  I grinned.

Not far behind me, the Circle’s ritual was nearing climax.  Wasn’t sure how I knew that, but the chanting was louder, the displays of energy beginning to suck in the air creating a strong wind.  The Oriental noticed too, his eyes moving away from me for a half-second.  He was about to jump.

I turned and jumped with him.

Afterward I couldn’t repeat the feat, but somehow I flew as high and as far as he did.  It was the great leap, the old trick my master tried to teach me but I’d never got the hang of.  I had an instant to feel elation and a little pride.  Then we landed, hard, right in the middle of the Circle’s little ritual, the bottle standing between us as the mystics whooped and chanted.

We stared at the old red bottle.  The magicians didn’t move against us, but their voices were reaching as high as they could and the aura they were producing was bathing the entire clearing in violent green light.  The bottle was vibrating, air around it shimmering with heat.  The cork was moving, trying to pop out of its own accord.

“Better no one claims it than them, hero.”  The Oriental spat. 

“Fair enough.”  I said.  We sprang to our feet just in time to greet the wave of hoodlums making their way into the circle, charging in between the chanting mystics to make a last grab at either us or the bottle.  Fast as I was, fast as the Oriental was, there was no way for us to disrupt the mages before they were on us.

The wave of electricity that tore into our charging foes wasn’t a complete surprise but I cheered anyway.  Bytor let out another wild yell as I leapt toward the nearest mystic, my foot slamming hard into his chest. The impact carried him back and he rolled down the slight incline.  I didn’t quite peg the landing, so I was rolling after him.

The clearing was silent.  I looked up.  The Oriental had also knocked a mage out of his chant.  He was on the opposite side of the Circle.  One of the mystics, presumably the leader, looked to him, to me, to Bytor.

“No…” He said weakly. 

The cork popped out of the bottle.