Posts Tagged ‘Shotgun McKay’


“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…


Part of me wishes I could open this tale speaking of divine enlightenment. That my role currently in the city was like the Organians in the original Star Trek’s Errand of Mercy episode. Where these next steps up the evolutionary ladder types show the way through non-violence.

As my loaded deer skin work gloves shatters the perps nose sending him to dream land.

My composite toe and heeled cowboy boot mule kicks wanna be tough number two between the legs sending him into the puke and urine soaked alley way. Their mugging target is already skedaddling as I use the butt of my shotgun to knock number two out.

Stupid thing known as blue tooth allows me to call in the pick up to the local police. As I head out to vanish, there was a local store’s CCTV camera to show the crime broken up.

At least its not the `90’s when I was more machine than man. Felt like that bloody Trap Jaw villain off the He-Man cartoon. When my one arm was replaced by an actual shotgun. Thankful to James Saturn, the Ionic Knight in one of his heroic turns using the last of the magic of Gerklyn before he was finally removed from reality that finally transformed me back to full humanity.

But that left me wondering if there was more than being just a hired gun. Which is what set me on my newest path at the turn of the century after the craziness of the Y2K non-event that in the dark night of conspiracy lunacy I went inwardly to my own dark soul to move forward in a new way. Training new heroes, and finding myself on the side of light, even up until now where I am aiding in training the newer heroes.

But this city is angering. It is one with a serious case of ostrich syndrome, where the easiest way to deal with criminal crisis is to be like the allegorical ostrich and place its head in the sand. Now one may say it is because the next civic election has yet to happen to fully replace the dearly departed mayor of the city (see Speare 3 and Quest of Rick Saturn the Bionic Knight), but truly it is a city with a pattern.

When there was child sex trafficking discovered, they responded by cutting the budget to the vice unit.

With the rise of the opioid crisis, the first response was deflection or talk of it not being that horrible.

To the rise in gun violence year to year, and being unable to acknowledge the rising tide of gang violence, with one of the most violent and unpredictable being a gang like cult attached to the Bionic Knight’s villain, Killer Face, each one numbered starting at 2 through whatever they are at now, with all the interlocking layers to protect the higher ups. Like a violent/insidious organized crime version of Scientology if you will from what one sees in things like documentary’s Going Clear.

This is the city that has a team of heroes, that are still recovering from our last grand adventure. And the true hero of the town is taking a bit of a sabbatical after saving space and time (see Great Crime Fighters Together).  But there’s always time for a horrible cup of coffee at a downtown yuppie coffee shop that likes to pretend you exist in Europe.

A perky red headed college lass is taking orders. “Black coffee.”

“Venti? Grande? Light? Medium or dark roast?” She giggles out.

“You misheard my order. Black coffee, in a big cup. Strong.” I state.

She looks stumped as she rings in what comes close to four bucks for the coffee. Or maybe she is noting the shotgun butt coming out of the back holster. My face stubble is more salt than pepper, but I tug off the leather gloves and shove them in the back pocket of my jeans as I take the fancy coffee, and move to a table.

The phone is crackling in my ear. Susan Kobwash-Saturn is running for mayor. She is a solid candidate, long-time friend. Actually, believed me when I started changing stripes mid-race. James’ was confounded to, especially when he went back to the darker side of things and I continued on my path of angels. Even tried to literally chop my arm off. Wound up with my jaw wired, but he had his own thugs, as he led the Killer Faces at that time, and well, it imploded.

Then I survived the time when the heroes lost their own way and a new generation became far too blood thirsty. Thankful that taking them down like the villains they were (see Great Crime Fighters Clean up Duty). But now Susie K has a fight on the hustings for she has laid out the path of truth and justice for the city and there is many incumbents and millionaires that still want the status quo of ostrich scenario.

The coffee has that annoying burnt taste that comes from the yuppie grind on site charge you the tally of your first born to buy that craptacular cup of coffee.  As I watch the full moon take hold in the freshly minted sky. The streets can be crazy, sometimes the mo-fo’s torch folks, other times the cops catch them first. The crisis’ become too hard to avoid, and it takes heroes and leaders to step up and speak out. Never thought in a million years that elder statesman hero role would fall to me, but sometimes I do feel like that old Toby Keith Song.

Click on to answer a call.

“Shotgun.”

The voice is faint. Speedster, she’s still recovering from almost being gutted. “Ashram now.”

“Why?” I can play at being dense, sometimes it’s fun, and besides, ashram means Zed, and I detest that asshole.

“Someone crucified Zed.”

To Be Continued…

 


MacCurtis’ suit fades away as the orange energy surrounds his body, his hair flames out as he launches through kinetic energy towards the form standing outside of his friends’ house. Were Rick and Susan still alive? PinBall closes the distance ready to rebound the form into the stratosphere.

The form’s massive arm straight armed with open palm catching PinBall by the throat. The hero dangled as the fingers compressed around PinBall’s throat. “Really feeble child, you were my Avatar here on earth. You are nothing.”

PinBall tried to form the words, but he felt his windpipe being crushed.

Inside the kitchen. Susan moves broken bits of table off of her. She felt the warmth of blood on her legs and arms, she tasted the iron taste in her mouth. Rick was unconscious. Laying in what was the kitchen wall separating it from the living room. His right hand was close, she could see the celtic cross ring that held his power.

Her eyes fell on a protruding 2 x 4 stud, only it had snapped and was jutting out through his abdomen. Blood was running down. Susan remembered how the change would heal him. “Damn it Rick.”

Her fingers brushed the cross of the ring. She whispers quietly “Bionics On.” And winces as the lightning comes. . .

The chopper was metres away. Agent Regis motioned to Johnny Power to launch. Johnny Power could not fly, but he could leap far distances and this was one of those moments. Speedster could move her legs fast enough to vibrate to ground and followed her godfather out of the chopper.

Shotgun hung out the side and aimed. “Great Crime Fighters Unite!”

The form has huge stag horns coming from his head. He drops the unconscious PinBall, blue energy crackles around his eyes.

Johnny Power’s shoulder slams into the standing form’s abdomen. Blue energy shoots out at the chopper vaporizing the pilot, Regis and MacKay leap out. Herne’s elbow slams into the base of Power’s neck knocking the hero to the ground as Speedster is clotheslined.

Regis looks to McKay as they land.

Herne smiles. He had just taken apart the Great Crime Fighters without breaking a sweat.

McKay levels his shotgun at the godling. “Now you die monster.”

Herne simply laughs.

“You are mistaken human.”

McKay pulls the trigger as buckshot explodes. Regis covers his ears and dives behind a poplar tree.

A sandal catches Herne in the back of the head, and a molecular shift in the air redirects blue energy back at Herne.

The godling slams hard into the ground. Johnny Power stumbles back up to his feet. McKay smiles. “Zed, Street Avenger took ya long enough.”

Zed smiles, as the one called Street Avenger straightens his gray tie. “I am Mystery.” He kisses Zed on the cheek. “The Street Avenger legacy ended with my nephew, to be healed a new trail needed to be blazed, and that trail begins today by sending this mutt back to nowhere.” Mystery shifts the air molecules more wrapping Herne in a field of telekinesis and closing it around him.

PinBall reaches out and touches the godling’s foot. It was time to see if how to send him out of the realm of this earth still worked. He gasped for air, but the kinetic energy that fuelled him was working overtime to re-knit his throat back together. This thing had killed Rick and Susan.

“Bionics on.” Barely a whisper. The lightning flashed. . .

and Herne laughed?

To Be Continued

 


Gothic City, Alberta’s weather was always damp, it had meteorologically confused itself with Vancouver, B.C. Zed pulled a hood up on his robes to try and abate the rain on his bald scalp as he moved through the grave yard with McKay, the rain dripped off the brim of his black cowboy hat, the mud was outstripping the grass.

“Okay Zed we have seen the Katz’s’ tombstones, now what?”

Zed looked at the water soaked paper list. “The last active one was a Wulf.” Zed stated as the paper finally fell apart.

McKay flips the brim of his hat. “Here it is, Jack Wulf.”

Zed looked at it. “Then that is it. The lineage of the Street Avenger is gone.”

McKay’s eyes scan to a tree. He silently motions to Zed as there is movement a few feet away. Someone is watching them. McKay continues walking up the row of grave markers getting closer to the tree, the form tries to move.

A quick swipe of a saffron robed arm and the mysterious form lands squarely in a mud puddle, it goes to rise and a double barrelled 12 gauge is levelled in its face. A grey bearded face with wild hair and a grey trench coat. “Alright mate, stay down.”

Zed moves to stand beside McKay. “Who are you and why are you following us?”

The mystery man’s eyes bear confusion as he moves from the gun to the monk. He stammers, and stutters trying to find words, but how could he put his thoughts into words that these two would find believable.

McKay study’s the darting mixed colour green blue eyes. His mind flashes back to earlier days, of fun and laughter, when he was the darkest bad ass. The days between Kevin Katz as Street Avenger, and Jack Wulf as Street Avenger, when Kevin’s son, and Jack’s uncle. “Doug is that you?”

“Mystery tis a mystery what darkness lurks in the soul of man and heart of woman.” Stated the mixed coloured eye man.

Zed notes underneath the black trench coat is a red kerchief like some 1930’s pulp fiction knock off of the Shadow. “Is not, who knows what evil lurks in the heart of men?” Zed dictates in his best radio announcer voice.

A crackle of blue energy around his eyes as he tries to rise from the mud. The air shifts, McKay tries to pull the trigger but flies backwards and slams hard into a fir tree. As the man in the trench coat floats up and the mud slides off. “I am Mystery. Alpha and Omega.”

McKay picks his hat up off the ground and puts it back on as the sky crackles with lightning. He had forgotten that the Street Avenger was a telekinetic, and depending on the age of the new generation the powers grew exponentially. A powerful burst like that was reminiscent of his fights with Doug. But Doug was supposed to be dead.

Though it would not be the first time a Supra did not die, or died and came back. Zed was keeping Mystery distracted, either this was a Street Avenger, and needed help and would eventually join the G.C.F. for the mysterious time to come that MacCurtis kept alluding too, or he was some newbie that needed to be put down and placed in jail.

Zed raises his hands palms up towards Mystery causing the floating man’s gave to follow the damp saffron robes. McKay pumps the shotgun, aims… “Hey fuck you Mystery!” The floating man turns and the buck shot explodes feet away slamming into Mystery’s face and neck twirling him around to a roundhouse from Zed and putting him down in the mud unconscious.

McKay nudges the unconscious body with his cowboy boot, and notices a chain tied to a wallet in a back pocket. Zed reaches down and pulls it out, flips it open and looks at the provincial identification card.

“Doug Katz. What happened to my friend?” Zed asked.

McKay looks down at the crumpled body of his one-time foe, with a fractured mind now. “That is a good question.” McKay taps his ear piece, “Eh Agent Regis, yea we got the target, we need extraction.”

Thunder rumbled masking the sound of the helicopter landing in the cemetery.

To Be Continued