Chapter 5
Megan and Terry lay next to each other in a post-coital embrace, passing a cigarette between them. He knew that she was going to attempt to pry information out of him now, but he was fine with that. It just came with the territory when you were involved with a journalist. The amusing part of it was that she always approached him after sex, figuring that he was most vulnerable and thus susceptible to reveal more intimate details then. The reality was that he would decide far in advance what he would and would not share with her, but he always held out because he knew she’d end up sleeping with him. It was a nice little dynamic they had worked out.
She rolled over onto one side and looked up at him. Here it comes, he thought. He was right.
“So what’s going on with you? What is it the Doctor is planning this time?” She asked, attempting innocence. She was very convincing and if he had not already been prepared for it, he probably would have been fooled.
“Not sure.” He replied. And that was actually the truth. “That’s what’s got me worried. He’s usually so straightforward with his intentions and demands. But not this time. He is being very cryptic.”
“What do you mean?” She asked, with genuine curiosity now.
“Well, neither I or anyone else has heard anything from him in over 2 years, and all of a sudden from out of nowhere I get a message from him yesterday saying that I have to meet him at some nuclear power plant in the middle of rural Illinois and that if I don’t he will remove the control rods and cause a meltdown in the reactor.”
“Oh my god! Do you think he can really do it?” She was getting a little worried now. She always got worried when he told her about the evil schemes of these lunatics.
“Well, all we’ve been able to confirm so far is that he has indeed taken control of the plant and has punched holes in the containment building. We have to assume that either he or more likely someone he has hired knows how to trigger a meltdown.” He got up and started gathering up his clothes. It was time to get ready.
“What kind of casualties are we looking at if he succeeds?” She asked. Casualties. She was back in journalism mode. He was surprised she hadn’t referred to it as “collateral damage”.
“Well, that’s pretty tricky, actually. People hear the word 'nuclear' and they instantly think 'nuclear bomb'. But a power plant’s not like that. There’s not going to be a huge explosion that’s gonna vaporize people like at Hiroshima. But what will happen if he goes through with it is the creation of a huge cloud of radiation that will escape into the atmosphere. How much damage that does will depend a lot on which way the wind is blowing and how long it drifts before it hits a major population center. If we’re lucky, there will only be a couple hundred deaths. If he’s lucky, it could be a couple hundred thousand or more.”
“My God! So what are you gonna do?”
“What else can I do? I’m not gonna just let him kill all those people. I can’t take the risk that the winds will favor us.”
“But what if it’s a trap?” She was pleading with him now. The journalist was gone again and was being replaced by a semi-hysterical woman that didn’t want her man going headlong into danger.
“Oh, I’m sure it IS a trap, but I don’t have a choice. I’ve got to find out what he’s up to, and this is the only way.”
She was silent. She just sat there looking at him with a slight frown. He supposed it was a kind of pout, but if it was designed to make him reconsider it wasn’t working. She was very important to him, that was true, but this was something far more important. She just lay there in silence as he finished dressing. Then, he sat down and looked back at her, trying to look gentle and stern at the same time.
“Alright Meg, I gotta go.” He said, preparing to battle against her last minute pleadings, but none came.
“I know” is all she said.
He walked over and kissed her, lightly at first and then with a deepness that surprised them both. He had left her on dangerous and important missions before, but somehow this just felt different. That uneasy feeling came back to him again. At last he pulled away from her and brushed his hand lightly against the side of her face as he walked away. As he reached the bedroom door, she called after him.
“Terry” He turned to face her. “Come back to me quickly, OK?”
“Of course, babe” He said, as easily as he could manage. “There's nothing to worry about.”
But nothing could be further from the truth.
Chapter 6
A crimson and blue halo surrounded the nuclear plant in Decatur, IL. Every available police car within 100 miles had turned up to create a perimeter. And since just about every citizen within 100 miles had turned up as well, they were pretty much all available. The fact that a large civilian crowd had decided to crowd around a nuclear power plant that was under the control of a madman might seem unusual. But the people knew they weren’t in any real danger. They knew that Captain Invincible was en route and would have the situation resolved in no time. Their faith was such that their number one fear was failing to get a glimpse of their hero as he majestically arrived on the scene. Total annihilation via gamma rays was a distant second. Public speaking was third.
A great cheer went up as a small bright comet became visible in the eastern sky. No had ever asked the Captain if the light he emitted during flight was a natural by-product of whatever miraculous process gave him his gift or if he just did it for effect. In truth it was a little of both. The friction caused by his body skipping across the atmosphere like a stone created a natural incandescence, but he had the power to either maximize or minimize its effects. Tonight, as with most nights, he chose to maximize it. But unlike most nights, tonight he did it to portray the kind of confidence that he did not feel.
From about 30 miles out he had spotted what appeared to be the biggest hub of police cars and landed there. He was greeted immediately by a heavyset middle-aged officer in blue.
“Captain! Thank god you’re here! We’ve got a madman . . .”
The Captain raised his right hand to interrupt the officer.
“Yes officer, I was briefed on the situation in New York. Anything changed in the last 20 minutes?”
“No sir. He holed himself up in there yesterday, demanded to see you, and hasn’t said a word since.”
“Any casualties?”
“Unknown. We’ve reviewed the exterior surveillance cameras and the only thing we know is that no one’s come in or out of the facility since he entered it sometime after 11 yesterday.”
“Do we have any surveillance inside?”
“Negative. One of the first things he did was disable all the cameras. That’s actually how we first found out something was wrong.” The officer paused briefly and looked off towards the plant, and then back at the Captain. “What do you suppose he’s up to?”
The Captain thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
“Not sure. But you can bet I’m going to find out.”
And with that he started walking slowly but purposefully towards the plant entrance. The officer pleaded after him.
“Wait! Captain! What if it’s a trap?” But the Captain just kept moving.
The wail of the sirens was replaced by the hum of the power plant as the Captain drew nearer to the entrance. The rounded dome of the containment building, which had seemed so insignificantly small from 1000 feet up, now rose up and seemed to double in size with every few steps. He hesitated for just a moment as he reached the doors ,placed his steel fists on the handle, and took a deep breath. A sudden fury erupted inside of him and with a mighty swing of his arm he sent the two metal entry doors flying into the interior of the plant. He stepped inside.
“Doctor!” He boomed. “I am here!”
“That’s absolutely perfect.” A voice over the intercom replied. “Because I’m not.”
And with that a small atomic bomb planted in the bowels of the nuclear plant erupted. Captain Invincible, the police at the plant, the adoring crowd, and everyone and everything within a radius of 30 miles was vaporized instantaneously.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: So, what happened to Captain Invincible?
A: He’s dead.
Q: Dead dead?
A: Yes
Q: Really?
A: Yes
Q: OK, but it’s one of those things where he’s in some kind of cryogenic freeze while his body regenerates itself, right?
A: No, it’s one of those not breathing, no longer living, completely vaporized kind of things.
Q: Come on!
A: That’s not a question.
Q: I don’t believe it.
A: Fine. He still is.
Q: Ok, so he’s dead. But it’s a death where he needs the kiss of his true love to resurrect him, or something like that right?
A: Are you high? He’s been vaporized! There’s not even anything left to kiss.
Q: OK, so let me get this straight. He’s really dead-dead and is in no way, shape, or form in any kind of healing process and can’t be resurrected in any way?
A: Right
Q: So how does he come back?
A: I hate you.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Evil Genius (Part 3)
Chapter 2
Doctor Ivan Destructo was known in various circles as The Destructor, Ivan the Wicked, or often simply as The Doctor. For a brief time he himself had lobbied for the name Ivan the Terrible, only to be informed that he had been preempted by some 450 years by a Russian czar. What exactly he was a doctor of no one knew for sure. If anyone ever did know they had long ago been disposed of, and any that thought about him long enough to wonder about it knew better than to ask him. You didn’t ask The Doctor questions, he asked you. And when he did you had essentially two choices: 1) supply him with the answer he was looking for, or 2) attempt to fake an epileptic seizure. Option 2 was seldom very effective. There were whispers (and they were only very, very quiet and careful whispers) that he in fact was not a doctor at all, and had just taken the title himself, like a rapper. In actuality, technically he was in fact a real doctor. He had actually achieved his doctorate through a series of correspondence classes from a not-very-well respected community college. In botany. That he could scarcely identify a rose when he saw one should give some idea as to the credibility of the degree-granting institution.
To anyone who didn’t know him, and that was becoming an increasingly rare phenomenon lately, he would not have appeared to be anything out of the ordinary. To the untrained eye, he would appear to be nothing more than a bald man in his late 50s or early 60s with thick black-rimmed glasses which, one could imagine, were used chiefly to decipher today’s Wall Street Journal or perhaps the current issue of Reader’s Digest. And when it was his goal to not be noticed that is exactly how he behaved; watching at a distance while appearing to be buried in a newspaper or a novel. But when he wanted to shrug off the image of normalcy; when he wanted to let the unfortunate individual before him know that he was to be taken seriously, he need only perform the simplest of actions. He would smile. And if you were standing before him when he did, you felt physically transformed. A second before you might have thought you were speaking with a feeble, middle-aged man on the brink of senility, but all delusions of that simply melted away in an instant. It wasn’t that he did anything particularly unusual when he smiled, it was all in the quiet but absolute confidence that was portrayed.
And perhaps the most frightening aspect of this confidence was how justified it was. When The Doctor decided that he required something, he did whatever was necessary to obtain it. He didn’t waste his time or energy getting angry or planning elaborate vendettas – such petty emotions were beneath him. Obstacles were to be overcome, not stressed over. The words cold and calculating were never more apt, even if they inevitably fell short of truly encapsulating the true essence of the man.
He also had little interest in celebrating his victories, namely because he didn’t see them that way. Each was merely a stepping stone; one small part of the master plan. From his earliest days knocking over liquor stores and gas stations, to the multi-million dollar operations he now routinely pulled off (effortlessly, it seemed), it had all been building to something. Everyone around him seemed to sense this too, even if they could only guess what the end-game was. It simply wasn’t possible to operate with this much efficiency and calm amidst the chaotic and turbulent criminal world unless you knew exactly what you were doing, and exactly how to do it. It’s what made him perhaps the most intriguing criminal mastermind in the world, and certainly is what made him the most feared.
Chapter 3
Terry Graham, aka Captain Invincible, looked out the window nervously and brought the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling sharply. He needed to quit, he told himself for perhaps the thousandth time. Not for his health; his superhuman body was impervious to the harmful affects of tobacco. It was just that it was such a bad example to set for the kids. That’s what his friends kept telling him, anyway.
“Superheroes don’t smoke, Terry. It’s just not natural.”
That always gave him a chuckle. He was a man blessed with the strength of at least a hundred men. Hell, maybe even a thousand; his limits hadn’t ever been sufficiently tested. He also possessed lightning quick reflexes, x-ray vision, was impervious to fire, and on the rare occasion when he had been unable to dodge a bullet intended for him, they had stung with all the force of a small piece of hail before bouncing harmlessly to the ground. Yet despite all this, it was his smoking that was “not natural”. He had been intending to quit for years now, but had basically settled into the routine of only smoking in private, when the faces of the oh-so-impressionable young children were nowhere to be found. He tended to smoke more when he was nervous. And he was VERY nervous tonight.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Megan cooed to him as she put her arms around his shoulders.
“Nothing, Meg, just work stuff.” He lied, unsuccessfully attempting to derail the line of inquiry.
“It’s that business with the Doctor, isn’t it?” She continued, as she laid her head against his back. He could feel her blonde hair against his neck, and could smell her perfume. God, she smelled good today, and it was very distracting. He pulled away and turned to face her.
“Yes it is, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He said, trying at the same time to convince both himself and her and failing at both.
“Of course you can handle it, dear. You can handle anything.” She tried to reassure him as she moved in closer again.
“I know that. It’s just that it’s different this time. He’s different, somehow. This plan of his is not like anything else he’s tried before, and it scares me. I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, talk to me then. We can work it out together.” She was in his arms now, with her head against his chest. He could see where this was going. Not that he was terribly upset that it was going there. He kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“OK. But not now. Later.” She looked up at him, and he kissed her passionately. Slowly, they made there way over to the bed without breaking, and made love for hours.
Chapter 4 (A Brief Aside)
This is probably a good time to mention the inherent difficulties involved with the sex lives of superheroes, particularly those, like Terry, who have been blessed with superhuman strength. With men in general, maintaining control during sex is always a dicey proposition, but with superheroes it is absolutely essential if massive injuries are to be avoided. As a point in fact, during Terry’s first sexual encounter he had momentarily got lost in the emotion of the moment, thrusted just a tad too hard, and consequently shattered the pelvis of his unfortunate partner in three places. The proceedings had ended rather abruptly then and not only was he not afforded the opportunity to redeem himself, he barely missed getting hit by a rather scathing assault lawsuit. Since that day he had always taken the utmost care to place the well being of his partner ahead of his own pleasure, with the end result being that although he still enjoyed the sexual act very much, he would have to admit that he had never really been completely fulfilled in his entire life.
And the problems were just as bad when he attempted a “solo flight”. During his early teen years, when he was just discovering the joy of artificial stimulation, one night he had gotten a hold of some particularly explicit material and had decided he was going to just let himself go and see what happened. The result of his orgasm can only be likened to a torpedo that caused such structural damage to his parents’ house that it eventually had to be condemned. As a result of both of those experiments gone awry, Terry had long ago accepted the fact that lack of sexual fulfillment was just going to have to be one of the few downsides to being a superhuman.
Just something to think about.
Doctor Ivan Destructo was known in various circles as The Destructor, Ivan the Wicked, or often simply as The Doctor. For a brief time he himself had lobbied for the name Ivan the Terrible, only to be informed that he had been preempted by some 450 years by a Russian czar. What exactly he was a doctor of no one knew for sure. If anyone ever did know they had long ago been disposed of, and any that thought about him long enough to wonder about it knew better than to ask him. You didn’t ask The Doctor questions, he asked you. And when he did you had essentially two choices: 1) supply him with the answer he was looking for, or 2) attempt to fake an epileptic seizure. Option 2 was seldom very effective. There were whispers (and they were only very, very quiet and careful whispers) that he in fact was not a doctor at all, and had just taken the title himself, like a rapper. In actuality, technically he was in fact a real doctor. He had actually achieved his doctorate through a series of correspondence classes from a not-very-well respected community college. In botany. That he could scarcely identify a rose when he saw one should give some idea as to the credibility of the degree-granting institution.
To anyone who didn’t know him, and that was becoming an increasingly rare phenomenon lately, he would not have appeared to be anything out of the ordinary. To the untrained eye, he would appear to be nothing more than a bald man in his late 50s or early 60s with thick black-rimmed glasses which, one could imagine, were used chiefly to decipher today’s Wall Street Journal or perhaps the current issue of Reader’s Digest. And when it was his goal to not be noticed that is exactly how he behaved; watching at a distance while appearing to be buried in a newspaper or a novel. But when he wanted to shrug off the image of normalcy; when he wanted to let the unfortunate individual before him know that he was to be taken seriously, he need only perform the simplest of actions. He would smile. And if you were standing before him when he did, you felt physically transformed. A second before you might have thought you were speaking with a feeble, middle-aged man on the brink of senility, but all delusions of that simply melted away in an instant. It wasn’t that he did anything particularly unusual when he smiled, it was all in the quiet but absolute confidence that was portrayed.
And perhaps the most frightening aspect of this confidence was how justified it was. When The Doctor decided that he required something, he did whatever was necessary to obtain it. He didn’t waste his time or energy getting angry or planning elaborate vendettas – such petty emotions were beneath him. Obstacles were to be overcome, not stressed over. The words cold and calculating were never more apt, even if they inevitably fell short of truly encapsulating the true essence of the man.
He also had little interest in celebrating his victories, namely because he didn’t see them that way. Each was merely a stepping stone; one small part of the master plan. From his earliest days knocking over liquor stores and gas stations, to the multi-million dollar operations he now routinely pulled off (effortlessly, it seemed), it had all been building to something. Everyone around him seemed to sense this too, even if they could only guess what the end-game was. It simply wasn’t possible to operate with this much efficiency and calm amidst the chaotic and turbulent criminal world unless you knew exactly what you were doing, and exactly how to do it. It’s what made him perhaps the most intriguing criminal mastermind in the world, and certainly is what made him the most feared.
Chapter 3
Terry Graham, aka Captain Invincible, looked out the window nervously and brought the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling sharply. He needed to quit, he told himself for perhaps the thousandth time. Not for his health; his superhuman body was impervious to the harmful affects of tobacco. It was just that it was such a bad example to set for the kids. That’s what his friends kept telling him, anyway.
“Superheroes don’t smoke, Terry. It’s just not natural.”
That always gave him a chuckle. He was a man blessed with the strength of at least a hundred men. Hell, maybe even a thousand; his limits hadn’t ever been sufficiently tested. He also possessed lightning quick reflexes, x-ray vision, was impervious to fire, and on the rare occasion when he had been unable to dodge a bullet intended for him, they had stung with all the force of a small piece of hail before bouncing harmlessly to the ground. Yet despite all this, it was his smoking that was “not natural”. He had been intending to quit for years now, but had basically settled into the routine of only smoking in private, when the faces of the oh-so-impressionable young children were nowhere to be found. He tended to smoke more when he was nervous. And he was VERY nervous tonight.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Megan cooed to him as she put her arms around his shoulders.
“Nothing, Meg, just work stuff.” He lied, unsuccessfully attempting to derail the line of inquiry.
“It’s that business with the Doctor, isn’t it?” She continued, as she laid her head against his back. He could feel her blonde hair against his neck, and could smell her perfume. God, she smelled good today, and it was very distracting. He pulled away and turned to face her.
“Yes it is, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” He said, trying at the same time to convince both himself and her and failing at both.
“Of course you can handle it, dear. You can handle anything.” She tried to reassure him as she moved in closer again.
“I know that. It’s just that it’s different this time. He’s different, somehow. This plan of his is not like anything else he’s tried before, and it scares me. I don’t like surprises.”
“Well, talk to me then. We can work it out together.” She was in his arms now, with her head against his chest. He could see where this was going. Not that he was terribly upset that it was going there. He kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“OK. But not now. Later.” She looked up at him, and he kissed her passionately. Slowly, they made there way over to the bed without breaking, and made love for hours.
Chapter 4 (A Brief Aside)
This is probably a good time to mention the inherent difficulties involved with the sex lives of superheroes, particularly those, like Terry, who have been blessed with superhuman strength. With men in general, maintaining control during sex is always a dicey proposition, but with superheroes it is absolutely essential if massive injuries are to be avoided. As a point in fact, during Terry’s first sexual encounter he had momentarily got lost in the emotion of the moment, thrusted just a tad too hard, and consequently shattered the pelvis of his unfortunate partner in three places. The proceedings had ended rather abruptly then and not only was he not afforded the opportunity to redeem himself, he barely missed getting hit by a rather scathing assault lawsuit. Since that day he had always taken the utmost care to place the well being of his partner ahead of his own pleasure, with the end result being that although he still enjoyed the sexual act very much, he would have to admit that he had never really been completely fulfilled in his entire life.
And the problems were just as bad when he attempted a “solo flight”. During his early teen years, when he was just discovering the joy of artificial stimulation, one night he had gotten a hold of some particularly explicit material and had decided he was going to just let himself go and see what happened. The result of his orgasm can only be likened to a torpedo that caused such structural damage to his parents’ house that it eventually had to be condemned. As a result of both of those experiments gone awry, Terry had long ago accepted the fact that lack of sexual fulfillment was just going to have to be one of the few downsides to being a superhuman.
Just something to think about.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Evil Genius (Part 2)
Chapter 1
It was just after 9 A.M. on a sunny May morning when a large white van pulled up outside the First National Bank of Chicago. In a flash, five armed men in ski masks leapt out the back and inside the lobby. One of them raised his semi-automatic into the air and fired a burst at the ceiling.
“Everybody get down!” He shouted. This command was unnecessary, as it turned out, since everyone had done precisely that as soon as the shots were fired.
“Nobody does anything stupid and nobody gets hurt.” He continued, well aware of how clichéd his speech was. Some things become clichés for a reason. He waved his gun in a menacing fashion and motioned to the tellers behind the counter.
“All of you; out in front with the rest. Anybody who trips the silent alarm gets a bullet between the eyes.”
The terrified employees filed out with their hands in the air. The rest of the armed men went around the lobby to disable any cameras that were visible. They were aware that undoubtedly there would be hidden cameras as well, but it still seemed prudent to at least destroy whatever was in sight. Plus, wrecking things was fun.
Once the employees and customers were secured on the ground, the men nodded to each other. One man began emptying out the cash drawers at each teller station while two others continued to patrol the lobby; their guns trained on the hostages, ready to unload at the first sign of movement. The remaining two headed off downstairs, where the vault was located. As they descended and began to sift through the various tools and explosives they were carrying in tote bags, they looked up and noticed with equal parts confusion and excitement that the vault door was already open. They paused briefly to process this unforeseen turn of events, but only long enough to notice the 3 by 3 by 3 cubed palette of $100 bills that was visible at the vault’s rear. With the giddy excitement of a child on Christmas morning, the 2 criminals rushed headlong into the vault. They barely had time to appreciate the perfume of the thousands of crisp bills in front of them when the vault door suddenly slammed shut behind them.
Upstairs, the 3 criminals heard the crash of the vault, but mistook it for the sound of the door being blown open. It wasn’t until after they had finished collecting the contents of the cash drawers that they realized the 2 men in the vault hadn’t checked in.
“Echo one, come in” the man said into his walkie-talkie. He paused and listened. One second. Three seconds. Five seconds. Static was the only response.
“Echo one, what’s your status. Come back.”
Nothing.
“Shit”
He motioned towards another of the men.
“Bravo, get down there and find out what the problem is.”
The other man nodded and headed towards the downstairs steps and disappeared from view.
With all the teller stations bare, the two men had no choice but to wait to hear back from their recently departed cohort. And, as is wont to happen when two men who are in the middle of committing a class B felony have a few moments to themselves for quiet contemplation, they started to get nervous. Very nervous.
The two men walked towards each other and met in the center of the lobby to conference.
“Shit man, I don’t like this. We’ve already been here too long.”
“Relax; we’re still on schedule. Everything’s going to be fine.” The other man replied. Even as he spoke, he was acutely aware that he was trying to reassure himself at least as much as the other man.
“Get Bravo on the line. See what the hold up . . .” He broke off suddenly. A noise in the distance. An unmistakable and terrifyingly shrill noise. The one noise above all others they preyed they wouldn’t have to hear today. Sirens.
“Oh fuck! Go see how close they are!”
The men split up, with one heading towards the front window and the other heading towards the stairs. When he reached the top of the stairs, he screamed down: “
Echo one, Bravo we’ve been made. We’ve got to move now!”
The sirens were getting louder now. The man whirled around. “Charlie, how much time have we…”
But the other man wasn’t there anymore.
“What the hell. Charlie where the hell are you?” No response. “Charlie, if you fuckin’ bailed on me I swear I will rip your goddamn nuts off!”
Getting desperate now, he screamed into the walkie-talkie.
“Echo one, Bravo, Charlie somebody talk to me goddamn it!”
Static again.
Where the fuck could they all be? This momentary curiosity was replaced almost at once by the stark realization that wherever they were, it meant that he was now all alone. The thought hit him like ice-cold water at the base of his neck. He was standing in the middle of a bank lobby with a handful of stolen money as the cops were closing in. And he was all alone.
Suddenly, he heard a voice. A deep, booming voice that didn’t so much speak as much as emanate from the air all around him.
“Feeling a little lonely?”
The man whirled around, trying to track the source, but it was useless. The speaker, whoever he was, seemed to be everywhere all at once.
“Don’t worry; you’ll be making lots of new friends where you’re going.”
The man’s breathing quickened and he started shaking.
“Wh-wh-what the h-h-ell is going on here?” Trying to sound tough and failing miserably. “Show yourself, c-coward.”
“Alright, if you insist” the voice cheerfully replied. In front of the man a chiseled vision of steel and grey descended slowly from the ceiling. The man knew him. Everyone knew him. Captain Invincible.
“We gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?”
The man responded by opening fire from his semi-automatic. But even before he could press his finger to the trigger, the man in front of him seemed to lose physical form and become a blur of blue. Only when the clip was empty did his shape return. Not so much as a scratch was on him as he walked up to the now hysterical man.
“Ah; the easy way”
Outside, the police arrived on the scene just in time to see a man in a ski mask suddenly explode through the glass window and land on his back in the middle of the street. As the dust settled, Captain Invincible could be seen emerging through the now-shattered glass. He headed straight towards the Chief.
“Sorry about that. Meant to whip him through the revolving doors. Looks like my aim’s a little off. As usual, I’ll transfer you funds to pay for the damages. You’ll find 2 others unconscious just outside the vault and 2 more inside it.”
The Chief couldn’t help but smile. “Man, Invincible we’ve got to get you a cell phone. One of the tellers tripped the alarm but we wouldn’t have bothered if we’d have known you were already on the scene.”
“Yeah, well I enjoy the incapacitation but I prefer pickup to delivery so it’s good you’re here.”
The chief smiled again, but Captain Invincible noted a hint of fear behind the smile.
“Something wrong Chief?”
The smile melted away from the chief’s face and he inhaled deeply and nodded.
“I think you’d better come back to the station with me so I can explain. It’s the Doctor, and it’s not good.”
It was just after 9 A.M. on a sunny May morning when a large white van pulled up outside the First National Bank of Chicago. In a flash, five armed men in ski masks leapt out the back and inside the lobby. One of them raised his semi-automatic into the air and fired a burst at the ceiling.
“Everybody get down!” He shouted. This command was unnecessary, as it turned out, since everyone had done precisely that as soon as the shots were fired.
“Nobody does anything stupid and nobody gets hurt.” He continued, well aware of how clichéd his speech was. Some things become clichés for a reason. He waved his gun in a menacing fashion and motioned to the tellers behind the counter.
“All of you; out in front with the rest. Anybody who trips the silent alarm gets a bullet between the eyes.”
The terrified employees filed out with their hands in the air. The rest of the armed men went around the lobby to disable any cameras that were visible. They were aware that undoubtedly there would be hidden cameras as well, but it still seemed prudent to at least destroy whatever was in sight. Plus, wrecking things was fun.
Once the employees and customers were secured on the ground, the men nodded to each other. One man began emptying out the cash drawers at each teller station while two others continued to patrol the lobby; their guns trained on the hostages, ready to unload at the first sign of movement. The remaining two headed off downstairs, where the vault was located. As they descended and began to sift through the various tools and explosives they were carrying in tote bags, they looked up and noticed with equal parts confusion and excitement that the vault door was already open. They paused briefly to process this unforeseen turn of events, but only long enough to notice the 3 by 3 by 3 cubed palette of $100 bills that was visible at the vault’s rear. With the giddy excitement of a child on Christmas morning, the 2 criminals rushed headlong into the vault. They barely had time to appreciate the perfume of the thousands of crisp bills in front of them when the vault door suddenly slammed shut behind them.
Upstairs, the 3 criminals heard the crash of the vault, but mistook it for the sound of the door being blown open. It wasn’t until after they had finished collecting the contents of the cash drawers that they realized the 2 men in the vault hadn’t checked in.
“Echo one, come in” the man said into his walkie-talkie. He paused and listened. One second. Three seconds. Five seconds. Static was the only response.
“Echo one, what’s your status. Come back.”
Nothing.
“Shit”
He motioned towards another of the men.
“Bravo, get down there and find out what the problem is.”
The other man nodded and headed towards the downstairs steps and disappeared from view.
With all the teller stations bare, the two men had no choice but to wait to hear back from their recently departed cohort. And, as is wont to happen when two men who are in the middle of committing a class B felony have a few moments to themselves for quiet contemplation, they started to get nervous. Very nervous.
The two men walked towards each other and met in the center of the lobby to conference.
“Shit man, I don’t like this. We’ve already been here too long.”
“Relax; we’re still on schedule. Everything’s going to be fine.” The other man replied. Even as he spoke, he was acutely aware that he was trying to reassure himself at least as much as the other man.
“Get Bravo on the line. See what the hold up . . .” He broke off suddenly. A noise in the distance. An unmistakable and terrifyingly shrill noise. The one noise above all others they preyed they wouldn’t have to hear today. Sirens.
“Oh fuck! Go see how close they are!”
The men split up, with one heading towards the front window and the other heading towards the stairs. When he reached the top of the stairs, he screamed down: “
Echo one, Bravo we’ve been made. We’ve got to move now!”
The sirens were getting louder now. The man whirled around. “Charlie, how much time have we…”
But the other man wasn’t there anymore.
“What the hell. Charlie where the hell are you?” No response. “Charlie, if you fuckin’ bailed on me I swear I will rip your goddamn nuts off!”
Getting desperate now, he screamed into the walkie-talkie.
“Echo one, Bravo, Charlie somebody talk to me goddamn it!”
Static again.
Where the fuck could they all be? This momentary curiosity was replaced almost at once by the stark realization that wherever they were, it meant that he was now all alone. The thought hit him like ice-cold water at the base of his neck. He was standing in the middle of a bank lobby with a handful of stolen money as the cops were closing in. And he was all alone.
Suddenly, he heard a voice. A deep, booming voice that didn’t so much speak as much as emanate from the air all around him.
“Feeling a little lonely?”
The man whirled around, trying to track the source, but it was useless. The speaker, whoever he was, seemed to be everywhere all at once.
“Don’t worry; you’ll be making lots of new friends where you’re going.”
The man’s breathing quickened and he started shaking.
“Wh-wh-what the h-h-ell is going on here?” Trying to sound tough and failing miserably. “Show yourself, c-coward.”
“Alright, if you insist” the voice cheerfully replied. In front of the man a chiseled vision of steel and grey descended slowly from the ceiling. The man knew him. Everyone knew him. Captain Invincible.
“We gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?”
The man responded by opening fire from his semi-automatic. But even before he could press his finger to the trigger, the man in front of him seemed to lose physical form and become a blur of blue. Only when the clip was empty did his shape return. Not so much as a scratch was on him as he walked up to the now hysterical man.
“Ah; the easy way”
Outside, the police arrived on the scene just in time to see a man in a ski mask suddenly explode through the glass window and land on his back in the middle of the street. As the dust settled, Captain Invincible could be seen emerging through the now-shattered glass. He headed straight towards the Chief.
“Sorry about that. Meant to whip him through the revolving doors. Looks like my aim’s a little off. As usual, I’ll transfer you funds to pay for the damages. You’ll find 2 others unconscious just outside the vault and 2 more inside it.”
The Chief couldn’t help but smile. “Man, Invincible we’ve got to get you a cell phone. One of the tellers tripped the alarm but we wouldn’t have bothered if we’d have known you were already on the scene.”
“Yeah, well I enjoy the incapacitation but I prefer pickup to delivery so it’s good you’re here.”
The chief smiled again, but Captain Invincible noted a hint of fear behind the smile.
“Something wrong Chief?”
The smile melted away from the chief’s face and he inhaled deeply and nodded.
“I think you’d better come back to the station with me so I can explain. It’s the Doctor, and it’s not good.”
Friday, April 08, 2011
Evil Genius (Part 1)
OK, so here we go. I won't usually post introductions, but wanted to this first time because the Prologue is a bit on the darker side. Just keep in mind that it's going to be a comedy (albeit a dark comedy) so please view the violence to follow in the comic book style that is is intended.
Prologue
Two Years Ago
“Repent! Repent sinners for the end of the world is near!”
The preacher stood in the middle of the park with one hand on the bullhorn and the other on his Bible. He turned slowly from side to side to engage the people as they walked towards and then away from him. A few paused to listen and every once in a while one stayed to argue, but most just ignored him and walked on by.
“The day of reckoning is at hand, children of God. Do not be lost when the time comes. Jesus loves you, but if you turn your back on him today, he will not recognize you when you stand before him in judgement.”
It had been a pretty slow day, thought the preacher. He wasn’t sure that thus far he had saved anyone. This only spurred him on harder, though. He decided that what was needed was the power of God’s words, rather than his own. He began to quote scripture.
“And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our God day and night”
Yes this was better, thought the preacher. He always felt the power flowing through him when he recited the Book of Revelations.
“And I stood upon the sand, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred and sixty-six.”
Now the preacher could see that he had caught someone’s attention. A man of average build in perhaps his mid to late 50s had paused directly in front of him and was listening intently. This was good; men of his age frequently began to confront their own mortality for the first time. They were ripe for salvation. This really gave the preacher momentum.
“And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns. And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.”
Now more than a few people had paused, though whether it was the power of the word or the theatrics of the performance that held their attention is anyone’s guess. And still the middle-aged man stood directly in front of him, his eyes locked intently on the preacher and a small smile beginning to appear on his lips. ‘This man is ready to be saved, and with my help God will save him this day’, the preacher thought as he returned the man’s smile. But he was not ready to abandon the rest of his audience, now that he finally had one.
Now he put down the bullhorn and amped up the performance, shouting as loud as he could and thumping the bible for emphasis.
“And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. And every deed of every man was recorded in the books, and each was judged according to their work. And another book was opened, which is the Book of Life. And any who’s name was not found in the Book of Life was cast into the lake of fire for all eternity.”
The preacher paused reverently to allow the words to sink in a moment. Then he looked up at his audience, which numbered only a dozen at the most. In his mind, though, he was speaking to thousands, and they were hanging on his every word. Just as he was about to speak again, the man in front of him put his arm on his shoulder.
“And is your name written in the Book of Life?” he asked.
The preacher beamed as he answered. “God has saved me from death. I am one with Jesus and we shall live forever.”
The man nodded and then turned to face the rest of the crowd.
“This man speaks the truth. The day of reckoning is close at hand. And all of you will be judged!” The man said. The preacher continued to beam; he had reached this man, and he had been saved. Praise Jesus! All at once the man turned back to look at the preacher and suddenly the preacher felt as though his whole body had been submerged in ice water. The man was smiling broadly, but there was no joy in that smile. The man turned again to face the crowd.
“But retribution does not come from God. Oh no, my friends. It comes from me!”
A deep silence now descended on the crowd. Even those that had heard nothing of the preacher’s sermon could sense that something wasn’t quite right, and paused to find out what it was. The preacher was shaking now; he had been unprepared for this sudden outburst of blasphemy. He was searching for the words to use to decry him, when the man turned to face him again. The preacher now understood why the smile had froze him. It wasn’t a lack of joy. It was pure evil.
“And you, sir, are not in my book.”
And with that the spell was broken. One woman’s piercing scream gave rise to fifty more, as people began to slowly back away from the grizzly scene before losing all composure and just running and scattering in all directions. And in the middle of the mayhem that he had created, the man stood silently with his eyes closed and breathed deeply. With his arms extended and his palms and face pointing skyward, he basked in the terror that he had created. Every scream was music to his ears, and his every thought centered on how, very soon now, he would be the cause of hundreds of millions of screams just like this. When at last he heard the first of the sirens approaching, he sighed and pulled himself out of his daydream. He had nothing to fear from the police, and indeed the incident with the preacher had only whetted his appetite for blood. He could stay and make a bloody mockery out of the local law enforcement. But there was so much work to be done, and that would only be a distraction. Soon enough, he told himself. The time for blood will come soon enough.
And with that most pleasant thought in his head, Dr. Ivan Destructo smiled and slowly began to walk away. This was shaping up to be a very good day.
Prologue
Two Years Ago
“Repent! Repent sinners for the end of the world is near!”
The preacher stood in the middle of the park with one hand on the bullhorn and the other on his Bible. He turned slowly from side to side to engage the people as they walked towards and then away from him. A few paused to listen and every once in a while one stayed to argue, but most just ignored him and walked on by.
“The day of reckoning is at hand, children of God. Do not be lost when the time comes. Jesus loves you, but if you turn your back on him today, he will not recognize you when you stand before him in judgement.”
It had been a pretty slow day, thought the preacher. He wasn’t sure that thus far he had saved anyone. This only spurred him on harder, though. He decided that what was needed was the power of God’s words, rather than his own. He began to quote scripture.
“And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our God day and night”
Yes this was better, thought the preacher. He always felt the power flowing through him when he recited the Book of Revelations.
“And I stood upon the sand, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is six hundred and sixty-six.”
Now the preacher could see that he had caught someone’s attention. A man of average build in perhaps his mid to late 50s had paused directly in front of him and was listening intently. This was good; men of his age frequently began to confront their own mortality for the first time. They were ripe for salvation. This really gave the preacher momentum.
“And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns. And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.”
Now more than a few people had paused, though whether it was the power of the word or the theatrics of the performance that held their attention is anyone’s guess. And still the middle-aged man stood directly in front of him, his eyes locked intently on the preacher and a small smile beginning to appear on his lips. ‘This man is ready to be saved, and with my help God will save him this day’, the preacher thought as he returned the man’s smile. But he was not ready to abandon the rest of his audience, now that he finally had one.
“And I saw the beast, and the kings of the earth, and their armies, gathered together to make war against him that sat on the horse, and against his army. And the beast was taken, and with him the false prophet that wrought miracles which he deceived them that had received the mark of the beast, and them that worshipped his image. And they were cast alive into a lake of fire burning with brimstone.”
Now he put down the bullhorn and amped up the performance, shouting as loud as he could and thumping the bible for emphasis.
“And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. And every deed of every man was recorded in the books, and each was judged according to their work. And another book was opened, which is the Book of Life. And any who’s name was not found in the Book of Life was cast into the lake of fire for all eternity.”
The preacher paused reverently to allow the words to sink in a moment. Then he looked up at his audience, which numbered only a dozen at the most. In his mind, though, he was speaking to thousands, and they were hanging on his every word. Just as he was about to speak again, the man in front of him put his arm on his shoulder.
“And is your name written in the Book of Life?” he asked.
The preacher beamed as he answered. “God has saved me from death. I am one with Jesus and we shall live forever.”
The man nodded and then turned to face the rest of the crowd.
“This man speaks the truth. The day of reckoning is close at hand. And all of you will be judged!” The man said. The preacher continued to beam; he had reached this man, and he had been saved. Praise Jesus! All at once the man turned back to look at the preacher and suddenly the preacher felt as though his whole body had been submerged in ice water. The man was smiling broadly, but there was no joy in that smile. The man turned again to face the crowd.
“But retribution does not come from God. Oh no, my friends. It comes from me!”
A deep silence now descended on the crowd. Even those that had heard nothing of the preacher’s sermon could sense that something wasn’t quite right, and paused to find out what it was. The preacher was shaking now; he had been unprepared for this sudden outburst of blasphemy. He was searching for the words to use to decry him, when the man turned to face him again. The preacher now understood why the smile had froze him. It wasn’t a lack of joy. It was pure evil.
“And you, sir, are not in my book.”
The blade came out quickly. Impossibly quick, for a man that age. The preacher could not even identify it as a knife before it disappeared into one side of his neck and reappeared on the other.
Now the silence was deafening. People stood in shock, searching their minds for another explanation of what they had just witnessed. Some thinking that it was an elaborate magic stunt; others thinking they were in the midst of some terrible nightmare and that they would wake momentarily. All eyes were fixated on the preacher, who stood with the same look of shock on his face. He took one small step forward and as he did so his head came loose from his body and fell to the ground.
Now the silence was deafening. People stood in shock, searching their minds for another explanation of what they had just witnessed. Some thinking that it was an elaborate magic stunt; others thinking they were in the midst of some terrible nightmare and that they would wake momentarily. All eyes were fixated on the preacher, who stood with the same look of shock on his face. He took one small step forward and as he did so his head came loose from his body and fell to the ground.
And with that the spell was broken. One woman’s piercing scream gave rise to fifty more, as people began to slowly back away from the grizzly scene before losing all composure and just running and scattering in all directions. And in the middle of the mayhem that he had created, the man stood silently with his eyes closed and breathed deeply. With his arms extended and his palms and face pointing skyward, he basked in the terror that he had created. Every scream was music to his ears, and his every thought centered on how, very soon now, he would be the cause of hundreds of millions of screams just like this. When at last he heard the first of the sirens approaching, he sighed and pulled himself out of his daydream. He had nothing to fear from the police, and indeed the incident with the preacher had only whetted his appetite for blood. He could stay and make a bloody mockery out of the local law enforcement. But there was so much work to be done, and that would only be a distraction. Soon enough, he told himself. The time for blood will come soon enough.
And with that most pleasant thought in his head, Dr. Ivan Destructo smiled and slowly began to walk away. This was shaping up to be a very good day.
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