Posts Tagged ‘Great Crime Fighters’


Polls are closing.

Vote counts rolling in.

Commentators in shock as the incumbent for mayor is still leading in the count over Susan Kobwash-Saturn. Despite the day starting with him being arrested and taken to jail.

“Are the people of this city this apathetic? An actual man arrested on election day is so far leading in the counts.” The reporter was of the old school variety on the television. Pragmatic not ideologue. Been through many election cycles, and seen many an upset, but has also managed to survive conglomeration and transformation into infotainment from information and critical thinking.

Susan stands on the front step.

“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight.” William McKay thought she was nuts not having an election night party, but she pulled the plug.
With the Siege, the arrests, the vanishing of the beacon of hope.

Her press conference announcing to get the vote out, but then to go home, hug your loved ones, and live into hope.

The old nursery rhyme tumbled from her lips as she looked up. The twins asleep. “I wish I may I wish I might.”

“Where ever you are Rick, know I love you and the porch light is on always.” She pulls the oversized hoody of her husband’s around her more as she watches the stars of the sky.

She twitches the corner of her eyes for she swears she sees the darkness ripple

In the pocket universe.

The darkness has wrapped itself around the form of the Bionic Knight. Rick feels it seeping through the seams of the armour, and clawing through to his orifices.

Mordred the living darkness cackles. The light of hope that his father wielded at Camelot finally being snuffed out. The great return prophesied for some many centuries by the Welsh crumbling.

Much of what history stated as they had abandoned the body of the field of valour.

Rick feels his left hand begin to tremble.

His eyes rapidly flutter.

The solid darkness filling his ears,

His nostrils,

His mouth.

He can taste the decay of death.

A faint voice breaking through.

Barely audible.

Something about a porchlight.

The voice.

Feels like it should be familiar.

But the darkness stripping away.

Why await. Why struggle. Simply give in and let it win.

A glimmer of light…like on a front porch.

“As more polls report in there has been a change in the wind. We were expecting 4/14 ward councillors to be new because incumbents were not running, but it is looking like what social media has hash-tagged Vote Hope has caused a massive shift in which we are seeing incumbents falling behind in all but the mayoralty race.”

                The reporter just shook his head. Trying to hide his astonishment that a mayor actually arrested on the morning news could still be leading in votes.

Susan watched the rippling darkness. The voice of the newscaster had become white noise, it was not looking hopeful for her chance to become mayor. Although maybe this is what Rick had been talking about as the PTSD set in.  That the heart may have hope, but the brain trips out and brings in hopelessness.

Which can the soul cling to?

“Follow the light my Knight.” That’s what she said.

The light.

Eyes flickering slowing.

Tremor in left hand slowing.

Gag reflex as the blackness goes down.

The words begin to ring in his head…waiting on a woman

Front porch light

His kids dressed like Superman…the song rings anew from when Christopher Reeve broke, by Hal Ketchum. Hang in there Superman

#VoteHope

Rick closes his eyes. He sees Pen move into his heart.

The energy surges.

The darkness ripples

As the light rips through.

Susan watches the sky as light bursts out of the dark.

The old grizzled newscaster’s voice reaches her ears. “Quite a shock, with the final votes counted… The city voted for hope.”

The voice is raspy behind her with the scabbed hand touching her shoulder. “I love you.”

She turns

Blue energy sparks

As their lips touch.

Lightning rod.

The Adventure Begins Anew…

 

 

 

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To my friends in the Great Crime Fighters—give the bastards hell!

-Susan Kobwash-Saturn, Mayoral Candidate 2017

 

Hours until voting polls open.

Media coverage going crazy.

K rips underground piping to create a weird looking pentagram and crucify the young new Bionic Knight to it.

Johnny Power’s stamina is running low. His coat shredded, his t-shirt. Face and fists bloodied.

A rallying call went out to extremists of all stripes to join with the Church of the Killer Face with Susan’s challenge to the provincial government to strip them of official religious and non-profit standing.

Overnight an extended emergency session of the Provincial legislature was held to debate an all-party motion and bill.

Shotgun with bowie knife in one hand, double barrel sawed off in the other (that is no longer firing rubber bullets).

S.W.A.T. and riot moving in. Tear gas everywhere.

The province refuses to postpone the city vote.

Blood and sweat sting his eyes as he gets the paramedics to the crumpled form of Speedster with piping through her abdomen. Shotgun looks at them as he provides cover fire. “Get her out of here. Start sealing that wound, her speed will save her.”

“She’s almost dead.” One young paramedic bellows over the explosions and gunfire.

Shotgun raises his knife. “The lass dies, I will forget I am one of the good guys, capeesh?”

Both paramedics nod as they begin to cut the pipe.

Arch-Deacon Lived looks out on the carnage, glances at his watch. None of this will matter in a few hours when the citizens re-elect him. It is after all civic politics and no one cares enough to vote out incumbents, he just had to live through this. But he knew that K would not allow him to die.

Shotgun drops some crazed church member or other extremist as the paramedics’ load Speedster and speed away.

Choppers and cameras are everywhere.

When the word’s reach his ears.

“The government has voted to repeal the religious and non-profit status of the Church of Killer Face. Citing they actively work against human rights, the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The members are at the very least culpable for organized crime, and at the worst terrorists. Full authority has been given to the Great Crime Fighters to bring all members into custody by any means necessary.” The reporter was young and hiding behind the police line, but the words were music to his old ears that were getting deafer by the minute.

He noted the advancement of Power. Getting closer to K. If they could take down the monster the rest would surrender.

_ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I hear the radio softly playing Toby Keith good as I once was as I walk the house. Ancient naval tradition before a battle, to walk the ship and know that the captain may not come back. My twins slumber, in past life I was a pastor. It was saner to be an investigative journalist and continue with my super heroics.  Did not matter where on the theological-political spectrum the church fell we ran into battles over inclusion. Battles that I gloriously fought when I was not a father, and had allies stand with me to ensure inclusion would happen, at least for a time until the religious found a way to fire me or drive me out.

But when it came to my own children. No allies stood with us. Public firings followed. Shunning where we thought we had friends that would no longer talk to us, hell they would actively run from us when seen in super malls. The more progressive the religious the more harm they actively did against us.

Yet we persisted seeking community. Needed a place to rest and renew after walking through the valley of death daily. A life built beating the odds, rescuing the oppressed, bringing down the oppressor. Within and without costume walking in the darkness. Having my life and limb threatened. Being exposed to God knows what in the midst. Watching my friends die, being unable to save family when addictions and the darkness seized them. And asking myself why bother? What good am I when I cannot even save them?

My hands tremor now.

There is shooting pains in my brain.

My brain in different areas have shooting pains.

The flashbacks are the worst.

Those moments…

When power did not matter.

When magic could not solve.

When I was not fast enough.

Good enough.

When death rode victorious anyways.

I feel her hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“The Premier just called.” My soul, my lightning rod, Susan said.

“And?”
I already can feel the answer in her. She knows sadly the voters won’t vote out the Arch-Deacon, but…” They did the right thing.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it is about time you stepped out.” Susan said.

I told her on this journey when I came back from my last quest I would be what I vowed to be. There were others. Now the city is staring into the void of evil and the soul of evil is holding the heart of what is good and squeezing. “I…”

She kisses me tenderly on the neck. “Hun, I will see you afterwards. We will sip coffee and discuss what is right with the world. We will put our kids on the bus for school, and we will make love.”

I gently kiss her hand. She was always the strongest of us. I feel the blue energy flicker in my eye. Pen is stirring and moving to my coat.

“And then we will go vote, and this city will have a new mayor.”

She kisses my lips gently, I kiss back hard and long.

Grab my bomber jacket on the way out.

_ _ _

 

K lands on the charred ground.

Johnny Power looks at him. He is tired. He is sore. His invulnerability is not Superman levels, it is tied to his stamina, which is depleting.

“Ah. You are not the one I know. Like the runner, a legacy. There was a time the Street Avenger’s were the only ones. I ended them.” K said.

Johnny’s fist swung and connected with the villain’s jaw. A lip splits. K licks the blood.

“No, you didn’t, they beat you, and we will too.”

Flames erupt around Johnny, he feels his skin beginning to blister. The screams escape his lips.

The shotgun pellets slam into K.

The flames vanish.

Johnny collapses trying to get the smoke and searing out of his lungs.

K laughs openly as he looks at the broken down former villain, who he once called ally. “Some old cowboy thinks you can kill me?”

“Like the song says ya Nazi ass, should’ve been a cowboy!” McKay leaps with his bowie knife out.

K forms a psychic knife in his right fist and swings out towards the older man’s left temple.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Susan and I had always used music to calm out nerves. We also used it to connect to pieces of our story. Walking into traditions that have harmed us and finding belonging is hard to process. But there’s a song by Brad Paisley, we held to. As I step onto the road behind the police line, Pen resting on my left shoulder watching the scene.

Shotgun being heroic. Saving the kid, Johnny Power.

Bodies.

I hate death.

I hate evil.

I lowly whistle Me and Jesus have it figured out. Two separate constables try to stop me from crossing the line. I drop them with a stun bolt from my pet dragon the size of a—well his name sake—Pen.

I watch McKay’s Bowie Knife hit K’s forearm deflecting the psychic dagger.

My friend hits the hard ground and groans as he rolls out of a blast of fire.

K is a sociopath.

K was a supra. A tri-kinetic (pyrokinesis, telekinesis, and telepathy) who was genetically engineered by the Nazi’s during World War II to be a key piece of the last solution.  What is happening today he was built for. Glorious chaos and death of hate.

Shooting pains in my brain.

Flashes of images of friends dying. Those I couldn’t save. Smells. Voices. Sounds.

I freeze slightly.

My eye catches the child who the ring found. Strapped into a pentagram.

Not much older than me when the ring found me.

Her words that started this ring in my ears. “Where’s my brother?”

Seems like a fair place to start.

“Where’s her brother K?” My voice has a tremble in it. The boom of the Bionic Knight is gone. I regret those I could not save, I strive to forget those dark times.

I stand staring at evil.

I feel the pain of those around me.

The hatred that keeps driving the battle.

The dualism that one must be right, one must be wrong.

I remember history reading of the vote for World War II in Parliament where the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation could not vote as a whole, not because of not seeing Hitler as evil that needed to be stopped, but rather the complexity of war to do it.

J.S. Woodsworth could not fathom the loss to the poor who would be used as the front-line troops, the millions made by munitions manufacture. While Douglas and the rest of the party held those fears, but they feared more of the evil mounting in Europe crossing the Atlantic.

Complexity. Critical thinking. Holistic. Seeing all sides of an issues. Discourse.

But then, there is times when one must simply look at evil and go.

No more.

K laughs. “The broken Knight believes he can stop me.”

Susan called it my cheeky grin that would cross my lips when folks would tell me that I couldn’t and I would just to prove them wrong. I believe that is the grin on my lips now.

“Not broken. Bionics on.”

The blue energy rips through my very being….

To Be Continued


2 days.

1 sleep.

Until vote day.

A new mayor.

A new path chosen for a city.

A split choice. Either Gordon Lived, Arch-Deacon of the Church of Killer Face, second-in-Command to the supreme church pontiff, K, and current fill-in mayor or, unbeknownst to the voter, the wife of the former Bionic Knight, Rick Saturn, mother of twins, Susan Kobwash-Saturn, fighter for the one without voice. Reason Rick released the PenDragon ring to choose another.

The other chosen who landed yesterday outside the church of organized crime. While 2/3 of the current Great Crime Fighters watched—Johnny Power and Speedster. The call went out to the 3rd member, old friend (and older opponent, first to sign her nomination papers), William “Shotgun” McKay drove his truck through the sanctuary wall with his name sake firing.

The siege had begun.

Until that truck drove through a case could have been mounted to dismantle the church.

The vote was tomorrow.

Gordon was pleading religious persecution, and that the heroes had gone rogue again.

The city was awaiting a statement from her.

Rick was making sure the kids go off to school with the nightmare the school board had made of special needs busing, his choice to step back (yes there was health reasons as well), but truly for this run to work and more so for her to win, he needed to make a choice to not be the investigative journalist, to not be the universe saving hero…he simply needed to be husband and dad, his two favourite jobs he said.

A love like crazy for a woman he has known since his first day in pre-school when the Harumphs adopted him after his family was massacred. To calm her nerves before going before the radio microphones, print reports and t.v. cameras on the steps of city hall. The steps where John had called for the heroes to unite.

On these steps, she would have a moment that could, no would decide her campaign.

The Lee Brice song, Love Like Crazy runs through her mind to keep calm. The love story, not of Guinevere and Arthur like the PenDragon legend parallels. In her mind it was more like Robin and Marian, or Lois and Clark.

“Hello, for those who may not be aware yet cause you were living under a rock I am Susan Kobwash-Saturn and I am running for Mayor. Yesterday a new hero decided to take actions into their own hands, actions that City Council has continually hamstrung our own police force from doing. The Great Crime Fighters entered the fray as back up. The goal is to bring down the Church of the Killer Face.” Susan pauses for effect. Stay focus, just in the back battling a hand tremor she sees Rick. Kids are safe to school. He had said that if McKay was right and K was back, he was the nastiest evil yet. A sadist, a Supra genetically designed to be a more prolific killer by the Nazi’s with extra additions over time. A Street Avenger had his family dismantled by the monster until he could finally stop him.

Rick shook with a bit of fear about this monster focusing on his family due to Susan’s stance. But like they always said, evil wins when the voice of love remains silent.

Today it was Susan’s turn to use her voice.

“I encourage all citizens to vote tomorrow and make their choice, between Arch-Deacon of church of the Killer Face’s vision of living in the darkness Gordon Lived and my own of living out of hope. More importantly today, I call upon our Provincial Government to end this farce that this group is a non-profit or a religion. The provincial government did the right thing and stripped these protections from the Klu Klux Klan. Premier and all parties we are calling upon you to remove this entity’s legal status and to name it for what it is. Nothing more than a sociopathic centre of organized crime, and full power given to the GCF to hold all members accountable and culpable for crimes committed under Common Law.”

Rick smiles over the shoulder of a reporter. She notices the tiny dragon peeking out from under his leather ¾ trench coat collar. Pen was with him trying to get him to hold together what was still happening. No medical staff could say yet.

“And please, whichever Deity or belief you hold dear, send thoughts, prayers and positivity to the heroes who have taken a stand to end evil that your governments failed to deliver on the Constitutional promise to all Canadians of Peace, Order and Good Governance. To my friends in the Great Crime Fighters—give the bastards hell!”

  • – – – – – – – –

Shotgun’s fist cracked another nose. He reloaded and pumped as he mule kicked someone else. Johnny Power flew through a pack. There was too many, no matter how fast the Speedster moved.

The new Bionic Knight was awkward. Untrained. But too powerful. The voice was booming. A sibling lost within the cult. Sirens still going off. Police were surrounding with guns drawn, not sure yet whom was the one they were to be looking to arrest, as what presented as a peaceful religious assemblage had been disrupted, yet it was the most badly hidden secret of the evil they had brought to the city.

Citizens had come to their aid realizing their heroes were outgunned.

S.W.A.T. was on-site with tear gas at the ready to disperse.

Sun was starting to set. Smoke from forests on fire was bathing the sky red like flame.

Sweat and blood was beginning to blind McKay, when a boom sounded.

The oak doors fell of their hinges.

Arch-Deacon Lived stood in the illumination of the stain glass holding an illegal fire arm in one hand, and a sword in the other.

The new Knight turned and looked.

The voice boomed, but there was a lilt. “Where is my baby brother?”

The Arch-Deacon smiles. “Who the fuck cares?”

“I do!” The Bionic Knight shouted and swooped towards the form.

And stopped.

The roof erupted in flames.

Lived cackled.

As K floated into the eerie night air.

The Knight’s hand goes slack and the sword clatters onto the cement walk path. McKay whirls and aims.

Power drops the two thugs.

Speedster stops short.

K’s face is wrinkled. His crow’s feet have crow’s feet.

His eyes are dark black pools.

“You are a new young pup.” A shift of the molecules. “And not yet fully powered.” The helmet through telekinesis rips apart revealing the long curly red hair of the new Bionic Knight. Her face shows the scars of a life lived fighting for survival, with the slight quiver of fear.

K cackles.

Speedster moves to run.

A pipe explodes upwards eviscerating her through the abdomen. Johnny screams for his friend.

McKay hears a cop. “Screw them being supposedly legal. Light the bastards up!” And he just hopes they are on the side of the angels for a change.

To Be Continued….


The 1996 made for t.v. Doctor Who movie proves what can go oh so wrong with a less than 90-minute re-boot/re-imagine. That is they got bagged down in kitchen sinking the explanation. I hope that isn’t this type of story as we move towards election day. I made a promise to my wife that this would be come her time, especially after my last time saving the universe. The only quest, Rick Saturn (that’s me gentle reader) of the left-hand tremor and foggy brain is going on is battling the school board to see my twins with special needs as full kiddos who should be able to get to school on time and get educated.

Yup. The once great crusading journalist, and super hero…is destined to stay at home parentdom if S.K.S.’s polls are to be believed and she coasts into the Mayor’s office, I will be the spouse of Her Worship Susan Kobwash-Saturn. Only a few days left.

And I just watched the ring of power of Camelot launch out of a Husky House diner parking lot to find a new host.

Why?

William Shotgun MacKay—former villain turned best buddy (or only buddy still alive) basically stating that it is time for a new Bionic Knight, bearer of the PenDragon to stand on the front line, with the ancient evil revived.

I wipe sweat okay tear away as I leave the diner from paying. McKay is waiting by his truck.

“How long?”

“I dunno. It found me when a hero was needed, and I just kind of hung around.” I respond.

He laughs. “I guess that sums up our generation of hero, just hung around.”

I nod and begin walking home. He hollers at me. “One last thing, my friend.”

I turn to the old grizzled killer who is learning a new way. “What?”

“Get in and see.”  McKay said.

It is the least I could owe him. I still feel the magic within me, it is a dull thrumming, for the years I communed with other realms. Since my return what used to exist as a small pet dragon, simply is within me now. It feels good, not a loss, to put the power out there to claim another pure of heart.

What did Shotgun want to show me?

It had been left a smoldering wreck, but he had bought it and replaced the double wide with a log cabin. It was the new ashram, or as McKay phrased it, “Sanctuary. Figured the crew needed a place to come and get away. Also…”

“You always hated the noise of the downtown apartment.” I said.

The old guy just nodded and snorted. Leaning against his truck. Part of me wondered where the ring went to settle.  A slight hand tremor. “Do you think we will get back to normal anytime?” Mckay has new scars due to his run in with K. I know he wants me back as the Knight, but a promise is a promise. And well, damn it, there is simply a time to step back and let others stand up. Besides, with him running the Killer Face Cult, it has been low key in the city.

“Johnny and Speedster have been out on patrols.”

“And?”

“Quiet. Too damn quiet. When it got quiet like this back in the day Rick…”

“Was usually just before you and a couple of the other yokels would try something.” I said.

Shotgun laughed. “And here I thought only the Flash talked about his Rogues so fondly.”

“It was a different time man. Too many saved universes. So many deaths.” It’s a pregnant pause over what is left unsaid. We had outlived so many of our friends. One of the things I believe could be wrong with me is PTSD. Maybe therefore it was so easy to step back and place house parent and let Susan shine even thought I know new evil has arisen. “John couldn’t change the city.”

“those demon aliens took him down, but in the end, he tried.” Shotgun said.

A crackle from inside the truck. A scanner. Police scanner. So old school. But clear as day.

No code.

Just an exclamation.

“Bloody hell the Cult has exploded. Bionic Knight on site! GCF inbound. Need all hands!”

McKay smirks.

“I can get the bus man. Get going those brats need ya, you old bastard.”

To Be Continued…

 


The ring box felt alien.

It probably felt alien in the palm of his hand because what it contained he was used to wearing, not holding, but since his return he deemed himself unworthy. He could not save—redeem his friend. Now another friend has called him, for a simple cup of coffee.

Rick had watched the night unfold on the news. The fire that usually drove him in his belly was no longer there. The fire of heroism gone. His whiskers were greying. He fought a tremor that was new in his left hand. His wife Susan had noted since he had returned the possibility of absent seizures. The remnants of the Camelot dimension, the magic leaving or trying to assert in his system.

Rick sips his cup of black coffee at the Husky House. His breakfast special of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, hash browns and toast. He watches as Shotgun McKay Irish’s up his coffee and moves the hash browns on his plate into the yolk of eggs sunny side up.

“Rick, we need you.” William says. Rick looks at the older man’s face. New scabs, and bruises from the fight with the Killer Face cult-gang. “K is back.”

Rick nods and scoops some eggs into his mouth. “You and the kids can handle it.” The words tumble from his mouth, but even Rick is not sure he believes it. K was designed for genocide. The fact that he has managed to survive somehow does not sit well with him.

But he remembers the promise. Made to his heart upon his return. Time to support her life, her run for mayor. To live and love. No longer concerned with saving the universe. A game for the younger. The hero without so many scars on their soul from failures.

“You know that’s not true. We need you.”

Rick rolls the box in his palm a bit more before setting it down in front of McKay.

Hard to believe how complicated their friendship was. How many decades ago in which McKay was a hired gun attempting to kill his adolescent super power self? Now, the mentor-trainer of the next generation of heroes. The one that the new Thunder (Johnny Power) and Lightning (Speedster) needed…to forge a new era of the Great Crime Fighters.

“I took a quest to save myself. I lost. That is what remains of the Knight. It will find a new heart.” Rick finishes his meal. Downs his coffee.

McKay picks up the box and opens it. The ring is a simple band of Celtic knot work. He considers the pained eyes of his friend, former enemy, but brother in arms. “Who?”

“Ask the ring, it will know.” Rick said.

McKay signs heavily. He feels the bruised and broken ribs he has suffered at the hands of K. This obviously wasn’t the outcome he was expecting. “How?”

Rick smiles. “The solar eclipse is rolling in. Step outside, open the box and watch magic happen.”

“I fuckin’ hate magic.”

Rick laughs as his friend leaves the booth stepping out into the parking lot. Rick’s hand tremors a bit more as he pays the bill. Watching from the cashier as McKay opens the box. The wrinkled semi-arthritic hand pulling the ring out as the partial eclipse darkens the sky.

The ring illumines in the shadow and flies.

To the next Dragon be born….

Out of the corner of her eye a middle aged waitress catches a glimpse of Rick’s cheek, she is unsure if it is sweat from the ungodly hot summer or a tear.

For who will stand against Evil incarnate simply known as K


“Every story has three parts, the beginning, middle and the twist.”

-R.L. Stine (Goosebumps Movie 2015)

                Mystery floats up. His eyes look through the window. There is probably an altar with flammables, but I cannot speak to his theatrics or if he would just look for a sprinkler to light up…

                When the wall explodes inwards sending sandstone and wood careening inside and the screamo music turns to screams.

                Mystery lets out a cackle “for Zed.”

 

The Street Avenger is a legacy hero. Many generations tough mo-fos battling from the shadows and keeping Gothic City safe from hooligans and villains. I had the privilege of battling many during my less than heroic past years, some may say I was one of said hooligans, but I was rarely caught. Douglas Katz was one who perished at the hands of a World War II villain known as K, it was short hand for what the Third Reich had dubbed him, “Nazi Killer” (ever the creative ones those puds). He was what was known as a tri-kinetic (telepath, telekinetic, pyro-kinetic).

Said K looked like he perished in the same battle that claimed Douglas’ life. But K was a monster that survived and came back to almost wipe out the whole family of generations, but a new hero rose for a time and defeated K.

During that battle Mystery came out.

Recently he has rejoined the Great Crime Fighters, and stipulates that he is Douglas (not Kevin as I mistakenly believed, old man memory I tell ya). During his recent renaissance, he has shown low levels of telepath (or is it simply over active empathy and intuition?) and a glimmer of pyro-kinesis.

Fast forward to the attack on the Ashram and the surgical assault and assassination of Zed, which led us to the cult-gang Killer Faces, brought us outside their temple (in genius tax exempt organized scam if I will) and the idea to drum out the punks by a simple act of triggering what I hoped would be a sprinkler system.

Instead I get a wall exploding in ward. Security alarm going off. Folks from the cult and neighbours with their phones out video taping, and sirens in the back ground on their way here. Sure, technically we are the heroes, but not really the well know variety. The upside is the exploding wall has silenced the god-awful music sounded like a cat being skinned from the inside out.

“Where is Killer Face?” Mystery’s voice echoes.

I draw my double barrel and as I look upon the armed goons coming over the wall wish I wasn’t packing rubber buck shot in this one.

“We are Killer Face.” Sounds like an off key Greek Chorus. Aim and fire. More screams as I open and load more cartridges.

Mystery is floating into the temple. His telekinesis is tossing folks, some bleeding from being hit by flying wall sandstone and wood. Hoping some of those sirens are EMS, there’s going to be a few hurting units inside. Mystery does not look or sound happy.

Never realized how much Mystery was…mean.

Another volley of rubber buck shot, reload and fire again. Groans but I am at the wall.

Mystery knocks out one KF member. A large gorilla looking man is running his way. His back is turned. I aim to fire rubber and knock him off attack, but Mystery whirls. A jagged piece of wood flies loose from the wall flying through the right eye socket of the assailant.

Ok, Mystery missed the memo as the cult member drops dead.

“We don’t kill mate.”

He whirls in mid-air. His fedora flies off as his eyes flare with crackling blue flame. “They killed Zed. They started this war.”

“So you will end it?”

“Damn straight, Will.”

I feel a telekinetic push knock me back hard on my back. I catch around the altar one shrouded in black cloaks, a middle-aged man with that Charles Manson look and a dagger in hand. The Bishop himself. “We killed no one tonight, it is murder sabbath!”

Wind is out of my lungs when I hit the dust.

I stare at the way the wall came down.

The Ashram.

I hear again the Bishop screaming they killed no one.

Can’t get to my rifle. But in my boot, my hunting knife. A bit awkward but throw while he’s distracted.

The temple wall.

The ashram.

Street Avengers were never tri-kinetics.

K was.

Douglas helped his nephew beat K once and for all then retreated into the shadows.

Shit how could we all have missed this.

The knife leaves my hand as Mystery is focused on the leader of the cult.

Sirens are closer.

A screech of pain. My knife hit his shoulder.

Mystery wheels around to focus on me. Hopefully this Bishop sees his opening. “Do not think you will not join Zed tonight William.”

“Precisely you murderous sanctimonious sack of shit.” If I could stand I would spit for emphasis, but I think I bruised or broke a rib when I landed.

Cars are screeching.

The Bishop screams trying to rally the disillusioned troops.

Mystery sticks out his arm and catches the Bishop by the throat.

“Killer Face Prime I presume. Consider this your 2 weeks notice.” When a neck is snapped it is an eerie sound. Even though he was a murderer, that was cold. The body crumples down onto the dust of the yard. “If you wish to live, I am the new Prime.”

There appears to be no dissension in his new ranks.

Mystery touches the ground before me.

Police have the temple surrounded.

The kerchief is loose and Mystery lets it fall away.

Zed once told me it only takes a little bit to embed your presence into another. The human mind like a computer, a skilled telepath could create a Trojan horse virus to embed their essence into another for a complete take over.

The eyes I stared into I remember from the past. A cold killer’s glare. One crafted in the very bosom of hate.

“K.”

“Very good weakest link. This temple is my home, these worshipers are now my followers. This city will be mine. Let your sniveling heroes know their time of life is limited. This city will be mine.” His face turns into a sneer. “Let your friend Rick know, I will have his head on a pike.”

I watch as he floats back into the temple.

A new evil begins….

 

 


I hate Killer Faces. They are the worst, its not just an intricate street gang, but one wrapped in a wanked out killer cult motif they try to tie back to weird practices of the occult and esoteric or so the revolving door of Killer Face Prime that leads them. I say it’s a revolving door because there is no way it is the same dumb ass running the show for over 30 years, but stranger things have happened.

The most twisted thing is that they pooled money and purchased a “temple” for their “services” where they gather to hear the gospel (keep in mind ancient word gospel was a political statement) according to K.F.P… The temple they purchased was a deconsecrated Anglican church. Which keeps its doors locked unless you have this week’s password. Which is why currently Kevin—sorry Mystery—an ol’ Shotgun are waiting outside.

They haven’t kept up well with landscaping, grass is so brown its blowing away in the dust, and five trees would have more life if they were driftwood.

Over the solid oak double doors is a cross that is stain glassed images of the stations of the cross. If I was a religious man this would be sacrilegious in my mind. Instead it is quite in genius for the scam, the members of the gang/cult unbelievably tithe to the temple so they are not only used as canon fodder, but also pay for the privilege.

Mystery is still trying to get a telepathic fix, but he is not a strong telepath, so its not the easiest thing to do. Part of me wants to knock and open and just see what happens. But, I also am not a young man, and I counted at least 50 inside and that was for the 20 minutes we were watching before service began. No telling how many may have arrived earlier.  Can’t believe this collection of idjits got the drop on Zed.

“Ready Kevin?”

“For the last time Shotgun, my name is not Kevin.” Mystery said.

“Oh right, sorry it’s Mystery.”

“No, you daft wanker, my name is Douglas, Kevin was my dad. What B.K.’s fist back in the day rattled your brain too much back in the day.” Mystery retorts. I can’t help the laughter escaping. Damn, he’s right. Kevin was entering retirement due to being crippled at the hands of K, and it was Doug that was the Street Avenger during the early days of Rick. The one that others believed was killed but no body was ever found. “Besides I wanted to use Enigma, but that was during Rick’s turn at being touch brooding mystery tech man. So, I took Mystery instead.”

I nod as the weird screamo wafts and hurts the ear drums out of the temple. “Why not use Street Avenger?” Valid question it being a family legacy name and all.

He dips his hat at me. I see a little flame crackle in the corner of his eye. “My nephew was the last Street Avenger. He gave his life and the lineage ended with him. I honour my family by continuing the fight, and letting a good, honourable death stand at the end of our legacy.”

Sometimes it is true, the heroes have darker souls than the villains.

But that spark.

“How strong of a pyro kinetics?

“Why?” His eyes follow mine to the cracked open windows around where the sanctuary would be. And I believe if this was a cartoon there would be a lightbulb going off above his head. If the temple is up to code he would set off the sprinklers, if not…well humans are resilient in survival.

Mystery floats up. His eyes look through the window. There is probably an altar with flammables, but I cannot speak to his theatrics or if he would just look for a sprinkler to light up…

When the wall explodes inwards sending sandstone and wood careening inside and the screamo music turns to screams.

Mystery lets out a cackle “for Zed.”

To be Continued…