Posts Tagged ‘Return’

Chapter Two

Posted: October 9, 2021 by Ty in Bionic Knight Pulps
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Welcome back dear reader, when last we were in the pulps of the Bionic Knight–Chapter One and now we rejoin our tale already in progress…

Like a bad 1980’s television formatted movie as the flames and fog rolled away, Harry was no longer within the Major Oak. Herne– the Bionic Archer— onece upon a time, PinBall, simply put, John MacCurtis, the crusty mentor of many supra’s was no longere there. Faded into obscurity. Lost to the flames and the fog. They wondered where they were now.

Darkness in the realms. Why would Herne let him move forward? Not decide to step into the now with them. But continue… An act of acceptance? Succession? What was happening? Streams of red light cracked through the darkness. A spot of light, glints off only that green colour one who used to roll pennies could know. The oxidized older penny. Not a penny for their thoughts, but one taking them through the travels of…

“I thought you were dead?” That voice, like Lauren Bacall, Harry was no Bogie, but…

“The rumours of my death were grealty exaggerated.” An old joke, but whether you were on the side of legal or illegal Supra’s and the world they spawned of super powers, mysticism, magic, and science flowing together, it could be an oft repeated phrase because up until the last few years. Death was not permamnence, like the Great Sky Writer, left the door to the Underworld unlocked, or better replaced it with a revolving door even if there was a body, just wait 30 days and see what actually happens.

But the last few years, felt like the Bronze Age of comics for Bucky Barnes and Flash (Barry Allen) fans, where there appeared long term permanence to those heroic deaths. The villains were locked away, and could be out in less than a month. Harry remembers reading those tales, and when the sky effect brought the powers, and their visitor was unleashed…the hatred they felt towards the heroes of their city. The Bionic Knight and the sidekick, the Great Crime Fighters, all those that came to follow and take up their name in the desire for carnage and death.

“Get out Killer Face, or cease to be.” the wonderful Bacall voice, she had been one of those damsel types. The voice also caused a cringe, before vanishing into the system, before being cured. They had one last tango, the Knight saved her, they can still feel the crunch of their groin under her cowboy boot heal for the many years of kidnappings.

“Where am I?” The sound of falling tapestry. The rising sunlight bathes the room, stone and stain glass. In the middle a table. A round table. “Camelot?” This trip through weirdness was starting to feel like their fifth grade classroom library.

Now they could see the older woman, her blonder hair streaked silver, some crow’s feet around the eyes, and glowing red enery around her hands. “Yes, Camelot. Now go back to Earth.”

Tears began trickling down their cheeks. The penny glows. Their chest tightens. The energy was warming the room. “Please, I don’t know how to go home.”

In a weird twist they felt the glee within the woman before them. She was looking forward, afer decades of the harm they had done to finally, what was the word, win. But if they ceased here, would they ever return?

And why were they in Camelot?

“Good bye, Harry.” It was a raspy male voice this time…

Green flame danced out of the maple leaf on the oxidized penny.

Chapter One

Posted: August 20, 2021 by Ty in Bionic Knight Pulps
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Welcome back dear reader, when last we were in the pulps of the Bionic Knight– Prologue and now we rejoin our tale…

“Penny for your thoughts?”

The Canadian penny fell into his hand. The voice he heard was gravelly. The house they had been in no longer existed. Green flame and dust replaced with…soil? Sod? Gnarly wiry trees that resembled the sketches from their old storybooks. What was that tree called? Robin Hood’s tree? No that was what the uneducated would call the known historic home and hiding place of the legendary outlaw.

“Major oak?” they gasp out, any strength in their vocal chords gone. “Sherwood Forest?”

A chortle? Or was it a chuckle? It was definately that sound of mirth between a full belly laugh and a simple snort. They struggled for their eyes to focus in the weird reddish orange moonlight. Smoke? Yet no smell of campfire? Where was this timezone? A crunch of leather soul on the ground. The outline of armour? Or rather leather breeches and chainmail with a cloak, maybe the outline of a sheather sword. Had the explosion killed them? Put them in a coma? Was this some rather twisted hallucinagonic Dungeoans & Dragons game? And why the hell did this penny keep turning up? The Canadian government had stopped making them, yet…

The gravelly voice came from a shadowy head that resembled…an elk? Or just horns of a helm? “Yes and no. My home, but not the forest of your realm.”

Realm? A shoulder roll, the middle aged body reminding themselves they were not hte villain they had once been. But this was beyond experience. But truly was it, they had after all been on of many incarnations of villainy. But that was a long time ago, when heroes did heroic things, and villains did villainous things, heroes beat villians and put them in jail, not the new era where there was no hope of redemption arcs for many villains. Mostly due to the hero being a bit anti-heroic with dealing out death.

“Who?”

Under the helm, their eyes focusing a bit better. One good eye. The eye patch, the form. Not the Bionic Knight, but familiar none the less. Is that a quiver? An end of a long bow? “Archer?”

That sound was definately a chuckle. An outstretched arm. “You knew me as Bionic Archer, sidekick of your nemesis, Bionic Knight. It has been a long time, and many realms away since I have heard that name.”

They accept the help up, and lock eyes with the good eye. An emerald green staring back from behind the helm. He pulls off the helm, revealing the scarred bald head and scratchy snow coloured beard. “Killer Face, what number are you?”

A glance away in shame. He knew who they were. “A name I haven’t heard for many years myself. I was released, declared cured. A lifepast.” A glance to the penny. Penny for their thoughts? “I’m…” what was their name? It had been so long since anyone had actually cared to ask. Let alone inquire what they were thinking? Upon release he had blended into the background at a shelter ran out of church basement, working for romm & board, some spending cash, as the on-site groundskeeper/janitor. What had pulled him to the house? Seeking answers? Confirmation? Forgiveness? Retritbution? Reconciliation? “Harry.”

“Welcome, Harry. To many in this realm I am Herne, in the next realm I am Robin. But my friends calls me John.” A fog or smoke. Now seated within Major Oak. To high backed chairs, and… “my friend, do not be afraid of the beverage, it is tea. I know you are what we used to call straight edge so no mead.” Another chuckle. The voice less raspy, the voice–

“It was your voice that came to me, calling me to the house.” Harry said.

John smiled as he sipped his tea. Crunched on a piece of biscuit with jam. “Yes, it is part of the plan of the return.”

“The return?”

John stroked his whiskery beard. “Your realm needs a protector, PenDragon or Herne we are unsure. What is sure, is that myself the Knight will not, cannot return.”

“But I am a killer.”

“There is a time for everything under the Heavens, and nothing new within the realms. Is not everyone who is humble, and seeking, allowed forgiveness? If of course you can forgive yourself?”

“Wha?”

A spark of green flame, the same penny once more in the palm of Harry’s hand.

“If I can forgive myself?”

The flame consumed the person Harry in the chair of Major Oak, as John gave a belly laugh.

The fog rolled through.

And this realm moved on

without the one called Harry.

Prologue

Posted: May 28, 2021 by Ty in Bionic Knight Pulps
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The innocuous coin was in a non-descript grey plastic grocery bag, on a bottom shelf, shoved away in the cob webbed storeroom of the 1970’s era split level family home. The chains holding the shelving up were beginning to sag a bit with time. The house was next to what had once been known as the ashram, a simple trailer co-op that had been used as the base of operations for a superhero conclave. After the last of the heroes had vanished, the municipal council had passed a motion to annex the land to build a new multi-purpose housing development, the long boarded up split level, rotting away in the slow death of abandonment on the fog rolling space, was also part of the plan. It is where the new green space and universal designed playground was to go.

Long ago, implosion had been taken off the table, the house would be collapsed upon itself with all contents to simply be plowed over and paved. It was a plan many municipalities had used to repurpose landfill sites in time, to build malls. It was a sound plan; the multi-purpose affordable housing project was part of the land developer’s redemption strategy. Many did not know who this shadow player was, they played their identity close to the vest.

They could not explain what brought them to remove the plywood from the door frame and enter the dust covered house. Even though it was so close to the hero commune, it had been a squatter’s paradise, overrun with mice and insects. Their expensive loafers crunched on the scurrying insects that to the untrained eye appeared as carpet. Moving his pen light to shine upwards the ceiling appeared to be moving due to the high level of infestation. Their eyes scanned the stair way up, though the low drum beat in their ear stopped them from ascending. At the landing they looked down the staircase, on the right and left there was doorways at the bottom. This weird thrumming beat in their ears reminded them of the ear infections they had as a child. Something was guiding them.

The light shone downwards, was that squirrels? The kind introduced to the city that run amuck as too many folks thought they were cute and fed them. Ruffling of feathers, obviously between the influx of woodpeckers in the area, and pigeons, that roosting had begun inside.

The descent, the stairs creaked. The abandonment, and more likely leaks and possible floods over time with some broken windows exposing to elements had done structural damage. They shifted uncomfortably in the expensive designer suit, an ox blood colour with subtle pinstripes, double breasted. They pulled on their tie to loosen the not. The thrumming was louder in their ear, they pushed back the short brim fedora a little. From an inside pocket, pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. The thrumming dulled a little when the looked to the right doorway, so they went through the left, a rotting family room with broken furniture, stepping on mice remnants, a right turn brought them into a laundry room. The mildew and mold from a burst hot water tank, a cannibalized furnace out of the peripheral, about eight feet in a left turn.

The pen light beam cut through the thick dust and cobwebs onto the rotting wooden shelves. Was that a skunk huddling in the corner? No movement, if it was, it had long since expired. The penlight scanned ripped open debris, and remnants of a family’s life heirlooms. A father, wife, and children. The light fell on a picture that had a young married couple; a heart drawn with Rick loves Susie. Their footsteps on what they think is a sheet, they squat and look closer, it’s a ripped tapestry, an image of a dragon and a knight pulling forth a sword from a stone.

A crack of thunder outside. Rain was coming. Too often the city felt like it was England or a bad Sherlock Holmes novel. The light beam glances on the shelf, the plastic bag. They walked up to it. An old journal falls off the shelf when they grab at the bag. They glance the flashlight off an entry.

May not have passed that psyc test to the best of my ability. Taking the ancient languages is tripping me out, but the push for funds having me re-look at where to go in university. Thankful to pick up writing gigs. The pain though, is that they are back. Why does society always pick up moment from the darkest elements and sidelines hope? Final’s week is not the time for a new killer mystery, maybe an old standard bearer like Killer Face or Ripper, really do not need a new BK rogue.

They smirk. Really? Their light goes back to the picture. “All these years, and your name was Rick?” They chuckle, the thrumming is louder, so much that they are not able to focus. They lift the bag, it bursts, coins and old paper money fall over.

It lands on top of their loafer. An oxidizing Canadian penny, glowing slightly.

                “A green flame?”

Lightning crackles outside the window.

                The cracked picture frame of the wedding picture bursts outward.

A piece of glass slices through their suit, a bit of blood drops on the floor.

As the thrumming becomes a word.

PenDragon.

To Be Continued…


Best way to understand the new Johnny Power in action is he reminded him of the Eleventh Doctor, the one that seemed to have adult ADHD or even Hammy off Over the Hedge on the energy drink. It’s usually Speedster’s that have focus issues, but in this new duo it was the leaping over tall buildings and super strength that produced the focus issues.

The Evil was moving rapidly towards the red headed woman dressed for a night out of clubbing. He pegged her age mid-20’s if she was a day…and soon she would join the previous victim. Power is flitting about all over, thankfully Speedster he noted is trying to get a deeper focus with the rumbling skies, flashing lightning and fog.  Fog was new. The Evil was trying to cover its tracks.  He had to stop the advance upon the victim.

What the hell had MacKay been thinking sending these two out into the hunting grounds?

* * * * **

Susan turned to the words. MacKay aimed his shotgun as the dust cleared.

Zed dusted some of the splinters off him. His robes had burn holes.  The skin that was burnt began regenerating as it is what ancient immortal alien beings hiding on earth from those that would destroy them do.

Susan glanced at the immortal being, he appeared to almost be cowering behind MacKay, attempting to still look strong.  The words though kept ringing in her ears. “Bionics on.” Only two others had used that phrase, her best friend and lover, and his best friend. Who was back there?

Pen wasn’t providing any insight, he had startled awake and was softly growling.

Sheath lightning fills the Ashram (double wide) again.

Thunder cracks.

Another voice as the trailer whites out with lightening.

“The Great Crime Fighters I presume.”

* ******

The fog fills in the hunting grounds surrounding the four. He loses track of whom he believes The Evil’s prey to be.

“J somethings coming.” Speedster said.

Power attempts to leap up out of the fog that is at six feet high and rising.

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.”

 

* * * * * * *

Another flash of lightening as the dust cleared.

The armour shimmered.

The sword was drawn in a parry formation.

The helmeted eyes crackled with green flame.

“Step aside villain. The godling must perish.” A voice that resounded as a Greek Chorus.

Susan moved in front of MacKay much to his protestations. Her eyes locked on the armoured figure. No recognition from the Knight before them. But there was a pull she felt to look into the reflective helmet.

“Who are you?” Susan asked.

The figure in the armour stepped forward again. “I am the PenDragon. The one this world calls the Bionic Knight. If you stand with this thing called Zed, then you are my foe.” The sword thrusts forward. “And you shall die.”

To Be Continued…