Posts Tagged ‘Shotgun McKay’


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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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 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…


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