Posts Tagged ‘GCF’


“Speedster! Power! Crowd control. Shotgun please God don’t just fuckin’ kill anyone.” I yell.

Johnny Power looks at Speedster as they work to keep folks calm in the ER. “Who died and made him boss?”

Speedster grins back at her friend. “If Shotgun says he’s in charge. . .”

“We listen.” Power shrugs as he turns back to some medical staff.

Shotgun leaned on the hood of his truck laughing. Green flame energy was crackling around the sliced in half ambulance. Two paramedics were cowering, but the armoured lady with the sword was stopped floating in the air. It had been awhile since he had seen this aspect of me. The confident one in charge. Self-care is the buzz word of the helping world and it works, until something else misfires in the holistic self and then you don’t know what will happen.

That is the self-horror I have been living through. Also saddled into a health system that falls within the Health Act, and should be public yet many in Alberta have forgotten since the godforsaken “common sense” revolution has been designed to fail to allow for the “Third Way” (or as much privatization as is allowable under Canadian Law). It has left major centres without enough hospitals, and warped systems where in those centres even if each quadrant has a hospital it is not a true general hospital that can handle everything, you still need referrals to hospitals across town for specific clinics. Inefficiencies within the system, things that need to be looked at to get us back on track to the cheapest most effective form of health care, the type of change Albertans voted for in 2015, yet takes more than 2 years to accomplish because re-righting the ship, can be costly at the front end, but saving on the back. As I have ranted about in my journalism for years, system analysis shows where money is lost from budget line to front line for useless bloat. Money should be front ended to good staffing and patient care, not lost in administration purgatory. For we forget the further away we get from the just society contract, things like health care, EI, social assistance are not designed for the healthy thriving member of society, but rather for the one who is sick, or has lost employment, or needs a hand up. These systems should not be designed to beat the person into submission and loss of belief in their intrinsic worth. Rather they should be designed to lift up, build the bridge from one stage to the next, and preserve the self-worth of the individual where they never lose their own intrinsic self worth understanding.

Too long spent battling these issues, and arguing points everyone knows to be true, but we lost pragmatism as a society that put the value of a human being ahead of ideological bull shit. It is that just caring society we need to get back to. It is why I did not have much time for the arguments around stop giving needles to the addicts and give them to the diabetic. No. You do both. The syringe is the commodity. You are issued the first kit, then get refills by bringing in the syringes for new supplies, don’t care why you need them. Keeps cost off the patient, but also keeps the used syringe out of the school yard. Caring pragmatism.

Here’s hoping an electric spark doesn’t shut my mind down before I talk the new Bionic Knight though, or Rick Saturn could be nothing more than a pile of ash end of the day. “Bionic Knight stand down!” My voice cracked. Damn I miss my powers, the PenDragon would never allow the voice to crack.

She whips around, Excalibur, nope the blade is Chivalry, ahhh… a new one, well the sharp pointy thing designed to impale the human being stops just shy of the tip of my nose. She is in full rage. The PenDragon power, not the human heart is in full control rage.

WHY SHOULD I FAILURE? YOU SURRENDERED THIS. THIS GLORIOUSNESS.”

Ahh the mocking buggar. It misses me. But it is time to pass the flame, what people fail to realize is that when the ring first hit my finger I was alone in a pick and pull yard after escaping some bullies. So the rage meter just got me to smash some vehicles destined for the scrap heap while we worked out our relationship.

But something triggered this. This rage level is not just activation, that was at the Cult of the Killer Face church siege. This is. Stop my thoughts, slow my mind, what brought her there. Shit. Her brother. The not moving body in the ambulance that is trapped in the flame bubble. She is trying to… trying to do what I used the magic for in my middle aged self questing for John.

“It doesn’t work that way Bionic knight. The power when wielded by those of pure of heart allows for good to happen. It cannot bring back life though.”

“SHE DOES NOT BELIEVE YOUR LIES. SHE KNOWS THAT I AM ALL POWERFUL AND THAT ONCE YOU ARE DEAD SHE WILL HAVE THE POWER.”

                Pen was my friend. The PenDragon was not my friend. It was a roiling power point destined to aid in saving the world that I learned to control the power because of my wizard. But it started first by treading through the pain. The body in the bubble. Not alive.

I look to Shotgun, he mouths one word. Ashley. The new B.K.’s name.

“I ain’t going to talk to the servant, I want the master. I want to speak to Ashley about her loss. About her brother.”

And the green flame erupts around me….

To be Continued…

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The Original Star Trek in their second season about episode 14, Wolf in the Fold, did one about the ghost of Jack the Ripper still existing in the 23rd Century. A right old murder mystery in space. Why this thought flashes through Mystery’s mind.

Mystery’s eyes lock onto the prey only… she’s no longer there. “A mirage.” It comes out as a whispering hiss. How could he have missed that.  The Evil was not after another normal mortal but… “a supra.”  He whirls on his wing tips.

The fog turns to fire.

“Fuck me. I know this evil.”

The fog dissipates to show the prey unconscious on the ground. Her chest still slightly rising and falling. The Ancient Evil floats slightly above her. Speedster has been slowed to slow motion. A scythe. No. An arm. No, a psychic construct.

Mystery tries to form words, but something is stopping him from speaking. He flashes in his mind, get the hell out. And the only answer shaking through his brain is laughter.

Johnny Power lands behind the floating shadowy form.

Speedster goes from slow.

To fast.

To a blade slicing through her abdomen.

“No!” Power lunges at the form as his friend crumples gripping her stomach.

Mystery tries to move but the laughter gets louder. He holds the sides of his head, doubling over in the air. Floating in the fetal position.

The form whirls.

Power’s fist stops just short of the face.

He tries to punch forward.

But can’t move.

A cackle.

The shadows fall away from the head. Crimson read hair cascades down.

She smiles. “You look like him.”

Johnny Power looks at her. He feels something twisting around his neck and head. He scrambles to grip around whatever is holding him. He feels the panic rising MacKay had not covered this in training, what to do when you are battling something completely invisible.

The green flames still engulf the ground around the form.

Green flames peter out in the Ashram. Susan stands staring unable to articulate what she just saw.

        Rick side steps. Both his hands grip the helmet. He looks in the fluid motion right at Susan. “Remember I love you and I will be back.”

The helmet rips off and green flame envelops Rick and the Knight.

MacKay pushes himself back up to standing. He looks at a shaking Susan who motions for him to stay put. Zed walks up to her. “Susan, I think—“

Her fist squarely slammed into the bridge of the alien immortal entity’s nose causing both eyes to burst out with purple red bruising already rising as he crumples unconscious to the ground.

Just behind her green flame erupts up ward blasting two holes: one in the floor, one in the roof.

Susan hears Rick’s voice.

“I will be back. I promise. I love you.”

She feels the heat. Turns and it is all gone.

The look on MacKay’s face states he saw the flames too. A radio crackles in the background of the Ashram. Breaking news about the losing battle.

“We have to go.” MacKay and Susan head out of the Ashram. She silently wonders to herself if they can be faster than fire, but the thoughts rolling in her mind. Rick and her broke the Camelot curse, because she did not fall for his friend, which meant that Camelot could fall, Arthur and Lancelot could finally be at peace.

But…

The green flame beneath the floating shadow woman’s feet implodes. Then explodes upwards.

Power collapses on the ground gasping for air, but still alive.

Mystery falls from the sky, he feels his shoulder pop out of place. But the laughter is over.

The shadow woman lands hard on the asphalt.

The shimmering gold armour. Excalibur drawn.

“Ripper.” The immortal entity that was Jack the Ripper. Rick had done battle with it many times, each time it would body jump, he had never confronted the true entity with a chance to put it to rest, finally exorcise it from reality. But with how this ancient evil had haunted his career, it finally made sense.

Mystery stumbles up to his feet. He looks at the Bionic Knight. “Think it through B.K., much more than the first serial killer reincarnated.” Mystery said. A telekinetic blast sends Mystery flipping .

“Silence.” Ripper said.

The Bionic Knight raises Excalibur and looks at her. His mind races, it makes sense now, the ancient evil clicking together as he had stated earlier. “It was always you. Trying to ensure misery always followed the Pendragon. Like the sober addict’s friends from the days of usage dragging them back. Misery loves company. Isn’t that right Queen Guinevere?”

The shadow form lets out a maniacal laugh. The green flames shoot out around her.

Rick feels the heat within the armour. His sweat stings his eyes as he lands in front of Guinevere. She smiles at him. “Ah Arthur you are right. I should have always just killed you myself.”

“Except Arthur is already dead. I am Rick.”

Green flame shoots from her hands, forms into a spear.

Rick screams as the flame spear tears through his armour and lifts him off the ground.

When he hears her voice.

“Bitch drop him or I swear this 12 gauge is going through you.” Susan said.

To Be Continued…

 

 

 


Walt Longmire. Leichtman (Lie to Me); Sherlock (from Elementary); Sherlock (from Sherlock); Spenser; Jesse Stone; Rake and Patrick Jane (Mentalist) were his type of main characters.  Susan chuckled at the thought as she stood on the steps. She clearly stated he had a type, Rick would always deny it saying what is so similar about them all? She pointed to the A-hole with a golden heart scenario.

Every time before he had vanished, over the last few decades…five for sure the world thought he was dead.  Each time he claimed her as his lightning rod. The Lois Lane to his Superman (thanks to the New 52 there may be a generation that will never get that reference) or the Linda Park to his Wally West (Flash). Every time he spoke the simple mantra, Bionics On; or leapt into some social justice war zone (literal and figurative) for his life as a journalist.

Twins. Special needs. One income through a dying entity—the free press. Now conglomerated and shrinking, the City news room continually being shrunk. Yet Rick Saturn survived.

Until their Mayor died.

The mayor, John MacCurtis. Childhood friend. The three of them dubbed the Three Musketeers; the Scooby Gang of Canadian Super Heroics as she back benched the Bionic Knight and PinBall. Then later The Bionic Knight and Bionic Archer. Then de-powered Archer, sought a life, was married, had a child, a dog…ran for mayor. Revealed to the world the truth of who he was.

And won.

Stood over as the heroics turned dark.

Stood with the re-united Great Crime Fighters and revealed the PinBall was live again.

John MacCurtis.

Mayor. Possessed by an alien entity. Finally, freed. Died. Rick believed at his friend’s grave his spirit spoke to him unsettled.

Cashed in savings.
Took a leave of absence.

Rick began a quest to free his friend to eternal rest or new life.

Susan pushed the blue hair out of her eyes. Staring up at the steel and glass building that reflected sunlight. Fresh rain beaded off. News cameras always were around. Always a free podium. How John would use these vultures to get things done for the better.

Money had run out at home.

Interim mayor has been arrested on embezzlement charges.

Election time according to Municipalities act is stipulating the time for election is nigh after four years with no incumbents.

Rick promised he would return. Promised it would work out.

Now there was no musketeers.

Just her.

And a city that needed help.

Kids that needed a Mum with a job.

Susan wipes the tear from her eye. Chasing John’s ghost took her soul. “But I’ll be damned if he’ll take my love.”

Susan steps to an empty podium, pulls off the white sheet covering it from the rain. A reported looks at her, she nods. Taps a microphone to a burst of static.

More turn.

“Hello, my name is Susan Kobwash-Saturn. You knew my friend, John MacCurtis as a hero and your mayor. You read my husband in the Chronicle as he battled for what was right. Today I honour both of their lives. Today I look at our amazing city, and realize it is not the city that I grew up in. It is not the city that I want to continue to raise my daughters in. I could just leave, but that is not the answer. No. I want tmy city back. So today I take the first step in reclaiming this city for its citizens. Today I Susan Kobwash-Saturn, put the big money candidates on notice. Today I am running to be your mayor.”

In the far back in a lumber jack jacket with well worn wrangler jeans, a grizzled looking man with long salt and pepper hair watches the announcement. A sheep skin work glove takes a half smoke cigar from his mouth. His one good eye winks at the lady on the stage unknown to her. He lets out a guttural chuckle and ponders that fifteen years ago it was this spit fire that had driven the tip of a dagger through his left eye to save the life of the Bionic Knight and changed the course of his life from villain to hero.

William “Shotgun” MacKay tips his fedora as he walks away from the reporters shouting questions at someone he once wished dead who had become a friend. “Bout time ya lived your passion Susie.”

The Election Begins…

As the storm rolls back after dark…

As in a public plaza an woman watches a man.

A flash of steel.

A scream.

To Be Continued…