Archive for the ‘The Quest of Rick Saturn the Bionic Knight’ Category


You will not find the answer here dear reader on what choice Rick’s soul made at the zenith of his grail quest? Was he taken into the nothingness-beginning with John or did Susan manage to pull him back? Well that is a question that will be answered if the muse strikes for a new adventure or not of this 30 year old character?

What is revealed though in the journey of the Bionic Knight, is for each of us, sometimes there is a need to stop what is safe/familiar and step out into the mystery of the unknown. In the unknown we have the ability to gave into the mysticism of the world around us. Through that mysticism healing, course change or course confirmation may happen.

This is the joy for me each year when the annual Bionic Knight adventure arises, for it enters into my own internal grail quest of discernment. Those moments when I am entering into the interior Alpha-Omega of the interior castle. In those rooms looking inward and outward. When deep questions arise.

So on this darkened Sunday night before the spring equinox, what is asked within each of us is what of the old self is being left behind in the fading winter?

But more importantly, what in the new birth/rebirth of spring is about to be sprung in our life?

(and just a hint on Rick’s choice—there is always the 31st year adventure 😉_)

The New Beginning…

 

 

 

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Heath Ledger had a television series that was created by the guy that did Hercules the Legendary Journey and Xena Warrior Princess. It lasted one season in 1997, called Roar. A mystical Celtic fantasy series. That created in one’s mind of the time that the Roar was a place that enters to discourse with the dearly departed who are in between. Not even sure if it was part of the motif of the series, or somehow in my Druid Priest study mind of the time synchronized together to produce this thought.

But anyways, in my own vernacular when Excalibur shattered with the orb and Badger the Camelot universe was reduced to the subatomic level and became part of the cosmic flow once more, no longer a time and place but everywhere at once.

It was the white noise space that existed after in that moment that Pen caused pain in my right arm as it felt like it was separating to grab the soul of John MacCurtis my best friend. Whose simple words as a spectre in a cemetery began this journey and me on sabbatical. Now here we stand (? Float?) in the white noise between realities to contemplate reintegration into the earthly realm, or to join the Cosmic flow.

Pen reminds me to keep powered up. If I were to release the power now I would vanish as physical forms cannot hold in this realm.

But it has been awhile since I had the opportunity to speak to my former partner, friend. The media dubbed him my side kick like in normal super hero culture, but we were friends and partners. “John.”

The floating spectre looks like my friend. Dressed in casual jeans and a black t-shirt. His ankh tattoo on his forearm a reminder of what he did to rescue the very essence that was everything. Now, he is floating before me. “Rick.” I nod. He already knows I won’t even let the helmet vanish to show him my face for even that much flesh revealed would spell my doom. “What happened?”

“You came back from the calamity without Herne. Thor was dormant.” I say.

“My friend, I know all that. I remember Natan’s last exorcism that should’ve been the end, but here we are at the beginning and the end, what scientists term the Big Bang or the Genesis moment.” John Said. Since time is not linear, it exists at the Alpha and the Omega, but also in between.

“Near as I can discern, when that happened and you were to die, Herne attempted to rescue you. You landed in the heart at the centre of the Round Table. While Herne existed in the decomposing body of Badger, not able to escape, not able to cause your release for there was no body for either of you to inhabit.” Recap Ricky I am.

“Okay so how did we wind up here?”

My hand taps the empty scabbard on my hip. “I broke you out by breaking Excalibur and ending Camelot.”

John nods knowingly looking at his mark that went through the physical form to the astral. The shattering causing Camelot and Herne to rejoin the flow to await rebirth. But it still doesn’t answer why we are here. In my hand, I scoop a little of the star dust that creates our bodies. John looks to my hand.

“Come home, John.”

John walks up to me, takes my hand, turns it over and lets the dust escape. “Rick, my time is done. Let me be at peace.”

Time to fight the lump in throat, and the moistening of eyes. Too much water under the bridge. Too many adventures. Hell, too many times literally reality on the line…and we came through in victory. “John… Come home.”

He turns his back on me and spreads his arms wide looking at the nothingness. “I am home Ricky. Finally, one with it all.” He twirls to face me. “Come home Rick?”

I feel the burn of Pen, but more there is peace here. I just have to say it. Bionics Off. Then I am home. Peace. No more fights. No more evil beings. No more universes to save. Simply one with love. Forever and ever amen.

“Bionics O—“

A voice from across the stars. “I love you.”

The words from this morning.

That smile from childhood.

The giggle of adolescence.

Her piercing blue eyes.

The whitening blonde hair.

Her crows feet around her eyes.

The streak of blue flame coloured hair.

Her smile twinkling through the eyes of the twins.

Our twins.

My family.

My love.

Susan.

“Susan.”

John winks.

The white winks out.

I feel the armour fall away from me.

Body full on tingles…

“Susan, I love you.”

To Be Continued…

In

Epilogue

Future to Past to Presence tense


The Calamity was what it was described as in my own soul. I am one of two folks that remember it, and the only one still alive. It was when a multi-verse came crashing down into a singular reality, much like the Crisis and Flashpoint story-lines in DC Comics, and Marvel Comics (2016) Secret Wars. It was a time when I met other “me” with code names like Pirate, Arrow (John was the sidekick Poison) or went by my first and middle name as the PI Rick Tracy.

The calamity brought all this together and stripped all that away from me. The heroic identities existed but their secret identity had shifted as the primary Rick Saturn was tied to the PenDragon power and the Bionic Knight. Much like the John MacCurtis primary was tied to Herne and the Bionic Archer. Yet is should have been a sign to me that something was awry that during the darkness we fought back by bringing the Great Crime Fighters back together, it was his PinBall self that re-emerged not Herne. It meant the other entity was still existing inside him despite an exorcism that was have supposed to solve that during the Calamity.

Everything coming together as I enter the Camelot realm.

I remember John sharing during the Calamity he entered another realm as a Tulpa and wound up on a journey of spiritual pilgrimage that ended with the Ankh brand emerging on his arm and bringing the Calamity to a close. His awareness began to fade over time of it (the Thor blocking the Herne) but as the campaign heated up for mayor I am not going to lie our family’s drifted. John was up for full disclosure of his super hero past (easy when no powers still there) and could not comprehend why I did not want to unmask with him and endorse him. It was a rift that during the darkness mended mostly because of my supposed death coming into Camelot and bearing witness to Merlin’s passing, and him blessing me fully with the power of the PenDragon.

Now in the armour, with Pen having become scaled armour on my right arm, Excalibur at my side.  Here I am fully powerful. Still don’t comprehend why it does not exist within the Earthly realm, but hey that is a wonderance for another day and time. Here I am gliding through the air over the green valleys towards the…

Okay last time I was here Camelot was gloriously golden and diamonds shining.  Not a burned out hulk of a building with bodies strewn everywhere.  Bodies? But they are of mythical monsters and beings.

In the doorway a short black hair covering, claws…I know that hero. I have fought beside him years ago, he vanished believed dead, but blood is dripping from those claws.

“Badger!” Draw Excalibur and stand at the ready.

The short were-badger turns to me. Teeth bared. Flesh of a troll or a goblin hanging loose and he lets out a roar. More beast than man right now. “You shall die Arthur.”

It is a guttural growl. Seeing me as many in this realm would. As the immortal king of the unified Kingdoms, Arthur PenDragon. Yet if Badger is here, his eyes are glowing with green energy. Herne energy.  “Where is the Wilde Hunt?”

The Badger spins and I view the carcasses. Did the god go mad outside of John?

Or was the god already mad?

Is this why the power does not fully manifest for myself in the earth realms? Is this where I would become more monster than man?  Part of me is thinking I should have brought the rest of the G.C.F with me…but then I would’ve had to explain laying out of Zed to them.

I need in the castle. My arm is warming. I feel Pen’s impulse, the Round Table. Something there. But this thing is in my way. What’s that Pen? I need to release Herne?  How?

I am not killing Badger.

The thing leaps at me.

Badger was an ally.

But in this world. Can this truly be the Badger I knew?

Its claws are powered by mystic energy and I feel it slice through my armour. That’s not supposed to be possible.

Damn that burns.

I land on the grass and roll away.

Okay Pen guide me on reading this.

Eureka!

Herne needed a vessel. Badger those years ago, believed missing/dead had died, but that was when Thor took over John and cast Herne out, Herne not wanting to be dispersed into the Nexus grabbed onto any physical form and brought it to a place it could survive.

Now I need Herne released to renew this realm…no a misread of the impulse of energy. Herne needs to be released to judge this realm for in judging it…judging is wrong word? Seriously Pen what word are you trying to pass through me?

Vanishing point.

Herne needs to be released so this realm will return to pure energy.

Then what?

Get to the table.

Get the heart.

Know John.

Seems simple.

Okay Excalibur are you ready. Move the blade to my right hand.  If this is going to work I am going to have to drive the sword into Badger and??? Seriously, break it?

Exhale slowly… Badger is huffing, growling and moving fast towards me.

Fly fast.

Swing sword out.

Badger hits the grass and rolls back to the entrance.  He is scampering inside.

Chase. Dodge inside. Move around the fires, leap and dodge the bodies. The were-badger-godling is moving towards the Roundtable room.

The huge oaken double doors are burned down and it bursts sending burnt wood timbers and ash everywhere. A chunk slaps hard into the centre of my golden armour darkening it.

The Badger is in the room. I re-adjust my eyes for night vision as I step inside. Trying to track it.

The chairs are overturned. There is bodies of knights strewn about. But in the centre of the table is an orb. That is new I…in the orb a face.

“Help me Rick.”

Damn it. In the centre of the heart of Camelot is the soul of my friend, John MacCurtis.

The Badger snarls and leaps onto the table heading to reach the orb.

Pen sends a shot through my arm.

Stab the orb.

Shatter Excalibur.

But the last two words cause me to move with the sword ready to plunge.

Save John.

The Badger grabs the orb as the tip of Excalibur pierces it.

Green, red and white energy burst.

But those two words flash across my eyes with the unearthly guttural scream I am not sure if it is me, Pen, Badger, Herne, John or all of us…but two words leave my lips for sure:

Live John.

As all goes black

To Be Concluded


  1. How can you see the splinter in your brother’s eye while you have chunks within your own?
    21.First take the chunks from out your eye and then you may behold the splinter in your brother’s eye and help him take it out,
    22. And while your eyes are full of foreign things you cannot see the way, for you are blind,
    23. And when the blind lead forth the blind, both lose the way and fall into the slough.
    24. If you would lead the way to God you must be clear in sight, as well as pure in heart.

-Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ 100: 20-24

Zed attempted to kill me instead of allowing the journey to free my friend to unfold. The question that needed to be asked is freed from what? Something was blocking me. In some religions, they call it sin. In other forms of spiritualism, it is the ego or the shadow that derails you out of the flow of creation. Is this what the Thor entity represented to my friend?

Ancient Rabbi Jesus of Nazareth taught about the log in your own eye while you picked at another friend’s sin.  The challenge on not being able to see yourself or what is going wrong because there is always someone else you can say “at least I am no them” or “at least its not that.” Completely missing the point that those chunks floating around within your own eye are clouding your soul. Is this the journey, better yet the grail quest I am on now? To be able to remove the chunks from my own eye? Release my ego and re-enter the flow properly? Is that where this journey is leading.

Susan is lightly snoring on the sofa when I re-enter the house, Pen is still on my shoulder purring…yes, I realize it is weird to think that a dragon would purr, but the gaffer is species fluid. I pull up the afghan on to her. She mumbles slightly and turns her head into my bruised knuckles. After all these years, you would think I would learn how to throw a punch that wouldn’t hurt so much? Check that I am used to throwing punches in mystical armour, but Zed had shown something is going down, and I need to figure out how to bridge the gap.

It is almost impulsive to rub my own eyes as I slump on the floor by her head. The light in the hall way lights the way to the girls’ room. My two empaths that can give you a clear read on any person in the world and their intention. It is one of the blessings that come with there being differently abled.

Susan stirs. “Rick did you…”

“Zed attempted to kill me.”

I let that statement hang in the air. Not exactly something she was expecting to hear, but not shocking enough to fully awake my dozing wife. Though I guess she has come to the same conclusion that I did, this immortal wants to seek revenge against the antagonist entity, or is there something else? Since the ashram beat down that teaching of Brother Jesus has been bouncing around in my brain the chunks I am looking through to hyper focus on the speck.  What is the speck?

“The speck is John’s ghost.” Susan mumbles before turning back over to sleep.

The speck is John’s ghost.

What are the chunks in my own eyes?

Time to go back to the grave, the fist chunk is my own grief.

Pen slips quietly into my coat pocket as I once again leave the house locking the door behind me. Towards the cemetery to clear the chunks from my own eyes to clearly see. See what?

Grail quest. For some it was the cup of Christ, that which he drank from at the Last Supper, that which Judas and Peter, the yin-yang of the Holy Week happenings shared communion with the Lord. Sought by the supposed source I am resurrected from when I speak my mantra, Arthur PenDragon who searched many years for the Grail. Yet more recently some have supposed that the Grail was the Sacred Feminine, or even the ancient line of Christ himself as carried through his bride in gnostic teachings of Mary Magdalene, who it is believed by legend fled to France post resurrection.

But where does this lead me? Except into a foggy old cemetery at night. Standing before the grave marker of my friend. John MacCurtis. Needing to dive back into the divine flow to truly see where he is resting. To release his soul into resurrection or release? What choice will he make? Pen stirs again as I kneel on the damp ground.

The cross of life, or as some would know it as an Ankh on the ground digging into the ground of the grave. The Latin comes through my connection to Pen.   The chunks have fallen away as the incantation concludes and lightning flashes in my eyes.

Golden lightning.

Time to re-enter Camelot a place I thought long destroyed but that is the revelation for the grail is beyond the veil and the cross of life reveals the face of my friend.

One last time into the breach.

“Bionics on.”

Lightning crashes the ground.

Across the city, a woman with blue flame streaked hair sits upright fully awake on a couch. “Come home to me Rick or by God I will kill you.” A lone tear trickles down her face for fear this may be the one time she won’t be the grail he seeks to come home through.

To Be Continued…

 


As a 12 years old I went off to the young writer’s conference in the city and took a workshop on characters in story from one of my fave authors of the time- Gordon Korman, Canadiana at its finest. The story of his first book published at age 12 was inspirational.  The surreal memoir of the language arts teacher taking ill and the gym teacher taking over and assigning a story for the rest of the school year seemed far fetched, but with my rudimentary understanding of school systems I could see it happening.

The joking he told of trying to tie Jaws and Airplane together in the story and then the infinite wisdom of his Mum, write what you know…and the rest would seem history for the MacDonald Hall (Bruno & Boots) series as he pondered what he actually knew at his age, and that was school, but the idea of characters and then the students having parents seemed daunting—hence a boarding school,  a Canadian boarding school.

I liked that idea, and thought maybe that’s what my life was about, perhaps the grand author didn’t really want to deal with families and that’s why I was orphaned, yet got bored and invented my adoptive parents. Speak to the coping tools of a family massacre tragedy as a toddler.

It always astounds me what runs through my mind as I walk down the hill towards the double wide trailer surrounded by nothing but sand within the city. Zed had taken over the plot and redeveloped it after a Canadian government operation went sideways, and he watched friends die. He left what has been dubbed the Agency, mostly because no one can remember the actual name of the now defunct place and the original budget lines to fund it in the Mulroney-Chretien years was buried under innocuous within the RCMP-CSIS as “Office Supplies-Northern Arctic”.

The front door is open, the screen door is closed. No doorbell, just a simple wind chime hanging, I let my forefinger tap it so it serenades a little as I open the door and step in.

Directly on the right in the living room area, the kitchen has semi walls to enclose, to my left is a display wall that separates a meditation room, there is a full bath and two bedrooms down a short hallway. Within the living room to my left is a collection of meditation cushions/benches as Zed does not believe in furniture. Large fish tank fills the window designed with prism glass so the sunshine coming through creates colours throughout the room.

For the super set in Canada what Zed has dubbed the Ashram (this trailer, surrounded by sand garden) has become a bit of an energy nexus for some of the weirder. It could also be because Zed was the new living form of a fallen perhaps resigned godling-alien, Zeus, that gained the human host a symbiosis and immortality. The good to the Thor entity’s bad that inhabited John. Which honestly means when he calls saying there may be a way or there is information leads me to believe it is true.

“Zed.” The deep maroon robes as he levitates in the centre of the room, lit by sunlight colours dancing, in the evening it will be lit by candles. Also since taking down the younglings that just wanted to kill the bad guy, Zed has not been my favourite person, actually, him selling my secret ID to the agency a few decades back is a major reason I believe he is an idiot and every so often dream of killing him. “What do you know about John?”

He slowly glides down onto his feet. His serene smile makes me want to punch him out, but again I need to figure out what he knows about John, and if the spirit of my dead friend is manifesting to me or is it just my grieving mind and heart playing tricks on me. So yes, sometimes the villain in your narrative can become your ally to get to a truth you are seeking.

“Richard, long time no talk. How are you?” Zed’s cadence is that of a radio announcer, and fills the trailer home turned temple.

I just shake my head, maybe it is the long day, perhaps it is knowing during this I am not drawing a pay cheque, or is it what Susan and I left unspoken around the kitchen table this morning that I may enjoy wielding the power of the Pendragon. At this thought, Pen stirs a little in the inside pocket of my leather bomber jacket. Upside of my partner is that in settings like this, we share a connection along energetic lines in which I can tell if the being (non-human) is bull shitting me or being up front. When dealing with Zed that is always something to keep in mind.

“Zed neither one of us truly are friendly with one another. So, lets speed this up. What do you know about John?”

Zed’s hands vanish into the sleeves of the robe. In the day he would hide twin daggers, one strapped which he was good at using in self defense. Why am I letting the hairs on the back of my next bristle, would he try?

And the flash of steel in the prism colours dancing in the room in the daylight.

Pen leaps from my pocket before I can even react.

A shot of lightning from its tiny green mouth.

Right into Zed’s left red blood shot eye.

A yelp.

Daggers clatter to the ground and he grabs at the eye.

Pen is flapping in the air.

A kick.

I block.

A fist is the most useful tool in close combat.

Make it as hard as you can. Strike as hard as you can in 3 locations on a male attacker: Adam’s Apple, nose or groin.

While blocking, the kick led a left jab directly to his throat.

Zed crumples. Blood trickling from behind his fingers where Pen scored a hit.

Something tells me this was the message.

“Message received about John, Zed.” I look down as Pen lands on my shoulder. “Message received. Oh, and ignored.”

To be continued….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Susan’s finger tapped the front page of the paper. A clear helmet cam shot of the potato sack covered head and the headline clear as day “Bionic is Back!” I admit I dropped the secondary name to go for the more Stan Lee style flare, but a by-line with a freelance cheque goes nicely for a start to the sabbatical. A fuzzier picture pulled from someone’s twitter feed of me blasting back off into the air.

“I thought you were on sabbatical?” Not sure if she was implying the super hero shenanigans or from the journalist perspective. Her dirty blonde hair was highlighted by white hairs, some from being a mother, some from being a caregiver to her aging parents in the first steps of dementia, but mostly she credits to me and the vocations that chose me.

The paper was on the kitchen table, kids were already on their buses to school (both our children were differently-abled, which sadly meant in Alberta Education and the Calgary Board of Education we could not choose our schools, they were designated for them. Upside great support in the school, downside because of ablest parents out there bitching had to pay for busing because it wasn’t fair that parents that chose to send their kids to school not their designated had to pay—end soapbox).  Took a sip of my morning coffee. Her green eyes would be flaming if she had magic to go with her medium-ship. Yes my beautiful wife can easily feel and converse with the energies of the other realms. She was the silent third partner in John and I’s duo.

Which with where the weird adventures Gerklyn then Merlin took us through, was a good thing to have someone like her on our side. It was one of the earliest adventures that gave her the permanent blue flame hair streak down the middle. “You said sabbatical to sort things out, I mean since your supposed death there has been no clear `evidence’ if you will that the Knight was active again.” A loud snore from Pen on the counter followed by two short puffs of smoke rings.

Another sip, she is geared up this morning and not much I can say about having saved a life is going to save my hide from a night on the sofa. But truly, a Killer Face resurfacing is a sign of something. Not sure how it fits in with the maybe spirit of John that visited me in the graveyard.  “I am sorting things out.” Wonder if I should tell her about John, it would peak her curiosity, just like in the old days, and especially since his final exorcism and death she is still shocked he has not come to say hi, not even to our twin daughters that share their mother’s gifting.

“By playing underwear outside your clothes again? You said full well after nearly dying to end the darkness, that was it. A few favours for John and that’s…” She pauses, damn it I can’t hide much in my cow eyes from my soul mate, my lightning rod, and after John’s name tumbled from her lips bingo. “that’s what this is about, putting John to rest finally?”

I gulp what’s left of my coffee. She is going to kill me. “Partly. Putting him to rest, and finally discovering what wielding this magic realm here and now is all about.”

“Fuck you Rick Saturn, you are not allowed to have a mid-life crisis.” Mid-life crisis? This isn’t about a run of the mill mid-life crisis? It is about finding out if my friend is finally at peace at the very least, or at best… “Ah me Ricky, don’t go after the big R on this one.”  But she doesn’t get it. If it was her I would. “We know how purgatory works, and that with his death all that was tormenting him here was finally sheared away.”

“Yada yada yada. So, he is the pure energy-cosmic being as part of the Cosmos, I get it babe. Trust me, enough of my mates have gone to the great beyond and not returned. But there is precedence for the return, and what if?” I leave it dangling, what more can I say.  So many have appeared dead to the world yet returned. So if my friend died due to being possessed/controlled by an alien force masquerading as a demi-god dubbed Thor…then why could he not have survived and just need his corporeal self pulled back together?

Susan’s green flame eyes pierce into mine. One of those rare moments in our lives when I know she is staring deeply into the depths of my soul. She finishes her porridge, and her coffee. Picks up the paper, and walks over to me.

Silence is deafening.

She kisses the top of my head and drops the paper in front of me.

“If you truly believe you can bring him back, then quit pissing about with this bull shit.”

She kisses me again on the cheek and leaves for the day, she is going to be an art therapy volunteer at the kids’ school. She leaves me in the kitchen of our bungalow as she heads out for the day.  Time for a refill on both porridge and coffee. The front page does haunt me as I sit back down. Just the coincidence of starting a sabbatical to discover myself a new, and one of the first villains I faced is there trying to be a ne’er do well.

Cell vibrating. Click open. “Hello?”

“Rick, we need to talk about John. Come to the ashram.” Zed Said.

To Be Continued…


Tim Horton’s is the stereotypical cuppa for a Canadian, but for consistency one knows to go to McCafe at McDonalds. That was where this warm cup of double-double came from. Pen was snoring away in my inside coat pocket of a brown leather bomber. The Habs cap was pulled low, and my salt and pepper beard was giving away my age as I watched and waited across the road.

John’s voice from the cemetery still rings in my ears. Before it was silenced and vanished. So here I stand watching the old city hall and wondering if there is anything to be learned here from watching politicians’ do the shuffle. Another sip. And shuffle on into the square, past the statues of the Famous Five with theatre crowds letting out.

How do I explain the lost night to Susan? She who is the love of my life, since time immortal? She who would be putting the kids to bed again without me. I should’ve gone home sooner, not just standing in the street lit downtown waiting on what? Someone I know who is dead to walk out of City Hall? A mayor that died under weird circumstances, but still got a hero’s funeral because…well he was still a hero. The one who took the mask off to step in to true public service. Is that what the haunting voice is about? This time of sabbatical is to explore and learn about who I am, without the powers or is it to finally truly accept who I am as a powerful entity?

That is the fear. What if after all these years channeling the power I no longer have a human soul? Even though some would call Susan my lightning rod, she whose love pulled me back from the dark dimensions more time than nought.  The low rumble of sirens. Like a third eye flash—police—something—seriously?

“C’mon Ricky boy, let loose for a change.” That voice of familiarity ringing in my heart. Just like when we were teenagers, and I would always caution John, but he was willing to bounce right in to the fray.

A crack of thunder, and lightning flashes across the sky like a bolt from Zeus’ hands of Olympus.

The cars are coming up First Street SW by the convention centre, heading towards the Anglican Cathedral. Rounding the corner to see clearly with my own eyes.

The shriek is deafening. The horrible potato sack mask and the bad thrift store clown outfit. It can’t be. Can it?

I gulp the last of the coffee and move towards it. A family in trouble, the father is out, and the other dad is trying to shield the kid. And the sledge hammer is up for another strike from the original deal. The first supervillain I ever tussled with that spawned 26 sequels: Killer Face.

Exhale slowly. Looks like Johnny may get his wish. It’s been awhile since I needed the bravado, but for some reason I can’t switch at will. What is up with the power down? Going to need to talk to Pen about that later, but first. A simple whisper as I role my ring on my right hand’s ring finger. “Bionics on.”

The lightning strikes.

The potato sack covered head jerks at the sound of the boom.

To Be continued…