Posts Tagged ‘The Agency’


Lee groaned slightly as he shifted against the tombstone. The morning was damp. It had been a bit since his last visit. The fire-bombing of St. Jude’s, dealing with Insurance Companies and their scams, working with contractors, and keeping the little parish that could against all odds afloat at the MLA donated office space had taken up his time.

Though not as much as the crazy at his first night, when all he wanted was sleep. Now the window has plywood up, and… “Yup Lexie, my landlord is a Supra. Think she’s the legacy super hero known as Speedster. She didn’t reveal my identity, but it tracks when the skinheads hit. The old man took some shots, I got grazed in the shoulder.” He could feel his wife’s scorn and the playful punch to his wound. That’s just how they rolled, Lexie constantly warning him to quit stirring the pot, with her smirk and giggle.

“Crazy, so it’s a trailer that was owned by Shotgun MacKay, he suicided, before that it belonged to that weirdo Zed we always read about in the online self-help stuff. The kid, Beth Venus set me up with it, still have no clue how she fits in. The old Asian guy is a former agent in this weird world, goes by the name Louie Regis he’s pushing eighty or something and has been having visions.” Lee pauses in his tale. Did he have to tell her of the coloured sights of the family and the voices? Or did she know? What was Camelot anyways?

“Even though Speedster is supposed to be as fast as sound, Mel and Sean beat her to the punch in his old truck, and they both can swing mean baseball bats. Six gun men all together taken down, none speaking about why they hit.” Lee couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of MLA Moon swinging a bat in her jeans and hoody with retired Constable Sean James.

“Almost created one of those goofy comic book moments of a new team coming together, all looking the same way and smiling. Instead a lot of sirens, police and EMS.” Jacobs rubbed the back of his head. He was still fatigued and tired. Just needed time to relax and sleep, before that some coffee and to check in with Moon that it was still a go for tomorrow at her office for church.

“Thanks for listening babe, if you hear of anything about Camelot let me know.”

Jacobs pushed himself up slowly, crossed himself and blew a kiss to the tombstone beofre walking away.

Louie Regis let his black ray bans slide down as he watched the minister walk out of the grave yard. Jacobs nods, as the lanky graying Asian comes into step with him, his black rumpled suit seeming at odds with Jacobs jeans, hiking boots, zipper hoody, and plaid jacket. “Why so grumpy, Louie?”

Regis chuckled. “Thought I was done with all this crap, and then bam. People’s new sense of self-entitlement and selfishness is harming the world as a whole. Inability to think outside themselves in actions. Re-education being used to indoctrinate into new cult and terror groups like anti-vaxxers, alt-right, f’ing Nazis…”

“Miss the days of the universe attacking super villain huh?”

“Life was simple then Father Jacobs, it was easy to spot the villain, and easier to silence the idiot.”

“Bloody social media.” Jacobs said.

“And the lack of critical thinking, with anyone able to post an opinion like it is gospel truth. So where do we begin?” Regis replies.

Jacobs scratches his beard, a bit fuller than he would like, but it has been a roller coaster ride for sometime. “First, I check in with Ms. Moon to ensure my parish has a place of worship tomorrow.” Shepherd first he thinks to himself, adventuring wanna be hero later. “Then, what do you know about something called Camelot?”


They’re Here.

-Enigma

It was the message the ended my conversation abruptly with Beth, the new Bionic Knight. She believes that I do not trust her. She has many adventures in missing the point, too many of the young and old have died. Beth needs to be the Bionic Knight, once I have FUBAR’ed this moment in history because some hero has to save the planet.

The rain dribbled off the top of my cowboy hat. In the alley, Agent Regis had the collar of his rumpled trench coat up and a Bogie fedora tilted just right to keep the rain from going down his neck. The call had come in and he had called me as I was heading back to my trailer at the Ashram.

“Bullets in the ground there and there.” Agent Regis points with a laser pointer.

“Were mine.” He looks surprised that I was using live rounds. “He had been around maybe…” I let the last bit trail off, it made very little sense to blame this alien, wanna be hero, for what happened to Johnny. But who said grief made any sense?

“C.O.D?” Regis asked in that cop tone where it makes one want to call their lawyer.

“I would say whatever sliced and diced him like the Ginsu from the old shopping channel on cable. Broken nose, ribs, and some of the lumps are mine, and probably the urine of his running down the drain with the rain. He was scared but alive when I left him.” I wait a beat. “And he also knew he was evicted from the Ashram and off the team.”

Regis stands up from his crouch and looks me in the eye. He pops a piece of gum into his mouth, trying to fight the cigarette demon last I heard. “We are ready for what is to come, you don’t have to fight this alone old man.”

“Pot or kettle on that one, Louie?”

He hrumphs. The graying at his temples betrays his age, there was a time when all of us where on the less salt side of salt and pepper in this game. Those were the days the rain did not make one quite so cold with the wet, and worry about the next mornings aches and pains from a night out in it.  “Enigma messaged again.”

I do believe it was a chortle or maybe a guffaw that escaped Regis’ mouth. “And what does the erstwhile tech ghost have for us.” More a statement of disdain than a question.

“They’re here.” I do believe the coughing fit was due to Regis almost aspirating his gum.

“She ready?” Regis asked.

I shake my head. “Not risking anymore kids. I got this one.”

“Suicidal?”

He could be right in his question. Only so much death one can handle. Only so much of outliving friends and family. But more. Sometimes there is a tiny voice in the back of your mind that challenges you to be better. “Just times up for whatever evil is coming.” Regis simply nods.

He is one of the folks that never got Enigma. The player that came online as the Bionic Knight faded into the background for a bit to have a life. It was the voice guiding the heroes still attempting to stay on track out of the dark and gritty. A voice echoing in the dark to save the world. That suddenly went silent.

My eyes move to the diced corpse of George and the purple blood washing off the cement as Agency Agents and staff clear up the mess and prepare to move the body. “I will let you know when it’s go time.”

“You realize MacKay you aren’t in charge of us?”

“You realize Regis, without the GCF you…well y’know.” I walk back into the shadows and head to my truck. Two new forms right beside it. Took them long enough to show up.

“Dragyn. Bionic Knight.” A crackle of lightning and a clap of thunder. Close together.

THEY’RE HERE.”  I nod to Dragyn’s statement. Remember Rick and George challenging me on the fact that maybe the legend of St. George and the Dragon was wrong, what if the dragon was the hero of the story.

I look to Beth. “We’re here to help.”

“Him. You stay put.” I state. What if the story was wrong, but it leaves open the option that the story was right.

“I’m ready MacKay what the hell are you scared of?! I’m not your son! I’m not my predecessor! I’m not going to die!”

The sawed off 18 gauge is in my hand and the space between us is cleared. The end of the nozzle is in the neck chink of her armour. I can smell her fear. Back like when I used to kill people like her for a living. She could fry me where I stand, but doesn’t know what to do, or is toying with me.

“Simple Knight. Do you really think a dragon and a cowboy are going to save the universe? We’re the distraction. But keep it up and there won’t be a Knight left to play hero.” I slowly pull back the gun.

“Yooo-uu ddon’t scare me.”

“Good, B.K. because when it is all said and done. History doesn’t remember guys like me, they remember heroes like you.”

To be Continued…

A Cowboy and a Dragyn walk into a bar


Beth was awkward generation Z awkward when she came to see him. Not knowing what to say to either of us as the machines pump life into him…and truly my surly old self just makes her uncomfortable for she believes I see her as a place holder for my friend, not as a hero in her own right. She is wrong on that, but how can you prove something so intangible?

Kyla cried. I cried. Shaddup. I am allowed to cry. He is my boy. Thankfully Dragyn came with her, and helped her. Not like his extraterrestrial partner, George, that bailed on us with this looming invasion threat from beyond the stars. The bailing that left my boy alone to fight when the first monster came. Don’t know what is worse the annoying sounds of the machines, his lifeline when others are around. Or in the silence. The stern look of doctors that won’t answer my questions, because well Supras are either to win or die, not be left in the limbo dance of a normal Homo Sapien. The nurses, they are nice, and attempt humour, but as one mentioned on her way out—didn’t expect the leader of the Great Crime Fighters to be such a surly A-hole. I pride myself on that.

As I read to him. Stories of King Arthur, Don Quixote, Lone Ranger, Star Trek, Robin Hood and Agatha Christie. Trying to get him back through the familiar stories. Getting him to latch on to my voice, or when she is up to it, Kyla (Speedster’s). Thought they were just friends, but she broke down and told me they were engaged. Johnny never saw me as the romantic caring kind. I know the one that was left to mentor.

My phone vibrates, I flip it open and click view. Don’t knock the flip phone until you have regressed back to its greatness and realize how much life and money the smart phone sucks from you.

WATCH THIS SPACE.

NEWS TO COME.

-ENIGMA

The weird computer voyeur that shared clues in the past is back. He shared my son’s last moments. The world thought he had died, but no, the Agency had found him barely alive and airlifted him back. His system is trying to repair, but it is sapping his power source to try to repair systems. It aids the additions of machines to keep him alive, as his invulnerability wanes, but he becomes more alive scientifically through acrobatics than through being, alive.

We are at the point where medicine can keep the body going in perpetuity until it can almost begin decomposing, as it is only the physical remains alive, at what point does one know when the cosmic spark has left?

My life was so much simpler before the Bionic Knight. Called him the pissant to further dehumanize him way back when. The odd time it was my scheme was few and far between, usually I was a hired gun by one of the bigger names. I could get away, if I couldn’t always had a breakout plan.

Back when the shotgun used real bullets.

“Wil, are you serious about this hero thing?” Rick said.

“yeah.” I said. As we sat having cokes after another fight out with baddies. Been on the side of angels a very short time, doing covert ops for the GCF rooting out the baddies.

            “Need to switch to rubber.”

“On my boot soles? Hell no.”

            “No Wil, bullets. Heroes don’t kill.” I watch Rick power up and fly into the sky.

Rubber bullets. Real heroes don’t kill. It was a crossroads night. Those times of belief systems people hit multiple times in their lives. Those moments of clarity when the world is not seen in black and white so much as its beautiful Technicolour existence. How I actually dream, in 1930’s animation style. That night was one of those moments, my change up followed shortly. The odd time the Agency would use me as a side gun on the side of angels, but my fists got more of a work out than my gun. My partner in those times of triggering in covert ops for the Agency was…Perhaps if I had stayed with real bullets and not rubber, Johnny would have wanted me with him in the fight. Not seen me as just some aging street fighter.

“Wil, we will take the body when you’re ready.” Said Agent Louie Regis. Standing behind me in the hospital as machines do everything for my son and I watch the mathematical numbers tell me that the cosmic spark is snuffing out. Protocol, Supras bodies are interned back in some vault in Ottawa. Just in case science ever progresses to try to clone a human, they cannot find the remains.

I nod. Watch the reflection in the window as he leaves. A doctor walks in.

“My son is an organ donor.” I say.

“The agent has.” The doctor attempts to interject.

“My son is an organ donor, the agent can be damned. He will die as he lived, how I am not sure he realized I truly saw him. A hero.”

My phone vibrates again.

I flick it open.

GEORGE IS BACK.

LOCATION TO FOLLOW. 30 MINUTES.

-ENIGMA.

“Keep him alive until tomorrow.” I say as I rise.

Time to get some real bullets.


 

I’m sorry Dad..I love you.

Said Johnny “Power” MacKay.

In a scroll across the screen in giant green letters.

FROM

ENIGMA.

They found a pulse. Very faint, barely audible. “Thank you, Louie.” Hate saying those words to an agent of the Agency, but Louie Regis, though appearing Columbo bumbling is quite proficient, and pro-Supra (well Pro being a decent human being). He nods to me; his greenish hued eyes say it all. He still is not sure if I am fully on the side of the angels. But he enjoys the fact that the resurfaced Enigma was wrong. Big bad monster taken out. Hero alive, if on life support. The beating “Thankfully” wore my kid out enough that his invulnerability had worn down enough due to open wounds to allow for the needed intubation and IV’s.

His body was burnt bad. He had what amounted to hopefully a temporary colostomy. Rumour he may have lost his spleen if not some severing of the vertebrae, and yes, the machines were doing the heavy lifting on breathing for him.  But my boy was here. And knowing the pain he must be in I was thankful for pharmaceutical pain killers and opioids being pumped into him. The hard part for a Supra. Always prepare for not coming home from saving the universe, but what happens when you return but almost gave all?

The Great Crime Fighters were getting through the Noro Virus. The enigmatic alien George was sill missing in action. None of that mattered. The short video I got on my tablet coming alive, I believed was the last thing I would ever hear my son say. We had fought through so much in life before the legacy power chose him. Even me being distant, his mother culminating her emotional-spiritual abuse of me and taking off with him so I lost touch until we reconnected when he got the power.

Regis taps my shoulder and nods. “Take care of him old man.”

All I can do is repeat the same phrase. “Thank you, Louie.” He leaves us in the hospital room. The slow-motion safety closure of the door stops the hard thump as it closes. A few moments before next rounds, the lights are already low.

“Tough like his pops Wil.” Said Rick Saturn. I do a double take at the voice by the window coming out of the shadowy dusk light. Rick the missing. Here. This is far to weird.

“You mofo where have you been!” Okay I may be a bit angry that the best hero—ever chooses now to pop back into reality.

The form shimmers a little. Not quite solid. Is this a weird cosmic-Camelot thing? Magic or aliens? When one holds to a belief someone will be real in their time of need, they can manifest them or something like that I remember Zed going on about, Tulpa? “I cannot help in what is coming, but I can help in the now.”

What would I need in the now? How ass backwards is this sitting with my son in ICU watching machines wondering if he will be strong enough to leave? He used to be able to bench press sky scrappers? And now, the cosmic evil that a child may pass before his father? Was Regis saving him a blessing or a curse? The doctors want to know the plan, I don’t have a plan. Super-heroes don’t plan what if they come back in this shape… they only ever come back whole or dead and then resurrect.

“Or crumble under magically induced neurological illness and PTSD.” Says Tulpa Rick. “But I am here for you, you struggle, your child is alive.”

He is right. I do struggle. At what point do I truly know my son is no longer here? Enigma rebooted to send me his “death” only to have him pulled from that fate. There is some warped interstellar thing coming. The alien who can explain it is missing. My friend and his family have vanished.

And I am here talking to the shadow of what my friend once was. Journalist-Activist-Pastor-hero, but what did he always say? “What did you always say?”

“Always the lighting to Susan’s lightning rod and…”

“Father of two amazing twins who will change the world.” I finish.

The machine beeps as it checks vitals once more. Numbers dance, lines squiggle. At one point another teammate years ago tried to explain it all to me. All I cared about was the simplicity, when does it mean they are alive and when dead? The shimmering Rick touches my hand as I sit in the uncomfortable hospital visiting chair holding my son’s massive hand. Wrapped as most of the skin has been burned off when he battled the first wave.

“As long as there’s numbers. There’s life.”

I look up as the setting son darkens the room naturally.

I lightly feel Johnny squeeze that space between thumb and index finger. Not much more strength than when he was first born.

But where there’s simple acts.

Simple breath.

Faint pulse.

Life…my son.

“I’m sorry Johnny, I should’ve been there.” I feel the tears begin again. “I love you.”

 

WE COME.

-Enigma


There has been a long history of computer hackers and brainiacs, artificial intelligences and uber geniuses involved in all layers of super hero and villaindom. Not to mention super spies. The Agency was what had been designed to work alongside, support and if necessary reign in or replace the heroes of Canada. C.D. (Compu-Death) was an erst while teen on the 1990’s computer genius back when it was a challenge, who was given a choice of service to his country or youth corrections and then adult jail. He chose service. One of those genius levels that was never supported enough in school so boredom led to his deviant behaviours.

I take a sip of coffee on the porch of my trailer thinking of the kid. My tablet is ready to click on an episode of Longmire. He served well, gave his life on a mission that, well, saved the world of course. There was also another computer presence that intersected with the Great Crime Fighter’s history. No one knew who they were. Just messages on a screen or a scrambled voicemail, dropping clues like the super heroes own Deep Throat if you will.

Last report of the three sick was that they were almost back to being in the land of the living. Still no idea where George vanished too. Hope Johnny is making a go with the monster, the receiver in my ear went down when…

The screen to my tablet illuminates. Weird. Pick it up. A simple message scrawls across in Comic Sands:

Your teammate’s last words.

A short video clip from the old Bunker, funny enough looks like C.D.’s command centre… Johnny in the midst of whatever burning energy and monster. He’s screaming something before everything goes black.

A garbled cleaned up audio clip comes through the darkness:

I’m sorry Dad..I love you.

Said Johnny “Power” MacKay.

In a scroll across the screen in giant green letters.

FROM

ENIGMA.

In the back of my mind a hollow voice as I feel a tear in the corner of my eye,

WE COME.


Even confined to the wheel chair, Natan looked like he was about to keel over. Sax had the not so impressed face a spouse gets when the other life partner does what is not in their health’s best interest. But here Natan was, had wheeled himself through the tunnel that connected the shop to the back yard double wide trailer they called home. Speare notes it is one other home he had never been in, much like this being the first time he had ever actually met Natan.

Sax moves from the seat and kisses his soul on the forehead tenderly, he doesn’t even have to ask simply grabs a tumbler and pours three fingers of scotch into the glass. Natan takes it in his long fingers, his skin tone is literally red, not racist red as when one spoke of Aboriginals back at colonizations, no – this was fire truck red or Satan red that his skin was toned as. Speare had always assumed that Sax had been joking when he would call his husband the son of Satan or sprung from the loins of Lucifer.

With the new information Speare was still processing the not necessarily new information, but confirmation of things he had believed around alien contact and governmental conspiracy up to this point on this case.

“You want to know about the borderland.” Natan rasped out.

Speare simply nodded, not wanting to have to extend anything more than necessary. Natan sipped on his drink, and from the little grin Sax gave his spouse, Speare could’ve sworn the red skinned man pinched his husband’s butt.

“It was a crazy time in the bunker, and then I noted the sparks behind MacCurtis’ eyes, the false mask coming off in a split second as he went insane. It was time.” Natan went on as he nursed his drink to walk through the psychic battle. Believing he was battling an alien entity that had presented as a Norse God, only to discover on the borderlands. “It was not about pushing him back into Valhalla, or a wormhole so he could go home. But rather it was a Nephilim, those that many ancient races had risen up to do away with. This soul had hidden away on the Ark, the storehouse of DNA samples before the great catastrophe.”

Speare noted that he needed to catch up on Ancient Aliens to be able to follow this case better. “Yet this parasite had lodged itself in MacCurtis and needed to be rooted out. Took all I had to exorcise if you prefer that word, as the gate to Valhalla was closing.”

“You pulled the Nehilim out and tossed it in?” Speare asked.

Natan’s dry lips cracked a smile as he finished off his drink. “I put his head into the portal before it closed.” A very cold chill ran down Speare’s spine, like a full body brain freeze realizing what Natan had stated. This youngish man had essentially wielded the power to destroy and ancient entity. “At which point MacCurtis who was already de-aging, and myself crashed back into the bunker. Slick had hot wired himself and a rescue team back in. We were flown back to The Agency’s HQ in Winnipeg, debriefed, and I guess to keep with the religious tones of Martyrs, de-frocked.”

“We were decommissioned, and pensioned off back into civilian life at that point Speare. I stayed with Natan until he was discharged from the hospital and we used our monies to buy this piece of paradise.” Sax said. “You already know what happened to MacCurtis, Malcolm vanished. Far as we knew Daemon and Reesa vanished off the grid to wed and pop out babies.”

Speare stroked his whiskers, as he looked at the man in the wheel chair. Chalk white hair down to his shoulders, Vulcan like ears. “What’s your story that seems almost unbelievable what you pulled off within the borderland?”

“My story is simple, I am part-alien, part-human. My mother mated with what the Hebrew Bible would reference as Lucifer. And that is why I was able to tap into the cosmic power to deal with the Nephilim.” Natan stated as one would list their monthly bills to be paid.

Speare nodded, let out a low whistle. Somehow this didn’t seem to shock anymore, he was getting used to rolling with the reveals, like a bad reality television show trying to stave off cancellation.

“So the Slick that saved you, that was Jacqueline’s dad?” Speare asked.

Sax and Natan exchanged quizzical looks and it was Sax that spoke. “Jake “Shades” Slick, was a man-whore, but he never produced a child. The only Jacqueline we knew was…”

“Reesa. It was her first na—“ Natan could not finish the sentence before the fist slammed into the back of his head.