Stopping at a stream he knelt and drank, long slow draws from the cold water, water that fed the earth, fed him. I am the night, I am the earth, I am the power he thought, all the power in the universe. He had forgotten just how good it felt to run, feeling his powerful muscles move him along. Feeling his lungs exercise and work for a change. He pushed his body hard, only to have it respond by wanting more. It felt good, so he ran.

***

The cold morning sun spilled lazily across his legs, entwined in the sheets of his bed. His body looked as if it had been wrenched from the night, twisted and mangled like so much of a rag doll tossed aside by a child outgrowing innocence. With the slow realization of morning creeping into his consciousness, Albert began to join the world of the living. As the sunlight that so gently played upon his face crept into his mind he sat up with a start; realizing he was late; he must have over slept.

He turned and looked about the room in a panic, wondering how he could have slept so late. He threw back the knotted sheets and swung his feet to the floor and it was then that true realization set in, a stark and rude awareness brought on by the sight of mud and dirt on his legs and feet. As he tore his eyes from his lower extremities, moving to his hands he saw more of the dark red clay filled mud.

Horror. He could feel the horror rise from the pit of his stomach, rising to the hard knot now forming in his throat. He could scarcely believe it had happened. He had let it out last night, had let loose the monster. How could it have happened? He had been so careful, what went wrong? He would have to figure out what mistakes he had made, after being so careful and proper. So long had he lived without making any mistakes. So long had the monster been caged; bound and gagged within his soul.

He could not dwell on this, not at this very moment, it was over. Morning was upon him and he was late for class. If he had any hope of keeping a semblance of his life, fortifying that normalized front that was oh so important to him, he had to get to the University. Showering at a breakneck pace, water pouring on him so hot it nearly burned the skin from his bones, as if he thought he could rid himself of his burden this way. His memories were ravaged by his brain trying to decipher the night before. He came up empty handed, with no clue as to what had transpired through the night. His only comfort was in the absence of blood on his person, sheets and clothing remnants. At least, he thought, maybe no one had died this time. Hastily Albert dressed, grabbed his bag and slammed the door behind him, rushing for his car.

Chapter the 1st: The Time Before

“DAD!” Elektra Duras screamed as she leapt up from her sweat-soaked sheets.

She was halfway to the door before her conscious mind reasserted itself and reality spun away the fibers of her nightmare. She fell to her knees, the terrible images still so real inside her head: the awful smell of the laboratory as the black flames roared hungrily through shattered glass beakers and test tubes. The heat was terrible; she could feel it beating against her, but somehow inside her skin rather than outside. Even now she could still feel the twisting agony echoing within her, just as she had first felt it racing through her father’s office door only to be engulfed in darkness.

Shaking her head to clear it, Elektra stumbled on trembling legs into the bathroom. Luckily, it wasn’t far to go in her studio apartment high above the streets of Paragon City. She snapped on the light and started cold water running in the sink. Cupping both hands in the clean, cold flow she splashed her face with water and ran long fingers through her short-cropped hair.

“Dammit. Just dammit all. I’ll never get back to sleep now. I may as well do something productive.” Her stride lithe and purposeful, Elektra prowled back out to her bedroom and grabbed her working clothes. Dragging the boots and her orange and black coverall over to the edge of her bed, she threw the rumpled sheets aside and started dressing. The white shock of her thick hair took only a second to shake dry as she finished zipping up her uniform. Angrily she wiped tears from her eyes as she sat down at her dressing table and began pulling out her makeup. Her mother had always called it her “war paint”. How appropriate that was now. Her nightmares of the disaster at her father’s police laboratory always brought other family memories to the fore. Her mother, proud as only a proud Greek can be, had taught her many things while Elektra had been growing up. She had learned the legends of her home country, the ways of the world and the ways of this strange country. Elektra had idolized her mother and her father long before she was old enough to understand their brilliance and the driving force of the ideals they both held most dear. They had fled Greece barely ahead of the secret police that so many refused to believe even existed because of their ideals. The belief that all people should be free, that scientific discoveries were meant to be spread out among all the people of the world and not just the select, the rich or the powerful.

Elektra finished the final touches on her makeup before placing everything carefully back in its place. Reaching a long arm over to her bedside table, she flipped on the powerful police-band radio she had kept from her days on the police force. The constant chatter faded into background noise in her mind as she slipped on her black leather boots. Mother would not have approved of these boots, she thought to herself. It had taken her quite some time to get used to them actually. She had always been more comfortable in either tomboy clothes, or volleyball uniform, or gymnast’s leotard. Her mother hadn’t really approved of those either, although she had been fiercely proud of her daughter’s accomplishments. She missed her mother desperately sometimes even after all the years since the automobile accident and a drunken driver had stolen her mother away. That had been a turning point for her life. Elektra had always intended to use her college athletic scholarship as a springboard to the professional volleyball circuit. Her height and long-limbed build had earned her respect across college campuses as well as the nickname “The Tiger Spiker”. It had also made her lonely as many of the men she had met were intimidated by her size and ability. Of the few that remained, most of them had only seen her as another kind of trophy. But when her mother was ripped from her life, Elektra had soured on what seemed an inconsequential life of the sport idol. Against her father’s wishes, she had enrolled in the Paragon City Police Academy. Her father had fatalistically accepted Elektra’s new course, having experience with the implacable resolve of his wife, and so Alexandras Duras offered his considerable scientific expertise to the Paragon City PD as well.

Things had actually worked out quite well for the pair after that. Elektra remembered award after award her father had won as he almost single-handedly brought the scientific equipment used in the police force not only up to the state-of-the-art, but also beyond it in some areas. Elektra’s face hardened into chisel-sharp lines as her recent nightmare played again on the screen inside her mind. Her father had been working in the lab attached to their home on the outskirts of the city on that terrible day. A new type of communications breakthrough he had theorized promised to revolutionize not just the police force, but military units and any other occupation where communication was essential: direct mental contact. Once thought the realm of fantasy and comic books, telepathy promised to bring a desperately needed coordination and instant connection to team members involved in life and death struggles on a daily basis.

Elektra put in the colored contacts and inspected herself in the magnifying mirror before standing up. She snatched up her accessories satchel and stalked over to the full-length version along one wall of her bedroom. For months her father struggled to make a practical apparatus from his esoteric formulae. Months that Elektra had learned first hand of the daily sacrifices and pain of her own teammates on the police force. And then finally the terrible afternoon when the explosion echoed through their house. Elektra clenched her fists tightly. The nightmares never really stopped but she had learned to stop talking about them. She had fought the firemen and rescue workers as they dragged her from the remains of her father’s destroyed laboratory. In her frantic madness she had injured more than one of them as she struggled to go back to find her father. The black flames that seemed to eat the light rather than cast it; the tearing heat that shattered skin and bone without leaving burns; the pulsing psychedelic light that beat against brain in pounding waves; none of it had mattered to her. Only finding her father was important. But she had failed at that as well. She hadn’t been able to save either of her parents.

Finally, the EMS techs had been forced to sedate her and she had slipped into a nightmare-infested coma which lasted for more than 3 months. Her nightmares had been even worse then and much more frequent. She had tried to tell the doctors everything before she realized they had no hope of understanding. She learned to keep her thoughts to herself, putting up a shell of dry humor as a wall around her inner demons. When she had been released, Elektra knew that the police force would never be able to give her what she needed to fill the hole left by her parents’ deaths. She had thrown herself into hard physical training, pushing herself far past the limits of her former physical conditioning. She had discovered new skills and frightful powers within herself and had honed them along with her steel-hard resolve to find her father. His body had never been recovered from the lab. His equipment had been destroyed in the explosion but her father’s patents had more than covered her own medical expenses as well as a new place to live. She couldn’t stay in that house any longer and moved to a high-rise in the city. The joking and wisecracks became second nature to her and let her disguise her true self and her real feelings behind a façade few ever saw through. Her wealth had made her into a society-paper debutante and given her the perfect excuse to become an elusive, reclusive figure.

The open window sent cat’s-paws tickling through her white hair as she looked out on the city below. It was still several hours before dawn. Perfect hunting weather. She would find the people responsible for her father’s disappearance; she would find her father. If not tonight, then another night. She wasn’t going to stop until she had. The back alleys and byways of Paragon City had their own sources of information: a whisper-stream that eddied and rushed through the shadows and hidden corners. The whispers told many things to those with ears to hear. A new name had been dropped in the dark pools there, a new hunter prowling the fringes of daylight: Spyker. A name she meant to make sure reached the ears of her prey. Her black-leather wrapped hands gripped the edges of the window as she launched herself out into the void: a tiger-striped missile homing in with single-minded, relentless intensity.

“I’m coming for you. All of you” she whispered as she hurtled crisp night air. Ebony fire flickered down her arms and pulsed through her fingertips as Spyker reached out into the darkness, hunting.

Characters copyright © 2007 all rights reserved. City of Heroes Copyright © NCSoft and Copyright © Cryptic Studios

The ache never heals, never leaves me
Orchid tears trace indigo scars downward
My unsleeping eyes see only your face
Fingers aching for your tender touch
Desperate for the echo of your pulse
Bodies combine, the dream of you
Our souls collide, this dream of you

Distant dawn paints memories of you
Fleeing into the shifting shadows and light
I wake, the taste of salt on my lips, into blue
Sleep disappearing between my heartbeats
I lie silent, soft and empty, waiting again
Aching alone, my dreams of you
Never-ending, these dreams of you

Fall 2007

Copyright © 2007; all rights reserved

Copyright © 2007; all rights reserved

Man #1: “How exactly did we end up with an undead vampire working for us?”

Man #2: “Undead vampire is redundant. Nor is there any indication that he actually requires blood to sustain him. We think he just developed a taste for it.

Man #2, continued: “He’s not precisely undead either, not by his account. More like… refused.”

Man #1: “Talk sense or I’ll pull the funding and leave you here to rot with him.”

Man #2: “There’s no reason to believe that he would rot.”

[Man #1 glares hard at Man #2 who sighs, somewhat theatrically, before continuing.]

Man #2: “Very well. He never gave us a name. His story is that he was visited by Death but she, yes she, refused to take him and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. He ’s been working on earning his place by her side ever since. How long? He didn’t say precisely, but he gives us information like this hidden wing within the underground temple we discovered recently. Rooms that none of our instruments detected, or can detect still for that matter.”

[The two men arrive at an airlock, more like a clean room airlock than one for use underwater or in vacuum. The door is translucent and with no apparent seams. Wavy outlines of four people on the other side can be seen through the material. The conversation is interrupted briefly as the outside door flicks opens abruptly, like a camera shutter. Man #1 jumps slightly at the surprise. Four men wait in the space between the airlock doors, wearing uniforms that include a deep purple beret worn in military style, high-tech, bull-pup design assault weapons, the requisite mirrored sunglasses, and leather vests with spare clips in tight fitting pockets. Three of them spread out slightly for overlapping fields of fire without endangering each other. The two men enter the airlock, the iris snapping shut with a metallic sound behind them, and are searched by the fourth mercenary/security guard. When he finishes without finding anything of interest, the inner door whips open just as abruptly, with no sign to show how it was opened, and the two pass over the threshold. into a rough-hewn tunnel of stone, shored up with worked metal beams at regular intervals. POV shifts around in front of the men, looking back at them, irregularly shifting to a close-up of a speaker's face. The door closes behind them and they resume walking and their conversation. As they walk, their footsteps echo back from the metal panels placed in a grid on the stone floor.]

Man #2: “There was no way he could have known what was there without having been there when it was built. The original owners of these temples killed the architects and builders and anyone associated with its construction in order to preserve their secrets.”

Man #1 scoffs: “Didn’t work out too well for the Egyptians either, did it.”

Man #2 looks impassively at Man #1: “That all depends. Despite all our technology and experience we lost twelve expert men getting this far and there is no reason to believe we would have discovered the hidden chambers. All our research suggests that the people who built this temple predate the Egyptians by quite some time. In fact, the Egyptians likely either learned or copied from whomever put this place together. They weren’t, however, able to duplicate the building material, nor achieve anywhere near the technological sophistication exhibited here.”

[The two men reach an obviously massive metal door. The door is circular, made of a dark metal with jagged veins of bright green. Beside the door are ancient-looking, but recognizable, handprint and retinal scanners. Man #2 steps up to the readers and presents his right hand and right eye, continuing to talk as the door slowly rolls to one side, sliding into the rock wall, but not quite completely disappearing.]

Man #2: “So far, everything he has told us has turned out to be true. He has wandered from continent to continent through the ages, always searching, never finding whatever it is he needs.”

Man #1, sarcastically: “You wanted to be a poet in school, didn’t you.”

Man #2: “You have a small mind.”

[Man #2 motions Man #1 through the portal, following behind him. The door slides slowly and soundlessly shut behind the two as Man #1 shakes his head exasperatedly. The two men continue down another tunnel, but the walls and roof are now supported by struts of the same dark metal as the door. The floor appears to be stone, but it does not echo their footsteps like the previous metallic flooring.]

Man #2: “He found us, which should give you a good indication of his talents, and offered himself up for our research, provided that we supply him with whatever technology we have that he wants. We took him up on it.”

Man #1, his agitation beginning to show more openly: “Are you mad? He’s only using us!”

Man #2: “Of course he is. Neither of us is under any delusions here. In addition to submitting to medical and physical tests, he gives us tidbits like the location of this hidden wing. We keep him loaded up with tech, provide the opportunity to use his skills for us, and occasionally provide backup support. He has apparently always worked something like this, joining groups like the Illuminati, the New World Order, and similar organizations that are in advance of the general level of technology present in the dominant culture of the region.”

Man #1, very agitated now: “Who the hell approved this? You damn scientists need to see the bigger picture! It’s a good thing the front office sent me down here!”

[Man #2 calmly pushes against a rectangle in the wall outlined in faint blue light. He again motions Man #1 forward through the doorway, which is only large enough for one at a time to enter. Man #1 charges angrily through, throwing his words back over his shoulder. Inside, the room is dim, only faintly lit in the pervasive blue glow emanating from where the walls meet the ceiling. There is no sign of what is producing the light however. The outline of a man in the same uniform as the airlock guards is standing in front of another door on the far side of the room. Man #1's footsteps ring back from the smooth metal floor as he stamps farther into the room. POV stays with Man #2 in the hallway, looking through the doorway.]

Man #1: “For God’s sake, how many of these little tin soldiers do you have?”

[Man #2, ignoring the comment, continues his words from where he stands in the hallway.]

Man #2: “It’s a very reasonable arrangement. He has already returned the investment of his equipment tenfold.”

[Man #1, whirls around toward Man #2 still standing in the hall. POV shifts irregularly to closeups of the two men as they talk.]

Man #1: “Really! And what else is he going to want from us in the future? You people have to learn to plan ahead. Always lost in your computers and charts. What controls do we have in place? What hold do we have over him?”

Man #2: “He has existed for centuries. There is little likelihood that we could hold him against his will. However, he is still getting used to the current level of technology and we offer him safety and provide for his needs. It works out quite well actually.”

Man #1 replies sarcastically: “Needs? If he’s that powerful, what does he need? Money? Women? The secret recipe for Coca Cola?”

Man #2: “Not precisely. We bring him people with small minds. Lots of them.”

[Man #2 manipulates a control out of sight and the door whips closed with a solid sound. Hurried footsteps from within can be heard as Man #2 turns away and begins walking back down the corridor in a relaxed manner. As Man #2 moves down the hall., POV slides around until it is behind him, but does not follow him down the hall, so that Man #2 gets smaller as he moves down the hall. Man #1's voice rises to a muffled screaming of words that fades slowly in the growing distance. Muffled banging noises come from the door as Man #1 beats his fists against it. POV stays focused on Man #2's back as he walks away.]

Man #1, muffled but clear: “But… but… No! No! I’m in charge here!”

Man #2, stopping briefly: “Not precisely.”

[Man #2, shakes his head as a scream rises in volume and is cut short]

Man #2, quietly: “Idiot.”

[Fade to black as Man #2 walks down the hall.]

This story began life as an exercise in dialog that eventually may develop further, but for now it is just a scene. Hopefully a vivid one for all its lack of detailed description. The ending probably isn’t much of a surprise, it was the juxtaposition of words that I enjoyed writing.

Copyright © 2007; all rights reserved.

In her castle of rose-tinted marble the timid fingers of dawn caressed her satin cheeks and gently stroked the crystal sphere between her long, slender fingers until a gentle echo of the rising sun’s warmth stirred the crystal’s sluggish interior. Auburn hair cascaded from her downward tilted head, but even that thick curtain failed to hide the sparkling green ice of her eyes. She raised her gaze briefly to stare through the open window set high into the tower’s walls. The shining sphere in her hands reflected her form; echoing the curve of her alabaster neck, the swell of breasts gently trapped in the white fur wrap she wore. She rose gracefully from the stone bench, one hand grasping the cool crystal in her warm hand while the other flattened the wrinkles in her silk dress against her smooth skin. Outside the window a shadow flickered past, gone nearly before it was seen, and a hawk screamed in fury easily heard above the low roar of the waves eternally crashing far below. Her head flashed up in response to that wild cry and for a moment she was filled with the pure untouched wildness of an arctic night. She arched her throat as if to answer that lonely cry and eldritch flames leaped up around her. Blue-white tongues of fire played about her lithe form, twining fiery ropes among her limbs and about her face. For an instant it seemed that she would transform, must transform, completely into a wild creature and leap through the casement into the sky. The morning air rippled about her as the flames arched and spun about her; sometimes obscuring, sometimes revealing the elfin body.

The power she drew from within warped the space around her until she could scarce be seen through the waves of distortion and then suddenly collapsed into the crystal in her palm. The crystal flared brightly, banishing all the shadows from the tower room. An instant later the light disappeared abruptly enough to take breath away, the daylight hesitantly streaming through the window seeming scarcely brighter now than the light from a guttering candle. Her gaze returned to the crystal as she resumed her seat. Within the sphere tiny figures danced under her intense scrutiny, running in unfathomable patterns; living, laughing, and dying between the sapphire glitter of her fingernails. Children played and laughed. Women loved and sang and wept. Men fought and died in ways horrible and honorable and indescribable. Her gaze never faltered. Her hand never flinched.

Passionate fire lighted the emerald casements of her eyes as drama after drama waxed and waned, but the lady moved not a hairsbreadth. Patient as the sea that threw itself at the foot of the tower far below her, she searched the globe, waiting for something or someone to appear. The sun traveled on unnoticed and the shadows grew long as those ageless, unblinking, impossible eyes peered through the veils of time and space, searching endlessly for something long ago lost.

Copyright © 2007; all rights reserved.

“Father will be pleased with our work today.” Simone affirmed as she shifted her pack to sling a smaller bag over her shoulder.

“Indeed, he will,” Ethan agreed, “as will the rest of the community. What we do means a lot to everyone.”

“I am sure,” he added with a teasing tone, “Jason will be proud of your accomplishment.”

She turned to show him her rolling eyes and a nose wrinkled as if she had come across some foul smell.

“Well,” he continued, “You know he will. Then he will laud your abilities as a medicine woman, a cook, and a huntress. Then he will comment on how beautiful you are and what a benefit you are to the community.”

Simone turned and looked at him as if she had stepped into whatever had created that foul odor she had imagined a few moments earlier.

“You know, Simone,” he said seriously, “I have heard the rumors. He is going to ask father for permission to take you as his wife.”

Simone stopped and sharply turned to face him again, looking somewhat ill.

“No!” she stated emphatically, “No … no … no … no … NO!”

“Father will say it would be a good union between our family and his.”

“I’d sooner marry a tunnel drone!” she said, smacking him smartly on the arm.

Ethan laughed as he rubbed his arm to ease the sting. He believed if Jason asked, Father would agree. He wondered if the ensuing battle would earn a title similar to The Change. Their thoughts kept them moving quietly for some time.

Their mood lightened as they stepped onto the path to their home. The community had been established by those who had escaped the invaders at the start of the battles. It was hidden in a mountainous cul-de-sac for its safety and ease of defense. The initial settlers stayed in caves. Later, after the fighting calmed, they expanded their living area. They built on the land outside of the caves, yet stayed within the confines of the rocky bowl in the mountain.

“They’re here!” the returning gatherers heard as they approached the entrance of the cul-de-sac.

“Miriam,” said Simone,” She is always waiting for us.”

“Indeed,” Ethan responded, “and always wants to hear of every minute of the trip.”

“… aaand ..” Simone continued, smiling, “will pester more then ever to go with us next time.”

They both laughed lightly as they knew the truth of this prediction. They took her on short trips into the areas nearby. Miriam was quick to learn and did well traveling through the hillside terrain. She wanted to go into the tunnels, but it would not happen soon.

Miriam greeted them as they moved closer to them and continued to eagerly ask questions as the trio moved toward the living area.

“Did you see any drones? Did you find any berries? Were there rats in the tunnel? Did you see the traveler? Did you find any pretty rocks? Were the lights still working? I bet you got a lot of dandelions, didn’t you? Simone, did you find any glow powder? Ethan, did you get the vines for some rope? Are you exhausted? Do you want me to make you some tea? Can I see what is in the packs?”

“Enough, Miriam!” Ethan exclaimed, smiling, as he realized his sister had stopped a few steps back.

“What traveler?” asked Simone.

“Ey Carla. Ya mind pointin’ dat blamed Gatling gun da other direction?”

The beautiful young woman standing beside the long black sedan pointing the barrel of a truly huge weapon at the dark figure behind the passenger window did not appear to hear the question. The sound of the slide ratcheting back was loud in the silence.
“C’mon Carla, it ain’t been dat long.”

Her shoulder-length black hair shifted gently in the cool spring breeze as she raised the impressive assault-rifle style weapon to the bare shoulder showing above her form-fitting red dress. Impenetrable black sunglasses covered her eyes and there was no expression on her face as she flipped the fire selection lever to ’slaughter’. The solid snap of the safety seemed to echo from the concrete driveway.

“Do I know you, slick? More importantly, do you know who my daddy is?”

The door of the sedan opened and a black slouch hat emerged from the shaded interior and rose slowly as the man exited the vehicle and stood up. And stood up. And kept going up. Carla’s carefully manicured eyebrows rose slightly as she took in the mountain of a man dwarfing her. Mirrored sunglasses wrapped around a square face beneath the brim of the black hat. A precisely trimmed mustache and goatee surrounded his mouth and matched the short-cropped red-black sideburns. Carla was tall for a woman, taller than her father and her father was almost six feet tall, but the top of her head would come in somewhat below this giant man’s chin. Grey shirtsleeves rolled back over the unbuttoned black suit jacket’s sleeves straining ominously over forearms that made Popeye look anemic and fingerless red leather gloves were strapped to hands seemingly larger than her head.

The roar of her high-caliber rifle on full automatic brought two machine-gun toting guards bursting through the high-arched doors of the mansion behind her. They immediately split to each side of the thick wooden doors and took shelter behind the marble columns supporting the ancient portico, black gun-barrels locked on the giant figure surrounded by a cascade of brass and compressed lead bullets. With a slight grimace the enormous man brushed at the front of his dress shirt and straightened his tie, knocking loose several more flattened lead pellets to fall to the ground.

“Carla! Put that away. Now.”

Carla carefully moved three steps backward before lowering her weapon to hip level. The barrel waved almost negligently back and forth in the general direction of the sedan.

“Carla. Now.”

“Yes Papa” she said in a small and almost disappointed tone. A quick motion of her wrist and the raven-haired beauty was suddenly empty-handed. She turned toward the slender figure of the older man standing in the high-arched doorway beneath the columned portico. “A girl can’t be too careful you know.”

A slight smile showed white teeth on the face of the man as he walked toward his daughter. “Carla, you’re surrounded by enough men to invade a small country. You just like showing off.”

An impish smile curved her ruby lips and transformed her face before she assumed an air of injured innocence. “Why Papa, you say the most outrageous things!” She turned her face back toward the man standing silently by the sedan. “Hat. Shades. Gloves.” she said musingly as she slipped one long arm around the narrow waist of her father. “Gio? Whynhell didncha say so?! You made me waste almost a full clip.” She looked at him appraisingly, “You’re a little bigger than I remember from the prom.”

A slow blush crept up from the giant’s unbuttoned collar across the man’s craggy face. The older man shook his head slightly as he held out his hand to be briefly engulfed by the other man. “Welcome Sergio Giordano. Thank you for coming.”

“It was an offer I couldn’t refuse, Don Tortelli” came a rumbling basso reply from deep in the cavernous chest. “Consigliere Castiglione mentioned that you needed a little, ah ’special’ assistance down here in Paragon. It was a fine time to take a little trip” he finished respectfully, tipping the front of his hat to the Don of the Tortelli Family and his daughter. “Don Lavigni sends his respects.”

“Come inside and we’ll talk” answered the older man as he guided his daughter back toward the mansion, the hulking giant bringing up the rear behind them. “I have this situation that requires an, ah, delicate touch” he said as the two machine-gun toting guards closed the doors behind them.

“Me? I’m jus’ da backup driver” rumbled the very large man through the open car window. The smartly dressed PPD sergeant’s mouth opened slightly to frame a suitably acid reply as the man passed a business card to him. “Tortelli Construction. We’re here ta make a delivery.” The policeman took the card automatically but had only glanced at it before the window in the rear door slid down soundlessly and a soft contralto said “Tommy! How’s the missus doin’ after her surgery? You know we were all concerned. Mario and I are just showing our new driver the byways of Kings Row. He’s new and we wouldn’t want him to get confused and upset, now would we?”

The flustered cop looked at Gio’s impassive face and stuttered out an apologetic reply before turning and striding quickly away.

“Gio, don’t frighten the nice men in uniform.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Mario, you stay here. We won’t be long.”

Sergio stepped carefully out of the car that was scarcely large enough to hold him and opened the rear door. Carla unfolded her long legs and gracefully stepped out, pointedly ignoring the hand he extended to help her. Shrugging slightly he closed the door and fell into step behind her as they approached the somewhat run-down facade of the large brownstone huddled in the back alleys of the area in Kings Row known as the Gish.

Carla reached for the doorknob, but Sergio’s long arm reached it first. She whirled on him angrily, but stopped at the look on his face. “Beggin’ yer pardon Carla, but dis is what I’m here for.”

“I don’t need no damn babysitter!” she stormed as her assault rifle materialized out of nowhere into her hands.

“Carla, you may kill me cuz ya don’t like it, but dat’s nothin’ compared ta what da Boss will do ta me if’n I don’t do my job.”

She snarled at him, but lowered the barrel. “Fine, fine. I’ll deal with you later. We’re here to explain to these goombah Skull twits that free-lancers aren’t welcome here any more. Their stupid little scams are bringing in too much super-powered attention.”

“Yeh, I’ve dealt wit’ a few of dem types” rumbled Sergio. “Dey don’t seem ta unnerstand how it is.”

“That’s right. We’re gonna take down crime and take it over til all these super-noseys run out of things to do here and get out. Then we branch out to Steel C and Skyway.” Carla made a complex little motion and attached the underbarrel flamethrower that appeared in her hand to the assault rifle. An actinic blue flame leapt forth at the front of the barrel.

“Some day you gotta show me how you do dat.”

“Don’t hold your breath big guy. A girl’s got secrets. Now open the damn door or get outta my damn way!”

Something almost like a sigh slipped from Sergio’s lips as he casually ripped the doorknob and lock completely out of the steel door. “Dese posers need better locks” he said as he kicked the door off its hinges and walked over it into the dark hallway. The skull-masked man flattened under the door moaned as Sergio stomped down and crushed the ganger deeper into the wooden floor. A second street punk pulled a handgun just in time to have his face rearranged by the bone and sinew mallet of Sergio’s right fist. The last tough made a split-second choice to go for his phone rather than his gun, but phone and body went different directions as Sergio casually slapped him into the wall. The unconscious man slid bonelessly to the floor as Sergio crushed the celphone beneath his black leather shoe.

“Silence is golden.” Sergio grinned bleakly as a sound like a monstrous zipper announced Carla had found targets for her full auto assault. “Or not” he mumbled as he turned and charged down the hall.

Mario moved the car smoothly away from the curb as Sergio popped open his cellphone. Carla let out a happy sigh from the plush rear seat as they slipped into the traffic flow like a shark through water.

“Paulie? Better let me talk ta the Doc. Yeah, I know. Just do it Paulie. Doc, we’re gonna need a coupla cleaners. Geezit, I know already! Carla got a little carried away. And for God’s sake don’ say nothin’ about dis. You know how he feels about it. Thanks Doc. Paulie’s got da beep from my phone. Lemme know when yer done.”
There was a sudden scream from the rear of the car. Mario whipped the big sedan between two sports cars with scant inches to spare and bounced over the median to turn into a crossing street, accelerating smoothly into the straightaway.

“WHATHEHELL!!” Sergio yelled as he was flung against the door by Mario’s defensive maneuver.

“I broke a friggin’ nail!” Carla screamed at him. “Somebody’s gonna pay for that!”

Characters copyright © 2007 all rights reserved. City of Heroes Copyright © NCSoft and Copyright © Cryptic Studios

The Princess Mariss du’Aldra looked coldly at her former advisor cowering on the floor of the dank dungeon that had been his home for the past three weeks. “Did you really think you could get away with this, you pathetic worm?” she hissed. “Did you?” she suddenly screamed and raised the barbed whip in her right hand high above her head. “You think the Heir that much a fool?”

“Please, please, please” babbled the broken shell of a man, tugging uselessly against the iron links chaining him to the cold stone wall, “no more, please!”

“Where did you send it? This, this… sick echo of my magnificence? Tell me where!” demanded the princess, bringing the whip whistling down on his bleeding back once more. “My spies say you were behind this abomination, this other… me! We will crush this conspiracy! We will grind the bones of you all into paste to paint the walls of my throne room” she screamed. The whip lashed out again and again, leaving bloody trails spattered across the walls and floor.

“The Family du’Aldra is feared across the entire world! As We rightfully should be! Fool!”

White bone gleamed in the shoulders and face of the gibbering man as he tried desperately to jerk away from the flailing leather lash. The cruelly hooked metal barbs tore through skin and muscle as the silver-haired woman punctuated each sentence with vicious strength.

“There is only power! Power is all that matters, you fool. Terror is all that you deserve! Goodness? Decency? Are nothing compared to the glory of the empire and We are the empire!” She scarcely noticed the pathetic whimpering from the bloody lump at her feet fade into silence. “We shall never be replaced by some pathetic, sniveling, weak semblance of Us!” Panting from her exertions, she threw the whip at one of the guards standing beside her and whirled upon a slim man clad in black with the deep sapphire accents that marked him as part of the royal household. leaning against edge of the door to the cell. “And what do you have to say for yourself, Inquisitor Yaer?”

“The same as I told you before you came here, my Princess” he replied slowly. “The drugs and machines are not infallible, but they seldom miss anything of consequence.” He slipped his right hand inside the flaring sleeve of the opposite arm and white light spread across the ceiling. “These archaic trappings and methods, on the other hand, are unreliable at best. Which you are well aware of.”

The Princess glared at his expressionless face, blue eyes clashing with black, for a long moment. Then a smile crept across her lips and she motioned for the cell door to be opened. The low hum of the force cage reinforcing the metal bars died away and the door swung soundlessly open. Four members of her elite guard waited outside the door, spreading out around her as she strode easily through the doorway and out into the hall. Inquisitor Yaer fell into step to her right and just behind her but outside the box formed by the four silent Imperial Guardsmen.

“Oh, I got what I wanted, Inquisitor.”

“But he said nothing I had not already told you.”

“So?” she replied, her liquid laughter echoing from the stark walls.

Copyright © 2007, All Rights Reserved.

I go where I am taken
Till wind comes to blow again
To new places I call home

Copyright © 2007, All Rights Reserved