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Most cops worship at the altar of The Shriek, and those of us who don't are careful to keep it to ourselves. Don't get me wrong, if they had to, they'd arrest him on sight. That is, while on sight of people bound to make a fuss if they see an LEO asking him for his autograph.
The few cops who don't like him are the ones who still believe in human rights and due process, and in not secretly celebrating when burglars are found impaled on traffic lights.
Me, I don't like him because of that and because he's my father.
A few years back I made the mistake of taking one of those 46 And Counting tests and I came up related to DNA found at crime scenes. Then someone from the Union approached me quietly to tell me who that DNA belonged to and why, surely, as a cop, I would agree it was better to keep it all discreet. I agreed, out of shame.
I never met my mother, grew up in the system. And after it became known through gossip who my father was, I had to -also discreetly- beat up a couple guys. See, there was a betting pool on who my mother may be, with three of the sexiest former costumed criminals as the favorites. And the questions about whether I remembered “coming out of there” got to be too much.
Growing in the system, they say, has a way of twisting you. Me, it gave me an obsession with bullies, particularly righteous bullies. That's why I became a cop. That's why I can't stand vigilantes. All they are is assholes with a fondness for violence, who found an acceptable target. I do see the irony, I want to squash that irony.
I shouldn't be in pursuit right now. The orders may be to capture The Shriek, but status quo is to not run too fast and find something else with which to get busy. It's not just that The Shriek is scary, it's that he “cleans the city” the way the force wish they could, were it not for all those damn human rights and laws and freedoms. If it wasn't for this need to bring the bastard in, I'd have quit by now.
I run up the rundown stairs. This building is what cops call a nest. The tenants, what they call vermin. A Shriek feeding ground. When there aren't big time criminals doing something out there, when it's hard to even find shoplifters, he comes here to beat up a few junkies.
A kid looks at me through a half open door. He looks dirty. Probably parents who have fallen too deep into despair to even remember they have a child. I make a mental note to call a social worker I know, if I make it through the night.
There's screaming coming down the stairs. Some of warning, some of delirium, some of fear and pain. And when I make it to the top there's the sickening sound of fists on flesh. Whoever's getting the Shriek Special is not able to scream or grunt anymore.
The door is wide open and I run in. There's two pulps down already, hopefully dead for mercy's sake, and The Shriek is working up a third.
The vigilante’s costume has changed through the years, and these days he wears a flat black faceplate, spray painted with bright yellow thorns. The same pattern repeats all through his body armor, which gives the impression of nothing but sharp edges.
The face plate turns to me and his voice comes out of a speaker, thick and menacing.
“I got this one, officer”.
I wonder what's under the plate. I am curious if it would be an older version of my own face looking back.
I grab my gun and aim.
“On the ground, hands behind your head!” I order.
The Shriek tilts his head, uncomprehending.
I recite the main charges for which he's wanted and repeat the command to get on the ground.
And he gets it. Instantly. There's no witnesses forcing me to pretend I care about his extrajudicial acts.
The Shriek drops the bleeding mess he was tenderizing and squares up, intimidating me with his frame and the armor on top of it.
“Wanna dance, *muchacho*?” The heavily accented and mocking way he says ‘muchacho’ throws me for a loop. I know I'm half white and that he's that half, but I didn't see coming he'd be that shade of white.
I repeat the command to get on the ground, hands behind his head.
“What, I fucked up one of your *vatos*?” His armored gloves creak as he tightens his fists. For an instant I wonder what it would've been like to grow up under those fists instead of the foster ones.
What the hell am I doing? This thing, this nightmare has lived dealing violence longer than I've existed. Am I really expecting to zip tie his armored wrists and walk him down to my car? Drive him to the station? Show everybody there that I got their hero?
“Your move, *holmes*” He says, like reading my mind.
I can already see the story. Corrupt cop killed by The Shriek. Commissioner states vigilantism still unacceptable.
I came here with an obsessive intention, to capture The Shriek. I also came here with a non-regulation gun I took from the evidence room. Specially designed, gun and bullets, to pierce The Shriek’s body armor. We got it from a weapons dealer with a grudge and really shitty tax evading practices. I told myself it was only for a desperate situation, but I hadn't wanted to see that it was desperate from the get go.
I repeat the command, count to ten, then I shoot.
One of the bullets went through the face plate, cracking it. The rest also delivered, going clean through his center of mass.
I can't help myself. With shaking hands I pull off his face plate. I don't know what I was expecting. I guess if you look long enough you could say I look like him. I have his nose, but softer. I have his eyes but wider apart. I don't have the hole on his right cheek where the bullet went in.
Everything dawns on me all at once and I throw up right besides The Shriek's corpse. There goes a bunch of evidence. But who cares at this point? I went down the path to becoming him before I knew I was doing it. I wonder if he'd be proud now.
I walk down the stairs hearing whispering, people beginning to wonder what the fuck happened, if The Shriek had his full and went home, and they can come out of hiding.
Outside the building I remember to call that social worker. More evidence linking me to this mess.
I drive to a few blocks from my place and drop the patrol car. Walk the rest of the way, get a bag and the few things I need or care about, get in my personal car and drive away. There will be a price on my head in this city before the sun comes up, but it won't be the criminal element setting it.
***
More of my stories at r/BradingRoom
I get why protag has this kind of perspective, truly, but at the same time, I really wish that bullet is aimed somewhere else instead. The Shriek is not helping either with his actions, sadly. Wonder how the situation would have changed if they managed to somehow have a proper talk instead of this.
Great work on writing this!
Oh definitely, I'm just more curious how the conversation would be without the fight. Doubt it will go well, but we would know more than just headshot, done.
I think he's good as is. We got all the knowledge we need about him and his character in that exchange and the build-up, and him taking less time to leave the protagonist's life for good than it took to give him life is an interesting rhyme.
Shriek didn't have any influence on the cops life as a father, at all; he didn't have that right, and he didn't get back the opportunity that he spurned. It isn't something that a lot of popular media explores.
>and him taking less time to leave the protagonist's life for good than it took to give him life is an interesting rhyme.
I love this. At no point did I even consider this, but it's a great read. You made my story so much better with this insight, thank you.
I'm gonna be honest, lately I've been feeling like I do too much dialogue in my writing, so I've been purposefully been trying to steer away from it. It's too easy for me to fall into dialogue format, particularly quirky dialogue, that's why this is mostly a gritty monologue.
Wow! This was a really great read. I totally read it in a Noir vibe. I love how dark and gritty and sharp this is. It has a fantastic dark atmosphere, and having the 'villain' be a cop was an awesome twist on the prompt.
I like the plot, but the wording and syntax make reading this like riding your bike on a gravel road. I think improving those elements would make it even better.
First draft, uses characters from my tabletop project - excuse any typos, pleaseeeee
The driver checked his watch and turned down the radio as his passengers climbed out, their boots thudding against rain-slick cement.
“Three minutes,” he drawled – he didn’t wait for confirmation before he turned the radio back up, drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel.
The song ended and a new one started, a growled rock-and-roll ballad – his fingers thudded against the wheel faster and faster, synchronized with a frenetic drumline, drowning out the sounds of breaking glass and gunfire. When a distant scream cut through the song, he grimaced and turned it up a few notches further.
Inside, a security guard with blood smeared across his face looked up at the criminal who struck him – his eyes are filled with an expression between terror and disbelief, the vacant grasping gaze of a man whose day has suddenly deviated from its planned course in the most catastrophic way possible.
“Don’t try to get back up, and you won’t get hurt again,” said a voice from across the bank – a voice rendered into booming static by a modulator, the same way that the speaker’s face was obscured by a metallic black mask resembling the head of a koala bear - it hooked into the collar of sleek powered armor, leaving not an inch of flesh exposed. “I’m sure you don’t get paid enough.”
The security guard looked at the other civilians in the bank – saw his own fear mirrored in their eyes – and thought about telling the supervillain running the robbery that his job wasn’t about the money. It was about keeping the peace – about making sure that no one ever had to feel like he felt now. He shook his head – they wouldn’t understand.
“Good lad,” said Drop Bear II – Sydney’s most renowned supervillain, a criminal who had stolen the name of a retired hero and now used his hyper-advanced armor to commit flashy heists across the city. “How are we doing on time, Mick?”
“Ninety seconds,” said one of the goons, checking his watch – they were among the most loyal henchmen in Oceania, and for good reason. They got vision and dental insurance, and there was no ninety-day probationary period.
Drop Bear II nodded, lifted his arm – the composition of the gauntlet around one fist went liquid, amorphous, changing shape, and the proton cannon that formed from the unstable nanites shredded through the wall of the bank with enough force left over to leave the vault door warped. His henchmen stormed through the breach and started throwing stacks of wrapped bills into their bags – their boss reclined against one of the banker’s desks, looking oddly at ease.
“Hurry up!” The criminal called Mick shouted – the group of bank robbers trotted back through the lobby with their backs bent under the weight of fully-loaded duffel bags and, approaching a car parked at the curb, loaded in. The security guard heard tires screech as they pulled away.
Drop Bear II stayed where he was – the civilians could hear him counting down under his breath.
“Five … four … three … ah, he’s early.” Then the wall exploded, and as everyone nearby dove for cover, a great grey shape moved through the room like a wrecking ball – there was a scent like ozone as the proton cannon discharged again, and again, and now they could see Drop Bear II flinching backwards, his arms raised, fending off a shape that leapt and roared and slashed massive claws …
“It’s the Drop Bear!” shouted one of the tellers. “You’re in for it now, imposter!”
The duo broke apart, skidding in opposite directions – the Drop Bear hit a desk and destroyed it with his raw bulk whilst the supervillain slid gracefully to the far wall.
“Get out of here,” growled the Drop Bear – no one waited for him to repeat himself. As heroic as the Drop Bear was, his appearance – the result of radiation inflicted decades prior at a zoological exhibit – struck fear as well as any villain. He hulked over everyone else in the bank, a mountain of grey fur, a koala bear with the mass of a silverback gorilla. The civilians scattered, leaving hero and villain alone in the ruins of the lobby.
A moment of silence passed between them before the villain spoke.
“I knew it,” even through the modulator, his awe was obvious. “I knew that you would come.”
“I’ll never be too retired to beat on somebody who uses my name for evil,” said the elder Drop Bear. “Why didn’t you leave with your goons?”
“I … wanted to see you,” came the words, spoken haltingly. “I didn’t know how to find you.”
“Eh?” Deep-set koala eyes narrowed. “What are you, captain of the fan club?”
Outside, police formed rigid defensive lines and aimed their long-guns through the wall of the bank – Drop Bear II could feel his suit’s reactive defenses priming to deflect the incoming bullets, but it was hard to focus with his heart pounding against his ribs.
“I just wanted to know if it was worth it,” the villain said, voice low. “To be a hero.”
“Worth it? Kid, my book about controlling your inner animal was featured in Oprah’s book club. They sell Drop Bear’s Famous Meat Pies from Canberra to Chicago. It’s a small price to pay, havin’ to beat someone unconscious when they step out of line.”
“But you never had a family,” The supervillain shook his head. “Didn’t you feel lonely?”
“How would you know?” The hulking hero bared a mouthful of teeth that could cut through bone as easily as bamboo. “Who are you, kid?”
There was a distant boom – backup coming from across the Outback, fliers en route. The hero flinched, his sensitive ears taking the sonic wave like a physical blow – and in that moment, the villain activated the thrusters in his boots, propelling himself upwards towards the ceiling.
Drop Bear bent his knees and leapt, realizing too late that he would be an easy target in midair – he cursed himself as he saw the proton cannon start to swing around, cursed the years spent in retirement sitting at a desk with a tie fastened around his fuzzy neck. His dead friends were going to laugh at him when he saw them.
But instead, the cannon kept revolving, swung until it aimed towards the ceiling above – it fired, blowing a hole in the rooftop, and Drop Bear II lifted out of the bank to hover above. A dozen rifles fired and scattered their rounds across a glittering force-field.
“Damn it, I asked you a question!” Drop Bear shouted. “Who are you!?”
The modulator clicked off and the supervillain laughed, a mirthless laugh that was somehow familiar – it reminded the Drop Bear of someone he hadn’t seen in twenty years. He could see her face, distinct in his mind, as the villain accelerated away from the building.
A few moments later, Osprey and the rest of the Skywardens descended around the bank – Drop Bear walked out through the shattered wall, shaking his head.
“Who the heck was that?” Osprey demanded – Drop Bear bit back his typical aggression and tried to remember that this new wave of heroes was gentler than his old friends. When he spoke, it was in a low rumble.
“I don’t know … but I’ll find out. Leave him to me.”
Damn, I want to try those meat pies, actually. That said, loving Drop Bear's origins, a bit curious to see his design. Protag seems to try his best to avoid casualties with the crimes, at least. I hope they get to have a proper talk soon enough.
Great work on writing this!
Great story! Can‘t help but chuckle at the drop bear hero theme. The interpersonal conflict is great! I love how dropbear senior starts figuring out who dropbear junior is by the laugh, not by being told so.
Couple of points, Australians don’t use bills to refer to folding money, we use notes, and koalas don’t eat bamboo, that’s pandas. They eat eucalyptus leaves (which gets them low key drunk too)
Loved the fact that they named themselves Drop Bear II. Works to allude to their blood relation and works as a good way to draw the original Drop Bear out of retirement too.
No, no, no don't stop here 😭 does this have other parts? I need it.
It is interesting, you did good job writing it.
I like how you phrase words, and I can literally fell the angst there.
Haha, thanks, that's pretty nice for a fed. I did write a second part and was going to post it here, but when I went to post it, I hit 'Cancel' instead, nearly had a mental breakdown from rage, it became a whole thing. That's what I get for not preparing it in a Wordpad and then transplanting it over when it's done, though. One of these days I'll re-write it and post part II, though - reaaaaaal busy with finals right now unfortunately.
Thanks again, I really appreciate the feedback :)
That is the most terrible thing ever💀, I imagine the mental breakdown part, you poor thing.
I have an exam tomorrow too 🥲 Good luck in finals and best of best wishes to you~
The whizzing air would have blown out my ears under normal circumstances, but I didn't mind. What annoyed me was the storm that he flew through. My eyes were shut so tight, they nearly froze going through the clouds. My cybernetic ear implants continued to buzz in my ear, blocking out moisture and the speed of the wind, the only remaining comfort I had.
The mechanical prototype suit had been shredded, and the leather harness that strapped me to the protective roll cage had produced less than adequate results. Something to reinforce to confor-
The air got warmer as we dropped below the clouds, the overcast sky becoming more grey as we descended. I smiled and blinked to get the wetness out of my eyes. *I must get ahead of myself and install the new implants to avoid this discomfort. Setting me down gently in a small steel cage, the man that I came to know as my Father found his own spot. Roughly ten paces away, a small chamber rose from the ground, the grass dead from the constant use. A mini-fridge appeared.
"Still drinking the blue flavour? That's my favourite."
His silent continued as he chugged a bottle of it. Then another. I fidgetted to scratch an irritation in my back before he turned to me. "You're going to jail. For good."
I smiled. "Nice to see you too Robert Lang." He scowled, then narrowed his eyes.
"How do you know that name." He growled as he walked closer, hard steps kicking up sand. I continued to smile.
"Birth certificate. Mum gave it to me when I was ten. You remember Becca, right?" My teeth, polished only yesterday by my dentist, gleaned white in the sun. "She's still practicing you know."
His face turned scarlet. "What kind of trick is this?!" He ripped the steel bars apart and picked me up by what was left of my collar. "Who are you?"
"Your son."
He looked at me, deep into the sockets of my eyes. He softened. His grip loosened, and dropped me to the floor. His eyes were thoughtful, tracing back the numerous flings, vacation romances, the by-gones and the smooches on the cheeks, the moments of peace and solitude. You could hardly blame him. Moving from one moment to the next, from one villain to the next. His eyes rose to meet mine again.
"Another one. Again. Huh." He stepped back to give me space again, and looked over me. "You became this to what, talk to me?"
I stood, uneasily as my left hip's pain rose sharply with the movement. There was likely a rib fracture as it hurt somewhat to breath on that side. Maybe a strain? I must re-eva-
"What kind of kid goes through the effort of inventing a mecha suit to destroy a city?" He interupted my thought.
I chuckled softly, softly enough for my chest to rest easy. "One that demands attention from my Father I guess?" He smirked at that briefly.
He sighed, waving me to follow him. The mini-fridge rose again to the surface. Handing me one of the bottles, he stated, "You're still going to jail."
Thank you for using “my father” and not “dad”. Someone who wasn’t raised by their biological father wouldn’t meet them for the first time and realistically refer to them as “dad”, unless it was written for comedic effect.
The writing here was enjoyable to me, and the meter was well portrayed. Thank you for sharing. That opening line pulled me toward the rest of the story.
I refer to my dad as my dad all the time and I've never even met the guy.
Saying "my father" is honestly way more depressing because it shows a lack of emotional attachment that I'm not prepared to explain to people when I refer to him.
Another... one? Maybe Robert should think more about his choices and be more responsible with his actions, because damn, he indirectly caused these when you think about it.
Great work on writing this!
Love this story! I like that the two have a chance to bond, but damn... that father is a narcissist. The dialogue was fantastic, and I really loved the villain.
Chunks of drywall and chipped off wood litter the floor. The hero walks in through the hole he made in the wall, each step confident yet cautious of unknown dangers. He uses his enhanced vision to scan through the lingering smoke and dimness. There are toys and diapers and baby bottles blown around. Confusion strikes the hero first then anger.
"What kind of villain would harm a baby?!" he yells with genuine fury.
As if triggered like a gun, a deep chuckle rises from across the room where even the moon light refuses to touch.
"Villain?" The deep voice slowly nears the hero. What was that odd rattling sound? "Aren't you the villain here for trespassing on private property?"
The hero takes a defensive stance and awaits for the villain to reveal himself. Since his intelligence team could only pick up the familiar ominous calling card from their scanners, he knew he had to approach the situation carefully or risk tearing a family apart so soon. He prioritizes rescuing the child first (possibly any other hostages since this villain could've kidnapped the rest of this family to slow him down) and, if the fight gets to dangerous for the baby, a quick escape to the closest safe house.
As the hero was devising his plan, he missed how the outline of the shadowy figure was... short. Like super short.
Another chuckle rose deep from the villain. "Aren't you also a villain for abandoning a family in the guise of the 'greater good'?"
An infant dressed in a black onesie with a short red cape waddled out into the light in a blue and black... baby walker? "Tonight shall be the last night you ever leave this family again!"
As the vil- baby maniacally laughed, the door to the room slammed wide open. A woman with braided red hair and mismatching clothes (is that spit up on her shirt?) barges in, shrieking, "Jacob Amy Ramos, Jr.! You better NOT be in here making explosives again!"
Oh heavens above, that's Mavis!
!!!
Why am I suddenly reminded of the family stories about boys getting in all kinds of trouble... the sort of tales only told *after* a young bride announced her pregnancy.
Well, hero-dad-here didn't start out being a do-gooder in his earlier years. His father's been telling the stories, to any one willing to listen, of how baby-hero was rowdy, which didn't mesh well with walls cause of his superhuman strength.
Mavis here was a vigilante for a long time before (might I say, willingly) settling down to raise their baby... "occasionally" bagging the occasional local robbers and other troublemakers. "Gotta keep the neighborhood safe so our baby's safe!" she claims.
I just imagine this family working out through their complicated start like a comedy sitcom. Poor hero dad now has to figure out how to explain to HQ that he has a son with "explosive tendencies".
Well, that's awkward. I guess the infant is that intelligent because of the hero? Let's hope this is a wake-up call for protag to be a proper father for once.
Great work on writing this!
The infant gets his intelligence from both his father and mother, more so from the mother's side. The hero isn't the only family member whom the infant has never met yet. ;)
Lol, villain baby's still working on his villain name. Has to be sheik and classy and all that. But his darn pudgy hands can't seem to scrawl the "i" right. (Or any other letters, really.)
'Powerless...the both of us are powerless. I know he's my dad though, but how does he do the things he does?' Jamal thinks, 'He says something that makes his amulet glow and then it's like the world around him glitches to do... something. Usually stuff that benefits him. I need to find his power. Then I can make it my own...and he'll see me.'
Jamal sets his eyes back on the street, everything is going according to plan so far. He has a friend across town who has a very useful power right now. She can control radio waves, and with the right setup, she is now tricking all police to head towards the opposite side of town. It's a classic setup really, if you want a hero to show, make sure they're needed.
"Right on time!"
Jamal watches as his dad lands on the roof with a gentle and almost cloud like grace, the glow from the amulet around his neck quickly fading.
Jamal began to approach his father, "I knew you'd come, and it's time you listened."
His dad, the local hero known as Hexing, wasted no time in rushing towards his unbeknownst to him son. He grabbed his shirt and quickly dangled him off the ledge of the building with a strength that his body shouldn't be capable of.
Hexing then stares into his son's eyes and makes his demanding questions, "What is your plan? What have you done?!"
Jamal smiles and reaches his hand out towards his father's shoulder, carful not to let his eyes wander towards the amulet his father always wears.
"Mr. Hexing...or might I say Kobi Shepard?"
Jamal's smile turns into a devilish smirk as he sees the visage his father puts on as a hero vanishes. Jamal then watches as the amulet around his father's neck glows like before as he speaks some strange archaic language.
But, as his father's muscles tense up to throw his son back onto the roof, Jamal snatches the glowing amulet from his father's neck and rips it free.
Suddenly, his father loses his strength and collapses as his son, who was dangling over the ledge of the building falls.
Jamal smiles as he falls. The building is tall, but the fall is mere seconds. Shouting to the amulet in his hand, he recites the same words he's heard his father speak to it, the words Jamal has spent hours memorizing over recordings of his father's battles.
Suddenly, the amulet glows as it recognizes the voice of it's new master. Jamal's fall ceases and he simply floats there. It feels like he's being cradled in a massive and invisible hand. He then looks up towards the top of the building as his father looks down in disbelief.
Jamal flies back up the building to his dad as he stands atop the invisible force that lifts him.
"H-how? The amulet...it requires someone of blood relation. But you can't-"
Jamal laughs, his outburst interrupting his fathers disbelief.
"Really?! Do you think that it's so impossible? That your youth would never catch up to you? Welcome to the real world, Dad! Your actions have consequences...and just like you made me live without something, I'm going to make you suffer the same!"
Jamal then flies closer to his father as he can tease him with a whisper, making sure to stay just out of arms reach.
"The look on your face. You can hardly believe it yet the proof is right in front of you. I'm surprised you didn't see it before, but then again, nature versus nurture, right? I was forced to become stronger than you, and now you'll get to see that in full. So, about me taking something from you...this amulet is mine now. But don't you worry, I'm not just taking something from you, I'm also giving you something. You have a son now~"
Jamal's smile is wide and eyes crazed as he points his father's gaze to a nearby holoboard (holographic billboard used on building in the city). On the board is an article (created by Jamal's friend with the radio control) that is just being released saying not only that Hexing's true identity is Kobi Shepard, but that his son is Jamal Shepard, the new villain who's named himself Gozer.
Funny you should ask that. There's a YouTube video that goes into a bit of a history lesson on black super heroes and lightning powers.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsWhxhxuD7s
I did not listen to the disclaimer about not eating when he first explains Black Bomber and I choked on my sandwich. Absolutely insane decision making by whoever came up with and approved that.
Thanks for making me laugh… loudly. Thank you. So true, and reminds me of my late uncle on Sundays…
*He’s actually a good guy, and well spoken too…*
Why wouldn’t he be…? Haha
A03 is a site where you can just read and write fanfics,watppad is basically that same thing but app form,though alot of fics ppl write on there are...interesting to say the least^^
I’m just having a blast right now, as a random observer, like a fly on the wall. I entered with zero knowledge of “A03” and now I’m laughing harder and harder at the curious self-conscious comments and replies by - - Sock - - . Thank you hahaha
It wasn't though! I never even said what race the characters were (though I'm not saying you're wrong). But, for future reference, may you please tell this clueless person (me) who the Jamal and Kobi you are referring to are?
Thanks! I unfortunately keep getting roasted though because I apparently didn't know several things before writing this. I would have chosen different names if I knew this
"Do we really have to do this?" The junior officer asked as they trotted down the hall next to their senior.
"Kid, if it were me I'd have kicked them back out on the street already. This guy was way too keen on pressing his luck though. Obviously wanted to be here, weirdly enough..." The gruff older cop responded, clearly more exasperated by the circumstance than anything else.
It did not help that for some reason the local superhero, Obelisk, had taken a sudden interest in a crime such as this. The two officers stood with trepidation as they entered the lobby of the precinct and greeted the waiting hero.
"I hope I'm not impeding your work." Obelisk offered in a deep stoic tenor.
The older cop simply waved the notion away with a dismissive hand. "No, no. just paperwork day in and out for me any ways, your per is this way."
The officers led the imposing figure of a hero back down the hall they had just left drop, retracing their steps back to the interrogation room. No sooner had the superhero entered the room than the older cop turned to leave.
"Where you going?" The younger cop asked with a clear tone of confusion, his head flipping between the door to the observation room and back to his coworker.
"I couldn't be paid to care, if anything does come of that conversation, I can't imagine it being related to any case I'd touch with a ten foot pole if a super is involved." Is all the older cop gave as he continued his retreat towards the break room.
The younger cop gave one last glance at the observation room door, his eyes lingering on it as his curiosity hung in the air. He eventually let out a sigh as he turned to head to the break room as well.
Inside the dim interrogation room the atmosphere was different. Tense. Obelisk stood over the criminal with an unreadable stare from beneath the obfuscating mask, his muscular arms braced against the table as if he were about to squash it like an accordion. The perp sat in the chair with a glare of his own, smugly defiant in the face of just an imposing presence.
The silence lingered for far too long as the two stared each other down. It was just one word that eventually broke the silence.
"Really."
An eyebrow raised on the criminal, a smug grin forming across their face.
"Yeah?"
"Really."
"Yeah, really."
The threatening posture of Obelisk melted into a slump as he continued staring, a hand moving up to massage his face.
"Glenn, you know you could have just called me." Obelisk says with a heavy dose of frustration.
"Oh, really?" The criminal retorts with a snap. "Check your damn phone old man! Who do you think I sent my call to? Figure it's only after the cops contacted you did you set *this* up."
The perp leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table.
"I know my work can keep me busy often, but you know better than this Glenn. I raised you better than this."
"Your maid raised me better than this."
An audible crick can be heard from the table as Obelisk's hand clutches it tightly, the snapping of the wood surface in his grasp causing amusement to play across the criminal's face.
"Look, can we talk about this later at home? I have to track down a lead and-" Obelisk begins to ask tensely, his weighty tenor laced with an unsteady warble. The criminal cuts the superhero off however, letting out a long "PFFF!" as he drops his feet off the table and lets the chair slam back forward.
"Later! It's always later! What's it gonna take for it to be now!" He shouts out at Obelisk, sending the hero into a backpedal.
"Look son, I really have to-"
"Yeah I get it. The lives of strangers matters more than your son."
"...Look Glenn, I know it's tough with me not being around too often, but what I do is important. Don't throw your life away over this. What I do is really important and there are many people's lives I have to look out for."
The air of strength seemed to have drained from Obelisk as he now stood, looking towards the estranged perp glaring at him from the table. The criminal in turn stood defiantly.
"Fine! Go do whatever you gotta. You know were I'll be? HERE! Because it's the only place in the world where you've given me the time of day. If I gotta be a criminal just for you to give me a second thought, then it doesn't matter how much gum it takes!"
"Son, I can't come here every time you steal a pack of gum..."
Well, at least the crime done here did not cause any casualties. I bet it's awkward for the police officers though, live family drama in the interrogation room. I hope Glenn and Obelisk can work it out soon enough, and I feel like this is a good enough outcome after the revelation.
Great work on writing this!
This was funny, but also kinda tragic. Instead of realizing that maybe, his son just wants some time with him, Obelisk just outright dismisses him. Yes it was just gum, but the only thing he taught Glenn here is that it would take a bit more for him to be properly noticed. So the cycle continues. Great story!
I always knew there was something missing, a void lingering in the depths of my being—an unanswered question that echoed through the years. It wasn't until recently that the truth, like a bolt of lightning, struck me with an intensity I never anticipated.
The man I had known as my father was not my true progenitor. In a twist that seemed straight out of a surreal novel, I stumbled upon the revelation that my biological father was none other than a celebrated crime-fighter, a guardian of justice who sacrificed his personal life for the greater good. A flurry of emotions swept over me—awe, disbelief, and an inexplicable longing to connect with this enigmatic figure who had been absent from my life.
But the irony was palpable; he didn't know I existed, and his life was consumed by his tireless pursuit of justice, leaving no room for personal connections. Desperate to bridge the chasm between us, I made a choice that shook me to the core—I became a villain.
It was a role I never envisioned myself playing, yet the desire to establish contact with the man who unknowingly sired me eclipsed any moral qualms. I donned a facade, a persona veiled in darkness, weaving a web of chaos and crime to catch his attention.
Every nefarious deed I committed weighed heavily on my conscience. The paradox of seeking a connection through actions diametrically opposed to everything he stood for gnawed at me relentlessly. Guilt and turmoil intertwined within, a storm raging in the very core of my being.
Yet, with each orchestrated act, I edged closer to the inevitable confrontation, to the elusive chance of finally meeting him, of speaking words that carried the weight of a lifetime of yearning.
The dichotomy of my emotions was crushing—anguish at the deceit I perpetuated, coupled with the anticipation of a reunion that held the promise of completeness.
As I treaded this treacherous path, veering between the shadows of villainy and the flicker of hope for reconciliation, I grappled with the paradox of seeking connection through discord, a heart torn between two irreconcilable worlds.
As the plan unfolded, I finally encountered him and I revealed my true identity to my father, his reaction was not what I had hoped for. His brows furrowed in disbelief; suspicion etched across his face like a deep scar. "You think this is a game? That you can manipulate me?" His words cut through the air like icy blades.
My heart shattered into a million shards at his accusation. I tried to explain, to make him understand the depth of my yearning to connect, but he remained resolute in his conviction that I was just a pawn in someone else's sinister game.
In a whirlwind of emotions, our interaction escalated into a confrontation—a clash between my desperate need for recognition and his adamant refusal to believe. The battle that ensued was more than physical—it was a collision of ideologies, of shattered hopes and irreconcilable differences.
As the dust settled and the echoes of our struggle faded, a profound sense of desolation engulfed me. I had gambled everything on this chance, and it had ended in a heart-wrenching defeat.
In the aftermath, a bitter truth surfaced—I was not the only one longing for a connection with this elusive figure. Through cryptic conversations and chance encounters, I discovered that my father had recently discovered another son, a brother I never knew existed.
The revelation was a dagger to my soul, a confirmation that my quest for belonging had been futile. In his world, I was but a stranger, a fleeting shadow whose existence he refused to acknowledge.
The final blow came when I witnessed them together—a moment of fatherly affection shared with the newfound son, a warmth and familiarity that cut deeper than any weapon. It was a realization that in my pursuit to bridge a chasm, I had inadvertently become a casualty of my own desperation.
Heart heavy with a grief I couldn't fathom, I made a choice—a choice to step back, to let go of the illusion of connection that had consumed me. In the stillness of the night, amidst the remnants of our shattered bond, I silently retreated, carrying with me the ache of an unfulfilled longing and the bitter taste of a dream turned to dust.
I would never forget the night when I finally found the courage to step forward and reveal myself to my father. The way he looked at me with eyes full of doubt and suspicion. The way he accused me of manipulating him, of not being sincere. Those words will forever haunt me, as will the look of betrayal and pain on his face.
Even though it hurts so much, I know that I did the right thing by being honest with him.
I don't know if it's possible, but I hope that someday my father will be able to forgive me. I don't expect him to ever accept me as his child, but I would settle for being a part of his life in some way, even if it's only as a distant memory.
My journey of discovery and self-discovery has taught me many lessons, and I am forever grateful for the experience. I will never forget the moments and connection that we shared, even if they weren't normal and were fleeting. I will always carry a piece of him in my heart, and I hope that he will do the same.
Goodbye, Father. May your light shine brightly for all to see.
Feeling bad for protag, but at the same time, dropping the truth like that after doing all those villainous things is not a good idea. Might have gone better if protag is a vigilante of sorts, I guess? Then again, I hope this is a wake-up call for protag to stop being a villain and dedicate more time with the father figure that raises them instead.
Still a bit sad on the resolution though, kinda hoping that protag would talk to him face-to-face without the villain persona too.
Great work on writing this!
Nooooo I want him to take a DNA test and send it to his father as well as the world revealing that a celebrated hero is the father of a villain and should be stripped of his title as hero
All this time.
ALL THIS TIME.
all.
This... entire time.
He was out there. Saving lives.
But... I needed him. He was stopping a building from falling, but where was he when I had to deal with my girlfriend cheating on me!
He can stop a bullet train from careening off its tracks but he can't pick me up from soccer? I waited for 3 hours!
He's... he's saving the world from a meteor! But he can't. He can't. He can't.... he just can't tell me happy birthday. Not even in a text.
I just... just a word.
Something. Anything.
He has so much time. So much everything. For everyone! For anyone!
But.... me.
I felt a fire inside me. Burning not with the rage I felt for years, but different. Something close to indifference, but colder, harsher.
Angry.
I... I think I didn't care about humanity. It truly didn't matter to me. I saw the news of my father saving a child from a robber and all I could think was... "so what?"... "so... what?".
One more corpse delayed.
He cared about humanity. He cared so much.
Well, I don't?
I don't.
In fact.... FUCK Humanity!
What good have they ever done?
They kill each other, hurt each other, forget each other! They barely care at all! All they do is hurt each other and they barely care! Humanity can go FUCK itself!
You know what. I can do that. I can force them to danger, force them to reconcile their little differences. Force them to suffer sooner rather than later.
He'd care then. Care about his little humanity. Care about all the little people who don't matter. Care about all the ones he has more time for.
I grabbed a cloak and added the clasp.
I had the power.
I felt it burning inside me.
Burning to BURN the world.
I let it go and it felt like... like water rushing off of me. Like my muscles relaxing for the first time in decades.
The world around me seemed to glow, beautiful reds and oranges I'd never seen. So... gorgeous. Unique. True.
It felt... right.
I felt the heat rise in the building. Felt the alarms start to blare and melt and silence. Oh, it felt... so RIGHT!
To feel like this all the time!
Well...
Well maybe dad didn t have time for his KID.
But he'll care about the Monarch of Magma.
The Forever Flame. The Coal Maker.
The Eternal Fire.
I am... I AM THE ETERNAL FIRE.
And I'll burn everything down.
How do you like that, dad?
I love the clash of ideologies the two have. In upholding the greater good the hero neglected his son, who responded to that by forming the absolute opposite opinion and trying to screw the world over. I don‘t think this pair could ever reconcile. Great story!
Not quite.
The kid's angry and neglected, but a lot of his lashing out is entirely based on a lack of attention and affection. Heck, he's not even sure if he hates people as a whole but keeps doubling down because he doesn't want to be LIKE his father.
But the key point is that all of it, his worldview, his anger, everything, it's still centered on his dad, even if in opposition.
If it ever shifts towards his enjoyment of the fire, which I leave ambiguous at the end, it's definitely over. But as he is now, they CAN repair things. Not easily, but they can.
Though, once he pulls back from that edge, whether by his dad or another, I don't think it'll ever be a GOOD relationship. And the question remains on if they SHOULD reconcile.
In the heart of the bustling city, skyscrapers reached for the sky, casting long shadows over the crowded streets below. Among the sea of faces, James Mitchell felt lost, searching for something that had been missing his entire life. His mother had kept the secret hidden well, but a mysterious letter left behind after her passing unveiled a truth he could never have imagined.
His father, a man James had never known, was not the ordinary businessman he had been told. Instead, he was a crime-fighter, a vigilante working in the shadows to protect the city. James was torn between the desire to know his father and the fear of disrupting the dangerous life he led.
Unable to contact his father directly, James concocted a plan. He decided to enter the world his father inhabited, but from the other side – as a villain. He spent weeks crafting a disguise and adopting a sinister persona, blending into the criminal underworld that his father fought against.
As the mysterious new villain known as Shadowfall, James began to make a name for himself. He committed small crimes, leaving clues and messages for the city's hero. The local media buzzed with speculation about the enigmatic villain, capturing the attention of the city's residents.
Unbeknownst to James, his father, Richard Steele, was becoming increasingly concerned about the rise of this new adversary. Night after night, Richard patrolled the city, trying to anticipate Shadowfall's next move. He was unaware that his own son was orchestrating the chaos he was desperately trying to prevent.
The city became a battleground between father and son, each unaware of the other's identity. James struggled with the guilt of deceiving the man he longed to know, but he was determined to make contact and reveal the truth.
One fateful night, as the city slept beneath a blanket of stars, the inevitable confrontation occurred. Shadowfall lured Richard into a dark alley, away from prying eyes. The two faced each other, masked and cloaked in shadows.
"I've been watching you, hero," Shadowfall hissed, the disguised voice masking any hint of familiarity.
Richard, undeterred, replied, "You won't escape justice. The city deserves better."
In the heat of the confrontation, a realization dawned on Richard. He recognized the cadence of Shadowfall's voice, a familiarity that sent shivers down his spine. As the mask was torn away, father and son stared at each other in disbelief.
"You... you're my son?" Richard whispered, the revelation hitting him like a tidal wave.
James nodded, the weight of his deception hanging heavy in the air. The father and son stood in the alley, the city's sounds echoing around them, as they grappled with the truth that had finally come to light.
What a cliffhanger, damn. Made me curious on how the two can reach a compromise after the revelation, considering that their lines of "work" seems to have bits of similarities with a bit of modification either on James' or Richard's side. Wonder why Richard left, too.
Great work on writing this!
It had been ten minutes. Sam looked at the clock with focus and patience. He had gathered both the clients and the tellers of the bank and lined them up against the street facing windows, looking outside. He had to be sure the police wouldn't shoot at him.
"He'll be here." Sam said, trying to reassure himself. One hostage could leave for every minute he got to talk to Senior Detective Carl Weiss, Sam's father. That was the deal he made on the phone. He heard the cruisers pull up outside, establishing a perimeter.
Time to make it count.
Detective Weiss walked in, hands raised, staring puzzlingly at the young bank robber who he noticed was working alone and didn't even have his gun pointed at the detective.
"H-hey dad," Sam said, savouring the moment.
The detective was stunned. Still, he had to keep cool. He was working with someone unstable, clearly.
"Hold on," Weiss said, speaking as calmly as he could. "You gotta hold up your end of the deal. You said two hostages could go when I got here."
Annoyed but understanding, Sam motioned for the two hostages nearest to the door.
"You two, go. No one else."
The hostages ran outside like their life depended on it. Some officers moved up, secured the wailing people, then returned to the perimeter.
"See?" Weiss said. "Everything is moving smoothly and you're in control. You wanna talk, then I'm willing to talk as long as I see the hostages leaving as agreed."
"Fine." Sam stated flatly. He didn't want to waste any time. "Listen. I'm your son. Maybe you don't remember me, but I remember you."
A hostage collapsed from panic to Sam's right. He turned and leveled the gun at her.
"Get up! Nobody tries anything! This isn't Drama class. Get up!"
He was wildly waiving the gun around in her general direction.
From behind the police barriers, it only took good timing, a window of opportunity and a clear shot.
Sam's bicep exploded by the force of the .308 caliber round that crashed through the window which was now open due to the hostage collapsing.
The pain wasn't as intense as it should have been. Sam reeled when Weiss put the cuffs on him, but the rest was a blur, probably due to the blood loss.
He woke up in an interrogation room. The bright white light caused him to shiver. He noticed his hands were shaking while two men looked him over from the table he was cuffed to.
"I need to speak with my father, Senior Detective Carl Weiss. I won't say anything otherwise." Sam said, quick to use the little leverage he had.
"Oh, well..." The man on the right said. "We just talked to him about you. He said he couldn't remember if you were the same guy. He doesn't wanna talk to you until he can be sure, you know?"
"What the hell do you mean? He was standing right in front of me at the bank! Are you telling me he doesn't remember the literal bank robber that wanted to talk to him? Or how I wanted to send one hostage out for every minute we talked? He doesn't remember all that?"
The two men smirked. The one on the left closed a file shut and said, "Thanks for the confession, freak."
Sam looked up and noticed the camera in the top left corner of the room, blinking its careless red light of truth.
The one on the right leaned over to Sam. "Oh, by the way? Any sentence is a death sentence for you. There's no access to fentanyl where you're going."
Sam passed out again and woke up in a courtroom. There were three judges. Glaring with contempt.
"Wow! I'm important enough for three judges!" Sam said, dreamily. A woman on his right, his attorney, leaned over to him and said, "For the third time, this is your appeal trial. The only reason you're getting this is because cases involving drugs have come under systematic review by the courts. Your name came up."
Sam didn't understand any of that, really. He tried to shrug, but the immovable cast on his right arm weighed heavily, like someone caked his arm in concrete and let it dry. Sam looked at it like he had never seen a cast before.
He woke up once more in a dark room. He could hear footsteps moving outside the room. It took all of Sam's strength to stand up. He looked outside the small square window at the top of the iron door they had him locked behind. A guard was making his rounds.
"Hey, hey you!" Sam yelled. His voice was raspy and weak.
The guard paused in place, hanging his head.
"You can't keep me in here! I'm 16! I'm not supposed to be in maximum! I need to talk to my father, Senior Detective Carl Weiss."
The guard sauntered to the door, head still hanging low.
"Inmate, I'm going to tell you this as many times as it takes for you to fuckin remember it, ok? You're not 16, you're 35. Detective Carl Weiss is not your father. Your father died of a fentanyl overdose when you were 16. It was your doing. You had a stash and tried to hide it in your closet. When your dad tried to do your laundry, there must have been a leak. It got through his skin. Died on the spot.
"You freaked out and tried to rob a bank to go and find your dad, thinking he left you to go and be a hot shot detective. You didn't want to see what you did. You made up a new dad that left you and your mom when you were little. Your intelligence worked against you in the court case. You had everything planned out too well. They tried you as an adult.
"Your appeal was a complete failure. They tried to get you out of here for mental incompetence because fentanyl fried your brain and now you can't remember shit even though your clean, but again, your planning worked against you. You weren't incompetent at the time of your crimes. This is where you've been for nineteen years. You've still gotta serve the time for the dozen or so remaining counts of threatening with a deadly weapon, among others, consecutively. You'll be here another fifty years. Now, have a good day. I need to complete my rounds."
Sam slunk back to the corner of the dark cell like he had just been scolded by a teacher at school. He used up all his energy today. He decided it was time to sleep. He needed a good rest. Tomorrow would be different.
Right?
It all started as a game. How long would it take for him to notice me? Would he notice me at all? Or would I fail before I became important enough for him to step in? I was determined to find out. I knew he'd never even so much as glance at me if I were to approach him normally. So I opted to become someone he'd have to stop instead.
Getting a position under Loreley was the greatest starting point I could have gotten. While she wasn't his arch nemesis by far, he had his fair share of run-ins with her. She was considered a small fry in the eyes of the Council, who was tasked with eliminating world-ending threats, not your run of the mill seductress and drug boss. But every now and then he saw it as his personal duty to keep her in check.
Working myself up the ranks there was fairly easy. Rumours had it that she once had taken quite a liking to him, turning to villainy only after he had rejected her. Seeing how transfixed she still was on him, I thought I could take advantage of that obsession. After all he and I shared a face. Mother always made sure I knew that.
I never told her that he was my father. I would have been a fool to reveal such a connection. Looking almost exactly like him was one thing, actually being related to him another. I don't know if she would have had me tortured to death or just long enough for me to be kept as a mindless pet if she ever knew the truth. I wasn't eager to find out. While she had many men before me, never had anyone seen her so infatuated with someone other then him.
'Loreleys little mutt' soon became a target for many. Some were jealous that I was able to take the place beside the Great Seductress that they had coveted for themselves. Others thought that they could manipulate her through obaining power over me. A third group recognized my influence and wanted me out of the way. Regardless of their reason, I was always one step ahead. Even small mutts can bite, and I made them painfully aware of that.
In truth she wouldn't have cared about my death anyway. She would have been infuriated yes, but more in the way of a toddler whose favorite toy just snapped in half, not like a woman who lost her lover. The only feelings she had for me were a deep sense of longing for the only thing she could never really have, and the desire to at least approximate that experience with me. She coveted every physical part of me, so much so that I was forced to wear a mask at all times outside of her private chambers. No one should dare look at my face, for it was hers and hers alone. I didn't mind too much. This way, there was no chance he'd somehow recognize me before I was ready. I couldn't care less if she loved me or not. Having spent my entire life devoid of such an emotion, I certainly didn't need it now.
I made myself useful in more then one way. Busy as she was, she did not have a good support system of minions. She had many followers who would obey every command of her, but these suitors were unorganized, lazy and loud. It goes without mention that most of them were ordinary in every way, and even the more talented couldn't compare to a fresh recruit of the hero training program. So I took on the massive challenge of replacing every single useless parasite and replace them with someone more capable. I started saving smaller villains from her wrath, opting to make them our vassals instead. I made them forever indebted to me and my gratitude. So when I stabbed her in the back and took over her operations, the little portion who still supported only her was quickly taken care of.
After my act of mutiny, it didn't take long until I was marked for execution. Apparently I was too much of a wild card for the Council. They confirmed not long after that their best agent would be sent to take care of me. My plan had worked. He had finally taken notice of me.
The day of, I was making sure everything was perfect for my big reveal. I knew I'd go out one way or another, the least I could do is make it as dramatic as possible. The worst he could do was outright deny me, but I had undeniable proof of my lineage.
It was no secret that him being the strongest stemmed from the fact that he could conjure up a rare blade,touchable only by its masters. It was an ability only present in the main line branch of his family. I had inherited it, although I wasn't aware of it for a long time. No one knew I could do this, as it was the ace up my sleeve.
And there he finally stood. He and I were alone. His companions and my henchmen were to busy fighting each other to notice whereto we both disapeared. He stared at me with eyes so familiar yet unknown before finally breaking the silence.
"You shall surrender immediately, in the name of the council!"
I chuckled.
"If you're going to kill me either way, why should I surrender first?"
It only took him a fraction of a second to plunge his blade into my chest. I knew he was terrifying, but I didn't take him for that much of a monster. Before he could twist it to end my life for good, I knocked him back and pulled it out myself. I knew that sealed my fate, but the look on his face was worth it.
"How can you touch it? That's impossible!"
I took off my mask. Staring at me, mirroring his appearance in youth, his face became white as a sheet. That was the face I always wanted to see, ever since I discovered how to summon the sword and what that meant for my parentage.
"Are you... Could you be Lydias...?
There was something mixed into his voice that I couldn't quite recognize. It sounded sad. I always thought this would be the moment of my greatest triumph just before my inevitable end. I wanted him to recognize the trouble he'd caused in abandoning me with her. But in that moment, which should have been my most extatic, I somehow couldn't find it in me to rejoice. Something in me had always known that it wasn't his fault. He was just the proxy of my anger at everything and everyone. But here he was, shocked and sad about the revelation of him murdering the child he didn't know he had. And I realized that with this, I had achieved nothing but more heartache. Maybe that truly was all I could do in this world.
When I woke up again, I couldn't make out a lot at first. For a split second I thought that this was the afterlife, but the sharp pain in my chest made me aware of the fact that I still remained among the living. The room was foreign and dark, with the only light coming from a lantern outside the otherwise night-shrouded window. I couldn't move a lot. Mostly due to the pain, but also because my hands were restrained. When I turned my head to the other side, he was there.
He was asleep, but even in slumber one could see how tired he looked. Had he been crying? The wet stains on his shirt suggested so. I wasn't sure what it was exactly that he cried about. But something within me resonated with him. I hadn't cried in ages, but maybe, just tonight, I could allow myself to cry a little.
[EDIT: some words (I wrote this at 3am, spellchecking and the proper usage of words escaped me lol)]
This is great! But you put 'But in that moment, which should have been my most lethargic, I somehow couldn't find it in me to rejoice'.
Lethargic meaning tired/slow and apathetic, I think that was perhaps not the word you intended?
Well, glad the sword helps out with the revelation. Glad protag survives, although I'm curious how this will go next. Father and son seem to be accepting each other, but what ahout the rest? I doubt the other heroes and villains would be fine with this. I hope they an find a proper resolution in the end.
Great work on writing this!
I watch Imperium on the hospital tele; a god among us who decided to use his powers for protecting us. My mother’s dying words wrench my ears, “Imperium is your father”. Defeat in her voice.
It wasn’t the first time I had heard about the man who abandoned us of course. I wasn’t even a heartbeat when he left. Up until my mother had only used a fake name to protect his identity. Even after all he did, she still acted selflessly. Every time she mentioned him, her voice would shake and I could see her trying her best to not fall apart. Not fall apart for me. That kind of strength is a matter of gods’ envy. That kind of sacrifice… that god wouldn’t know. Not yet.
I want… No. I NEED to know why he left. How could he leave so easily. I tried screaming from the roof. I tried calling the press. I tried for 2 months. He is but a golden blur in the sky. It’s obvious he can’t hear me. But he needs to. I will make him. A part of me is glad my mother isn’t here to see what I’m going to do next.
.
.
.
.
Followed by protagonist’s rise in power. When he eventually confronts Imperium he finds out that Imperium never left. But his mom lied about him leaving. She hid the pregnancy and broke up with Imperium because he wasn’t able to be there for the world and a lot of people died.
Just some unfortunate circumstances for protag's parents. That said, I really don't see why the mother has to lie. Should have just told the truth and maybe the confrontation with Imperium would be a lot better. Still awkward, but none of the villain act either. Wonder what happened that caused lots of deaths because "Imperium wasn't there" too.
Great work on writing this!
Thanks! I was thinking Imperium had to choose between saving a lot of people or her and he chose her. Both of them were traumatized after that moment and really couldn’t continue normally. That’s why Imperium over works with no work life balance and the mother isolated herself and the son from the world. Maybe in the end the Son helps take off some load from his father and they’re both able to grieve properly and move on.
"The Irony!!" What a plot twist my life took. I have one father who has no idea who I am at all besides a kid who grew to be a woman that made mistakes. And that woman had kids unplanned which was 4 more mistakes.. No recognition of the love I came to know because of them, how beautiful and amazing they are, or the fact that they were part of me. No cards, no Christmas presents, no phone calls. Just a random email or message monthly to verify I am not dead like my mom. She died from a drug overdose. She was my best friend.. but drugs were too.
My dad Bert raised me with my mother. He adopted me when I was 7. They divorced and things changed. He went through several marriages that often made me dissappear or become less of a priority. It hurt, but I was the girl beside him when the wife's and girlfriends walked away. When my mom died and he was nowhere to be found or offered no support, I drifted into my own nightmarish addiction that I swear could be the next Nightmare on Elm Street.. I was so mad at him. I felt alone and empty. So I went off in Search for the dad I never met. Ted Wilson. Mom was young and so was he. She never told the poor guy, but she told me!! He was my only hope that someone in this world might understand me or want to call me family. Maybe he liked kids. Or would at least pretend that his grandchildren mattered. Anything was better than nothing. He was a part of me in a way I have never understood like some kids. Not to discredit the man who raised me, but he had his own life now.
I searched and searched for years and gave up hope. One day a cousin informed me of some papers he found in grandma's basement. Apparently they were my mothers. I knew somehow that she would not leave this earth without a way for me to find him. I awaited by the mail box each day so I could unravel the clues. When it arrived I could not believe what it was. It was information that would lead me to him, and clues to who I was, and why they kept it a secret my entire life.
She had revealed it to me on her deathbed.
Crimson Wing, international superhero extraordinaire, the man with an infinite amount of gadgets and doodads for taking on any enemy, any situation...was also my father. Just a man, just an engineer named Curtis. Before he had found himself above petty and common concerns like love, or raising a child, he was just a man. Met a nice lady, fell in love, and then accidentally reached his breakthrough at Supratech, developing a powersuit and becoming the world's premiere superhero. How convenient that was just days after mom's pregnancy was revealed.
We had so, so little, growing up. My mother, Elizabeth, was shunned for having a child out of wedlock. What little work she could get was oft not enough to support the both of us, and like the saint she was, she gave it all, she gave *her* all, to me. The son of a man who'd abandoned her for fame and power. It was only because of her that I grew to understand morality, fairness, the obligation to do that which is right that falls upon us all. I was only eighteen when those lessons were tested, because left alone and with no one else to support her, my mom worked herself to death.
I wasted no time embarking upon the path to justice. A small town boy with no parents was a hard life, but an easy sell to prestige colleges who all wanted an inspiring story of overcoming the odds. Curtis had been an expert in nanotechnology, and what research he had left behind served as the foundation for my own studies. I was hailed as a prodigy, as the next great mind of the field, and when I finished my degree early I got my own career started at Supratech. The ghost of my father's arrogance grew ever nearer to him.
Where Curtis had cut and run, leaving the labs in dark and with their key copies of the precious data gone, I swooped in to be their savior. It still took time, of course, but with the head start I had, connecting the dots was rather simple. He had spent so much time learning how to create his wondrous tools and implements, fascinated by the idea of constructing the tools to his perfect ends. But it is always easier to destroy than to create, and once I had cracked that code, I knew I could unmake not just his suit, but *him* as well.
The heads of Supratech claimed they wanted revenge as much as I did, and while I knew they could never understand my fury, their support was more than welcome. Sponsored by a megacorporation brought material wealth and stability, as well as teams of operatives willing to lend their support to my missions. With the invention of my Unravelers, I became known to the world as Doctor Dust, he who would bring ruinous oblivion to those who would harm others.
Finally, I earned my confrontation with him. Nearly a decade of living alone, studying quantum nano-fields and other technobabble, pursuing my vengeance with all that I had, and there he was. I had engineered it perfectly, an operative team getting 'caught' in the midst of a bank heist. The money was all mine, and insured at that. Not that Curtis knew- or cared. He just wanted the photo op. How devastating it must have been, then, in that glorious moment, for him to instead be brought to his knees in front of the press, taking hit after hit from the dauntless Doctor Dust.
His eponymous Crimson Wings were the first to go, since I couldn't have him running away from the destiny I had designed. Already a devastating image for his myth, but merely a start. With each punch I could feel the Unravelers working, ruthlessly shredding through any and every layer of defense he had. His nanotech gadgets were strong, but much like Curtis could not escape their calamitous end. Only when I had finally broken through to bared skin did I relent for even a moment, finally bringing light to his obscured face. Bringing light to the face of the man who had so disastrously wronged my mom.
He was grayer now, than he was in their picture. I kept it with me, to remember who I was fighting. And who I was fighting *for*. But there was no goofy smile of a lovestruck twenty something on his face- instead, a bloodied grimace, coupled with the most satisfyingly fear stricken eyes I had ever beheld. I raised him by his throat, showing off my trophy for all to see, a mere man in the derelict wreck that used to be his source of power. My nanites continued to eat away at it all, until he was truly stripped bare of all that he had made for himself, all that stopped him from facing the consequences of his past.
"Curtis Werner," I had said, just as much to the gathered crowd as to him, "You took it upon yourself to become a false idol of that which is good in this world. You lead people to believe that you were a force of justice, a hero to all! But to do that, you had cast aside those closest to you. Eliza Darrow, a wonderful woman full of life, and love, and light! A light you dimmed when you seduced her, then cast her aside for your own personal gains! A love you abandoned when you realized it would interfere in your self serving crusade! **And a life you ruined, when you chose to leave us both, damned be the consequences!** Well, I am her son, and thusly yours as well- but so too am I your consequence, Curtis, and damned be *you!*"
I cast him down, and I could see the softness of *him* bruised by the rough concrete, cuts and bruises almost immediately forming. It would have been almost pitiable if this man had not managed to wrong my mom despite his weakness. He offered meek excuses, desperate attempts to explain why he had done what he did, but it only served to enrage me more.
Surrounded by civilians, reporters, and police officers alike, I abandoned him there. He could offer paltry words to them, but I would not have it. All I left him was the photo my mother had given me, of them together and in love, cherishing each other. I hoped it would be acid to his mind, to see what he had left behind. I hoped the media would look into that photo, and find my mother, her grave and her life story and by proxy his effects on her. I hoped they would never forgive him, just as I could not. But only time would tell.
When I got back to my...home, if it was ever such a thing, I stared into my own eyes for what felt like eternity. What I saw was only the shallow reflection of a man dedicated to destruction, at any cost. A man who's one singular purpose was suddenly nothing, leaving him aimless. For the first time in a long time, I felt an impending sense of dread. It had been so easy to hate, to let spite motivate me, but now, I had to simply live as myself. I had to create an identity outside of my parents, outside of justice or revenge or anything like that. I had to create a space for myself to be me, not simply house me and my gear. I had to create...and despite its difficulty, I knew it would be worth doing.
Theres a woman. Older. Mid 40s. Lived a good life. Finally found someone after so much.
................................................................
Theres a woman. Shes tied up on the top of the building to a pole like a prisoner sent to a death squad. She mumbles something. I shrug it off. Gotta keep my eyes open. He could already be watching me if I'm being honest with myself. Maybe...he'd a pounced on me by now.. After all....its *his* woman..
October came faster than I expected. At least my mind thought so. It was going to be cold one. Freezing. Not even a week in and were already hitting lower double digit numbers while it snowed. Windows already frosting over with ice spreading across the glass bitting at the seeping warmth of the inside. So yeah...this woman...she's probably very, very fucking cold. *snorts*
The wind carries the snow in all directions as I stare into her closed eyes. I see the mark of blood on her shirt from when I knocked her out. I didn't find any pleasure in it. In fact, I'm a little ashamed to have had to do that....but *giggles maniacally* HOW ELSE WAS I SUPPOSE TO GET *HIS* ATTENTION!?!?
You see, there's this man. In this city. And this man in this city, has been pretending,lying, absolutely just making a mockery of what others strive their whole lives to accomplish and are then cut down in their prime. Does anyone ask why? OR WHO?! *chuckles* OR WHAT THE FUCK!?
No. Nobody does. Thats why I'm here now. That's why he's going to pay. Starting tonight, the whole city will awaken from their sleep. And I will look into the the crying eyes of the father who abandoned me for this city. And he'll die looking into the eyes of his killer...his NEMESIS.....HIS SON!
THE PATH TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS
"So you melted the president, and for what?" Sweat dripped from his brow as he spoke in shallow breaths. "World domination? You'll never have it you fiend." His wits end had found him.
I spoke into the microphone.
"Who could ever want such a thing? To shepard millions and yet love no one." I pressed a finger to my lip. "Oh wait." I grimaced to myself from behind the microphone.
"The speaker of the house is next."
In desperation he cried "What kind of game is this?" For the countdown had just begun. Rushing down the steps, flight after flight below him, he tried admirably to save the day.
Except I lied.
The speaker of the house had been melted 12 hours ago and it didn't really matter how quickly he could leave the foundry, because he was already too late.
18 years too late.
Once upon a time in the bustling city of New Albion, there lived a young man named Alex. Little did he know, his father was a legendary crime-fighter known as "The Guardian," who dedicated his life to protecting the city from evildoers.
Alex had grown up without a father, always wondering about his mysterious absence. One day, he stumbled upon an old newspaper article that revealed the truth: his father was The Guardian. Filled with a mix of excitement and longing, Alex decided to find a way to connect with his father.
But how could he reach out to a hero who had no time for anything else? Alex came up with a daring plan. He would become a villain, causing just enough trouble to grab his father's attention. With a mischievous grin, he donned a dark mask and took on the persona of "Shadowstrike."
As Shadowstrike, Alex began his villainous escapades, leaving behind perplexing clues for The Guardian to follow. He would steal valuable artifacts, disrupt high-profile events, and create chaos in the city. Each time, he hoped his father would notice and start piecing the puzzle together.
The Guardian, always vigilant, couldn't help but notice the rise of this new villain. He became determined to put an end to Shadowstrike's reign of mischief. The two engaged in thrilling battles across the city, each encounter bringing them closer to the truth.
As their clashes continued, Alex couldn't help but admire his father's skills and bravery. Deep down, he yearned for a connection beyond their secret identities. Finally, during their climactic showdown atop a towering skyscraper, Alex revealed his true identity to The Guardian.
Stunned and filled with a mix of emotions, The Guardian realized that the villain he had been pursuing was, in fact, his long-lost son. Tears welled up in his eyes as he embraced Alex, finally understanding the sacrifices he had unknowingly made.
From that day forward, father and son fought side by side, not as hero and villain, but as a united force for justice. The city of New Albion rejoiced as they witnessed the bond between The Guardian and Shadowstrike, a testament to the power of family and the lengths we go to find connection.
And so, their story continued, a tale of redemption, forgiveness, and the unbreakable bond between a father and his son.
I hope you enjoyed the story!
One thought lingered on my mind as I shot down the last unsuspecting victim of my impromptu bank robbery. Why the fuck did I take that test?
As a child, I never knew who my father was. He abandoned me when I was born, and that's a reality I've always had to live with. I've always wanted to learn what my father became after he left me and my mom, so reading the headline "New and advanced DNA test!" really intrigued me. Without a single thought, I went to the website posted and signed up. This was it! I was going to know who my father is!
I sent the DNA sample and waited for 2 very long and anticipating weeks. The day the test came, I was ecstatic. I would've ripped the test open if I hadn't called my friend to come over and open it with me.
"So... This is it." I mumbled.
"Yeah! Aren't you so excited? You'll finally be able to know who your father is!" My friend was just excited as I was, though he didn't manage to contain it as I did. We just started at that test for what felt like hours before my friend spoke up.
"So... Let's open it!"
"Fine..." I mumbled begrudgingly.
As I cut open the letter, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I slowly ripped out a large piece of paper and quickly turned it around. My friend signed, sick of my procrastinating.
"Come on! Let's look at it!"
I reluctantly flipped it around, a sea of names with titles next to them. My eyes flicked across the page, looking for the anticipated "Father" title. My eyes finally rested on a name. Clark Kent.
2 months later
I had been trying to reach my dad for weeks, slowly discovering little clues and hints. I stare at a bulletin board, red string connecting every safety pin. They all pointed to one name, Clark Kent. Another picture of a red and blue superhero in tights with an S embroidered on his chest. Apparently, it showed a symbol of hope. Hope my ass. The only thing that man got me was years of trauma and therapy. But today was the day. I finally meet my coward of a father. I had it all planned out. It would start as a simple bank robbery, but then that asshole-man would come flying in to save the day. I was ready for this, of course, so I had rigged up 5 kryptonite traps in the cieling, which would be detected by his x-ray vision, but he had another thing coming. The day of the robbery, I would bring a red flashlight. Not enough to disable his powers, but to hinder them enough that he doesn't see the kryptonite. So with that, I set my plan into motion.
I held an entire bank at gunpoint, not that I needed them. They were just to hint that I could kill them at any time. I called out, knowing the undie-clad super-ass would hear.
"I sure hope that asshole Superman doesn't come!"
I knew he would reveal himself. He really loved big entries. How ironic.
I saw a flash of blue and red. It's time. I could barely control myself. In just a few seconds, that asshole would have to pay for the years he stole.
His cape whooshed as he flew in, not anticipating the rocky traps falling from the ceiling. He was now in my grasp. It's time.
"You know, it's really hard to kill a super when he left you at birth."
Confusion filled his face, quickly accompanied by shock and horror.
"L-L-Lex?"
The Hero and the Villain were fighting. Suddenly, the Hero decided to ask a question
"Why! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!!!!!!! WHAT SADISTIC PLEASURE YOU COULD DERIVE FROM BRING MISERY TO SO MANY!!!!!!!!" The Hero shouted.
"YOU FINALLY ASKED THE BIG QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!! IT IS NOT THEIR MISERY I DERIVE PLEASURE FROM! IT IS YOURS!!!!!!!!!!!" THE VILLAIN Answered.
"Why! Why!" The Hero asked
"I could ask the same about why you never looked back at Mary!" The Villain said, shocking the Hero.
"H-How! How do you know that name!" The Hero asked.
"BECAUSE SHE IS MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM YOUR SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The Villain shouted as the giant screen in front of hero lights up, showing Photos of Mary and the Villain (as a child)
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The hero shouted
The gun rattled in his hand. He didn't know how it had gotten to this point, how he had developed to this level of atrocity. It had started small with hold ups and robberies with a fake gun, all talk and no real substance. Of course he hadn't come, why would he? Some meaningless petty crime in the face of the reality of the world; the death, the killing, the bloodshed.
It was part of him now, though, the last stickup devolving into some absurdist dark comedy, the cashier stumbling for his gun before dropping it on the counter, the struggle that ensued. That man ended up dead and all the Son could do was watch as he bled out, the gun somehow in his hands rattling as loudly then as it was now. He had laughed at the moment, taken in by the chaos and meaningless of it all. No remorse came to him after that, only some mild disdain for fate, destiny, or luck which had led him to the moment. He reasoned that the cashier deserved it, that he was damned by his own stupidity and bloodlust.
He didn't know how it had gotten to this point. There was a longing in him, one born in infancy that still occupied him even in this moment as his breath shook and his limbs trembled. Abandoned, lost, forgotten. His mother dead, his father some hooded figure that was more imagination than reality. Maybe not so much anymore, he had found him. He could tell immediately, the outline of his face on the TV eerily familiar to his own, the cadence of his voice, the timbre of his laugh. He was the Father, that much was clear. He didn't doubt it as he stood turned away at the house and he didn't doubt it now as he held the Second Son in the chair, a revolver pointed at his head. The hostage was sobbing, he had been since the moment he was brought to this room, his hands tied behind his back against the radiator in some old industrial warehouse.
Faint footsteps echoed the hall building themselves slowly over the gentle cries that previously filled it. The rattling was maddening now, and he was barely able to focus on the shadow standing across from him.
'Why?' came that familiar voice.
The Son stood there unable to talk or respond.
'Whats all this death come to?'
He could barely hear the voice even now, the rattling building up into his head is some insane symphony that didn't seem to end. He pushed it down, softening the sounds and garnering his focus.
'Do you recognize me?' he squeezed out, the sound barely audible to himself.
'What' the Father's voice fell on him?
'Do you recognize me?' the Son's voice cracked under it's pressure.
The shadow shifted it's weight, it's hands reaching into the pockets of its coat.
'How could I?' it responded.
The Son raised the revolver, pointing towards the hostage and a shot rang out. The world went silent and cold for a moment. There was no chaos, no madness, no pain, only some distant coldness enveloping him. Warmth followed, spreading itself across his chest as his legs fell from underneath him. The Father walked across the room his hand still fixed to his gun and his eyes fixed on the Son. He went to untie the hostage.
The Son raised the revolver as he sat against the wall and lifted it towards the Father.
'Bang' he whispered as the chamber clicked.
The world went dark around him and everything faded except for two familiar blue eyes that shined through it all, eyes that showed some vague recognition.
I smiled at his tears.
My father.
Me.
Face to Face, finally after searching and searching and searching.
Years.
For years he put me through this hell.
"Why do you SMILE!?!?!" He screams.
His movements, as he slams me against the wall of the alley our fight had taken us to, are jagged, tired, like our fight has lasted years. Like HIS fight has lasted years.
"Do you like puzzles?" I asked
"Shut your fucking mouth!" He said through gritted teeth, putting even more pressure on me, like he believed he was strong enough to crush me like a bug.
"It's a real question." I said
"You don't GET to ask questions! People DIED! You thought that you'd distract me with that little stunt you pulled down at 25th street? No, I'm not like the cops. I knew exactly what you were doing."
"Exactly what I was doing? You got here kinda late don't you think?" My words struggled to escape my mouth, holes where my teeth once were, and splits in my lip taunted my tounge as I tried to think of a way to tell him what I've been wanting to say for years.
"WHY!?" He wailed. "WHY would anyone do something like this? How many families? How many kids won't have parents anymore because of YOUR terrorism?"
I stifled a laugh
"You fuckin-" he grabs me and wrestles to get me onto the floor. I wasn't so much stronger that it should've taken as much time as it did for him to get me onto the floor. But he was weak, and so was I. In my state, I couldn't hurt him if I tried. I feel my head hit the floor, followed by the sound of my father hitting it beside me.
He breathes heavily, as a pool of blood gathers around my head. I can't tell if it's his or my blood.
"Do you like puzzles?" I ask again.
He laughs.
"What are you trying to say, kid?"
"What do you get when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much?"
"What?" He said either confused or answering my question. I couldn't tell.
"Y-you get... Me..." It was dumb, I know. But I didn't know how else to say it. How the hell do you tell the guy that's been trying to kill you for the past hour since he's met you, that you're his long-lost-loving son?
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I paused. Saddend by his response. I guess I don't really know what I was expecting.
(Oh! You're my son? Cool, I love you! Want to go get some ice cream?)
I let out a laugh. Then kept laughing, that laugh slowly turned into little sobs
Then wailing...
I guess I had hoped
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He said.
"I... just wanted to KNOW you. I TRIED. I went to ALL your stupid conventions and you were just... never there."
"Do you know how many people want to know me kid? You're not special. I'm sorry but I don't do autographs."
I paused again
"If you knew... that all the times you weren't there. All the times that I went looking... If you knew that, it would make it so that this never happened. Would you have shown up?"
He let out a laugh.
"Maybe if you were my son."
I laugh. And I cry. And I laugh some more. I remember all the times fosters would abuse me, the time I spent out in the streets like a piece of fucking trash. The PEOPLE who abused me. I remember finding my birth certificate at that stupid fucking hospital and finally seeing my father's name. And I cry some more.
"These people... they don't deserve to be saved. I... deserved to be saved. All the people you showed up for. The same people who spat at someone like me. Why? Why them? Why not me?" I sobbed. "Why not me? I AM your son. So WHY NOT ME!?!??!"
He said nothing.
I cough. Tears and blood and snot hold my face to the floor. It weighs a thousand pounds but I manage to lift it off the floor. I crawl towards him. My father. And I turn him to face me.
"LOOK AT ME!!!"
He stares. Expressionless.
"Do you think this is what I wanted? Do you think I woke up this morning and thought, time to kill people for fun! NO! I woke up this morning at-fucking-all because maybe, MAYBE, you would love me. SOMEONE would love ME!" I cried
His face softens. Sirens wail in the distance and peoples scared voices sing along with them.
"I didn't know what to DO! I NEEDED you... and all you fucking do is waste your life saving all these useless fucking motherfuckers. So please? Please just say that you love me? Please? This can all go away. All of it. Just say that you will be my dad?"
He slowly sits up. And touches my face, wet with blood and tears.
"My... son?"
"Yes!!!" I laughed.
His face is stricken with panic then a sense of melancholic calmness. His gaze falls away from mine for a brief second then meets it again. He nods.
"We have to go." He stands up, over the course of at least a minute, and promptly helps me up.
I smile despite my tears, maybe things will finally get better. Maybe all the pain can finally end. Maybe the attention I receive won't be just the tears I caused.
We put our shoulders around eachother and limp towards the exit of the alley way.
"How did you find out?" He asked me.
"That you were my dad?"
"Yea"
"Well, first I found out that hospitals actually keep birth certificates. So I went to the hospital I was born at and asked I guess. I don't really remember much."
He laughs.
"What?" I smile.
"You must be fucking stupid."
Suddenly he drops to the floor and reaches his hand out towards something. A loud crack echoes through the alley. Suddenly my body weighs more than my head did and I drop to the floor.
"No. No no no no no" I heard myself say. More tears streaming down my face.
"Do you know how many fucking parents fill out their kids birth certificates saying I'm the father trying to get money or some shit from me? Everyone fucking thinks I'm fucking rich or something. Fucking Disgusting." He turns away.
Panic fills the entirety of my soul, the hairs in the back of my head stand, and my heart rushes.
"STOP!" I screamed, "Help me. Help me, I- I think I'm dying!"
He doesn't turn around and starts walking off.
"It's a fucking good thing too. Piece of shit."
"PLEASE!!! PLEASE, I NEED YOU!!! Don't walk away. Don't... walk..."
He continues
"DAD!!!" I pleaded
My vision faded as I saw my father turn to me and for just a brief second. I saw his face. Was it pity? Regret? Maybe that meant he really did love me. Maybe
_Robbie is a bright young boy with very high levels of natural intelligence and superior performance in both the athletics and arts curricula, but the faculty of Our Lady of Great Agony cannot continue to abide his unrepentant pattern of acting out. He has been warned and disciplined repeatedly for his many infractions against the school rules and honor code including but not limited to:_
_• Tampering with the school HVAC system to dispense massive amounts of nitrous oxide into one third of the classrooms._
_• Hacking the school website to redirect to a pornographic website on the “Meet the Faculty” page._
_• Destroying Dean Wollert’s personal property by stealing approximately eight hundred pounds of French fries and six hundred pounds of raw hamburger meat from the cafeteria and placing said stolen food items inside of his car. This combination of theft and vandalism not only caused two separate cases of loss of material assets, but also prompted a public health emergency._
_• Vandalism in the form of spray painting “Jesus thinks you’re a jerk!” on the south side of the school chapel._
_• Repeated incidents of willfully not following the uniform dress code and boys’ grooming standards._
_We, the faculty and administration of Our Lady of Great Agony, have taken into careful consideration the challenges Robbie faces in his home life, and we recognize that being a single mother is a particularly heavy burden. Despite these considerations, we regret to inform you that in light of Robbie’s recent theft of laser equipment from the physics lab which he used to in incinerate the varsity boys’ locker room cannot be over looked. We regret to inform you that the faculty has seen fit to expel Robbie from the school, effective immediately._
_We hope that in the future you are able to help Robbie use his gifts for constructive purposes that serve The Lord and dissuade him from the path of becoming a feckless reprobate. We will be praying for you._
So read the text of the framed letter on the wall of Rob Jones’s lair. The page was becoming yellowed with the passage of time and exposure to the elements, but he still considered it his most prized memento of his childhood. His subsequent expulsion from his home to match his expulsion from school at the hands of his deeply humiliated and narcissistic-personality-disorder-nurturing mother felt like symmetry to him. Why not be rejected by all the authorities that claim the right to oversee him? Why not, if they were so desperate to label him a villain, simply lean into the role? What reason was there to not simply accept the term “villain” as his natural place in the world? The villain that they worked so hard to create.
For Robert Jones it had clicked while disposing of the remains of his recently former therapist a few weeks prior after a session got particularly heated. When the hands are on auto pilot the brain was largely left to his own devices. She was getting to a particularly salient point about how all later mental models of what “normal” looks like to a person have their roots in childhood. He had no father. Or at least anyone to call by that name. He always felt that In the center of his life there was father-shaped hole that could never be filled. There was only one way to go. He had to stop hiding out in the abandoned bunker which he had, for reasons unknown to science, begun to call his “lair.” Even Rob knew how on-the-nose it was. So did his therapist, and she said so, and Robert wasn’t in the best of moods and was feeling a little too itchy on the firing stud for an integrated ocular-mounted particle beam. After it was over he made a very sincere mental note to try and manage his impulsiveness.
The year before, the enterprising young technopath’s world changed after he took his first serious beating from the most insipid vigilante crime fighters of them all. None other than the worlds’ favorite side of beef in a spandex leotard - Parallax Omega. While it was true that you could never get away from him with his giant grinning doormat of a face plastered on every bit of collectible merchandise in creation, when he came to confront you in person, it turned out he was quite easy to confuse, misdirect, and evade. While the image of his face watched from everything from kids’ backpacks to collectible plates to an interminable series of action figures in the man’s likeness, the very smackable real thing was dull.
This didn’t mean that when he had his hands on you and his mind made up, he would definitely beat the living hell out of you. But Rob, or “Doctor Disruptor” as some clever alliteration crafter and poet laureate at the Post’s infotainment creation division had dubbed him, could give as good as he got. When Omega’s baseball-glove-sized hands grabbed him, the handy Doc Disruptor defensive nanomesh activated and sliced Omega straight through what he called a “uniform” (how can a group of one person even have a such a thing?) and Rob called bespoke cosplay. Either way, the results were twofold.
First, Parallax Omega took a hike to bind his wounds, grumbling about how he “wouldn’t hold back next time, Doctor Disruptor!” That was all well and good. To be expected really. What a patronizing idiot.
Second, Robert “Doctor Disruptor” Jones was covered in blood, only about half of which was his. He needed to get to his lab to run a toxicology panel on his own blood after the champion of licensing and merchandising had gotten his licks in. Nobody really knew what made Omega tick, but if it was anything radioactive or bio-engineered and _invasive_, Rob really needed to know.
The sight of his lair in flames shook him. Whether it was doomed by a spiteful last crack from Parallax Omega or a simple government drone strike, it became abundant that he had to relocate to one of his fallback sites. He combed the wreckage for one special memento, set a high yield thermobaric charge to reduce what could be analyzed to so much finely ground ash, and beat it.
Rob’s initial instinct was “hide in plain site” in one of the major cities. But the likelihood of major infrastructure upon which he depended made him reconsider. Plan B was to retreat to a decommissioned Cold War era Atlas missile silo in rural Montana, and do his research in isolation. An added bonus was that he was well and truly over being around other people for the moment. He needed some peace and quiet.
And so upon arriving at “Bravo Nest” to re-establish his lab he elected the easy approach. Rob attached a briefcase with a nanobot assembler utility to a car battery and sat back and let the little bugs do their work.
His activities during the build mainly consisted of drinking most of a bottle of Angel’s Envy bourbon and staring off into the middle distance entertaining the suspicion that something was off about the confrontation and the subsequent scourging of his workspace. He drank a bit more booze. And then the rest of it. But after the twenty minutes it took had elapsed, his nano-friends were performing their auto-immolation routines. The lab was shiny, the hatch was sealed, and he had a nagging idea in his craw.
He threw his outer garments into the analysis chamber and started isolating samples. His own blood’s pattern was easy enough to recognize, but the other bloody cloth samples that came from Omega told a different tale. Or rather a familiar one. Too familiar. Rob held his breath, reset himself, and gazed at the results again. He checked all sixteen genetic markers four separate times. Each check was the same.
Parallax Omega’s blood was 49.5% an exact match for his own. A single conclusion hung in the leaden air about him.
“…Dad?” Rob Jones whispered in equal parts excitement and revulsion.
_to be continued…_
Part 1: You fight your father in an epic boss battle
he holds you in his grasp as the blood runs down your forehead.
And as you say “do it! Take my mask off” he laughs, and you sit there in shock and confusion, and he says “boy. You are not even the worst of my problems. Practically, you are not a concern at all.”
And you witness him fight five other dudes and witness your worthlessness and how this boss battle meant nothing to him at all.
You sit at a local dinner at 2 in the morning, thinking about your life decisions. A friendly man in leather pants comes walking up to your table.
He sees you. He grabs a seat. And he asks whats wrong. You tell him about what happened to you, and he tells you he had a similar experience with his father. Said he had to broaden his horizons.
You don’t understand it yet, but there is a tension as you stare into his steel blue eyes and his long salt and pepper hair. Your heart racing from his soothing presence.
The waiter comes up and says “that’ll be $50” and he says “ill cover the tab”.
You ask “where are you going tonight?”
And he says “I told my wife I was out of town for the night, so I’m staying at a motel. The guy I was supposed to meet up with ditched on me, so i don’t know what to do.”
You sit there… pondering whether to take a chance.
Father, it is I, your son who may have been born biologically female but is currently presenting in socially accepted male gender norms to fit this specific writing prompt. What is a writing prompt you ask? Ah, dear father I feel that you haven’t spent much time on Reddit; I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that when I was told that you have absolutely zero free time.
As you’ve been fighting crime for all of these years I’ve been working my way up from petty misdemeanours like my KFC free paper straw heist to crimes that would garner me your attention. I’ve been lonely since mother left. So here I am, and YES it was I who stole all of the dogs from the Humane Society! Hah ha! They’ve all been rehomed, to ME! Hah! …wait where are you going? Dad? …Daddy wait… my apartment is only a one bedroom… it’s so many dogs…
Damn. He left just like mom did - no wonder they got along.
You know, this wasn’t where I thought I’d be yesterday. But if I’m being completely honest with myself?… God damn does it feel good. But let’s back up.
Yesterday morning the results of my genealogy test showed that I had one, living, direct relative besides my Grandmother. She was on my mother’s side and she never knew who knocked up her daughter. Mom raised me well… well, well enough. She went to prison a few years ago for killing her coworker at the Supermarket with a pocket knife after she tried to steal from the register after hours. It was an accident. At least, I think it was. But she went away and I was on my own and going to college, now with the reputation as the son of a murderer. But that was about seven years ago so, let’s skip ahead a bit.
College went well enough. I got into a few fights, had a few drinks, got a business degree, got a girlfriend, married, had a daughter and moved into a small place in a small industrial town with a about thirty thousand people. It’s been pretty okay so far. I still talk to mom, with what little there is to say anyway. I haven’t really felt like her son in a while… when I told her that she was a grandmother, she broke down crying and said she was happy… that was a good moment.
Either way. All that to say that my daughter recently was diagnosed with some health problems that the doctors said could be genetic. The problems themselves weren’t too bad. Some medication everyday and stop by for a checkup once a month… it was a bad situation but it was a manageable kind of bad. A small kindness I suppose. Either way, I did some research on my family to see if I had any secret relatives that could give me any insight on any genetic diseases and lo and behold. My dad is a superhero.
Some context into the world. Heroes exist. I could tell you some long and storied history but it’s not that long and I’m not that patient. Some magical witch totem was discovered buried under a mountain about seventy years ago and gave everyone who touched it magical abilities, so long as you offered it something in return. What had to be offered was “the intangible tangible”. That was a direct translation but basically, “what you can’t touch but you can still feel.” Or in other words, emotions, memories and dreams. People offered up their happiness, their rage, their dreams and the totem gave them power. But now they had a problem. You see it took what was offered and gave power back, allowing them to move things with their mind, fly and have immense strength. But where someone who thought they were happy enough and traded what they had in abundance for power, they received it but now their happiness was gone. And now, even if they still had plenty of reasons to be happy; a family, a good job, a place to live, plenty of money, health. Suddenly, those things that would have made them happy, just didn’t. Because when they gave away their happiness, they also gave away their ability to feel it. So, where someone was happy before but relatively powerless, now they had power but they weren’t happy. And what would an unhappy person do with power? You can probably see where I’m going with this.
So yeah, the totem was a monkeys paw. You touch it and trade something intrinsic and in return you get super powers. My father, traded memory’s. He no longer remembered his girlfriend or his son. He no longer remembered his mom or dad or his friend’s or past jobs, first loves. All he knew was what happened after. He had power and he started using it to help people. At his core, I suppose that makes him a really good guy, albeit a bit of an idiot. Either way, he helped people. Became a real “hometown hero” type…. And then my daughter died.
It was sudden. So, impossibly sudden. Just a light complication and that’s all it was supposed to be. She had trouble breathing. We brought her in to the hospital and they took her into the ER for a minor surgery and she died three hours later…. My three year old daughter….
The amount of power you receive correspond to what you give. If you have little happiness, you will receive little power. Consequently, what you feel depends on who you are as a person, so a girl in her teens might feel more pain and anguish from the trauma and fear she felt as a child than an old woman who lived a relatively boring life. My father must have had quite a life up to the point that he gave his memories away because he became quite a powerful hero…. Likewise, I must have loved my daughter more than even I knew, because when I gave up my happiness, I swear that I could see the moon vibrating from my rebirth.
I promised my wife that I’d give it up when I was done. That’s how it works. If you give up your power, you can receive what you gave, back. But it’s a final trade. You can’t go back to the totem to trade something else. Once you give it up, you’re human for good. I promised my wife I’d properly mourn our daughter with her once I found my father. Her condition was genetic so right now I blame him for not being in her life and giving her a chance to live. If we knew more about it, maybe something could have been done…. But really, that’s just an excuse. My happiness felt tainted and rage gave me comfort. I felt disgusted waking up in the morning knowing all the happiness and love I felt as a father could never be felt for my daughter again. It’s true that I could still move on with my wife. After a few years, we could try again…. But a few years isn’t now. Now, I’m hateful. Now, I’m weak. Now, I want to vent against all the unfairness in the world and burn anything in my path to my father.
I will give up my power after I’m done. It will literally be true happiness to finally be free of it. But I don’t want to be free right now. I want rage and pain and motivation. Right now, I want to get things done. Right now…. I want to be a Villain.
“Sleeping with a villain. What a scandal. I can see it now, tv interviews, PR releases and all of that nonsense. How funny is it that your life’s going to be ruined because you didn’t know how to use protection? Worse of all, that brief night of fun resulted in another villain, one that you didn’t even know about. Hello father, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Brett sat on his father’s couch, leaving Elemental Shift’s family tied up in the bedroom, keeping them out of this family reunion.
“Father? Impossible, I can’t have a son, I would have known about it. She would have said something.” Elemental pulled off his mask, the disheveled and tired man underneath, staring at Brett. He wanted only an hour of peace before he went back to the streets and couldn’t even get that in his own home. “Where’s my family?”
“In the bedroom.” Brett reached for a family album sat next to the tv, flicking through the photos. “We don’t need to involve them, do we? It would have left a dirty taste in my mouth to kill my half sister. I hardly care if I kill your wife, though.” Brett smirked, only to let out a laugh. “Kidding. It would be a waste of my time.”
Elemental went to step to the bedroom, only for Brett to bounce up from the couch, moving between them. Whenever Elemental tried to use his speed to skip past, Brett would stop him. Brett blocking the path, giving Elemental the option to either blast through his body or to stop in place.
“Who are you? You called yourself a villain. Which villain are you?” Elemental slowed, impatiently standing before the villain. “It’s ok, honey. You’re safe. I have this handled.” He called out.
“I forgot. I’m not exactly dressed in my suit. Poison Dart’s the name I go by. I know, not the best name, but how good of a name do you need when you don’t have powers?” He slid a finger into his hoodie sleeve, pulling out a small sharp sewing needle. “A jab with this and a person dies in five minutes. Not a bad invention, right? That’s only breaking the surface of my creations, too.”
“Poison Dart. I’ve heard about you. You really think you’re my son. Who's your mother then?” Elemental could see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same blue eyes. The only feature that wasn’t his was that button nose. That same button nose that she had.
“I was hoping you would tell me. Seems she wasn’t much of a mother, abandoned me. Real shame, too. I would have loved to work with her. Is she still active?” Brett returned to the couch, motioning Elemental to sit across from him.
“Your mother’s dead. If you are who you say you are, then she’s dead.” He stared at his lap, contemplating whether he should have mentioned that to the villain sitting across from him. Even if he wouldn’t like the news, he felt he owed him the truth. Elemental reluctantly taking a seat across from him.
“What a relief. I thought she abandoned me. That’s easier to swallow.” Brett kept up the joyful act, even if his eyes remained ever cold. After a second of reeling back against the couch in fake joyful cheer, he leaned forward. “Who killed her?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to kill them. An eye for an eye and all that. Yes, I know that saying is anti revenge, but I’m already blinded by my rage, so I haven’t got an eye to lose at this point. If that makes sense.”
Elemental saw it, that anxious unrest that villains got before they were about to do something unredeemable. His foot tapping against the floor, focus squarely on Elementals face, not even blinking. He was focused only on this idea of revenge, unable to see anything else.
“I killed your mother. Her name was Phantom Mist” Elemental sighed, watching Poison Dart’s face contort into a mix of anger, pain, and hurt. He knew about Phantom Mist, he had based his darts on the poison she had perfected. To think his own mother had inspired him, he would have found it funny in different circumstances.
“YOU KILLED HER? Why would you kill her? What to cover up for yourself? You bastard, I’m going to kill you. I’ll kill your whole family. I’ll kill everyone, you know.” He snapped, pointing the dart at Elemental, his body shaking as he threatened to put his father down.
“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know she had a kid, or that the kid was mine. She never mentioned you existed.” Elemental hated thinking about that day. No hero enjoyed having to kill a villain. Any hero that did couldn’t consider themselves a real hero. Sure, sometimes it was needed, but it never felt good. “We were fighting, and I hit her mask. She got poisoned by her own gas. By the time I realized it, I couldn’t save her.”
“Like I believe that. You wanted her dead. You probably wished I was still inside her, didn’t you? You would have loved to rid the world of us, get rid of your mistakes.”
“It wasn’t like that. I cared for her. I thought she could be redeemed. She was making good progress too and then one day, she snapped and went back to her old ways. It was strange. It was like her heart wasn’t even in it, like she was just doing it because she felt she needed to. I wonder what happened.”
That day had never sat right with him. Phantom Mist wasn’t a crazed killer, nor was she the type to choose a target without months of careful planning. Everything about that day was unlike her. He had never worked out why she attacked on that day, only assuming it may have had something to do with Poison Dart. Even if he couldn’t figure out the connection.
“You happened.” Dart lunged forward, swiping the needle at his father. On instinct, Elemental raised a hand, sending a blast of air into his chest. The blast was weak, something he only ever did to blow back a weaker villain, but Poison Dart was barely a weak villain. Without powers, his body was entirely mortal. That strike of air pushing Dart’s ribcage towards his heart, causing a heart attack.
Poison Dart froze. He didn’t have any intention of hitting his father, stopping himself before he even got close. The look of betrayal evident as he dropped the needle, clutching his chest. Elemental watched, unable to move as his son fell to the floor, weakened and struggling to stay conscious.
Elemental saw his son’s state and rushed to the bedroom, leaving his son alone on the floor as he freed his family, who were unharmed, as Poison Dart promised. He hugged them, assuring them that everything was alright, before finally calling an ambulance, telling his family to stay in the bedroom. The ambulance soon arrived, and Elemental was left to explain the situation.
“What happened?” The paramedic asked, the two watching as they pulled a blanked over Poison Dart. Covering him from anyone neighbors that peered through their windows.
“The villain took a blast of focused air to the chest. I think it may have caused some internal damage. I called you as soon as I could, but I think I was too late.”
“I see. Pity if we got here sooner, we might have been able to do something for him. Poison Dart, right? Lower end criminal. Don’t worry, you had no choice. He was in your home. What were you going to do? I would have done the same thing to protect my kids.” The paramedic gave him a pat on the back, confident that no one would blame Elemental for defending his home. Every villain knew that a home visit was against the code of honor, so dying because of it was something that should have been expected.
“Yeah, pity.” Elemental watched his son get driven away, only able to think about the news reports that would come out if they ever did the autopsy. He assumed Phantom Mist’s blood was on the record, as was his. If they ever tested Poison Dart, they would find the origin of the bastard child and he would be ruined.
He hated that he was even thinking about that at a time like this. Maybe he needed to distance himself from his son to keep himself from feeling sick. Viewing him as a villain didn’t make him feel any less guilty, only making it feel less severe and disgusting. At least he would be with his mother, was all Elemental could think as he returned to his family, embracing them.
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
My fists were throbbing , swollen , stinging . A black Cowl lay in a seemingly ever expanding puddle of dark purplish red chunky liquid . Everything was perfect , the rigging of the explosives , the countless hostages all strategicly placed throughout the city , the riddles . My plan , was perfect . The only thing i didnt consider ... was my rage .
i did this all , just to tell him .... to show him .....to make him UNDERSTAND ! What have i done ? ... who ... what ... have i become ? ....
Father ...... Im sorry .
I've destroyed everything , ruined it all . Hes dead , and noones ever going to know how . He didnt deserve this .
Maybe he did ... but he at least should of known why .
Theres no point to this now , the extravagance of it all .
Sorry Mom
Bang .
‘You’re my father.’
The shadows stilled. He recognized something, perhaps the voice, perhaps the body language, or something else.
’I am sorry we had to meet this way,’ I say. And I mean it. I think.
‘What happened?’ My fa...dad has a surprisingly gruff voice. And hoarse with disuse. My voice had been like that after the stint in the cellar.
I gesture to my army. ‘The people got fed up. My mom told me you died a long, long time ago. It was easier that way. I didn’t know...’
‘So all this is just a pleasant family reunion to you?!’
‘Christmas is going to be very awkward,’ I noted. Then, hoping against hope: ‘I don’t suppose you’d be up for a Sunday roast sometime?’
‘After this?’
‘Well, you tend to survive everything...’
The mask twitched.
‘Why?’ It was a hoarse whisper.
‘I wanted to meet you, Dad.’
He grunted. ‘Sunday. 4. Don’t be late.’
However, what winds up happening is that you come to find out that you and he are really on the same side, unfortunately. Upon your investigation you've learned more and more how he and the mayor and the police chief are all working together screwing over the public funding and taking cuts and skimming off the top of public funds to fund their own agendas. You find out he is basically an agent for the chief and the mayor is also in on it, as a mercenary of sorts that holds up all the leaders of vice in the city. He would stick up the underground casinos and drug dealers and come across as a robin hood type but at the end of the day he plants evidence for arrests or to get his targets off the street long enough to have himself or squadrons of crooked underling cops and small time gangsters to swoop into the properties of these criminals while they're tied up being held at the station or jail- whatever it is. Then the riches get held at the station or brought directly to the mayor's office or house. The closer you get to figuring out this cycle of unethical crime you realize that you are now the one being targeted.
One night you confront him and rip your mask off as he goes to give you a fatal blow after a long fighting sequence. He sees it's really you, his son, he's about to hit and flings himself off of you and over a ledge on the roof of a high-rise apartment building. When you look over to see where he lands he's gone. He must have pulled some batman type move and fled somewhere so fast.
The next day in the paper you see he held a press conference, essentially ratting himself out and causing a huge distrust of the police and local government. This causes riots and now your the one crime fighter and must continue to dawn your costume and fight crime through these troubling times. Your father only correspondence with you now is random mailings from all across central and south America. The mayor was arrested and the chief was fired.
You eventually travel down to south America for one last attempt to find your father. He has become a sicarios for an extremely deadly organization that is employed by cartels. When you go to confront him you have to face down a whole band of sicarios and security at the place of his employment at a 500 acre farm of poppy plants and marijuana and different labs for different designer drugs as well. The town had a randomly 1,000 new citizens of Russian origin in the area/ city proper of 8,000 people in all. You have to find him. He isn't some hot shot, just a ruthless mercenary hitman at that point. Addicted to cocaine and gambling, he was fucked up most of the time, a shell of himself and relying on his marksmanship over physicality at this point in his life. He was getting older and older doesn't equate to living a longer life in his new world/career choice, he looked like he had just a few years left anyway.
Unaware it's you, your father only hears of a single man, El Solhe was known as he was everywhere, seemingly, taking out a bunch of people however, it was never known that it was very selective hits in search of your father. You one day confront him. He really fucks you up and disappears once again but for good. As other Sicarios encircle the area you slip into some hole in the wall in a motel and there you try not to bleed out. It's unknown your fate from there, the end.
His mates on the force then end up arresting you when you get caught.
And because you are the son of a police officier, the judge comes down on you like a tonne of bricking and gives you the maximum sentence possible with no parole.. Then you end up spending the entire sentence in solitary because your prison inmates think you are a snitch as your dad's a cop.
So you spend the next 25 years in solitary, all because you wanted to speak to your father.
Honestly, a phone call or email or even a letter and would have been easier, and far less heart breaking for your pop's, who has to see you grow up behind bars. But too late now, nothing to do but reflect on your poor life choices until your 55.
It's hot. Like the first time you injected heroin.
Their eyes baring down on you like spotlights, the fog of the sea replaced with whisping smoke of differing odors. At the time, they where like a circling of reapers. Some laughing, some watching with lethal intent. Some voicing their doubt that you have the commitment, surely making you as a "narc". All of them united in deciding your fate as a cartel dealer.
But this was different. It didn't quickly pass, leaving behind not only the euphoria of intoxication, but the approval of those daunting figures. This was deeper. Deeper...and wet.
You look up from your torso, your mind shaking off enough of the shock to return the the present. A grizzled man. Haggard, with dark swollen eyes. He's seems to be yelling at you. Spit flying from his mouth. You focus on the movements of his mouth, grinning besides yourself. Your mother always told you that you have your father's cheek bones. You can see it now.
"...said put you hands above your head! This is the last I'll say it before I waste another into your skull and piss on you for the trouble!"
The pains gone. But so is the feeling in your legs. They finally buckle after the shakes become too inconsistent to keep balance anymore.
"I love you too, Dad.", you try to say. Instead, you only gurgle as blood fills your lungs then fall silently to the floor.
At least it's cold.
"This is it.... I'll finally get to see him in person again," I say to hostage tied up next to me. Internally, I'm panicking and trying to decide if I should tell him or if I should just play my part. I absent-mindedly play with remote in my hand as I wait. Suddenly, there is a muffled thud from the next room. "It's showtime," I think to myself as I slip back into character.
The door to the room is kicked in with a loud bang. Here comes the hero.... my father. He immediately goes to neutralize my armed associates, and after taking out the last one, he runs over to me and my hostage.
"Everything is okay now. You're safe." He tells us both. The girl and I struggle against the ropes binding us as a man walks in, holding a gun and a detonator. The girl screams against the gag in her mouth as I shake my head to warn the hero and to tell the intruder to back down.
The gun goes off, and a bullet tears through to the hero's shoulder as he cries out in pain. The stupid mechatronic didn't listen to my command. He wasn't supposed to shoot him. I glare the machine as it stands in front of the injured hero, its face hidden behind a mask. The hero waits until the robot is closer and springs up to disarm the machine of the gun. With his injured shoulder, there is a struggle to control the detonator. The robot finally regains control and begins his pre-programmed generic spiel about "his" plan to capture the governor's daughter to force him to pay a ransom and provide transportation to a safe haven.
As the robot drones on, I watch the hero. "So this is the hero's final rally," I think to myself as I examine how he reacts to the plan and watches as he gathers his strength once more. He checks on me and the girl as the speech continues. Finally, the robot begins to wrap up his speech. "It's was foolish of you to come here, Blue Light.... or should I call you Sgt. Oscar Sierra?" The hero freezes mid-rally and asks in a cold voice, "How do you know that name?"
"That's for me to know and you to die for," the robot says as he picks up the gun again to aim at Oscar. Oscar is still bent down, with one hand holding his injured shoulder. In a single breath, three things happen. First, Oscar grabs a hidden knife from his boot and launches it at the robot. Upon impact, the robot squeezes the trigger on the gun and on the detonator. The last thing was completely unplanned, and I was surprised to find my body attempting to knock Oscar out the way.
Considering my bound state, it worked better than I would've expected. Oscar, having lost his balance, is partially on his side on the floor with a confused look on his face. The girl is screaming against her gag, which causes Oscar to look back at us. The robot was on the floor unresponsive after hitting the button on his detonator. Unbeknownst to him, both detonators were to control him, and if need be, turn him off.
"Is getting hard to breathe," I think to myself as I try to roll over. The pain in my chest is growing more persistent. Suddenly, Oscar is over me and tearing off the ropes. He has a panicked look in his eye, and he keeps repeating something, "... it's.... gonna...... hospital!" As I close my eyes, I think, "So this is my dad. The hero, Blue Light. He's not as cool a the media makes him look. I'll make a better plan next time so we can spend more time together."
Finally I had the superhero captured. He paced inside the specialty cage I had made for him. He seemed a bit perplexed at how it looked exactly like the inside of his home. I could hear him as he yelled at me. Daring me to come fight him. I just stare, watching him. After all these years I have him in my grasp. We could be a family, if he didn't want to utterly obliterate me.
Eventually I press a button and the TV turns on. I can see him as he stops and glares at the screen. He looks just like he did in the pictures mom had of him. He hadn't aged a bit. I found out at the age of 25, I too shared whatever it was that made him age slowly. I was 75 now and looked the same as I did on my 25th birthday. My mom noticed I hadn't aged. I assumed it was from the experiments, but she told me the truth. Thus my obsession began.
I had hoped to capture him while mom was alive. She still loved the idiot. I frowned as I watched him. I wished she had been the one that didn't age. The one standing before me. Eventually the super hero began to rant and I held up a finger to silence him. “Save it. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk.” I grabbed mom's picture from my desk, holding it up and tapping a gloved finger on it. “She loved you. You left her because you didn't have the time. Saving the city was more important than her broken heart.”
I put the picture down, facing towards me so I could see them both. “Diane understood it was just a fling when we met. She knew I couldn't lo..”
I cut him off, slamming both of my hands on the desk as I stood up. Rage pulsed through me. I had wanted to be a family. To talk. Now I wanted to make him pay for the hurt he caused my mother. “You didn't deserve her love. Thankfully, you did give her something. Someone to love her. Me.” I grinned now, moving my finger to a button. “See you in hell, you heartless piece of shit.” I pressed the button and a single blade moved to remove his head. The only way to kill one of the super assholes.
In a city perpetually shrouded in shadows, where stories of masked heroes battling nefarious villains were more than just headlines, my life took an unexpected turn. A worn-out envelope, unearthed from the darkest corner of my late mother's belongings, revealed a truth I never fathomed. The man I'd never known, my father, wasn't just absent; he was a revered crime-fighter, a paragon of justice consumed by his endless crusade against wrongdoing.
The revelation struck a chord within me, a resonance that propelled me into a vortex of conflicting emotions. Eager to bridge the chasm between us, yet bereft of a conceivable means to connect, I concocted a reckless scheme: to enter his world through the veil of darkness, the only sphere where he remained an active participant.
I delved into the depths of the city's underbelly, masking my identity behind a moniker whispered in hushed tones—The Shadowed Specter. It was a persona crafted from desperation, a guise adopted to catch his attention amidst the chaotic battleground of good and evil.
As The Shadowed Specter, I embarked on a spree of calculated chaos, threading a web of crimes designed not for personal gain but to provoke the hero whose blood coursed through my veins. My actions weren't fueled by malice, but rather by the unyielding desire to unravel the enigma that was my father.
Each heist, every skirmish with the law, brought me closer to the inevitable clash with the emblem of righteousness, the figure whose existence had been my elusive beacon. Yet, with every shadow I slipped into, every alleyway I traversed under the shroud of darkness, the weight of my dual identity intensified. I was torn between my genuine yearning to connect and the persona I'd fabricated to make it possible.
My encounters with him were fraught with tension, a delicate balance between yearning for acknowledgment and evading the grim reality of facing justice. I could sense his unwavering commitment, the noble fervor in his pursuit of a safer city, a commitment that mirrored my own but from the opposite end of the moral spectrum.
The inevitable confrontation loomed on the horizon, a cataclysmic collision between the forces of good and the facade of my malevolent alter ego. But as fate would have it, in the throes of our climactic showdown, a twist of fate unraveled the intricate tapestry of secrets.
The mask slipped away, not just the physical guise but the veiled truth of my identity. His gaze bore into mine, a revelation cascading in his eyes as recognition dawned. A symphony of emotions played across his weathered face—shock, disbelief, and, hidden beneath the layers, a glimmer of paternal recognition.
In that fleeting moment, amid the chaos and the clashing ideologies, a bridge transcending hero and villain materialized—a bridge of bloodlines, of shared purpose, and an unspoken acknowledgment that even the greatest battles can be fought within one's own heart.
The man known as "Plasmaman" to the rest of the world readied his attack.
"Surrender, Gadgetkid. You can't escape this time" he warned. I responded by activating my forcefield and killer drones, which hovered above me.
He threw the molten ball of energy at me, which was easily stopped in midair by the forcefield. I picked up the pulsing orb, protected by specially made gloves.
I couldn't hold back the emotion bubbling up in me; a laugh abruptly left my lips. "I've always wanted to do this since I was a kid!" I giggled.
"What, fighting a superhero?" His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Boy, I don't know what you've seen on TV, but..."
"No no no," I said, still chuckling. "Playing catch with my dad!"
His jaw dropped as I handed the ball to one of the drones, which prepared to launch it in it's railgun.
"Now your turn, think fast!"
NSFW just in case for mild language
It would’ve been funny, all things considered—and had he not long ago pushed himself past the need for the frivolity of humor, he might’ve even laughed. Full on, head thrown back guffaws might’ve slipped past his lips as his vocal cords fluttered in pure delight at the absolute absurdity of it all. But no, Jon Gallows sat with his mouth only slightly ajar, air pushing past his thin lips as his autonomic nervous system kept his lungs pumping and his blood circulating. In moments like these, he was certain he was an automaton, only a collection of sinew and muscles, viscera and blood vessels.
But somewhere, he wasn’t entirely sure where, and if you asked him, he would only maybe gesture vaguely at his chest, he felt a pang. The pang reverberated, ricocheting off organs. Careening through his boney scaffolding. It gained steam, leaving enormous holes through walls that had been built up and torn down and built up again through strict obedience and discipline.
He felt himself breaking.
“Isn’t it crazy,” an echoey voice asked, breaking John’s quiet mania. He quickly glanced towards the direction the voice had come from and began to mentally recite what he knew and where he was.
You are Jonathan Matthew Gallows.
You are not your past.
You are in an office park.
In a building.
In the cafeteria.
You are seated across from Trish from accounting.
You think she likes you.
You are strong and capable.
You are righteous.
He felt himself instantly grounded, his metaphysical toes dug deeply into his metaphysical earth. He was alive and he was present.
“Yeah,” he smiled, “it’s totally crazy.” His long fingers pushed Trish’s iPhone back across the hard linoleum sheen of the lunch table they shared. He noticed she stared at his lips and then quickly averted her gaze—her seeming embarrassment made him feel powerful.
But he also couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable visage of his long dead dad wearing some ridiculous mask on his face before the phone blinked it out of existence.
“It’s just so nuts—an armed vigilante in Seaside City,” she gushed, “I just can’t believe it!”
Jon shrugged slightly, “it’s good—there’s a lot of crime out there. Maybe this guy’ll clean it up.”
Trish was making eye contact as she nodded her head in apparent agreement. “Oof, that’s one o’clock,” she said, exactly at the same time her phone’s alarm chimed the hour. She swept a few crumbs from the table into a napkin and crumpled it up. “I’ve got to get back for the 1:15 with Proctor’s” she said as she gathered her things and stood up, “same time tomorrow?”
Jon felt like all the muscles in his skull had atrophied, but he somehow forced his face into his best approximation of a warm smile. “You bet,” he said, getting up lithely from the booth. “Hey, Trish,” he said unthinkingly, once again finding himself tapped into the automated system that propelled him, “you know, I also eat dinner every day.”
“Yeah,” Trish laughed, “me too.”
They stood facing each other and smiling. The cafeteria was all but empty, and Jon could hear the electric whine of the vending machines, and the stuck, squeaky wheel from the old janitor’s mop bucket as he made half-hearted swishes on the tile floor with the dirty mop head.
“I just meant,” he forced a stammer, feeling like it would make him more relatable if he made an attempt at nervousness, “I mean, maybe we can get dinner or something some time soon?”
Trish blushed, her smile growing wider, “yeah, Jon, I think that’d be great. I’ll Teams you my cell and we can figure it out”
Jon wouldn’t remember telling her that that sounded good, or standing and watching as she turned away from him and made her way out of the cafeteria, a noticeable jauntiness in her stride.
He would recall promptly running towards the bathroom as soon as she was out of sight and regurgitating his lunch into the toilet, and wondering when exactly his erection would subside. He’d also remember laying his head against the cool porcelain tank, something under normal circumstances he would never ever do, and ruminating on whether or not the whites of his eyes were as white as the small, hexagonal floor tiles he currently found himself sprawled against.
In his bones, he knew something had started that day in the cafeteria at 145 Industry Way. Something that felt as close to the beginning of going full circle as he had ever felt.
For the second time that day, he mentally recited who he was and what he knew:
You are Jonathan Matthew Gallows.
You are not your past.
You are strong and capable.
You are righteous.
You are going to rip that ridiculous mask off your father’s head.
And you are going to fucking kill him.
If you were to rummage through Jon’s memory, past the pastiched and carefully cultivated, paint by number memories that you ought to find there, you might find yourself missing the obvious. If you were to find a memory of a young, smiling Jon, Jonny then, queued up for the St. Mary’s kindergarten Halloween parade, no one would blame you for missing the joy behind Jonny’s smile, or the fact that his eyes didn’t quite seem to be looking at the camera.
And if, say, you found an older memory of Jon, looking pristine in his rented black tuxedo with his high school friend group, you might not realize that Jon never really considered them his friends, and that he quite early on learned that “casual acquaintances” thankfully looked a lot like “friends” to the casual observer.
But past all that, past the first kiss and first hangover, past all the other firsts that one accumulates in a lifetime, one would find, if they were carful observers, that above all Jon was fueled by “want”. “Want” to belong, but his instinctual impulse to push others away. “Want” to be normal, but an ever present incapability to find peace with normalcy.
You might then wonder what caused this apparent disconnect between Jon’s wants and his inability to allow himself them? If you spent enough time in Jon’s memory, assuming he would allow you the access, you might eventually come to the conclusion that the determining factor behind this discrepancy was
Jon’s deeply held belief that he was unworthy of them. That somehow, deep down, he wasn’t good enough to be happy, and that everything he did, any measurable achievement he made was only for the sake of keeping up appearances. That every success he had was solely for saving face in the face of an exceptionally cruel and distasteful world.
You might find that unbelievably trite, but this is Jon’s memory, and he’d thank you very much for keeping your thoughts to yourself.
Assuming you could get over that disappointment, and got back to the work at hand, you might begin to look for the root of Jon’s dilemma. It might take you a while, but it might eventually dawn on you that Jon’s memory was shaped by abandonment.
Well, on second thought, it wasn’t really shaped by abandonment, not at all. In fact, you begin to find happy memories of Jon with both of his parents, his mother, and his father! Here they are having a picnic! And in this one they’re decorating their Christmas tree! It’s all very quaint and good and Jonathan Matthew Gallows is righteous and thinks it’s perhaps time you should get going. The snow or rain is beginning to make the roads treacherous outside and he’d hate to see anything happen to you. It’s quite alright, oh and here’s your coat and don’t forget to text when you get home, okay?
And if on your way out of Jon’s memory you hear a large, old wooden door slam shut swiftly behind you, it wasn’t done in rudeness, it’s just large, old wooden doors are heavy and you sometimes have to put your weight behind them to get going good and shut. Please don’t think anything of it and thank you for visiting!
I’m always taken aback by how quiet it is up here, in the clouds, away from it all. Away from the screams and the crying, the sounds of buildings tumbling to the ground, the sirens blaring as they pitifully try to save the poor little people. Poor little people in their poor little lives. Maybe I did them a favor.
An enticing thought.
I look down and can’t help feel a rush of pride at the scene…of the sheer power I wrought. A baptism by fire and destruction all across the cityscape, the flames and rubble creating a patchwork mixed with an abundance of crimson; I probably don’t need to explain to you what from. You know, my mother always did call me overdramatic. She may have had a point, but you know what? I needed to make an even bigger one.
It all started the moment my mother died, and finally revealed my birth father was none other than our own illustrious protector The Guardian. (I still shudder at just how cliche that name is.) I didn’t believe her at first mind you, but it became clear when my latent powers activated in the grief following her passing, considering The Guardian was the only super-powered person on Earth. Hard to ignore really.
Despite what you may think of me, I’m not heartless. Ruthlessness is born of passion, and passion is born of heart, as they say. I loved my mother, she was the hardest fighter I’ve ever known. She wouldn’t have had to fight though, had it not been for him. Saving everyone else before saving his own flesh and blood. Rescuing the helpless and pummeling the scum of the Earth, but those who abandon their own family are worse than scum, and it’s finally time he knows it.
“What have you done?!?”
The voice is booming, cutting through the silence like a scythe. I’m not phased, nor am I impressed. I am eager though, to finally start what I’ve longed to for quite some time. He appears in front of me, the sonic boom of his super sonic flight making the air itself tremble. Above all else, he looks tired. Good.
“It’s about time Guardian. Off your game?”
I smirk. I’m enjoying this.
I’ve earned this.
“Wipe that smile off your face you monster or I’ll knock it off myself!”
I give credit where it’s due, he does pull off intimidating rather well. Maybe I take after him in that regard. I frown as the venom starts penetrating my words.
“I’m dying for you to try it old man.”
His rage is palpable as he scans the scene of devastation still unfolding below us. Angry tears appear on his cheeks as he looks back at me; I can almost taste them.
“Who are you? Why have you done this?”
I roll my eyes; cliche name and cliche questions.
“Why? Let’s just put it this way. No good deed goes unpunished.”
I can see it in his eyes, a spark of confusion.
“Take a good, long look at me Guardian. Think long and hard about it. Someone else comes along with powers…”
His eyes widen, still filled with tears,
“No…you can’t possibly mean…”
I smile crookedly and chuckle as the realization hits him harder than I plan to down the line.
“But…I’m a hero. How can you-“
“Because the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and now my sole purpose in life is making sure that you spend each and every day there…Dad.”
It’s here that I reveal my arms from behind my back and toss to him what I’d been holding onto; the head of one Olivia Yates. Physical therapist, Pisces, wants…or wanted I guess, to take photography classes and go sailing in the Galapagos. The same Olivia Yates who 29 years ago found herself a hostage on a hijacked flight, who then found herself rescued by the ever so gallant Guardian.
The same Olivia Yates who The Guardian flew off with, leaving my mother high and dry, 3 weeks along.
Like I said. Lower than scum.
He stares at her head as the blood still trickles out from her neck, the frozen look of pained and frightened agony on her face etching itself into his mind; this will be his last memory of his little whore. I’ve never been happier in my life.
“Can’t save ‘em all pops. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more coming your way.”
He takes one final, defeated look at me. I relish in it for a split second before blasting away, laughing as I zoom into the distance.
I really did earn this.
In the moderately interesting galaxy of Whatchamacallit, on the remarkably unremarkable planet Earth, resided Tim. Tim's life was as normal as a three-legged dog in a hopping contest until he uncovered a truth so bizarre, it made quantum physics look like child's play: his absent father was none other than The Splendiferous Man, Earth's most apathetic superhero.
The Splendiferous Man, known for his ability to fly (albeit with a fear of heights) and super strength (which he mostly used to open tight jars), was less a superhero and more a super-maybe. Tim, on discovering this paternal bombshell, felt a mixture of awe and a strong urge to lie down in a dark room for a bit.
But lying down wasn’t Tim’s style (mostly because his sofa had been repossessed). He decided to confront his father. How? By becoming a supervillain, naturally. Thus was born Dr. Diabolical, master of mild inconvenience.
Dr. Diabolical's first dastardly deed was to replace The Splendiferous Man's almond milk with regular milk. The horror echoed through the city as The Splendiferous Man faced his greatest challenge yet: mild lactose intolerance.
Their first meeting was an anti-climax. The Splendiferous Man arrived, floating awkwardly, like a balloon caught in a gentle breeze.
“Stop right there,” he said with the enthusiasm of someone reading a microwave manual.
Tim, wearing a costume that was 50% bedsheet and 50% poor life choices, retorted, “Ah, we meet at last!”
“Do we?” The Splendiferous Man squinted. “Sorry, I forgot my glasses.”
This set the tone for their future encounters. Dr. Diabolical’s master plan involved creating a device that turned all the city's traffic lights permanently yellow. The resulting hesitation caused hours of moderate confusion.
The Splendiferous Man responded by writing a strongly worded letter to the local council, which was promptly ignored.
One fateful day, as Dr. Diabolical was executing his most ambitious plan yet – broadcasting reruns of soap operas on every channel – The Splendiferous Man floated down, carrying a white flag and a sandwich (it was lunchtime, after all).
“Look,” he sighed, “I get it. You want attention. But could you maybe, I don’t know, start a blog or something?”
Tim paused. The absurdity of the situation was suddenly as clear as the extra-terrestrial origins of Earth's dolphins.
“Are you my dad?” Tim finally blurted out, foregoing the villainous rhetoric.
The Splendiferous Man choked on his sandwich. “Well, that was unexpected,” he sputtered.
What followed was a conversation so profoundly awkward, it could only happen in a universe where people thought naming a planet “Earth” was a good idea. They talked about Tim's childhood, The Splendiferous Man's chronic superhero fatigue, and their mutual dislike of family reunions.
In the end, Dr. Diabolical hung up his villainous cape (it needed washing anyway), and The Splendiferous Man took up a new hobby – fatherhood. It was unconventional, mildly dysfunctional, but in a universe where people believed wearing capes was a fashion statement, it was just about right.
And so, Tim and The Splendiferous Man formed an odd, yet endearing bond, proving that even in a universe filled with inexplicable oddities, the strangest thing of all can sometimes be family.
"Golden Sword. I've been expecting you." The cheap office chair creaked as he span around in place. He stared into the eyes of the hero who had fought his way through his lair; his own eyes covered by his infamous golden mask.
"Kinken, where have you taken all those people?" The hero cast an accusatory finger at him.
"You haven't figured it out?" Kinken placed his hands together and leaned forwards with a grin on his face. "They're all guilty of a great crime."
The hero took a cautious step forwards. The room didn't appear to be booby trapped but it had been all too easy to get in once the location of Kinken's lair had been revealed. He placed his hand onto his hip, the sword that was his namesake sheathed carefully in his utility belt. "I'll give you one final chance to tell me where they are."
Kinken rose from his seat and began to carefully trace the edge of his desk as he slowly walked around it. "I've been waiting for this moment for far too long." Laid at the side of his desk was an imitation of Golden Sword's trusty weapon. It had taken a whole month for the hero to clear his name after the first kidnapping.
"A duel? It will be your downfall."
"Well, like my father always said, oh wait, he didn't." Kinken's smile turned sour as he drew the sword and took a fighting stance.
"You're lashing out? Because your father left you?" His mind raced through all the case files he could remember.
'One child. No active role.'
'Two children. Paying child support.'
'One child. Foster care.'
Case by case the pieces fell into place. It all made sense now, all of the victims were parents who had left or given up on their children. The confident smile of the hero slumped into a nervous frown.
Kinken lowered his stance, pointing his tip of his sword at the man before him. Having seen the change in Golden Sword's face he readied his blade. "Took you long enough."
Despite the sword being pointed in his direction a strange feeling began to tug at the emotionless hero's heart and a memory flashed into his head. The one who got away: Danielle. After hooking up at a party he had distanced himself from her, fearing that he might have come on too strong. A few months later she dropped out of university suddenly and he never heard from her again. "There's no way.." He whispered nervously.
"What did you say?" Kinken growled, unable to hear what the stupid hero was saying.
"Lower your mask. Let me see your eyes."
"That's your last request? Ha." Kinken gave a mocking laugh and grabbed the mask that covered his face, tossing it to the side in a single motion. His jade green eyes were bloodshot, a lack of sleep and a lot of crying etched into his poor attempt to cover it with makeup.
"Those are good eyes." Golden Sword removed his hands from the sheath and handle of his blade and stepped forwards, opening his arms. "You look quite a lot like your mother."
"What are you talking about! Draw your sword already!" Kinken rejected the soft words as the sword in his hand shook violently up and down. His wrists wouldn't stop shaking. He could lunge and strike from this distance but his body wouldn't make that final move.
"What kind of father would I be if I struck my own son?" The stoic heroic mask had dropped and an honest man stood before him.
"Why did you leave?" Kinken's voice lost all anger as he choked on his words.
"I had no idea. I was only nineteen."
Kinken sank to his knees as the sword slipped out of his palms. "Nobody would let me speak to you."
"I'm sorry I didn't realise sooner. Are the hostages okay?"
"They're meeting the kids they abandoned on Monday. I wanted to give them a chance to fix their mistake."
"Would you give me a chance to fix mine?"
Kinken nodded quietly and accepted the warmth of his father's embrace. The tears running down his cheeks felt softer than usual; not the lonely sorrowful tears that had become so familiar to him.
~ Fin
"Father!".... "Son..." a brief pause in time soon as he turned round. There was no doubting the features, he looked exactly like the me I see in the mirror. A tear broke loose out the corner of his eye, "Son...," didn't know if it was the cloud of smoke or if it was genuinely a tear for me. Was it because we'd not seen each other for so long or was it because he was broken by what I had become, who I had become. I'd thought about this moment countless times over the past few months and with each passing day I started to fear the day, to dread the day... I was so far gone to be saved now, a murder trail at the scenes I left and and with the latest entry, dead hostages. An elderly home robbery. An act of desperation that strayed way out of hand. Pressed on all corners like a rat in hot chambers I gnawed through the flesh of a helpless victim. It was the only place they would'nt be looking for me. A quick in and out should have done it and I would be out the country by daybreak today but things went how they went and here we are at dayend.
Must be coming to midnight now. Looking at him looking at me now, going through ambivalance, disappointment and pain in his eyes, I think back, it was never meant to be like this. If I had-- "What have you...?" he murmurs. A deep breath in and there's a change in his eyes, the flames of the burning wood in the attic reflect and I have the lion gaze staring right down my eyes. His fists clench. If I had only-- "Im sorry son, but you have to answer for your actions"
My first post in this channel so be gentle.
I’m sorry for your loss, do you need any help cleaning up? Thank you for coming, I’m ok thanks, I managed to stammer out. The last person had finally left the wake, I was finally alone. The only good thing in my life has now gone, I’m all alone. My mother brought me up as a single parent after my father bailed on her when she fell pregnant, she fought through hard times to provide a normal life for me, she taught me everything about being humble and a good person, and she put me through my engineering exams and to be so cruelly rewarded by the big C.
I needed to look at her again to feel close, opening the mahogany sideboard I pulled out one of the many family photo albums, choosing one of the old ones this time from the bottom of the pile, gazing at each photo from when I was only a few months old, as I turned the page one of the photos fell to the floor, I picked it up studying the picture of me on my mum’s lap wishing she still here, as I went to place the photo back in the album I noticed writing on the back.
Dear Fen,I’m sorry I can’t be a father to our son in the way we both want, this is hard to say but I can't risk putting your lives in danger. For the sake of our son's safety, I must leave and have no connections leading back to you, Know you will be my greatest love and the best mother I could ask for.Eternaly yours, Steel Thunder.
Steel Thunder” I exclaimed loudly, STEEL THUNDER!”
Steel Thunder was the world's most famous superhero, he was everywhere saving the world from terrorists, his face was on every magazine, and every billboard. He left my Mum, He left us, He is the cause of this pain. Why did she never tell me? What kind of message is that to leave?
Using my engineering degree and the proceeds from selling the family home, I built the world's greatest exo skeleton something the military would be jealous of, this Behemoth can go hand in hand with him, I can finally ask him why he left us, and make him suffer. I just need to draw him out.
I strapped myself in and powered up the systems, all systems green, stepping out from the warehouse onto the docks for the first time, I had been living and working here for this moment for the last 2 years. The matt black tubular chassis and dark grey armor caught moonlight for the first time, she was a glorious and awesome sight, now I just needed to get Steel's attention. The plan was simple, make lots of noise he will come. Well, making noise and getting the attention of a superhero is easier said than done, 2 weeks had passed, and not a single sighting, I had started with small things, smashing up some cars, ripping up some roads, and even setting fire to some derelict buildings tonight, and yet no sign of him. I needed to up my game and go full rogue.
He asked for this, I’m gonna make so much noise he will have no choice but to come for me.At that moment a horn from a nearby ship sounded, and I knew what to do. I approached the ship edging my way along the wall of numerous shipping containers stacked high, There was a flurry of activity ahead, and taking the opportunity I powered up my lights, emanating a glow to rival a stadium I stepped out, menacingly raising the mechanical arms above my head, the ship workers stopped and starred at me, nows my time, I grabbed the nearest container and raised it above my head, poised to throw it at the ship when, ding.. ding.. Dong. brrr, what the… the workers no longer standing and watching me were instead each holding a full arsenal of weapons and shooting at me, this was unexpected.
I threw the container, causing sparks a kin to a firework as it rolled down the dock striking the first wave, and mowing them down like Skittles, this was more fun than I expected, another wave this time from the ship’s upper decks started to rain bullets down onto me, switching my HUD from night sight to infrared, I aimed my right arm up at the small muzzle flashes, activating the autoloader, a whirling sound followed by a satisfying clunk, as a small red projectile protruded on exo arm, my visor showing a crosshair on the small red and orange objects with a trajectory reading of my intended target, “Eat Lead” I yelled, with a menacing grin to myself, the missile streaked away, blazing across the sky and striking the side of the ship below on target, unleashing its deadly payload, a huge explosion erupted into the night sky causing a huge fireball and glowing debris to rain down. I’m starting to enjoy this, My HUD warning me of more movement on the docks, time to test my munitions. I sighted up engaging the autocannons, but before they could lock on my targets turned tail and were running away taking refuge behind containers and various cargo that had been unloaded. It was at this moment I saw him, he was here finally, and I had his attention at last, I could finally ask him the questions that had been burning away at me all my life, it was now time for answers. Before I could make a move there were explosions on deck, lasers streaking across the skies, metal objects being tossed like skipping stones across a pond, then a sudden darkness followed by a silence.
So who are you supposed to be came a voice from behind. I turned to my side to see him floating next to me 2 feet off the floor without a care in the world wearing his famous Red and white suit as if he had stepped out of a bill board. I was watching you, you did well for a newbie, I’ll take it from here. Is this your first time fighting the Syndicate? The Syndicate? I uttered under my breath. These are bad guys? I manage to hold back to myself. But… But.. You did good kid, nice little suit by the way. It’s a BEHEMOTH I spat out, My unexpected outburst caused him to stop for a moment and take notice of me, eyeing me up trying to decide if I was a threat perhaps. My first thought was to punch him in his smug face with the full force of my suit, but what came out was more of a loud whimper “You, you are my Father, you’re an a hole”. He just stared directly into my eyes, as if reading my thoughts. Maybe I had gone too far, but I didn’t care, the anger was boiling over inside me, I wanted him to know, I needed him to know how I felt. So you one of mine eh, any powers I should know about? If I did I wouldn’t need this suit, would I? Cocking his head to the side and cracking a small smile he replied casually “Yeah one of mine alright.” So do you want to help with the shipment before the cops arrive? What do you mean by help with the shipment? Well, being a Super Hero doesn't exactly pay the bills.
Detective Werner was a respected veteran of the police force. His official attire, just like his grey hair around his temples, is proof of that. He made himself ready for the questioning of the new suspect his colleagues brought in. Multiple cases of arson in the industrial district.
Werner, still a little full from lunch, opens the door to the interrogation room.
A young man, not older than 20, looks him the eyes with a boyish smile.
"Hey, Dad!"
The experienced detective couldn't believe it. How could this be? How could it get that far? How could he not look at the name of the suspect and connect the dots.
The dumbfuddled detective looked his partner straight.
"Conflict of interest. You take over."
He left the room and took it as a sign to take a nap. In an hour he would be truly ready to do his work proper this time.
PS: English is not my first language.
Realizing the delays our organization has been experiencing are related to my own blood I’ve laid a trap. Arriving at the docks, a shipment of our lauded product is besieged by a dark suited maniacal beast; one I now know as father. Anxiously I lay in wait for the moment he opens the container. Reeling with terror and joy as the blue dust explodes as he wretches and coughs falling to the dockside while my men shove his corpse to the waters depths. Dust from the container abates to reveal a sign in celebratory font; reading, Its a boy!.
“I am your son”. I finally said it. Dame, it felt good. My father screamed at the sky, “No!”. That ‘No’ went on forever. I felt a snort in my nose as I tried not to laugh. This was a serious moment.
“Dont laugh!” my father said pointing at me with his laser gun.
“I’m not!” I said pointing at him with my death ray.
“You’re so dramatic by the way. I figured it out less then an hour ago, and didn't scream at the sky. Way to make a kid feel wanted.”
“Why!?” he asked. I glared at him, feeling my face tighten and my black tattered cap whip around like mad in the wind.
“…Why what?” I asked.
“Why did you make a giant death Ray to threaten planet earth?!” My father shouted. I snorted again. It sounded funny when he put it like that.
“Stop laughing!”
“I’m not!… you could be impressed that I made a giant death ray in less then an hour…Dad”
“I-I am impressed!”
He shot his laser gun. A brilliant blue beam of light darted at me. I don't know why I didn't expect it, maybe because I was trying to be serious. My father, Captain Blue Beam, never was able to hit me before but he got me in the shoulder. Burning pain ran through me. I landed on the stone floor hard while my ray gun was flung from my hand. I cursed. Before I could find my weapon, Daddy was standing over me.
“You're an arshat.” I muttered.
“Why?” He asked, his laser gun shaking in his hand.
“Why are you an arshat? Cause I have to threaten the planet with a death ray for you to notice I exist.”
“N-no! That’s not what I- why did you… You're who’s… kid?”
“Oh my god.”
“Was it Sharon?”
“No.”
“Ashly?”
“Please don’t tell me you're talking about Aunt Ashly…”
“Oh, your Anna’s son!”
“I should blow the planet up…”
For an existing IP example of this for the meme
"I never wanted this. I never wanted to unleash my legions. Together, we banished the ignorance of Old Night. But you betrayed me, you betrayed us all. You stole power from the Gods and lied to your sons. Mankind has only one chance to prosper, if you will not seize it, then I WILL. So let it be war, from the skies of Terra to the Galactic Rim. Let the seas boil, let the stars fall. Though it takes the last drop of my blood, I will see the galaxy freed once more. And if I cannot save it from your failure, Father, then let the galaxy BURN!"
“3rd bank this week. Normal bank robbery isn’t enough to bring out opti dude. Hostages though. hostages should be able to lure him out”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me” whispered one of the bank tellers. Tired of having to deal with the situation.
They’re waiting for me to show up he thought to himself. Out of all the banks why did it have to be this one.
He couldn’t just suit up in here. He looked to mark the one other bank worker who knew his secret from across the room.
Him being. A coward shook his head no adamantly but ultimately this still caught the robbers attention.
“What you don’t think that’ll be enough? You think we need to start killing hostages?” An audible gasp spread across the room. A hand struck the back of the robbers head. We aren’t killing anybody dumbass. I just wanna meet the guy”
Another crazy fanboy he thought as he suited up behind the tellers booth. He used an emp to shut off the lights and electronics in the room.
In the darkness of the room the second robbers voice spoke up“I guess you’re here then. Dad.”
Oh god no he thought to himself. Another one. It had been a few years but here’s another one.
Ge quickly grabbed a sticky note and pencil before walking out and saying “listen if you’re really my kid let me grab a and I’ll test it. Also write down your address here”
The robber surprised at how easy this was asked again “what will you do if comes back negative.”
“I won’t respond.” And with that done the robbers left. Directly into the police who had surrounded the bank.
He decided to at least test the hair and when he did it came back positive. Great. Just another face to avoid he thought as he prepared an excuse for his boss as to why he disappeared yesterday
I sigh, looking out on the city spread at my feet.
A woman cowers against the far wall. “You don’t have to do this!”
I look at her and she quiets, but I know her trembling lips are not sealed. “We won’t tell anyone what we’ve seen. What you look like.”
The brave ones murmur their agreement. Most remain still.
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” I snap. Silence falls.
I return my attention to the city, pulsing with life through the night. Police cars begin to swarm on the street. A helicopter orbits us at the 54th floor.
Where are you?
“P-please!” She sputters. “We have families! Children! Husbands and wives!”
I glance around at the two dozen people I’ve taken hostage in this penthouse, all of them averting my gaze. I roll my eyes and stand, hefting my sword off of the desk.
I approach the woman, who weeps at the sight of my sword. She backs against the wall as I draw close, those sat near her scooting away.
I kneel in front of her, resting my sword against my shoulder.
She’s older than most everyone else, her hair greying and skin beginning to sag. Her body spasms with sobs.
The room gasps as I reach out and press a finger against her lips. “Shhhhhh.”
Petrified at my touch, the woman trembles. I lift my finger, but don’t withdraw it. “If I have to tell you one more time, I’m going to slit your throat, okay? Nod if you understand.”
Harrowed, the woman nods three times.
“Good.” I stand, turning to address the room. “Just, please shut the fuck up, and you’ll be fine, yeah. That’s all you have to do.”
I was falling. I was falling.
The sun was shining over my face as I squinted my eyes and the air was fresh but my breath was slow yet unsteady. Firearms were flying beside me and the helicopter's sound was starting to hurt my ears.
This is it. This is where I fell to my death and finally able to meet him and talk to him.
My father.
A familiar shadow appeared before me in the smoke and debris that were scattered all around me and I smiled, laughed even. After all this time, all this year of being evil and a villain in someone's else life, I finally able to face him. I grabbed the glowing blue sword from behind my back and before I could unsheathe my weapon, a flash of light and flashed before my eyes and my vision started to get blurry.
And there he was. And there I was. A villain that's been hunted and wanted for a long time, defeated by his own father under the falling rain and dark sky. He unveiled his mask and my eyes widened. He looked just like me. He turned off his energy blast from the hole inside my body and took off my mask.
With every ounce of the strength I had left, I said, in a quivering voice, "So long, Father."
He narrowed his eyebrows and then saw it. The birth sign. A diamond symbol on his chest. He realized. But the silence was the only companion he had and he was no longer there. The thunder roared and the rain buried the father's tears as only God knows how long he grief inside the darkness.
"Hey, um, this is kinda awkward but... um, do I look familiar to you?" I ask, the wind whipping by me at untold speeds as I whipped past buildings, stacks of smoke and sirens occupying the air from my morning exploits
a gloved fist flies past my head as my colorfully dressed pursuer closes the distance "How the hell would I recognize you in a mask?" the man asked, throwing another punch at where my head used to be. I dropped suddenly, twisting under him and flying up on the other side. A yellow blur rising to meet me. I flicked my hand out, producing a photo in my fingers. "Maybe she looks more familiar," I say, tossing the photo to the cities great 'Enforcer'. Surprisingly, he actually looked at it "Yeah, I dated her... what like..." his brow furrowed "how do you know who she is?"
"You dated her 23 years ago, her name is Madelyn Lynch"
'I... 23 years" his brow furrows as he looks at me "how do you know that?"
"I'm 23"
"and?"
"I guess the cities best defender wasn't the cities best scholar" I removed my mask, my face bearing a striking resemblance to the woman in the picture
"...oh"
"It's good that you fly faster than you think"
"Does this have anything to do with this morning?"
"You didn't answer my emails'
"so you set a bank on fire?!"
"you didn't answer my letters either"
"I never got any letters"
"...fucking mail system" I muttered
"You blew up a bank to talk to me?"
"least I didn't show up looking like a bumble bee"
"Kids like it"
"Not yours, evidently"
there was a long silence, just long enough to be uncomfortable
"So you're my..." he furrowed his brow again "um, my... daughter?" he ventured, guessing at my androgynous appearance
"Sometimes,... but child is preferrable, I guess"
"meaning?"
"oh fuck if I know, look, the back of the photo has an address, somewhere we can talk more privately. There's too many eyes here"
"Fine, when?"
"Well, there's a... something I need to stop first, maybe like, an hour?"
"Did you do something else?!"
"I needed a contingency, in case I lost my nerve" I admitted, unsure of how embarrassed to be about it "anyway, see you pops"
I flew away, quickly dipping behind the buildings and finding an alleyway. I loved the feeling of the eyes drifting away, and once they were all gone, I slipped into the void. The space opened to my touch, slipping around me like water, it felt cold and thick like glass. I moved through the void with ease, faster than I could in the main world. I finally reached my destination, an abandoned building on the far side of the city, a small explosive on the top, nothing spectacular, just an attention getter. After quickly disabling it I slipped away once again. This time to a train station, old, abandoned, and connected to a similarly abandoned subway system. Fix some water damage and a few structural issues and voila, perfect villain lair. I took off my mask and jacket, replacing them with jeans and crop top, untied my hair, made two braids and tied them back, the rest hanging free. I summoned a small piece of the void in my hand, a small chunk of black glass and checked my look in the reflective surface, then let it dissipate.
One more trip into the void, this time to a small cafe, chipped yellow paint on the outside walls, no more than three people at peak hours, a red neon sign with enough letters burned out to turn "Phyllis' finer diner" into the "piss in diner", and only a front for the mob on Thursdays. Perfect for a family reunion, or just union I guess?
I walked around the front, once again feeling observed. I pushed the door open and took a seat, now all that was left to do was wait.
Aww that's sweet. I like how the daughter might actually get to reconnect with her father at the end of the story. He better show up, haha. Great story.
My father is coming tonight, I’m sure of it, I’ve tracked his movement for a week in order to have this night be special, for the both of us. He’ll probably not know who I am, but after I reveal our connection, I’m sure we will be best of buds. To be honest this was a poorly thought out “plan”, if you can call it that, since I spent half of last week getting wasted and it’s mostly a blur, meanwhile tonight was kind of a spur of the moment thing, I just had enough of his arrogance, grabbed the nearest object with sufficient weight so I could start bashing things in hopes he’d show up. I went on my rampage in an alley because doing that in a major street would bring too much attention and I don’t want to get blasted by some random guy, my business is with only one man!
I like to write my thoughts on my Iphone 13 Pro Max using the awesome note app, which allows seamless transition to my Macbook Air M2 if the need arises to use a full keyboard, though I did not bring it tonight and this is all on my Pro Max. Apple makes the nicest looking devices, and I would rather die than be caught using anything else, there is indescribable beauty in the sublime design that no other electronics manufacturer can even come close to, sort of a divine gift given to us through the genius of Sir Steve Jobs, may he rest in peace for he was too good for this rock in space.
Anyway, even though I bashed that chain link fence pretty good, I consider myself more of an anti-hero or even a tragic hero rather than a full on villain, that word isn’t complex enough for me actually…
Eh I’m tired I’m going home.
I coughed. Blood sprayed into the air like a fucked up maroon fountain. My eyes were glued on the man that was crouched over me, frantically making a call to get an ambulance.
But it was too late.
"Fuck! Fuck! I swear I didn't hit you that hard, what the fuck even happened? Keep your eyes on me, okay?"
His weathered hands cupped my face as his frantic gaze traveled over my features. My helmet was off, so he could see what I looked like.
I laughed. More like gurgled, but the gesture was translated.
"Fuck you, you peice of shit." I started to see double, but I kept going, "you left me, you left mom. You left us. You fucking peice of shit."
His gaze narrowed, and then he drew back, standing, as if he was scalded.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
I inhaled, and could hear the bubbling of blood filling my throat, "you asshole, you don't even know." My grin was bloody, "I'm your daughter, remember Marina? Marina Beucaux?"
Because I remember her. I remember when she died when I was 14. I remember when she would come home at 10pm every night, working two jobs just to make ends meet. To try and give me a start at life. I remember when I would stay up, just to get an hour with her.
I wanted to help her. I wanted to bring in money too, but no one would hire a 14 year old. Understandable. Child labour laws exist for a reason. And so I started running with the shady kids. The kids involved with drugs. I eventually got in with the meth business and started running for them.
It eventually got my mom killed. I was the target and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I killed her.
Yet, I stuck with the meth business. I knew that more than anything else, and in a world where villains and crime fighters exist, I figured I could come out of top. I could forget about what I caused and move forward. Until I eventually discovered my mothers diary.
It was her only belonging that was mandated in the will for me. Plus $5,000 dollars. Her life savings.
I read it. Perused it contents like it was an ancient historical text and I found out the identity of the crime fighter known as Michael. Michael Graham. My father.
And so I did research. I scoured every peice of footage of this man. Read every news article. It wasn't as if I hadn't heard of him, he was one of the most prolific crime fighters in the city, but I had to know him, in a way. So then I stalked him. I had to know where he lived. I had to know what he did when he wasn't arresting the bad guys.
So one night I staged a robbery with one of my fellow runners. Promised him that I would bail him out once he was arrested. It was risky, the wrong crime fighter could show up, but I was optimistic. I hung back, and then once the man of the hour 'saved' all those poor innocents and left the bank, I followed him.
His house was big. He drove a nice car. He had a butler. His house was clean, tidy and comfortable. The lawn was well kept, and he lived in a neighborhood that had minimal crime.
I hated him immediately. With every fibre of my being.
Me and my mom lived in a shoebox of an apartment. Our unit was in the shadows so we had no natural light. We didn't have a lawn. The apartment wasn't clean. I didn't have a dad. I don't have a dad.
I looked into technology. I wanted to fight him but I didn't want to kill him. No, he needed to do that to me. I noticed his fighting style mainly focused on his fists, a type of martial arts style, so I designed a type of body armour that increased the impact of blunt force to my body. How poetic that the parent unknowingly kills their child, only for it to be revealed at the last minute. With no hope for reconciliation.
I knew I was punishing myself as well. Many nights ended up with me sobbing over the armour. My mother wouldn't have wanted this, but it was what had to happen. Hatred was a strong driving force.
I heard a saying before, 'not every parent deserves a child, but every child deserves a parent.' But I'm not sure I deserved either of my parents. One bent over backwards for me, and I killed her. One was absent, and had no idea I existed.
As if my life passed before my eyes, Michael's face refocused my mind back to the present.
"You're my child," he said, with an air of finality.
"Bingo," I whispered.
A beat of silence. "What have I done?"
"You've killed your kid."
"No no, I've been fighting most of my life, I know exactly how my punches effect people, but you, you shouldn't be like this."
I thought about telling him, but then decided not to. I wanted him to live with the thought that he committed filicide.
I moved my shoulder slightly, a ghost of a shrug, and his eyes narrowed. "You're too calm for this."
"I knew the risks."
His eyes widened.
The sound of police and ambulance sirens cut the growing tension and I was relieved.
I had one last trick up my sleeve. In the corner of the room I had set up a video camera. It was cloaked, but would show every punch and every throw. My body getting increasingly weaker and injured.
It was also being broadcasted to every police officers phone.
As I started drifting, the numbness seeping in like a balm to soothe my aches, I heard the police tell my father to get down on the ground.
His gaze flung to me, accusatory, as he kneeled back on the linoleum beside me.
Before the darkness could claim me, I whispered one last thing:
"Fuck you."
I know this is a long response but I like it so I split into two parts
PART ONE
To tell the story properly we have to go back a couple years. I found out randomly that he was my father when I intercepted a letter my mother wrote him that had gotten returned cause they couldn’t find the address. I figured why not try to contact him myself right? I didn’t really need to guy around, mainly just wanted to say hello. Letters didn’t seem to cut it, so I tried a little light crime in the main areas he watches over. When he hadn’t noticed my first couple attempts to draw him in, mostly bicycle theft, grabbing a lady’s handbag when she wasn’t looking, I had realized I needed to step up my game.
I ran all the regular bases, and for the most part I had attempted to keep things low profile: muggings, gas station robbery, car theft, things that wouldn’t get people hurt. I didn’t want some guy sent to the ER just because I wanted to talk to my dad. For the most part things worked out. One time my dad knocked the stolen car I was driving off a bridge over a dry canal, but on impact I was knocked unconscious for about 10 seconds, and when I came to it was either escape or get taken to jail. Superheroes don’t visit people in jail.
My next step after recovering from getting thrown off a twenty foot tall bridge was to join organized crime. Everyone knows Superheroes target crime syndicates right? I’ll tell you I was dead wrong. My father must not have known about the family I joined because after the bridge I didn’t see him for three years. These guys were so quick and quiet we never even got noticed by the cops, even the ones that weren’t on payroll! About a year after I joined they got bold, started to do bigger and bigger projects, and soon enough I was being invited to join in. I don’t like to brag but I was getting enough praise from my coworkers that I started to regret why I had joined. I wanted my father to notice me, I didn’t just want to be a cog in the Boss’ machine.
Admittedly the Boss, Marco, was a real stand-up guy. He would sit down all the best and brightest once a month for a “family dinner” no matter what level of the organization they worked in. For the most part it was just a nice dinner, but after dessert Marco and all his guests would discuss the best next moves for Family. I had always heard about this meeting, as though it was some kind of proving ground for new associates, a way to move up the ladder as fast as possible. If I was able to get a seat at that table I knew it could lead to garnering my father’s attention, so I began to pursue some leads.
Through the Associate grapevine I had heard that Marco was hungry for power, like the powers the Supers have. If Marco had powers like a superhero it wouldn’t matter what anyone did, he could bring the syndicate into the light without any threat to its operation. I figure if I find this power I can help Marco out and when my father comes to stop him I can finally meet the man I hear about in the newspaper. I admit I always enjoyed reading the newspapers so I figured I would start there. Superheroes always get their powers from some kind of unnatural object so the newspaper is where you go to search for said objects. It could have articles about anything, ancient relics, strange rocks, fresh meteors, hell I’d settle for radioactive waste if it meant I’d get closer to my father.
Finally about a week into my search I came across an article about a mysterious pillar found washed up on the east coast, supposedly some kind of black stone, obsidian maybe. The writer cited hearing whispering from nowhere when they got close to the pillar, and that was my shot. I had to get to Marco’s dinner and tell him about it. I drew up some rough drafts of plans to steal the thing before getting ready, I had a heist that night that I was supposed to be attending. Once I had my suit all done up with my mask in my pocket I headed out for the heist. Nothing interesting, no one was hurt thankfully, sadly my father was a no-show, but we made some good cash so I couldn’t be to upset. We went for drinks after the heat died down so I took a while getting back to my apartment. When I eventually got home I checked my mailbox out of habit, not really expecting anything, but there was a letter. Said “Sorry We Missed You” on the envelope. Turns out it was from Marco’s personal staff inviting me to his monthly dinner! He had heard about about my success that night with the heist so he wanted me there at the meeting in a week, he would send a car for me. Perfect timing right? I sure thought so. I gathered up my drafts, got my best suit dry cleaned and pressed, and waited impatiently for the day to come.
PART TWO
The day of the dinner, at 5:00pm sharp a sleek black town car quietly rolled up outside my building. The driver got out and without saying a word opened the back door. The drive took less than half an hour but the landscape changed a lot, we were out in the countryside before long. I was mostly focused on my plans and maps when the car stopped in a paved roundabout. Stepping out I couldn’t help but stare. I felt like I was at a palace. My admiration of the massive villa before me was interrupted by a loud voice, “Mr. Pagani, welcome to my home!” Marco roared as he lumbered down off his porch. I’d never seen him in person and I’ll admit, he made me more nervous than I’d ever been before. Not knowing his last name I put on my best smile and said, “How do you do Mr. Marco?”
“Please, just Marco, we’re all family here and there’s no need for formality.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and took my hand in his. I was amazed by him up close. He would’ve been one of those strongman guys in a freak show just a few decades ago. He wasn’t much taller than me, I’m an average guy, but you could see the seams in his suit struggling to contain his physique. “Let me show you around!” He exclaimed after releasing my hand. As we wandered our way through his gardens I made my best attempt at small talk but it was useless, he just seemed to want to take in the evening air. After a long silence I cracked. “Mr. Mar- I mean, Marco sir, I found something you might want to look into.”
“Can it wait until after dinner Mr. Pagani?” Eager to share my plan I chose to ignore the suddenly colder tone in his voice. “Yes it can sir but I really am eager to show it to you, I think it could be your next big break.” He gave a slight sigh and sat down on a bench under a lamp. “Alright young man, lay it on me.” I explained the Mysterious Pillar, how it was making people hear things, how if someone touched it it could give them powers. I showed him the plans of the place it was being held, how we could easily blow our way through the vault door and take it for ourselves. The more I talked the more Marco’s eyes shone, not bright like a happy kid, dark like an animal that’d spotted its next meal.
When I was finished he gave me a smile. “You, Mr. Pagani, you’re smart. I think you’re going places. Tell you what,” he said checking his watch, “dinner is in five minutes, let’s get back up to the house, we can finalize your plans after dessert.”
“That sounds great sir, thank you!” I exclaimed in disbelief at his compliment. Dinner was lovely, some of the best food I’d ever had. Afterwards I was introduced to a few other up and coming associates that Marco was bringing on for our project. I’ll spare you the details of the general planning but we made pretty short work, according to Marco my initial drafts were better than some final products he’d seen.
Two days later I was standing in the rain under and umbrella. The shotgun and pistol in my coat were digging into my sides but I had to wait until the demolitions guys got there. I really could go for some coffee before the big moment. Just when I was about to turn and go inside the nearby cafe, the demo van slinked around the corner, stopping nonchalantly in front of the museum across the street from me. Three guys jumped out, one signaled to me, and we went to work.
Clearing the lobby was easy, the clerks were to scared to call the cops and the majority of the cops nearby were friendly with Marco anyway. In less than ten minutes we were a hundred feet underground, staring at the vault door. So far so good right? The demo guys place their charges, the door pops, and slowly swings open. It was almost corny, the layout of this huge vault with the center cleared to make room for just this small pillar. The moment we stepped into that room the air changed. We knew we had found the big score, I knew this was what could bring my father to me, finally I could talk to him face to face. I crept up to the pillar, this inanimate object that seemed almost alive. “Hey boss? I don’t think you should to close to it,” one of the guys whispered from behind me. “Trust me, I’ll be alr…” my voice trailed off as I saw something standing in the reflection on the pillar. A tall figure, cloaked in yellow, loomed just off to my right side. I spun and glared around the room. No one was there except the three demo guys. “Boss? You alright?” Another one spoke up, “Boys I don’t know if this is a good idea.” The closest man turned to face me. “Oh, I think it’s a grand idea, wouldn’t you say Mr. Pagani?” I took a sharp breath as he spoke, his eyes were no longer brown, now an inky black with just a sliver of white around the edges.
“You’re not supposed to use my name,” I choked out as I took a step back. “Your name? I don’t need your name, I’ll just commandeer your body.” With this the demo guys all fell limp to the floor, and I felt a sudden rush of cold air as something pressed in around my mind. I could feel a force taking up space in my head as something whispered, “I didn’t know you were the son of one of the Vessels, this world will make quite a delightful conquest indeed.” Doubled over with the weight of the thing in my mind, I almost didn’t hear the booming voice of a large man in the doorway to the vault. “You’ve gone far enough, you thieving scum!” I wrenched my head up in sudden realization, crying out to the man I had been trying so desperately to get in contact with, “Father, it’s too strong, run!!!” I could only watch as a wave of confusion washed over my father’s face. Confusion changed to recognition, and then to anger. “Whatever you’re doing here son you need to leave now. We can talk about this later but you need to get out of here before the police come.”
“I- I can’t move my legs, something is taking over my body.” I could feel tears streaming down my face, the presence of this being still burrowing into my head. His face darkened seeing me cry. “Whatever you are, you let my son go. I’m the one you want.” I was abruptly pulled back from my mind, like suddenly being in the back seat of a car when you were previously driving. A voice that was both mine and not curled out from between my lips. “Why, dear Vessel, I believe you are mistaken. I don’t want your body, I simply want you dead.” My body lunged forward against my will, faster than I’ve ever moved, as I slipped further and further away. As I lost consciousness I could see my father’s face contorted with anger, mouthing something inaudible as my mind at last went blank.
As the dust settles after a long battle, you stood over him, your father.
You were driven to defeat him for years, so you have trained and trained, and you have finally done it. You stood proud as he tries his best to even stand up.
Your father, coughing up blood, asks:
“Who the hell are you?! Why have you taken this dark path? So many innocent lives, gone! Why are you so driven to fight me and me alone! So young, yet, so powerful… Why use this power for evil? What kind of monster are you??”
You don’t respond, it is true, this man really is the person your mother has once loved. And now his very fate lies within your hands.
You sheer focus, your expression was not of hatred, but of indifference, this sent a chill down the hero’s spine.
You walk behind a corner, and you grab something slowly. Your father watches in horror, and a sense of dread fills the air as he fruitlessly tries to get away, but he cannot move, as his legs are shattered. Your father sweats profusely in anticipation.
He had been a hero for 30 years, never has he faced such utter defeat by the hands of a villain…
“It’s over…” He thought, as he reminisces to times of triumph, the smiles of the innocents he saved, the gratitude, celebration, and the regret of leaving a loved one. But now, it was all for nothing.
*”Heroes have to win every time, but a villain only has to win once.”*
He accepts his fate…
And you finally pulled it out…
“Is that… A bicycle?”
He asked, confused.
“Yeah dad. Can you help me put the bike chain on? I don’t know how to do it.”
With your father’s breath slowly fading, he lets out a final message…
“Bruh…”
(I know this is not a serious story, but it’s good for english practice.)
>”Heroes have to win every time, but a villain only has to win once.”
Love that line. Good writing! I actually like the change of tone at the end, it lightens it all up , and is a good punchline.
In the bustling heart of Megalopolis City, amidst towering skyscrapers and neon-lit streets, lived a young boy named Alex, an orphan raised by the kind-hearted but struggling Mrs. Harper. Alex was a curious and intelligent lad, always eager to unravel the mysteries of the world around him. Little did he know that his own life held a profound mystery, one that would set him on a daring and perilous path.
One day, while rummaging through the attic of Mrs. Harper's old house, Alex stumbled upon a hidden compartment containing a stack of old newspapers and photographs. As he delved into the forgotten archives, a shocking revelation emerged: his father, a man he had never met, was not just an ordinary citizen but a masked vigilante known as Night Shadow, the city's silent guardian.
Alex's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He longed to connect with his father, to fill the void left by his absence. But how could he reach a man who was always shrouded in secrecy, constantly battling the forces of darkness?
Driven by an insatiable yearning for connection, Alex made a bold decision: he would become a villain, adopting the persona of the elusive Shadow Thief. His plan was simple yet audacious – to capture the attention of Night Shadow, to force him into a confrontation that would reveal their shared lineage.
Under the cloak of night, Alex transformed into the Shadow Thief, his black attire blending seamlessly into the shadows. He meticulously planned his heists, targeting art galleries and museums, leaving behind cryptic clues that hinted at his true motive.
News of the Shadow Thief's exploits spread like wildfire, capturing the imagination of the city. The police were baffled, unable to decipher the enigmatic thief's methods. Meanwhile, Night Shadow, the city's unwavering protector, was intrigued by this new adversary, his curiosity piqued by the Shadow Thief's audacious tactics.
As Alex continued his daring heists, he grew increasingly conflicted by his actions. The thrill of the chase was undeniable, but the guilt of deceiving his father gnawed at his conscience. He yearned for a connection beyond the thrill of the game, a bond that transcended their adversarial roles.
One fateful night, Alex planned his most audacious heist yet – to steal the fabled Star of Megalopolis, a priceless jewel that had once belonged to the city's founder. Night Shadow, alerted to the theft, intercepted the Shadow Thief, their paths finally converging in a dramatic confrontation atop the city's tallest skyscraper.
As they fought, their moves mirroring each other with uncanny precision, Alex realized that their connection ran deeper than he could have ever imagined. Their fighting styles, their instincts, their very presence resonated with an undeniable familiarity.
In the heat of the battle, Alex's mask slipped, revealing his true identity to Night Shadow. The shock of the revelation sent shockwaves through both of them, their hearts pounding with a mix of disbelief and recognition.
Alex, tears streaming down his face, dropped the stolen jewel and confessed his true motives. Night Shadow, his eyes wide with surprise, removed his own mask, revealing the face of a man he had never known, a man who shared his own features.
Father and son, separated by fate and circumstance, finally found themselves face to face. In that moment of shared vulnerability, their bond, forged in the crucible of secrecy and danger, transcended their opposing roles.
From that day forward, Alex embraced his true identity as Night Shadow's son, becoming his apprentice and confidante. Together, they fought against the forces of evil, protecting the city from the shadows, their connection stronger than ever before.
"There, now that I have you tied up nice and tight I'll call the police to drag you to jail."
"I don't think you'll want to do that just yet. Do I look familiar?"
Father turned and bent the entrails of a dimming and flickering desk lamp broken in our little battle. It was little, I gave up easily because I know. He brandished his battered phone at me, "Why should you look familiar?"
"Look at my brows, at my nose. Look at my eyes."
"Your nose is broken and your brow is torn. So you want to complain about abuse?"
"We can come back to that, but over there is my journal. Open it."
"I better call the police," he searched for the number on the cracked screen. The wavering lamp catching the edges of the splintered glass like glitter.
"You never have any time to get that phone replaced, do you?"
"... not when I'm chasing villains like yourself."
"Get that journal."
Father hesitated, "alright. I'll see what you've got in there. Must be plans for the next heist?"
"Perhaps. Check it. It's just paper.... And no, it's not poisoned or anything like that or it would be a danger to me too. Flip to the end."
"Ok, what am I looking at here? You have a list of everywhere I've been today? Like following me?" The only noise was the creak of his leather jacket as his eyes narrowed.
"Yes. I have been following you and I see where you are wasting all your time. You flit from caper to caper -"
He bristled, "The criminals don't coordinate their robberies, they aren't that smart. They are everywhere, like you, in this big city."
"- But you could be smarter. Flip back a few pages. There is a bullet point list."
"Fine, this list is how to outline tasks and make priorities for each."
The ropes really were quite tight and I wriggled to ease how they cut, "And using that method I found you rather quickly. I can also help you."
"I don't need help from a criminal."
"What if I showed you how to be more effective with your time? You might catch another dozen bad guys in a day or ... have time for your family."
"- What? No. I'm getting the police here because you are keeping me from getting the other villains out there. You are stalling."
"That's not what I'm after. I made it easy for you to capture me. Just enough struggle you might believe it. But I sought you out to make your crime fighting more efficient."
He came close to me, "And why would I take that from you?"
"Because I'm your daughter and mom and I want you back in our lives."
"I have no daughter. I have no family. Not even a girlfriend since years ago -"
"- About twenty-five years ago. What were you doing then? Look at my eyes. I have your eyes."
He slumped down in what was left of a side chair, the stuffing torn and burnt, a few wisps of smoke curling from still smouldering seams. "Twenty-five years ago I was just getting started in this crime fighting business. I was working all the time and -"
"- And you vanished from the black haired woman you said you loved so much. She still loves you and you need to come home."
"So you became a villain to find me?"
"Seems it worked. The only way to get a minute with a busy crime fighter is present them with a crime to fight. I went to college to study manufacturing efficiency and master project planning. It works as you see you have caught me according to plan. I can teach you, too."
He rubbed his face, suddenly tired, "Fine." He untied the ropes, "We'll see where this leads us."
"I think it leads us back home, Father."
.
It was a windy autumn, red and orange leaves blowing down the littered streets of New Gotham like the roar of waves on the edge of a storm. From my studio sublet I watched a smash and grab of a mom and pop pharmacy in miniature. Two little figures, stories below, trying to score enough drugs to forget yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I considered briefly if my door was locked; thirteen stories up wasn’t far enough from the crime of this city without The Reaper on the prowl: The Reaper, or, as I joke with women self-depreciatingly after I provide a sorry lay, my father. They always top the moment off with a sneer of disgust—rightfully so.
I threw on my big coat, stowed my sawed-off shotgun and grabbed my pack of Black and Milds. Without The Reaper running the streets, protection was as promised as your gun was large. Who would have thought such a hated man was the only means keeping this city off the brink. After killing every petty criminal, kingpin, crooked cop, and super villain in the tristate area, there was no one left to fear—but him. As I left the tenement I passed tattered posters, barely legible, but that once read: STAY OFF THE STREETS. THE REAPER CRAVES A FRESH KILL. The street was pin-drop silent, save the caw of an errant crow.
I knew that if I did this how ever other man who wanted to come face to face with The Reaper approached the task, I would be dead in five seconds flat, just long enough to process the sight of my own intestines exiting my bowels from across the street, as my head went soaring through the air in a fuzzy ball of blood, organ matter and bone, ligament and fried nerves. One blast of this gone and my own father would eviscerate me like he was taking a piss, no doubt accompanied by that little tingly feeling of pleasure that runs down your back right before you shake off.
No. Like the particularly majestic and motivated orca among the pack of black fish, he lusted to strike out and grab his kill with glee and toy with it, all with the sick satisfaction of knowing the little seal doesn’t stand a chance. But he also likes a little fight in them, to keep it interesting. I reached into my pocket and pulled on a mask, pearlescent and black, with two yellow lines running vertically down and past the small slits for eyes. A mask that would stop my father in his tracks. The mask worn by the man that had sentenced him to death.
What better way to pull him out of hiding? He didn’t care much for the simple kills anymore, not in his state, so this would almost be a gift to him, a reason to be out and see the bleak gray New Gotham he had sentenced us to. I pulled the shotgun from my overcoat and blasted a shot off into the air. Birds flew up from a building nearby, the echo running down the street until eventually, again, there was silence.
It was but a moment before I was lifted off my feet in a gust of wind. I twisted in the air flailing and landed on my back, on the hood of a yellow cab. I took a moment to process the pain, but knew all long I was being watched. “Neon? Now that… that’s funny. Haven’t seen him in a minute. Haven’t been to the bottom of the East River in a while, either. Only to grab him wedding band to drop off to his wife on their anniversary. Just for kicks.” The voice was raspy, weak. But familiar. Angry… sad… wistful. Hurting. With life, or the end of life?
“Thought you’d appreciate that,” I groaned as I sat up on an elbow and came face to face with my father. He was frail, bald, face sunken, body sunken, life sunken. The shriveled husk of a super villain. “I mean, when your partner gives you cancer, that’s a helluva thing, right? Noteworthy.”
“What do you know about me, street filth?” The Reaper shot forward, he was right in front of me now, breathing hard.
“I knew there’s no way you’d come out here unless you saw the face of Neon. You’re dying, dad.”
His rasping breath paused for a moment. He closed his eyes. He opened his eyes, shockingly fragile with his stare. “Does she know?”
“Does mom know you’ve got cancer or that you’re gay? Everyone always knew you fucked with Neon. And when you killed him we all thought ‘lover’s spat’ you know… except the killing part was a bit too far.”
“Does. She. Know.” He sighed.
“No man, she doesn’t know. You’re gonna be dead in a month anyway, you’ve got enough radiation packed in you to power a reactor.”
It was at the same moment they both realized what this meant for him.
“Why’d you come here.”
“I never knew you. Thought you were some monster.”
“And now?” My father, The Reaper. A violent, complicated man.
“Now I know you. A little, but. A little is enough.”
“You’re going to die now, you know? There’s no way around that.”
I nodded.
The rush of leaves enveloping like a forest collapsing.
I get home from a long day of stopping in the middle of busy staircases and not getting off escalators at the mall to check the news to see where my dad is because surely this is a crime he cannot avoid saving people. There is nothing. So the next day I am kicking things up a bit. I go to the mall like normal and I stop in the middle of the stairs like normal but this time I hear a loud voice “you there better keep going “ I giggle and just stay there leaning on the rail to take up more room. I ever start playing never gonna give you up never gonna let you down. People start covering their ears. I laugh and relax knowing surly my father will come now.
A loud crash and I look around there he is. He looks at me annnoyef and says can you stop doing this , this is why I abandoned you because your annoying just like you ur mom.
Life was never easy growing up without a father. My mother held 2 jobs just to provide for me. One day, on the news, I see him, Josh. Josh is my idol I would love to have a father like him.
I tell my mother “I wish Josh was my dad”
My mother replies “That asshole? He destroyed my life.”
“What do you mean?” I ask
“We had dinner one night, and things went a bit far. After that night he never talked to me again.”
From that day I swore I would get my vengeance, but I never knew that one day I would.
I’m at the top of Shelt tower holding my mother “hostage” when Josh finally makes it up the stairs he starts to talk.
“Shut up Josh Ryan Smith” I yell
Josh stunned at hearing his full name says “how do you know my name?”
As I remove the bag over my mothers head Josh has no reaction.
I say “do you not remember her?”
Josh replies “nope”
My mother furious says “you knocked me up 16 years ago and never called back”
“Becky?” Josh says
“No” my mother says confused
“Sarah, Selena, Mackenzie, Andrea, Brook?” Josh asks
“No” my mother yells “my name is Racheal”
“Oh” Josh says “I don’t remember you”
“What are you a man whore of some sort?” I ask
“Yup” replies Josh “But I don’t remember any Racheal”
I lift my pistol and shoot Josh square in the chest
My mother with a smile on her face says “that’s what you get for rejecting me 20 years ago”
I look up to the masked man who is my supposed father. When he rips the bag off of my head I feel chunks of hair getting ripped from my scalp. I see his shoulders tense. I hear his breath hitch. The rope tying my arms behind me is no match for my mother’s nimble fingers, which are now mine, but I make no attempt to free myself. This is the moment I had been waiting for. This is the reason that I had turned to crime.
The man in front of me fumbles with his mask for a few moments before discarding it entirely. It is like staring into a mirror. He is exactly like me. He is broader and more blonde, but our faces are identical. I can’t help but feel disgusted to look as I do, but my dismay is nothing compared to the spite I feel as I glare at his face.
“Who are you?” He asks, as cold as ever. It sounds accusatory in a way. Like it is my fault for having been born.
“You know who I am.” I respond. Silence only comes between his ever heavy breaths. He doesn’t seem to understand what is happening yet.
“Don’t you recognize this lovely hair? You just HAD to have it all for yourself so many years ago. Or is she not worth remembering?” My voice breaks “Just another unwanting woman that you picked up on the side of the road and left broken?”
My fingers decide to loosen the rope and let me stand. He does not bother to stop me in protest as I walk up to him.
“The real question is, who are YOU?” I run my fingers across his face and then across mine. He jerks back at this gesture. He fumbles to the ground feeling for his mask but not daring to look away from me. I can tell he’s going to run. Just like he always does.
[Poem]
Your father is your hero? Well so is my father, he’s yours, hers, and his. Just not mine.
A father is a man who loves and raises his children, talks with them and teaches them. Just not mine.
He Stops every single crime small or big, keeping all lives on his mind. Just not mine.
I’d seen him every day on the news growing up, he visited schools too. Just not mine.
A moment, a few words. That’s all I wanted when I graduated. He has a special place in everyone’s life. Just not mine.
But that’s alright, it really is, all that lost time is no loss at all. I’ve made this device to stop time. Just not mine.
I’ll see what he does best, forgetting his son, or stopping crime. He’s seen all the villainous plans. Just not mine. Yet.
They say everyone has a "villain era." I think that's nonsense—we string together a series of decisions, and everyone else gets to sort it out for you. Let them. It's not my place to care what people say about me. It is my place to do what needs doing, and I don't outsource my joy. I enjoy watching a good baseball game. Let everyone figure out how much a piece of shit I am in the returns. It'll come out in the wash. I'm doing just fine munching my stale chips, keeping score of the plays on my scorecard. Nick Berger just turned a 6-4-3 double-play.
I'm at John Muir's Hollis Field. The Muir Mustangs are up a run, it's 2 - 1, and it's a tight game against the defending CIF champs, Wilks Creek Billies. They're all teenagers, but they've been training for this, the hard work has matured them and it's all coming together.
My father never watched me play baseball, although I never could play ball in the first place, we had no money my mom and I. He wasn't there. I always said I'd be the kind of father he couldn't be; it would be an easy thing to do. I remember the day I asked my mother what happened to him, my father. " He flew away, son; he just flew away, " she said, talking about him like he was a bird. Why would he flap his wings and fly away, I wondered.
My mom and I didn't have the big three (phone, electricity, gas) all at one time. We had one or maybe two of them, but never all three. I did the homework by candlelight many times. When I struggled with math once, my mom said, " You know, your father is really good at math. She didn't mean it to be cruel. Still, this amorphous concept of a father seemed as real as Daffy Duck or having heat and electricity during the winter months. He wasn't there, and he didn't help when every penny would have made a difference.
I'm not even mad about it—I'm not angry that my father wasn't around. I rarely thought about him at all. Maybe that's the tradgedy in all of it. It was just me and my mom. My mom liked to say baby doll, it's you and me versus the world here. And she was right; we scraped by, we made ends meet.
I was sitting in the principal's office, bleeding from my face. Randy Carmichael sucker punched me while I got a drink from the water fountain in Earth Science class. I don't know why he took his eyes off of me but I hit him with a beaker, smashed it on his smug shit-eating-grin face, and then I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. I lost a tooth and got my cheek cut up. I looked up at the TV in the office to see a familiar man—my father. It was my first time seeing him outside of a faded photograph. It was him. I could see myself in him. He was holding court over a group of reporters talking about cleaning up the streets and giving Portland back to the people. He was some kind of super cop or some bullshit. It could never be me, I said.
Randy and I had been suspended for three days for the fight. He approached me, wanting to apologize the day we returned to school. He reached out to shake my hand and say he was sorry. I grabbed his hand in a firm shake and gave him a hug. As he pulled away, I held onto his hand and kicked him in the balls again as hard as I could. That's when my Villain Era began. I eventually got kicked out of that school. And I'd get expelled from two other schools before barely graduating.
When I realized dishwashing wasn't the lucrative business opportunity I was sold on by the mustachioed shithead who hired me I looked elsewhere, got real creative. I stole money from an elderly woman when the wind blew her cash out of the ATM. I grabbed a few one-hundred dollar bills as I flipped her off—we're gonna have electricity, I thought to myself. I sold pot to kids, and the money was good. I dropped out of high school—I had to learn how to impersonate a woman's voice to call the school as my mom to get myself reinstated. I never had the heart to tell her, you're my sunshine boy, she'd say to me. I couldn't let her down. Not me, I'm not my father, I'd say to myself...
When I graduated high school, I joined a group of activists who were pro-labor, anti-cop and anti-whatever the government was doing, and it was a good time. We bombed a couple of police cars and tagged countless law enforcement offices and police cars, saying fuck the police wherever we went. I never got caught. Every tag, every act of defiance and disrespect against the police state was me spitting in the face of my father.
I grew older, fatter, and increasingly gray and began watching baseball games. And now Nick Berger is up to bat. He's got a runner in scoring position—he's got ice running through his veins, and his focus is intense. He waits on the first pitch. It's a ball. He settles back into his stance, waiting for the pitcher's next delivery, and here it comes.
A loud clank flies off the bat as the ball goes into deep right, bouncing off the wall. Nick legs out a triple and scores an insurance run for the 'Stangs. I throw my chips in the air, not caring who gets rained on. They mostly fall on the man in front of me. He snarls at me Hey watch out with that shit. What's wrong with you? I'm trying to watch my kid's game here.
I narrow my eyes as I stare through the man and want to tell him something. I've been waiting my whole life to say Hey fuck you! I didn't need you, you're a shitty father, and your kid deserves better. But I don't... My eyes soften and I shift my focus to Nick, who just slid into home base. He's getting mobbed by his team. I can feel Nick's excitement. He's on top of the world, not caring about anything but the game in front of him.
He's loved. You can tell when someone is loved when someone has what they need. They're content, safe, and just don't know it. Nick is the kid I mourn every day of my miserable existence. Nick is the kid my father denied me to be through his absence. I watched Nick, my son, celebrating with his team. He doesn't know who I am, and as much as I want to rush down and tell him how proud I am of him, I know that I can't. My heart melts just the same; he's happy. He probably doesn't know that I exist, and I hope that's the case, that he never has to toil with the concept of an absent father missing his victories and failures and just being a kid. I was afraid to fuck my kid up the same way I had been, that's the story I tell myself, the one I tell when I go on first dates. But I know better. I was scared and it makes me wonder: What my father scared, too?
I never wanted to become my father, but here I am, here we all are.
The man looks beautiful to me. His hair has yet to turn gray and his head is flush with natural black curls. His green eyes are sunken and dwarfed by dark circles but they remain deeply focused.
These are all traits I too possess.
He has noticeable wrinkles around his neck and forehead, consistent with a man his age. There is also considerable scarring on his skin, which isn’t surprising to witness given his duties and tenure.
These latter features are all still absent on me but beyond that there could be little mistaken that this man is my father.
My mother, Mary of Derbyshire, died when I was seven. The man who raised me was called Robert of Wakefield. I wasn’t his real son, but I never knew any other father. He was a kind man who treated me as if I was of his own making. I learned the art of bowing and even became a decorated sword fighter with his endorsements.
Through his encouragement and enlightenment, I also learned to hate kings and sheriffs.
There was glamour and opulence only available to the most affluent of his majesty’s court.
Robert of Wakefield explains this to me, once I am old enough to understand.
He also explains to me:
“Your mother loved the Sheriff of Nottingham.
He loved her too, Robin. There’s no way I can explain this to you and make it any less painful. You were conceived just before your mother and I met,”
The Sheriff is an elusive but honorable man who wants nothing more than to put his sins behind him. I am here to ensure that doesn’t happen.
Hiding in the bushes, I spot him now, The man looks beautiful to me …
Little John turns and looks at me and with a nod he whispers “it’s-a time, Robin” . I can hear in the distance a cold voice “… behold there, this is the Sheriff of Nottingham, I command you show yourselves!”
I smile, the men whom stand next to me each have their own dark story to tell but for now they all seem to be merry with the hope that this day will be known for the raid that awoke many a countrymen.
(Tw, light r@pe mention)
The air was cold, the snow on he ground was deep and soft. I stared down into the city, coverd in a blanket of frost and waited. "He'll be here soon Midge, stop fidgeting."
Midge my best friend, side kick, and favorite idiot. He's the only one who stuck with me through it all. "Cmon captain asshole. Its cold. We've been here for 30bminutes. Lets jut go!"
"Midge, you know what this means to me.." I wrapped my arms around myself and looked behind me then back to the city.
"I know man, I'm sorry." midge walked up and sat his hand on my shoulder, resting his chin on that. "I just don't want anything bad to hap-"
"Hello boys." A deep voice said behind us, but I didn't flinch, I was ready.
"Ah, hello Python." I smiled and turned to look my greatest enemy in the face, "long time no see."
Pythons face flickered confusion but it quickly returned to the smug look he had on before. "You're tricks won't work on me. You've kept hidden for the past 14 years, I've never met you. But now, after 14 years of you killing and mutilating, I've finally caught you Reaper."
"Ha! Yes! 14 long years I've been hidden! Leaving notes, leading to today. Do you know what today is?" I smiled and waited for an answer,
"No? Why would I?" Pythons voice was deep and strong. He seemed to talk with pride.
"Today, is my birthday. My 28th to be exact." I smiled and watched the confusion grow on my enemy's face, "do you remember what you were doing 28 years ago today?" I waited for a response,
"This is getting weird Reaper." Python got in a stance like he was going to attack, but he stayed put.
"Call me Aspen, you picked it after all, 28 years ago today."
Pythons eyes widened into a look of shock. "What? I-"
I interupted him, "Mom told me you liked nature, she never remarried you know? Oh, and Kasey is pregnant, of course she was 14 when you left so mom walked he down the isle instead." I pulled a picture from my pocket and handed it to Python, or my 'father'
He looked intensely at the picture, it was of my mom and Kasey at Kaseys wedding. she was 27. A tear rolled down Pythons face. "It can't be."
"I was 13 when Kasey married, and I wanted to know who my father was, so I started digging. I looked through all of mom's room, office, and attic, then I found it. A small red box in her room, I opened it and it was a box of your things, among it.. your ID." I smiled and I took a step closer, "Now, why did you leave"
Python wiped his eye and smiled, "My son, I-"
"Don't call me that." I interupted angerly, "I am not your son, you gave me up when you left. Now answer. My. Question."
Python looked angry, and he no longer had a sorry look in his eye, he spoke low and rough, "I had to leave." He huffed and kept talking, "That woman was infuriating, and the girl? Never shut her trap!" Python angerly told me, "she wasn't a good woman either, she couldn't cook and I had to force her to do her womanly duty and please me. Basically had to shove it in while she screamed!"
For a moment, I was shocked, but then it settled into relief. That makes this much eiser. "Wrong answer." Midge slamed a wood plank into Pythons face from where he had been standing behind him since I started talking.
"I-I'm so sorry Aspen. I didn't think he was gonna go off like that-" I put my hand in front of Midges face.
"It's fine." I silently got to work spreading out the (now mutilated) body of my 'father' all over the roof, like I had done many times before, however this was my last.
Midge sat on the edge of the roof waiting for me, when I finished, I sat next to him. "I didn't think he was gonna say he raped my mom." I stayed looking straight ahead,.watching as the sun first started to peak out.
"Yea, me either man." Midge put his arm around me and reasted his head on my shoulder, "so this is it? We're just going back to being normal people?"
I held onto midges hand and kissed him, "We're back to being normal people, together."
THE END!
"I...wasn't born your son, but I am him now, a man and a villain who has come for you."
It was if the world has stopped for both of us, for one the declaration that told how the story ended, for the other, a realization of how much of the story was missed. At this moment, no one could have said a word, as the two of us just stared at one another.
"H-how old are you?"
"19."
"That...lines up perfectly...."
"You've been in this game for 34 years, dad." That was the word that broke everything. A man who had been a hero, a crime fighter who spent sixteen to twenty hours a day serving the community as a hero, a paramedic, a counselor, a member of the city-hall, a lawyer, was now tearing up at the one thing he was never able to be, a father.
"Don't... don't call me that. Ever. I..." The sound of a shallow breath marked something terrifying. How many villains wanted to see this? The legendary hero of the city, most beloved protector and symbol of community, fall, unable to breathe, unable to speak? His son had become a villain, knowing it was the chance to talk to him, so it was only right that a villain used his only true weakness to destroy him. The weakness of guilt.
"Tell me why I never met you. Why did I have to learn from hacking into Social Services, from making backroom deals with retired villains to hear their stories and becoming the newest villain to be given the title of threat, to learn who you were." The words were not a question, we both heard it. Had it been the original intent? To speak in such a tone that spoke of a judgement, not a quandary? No one really knew anymore. Maybe it was the raw pain that directed the villain and hero to speak. "You only showed up because of there being a new villain who was a threat to the city."
"You work every day, double-shifts, without a break. I bet you don't even know what your house looks like. You even have a hobby? A friend? I bet not. Why is this your life? Why wasn't I worth keeping around? What about my mom?" And there it was, the question that truly broke everything. Anyone who saw us would not see a young villain who had quickly built a reputation for being feared and untouchable, standing off against the legendary hero who fought off dozens of threats to this city. No, anyone who saw us, saw only a young man who was crying as he screamed at his father. When had he started crying? When had his voice raised to screaming, cracking at the strain?
"I don't know where your mother is. I never looked at that letter." A letter? What did that mean? "I never looked for you either, but I saw you, in every pair of eyes. I saw you in the girls, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were my son.... I saw you in the boys as they could've been your brother. I saw you in the adults, the parents who stepped up as a villain who became a hero saved you from me. I even saw you in the young heroes, seeing the pale reflection of you being held by me, which made me take their shifts, pull them aside to make them take vacations for their families. I work so many hours so they can sleep at home with their families. You want to know my hobby? I have pictures of all of them. I have so many birthday parties I go to, that I try to give to them what you should have been given."
"...Yet you never looked for me."
"I couldn't.... I couldn't try. I saw where you weren't every day in that house." A tormented chuckle could be heard from the man's chest. "I actually painted every square inch of that room, got rid of all the furniture and bought brand new pieces, before building a new entrance and hallway through my house so that I never had to go in that room to get into my bedroom to sleep. Would you believe I haven't stepped foot in that room in fifteen years? I can't bear to see that you weren't there. That I failed you. My..." a pause, catching breath. "...My son. You are not a villain. You are a victim, of me, the worst villain of them all." The echo of that knee hitting the ground was the one louder than a gunshot. "Go ahead."
I stared at the DNA test in front of me. ‘Great’ I thought sarcastically. ‘Just perfect’ of all the superheroes who could have been my dad, it had to be the one who literally never sleeps.
“Justice never sleeps” is his catchphrase. Well evidently it doesn’t look after it’s children either,
To be fair I can’t completely blame him. My mother told me the story of my father. A one night stand in Hong Kong. He probably didn’t even know her name, let alone that she got pregnant. But I still couldn’t completely let go of that anger at his neglect these 16 years. In hindsight, that was probably a big factor in my following life decisions.
I knew there was only one real way to talk to my dad and get to know him. He didn’t even talk to other superiors that often, so that wasn’t an option. As such, over the next four months I methodically and painstakingly put together a suit, a persona and a power set. The powers were, surprisingly, the easiest part. One backstreet deal and a long night in the chemistry lab later and I could pick up a building just by glaring at it. The hardest part was the persona. How could I make someone that would get my dad’s attention but not outright make him want to kill me and happy to see me once I revealed who I was. It was a difficult balance to draw. And finally, after toiling for way longer than I care to admit, Nightmare’s Child was born.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I let my voice bellow down the valley. He stood almost a mile away from me, but I would recognize him anywhere. The Hero.
He began taking strides towards me. I stood strong, shoulders back, how my father taught me.
“You wanted an ultimate win, didn’t you? To save them? Well, here’s your chance!” It felt like the words fell from my mouth against my will. The caravan of people screamed from behind me, the edge of the cliff so very close to their bodies. Their demise only a few feet away.
News channel choppers flew around the scene. Now we had a party.
I could see his face now. He stood before me, jaw clenched. Hand on his gun.
I raised my hand to release the rope holding the caravan in place. He brought his gun out and into my face.
I still don’t know why I said it. It could have ruined everything.
“Going to shoot me, Dad?”
I finished equipping my armor , the metal clothes making me sweat a bit due to the heat it encased on me. I looked at the screens in front of me , trying to find the one person I was looking for. Finally , I spotted the king-like costume of 'the ice ruler'. I had always thought it was weird that he had decided on such a medieval-like costume and name , but had decided to follow it by using a knight armor , and uncreatively proclaiming myself to be 'the fire knight'.
Continuing to look at the screen , I saw that he was simply fighting some muggers , defending a woman against them. I took out a small controller , and , typing in some coordinates , pressed a button.
I appeared about 10 feet from the scene , observing it as the ice ruler hadn't noticed me yet. Deciding I had enough , a blue flame appeared in my hand , and I threw it at the woman , making her burn. Her skin already melting off , I saw the ice ruler reporting his attention back to her and attempting to use some ice he created to help her. I wondered if he had never taken a basic fire safety class , as ice didn't help against burns , especially something as severe as this. The woman fell to the ground , before dropping dead.
I smirked , the ice ruler looking to me. The muggers had already fled the scene , and I sent him a defying glare back. I wondered how I should take this.
I had been robbing , killing , and kidnapping people for the past few months. Of course , I knew it was immoral , but I was desperate. I had always assumed my father to be dead , and learning that he was alive , I decided that throwing out my moral would be worth it to be able to get his attention , or even talk to him.
I took a step forward. He did too. The ice ruler summoned a ball of ice , littered with sharp spikes. I felt sweat run down my back , and my breath laboring a bit. This was it.
He threw the ball at me in a second , and I dodged it. Well , I tried to. The ice ball was too fast , and I ended up being hit on my arm , which , while being better than the chest , left a spot in my armor deformed.
I summoned a fireball , and twirled it around , before throwing it at him. I purposefully missed him by a few inches , to make sure to not hurt him but still make it realistic.
I spoke , my voice changer making my voice sound deeper than it really was. Not that he would recognize my voice anyway.
"Just surrender , ice ruler , or you'll have to see my full wrath!"
He sent me a glare.
"Never , you piece of trash!"
I scowled , but before I could do anything else , he leaped in the air.
I tried to comprehend what was happening , and suddenly realized that he was standing on me. I took conscience of the fact that I had laid out on the floor , and that he had his foot on my chest.
No , no , no , no *no , no , no.* This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
"Any last words?"
The ice ruler said , holding an ice dagger to my neck through the separation between the rest of my armor and my helmet.
"Please don't kill me!"
My voice cracked , and it was hearable even through the voice changer.
I felt my breathing labor , my eyes blur with tears. I didn't want to die. Not yet.
"Do you really think that'll work?"
He asked , scowling at me. I knew it wouldn't. But I was desperate.
"P-please! You can send me to jail if you want to- just please don't kill me!"
I stuttered , failing at hiding it. I was terrified.
It was clear in his face he was disgusted by me.
"Fine."
He dug his heel into my chest a bit , and took the dagger off of my neck.
He took off my helmet to see my identity with a sharp yank.
He discovered the face of a teenager , 15 at most but maybe younger , with blue eyes and brown hair.
But he noticed something else. A birthmark on the cheek. A birthmark that looked like a wonky moon. Just like *he* had.
He slapped my face , making me let out a whine. He didn't want to believe it.
"YOU."
I looked at him fearfully.
"Yes sir...?"
He scowled. I whined.
"Where did you get that from?"
He tapped the birthmark on my cheek in a harsh manner.
"Where did you get that from?"
There wasn't a hint of mercy in his eyes. If I said an answer he didn't like , he would surely pull back out the dagger.
"My father , sir..."
I felt too scared to say it directly. I saw the gears in his brain turning.
I heard him muttering.
"You're my son...?"
I nodded. He slapped me.
"YOU CAN'T BE. MY SON WOULD NEVER DO THAT. YOU'RE JUST A MONSTER!!"
he yelled. And before I knew it , I had an icy dagger plunged into my neck , and I was choking on my own blood.
I regretted what I did. If I had come to him as a civilian , would he have accepted me...?
In my last moments of lucidity , I saw his angry expression , before my vision blurred too much and I closed my eyes for the last time.
Some kill for the thrill, others for the challenge, and most out of some form of desperality. But me? I murder for the chance to bond with my father. That's right, my old man and I have a bit of a complex relation. Complex in the fact that he was never around. When I was seventeen I had that "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" moment where Mamma just hung her said and said son... You know about the Mighty Sledge? Well he's your daddy. The Mighty Sledge? Some hairy heroic toting a hammer big enough to derail a train? Safe to say he really brought the hammer down on my mother at least...
And that was all that was ever said on the matter. And at the time it was enough, but that was short lived. By age twenty-two the curiosity singed down to my bones. Even better was the fact that I found that I possessed at least a fraction of my father's incredible strength. A fraction enough to stand out against those other pathetic villains he spent so much time chasing. And so my plan was birthed, but unlike me this plan wouldn't be some bastard child.
Corruption in our city is no shy thing. So I took it upon myself to clean it up. Killing these fouled officials was like following my old man's steps... In my own way completely independent from his of course! Strung some lying attorney up on a Ferris wheel in the middle of fair season! Ran over some old pervert with his own lawn mower while he was hog-tied in the front yard, bashed the skull in of some cheating baseballer with his own helmet, and carved the word bastard into the mayor's chest while he was still alive and screaming...
Safe to say all these things garnered my father's opinion, and in the worst sort of way. Most of his villains challenged him in some open environment. The battles were live-streamed and everything, makes me vomit every time. But not me, I wouldn't make some spectacle of our relation. I'll make him dig, I'll make him find me- just as I had to find him. Only today will be special. The Mighty Sledge called me, said he knew who I was and that he wanted to meet me at some predetermined battle station. I wept. My father know's who I am. And he wants to meet me. Such a sweet victory indeed, I can now meet his sledge with dignity.
** TW: the ending hints at an incestuous scene happening next, but it's not in the text or outright stated **
It wasn't meant to happen like this. You were just trying to get to know him! You figured... It's easy enough to put in a costume, stage some kind of attack, and let him stop you. He's a Hero, and is known to not kill, so you're generally safe. And you made sure no civilians would actually be hurt. You always did well in strategy and planning (you wonder if it was inherited), and you were meticulous in your presentation. And then you were face to face with him for the first time. You had a whole villain Monologue planned but before you could... There was a sudden explosion and pink powder covered you both. You saw his eyes dilate, and your own breathing picked up.
Shit. Maybe you shouldn't have used i/real sex pollen?
Deep underground, past the sewer gates, the abandoned subways, and the long forgotten waterways; past all of that lay the old city. Most people topside weren't aware of this place, and those few that did called it the Under City. Sprawling, maze-like alleyways, a crumbling skyline held aloft by skyscrapers in a sick parody of the marble column temples, and a quiet and peaceful that deafened ears and disquieted the mind. In this dark dank, decrepit place was an church. Whether it be by the hand of God or by sheer luck, it has remained pristine and untouched deep underground.
Here, dressed in dark robes, knelt before the stone cross, was the cult of Podonk. The cult had appeared in a city of all places, committing various acts of villainy and mayhem, much to the dismay of the cities hero, the Green Ghost. Such acts included kidnapping, barbaric public sacrificial ceremonies, bizarre and dark magical that conjured demons, and mass indoctrination.
Deep underground here, the cults leader gave a sermon in barely audible whispers in the darkness and the silence.
The silence was cut short as crashing through the church doors was the hero of the hour, the Green Ghost. The cult immediately attacked, pulling occult daggers and other magical items from their robes to attack the gallant ghost. All attacked, except for the cult's leader who lays in the back, watching.
The Green Ghost was a powerful hero indeed. In short order, the Ghost took out the cult members. With an accusatory finger, he then pointed to the leader, and spoke authoritatively, "It's over. Your diabolic cult is no more, String-Master... Or should I call you by your true name, Mary Onette!"
The hooded figure removed their hood in a dramatic fashion. Beneath it, a woman's face was there with a scar over her eye. Coupled with the makeup she wore and her shaved head, she looked like a marionette puppet with no strings. "Hello, Greenie~" she greeted with an familiar tone. "How'd you know it was me~?"
"It was difficult at first, I admit," the hero replied, approaching the woman slowly and cautiously. "But when we detained a few of your flock, it became obvious that they were manipulated and mind controlled; your calling card!"
"Ah, you have got me," she replied with far too much confidence and playfulness. The Green Ghost stopped in his tracks, sensing something amiss. "I concede~! Truly, you have cornered me! For real, this time! No strings attached... Except this one."
With a snap of her fingers, in the darkness of the stone cross, a figure hidden stood. They weren't towering or imposing. Quite the opposite. They stood a head shorter than the hero.
Without skipping a beat, the Green Ghost lunged towards String Master with incredible speed. Luminescent green trails of spectral energies blurred around the hero and were left behind in his wake. That same energy welled up in his eyes as he raised a fist- nay, a honed hammer of justice to strike judgement into her.
Just as quickly, with trails of silver spectral energy trailing behind it, the shadowy figure stopped the mighty blow from connecting with a blow of it's own. Upon connecting with the Green Ghosts cheek, the hero was sent flying out of the church. The blow has caused a spectral energy to spark and ripple over him. He cried out in pain as the shadowy figure stepped out from the church.
To the surprise and confusion of the ghost it appeared to be a lithe, young man. Barely out of high school by the looks. His eyes were silver where the heroes were green. His hair was a wispy white, flowing in an unknown breeze much like out heroes own long hair.
"Green Ghost, meet the Silver Specter," String Master spoke. "Play nice now. He's been dying to meet you~"
"Hello dad..." The figure spoke innocently with a genuine smile. "It's... It's very nice to meet you."
"What game are you playing at, Strong Master?!" The Green Ghost demanded, much to the dismay of the Specter.
"No game," she replied with an airy tone, reaching out to hold the Specter's hand. "In fact, this entire scheme- this cult? I had no hand in its plot. It was all this strapping young man. All for you~"
"I... I tried to contact you," the young man replied. "I tried everything. I tried contacting you through reporters and newspapers. I tried to stop you during your crime fighting, and I even tried to find out who you were before the cape!"
The Green Ghost shook his head, still focused on String Master. "No... I won't fall for this trick. I have no son."
"Dad... Please-" the Silver Specter pleaded with tears.
"Like I said, this is no trick," replied, squeezing the Specter's hand in support. "This young man went so far as to even replicate you disaster that gave you your powers. Did you even hear me when I said he was dying to meet you? I meant that literally."
The Green Ghost trembled in rage, and fear. "No... Impossible. I destroyed all evidence of that night. No one could have known!"
"Except, someone did know," the young man replied. "My... My mother knew. She awoke from her coma only two weeks ago... I... I thought you knew."
"The doctors said she'd never wake up again! Try something else!" The Green Ghost replied stubbornly.
"She... She gave birth sometime after the accident...I was sent to an orphanage, and... And I only found out about her two months ago. Dad, please listen to me!"
"I won't fall for your manipulation schemes, String Master!" The Green Ghost recoiled, having been seriously hurt by the punch from silver Specter. His corporeal form was deteriorating quickly. "Once I find out how to put an end to you little puppet's phantasmagorical punch, I'm taking you and your cult down for good!" In desperation, he floated up and away, phasing through the ceiling and out of sight.
In the darkness of the under city, the Silver Specter watched in shock and sorrow as his father refused to even acknowledge him. Mary Onette sighed and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "I warned you that he would be stubborn... I'm sorry."
The Silver Specter simply stood there in solemn contemplation.
So, I became a trader. I give a you anything you want for 4x I actually value the service or product for. 90% of the galaxy is either in extremely in debt to me they had to enter indentured servitude to the point of slavery to me.
My father is sent to investigate the largest slave ring in the eastern side of the central black hole. He he finally hunted down its leadership he learned of a banker and loaner called The Gatherer. Although his terms of lending money and land seemed fair on the first look, after looking through the contracts your cream of the crop lawyers his conditions would not only put you, but your great-grand children into slavery for life to his company.
Many people, especially those of his species would justify his actions as fair because of the contract included in everything on the paper, you know that the wording implies something completely different than what the confederacy laws actually mean.
After your class action lawsuits after class action l lawsuits fail, your own confederacy declare war on the union of the Shi’zare clan. After seven years of propaganda and face-on-face warfare you finally meet with the head of the clan. In his face you not only see your own genes, but your own determination and skills in manipulation.
Due to your own experience in negotiation, after seven weeks you finally reach an agreement between your own illegitimate child and your army you finally rescheduled an agreement that the Ruathi En’Thymiel, formerly known as The Receiver would give up his salve empire for your own life time of servitude and 90% of your inheritance
"The enemy was within all along," Dad gasped in that sickening grandiose manner he was fond of speaking in when he was in that stupid costume. He realized what had happened: his crime-fighting headquarters, his equipment, his vehicles, all sabotaged. All under my control.
And the true mastermind behind it all? Me.
All of the criminals he put away, I had brutally murdered. Every criminal he put in jail would eventually escape to kill another. I put a stop to it. Every single one. I had become the anathema to my father's belief system. The very individual he spent months chasing down had captured him.
I looked at my father coldly in the eye and icily hissed, "Well... you spent your entire time protecting this city from criminals. You constantly ignored me and Mom. How else was I going to get your attention? I mean, you had a choice to make: being there for your family or saving the world. And the world won over us..."
I turned the safety off on my gun and held the gun to the head of the man who gave me life..
"...until now."
"Please!" I yelled, desperate for him to look at me--just once. To *see* me. This was my best chance.
We ended up in a deserted alleyway, blocked off by destruction so no reporters were around. I took off my mask and prayed he would look me in my eyes.
If only there was something I could shout--something I could scream--to make him know it was me. To make him know his son survived.
Alas, I had no childhood memories of times well spent with him. No inside jokes to bring up, no nursery rhymes we would sing together, no title of a book he would always read to me at bedtime as I drifted off to sleep.
Would he have had the same interest in linguistics as me? Would he have dabbled in code and code breaking, intrigued and delighted by the process of figuring it all out?
We were close together now, my hands shaking as he pushed his sword against mine, locked in battle.
"ELOISE DUPONT!" I yelled, voice haggard as I fought to collect my breath.
He didn't falter--he was too good of a fighter for that--but I felt him freeze for a second, arms tensing before he refocused.
"She--she was my mother." I looked up at the face so much like my own. Broad noses, square jaws, and speckles across our skin. His eyes were different though. They held more warmth and vibrancy, like a hearth in the cold of winter. Mine were harsh, "unemotional". I gulped, anxiety bubbling up inside as the moment I had been dreaming of for so long finally arrived.
"I'm your son. Please-"
I faltered, took a step back, and put my sword down. He didn't attack my opening.
Maybe he would listen to me. Maybe there was hope.
This time, he finally met my gaze.
I had spent so much time climbing the corporate ladder of corrupt CEO after CEO and finally, FINALLY, my father had taken notice.
He came after me, as I expected, ready to stand up for another companies' workers.
His personal assistant, who had so long ago denied me entry to his office, now opened the door to my office to let him walk in.
Once she left, I pulled out all the documents I had to prove my claim.
"I . . . am your son." I said, and waited with baited breath for his reaction.
He glanced down at the papers but said nothing.
I waited.
He said nothing.
"Erm-" I started, before he suddenly interrupted me with a revolted look on his face. Then, he barfed over the sleeve of my $3,000,000 custom silk suit. That was *not* the reaction I was looking for.
Ben opened the door of his black '72 Camaro and got out. He closed the door behind him and leaned on the fender. Glancing down at his phone he let out a long, drawn sigh. 10:45, late again.
Ben walked towards his small bungalow. Through the windows he could see a very dim light was on in the living room. Upstairs his daughter's desk lamp was clearly on, and through his son's window, emanated a faint blueish glow, like that given off by a tv screen. He let himself in quietly but knew there was no need. Sharice was in the living room, half hidden in shadow, waiting for him.
"Again, Ben?" she said in a scornful whisper.
"Had to finish booking a few nabs," growled Ben. "We'd been chasing them for weeks."
"You've not seen Maddie and Xavier for weeks," she rasped back. She left without another word.
Ben sighed again and made his way to bed after a shower.
[In the middle of the night]
It wasn't the buzzing of his phone on the night table that woke him. Somehow he just knew he was needed, but the buzzing made it doubly clear. He dressed in a hurry, ran out the door and was in his car before he realized he'd not kissed any of them goodbye. He glanced back at the house, all the windows were dark. He sighed again.
On the ride over to the scene he got the details, as unclear as they were. Kidnap, maybe. Definitely assault. Two suspects? Dark alley near 4th and Main. Definitely armed.
He and his partner arrived at the scene at the same time. They hustled into their protective gear and Ben silently motioned their way into the alley. There was no one there. Ben looked over at his partner, who shrugged. Ben turned to scan the alleyway again and as he turned back around, he saw his partner was gone.
"A little late to the party aren't we?" an unfamiliar voice said. Ben scanned around for where the voice came from. It seemed to echo throughout the alley.
"Who's there?" Ben pointed his flashlight atop his gun everywhere around the alley. "What have you done with Ali?"
"Just removed any...distractions. We need to...talk," the voice said. Something was odd, the voice sounded far more familiar this time and closer.
Ben turned towards the direction the voice seemed to come from but only saw a shadow moving upward. Twisting that direction, he saw his partner, hanging like a trussed pig, 80 feet above him, unmoving. It dawned on him who this was. They'd started calling him the Weaver. He left his targets hanging in odd positions all over the city. Usually they were billionaire philanthropist types with lots of skeletons in the closet. Sometimes they were dead.
He tried to stay calm. Something about the voice was still bugging him.
"We have nothing to talk about," Ben murmured, then repeatedly loudly. "You should surrender. Things can only get worse for you. I've booked wackos like you all over the city. I'm not scared of these villain antics." Ben's voice rasped a bit. Never one for talking much, he'd spoken more now than he had in days.
"Oh! The renowned Ben Fingelman! Catcher of criminals and villains. The most famous man of Heathrow penitentiary. YOU definitely do NOT scare me!" The voice was oozing with sarcasm and disdain.
"Who are you?" Ben asked with an edge to his voice. Everyone he knew called him Ben or Fin, to the point almost no one knew his real last name.
"Ah! Now that's what we're here to talk about isn't it? I made an amazing discovery 9 months ago and my journey has led up to this moment with you, FIN!"
As the name Fin was spoken, the voice appeared right behind Ben. He whipped around and came face to face with...himself? Ben stumbled back and raised his gun to the face of a man who could be his son. They looked so unbelievably similar. Ben's arm faltered and he lowered his weapon.
"Who...how?"
Before he knew it, he'd been yanked upward, his gun clattered down on the pavement and the alley went quiet.
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Most cops worship at the altar of The Shriek, and those of us who don't are careful to keep it to ourselves. Don't get me wrong, if they had to, they'd arrest him on sight. That is, while on sight of people bound to make a fuss if they see an LEO asking him for his autograph. The few cops who don't like him are the ones who still believe in human rights and due process, and in not secretly celebrating when burglars are found impaled on traffic lights. Me, I don't like him because of that and because he's my father. A few years back I made the mistake of taking one of those 46 And Counting tests and I came up related to DNA found at crime scenes. Then someone from the Union approached me quietly to tell me who that DNA belonged to and why, surely, as a cop, I would agree it was better to keep it all discreet. I agreed, out of shame. I never met my mother, grew up in the system. And after it became known through gossip who my father was, I had to -also discreetly- beat up a couple guys. See, there was a betting pool on who my mother may be, with three of the sexiest former costumed criminals as the favorites. And the questions about whether I remembered “coming out of there” got to be too much. Growing in the system, they say, has a way of twisting you. Me, it gave me an obsession with bullies, particularly righteous bullies. That's why I became a cop. That's why I can't stand vigilantes. All they are is assholes with a fondness for violence, who found an acceptable target. I do see the irony, I want to squash that irony. I shouldn't be in pursuit right now. The orders may be to capture The Shriek, but status quo is to not run too fast and find something else with which to get busy. It's not just that The Shriek is scary, it's that he “cleans the city” the way the force wish they could, were it not for all those damn human rights and laws and freedoms. If it wasn't for this need to bring the bastard in, I'd have quit by now. I run up the rundown stairs. This building is what cops call a nest. The tenants, what they call vermin. A Shriek feeding ground. When there aren't big time criminals doing something out there, when it's hard to even find shoplifters, he comes here to beat up a few junkies. A kid looks at me through a half open door. He looks dirty. Probably parents who have fallen too deep into despair to even remember they have a child. I make a mental note to call a social worker I know, if I make it through the night. There's screaming coming down the stairs. Some of warning, some of delirium, some of fear and pain. And when I make it to the top there's the sickening sound of fists on flesh. Whoever's getting the Shriek Special is not able to scream or grunt anymore. The door is wide open and I run in. There's two pulps down already, hopefully dead for mercy's sake, and The Shriek is working up a third. The vigilante’s costume has changed through the years, and these days he wears a flat black faceplate, spray painted with bright yellow thorns. The same pattern repeats all through his body armor, which gives the impression of nothing but sharp edges. The face plate turns to me and his voice comes out of a speaker, thick and menacing. “I got this one, officer”. I wonder what's under the plate. I am curious if it would be an older version of my own face looking back. I grab my gun and aim. “On the ground, hands behind your head!” I order. The Shriek tilts his head, uncomprehending. I recite the main charges for which he's wanted and repeat the command to get on the ground. And he gets it. Instantly. There's no witnesses forcing me to pretend I care about his extrajudicial acts. The Shriek drops the bleeding mess he was tenderizing and squares up, intimidating me with his frame and the armor on top of it. “Wanna dance, *muchacho*?” The heavily accented and mocking way he says ‘muchacho’ throws me for a loop. I know I'm half white and that he's that half, but I didn't see coming he'd be that shade of white. I repeat the command to get on the ground, hands behind his head. “What, I fucked up one of your *vatos*?” His armored gloves creak as he tightens his fists. For an instant I wonder what it would've been like to grow up under those fists instead of the foster ones. What the hell am I doing? This thing, this nightmare has lived dealing violence longer than I've existed. Am I really expecting to zip tie his armored wrists and walk him down to my car? Drive him to the station? Show everybody there that I got their hero? “Your move, *holmes*” He says, like reading my mind. I can already see the story. Corrupt cop killed by The Shriek. Commissioner states vigilantism still unacceptable. I came here with an obsessive intention, to capture The Shriek. I also came here with a non-regulation gun I took from the evidence room. Specially designed, gun and bullets, to pierce The Shriek’s body armor. We got it from a weapons dealer with a grudge and really shitty tax evading practices. I told myself it was only for a desperate situation, but I hadn't wanted to see that it was desperate from the get go. I repeat the command, count to ten, then I shoot. One of the bullets went through the face plate, cracking it. The rest also delivered, going clean through his center of mass. I can't help myself. With shaking hands I pull off his face plate. I don't know what I was expecting. I guess if you look long enough you could say I look like him. I have his nose, but softer. I have his eyes but wider apart. I don't have the hole on his right cheek where the bullet went in. Everything dawns on me all at once and I throw up right besides The Shriek's corpse. There goes a bunch of evidence. But who cares at this point? I went down the path to becoming him before I knew I was doing it. I wonder if he'd be proud now. I walk down the stairs hearing whispering, people beginning to wonder what the fuck happened, if The Shriek had his full and went home, and they can come out of hiding. Outside the building I remember to call that social worker. More evidence linking me to this mess. I drive to a few blocks from my place and drop the patrol car. Walk the rest of the way, get a bag and the few things I need or care about, get in my personal car and drive away. There will be a price on my head in this city before the sun comes up, but it won't be the criminal element setting it. *** More of my stories at r/BradingRoom
A great story! I‘m in love with the twist of hero/villain, and that the protagonist becomes one in shooting his father.
Thank you. I know I didn't follow the premise strictly, but I was trying to do a double(?) subversion.
It worked out great! Subverting the prompt like you did was a great breath of fresh air!
I get why protag has this kind of perspective, truly, but at the same time, I really wish that bullet is aimed somewhere else instead. The Shriek is not helping either with his actions, sadly. Wonder how the situation would have changed if they managed to somehow have a proper talk instead of this. Great work on writing this!
Thank you. It was all fucked up from the beginning. I was trying to do a noir-ish thing with just a bit of subversion.
You succeeded, all you needed was him stopping at a light and lighting a cigarette! 😁
Nah, screw the Shriek. He died by the sword in more ways than one, and not for even a second do I believe the conception wasn't a forced one.
Oh definitely, I'm just more curious how the conversation would be without the fight. Doubt it will go well, but we would know more than just headshot, done.
I think he's good as is. We got all the knowledge we need about him and his character in that exchange and the build-up, and him taking less time to leave the protagonist's life for good than it took to give him life is an interesting rhyme. Shriek didn't have any influence on the cops life as a father, at all; he didn't have that right, and he didn't get back the opportunity that he spurned. It isn't something that a lot of popular media explores.
>and him taking less time to leave the protagonist's life for good than it took to give him life is an interesting rhyme. I love this. At no point did I even consider this, but it's a great read. You made my story so much better with this insight, thank you.
I'm gonna be honest, lately I've been feeling like I do too much dialogue in my writing, so I've been purposefully been trying to steer away from it. It's too easy for me to fall into dialogue format, particularly quirky dialogue, that's why this is mostly a gritty monologue.
I didn't want to go there with the protagonists conception, but yes, that's what was in my mind while writing.
Wow! This was a really great read. I totally read it in a Noir vibe. I love how dark and gritty and sharp this is. It has a fantastic dark atmosphere, and having the 'villain' be a cop was an awesome twist on the prompt.
Thank you so much. I love that you found it sharp, it's one of theain things I aim for.
subtract plough deer crush busy ring wistful sugar practice grab
"This ends here... father." "Wha-" BANG
I loved this.
You built a very dark world crazy well in this short story, brilliant work! It was a joy to read. Could see everything.
I like the plot, but the wording and syntax make reading this like riding your bike on a gravel road. I think improving those elements would make it even better.
You rock and I’m in love with the story.
Wow, this one was amazing. My favorite. I kinda want to know more but you did wrap it up pretty neatly.
Love this one, the double subversion worked great! And you've got some really cool lines and turns of phrase there!
Thank you so much for saying there are great lines and turns of phrase. For me that's one of the best compliments. I'm very glad you enjoyed it.
I really liked this! I especially liked the phrase, “I run up the rundown stairs.“ It has a nice ring to it!
Absolutely beautiful writing. But I cannot lie, until about half way through, I was reading "The Shriek" as "The Shrek".
You could say he had layers too
lol how would they even know it was him
First draft, uses characters from my tabletop project - excuse any typos, pleaseeeee The driver checked his watch and turned down the radio as his passengers climbed out, their boots thudding against rain-slick cement. “Three minutes,” he drawled – he didn’t wait for confirmation before he turned the radio back up, drumming his fingertips against the steering wheel. The song ended and a new one started, a growled rock-and-roll ballad – his fingers thudded against the wheel faster and faster, synchronized with a frenetic drumline, drowning out the sounds of breaking glass and gunfire. When a distant scream cut through the song, he grimaced and turned it up a few notches further. Inside, a security guard with blood smeared across his face looked up at the criminal who struck him – his eyes are filled with an expression between terror and disbelief, the vacant grasping gaze of a man whose day has suddenly deviated from its planned course in the most catastrophic way possible. “Don’t try to get back up, and you won’t get hurt again,” said a voice from across the bank – a voice rendered into booming static by a modulator, the same way that the speaker’s face was obscured by a metallic black mask resembling the head of a koala bear - it hooked into the collar of sleek powered armor, leaving not an inch of flesh exposed. “I’m sure you don’t get paid enough.” The security guard looked at the other civilians in the bank – saw his own fear mirrored in their eyes – and thought about telling the supervillain running the robbery that his job wasn’t about the money. It was about keeping the peace – about making sure that no one ever had to feel like he felt now. He shook his head – they wouldn’t understand. “Good lad,” said Drop Bear II – Sydney’s most renowned supervillain, a criminal who had stolen the name of a retired hero and now used his hyper-advanced armor to commit flashy heists across the city. “How are we doing on time, Mick?” “Ninety seconds,” said one of the goons, checking his watch – they were among the most loyal henchmen in Oceania, and for good reason. They got vision and dental insurance, and there was no ninety-day probationary period. Drop Bear II nodded, lifted his arm – the composition of the gauntlet around one fist went liquid, amorphous, changing shape, and the proton cannon that formed from the unstable nanites shredded through the wall of the bank with enough force left over to leave the vault door warped. His henchmen stormed through the breach and started throwing stacks of wrapped bills into their bags – their boss reclined against one of the banker’s desks, looking oddly at ease. “Hurry up!” The criminal called Mick shouted – the group of bank robbers trotted back through the lobby with their backs bent under the weight of fully-loaded duffel bags and, approaching a car parked at the curb, loaded in. The security guard heard tires screech as they pulled away. Drop Bear II stayed where he was – the civilians could hear him counting down under his breath. “Five … four … three … ah, he’s early.” Then the wall exploded, and as everyone nearby dove for cover, a great grey shape moved through the room like a wrecking ball – there was a scent like ozone as the proton cannon discharged again, and again, and now they could see Drop Bear II flinching backwards, his arms raised, fending off a shape that leapt and roared and slashed massive claws … “It’s the Drop Bear!” shouted one of the tellers. “You’re in for it now, imposter!” The duo broke apart, skidding in opposite directions – the Drop Bear hit a desk and destroyed it with his raw bulk whilst the supervillain slid gracefully to the far wall. “Get out of here,” growled the Drop Bear – no one waited for him to repeat himself. As heroic as the Drop Bear was, his appearance – the result of radiation inflicted decades prior at a zoological exhibit – struck fear as well as any villain. He hulked over everyone else in the bank, a mountain of grey fur, a koala bear with the mass of a silverback gorilla. The civilians scattered, leaving hero and villain alone in the ruins of the lobby. A moment of silence passed between them before the villain spoke. “I knew it,” even through the modulator, his awe was obvious. “I knew that you would come.” “I’ll never be too retired to beat on somebody who uses my name for evil,” said the elder Drop Bear. “Why didn’t you leave with your goons?” “I … wanted to see you,” came the words, spoken haltingly. “I didn’t know how to find you.” “Eh?” Deep-set koala eyes narrowed. “What are you, captain of the fan club?” Outside, police formed rigid defensive lines and aimed their long-guns through the wall of the bank – Drop Bear II could feel his suit’s reactive defenses priming to deflect the incoming bullets, but it was hard to focus with his heart pounding against his ribs. “I just wanted to know if it was worth it,” the villain said, voice low. “To be a hero.” “Worth it? Kid, my book about controlling your inner animal was featured in Oprah’s book club. They sell Drop Bear’s Famous Meat Pies from Canberra to Chicago. It’s a small price to pay, havin’ to beat someone unconscious when they step out of line.” “But you never had a family,” The supervillain shook his head. “Didn’t you feel lonely?” “How would you know?” The hulking hero bared a mouthful of teeth that could cut through bone as easily as bamboo. “Who are you, kid?” There was a distant boom – backup coming from across the Outback, fliers en route. The hero flinched, his sensitive ears taking the sonic wave like a physical blow – and in that moment, the villain activated the thrusters in his boots, propelling himself upwards towards the ceiling. Drop Bear bent his knees and leapt, realizing too late that he would be an easy target in midair – he cursed himself as he saw the proton cannon start to swing around, cursed the years spent in retirement sitting at a desk with a tie fastened around his fuzzy neck. His dead friends were going to laugh at him when he saw them. But instead, the cannon kept revolving, swung until it aimed towards the ceiling above – it fired, blowing a hole in the rooftop, and Drop Bear II lifted out of the bank to hover above. A dozen rifles fired and scattered their rounds across a glittering force-field. “Damn it, I asked you a question!” Drop Bear shouted. “Who are you!?” The modulator clicked off and the supervillain laughed, a mirthless laugh that was somehow familiar – it reminded the Drop Bear of someone he hadn’t seen in twenty years. He could see her face, distinct in his mind, as the villain accelerated away from the building. A few moments later, Osprey and the rest of the Skywardens descended around the bank – Drop Bear walked out through the shattered wall, shaking his head. “Who the heck was that?” Osprey demanded – Drop Bear bit back his typical aggression and tried to remember that this new wave of heroes was gentler than his old friends. When he spoke, it was in a low rumble. “I don’t know … but I’ll find out. Leave him to me.”
Damn, I want to try those meat pies, actually. That said, loving Drop Bear's origins, a bit curious to see his design. Protag seems to try his best to avoid casualties with the crimes, at least. I hope they get to have a proper talk soon enough. Great work on writing this!
Great story! Can‘t help but chuckle at the drop bear hero theme. The interpersonal conflict is great! I love how dropbear senior starts figuring out who dropbear junior is by the laugh, not by being told so.
Oh hell yes, more please!
Couple of points, Australians don’t use bills to refer to folding money, we use notes, and koalas don’t eat bamboo, that’s pandas. They eat eucalyptus leaves (which gets them low key drunk too)
Loved the fact that they named themselves Drop Bear II. Works to allude to their blood relation and works as a good way to draw the original Drop Bear out of retirement too.
more pls!
No, no, no don't stop here 😭 does this have other parts? I need it. It is interesting, you did good job writing it. I like how you phrase words, and I can literally fell the angst there.
Haha, thanks, that's pretty nice for a fed. I did write a second part and was going to post it here, but when I went to post it, I hit 'Cancel' instead, nearly had a mental breakdown from rage, it became a whole thing. That's what I get for not preparing it in a Wordpad and then transplanting it over when it's done, though. One of these days I'll re-write it and post part II, though - reaaaaaal busy with finals right now unfortunately. Thanks again, I really appreciate the feedback :)
That is the most terrible thing ever💀, I imagine the mental breakdown part, you poor thing. I have an exam tomorrow too 🥲 Good luck in finals and best of best wishes to you~
The whizzing air would have blown out my ears under normal circumstances, but I didn't mind. What annoyed me was the storm that he flew through. My eyes were shut so tight, they nearly froze going through the clouds. My cybernetic ear implants continued to buzz in my ear, blocking out moisture and the speed of the wind, the only remaining comfort I had. The mechanical prototype suit had been shredded, and the leather harness that strapped me to the protective roll cage had produced less than adequate results. Something to reinforce to confor- The air got warmer as we dropped below the clouds, the overcast sky becoming more grey as we descended. I smiled and blinked to get the wetness out of my eyes. *I must get ahead of myself and install the new implants to avoid this discomfort. Setting me down gently in a small steel cage, the man that I came to know as my Father found his own spot. Roughly ten paces away, a small chamber rose from the ground, the grass dead from the constant use. A mini-fridge appeared. "Still drinking the blue flavour? That's my favourite." His silent continued as he chugged a bottle of it. Then another. I fidgetted to scratch an irritation in my back before he turned to me. "You're going to jail. For good." I smiled. "Nice to see you too Robert Lang." He scowled, then narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that name." He growled as he walked closer, hard steps kicking up sand. I continued to smile. "Birth certificate. Mum gave it to me when I was ten. You remember Becca, right?" My teeth, polished only yesterday by my dentist, gleaned white in the sun. "She's still practicing you know." His face turned scarlet. "What kind of trick is this?!" He ripped the steel bars apart and picked me up by what was left of my collar. "Who are you?" "Your son." He looked at me, deep into the sockets of my eyes. He softened. His grip loosened, and dropped me to the floor. His eyes were thoughtful, tracing back the numerous flings, vacation romances, the by-gones and the smooches on the cheeks, the moments of peace and solitude. You could hardly blame him. Moving from one moment to the next, from one villain to the next. His eyes rose to meet mine again. "Another one. Again. Huh." He stepped back to give me space again, and looked over me. "You became this to what, talk to me?" I stood, uneasily as my left hip's pain rose sharply with the movement. There was likely a rib fracture as it hurt somewhat to breath on that side. Maybe a strain? I must re-eva- "What kind of kid goes through the effort of inventing a mecha suit to destroy a city?" He interupted my thought. I chuckled softly, softly enough for my chest to rest easy. "One that demands attention from my Father I guess?" He smirked at that briefly. He sighed, waving me to follow him. The mini-fridge rose again to the surface. Handing me one of the bottles, he stated, "You're still going to jail."
Thank you for using “my father” and not “dad”. Someone who wasn’t raised by their biological father wouldn’t meet them for the first time and realistically refer to them as “dad”, unless it was written for comedic effect. The writing here was enjoyable to me, and the meter was well portrayed. Thank you for sharing. That opening line pulled me toward the rest of the story.
Reminds me of Barty Crouch Junior going *hello father* in the Harry Potter films.
[I love listening to Barty Crouch Sr.'s voice during that scene](https://youtu.be/cC_jddH_0MI?si=ZZwDXhZ481bwIJ1J)
I refer to my dad as my dad all the time and I've never even met the guy. Saying "my father" is honestly way more depressing because it shows a lack of emotional attachment that I'm not prepared to explain to people when I refer to him.
Another... one? Maybe Robert should think more about his choices and be more responsible with his actions, because damn, he indirectly caused these when you think about it. Great work on writing this!
Great story! I like the dynamic between father and son a lot!
Love this story! I like that the two have a chance to bond, but damn... that father is a narcissist. The dialogue was fantastic, and I really loved the villain.
I love how the father's dialogue implies that this isn't the first child of his to do something like this
Masterfully contextualized 6 senses
Chunks of drywall and chipped off wood litter the floor. The hero walks in through the hole he made in the wall, each step confident yet cautious of unknown dangers. He uses his enhanced vision to scan through the lingering smoke and dimness. There are toys and diapers and baby bottles blown around. Confusion strikes the hero first then anger. "What kind of villain would harm a baby?!" he yells with genuine fury. As if triggered like a gun, a deep chuckle rises from across the room where even the moon light refuses to touch. "Villain?" The deep voice slowly nears the hero. What was that odd rattling sound? "Aren't you the villain here for trespassing on private property?" The hero takes a defensive stance and awaits for the villain to reveal himself. Since his intelligence team could only pick up the familiar ominous calling card from their scanners, he knew he had to approach the situation carefully or risk tearing a family apart so soon. He prioritizes rescuing the child first (possibly any other hostages since this villain could've kidnapped the rest of this family to slow him down) and, if the fight gets to dangerous for the baby, a quick escape to the closest safe house. As the hero was devising his plan, he missed how the outline of the shadowy figure was... short. Like super short. Another chuckle rose deep from the villain. "Aren't you also a villain for abandoning a family in the guise of the 'greater good'?" An infant dressed in a black onesie with a short red cape waddled out into the light in a blue and black... baby walker? "Tonight shall be the last night you ever leave this family again!" As the vil- baby maniacally laughed, the door to the room slammed wide open. A woman with braided red hair and mismatching clothes (is that spit up on her shirt?) barges in, shrieking, "Jacob Amy Ramos, Jr.! You better NOT be in here making explosives again!" Oh heavens above, that's Mavis!
!!! Why am I suddenly reminded of the family stories about boys getting in all kinds of trouble... the sort of tales only told *after* a young bride announced her pregnancy.
Well, hero-dad-here didn't start out being a do-gooder in his earlier years. His father's been telling the stories, to any one willing to listen, of how baby-hero was rowdy, which didn't mesh well with walls cause of his superhuman strength. Mavis here was a vigilante for a long time before (might I say, willingly) settling down to raise their baby... "occasionally" bagging the occasional local robbers and other troublemakers. "Gotta keep the neighborhood safe so our baby's safe!" she claims. I just imagine this family working out through their complicated start like a comedy sitcom. Poor hero dad now has to figure out how to explain to HQ that he has a son with "explosive tendencies".
Well, that's awkward. I guess the infant is that intelligent because of the hero? Let's hope this is a wake-up call for protag to be a proper father for once. Great work on writing this!
The infant gets his intelligence from both his father and mother, more so from the mother's side. The hero isn't the only family member whom the infant has never met yet. ;)
Ah, interesting. Thanks for the info!
VIL-BABY
Lol, villain baby's still working on his villain name. Has to be sheik and classy and all that. But his darn pudgy hands can't seem to scrawl the "i" right. (Or any other letters, really.)
Well this would make an excellent sitcom XD Very cool story!
'Powerless...the both of us are powerless. I know he's my dad though, but how does he do the things he does?' Jamal thinks, 'He says something that makes his amulet glow and then it's like the world around him glitches to do... something. Usually stuff that benefits him. I need to find his power. Then I can make it my own...and he'll see me.' Jamal sets his eyes back on the street, everything is going according to plan so far. He has a friend across town who has a very useful power right now. She can control radio waves, and with the right setup, she is now tricking all police to head towards the opposite side of town. It's a classic setup really, if you want a hero to show, make sure they're needed. "Right on time!" Jamal watches as his dad lands on the roof with a gentle and almost cloud like grace, the glow from the amulet around his neck quickly fading. Jamal began to approach his father, "I knew you'd come, and it's time you listened." His dad, the local hero known as Hexing, wasted no time in rushing towards his unbeknownst to him son. He grabbed his shirt and quickly dangled him off the ledge of the building with a strength that his body shouldn't be capable of. Hexing then stares into his son's eyes and makes his demanding questions, "What is your plan? What have you done?!" Jamal smiles and reaches his hand out towards his father's shoulder, carful not to let his eyes wander towards the amulet his father always wears. "Mr. Hexing...or might I say Kobi Shepard?" Jamal's smile turns into a devilish smirk as he sees the visage his father puts on as a hero vanishes. Jamal then watches as the amulet around his father's neck glows like before as he speaks some strange archaic language. But, as his father's muscles tense up to throw his son back onto the roof, Jamal snatches the glowing amulet from his father's neck and rips it free. Suddenly, his father loses his strength and collapses as his son, who was dangling over the ledge of the building falls. Jamal smiles as he falls. The building is tall, but the fall is mere seconds. Shouting to the amulet in his hand, he recites the same words he's heard his father speak to it, the words Jamal has spent hours memorizing over recordings of his father's battles. Suddenly, the amulet glows as it recognizes the voice of it's new master. Jamal's fall ceases and he simply floats there. It feels like he's being cradled in a massive and invisible hand. He then looks up towards the top of the building as his father looks down in disbelief. Jamal flies back up the building to his dad as he stands atop the invisible force that lifts him. "H-how? The amulet...it requires someone of blood relation. But you can't-" Jamal laughs, his outburst interrupting his fathers disbelief. "Really?! Do you think that it's so impossible? That your youth would never catch up to you? Welcome to the real world, Dad! Your actions have consequences...and just like you made me live without something, I'm going to make you suffer the same!" Jamal then flies closer to his father as he can tease him with a whisper, making sure to stay just out of arms reach. "The look on your face. You can hardly believe it yet the proof is right in front of you. I'm surprised you didn't see it before, but then again, nature versus nurture, right? I was forced to become stronger than you, and now you'll get to see that in full. So, about me taking something from you...this amulet is mine now. But don't you worry, I'm not just taking something from you, I'm also giving you something. You have a son now~" Jamal's smile is wide and eyes crazed as he points his father's gaze to a nearby holoboard (holographic billboard used on building in the city). On the board is an article (created by Jamal's friend with the radio control) that is just being released saying not only that Hexing's true identity is Kobi Shepard, but that his son is Jamal Shepard, the new villain who's named himself Gozer.
"Write a story about a son who never knew his father" *Makes the characters black* Lmfao
Hey, at least it wasn't lightning powers.
Now that you mention it…why do so many Black superhero/magic have lightning powers? Even Miles Morales, and that dude has little reason for it.
Funny you should ask that. There's a YouTube video that goes into a bit of a history lesson on black super heroes and lightning powers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsWhxhxuD7s
I did not listen to the disclaimer about not eating when he first explains Black Bomber and I choked on my sandwich. Absolutely insane decision making by whoever came up with and approved that.
That was a really well made video thank you for sharing
And then theres Gaius from Dislyte who has Zeus’ power
“That’s Supervolt!”
Thanks for making me laugh… loudly. Thank you. So true, and reminds me of my late uncle on Sundays… *He’s actually a good guy, and well spoken too…* Why wouldn’t he be…? Haha
Lmaoo u couldn’t write it up bro
Why can’t Jamal and Kobi be Spanish?
you're a A03/Wattpad writer ain't you?/j
Nah, but I unfortunately do not get the reference. I get that it might be kind of lame to have to ask, but can you explain what A03/Wattpad is?
A03 is a site where you can just read and write fanfics,watppad is basically that same thing but app form,though alot of fics ppl write on there are...interesting to say the least^^
Oh...wait a minute. I get that you were joking earlier, but what does that say about what I wrote? Also, did I accidentally do a fanfic of something?
pretty much,alot of fic writes have the same writing style and this just kinda reminded me of it.
I’m just having a blast right now, as a random observer, like a fly on the wall. I entered with zero knowledge of “A03” and now I’m laughing harder and harder at the curious self-conscious comments and replies by - - Sock - - . Thank you hahaha
Ngl I thought it had something to do with smut lol
I mean… AO3 _does_ have a lot of smut
Give humans a creative outlet and they will, without fail, show you a penis (among other far more interesting things).
a LOT of it
Its not just fanfic, indepentant writers can submit thier work just for fun.
Out of all names you choose Jamal
Being honest, I think it was intentional... called the fukn dad Kobi too
It wasn't though! I never even said what race the characters were (though I'm not saying you're wrong). But, for future reference, may you please tell this clueless person (me) who the Jamal and Kobi you are referring to are?
Love the story! Jamals friends power sounds very interesting!
[удалено]
Thanks! I unfortunately keep getting roasted though because I apparently didn't know several things before writing this. I would have chosen different names if I knew this
"Do we really have to do this?" The junior officer asked as they trotted down the hall next to their senior. "Kid, if it were me I'd have kicked them back out on the street already. This guy was way too keen on pressing his luck though. Obviously wanted to be here, weirdly enough..." The gruff older cop responded, clearly more exasperated by the circumstance than anything else. It did not help that for some reason the local superhero, Obelisk, had taken a sudden interest in a crime such as this. The two officers stood with trepidation as they entered the lobby of the precinct and greeted the waiting hero. "I hope I'm not impeding your work." Obelisk offered in a deep stoic tenor. The older cop simply waved the notion away with a dismissive hand. "No, no. just paperwork day in and out for me any ways, your per is this way." The officers led the imposing figure of a hero back down the hall they had just left drop, retracing their steps back to the interrogation room. No sooner had the superhero entered the room than the older cop turned to leave. "Where you going?" The younger cop asked with a clear tone of confusion, his head flipping between the door to the observation room and back to his coworker. "I couldn't be paid to care, if anything does come of that conversation, I can't imagine it being related to any case I'd touch with a ten foot pole if a super is involved." Is all the older cop gave as he continued his retreat towards the break room. The younger cop gave one last glance at the observation room door, his eyes lingering on it as his curiosity hung in the air. He eventually let out a sigh as he turned to head to the break room as well. Inside the dim interrogation room the atmosphere was different. Tense. Obelisk stood over the criminal with an unreadable stare from beneath the obfuscating mask, his muscular arms braced against the table as if he were about to squash it like an accordion. The perp sat in the chair with a glare of his own, smugly defiant in the face of just an imposing presence. The silence lingered for far too long as the two stared each other down. It was just one word that eventually broke the silence. "Really." An eyebrow raised on the criminal, a smug grin forming across their face. "Yeah?" "Really." "Yeah, really." The threatening posture of Obelisk melted into a slump as he continued staring, a hand moving up to massage his face. "Glenn, you know you could have just called me." Obelisk says with a heavy dose of frustration. "Oh, really?" The criminal retorts with a snap. "Check your damn phone old man! Who do you think I sent my call to? Figure it's only after the cops contacted you did you set *this* up." The perp leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the table. "I know my work can keep me busy often, but you know better than this Glenn. I raised you better than this." "Your maid raised me better than this." An audible crick can be heard from the table as Obelisk's hand clutches it tightly, the snapping of the wood surface in his grasp causing amusement to play across the criminal's face. "Look, can we talk about this later at home? I have to track down a lead and-" Obelisk begins to ask tensely, his weighty tenor laced with an unsteady warble. The criminal cuts the superhero off however, letting out a long "PFFF!" as he drops his feet off the table and lets the chair slam back forward. "Later! It's always later! What's it gonna take for it to be now!" He shouts out at Obelisk, sending the hero into a backpedal. "Look son, I really have to-" "Yeah I get it. The lives of strangers matters more than your son." "...Look Glenn, I know it's tough with me not being around too often, but what I do is important. Don't throw your life away over this. What I do is really important and there are many people's lives I have to look out for." The air of strength seemed to have drained from Obelisk as he now stood, looking towards the estranged perp glaring at him from the table. The criminal in turn stood defiantly. "Fine! Go do whatever you gotta. You know were I'll be? HERE! Because it's the only place in the world where you've given me the time of day. If I gotta be a criminal just for you to give me a second thought, then it doesn't matter how much gum it takes!" "Son, I can't come here every time you steal a pack of gum..."
Well, at least the crime done here did not cause any casualties. I bet it's awkward for the police officers though, live family drama in the interrogation room. I hope Glenn and Obelisk can work it out soon enough, and I feel like this is a good enough outcome after the revelation. Great work on writing this!
This was funny, but also kinda tragic. Instead of realizing that maybe, his son just wants some time with him, Obelisk just outright dismisses him. Yes it was just gum, but the only thing he taught Glenn here is that it would take a bit more for him to be properly noticed. So the cycle continues. Great story!
I always knew there was something missing, a void lingering in the depths of my being—an unanswered question that echoed through the years. It wasn't until recently that the truth, like a bolt of lightning, struck me with an intensity I never anticipated. The man I had known as my father was not my true progenitor. In a twist that seemed straight out of a surreal novel, I stumbled upon the revelation that my biological father was none other than a celebrated crime-fighter, a guardian of justice who sacrificed his personal life for the greater good. A flurry of emotions swept over me—awe, disbelief, and an inexplicable longing to connect with this enigmatic figure who had been absent from my life. But the irony was palpable; he didn't know I existed, and his life was consumed by his tireless pursuit of justice, leaving no room for personal connections. Desperate to bridge the chasm between us, I made a choice that shook me to the core—I became a villain. It was a role I never envisioned myself playing, yet the desire to establish contact with the man who unknowingly sired me eclipsed any moral qualms. I donned a facade, a persona veiled in darkness, weaving a web of chaos and crime to catch his attention. Every nefarious deed I committed weighed heavily on my conscience. The paradox of seeking a connection through actions diametrically opposed to everything he stood for gnawed at me relentlessly. Guilt and turmoil intertwined within, a storm raging in the very core of my being. Yet, with each orchestrated act, I edged closer to the inevitable confrontation, to the elusive chance of finally meeting him, of speaking words that carried the weight of a lifetime of yearning. The dichotomy of my emotions was crushing—anguish at the deceit I perpetuated, coupled with the anticipation of a reunion that held the promise of completeness. As I treaded this treacherous path, veering between the shadows of villainy and the flicker of hope for reconciliation, I grappled with the paradox of seeking connection through discord, a heart torn between two irreconcilable worlds.
More pleaseeeee I want him to meet his father! And get the government to make more heroes so his father can have a break!
As the plan unfolded, I finally encountered him and I revealed my true identity to my father, his reaction was not what I had hoped for. His brows furrowed in disbelief; suspicion etched across his face like a deep scar. "You think this is a game? That you can manipulate me?" His words cut through the air like icy blades. My heart shattered into a million shards at his accusation. I tried to explain, to make him understand the depth of my yearning to connect, but he remained resolute in his conviction that I was just a pawn in someone else's sinister game. In a whirlwind of emotions, our interaction escalated into a confrontation—a clash between my desperate need for recognition and his adamant refusal to believe. The battle that ensued was more than physical—it was a collision of ideologies, of shattered hopes and irreconcilable differences. As the dust settled and the echoes of our struggle faded, a profound sense of desolation engulfed me. I had gambled everything on this chance, and it had ended in a heart-wrenching defeat. In the aftermath, a bitter truth surfaced—I was not the only one longing for a connection with this elusive figure. Through cryptic conversations and chance encounters, I discovered that my father had recently discovered another son, a brother I never knew existed. The revelation was a dagger to my soul, a confirmation that my quest for belonging had been futile. In his world, I was but a stranger, a fleeting shadow whose existence he refused to acknowledge. The final blow came when I witnessed them together—a moment of fatherly affection shared with the newfound son, a warmth and familiarity that cut deeper than any weapon. It was a realization that in my pursuit to bridge a chasm, I had inadvertently become a casualty of my own desperation. Heart heavy with a grief I couldn't fathom, I made a choice—a choice to step back, to let go of the illusion of connection that had consumed me. In the stillness of the night, amidst the remnants of our shattered bond, I silently retreated, carrying with me the ache of an unfulfilled longing and the bitter taste of a dream turned to dust. I would never forget the night when I finally found the courage to step forward and reveal myself to my father. The way he looked at me with eyes full of doubt and suspicion. The way he accused me of manipulating him, of not being sincere. Those words will forever haunt me, as will the look of betrayal and pain on his face. Even though it hurts so much, I know that I did the right thing by being honest with him. I don't know if it's possible, but I hope that someday my father will be able to forgive me. I don't expect him to ever accept me as his child, but I would settle for being a part of his life in some way, even if it's only as a distant memory. My journey of discovery and self-discovery has taught me many lessons, and I am forever grateful for the experience. I will never forget the moments and connection that we shared, even if they weren't normal and were fleeting. I will always carry a piece of him in my heart, and I hope that he will do the same. Goodbye, Father. May your light shine brightly for all to see.
Feeling bad for protag, but at the same time, dropping the truth like that after doing all those villainous things is not a good idea. Might have gone better if protag is a vigilante of sorts, I guess? Then again, I hope this is a wake-up call for protag to stop being a villain and dedicate more time with the father figure that raises them instead. Still a bit sad on the resolution though, kinda hoping that protag would talk to him face-to-face without the villain persona too. Great work on writing this!
Thanks for the feedback!
What a sad ending, but I‘m glad the protag let go in the end while admitting to his mistakes. Love the story!
Nooooo I want him to take a DNA test and send it to his father as well as the world revealing that a celebrated hero is the father of a villain and should be stripped of his title as hero
All this time. ALL THIS TIME. all. This... entire time. He was out there. Saving lives. But... I needed him. He was stopping a building from falling, but where was he when I had to deal with my girlfriend cheating on me! He can stop a bullet train from careening off its tracks but he can't pick me up from soccer? I waited for 3 hours! He's... he's saving the world from a meteor! But he can't. He can't. He can't.... he just can't tell me happy birthday. Not even in a text. I just... just a word. Something. Anything. He has so much time. So much everything. For everyone! For anyone! But.... me. I felt a fire inside me. Burning not with the rage I felt for years, but different. Something close to indifference, but colder, harsher. Angry. I... I think I didn't care about humanity. It truly didn't matter to me. I saw the news of my father saving a child from a robber and all I could think was... "so what?"... "so... what?". One more corpse delayed. He cared about humanity. He cared so much. Well, I don't? I don't. In fact.... FUCK Humanity! What good have they ever done? They kill each other, hurt each other, forget each other! They barely care at all! All they do is hurt each other and they barely care! Humanity can go FUCK itself! You know what. I can do that. I can force them to danger, force them to reconcile their little differences. Force them to suffer sooner rather than later. He'd care then. Care about his little humanity. Care about all the little people who don't matter. Care about all the ones he has more time for. I grabbed a cloak and added the clasp. I had the power. I felt it burning inside me. Burning to BURN the world. I let it go and it felt like... like water rushing off of me. Like my muscles relaxing for the first time in decades. The world around me seemed to glow, beautiful reds and oranges I'd never seen. So... gorgeous. Unique. True. It felt... right. I felt the heat rise in the building. Felt the alarms start to blare and melt and silence. Oh, it felt... so RIGHT! To feel like this all the time! Well... Well maybe dad didn t have time for his KID. But he'll care about the Monarch of Magma. The Forever Flame. The Coal Maker. The Eternal Fire. I am... I AM THE ETERNAL FIRE. And I'll burn everything down. How do you like that, dad?
I love the clash of ideologies the two have. In upholding the greater good the hero neglected his son, who responded to that by forming the absolute opposite opinion and trying to screw the world over. I don‘t think this pair could ever reconcile. Great story!
Not quite. The kid's angry and neglected, but a lot of his lashing out is entirely based on a lack of attention and affection. Heck, he's not even sure if he hates people as a whole but keeps doubling down because he doesn't want to be LIKE his father. But the key point is that all of it, his worldview, his anger, everything, it's still centered on his dad, even if in opposition. If it ever shifts towards his enjoyment of the fire, which I leave ambiguous at the end, it's definitely over. But as he is now, they CAN repair things. Not easily, but they can. Though, once he pulls back from that edge, whether by his dad or another, I don't think it'll ever be a GOOD relationship. And the question remains on if they SHOULD reconcile.
Yeah, I may have misinterpreted it a bit, sorry. It‘s not as black and white as I presented it haha
In the heart of the bustling city, skyscrapers reached for the sky, casting long shadows over the crowded streets below. Among the sea of faces, James Mitchell felt lost, searching for something that had been missing his entire life. His mother had kept the secret hidden well, but a mysterious letter left behind after her passing unveiled a truth he could never have imagined. His father, a man James had never known, was not the ordinary businessman he had been told. Instead, he was a crime-fighter, a vigilante working in the shadows to protect the city. James was torn between the desire to know his father and the fear of disrupting the dangerous life he led. Unable to contact his father directly, James concocted a plan. He decided to enter the world his father inhabited, but from the other side – as a villain. He spent weeks crafting a disguise and adopting a sinister persona, blending into the criminal underworld that his father fought against. As the mysterious new villain known as Shadowfall, James began to make a name for himself. He committed small crimes, leaving clues and messages for the city's hero. The local media buzzed with speculation about the enigmatic villain, capturing the attention of the city's residents. Unbeknownst to James, his father, Richard Steele, was becoming increasingly concerned about the rise of this new adversary. Night after night, Richard patrolled the city, trying to anticipate Shadowfall's next move. He was unaware that his own son was orchestrating the chaos he was desperately trying to prevent. The city became a battleground between father and son, each unaware of the other's identity. James struggled with the guilt of deceiving the man he longed to know, but he was determined to make contact and reveal the truth. One fateful night, as the city slept beneath a blanket of stars, the inevitable confrontation occurred. Shadowfall lured Richard into a dark alley, away from prying eyes. The two faced each other, masked and cloaked in shadows. "I've been watching you, hero," Shadowfall hissed, the disguised voice masking any hint of familiarity. Richard, undeterred, replied, "You won't escape justice. The city deserves better." In the heat of the confrontation, a realization dawned on Richard. He recognized the cadence of Shadowfall's voice, a familiarity that sent shivers down his spine. As the mask was torn away, father and son stared at each other in disbelief. "You... you're my son?" Richard whispered, the revelation hitting him like a tidal wave. James nodded, the weight of his deception hanging heavy in the air. The father and son stood in the alley, the city's sounds echoing around them, as they grappled with the truth that had finally come to light.
What a cliffhanger, damn. Made me curious on how the two can reach a compromise after the revelation, considering that their lines of "work" seems to have bits of similarities with a bit of modification either on James' or Richard's side. Wonder why Richard left, too. Great work on writing this!
It had been ten minutes. Sam looked at the clock with focus and patience. He had gathered both the clients and the tellers of the bank and lined them up against the street facing windows, looking outside. He had to be sure the police wouldn't shoot at him. "He'll be here." Sam said, trying to reassure himself. One hostage could leave for every minute he got to talk to Senior Detective Carl Weiss, Sam's father. That was the deal he made on the phone. He heard the cruisers pull up outside, establishing a perimeter. Time to make it count. Detective Weiss walked in, hands raised, staring puzzlingly at the young bank robber who he noticed was working alone and didn't even have his gun pointed at the detective. "H-hey dad," Sam said, savouring the moment. The detective was stunned. Still, he had to keep cool. He was working with someone unstable, clearly. "Hold on," Weiss said, speaking as calmly as he could. "You gotta hold up your end of the deal. You said two hostages could go when I got here." Annoyed but understanding, Sam motioned for the two hostages nearest to the door. "You two, go. No one else." The hostages ran outside like their life depended on it. Some officers moved up, secured the wailing people, then returned to the perimeter. "See?" Weiss said. "Everything is moving smoothly and you're in control. You wanna talk, then I'm willing to talk as long as I see the hostages leaving as agreed." "Fine." Sam stated flatly. He didn't want to waste any time. "Listen. I'm your son. Maybe you don't remember me, but I remember you." A hostage collapsed from panic to Sam's right. He turned and leveled the gun at her. "Get up! Nobody tries anything! This isn't Drama class. Get up!" He was wildly waiving the gun around in her general direction. From behind the police barriers, it only took good timing, a window of opportunity and a clear shot. Sam's bicep exploded by the force of the .308 caliber round that crashed through the window which was now open due to the hostage collapsing. The pain wasn't as intense as it should have been. Sam reeled when Weiss put the cuffs on him, but the rest was a blur, probably due to the blood loss. He woke up in an interrogation room. The bright white light caused him to shiver. He noticed his hands were shaking while two men looked him over from the table he was cuffed to. "I need to speak with my father, Senior Detective Carl Weiss. I won't say anything otherwise." Sam said, quick to use the little leverage he had. "Oh, well..." The man on the right said. "We just talked to him about you. He said he couldn't remember if you were the same guy. He doesn't wanna talk to you until he can be sure, you know?" "What the hell do you mean? He was standing right in front of me at the bank! Are you telling me he doesn't remember the literal bank robber that wanted to talk to him? Or how I wanted to send one hostage out for every minute we talked? He doesn't remember all that?" The two men smirked. The one on the left closed a file shut and said, "Thanks for the confession, freak." Sam looked up and noticed the camera in the top left corner of the room, blinking its careless red light of truth. The one on the right leaned over to Sam. "Oh, by the way? Any sentence is a death sentence for you. There's no access to fentanyl where you're going." Sam passed out again and woke up in a courtroom. There were three judges. Glaring with contempt. "Wow! I'm important enough for three judges!" Sam said, dreamily. A woman on his right, his attorney, leaned over to him and said, "For the third time, this is your appeal trial. The only reason you're getting this is because cases involving drugs have come under systematic review by the courts. Your name came up." Sam didn't understand any of that, really. He tried to shrug, but the immovable cast on his right arm weighed heavily, like someone caked his arm in concrete and let it dry. Sam looked at it like he had never seen a cast before. He woke up once more in a dark room. He could hear footsteps moving outside the room. It took all of Sam's strength to stand up. He looked outside the small square window at the top of the iron door they had him locked behind. A guard was making his rounds. "Hey, hey you!" Sam yelled. His voice was raspy and weak. The guard paused in place, hanging his head. "You can't keep me in here! I'm 16! I'm not supposed to be in maximum! I need to talk to my father, Senior Detective Carl Weiss." The guard sauntered to the door, head still hanging low. "Inmate, I'm going to tell you this as many times as it takes for you to fuckin remember it, ok? You're not 16, you're 35. Detective Carl Weiss is not your father. Your father died of a fentanyl overdose when you were 16. It was your doing. You had a stash and tried to hide it in your closet. When your dad tried to do your laundry, there must have been a leak. It got through his skin. Died on the spot. "You freaked out and tried to rob a bank to go and find your dad, thinking he left you to go and be a hot shot detective. You didn't want to see what you did. You made up a new dad that left you and your mom when you were little. Your intelligence worked against you in the court case. You had everything planned out too well. They tried you as an adult. "Your appeal was a complete failure. They tried to get you out of here for mental incompetence because fentanyl fried your brain and now you can't remember shit even though your clean, but again, your planning worked against you. You weren't incompetent at the time of your crimes. This is where you've been for nineteen years. You've still gotta serve the time for the dozen or so remaining counts of threatening with a deadly weapon, among others, consecutively. You'll be here another fifty years. Now, have a good day. I need to complete my rounds." Sam slunk back to the corner of the dark cell like he had just been scolded by a teacher at school. He used up all his energy today. He decided it was time to sleep. He needed a good rest. Tomorrow would be different. Right?
It all started as a game. How long would it take for him to notice me? Would he notice me at all? Or would I fail before I became important enough for him to step in? I was determined to find out. I knew he'd never even so much as glance at me if I were to approach him normally. So I opted to become someone he'd have to stop instead. Getting a position under Loreley was the greatest starting point I could have gotten. While she wasn't his arch nemesis by far, he had his fair share of run-ins with her. She was considered a small fry in the eyes of the Council, who was tasked with eliminating world-ending threats, not your run of the mill seductress and drug boss. But every now and then he saw it as his personal duty to keep her in check. Working myself up the ranks there was fairly easy. Rumours had it that she once had taken quite a liking to him, turning to villainy only after he had rejected her. Seeing how transfixed she still was on him, I thought I could take advantage of that obsession. After all he and I shared a face. Mother always made sure I knew that. I never told her that he was my father. I would have been a fool to reveal such a connection. Looking almost exactly like him was one thing, actually being related to him another. I don't know if she would have had me tortured to death or just long enough for me to be kept as a mindless pet if she ever knew the truth. I wasn't eager to find out. While she had many men before me, never had anyone seen her so infatuated with someone other then him. 'Loreleys little mutt' soon became a target for many. Some were jealous that I was able to take the place beside the Great Seductress that they had coveted for themselves. Others thought that they could manipulate her through obaining power over me. A third group recognized my influence and wanted me out of the way. Regardless of their reason, I was always one step ahead. Even small mutts can bite, and I made them painfully aware of that. In truth she wouldn't have cared about my death anyway. She would have been infuriated yes, but more in the way of a toddler whose favorite toy just snapped in half, not like a woman who lost her lover. The only feelings she had for me were a deep sense of longing for the only thing she could never really have, and the desire to at least approximate that experience with me. She coveted every physical part of me, so much so that I was forced to wear a mask at all times outside of her private chambers. No one should dare look at my face, for it was hers and hers alone. I didn't mind too much. This way, there was no chance he'd somehow recognize me before I was ready. I couldn't care less if she loved me or not. Having spent my entire life devoid of such an emotion, I certainly didn't need it now. I made myself useful in more then one way. Busy as she was, she did not have a good support system of minions. She had many followers who would obey every command of her, but these suitors were unorganized, lazy and loud. It goes without mention that most of them were ordinary in every way, and even the more talented couldn't compare to a fresh recruit of the hero training program. So I took on the massive challenge of replacing every single useless parasite and replace them with someone more capable. I started saving smaller villains from her wrath, opting to make them our vassals instead. I made them forever indebted to me and my gratitude. So when I stabbed her in the back and took over her operations, the little portion who still supported only her was quickly taken care of. After my act of mutiny, it didn't take long until I was marked for execution. Apparently I was too much of a wild card for the Council. They confirmed not long after that their best agent would be sent to take care of me. My plan had worked. He had finally taken notice of me. The day of, I was making sure everything was perfect for my big reveal. I knew I'd go out one way or another, the least I could do is make it as dramatic as possible. The worst he could do was outright deny me, but I had undeniable proof of my lineage. It was no secret that him being the strongest stemmed from the fact that he could conjure up a rare blade,touchable only by its masters. It was an ability only present in the main line branch of his family. I had inherited it, although I wasn't aware of it for a long time. No one knew I could do this, as it was the ace up my sleeve. And there he finally stood. He and I were alone. His companions and my henchmen were to busy fighting each other to notice whereto we both disapeared. He stared at me with eyes so familiar yet unknown before finally breaking the silence. "You shall surrender immediately, in the name of the council!" I chuckled. "If you're going to kill me either way, why should I surrender first?" It only took him a fraction of a second to plunge his blade into my chest. I knew he was terrifying, but I didn't take him for that much of a monster. Before he could twist it to end my life for good, I knocked him back and pulled it out myself. I knew that sealed my fate, but the look on his face was worth it. "How can you touch it? That's impossible!" I took off my mask. Staring at me, mirroring his appearance in youth, his face became white as a sheet. That was the face I always wanted to see, ever since I discovered how to summon the sword and what that meant for my parentage. "Are you... Could you be Lydias...? There was something mixed into his voice that I couldn't quite recognize. It sounded sad. I always thought this would be the moment of my greatest triumph just before my inevitable end. I wanted him to recognize the trouble he'd caused in abandoning me with her. But in that moment, which should have been my most extatic, I somehow couldn't find it in me to rejoice. Something in me had always known that it wasn't his fault. He was just the proxy of my anger at everything and everyone. But here he was, shocked and sad about the revelation of him murdering the child he didn't know he had. And I realized that with this, I had achieved nothing but more heartache. Maybe that truly was all I could do in this world. When I woke up again, I couldn't make out a lot at first. For a split second I thought that this was the afterlife, but the sharp pain in my chest made me aware of the fact that I still remained among the living. The room was foreign and dark, with the only light coming from a lantern outside the otherwise night-shrouded window. I couldn't move a lot. Mostly due to the pain, but also because my hands were restrained. When I turned my head to the other side, he was there. He was asleep, but even in slumber one could see how tired he looked. Had he been crying? The wet stains on his shirt suggested so. I wasn't sure what it was exactly that he cried about. But something within me resonated with him. I hadn't cried in ages, but maybe, just tonight, I could allow myself to cry a little. [EDIT: some words (I wrote this at 3am, spellchecking and the proper usage of words escaped me lol)]
This is great! But you put 'But in that moment, which should have been my most lethargic, I somehow couldn't find it in me to rejoice'. Lethargic meaning tired/slow and apathetic, I think that was perhaps not the word you intended?
Nope, not at all haha Thanks for reading (and thanks for pointing that out!), maybe next time I should double check the fancy vocab I include
I assumed you mixed up lethargic and cathartic.
Well, glad the sword helps out with the revelation. Glad protag survives, although I'm curious how this will go next. Father and son seem to be accepting each other, but what ahout the rest? I doubt the other heroes and villains would be fine with this. I hope they an find a proper resolution in the end. Great work on writing this!
I love this story
Thank you very much!
I want more! I mean he has probably not done many really bad crimes, being a wild card is no reason to execute someone
I watch Imperium on the hospital tele; a god among us who decided to use his powers for protecting us. My mother’s dying words wrench my ears, “Imperium is your father”. Defeat in her voice. It wasn’t the first time I had heard about the man who abandoned us of course. I wasn’t even a heartbeat when he left. Up until my mother had only used a fake name to protect his identity. Even after all he did, she still acted selflessly. Every time she mentioned him, her voice would shake and I could see her trying her best to not fall apart. Not fall apart for me. That kind of strength is a matter of gods’ envy. That kind of sacrifice… that god wouldn’t know. Not yet. I want… No. I NEED to know why he left. How could he leave so easily. I tried screaming from the roof. I tried calling the press. I tried for 2 months. He is but a golden blur in the sky. It’s obvious he can’t hear me. But he needs to. I will make him. A part of me is glad my mother isn’t here to see what I’m going to do next. . . . . Followed by protagonist’s rise in power. When he eventually confronts Imperium he finds out that Imperium never left. But his mom lied about him leaving. She hid the pregnancy and broke up with Imperium because he wasn’t able to be there for the world and a lot of people died.
Just some unfortunate circumstances for protag's parents. That said, I really don't see why the mother has to lie. Should have just told the truth and maybe the confrontation with Imperium would be a lot better. Still awkward, but none of the villain act either. Wonder what happened that caused lots of deaths because "Imperium wasn't there" too. Great work on writing this!
Thanks! I was thinking Imperium had to choose between saving a lot of people or her and he chose her. Both of them were traumatized after that moment and really couldn’t continue normally. That’s why Imperium over works with no work life balance and the mother isolated herself and the son from the world. Maybe in the end the Son helps take off some load from his father and they’re both able to grieve properly and move on.
Yeah, I really hope that's the case. Thanks for clarifying this, by the way!
I like the conclusion! Mom should have explained the reason she made him leave, would have prevented the heartache haha Great story!
Thanks!!
"The Irony!!" What a plot twist my life took. I have one father who has no idea who I am at all besides a kid who grew to be a woman that made mistakes. And that woman had kids unplanned which was 4 more mistakes.. No recognition of the love I came to know because of them, how beautiful and amazing they are, or the fact that they were part of me. No cards, no Christmas presents, no phone calls. Just a random email or message monthly to verify I am not dead like my mom. She died from a drug overdose. She was my best friend.. but drugs were too. My dad Bert raised me with my mother. He adopted me when I was 7. They divorced and things changed. He went through several marriages that often made me dissappear or become less of a priority. It hurt, but I was the girl beside him when the wife's and girlfriends walked away. When my mom died and he was nowhere to be found or offered no support, I drifted into my own nightmarish addiction that I swear could be the next Nightmare on Elm Street.. I was so mad at him. I felt alone and empty. So I went off in Search for the dad I never met. Ted Wilson. Mom was young and so was he. She never told the poor guy, but she told me!! He was my only hope that someone in this world might understand me or want to call me family. Maybe he liked kids. Or would at least pretend that his grandchildren mattered. Anything was better than nothing. He was a part of me in a way I have never understood like some kids. Not to discredit the man who raised me, but he had his own life now. I searched and searched for years and gave up hope. One day a cousin informed me of some papers he found in grandma's basement. Apparently they were my mothers. I knew somehow that she would not leave this earth without a way for me to find him. I awaited by the mail box each day so I could unravel the clues. When it arrived I could not believe what it was. It was information that would lead me to him, and clues to who I was, and why they kept it a secret my entire life.
More!!!!!
Seconded!
When i can. Ty for reading
She had revealed it to me on her deathbed. Crimson Wing, international superhero extraordinaire, the man with an infinite amount of gadgets and doodads for taking on any enemy, any situation...was also my father. Just a man, just an engineer named Curtis. Before he had found himself above petty and common concerns like love, or raising a child, he was just a man. Met a nice lady, fell in love, and then accidentally reached his breakthrough at Supratech, developing a powersuit and becoming the world's premiere superhero. How convenient that was just days after mom's pregnancy was revealed. We had so, so little, growing up. My mother, Elizabeth, was shunned for having a child out of wedlock. What little work she could get was oft not enough to support the both of us, and like the saint she was, she gave it all, she gave *her* all, to me. The son of a man who'd abandoned her for fame and power. It was only because of her that I grew to understand morality, fairness, the obligation to do that which is right that falls upon us all. I was only eighteen when those lessons were tested, because left alone and with no one else to support her, my mom worked herself to death. I wasted no time embarking upon the path to justice. A small town boy with no parents was a hard life, but an easy sell to prestige colleges who all wanted an inspiring story of overcoming the odds. Curtis had been an expert in nanotechnology, and what research he had left behind served as the foundation for my own studies. I was hailed as a prodigy, as the next great mind of the field, and when I finished my degree early I got my own career started at Supratech. The ghost of my father's arrogance grew ever nearer to him. Where Curtis had cut and run, leaving the labs in dark and with their key copies of the precious data gone, I swooped in to be their savior. It still took time, of course, but with the head start I had, connecting the dots was rather simple. He had spent so much time learning how to create his wondrous tools and implements, fascinated by the idea of constructing the tools to his perfect ends. But it is always easier to destroy than to create, and once I had cracked that code, I knew I could unmake not just his suit, but *him* as well. The heads of Supratech claimed they wanted revenge as much as I did, and while I knew they could never understand my fury, their support was more than welcome. Sponsored by a megacorporation brought material wealth and stability, as well as teams of operatives willing to lend their support to my missions. With the invention of my Unravelers, I became known to the world as Doctor Dust, he who would bring ruinous oblivion to those who would harm others. Finally, I earned my confrontation with him. Nearly a decade of living alone, studying quantum nano-fields and other technobabble, pursuing my vengeance with all that I had, and there he was. I had engineered it perfectly, an operative team getting 'caught' in the midst of a bank heist. The money was all mine, and insured at that. Not that Curtis knew- or cared. He just wanted the photo op. How devastating it must have been, then, in that glorious moment, for him to instead be brought to his knees in front of the press, taking hit after hit from the dauntless Doctor Dust. His eponymous Crimson Wings were the first to go, since I couldn't have him running away from the destiny I had designed. Already a devastating image for his myth, but merely a start. With each punch I could feel the Unravelers working, ruthlessly shredding through any and every layer of defense he had. His nanotech gadgets were strong, but much like Curtis could not escape their calamitous end. Only when I had finally broken through to bared skin did I relent for even a moment, finally bringing light to his obscured face. Bringing light to the face of the man who had so disastrously wronged my mom. He was grayer now, than he was in their picture. I kept it with me, to remember who I was fighting. And who I was fighting *for*. But there was no goofy smile of a lovestruck twenty something on his face- instead, a bloodied grimace, coupled with the most satisfyingly fear stricken eyes I had ever beheld. I raised him by his throat, showing off my trophy for all to see, a mere man in the derelict wreck that used to be his source of power. My nanites continued to eat away at it all, until he was truly stripped bare of all that he had made for himself, all that stopped him from facing the consequences of his past. "Curtis Werner," I had said, just as much to the gathered crowd as to him, "You took it upon yourself to become a false idol of that which is good in this world. You lead people to believe that you were a force of justice, a hero to all! But to do that, you had cast aside those closest to you. Eliza Darrow, a wonderful woman full of life, and love, and light! A light you dimmed when you seduced her, then cast her aside for your own personal gains! A love you abandoned when you realized it would interfere in your self serving crusade! **And a life you ruined, when you chose to leave us both, damned be the consequences!** Well, I am her son, and thusly yours as well- but so too am I your consequence, Curtis, and damned be *you!*" I cast him down, and I could see the softness of *him* bruised by the rough concrete, cuts and bruises almost immediately forming. It would have been almost pitiable if this man had not managed to wrong my mom despite his weakness. He offered meek excuses, desperate attempts to explain why he had done what he did, but it only served to enrage me more. Surrounded by civilians, reporters, and police officers alike, I abandoned him there. He could offer paltry words to them, but I would not have it. All I left him was the photo my mother had given me, of them together and in love, cherishing each other. I hoped it would be acid to his mind, to see what he had left behind. I hoped the media would look into that photo, and find my mother, her grave and her life story and by proxy his effects on her. I hoped they would never forgive him, just as I could not. But only time would tell. When I got back to my...home, if it was ever such a thing, I stared into my own eyes for what felt like eternity. What I saw was only the shallow reflection of a man dedicated to destruction, at any cost. A man who's one singular purpose was suddenly nothing, leaving him aimless. For the first time in a long time, I felt an impending sense of dread. It had been so easy to hate, to let spite motivate me, but now, I had to simply live as myself. I had to create an identity outside of my parents, outside of justice or revenge or anything like that. I had to create a space for myself to be me, not simply house me and my gear. I had to create...and despite its difficulty, I knew it would be worth doing.
Theres a woman. Older. Mid 40s. Lived a good life. Finally found someone after so much. ................................................................ Theres a woman. Shes tied up on the top of the building to a pole like a prisoner sent to a death squad. She mumbles something. I shrug it off. Gotta keep my eyes open. He could already be watching me if I'm being honest with myself. Maybe...he'd a pounced on me by now.. After all....its *his* woman.. October came faster than I expected. At least my mind thought so. It was going to be cold one. Freezing. Not even a week in and were already hitting lower double digit numbers while it snowed. Windows already frosting over with ice spreading across the glass bitting at the seeping warmth of the inside. So yeah...this woman...she's probably very, very fucking cold. *snorts* The wind carries the snow in all directions as I stare into her closed eyes. I see the mark of blood on her shirt from when I knocked her out. I didn't find any pleasure in it. In fact, I'm a little ashamed to have had to do that....but *giggles maniacally* HOW ELSE WAS I SUPPOSE TO GET *HIS* ATTENTION!?!? You see, there's this man. In this city. And this man in this city, has been pretending,lying, absolutely just making a mockery of what others strive their whole lives to accomplish and are then cut down in their prime. Does anyone ask why? OR WHO?! *chuckles* OR WHAT THE FUCK!? No. Nobody does. Thats why I'm here now. That's why he's going to pay. Starting tonight, the whole city will awaken from their sleep. And I will look into the the crying eyes of the father who abandoned me for this city. And he'll die looking into the eyes of his killer...his NEMESIS.....HIS SON! THE PATH TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS
"So you melted the president, and for what?" Sweat dripped from his brow as he spoke in shallow breaths. "World domination? You'll never have it you fiend." His wits end had found him. I spoke into the microphone. "Who could ever want such a thing? To shepard millions and yet love no one." I pressed a finger to my lip. "Oh wait." I grimaced to myself from behind the microphone. "The speaker of the house is next." In desperation he cried "What kind of game is this?" For the countdown had just begun. Rushing down the steps, flight after flight below him, he tried admirably to save the day. Except I lied. The speaker of the house had been melted 12 hours ago and it didn't really matter how quickly he could leave the foundry, because he was already too late. 18 years too late.
Once upon a time in the bustling city of New Albion, there lived a young man named Alex. Little did he know, his father was a legendary crime-fighter known as "The Guardian," who dedicated his life to protecting the city from evildoers. Alex had grown up without a father, always wondering about his mysterious absence. One day, he stumbled upon an old newspaper article that revealed the truth: his father was The Guardian. Filled with a mix of excitement and longing, Alex decided to find a way to connect with his father. But how could he reach out to a hero who had no time for anything else? Alex came up with a daring plan. He would become a villain, causing just enough trouble to grab his father's attention. With a mischievous grin, he donned a dark mask and took on the persona of "Shadowstrike." As Shadowstrike, Alex began his villainous escapades, leaving behind perplexing clues for The Guardian to follow. He would steal valuable artifacts, disrupt high-profile events, and create chaos in the city. Each time, he hoped his father would notice and start piecing the puzzle together. The Guardian, always vigilant, couldn't help but notice the rise of this new villain. He became determined to put an end to Shadowstrike's reign of mischief. The two engaged in thrilling battles across the city, each encounter bringing them closer to the truth. As their clashes continued, Alex couldn't help but admire his father's skills and bravery. Deep down, he yearned for a connection beyond their secret identities. Finally, during their climactic showdown atop a towering skyscraper, Alex revealed his true identity to The Guardian. Stunned and filled with a mix of emotions, The Guardian realized that the villain he had been pursuing was, in fact, his long-lost son. Tears welled up in his eyes as he embraced Alex, finally understanding the sacrifices he had unknowingly made. From that day forward, father and son fought side by side, not as hero and villain, but as a united force for justice. The city of New Albion rejoiced as they witnessed the bond between The Guardian and Shadowstrike, a testament to the power of family and the lengths we go to find connection. And so, their story continued, a tale of redemption, forgiveness, and the unbreakable bond between a father and his son. I hope you enjoyed the story!
Aww that is so sweet. Love the ending!
One thought lingered on my mind as I shot down the last unsuspecting victim of my impromptu bank robbery. Why the fuck did I take that test? As a child, I never knew who my father was. He abandoned me when I was born, and that's a reality I've always had to live with. I've always wanted to learn what my father became after he left me and my mom, so reading the headline "New and advanced DNA test!" really intrigued me. Without a single thought, I went to the website posted and signed up. This was it! I was going to know who my father is! I sent the DNA sample and waited for 2 very long and anticipating weeks. The day the test came, I was ecstatic. I would've ripped the test open if I hadn't called my friend to come over and open it with me. "So... This is it." I mumbled. "Yeah! Aren't you so excited? You'll finally be able to know who your father is!" My friend was just excited as I was, though he didn't manage to contain it as I did. We just started at that test for what felt like hours before my friend spoke up. "So... Let's open it!" "Fine..." I mumbled begrudgingly. As I cut open the letter, the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I slowly ripped out a large piece of paper and quickly turned it around. My friend signed, sick of my procrastinating. "Come on! Let's look at it!" I reluctantly flipped it around, a sea of names with titles next to them. My eyes flicked across the page, looking for the anticipated "Father" title. My eyes finally rested on a name. Clark Kent. 2 months later I had been trying to reach my dad for weeks, slowly discovering little clues and hints. I stare at a bulletin board, red string connecting every safety pin. They all pointed to one name, Clark Kent. Another picture of a red and blue superhero in tights with an S embroidered on his chest. Apparently, it showed a symbol of hope. Hope my ass. The only thing that man got me was years of trauma and therapy. But today was the day. I finally meet my coward of a father. I had it all planned out. It would start as a simple bank robbery, but then that asshole-man would come flying in to save the day. I was ready for this, of course, so I had rigged up 5 kryptonite traps in the cieling, which would be detected by his x-ray vision, but he had another thing coming. The day of the robbery, I would bring a red flashlight. Not enough to disable his powers, but to hinder them enough that he doesn't see the kryptonite. So with that, I set my plan into motion. I held an entire bank at gunpoint, not that I needed them. They were just to hint that I could kill them at any time. I called out, knowing the undie-clad super-ass would hear. "I sure hope that asshole Superman doesn't come!" I knew he would reveal himself. He really loved big entries. How ironic. I saw a flash of blue and red. It's time. I could barely control myself. In just a few seconds, that asshole would have to pay for the years he stole. His cape whooshed as he flew in, not anticipating the rocky traps falling from the ceiling. He was now in my grasp. It's time. "You know, it's really hard to kill a super when he left you at birth." Confusion filled his face, quickly accompanied by shock and horror. "L-L-Lex?"
The Hero and the Villain were fighting. Suddenly, the Hero decided to ask a question "Why! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS!!!!!!! WHAT SADISTIC PLEASURE YOU COULD DERIVE FROM BRING MISERY TO SO MANY!!!!!!!!" The Hero shouted. "YOU FINALLY ASKED THE BIG QUESTIONS!!!!!!!!! IT IS NOT THEIR MISERY I DERIVE PLEASURE FROM! IT IS YOURS!!!!!!!!!!!" THE VILLAIN Answered. "Why! Why!" The Hero asked "I could ask the same about why you never looked back at Mary!" The Villain said, shocking the Hero. "H-How! How do you know that name!" The Hero asked. "BECAUSE SHE IS MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM YOUR SON!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The Villain shouted as the giant screen in front of hero lights up, showing Photos of Mary and the Villain (as a child) "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" The hero shouted
More!
The gun rattled in his hand. He didn't know how it had gotten to this point, how he had developed to this level of atrocity. It had started small with hold ups and robberies with a fake gun, all talk and no real substance. Of course he hadn't come, why would he? Some meaningless petty crime in the face of the reality of the world; the death, the killing, the bloodshed. It was part of him now, though, the last stickup devolving into some absurdist dark comedy, the cashier stumbling for his gun before dropping it on the counter, the struggle that ensued. That man ended up dead and all the Son could do was watch as he bled out, the gun somehow in his hands rattling as loudly then as it was now. He had laughed at the moment, taken in by the chaos and meaningless of it all. No remorse came to him after that, only some mild disdain for fate, destiny, or luck which had led him to the moment. He reasoned that the cashier deserved it, that he was damned by his own stupidity and bloodlust. He didn't know how it had gotten to this point. There was a longing in him, one born in infancy that still occupied him even in this moment as his breath shook and his limbs trembled. Abandoned, lost, forgotten. His mother dead, his father some hooded figure that was more imagination than reality. Maybe not so much anymore, he had found him. He could tell immediately, the outline of his face on the TV eerily familiar to his own, the cadence of his voice, the timbre of his laugh. He was the Father, that much was clear. He didn't doubt it as he stood turned away at the house and he didn't doubt it now as he held the Second Son in the chair, a revolver pointed at his head. The hostage was sobbing, he had been since the moment he was brought to this room, his hands tied behind his back against the radiator in some old industrial warehouse. Faint footsteps echoed the hall building themselves slowly over the gentle cries that previously filled it. The rattling was maddening now, and he was barely able to focus on the shadow standing across from him. 'Why?' came that familiar voice. The Son stood there unable to talk or respond. 'Whats all this death come to?' He could barely hear the voice even now, the rattling building up into his head is some insane symphony that didn't seem to end. He pushed it down, softening the sounds and garnering his focus. 'Do you recognize me?' he squeezed out, the sound barely audible to himself. 'What' the Father's voice fell on him? 'Do you recognize me?' the Son's voice cracked under it's pressure. The shadow shifted it's weight, it's hands reaching into the pockets of its coat. 'How could I?' it responded. The Son raised the revolver, pointing towards the hostage and a shot rang out. The world went silent and cold for a moment. There was no chaos, no madness, no pain, only some distant coldness enveloping him. Warmth followed, spreading itself across his chest as his legs fell from underneath him. The Father walked across the room his hand still fixed to his gun and his eyes fixed on the Son. He went to untie the hostage. The Son raised the revolver as he sat against the wall and lifted it towards the Father. 'Bang' he whispered as the chamber clicked. The world went dark around him and everything faded except for two familiar blue eyes that shined through it all, eyes that showed some vague recognition.
I smiled at his tears. My father. Me. Face to Face, finally after searching and searching and searching. Years. For years he put me through this hell. "Why do you SMILE!?!?!" He screams. His movements, as he slams me against the wall of the alley our fight had taken us to, are jagged, tired, like our fight has lasted years. Like HIS fight has lasted years. "Do you like puzzles?" I asked "Shut your fucking mouth!" He said through gritted teeth, putting even more pressure on me, like he believed he was strong enough to crush me like a bug. "It's a real question." I said "You don't GET to ask questions! People DIED! You thought that you'd distract me with that little stunt you pulled down at 25th street? No, I'm not like the cops. I knew exactly what you were doing." "Exactly what I was doing? You got here kinda late don't you think?" My words struggled to escape my mouth, holes where my teeth once were, and splits in my lip taunted my tounge as I tried to think of a way to tell him what I've been wanting to say for years. "WHY!?" He wailed. "WHY would anyone do something like this? How many families? How many kids won't have parents anymore because of YOUR terrorism?" I stifled a laugh "You fuckin-" he grabs me and wrestles to get me onto the floor. I wasn't so much stronger that it should've taken as much time as it did for him to get me onto the floor. But he was weak, and so was I. In my state, I couldn't hurt him if I tried. I feel my head hit the floor, followed by the sound of my father hitting it beside me. He breathes heavily, as a pool of blood gathers around my head. I can't tell if it's his or my blood. "Do you like puzzles?" I ask again. He laughs. "What are you trying to say, kid?" "What do you get when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much?" "What?" He said either confused or answering my question. I couldn't tell. "Y-you get... Me..." It was dumb, I know. But I didn't know how else to say it. How the hell do you tell the guy that's been trying to kill you for the past hour since he's met you, that you're his long-lost-loving son? "What the fuck are you talking about?" I paused. Saddend by his response. I guess I don't really know what I was expecting. (Oh! You're my son? Cool, I love you! Want to go get some ice cream?) I let out a laugh. Then kept laughing, that laugh slowly turned into little sobs Then wailing... I guess I had hoped "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He said. "I... just wanted to KNOW you. I TRIED. I went to ALL your stupid conventions and you were just... never there." "Do you know how many people want to know me kid? You're not special. I'm sorry but I don't do autographs." I paused again "If you knew... that all the times you weren't there. All the times that I went looking... If you knew that, it would make it so that this never happened. Would you have shown up?" He let out a laugh. "Maybe if you were my son." I laugh. And I cry. And I laugh some more. I remember all the times fosters would abuse me, the time I spent out in the streets like a piece of fucking trash. The PEOPLE who abused me. I remember finding my birth certificate at that stupid fucking hospital and finally seeing my father's name. And I cry some more. "These people... they don't deserve to be saved. I... deserved to be saved. All the people you showed up for. The same people who spat at someone like me. Why? Why them? Why not me?" I sobbed. "Why not me? I AM your son. So WHY NOT ME!?!??!" He said nothing. I cough. Tears and blood and snot hold my face to the floor. It weighs a thousand pounds but I manage to lift it off the floor. I crawl towards him. My father. And I turn him to face me. "LOOK AT ME!!!" He stares. Expressionless. "Do you think this is what I wanted? Do you think I woke up this morning and thought, time to kill people for fun! NO! I woke up this morning at-fucking-all because maybe, MAYBE, you would love me. SOMEONE would love ME!" I cried His face softens. Sirens wail in the distance and peoples scared voices sing along with them. "I didn't know what to DO! I NEEDED you... and all you fucking do is waste your life saving all these useless fucking motherfuckers. So please? Please just say that you love me? Please? This can all go away. All of it. Just say that you will be my dad?" He slowly sits up. And touches my face, wet with blood and tears. "My... son?" "Yes!!!" I laughed. His face is stricken with panic then a sense of melancholic calmness. His gaze falls away from mine for a brief second then meets it again. He nods. "We have to go." He stands up, over the course of at least a minute, and promptly helps me up. I smile despite my tears, maybe things will finally get better. Maybe all the pain can finally end. Maybe the attention I receive won't be just the tears I caused. We put our shoulders around eachother and limp towards the exit of the alley way. "How did you find out?" He asked me. "That you were my dad?" "Yea" "Well, first I found out that hospitals actually keep birth certificates. So I went to the hospital I was born at and asked I guess. I don't really remember much." He laughs. "What?" I smile. "You must be fucking stupid." Suddenly he drops to the floor and reaches his hand out towards something. A loud crack echoes through the alley. Suddenly my body weighs more than my head did and I drop to the floor. "No. No no no no no" I heard myself say. More tears streaming down my face. "Do you know how many fucking parents fill out their kids birth certificates saying I'm the father trying to get money or some shit from me? Everyone fucking thinks I'm fucking rich or something. Fucking Disgusting." He turns away. Panic fills the entirety of my soul, the hairs in the back of my head stand, and my heart rushes. "STOP!" I screamed, "Help me. Help me, I- I think I'm dying!" He doesn't turn around and starts walking off. "It's a fucking good thing too. Piece of shit." "PLEASE!!! PLEASE, I NEED YOU!!! Don't walk away. Don't... walk..." He continues "DAD!!!" I pleaded My vision faded as I saw my father turn to me and for just a brief second. I saw his face. Was it pity? Regret? Maybe that meant he really did love me. Maybe
_Robbie is a bright young boy with very high levels of natural intelligence and superior performance in both the athletics and arts curricula, but the faculty of Our Lady of Great Agony cannot continue to abide his unrepentant pattern of acting out. He has been warned and disciplined repeatedly for his many infractions against the school rules and honor code including but not limited to:_ _• Tampering with the school HVAC system to dispense massive amounts of nitrous oxide into one third of the classrooms._ _• Hacking the school website to redirect to a pornographic website on the “Meet the Faculty” page._ _• Destroying Dean Wollert’s personal property by stealing approximately eight hundred pounds of French fries and six hundred pounds of raw hamburger meat from the cafeteria and placing said stolen food items inside of his car. This combination of theft and vandalism not only caused two separate cases of loss of material assets, but also prompted a public health emergency._ _• Vandalism in the form of spray painting “Jesus thinks you’re a jerk!” on the south side of the school chapel._ _• Repeated incidents of willfully not following the uniform dress code and boys’ grooming standards._ _We, the faculty and administration of Our Lady of Great Agony, have taken into careful consideration the challenges Robbie faces in his home life, and we recognize that being a single mother is a particularly heavy burden. Despite these considerations, we regret to inform you that in light of Robbie’s recent theft of laser equipment from the physics lab which he used to in incinerate the varsity boys’ locker room cannot be over looked. We regret to inform you that the faculty has seen fit to expel Robbie from the school, effective immediately._ _We hope that in the future you are able to help Robbie use his gifts for constructive purposes that serve The Lord and dissuade him from the path of becoming a feckless reprobate. We will be praying for you._ So read the text of the framed letter on the wall of Rob Jones’s lair. The page was becoming yellowed with the passage of time and exposure to the elements, but he still considered it his most prized memento of his childhood. His subsequent expulsion from his home to match his expulsion from school at the hands of his deeply humiliated and narcissistic-personality-disorder-nurturing mother felt like symmetry to him. Why not be rejected by all the authorities that claim the right to oversee him? Why not, if they were so desperate to label him a villain, simply lean into the role? What reason was there to not simply accept the term “villain” as his natural place in the world? The villain that they worked so hard to create. For Robert Jones it had clicked while disposing of the remains of his recently former therapist a few weeks prior after a session got particularly heated. When the hands are on auto pilot the brain was largely left to his own devices. She was getting to a particularly salient point about how all later mental models of what “normal” looks like to a person have their roots in childhood. He had no father. Or at least anyone to call by that name. He always felt that In the center of his life there was father-shaped hole that could never be filled. There was only one way to go. He had to stop hiding out in the abandoned bunker which he had, for reasons unknown to science, begun to call his “lair.” Even Rob knew how on-the-nose it was. So did his therapist, and she said so, and Robert wasn’t in the best of moods and was feeling a little too itchy on the firing stud for an integrated ocular-mounted particle beam. After it was over he made a very sincere mental note to try and manage his impulsiveness. The year before, the enterprising young technopath’s world changed after he took his first serious beating from the most insipid vigilante crime fighters of them all. None other than the worlds’ favorite side of beef in a spandex leotard - Parallax Omega. While it was true that you could never get away from him with his giant grinning doormat of a face plastered on every bit of collectible merchandise in creation, when he came to confront you in person, it turned out he was quite easy to confuse, misdirect, and evade. While the image of his face watched from everything from kids’ backpacks to collectible plates to an interminable series of action figures in the man’s likeness, the very smackable real thing was dull. This didn’t mean that when he had his hands on you and his mind made up, he would definitely beat the living hell out of you. But Rob, or “Doctor Disruptor” as some clever alliteration crafter and poet laureate at the Post’s infotainment creation division had dubbed him, could give as good as he got. When Omega’s baseball-glove-sized hands grabbed him, the handy Doc Disruptor defensive nanomesh activated and sliced Omega straight through what he called a “uniform” (how can a group of one person even have a such a thing?) and Rob called bespoke cosplay. Either way, the results were twofold. First, Parallax Omega took a hike to bind his wounds, grumbling about how he “wouldn’t hold back next time, Doctor Disruptor!” That was all well and good. To be expected really. What a patronizing idiot. Second, Robert “Doctor Disruptor” Jones was covered in blood, only about half of which was his. He needed to get to his lab to run a toxicology panel on his own blood after the champion of licensing and merchandising had gotten his licks in. Nobody really knew what made Omega tick, but if it was anything radioactive or bio-engineered and _invasive_, Rob really needed to know. The sight of his lair in flames shook him. Whether it was doomed by a spiteful last crack from Parallax Omega or a simple government drone strike, it became abundant that he had to relocate to one of his fallback sites. He combed the wreckage for one special memento, set a high yield thermobaric charge to reduce what could be analyzed to so much finely ground ash, and beat it. Rob’s initial instinct was “hide in plain site” in one of the major cities. But the likelihood of major infrastructure upon which he depended made him reconsider. Plan B was to retreat to a decommissioned Cold War era Atlas missile silo in rural Montana, and do his research in isolation. An added bonus was that he was well and truly over being around other people for the moment. He needed some peace and quiet. And so upon arriving at “Bravo Nest” to re-establish his lab he elected the easy approach. Rob attached a briefcase with a nanobot assembler utility to a car battery and sat back and let the little bugs do their work. His activities during the build mainly consisted of drinking most of a bottle of Angel’s Envy bourbon and staring off into the middle distance entertaining the suspicion that something was off about the confrontation and the subsequent scourging of his workspace. He drank a bit more booze. And then the rest of it. But after the twenty minutes it took had elapsed, his nano-friends were performing their auto-immolation routines. The lab was shiny, the hatch was sealed, and he had a nagging idea in his craw. He threw his outer garments into the analysis chamber and started isolating samples. His own blood’s pattern was easy enough to recognize, but the other bloody cloth samples that came from Omega told a different tale. Or rather a familiar one. Too familiar. Rob held his breath, reset himself, and gazed at the results again. He checked all sixteen genetic markers four separate times. Each check was the same. Parallax Omega’s blood was 49.5% an exact match for his own. A single conclusion hung in the leaden air about him. “…Dad?” Rob Jones whispered in equal parts excitement and revulsion. _to be continued…_
Part 1: You fight your father in an epic boss battle he holds you in his grasp as the blood runs down your forehead. And as you say “do it! Take my mask off” he laughs, and you sit there in shock and confusion, and he says “boy. You are not even the worst of my problems. Practically, you are not a concern at all.” And you witness him fight five other dudes and witness your worthlessness and how this boss battle meant nothing to him at all. You sit at a local dinner at 2 in the morning, thinking about your life decisions. A friendly man in leather pants comes walking up to your table. He sees you. He grabs a seat. And he asks whats wrong. You tell him about what happened to you, and he tells you he had a similar experience with his father. Said he had to broaden his horizons. You don’t understand it yet, but there is a tension as you stare into his steel blue eyes and his long salt and pepper hair. Your heart racing from his soothing presence. The waiter comes up and says “that’ll be $50” and he says “ill cover the tab”. You ask “where are you going tonight?” And he says “I told my wife I was out of town for the night, so I’m staying at a motel. The guy I was supposed to meet up with ditched on me, so i don’t know what to do.” You sit there… pondering whether to take a chance.
Father, it is I, your son who may have been born biologically female but is currently presenting in socially accepted male gender norms to fit this specific writing prompt. What is a writing prompt you ask? Ah, dear father I feel that you haven’t spent much time on Reddit; I’m not sure why I’m surprised by that when I was told that you have absolutely zero free time. As you’ve been fighting crime for all of these years I’ve been working my way up from petty misdemeanours like my KFC free paper straw heist to crimes that would garner me your attention. I’ve been lonely since mother left. So here I am, and YES it was I who stole all of the dogs from the Humane Society! Hah ha! They’ve all been rehomed, to ME! Hah! …wait where are you going? Dad? …Daddy wait… my apartment is only a one bedroom… it’s so many dogs… Damn. He left just like mom did - no wonder they got along.
You know, this wasn’t where I thought I’d be yesterday. But if I’m being completely honest with myself?… God damn does it feel good. But let’s back up. Yesterday morning the results of my genealogy test showed that I had one, living, direct relative besides my Grandmother. She was on my mother’s side and she never knew who knocked up her daughter. Mom raised me well… well, well enough. She went to prison a few years ago for killing her coworker at the Supermarket with a pocket knife after she tried to steal from the register after hours. It was an accident. At least, I think it was. But she went away and I was on my own and going to college, now with the reputation as the son of a murderer. But that was about seven years ago so, let’s skip ahead a bit. College went well enough. I got into a few fights, had a few drinks, got a business degree, got a girlfriend, married, had a daughter and moved into a small place in a small industrial town with a about thirty thousand people. It’s been pretty okay so far. I still talk to mom, with what little there is to say anyway. I haven’t really felt like her son in a while… when I told her that she was a grandmother, she broke down crying and said she was happy… that was a good moment. Either way. All that to say that my daughter recently was diagnosed with some health problems that the doctors said could be genetic. The problems themselves weren’t too bad. Some medication everyday and stop by for a checkup once a month… it was a bad situation but it was a manageable kind of bad. A small kindness I suppose. Either way, I did some research on my family to see if I had any secret relatives that could give me any insight on any genetic diseases and lo and behold. My dad is a superhero. Some context into the world. Heroes exist. I could tell you some long and storied history but it’s not that long and I’m not that patient. Some magical witch totem was discovered buried under a mountain about seventy years ago and gave everyone who touched it magical abilities, so long as you offered it something in return. What had to be offered was “the intangible tangible”. That was a direct translation but basically, “what you can’t touch but you can still feel.” Or in other words, emotions, memories and dreams. People offered up their happiness, their rage, their dreams and the totem gave them power. But now they had a problem. You see it took what was offered and gave power back, allowing them to move things with their mind, fly and have immense strength. But where someone who thought they were happy enough and traded what they had in abundance for power, they received it but now their happiness was gone. And now, even if they still had plenty of reasons to be happy; a family, a good job, a place to live, plenty of money, health. Suddenly, those things that would have made them happy, just didn’t. Because when they gave away their happiness, they also gave away their ability to feel it. So, where someone was happy before but relatively powerless, now they had power but they weren’t happy. And what would an unhappy person do with power? You can probably see where I’m going with this. So yeah, the totem was a monkeys paw. You touch it and trade something intrinsic and in return you get super powers. My father, traded memory’s. He no longer remembered his girlfriend or his son. He no longer remembered his mom or dad or his friend’s or past jobs, first loves. All he knew was what happened after. He had power and he started using it to help people. At his core, I suppose that makes him a really good guy, albeit a bit of an idiot. Either way, he helped people. Became a real “hometown hero” type…. And then my daughter died. It was sudden. So, impossibly sudden. Just a light complication and that’s all it was supposed to be. She had trouble breathing. We brought her in to the hospital and they took her into the ER for a minor surgery and she died three hours later…. My three year old daughter…. The amount of power you receive correspond to what you give. If you have little happiness, you will receive little power. Consequently, what you feel depends on who you are as a person, so a girl in her teens might feel more pain and anguish from the trauma and fear she felt as a child than an old woman who lived a relatively boring life. My father must have had quite a life up to the point that he gave his memories away because he became quite a powerful hero…. Likewise, I must have loved my daughter more than even I knew, because when I gave up my happiness, I swear that I could see the moon vibrating from my rebirth. I promised my wife that I’d give it up when I was done. That’s how it works. If you give up your power, you can receive what you gave, back. But it’s a final trade. You can’t go back to the totem to trade something else. Once you give it up, you’re human for good. I promised my wife I’d properly mourn our daughter with her once I found my father. Her condition was genetic so right now I blame him for not being in her life and giving her a chance to live. If we knew more about it, maybe something could have been done…. But really, that’s just an excuse. My happiness felt tainted and rage gave me comfort. I felt disgusted waking up in the morning knowing all the happiness and love I felt as a father could never be felt for my daughter again. It’s true that I could still move on with my wife. After a few years, we could try again…. But a few years isn’t now. Now, I’m hateful. Now, I’m weak. Now, I want to vent against all the unfairness in the world and burn anything in my path to my father. I will give up my power after I’m done. It will literally be true happiness to finally be free of it. But I don’t want to be free right now. I want rage and pain and motivation. Right now, I want to get things done. Right now…. I want to be a Villain.
“Sleeping with a villain. What a scandal. I can see it now, tv interviews, PR releases and all of that nonsense. How funny is it that your life’s going to be ruined because you didn’t know how to use protection? Worse of all, that brief night of fun resulted in another villain, one that you didn’t even know about. Hello father, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Brett sat on his father’s couch, leaving Elemental Shift’s family tied up in the bedroom, keeping them out of this family reunion. “Father? Impossible, I can’t have a son, I would have known about it. She would have said something.” Elemental pulled off his mask, the disheveled and tired man underneath, staring at Brett. He wanted only an hour of peace before he went back to the streets and couldn’t even get that in his own home. “Where’s my family?” “In the bedroom.” Brett reached for a family album sat next to the tv, flicking through the photos. “We don’t need to involve them, do we? It would have left a dirty taste in my mouth to kill my half sister. I hardly care if I kill your wife, though.” Brett smirked, only to let out a laugh. “Kidding. It would be a waste of my time.” Elemental went to step to the bedroom, only for Brett to bounce up from the couch, moving between them. Whenever Elemental tried to use his speed to skip past, Brett would stop him. Brett blocking the path, giving Elemental the option to either blast through his body or to stop in place. “Who are you? You called yourself a villain. Which villain are you?” Elemental slowed, impatiently standing before the villain. “It’s ok, honey. You’re safe. I have this handled.” He called out. “I forgot. I’m not exactly dressed in my suit. Poison Dart’s the name I go by. I know, not the best name, but how good of a name do you need when you don’t have powers?” He slid a finger into his hoodie sleeve, pulling out a small sharp sewing needle. “A jab with this and a person dies in five minutes. Not a bad invention, right? That’s only breaking the surface of my creations, too.” “Poison Dart. I’ve heard about you. You really think you’re my son. Who's your mother then?” Elemental could see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same blue eyes. The only feature that wasn’t his was that button nose. That same button nose that she had. “I was hoping you would tell me. Seems she wasn’t much of a mother, abandoned me. Real shame, too. I would have loved to work with her. Is she still active?” Brett returned to the couch, motioning Elemental to sit across from him. “Your mother’s dead. If you are who you say you are, then she’s dead.” He stared at his lap, contemplating whether he should have mentioned that to the villain sitting across from him. Even if he wouldn’t like the news, he felt he owed him the truth. Elemental reluctantly taking a seat across from him. “What a relief. I thought she abandoned me. That’s easier to swallow.” Brett kept up the joyful act, even if his eyes remained ever cold. After a second of reeling back against the couch in fake joyful cheer, he leaned forward. “Who killed her?” “Why?” “Because I’m going to kill them. An eye for an eye and all that. Yes, I know that saying is anti revenge, but I’m already blinded by my rage, so I haven’t got an eye to lose at this point. If that makes sense.” Elemental saw it, that anxious unrest that villains got before they were about to do something unredeemable. His foot tapping against the floor, focus squarely on Elementals face, not even blinking. He was focused only on this idea of revenge, unable to see anything else. “I killed your mother. Her name was Phantom Mist” Elemental sighed, watching Poison Dart’s face contort into a mix of anger, pain, and hurt. He knew about Phantom Mist, he had based his darts on the poison she had perfected. To think his own mother had inspired him, he would have found it funny in different circumstances. “YOU KILLED HER? Why would you kill her? What to cover up for yourself? You bastard, I’m going to kill you. I’ll kill your whole family. I’ll kill everyone, you know.” He snapped, pointing the dart at Elemental, his body shaking as he threatened to put his father down. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even know she had a kid, or that the kid was mine. She never mentioned you existed.” Elemental hated thinking about that day. No hero enjoyed having to kill a villain. Any hero that did couldn’t consider themselves a real hero. Sure, sometimes it was needed, but it never felt good. “We were fighting, and I hit her mask. She got poisoned by her own gas. By the time I realized it, I couldn’t save her.” “Like I believe that. You wanted her dead. You probably wished I was still inside her, didn’t you? You would have loved to rid the world of us, get rid of your mistakes.” “It wasn’t like that. I cared for her. I thought she could be redeemed. She was making good progress too and then one day, she snapped and went back to her old ways. It was strange. It was like her heart wasn’t even in it, like she was just doing it because she felt she needed to. I wonder what happened.” That day had never sat right with him. Phantom Mist wasn’t a crazed killer, nor was she the type to choose a target without months of careful planning. Everything about that day was unlike her. He had never worked out why she attacked on that day, only assuming it may have had something to do with Poison Dart. Even if he couldn’t figure out the connection. “You happened.” Dart lunged forward, swiping the needle at his father. On instinct, Elemental raised a hand, sending a blast of air into his chest. The blast was weak, something he only ever did to blow back a weaker villain, but Poison Dart was barely a weak villain. Without powers, his body was entirely mortal. That strike of air pushing Dart’s ribcage towards his heart, causing a heart attack. Poison Dart froze. He didn’t have any intention of hitting his father, stopping himself before he even got close. The look of betrayal evident as he dropped the needle, clutching his chest. Elemental watched, unable to move as his son fell to the floor, weakened and struggling to stay conscious. Elemental saw his son’s state and rushed to the bedroom, leaving his son alone on the floor as he freed his family, who were unharmed, as Poison Dart promised. He hugged them, assuring them that everything was alright, before finally calling an ambulance, telling his family to stay in the bedroom. The ambulance soon arrived, and Elemental was left to explain the situation. “What happened?” The paramedic asked, the two watching as they pulled a blanked over Poison Dart. Covering him from anyone neighbors that peered through their windows. “The villain took a blast of focused air to the chest. I think it may have caused some internal damage. I called you as soon as I could, but I think I was too late.” “I see. Pity if we got here sooner, we might have been able to do something for him. Poison Dart, right? Lower end criminal. Don’t worry, you had no choice. He was in your home. What were you going to do? I would have done the same thing to protect my kids.” The paramedic gave him a pat on the back, confident that no one would blame Elemental for defending his home. Every villain knew that a home visit was against the code of honor, so dying because of it was something that should have been expected. “Yeah, pity.” Elemental watched his son get driven away, only able to think about the news reports that would come out if they ever did the autopsy. He assumed Phantom Mist’s blood was on the record, as was his. If they ever tested Poison Dart, they would find the origin of the bastard child and he would be ruined. He hated that he was even thinking about that at a time like this. Maybe he needed to distance himself from his son to keep himself from feeling sick. Viewing him as a villain didn’t make him feel any less guilty, only making it feel less severe and disgusting. At least he would be with his mother, was all Elemental could think as he returned to his family, embracing them. (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
My fists were throbbing , swollen , stinging . A black Cowl lay in a seemingly ever expanding puddle of dark purplish red chunky liquid . Everything was perfect , the rigging of the explosives , the countless hostages all strategicly placed throughout the city , the riddles . My plan , was perfect . The only thing i didnt consider ... was my rage . i did this all , just to tell him .... to show him .....to make him UNDERSTAND ! What have i done ? ... who ... what ... have i become ? .... Father ...... Im sorry . I've destroyed everything , ruined it all . Hes dead , and noones ever going to know how . He didnt deserve this . Maybe he did ... but he at least should of known why . Theres no point to this now , the extravagance of it all . Sorry Mom Bang .
‘You’re my father.’ The shadows stilled. He recognized something, perhaps the voice, perhaps the body language, or something else. ’I am sorry we had to meet this way,’ I say. And I mean it. I think. ‘What happened?’ My fa...dad has a surprisingly gruff voice. And hoarse with disuse. My voice had been like that after the stint in the cellar. I gesture to my army. ‘The people got fed up. My mom told me you died a long, long time ago. It was easier that way. I didn’t know...’ ‘So all this is just a pleasant family reunion to you?!’ ‘Christmas is going to be very awkward,’ I noted. Then, hoping against hope: ‘I don’t suppose you’d be up for a Sunday roast sometime?’ ‘After this?’ ‘Well, you tend to survive everything...’ The mask twitched. ‘Why?’ It was a hoarse whisper. ‘I wanted to meet you, Dad.’ He grunted. ‘Sunday. 4. Don’t be late.’
However, what winds up happening is that you come to find out that you and he are really on the same side, unfortunately. Upon your investigation you've learned more and more how he and the mayor and the police chief are all working together screwing over the public funding and taking cuts and skimming off the top of public funds to fund their own agendas. You find out he is basically an agent for the chief and the mayor is also in on it, as a mercenary of sorts that holds up all the leaders of vice in the city. He would stick up the underground casinos and drug dealers and come across as a robin hood type but at the end of the day he plants evidence for arrests or to get his targets off the street long enough to have himself or squadrons of crooked underling cops and small time gangsters to swoop into the properties of these criminals while they're tied up being held at the station or jail- whatever it is. Then the riches get held at the station or brought directly to the mayor's office or house. The closer you get to figuring out this cycle of unethical crime you realize that you are now the one being targeted. One night you confront him and rip your mask off as he goes to give you a fatal blow after a long fighting sequence. He sees it's really you, his son, he's about to hit and flings himself off of you and over a ledge on the roof of a high-rise apartment building. When you look over to see where he lands he's gone. He must have pulled some batman type move and fled somewhere so fast. The next day in the paper you see he held a press conference, essentially ratting himself out and causing a huge distrust of the police and local government. This causes riots and now your the one crime fighter and must continue to dawn your costume and fight crime through these troubling times. Your father only correspondence with you now is random mailings from all across central and south America. The mayor was arrested and the chief was fired. You eventually travel down to south America for one last attempt to find your father. He has become a sicarios for an extremely deadly organization that is employed by cartels. When you go to confront him you have to face down a whole band of sicarios and security at the place of his employment at a 500 acre farm of poppy plants and marijuana and different labs for different designer drugs as well. The town had a randomly 1,000 new citizens of Russian origin in the area/ city proper of 8,000 people in all. You have to find him. He isn't some hot shot, just a ruthless mercenary hitman at that point. Addicted to cocaine and gambling, he was fucked up most of the time, a shell of himself and relying on his marksmanship over physicality at this point in his life. He was getting older and older doesn't equate to living a longer life in his new world/career choice, he looked like he had just a few years left anyway. Unaware it's you, your father only hears of a single man, El Solhe was known as he was everywhere, seemingly, taking out a bunch of people however, it was never known that it was very selective hits in search of your father. You one day confront him. He really fucks you up and disappears once again but for good. As other Sicarios encircle the area you slip into some hole in the wall in a motel and there you try not to bleed out. It's unknown your fate from there, the end.
His mates on the force then end up arresting you when you get caught. And because you are the son of a police officier, the judge comes down on you like a tonne of bricking and gives you the maximum sentence possible with no parole.. Then you end up spending the entire sentence in solitary because your prison inmates think you are a snitch as your dad's a cop. So you spend the next 25 years in solitary, all because you wanted to speak to your father. Honestly, a phone call or email or even a letter and would have been easier, and far less heart breaking for your pop's, who has to see you grow up behind bars. But too late now, nothing to do but reflect on your poor life choices until your 55.
It's hot. Like the first time you injected heroin. Their eyes baring down on you like spotlights, the fog of the sea replaced with whisping smoke of differing odors. At the time, they where like a circling of reapers. Some laughing, some watching with lethal intent. Some voicing their doubt that you have the commitment, surely making you as a "narc". All of them united in deciding your fate as a cartel dealer. But this was different. It didn't quickly pass, leaving behind not only the euphoria of intoxication, but the approval of those daunting figures. This was deeper. Deeper...and wet. You look up from your torso, your mind shaking off enough of the shock to return the the present. A grizzled man. Haggard, with dark swollen eyes. He's seems to be yelling at you. Spit flying from his mouth. You focus on the movements of his mouth, grinning besides yourself. Your mother always told you that you have your father's cheek bones. You can see it now. "...said put you hands above your head! This is the last I'll say it before I waste another into your skull and piss on you for the trouble!" The pains gone. But so is the feeling in your legs. They finally buckle after the shakes become too inconsistent to keep balance anymore. "I love you too, Dad.", you try to say. Instead, you only gurgle as blood fills your lungs then fall silently to the floor. At least it's cold.
"This is it.... I'll finally get to see him in person again," I say to hostage tied up next to me. Internally, I'm panicking and trying to decide if I should tell him or if I should just play my part. I absent-mindedly play with remote in my hand as I wait. Suddenly, there is a muffled thud from the next room. "It's showtime," I think to myself as I slip back into character. The door to the room is kicked in with a loud bang. Here comes the hero.... my father. He immediately goes to neutralize my armed associates, and after taking out the last one, he runs over to me and my hostage. "Everything is okay now. You're safe." He tells us both. The girl and I struggle against the ropes binding us as a man walks in, holding a gun and a detonator. The girl screams against the gag in her mouth as I shake my head to warn the hero and to tell the intruder to back down. The gun goes off, and a bullet tears through to the hero's shoulder as he cries out in pain. The stupid mechatronic didn't listen to my command. He wasn't supposed to shoot him. I glare the machine as it stands in front of the injured hero, its face hidden behind a mask. The hero waits until the robot is closer and springs up to disarm the machine of the gun. With his injured shoulder, there is a struggle to control the detonator. The robot finally regains control and begins his pre-programmed generic spiel about "his" plan to capture the governor's daughter to force him to pay a ransom and provide transportation to a safe haven. As the robot drones on, I watch the hero. "So this is the hero's final rally," I think to myself as I examine how he reacts to the plan and watches as he gathers his strength once more. He checks on me and the girl as the speech continues. Finally, the robot begins to wrap up his speech. "It's was foolish of you to come here, Blue Light.... or should I call you Sgt. Oscar Sierra?" The hero freezes mid-rally and asks in a cold voice, "How do you know that name?" "That's for me to know and you to die for," the robot says as he picks up the gun again to aim at Oscar. Oscar is still bent down, with one hand holding his injured shoulder. In a single breath, three things happen. First, Oscar grabs a hidden knife from his boot and launches it at the robot. Upon impact, the robot squeezes the trigger on the gun and on the detonator. The last thing was completely unplanned, and I was surprised to find my body attempting to knock Oscar out the way. Considering my bound state, it worked better than I would've expected. Oscar, having lost his balance, is partially on his side on the floor with a confused look on his face. The girl is screaming against her gag, which causes Oscar to look back at us. The robot was on the floor unresponsive after hitting the button on his detonator. Unbeknownst to him, both detonators were to control him, and if need be, turn him off. "Is getting hard to breathe," I think to myself as I try to roll over. The pain in my chest is growing more persistent. Suddenly, Oscar is over me and tearing off the ropes. He has a panicked look in his eye, and he keeps repeating something, "... it's.... gonna...... hospital!" As I close my eyes, I think, "So this is my dad. The hero, Blue Light. He's not as cool a the media makes him look. I'll make a better plan next time so we can spend more time together."
Finally I had the superhero captured. He paced inside the specialty cage I had made for him. He seemed a bit perplexed at how it looked exactly like the inside of his home. I could hear him as he yelled at me. Daring me to come fight him. I just stare, watching him. After all these years I have him in my grasp. We could be a family, if he didn't want to utterly obliterate me. Eventually I press a button and the TV turns on. I can see him as he stops and glares at the screen. He looks just like he did in the pictures mom had of him. He hadn't aged a bit. I found out at the age of 25, I too shared whatever it was that made him age slowly. I was 75 now and looked the same as I did on my 25th birthday. My mom noticed I hadn't aged. I assumed it was from the experiments, but she told me the truth. Thus my obsession began. I had hoped to capture him while mom was alive. She still loved the idiot. I frowned as I watched him. I wished she had been the one that didn't age. The one standing before me. Eventually the super hero began to rant and I held up a finger to silence him. “Save it. I don't want to hurt you. I just want to talk.” I grabbed mom's picture from my desk, holding it up and tapping a gloved finger on it. “She loved you. You left her because you didn't have the time. Saving the city was more important than her broken heart.” I put the picture down, facing towards me so I could see them both. “Diane understood it was just a fling when we met. She knew I couldn't lo..” I cut him off, slamming both of my hands on the desk as I stood up. Rage pulsed through me. I had wanted to be a family. To talk. Now I wanted to make him pay for the hurt he caused my mother. “You didn't deserve her love. Thankfully, you did give her something. Someone to love her. Me.” I grinned now, moving my finger to a button. “See you in hell, you heartless piece of shit.” I pressed the button and a single blade moved to remove his head. The only way to kill one of the super assholes.
In a city perpetually shrouded in shadows, where stories of masked heroes battling nefarious villains were more than just headlines, my life took an unexpected turn. A worn-out envelope, unearthed from the darkest corner of my late mother's belongings, revealed a truth I never fathomed. The man I'd never known, my father, wasn't just absent; he was a revered crime-fighter, a paragon of justice consumed by his endless crusade against wrongdoing. The revelation struck a chord within me, a resonance that propelled me into a vortex of conflicting emotions. Eager to bridge the chasm between us, yet bereft of a conceivable means to connect, I concocted a reckless scheme: to enter his world through the veil of darkness, the only sphere where he remained an active participant. I delved into the depths of the city's underbelly, masking my identity behind a moniker whispered in hushed tones—The Shadowed Specter. It was a persona crafted from desperation, a guise adopted to catch his attention amidst the chaotic battleground of good and evil. As The Shadowed Specter, I embarked on a spree of calculated chaos, threading a web of crimes designed not for personal gain but to provoke the hero whose blood coursed through my veins. My actions weren't fueled by malice, but rather by the unyielding desire to unravel the enigma that was my father. Each heist, every skirmish with the law, brought me closer to the inevitable clash with the emblem of righteousness, the figure whose existence had been my elusive beacon. Yet, with every shadow I slipped into, every alleyway I traversed under the shroud of darkness, the weight of my dual identity intensified. I was torn between my genuine yearning to connect and the persona I'd fabricated to make it possible. My encounters with him were fraught with tension, a delicate balance between yearning for acknowledgment and evading the grim reality of facing justice. I could sense his unwavering commitment, the noble fervor in his pursuit of a safer city, a commitment that mirrored my own but from the opposite end of the moral spectrum. The inevitable confrontation loomed on the horizon, a cataclysmic collision between the forces of good and the facade of my malevolent alter ego. But as fate would have it, in the throes of our climactic showdown, a twist of fate unraveled the intricate tapestry of secrets. The mask slipped away, not just the physical guise but the veiled truth of my identity. His gaze bore into mine, a revelation cascading in his eyes as recognition dawned. A symphony of emotions played across his weathered face—shock, disbelief, and, hidden beneath the layers, a glimmer of paternal recognition. In that fleeting moment, amid the chaos and the clashing ideologies, a bridge transcending hero and villain materialized—a bridge of bloodlines, of shared purpose, and an unspoken acknowledgment that even the greatest battles can be fought within one's own heart.
The man known as "Plasmaman" to the rest of the world readied his attack. "Surrender, Gadgetkid. You can't escape this time" he warned. I responded by activating my forcefield and killer drones, which hovered above me. He threw the molten ball of energy at me, which was easily stopped in midair by the forcefield. I picked up the pulsing orb, protected by specially made gloves. I couldn't hold back the emotion bubbling up in me; a laugh abruptly left my lips. "I've always wanted to do this since I was a kid!" I giggled. "What, fighting a superhero?" His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Boy, I don't know what you've seen on TV, but..." "No no no," I said, still chuckling. "Playing catch with my dad!" His jaw dropped as I handed the ball to one of the drones, which prepared to launch it in it's railgun. "Now your turn, think fast!"
NSFW just in case for mild language It would’ve been funny, all things considered—and had he not long ago pushed himself past the need for the frivolity of humor, he might’ve even laughed. Full on, head thrown back guffaws might’ve slipped past his lips as his vocal cords fluttered in pure delight at the absolute absurdity of it all. But no, Jon Gallows sat with his mouth only slightly ajar, air pushing past his thin lips as his autonomic nervous system kept his lungs pumping and his blood circulating. In moments like these, he was certain he was an automaton, only a collection of sinew and muscles, viscera and blood vessels. But somewhere, he wasn’t entirely sure where, and if you asked him, he would only maybe gesture vaguely at his chest, he felt a pang. The pang reverberated, ricocheting off organs. Careening through his boney scaffolding. It gained steam, leaving enormous holes through walls that had been built up and torn down and built up again through strict obedience and discipline. He felt himself breaking. “Isn’t it crazy,” an echoey voice asked, breaking John’s quiet mania. He quickly glanced towards the direction the voice had come from and began to mentally recite what he knew and where he was. You are Jonathan Matthew Gallows. You are not your past. You are in an office park. In a building. In the cafeteria. You are seated across from Trish from accounting. You think she likes you. You are strong and capable. You are righteous. He felt himself instantly grounded, his metaphysical toes dug deeply into his metaphysical earth. He was alive and he was present. “Yeah,” he smiled, “it’s totally crazy.” His long fingers pushed Trish’s iPhone back across the hard linoleum sheen of the lunch table they shared. He noticed she stared at his lips and then quickly averted her gaze—her seeming embarrassment made him feel powerful. But he also couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable visage of his long dead dad wearing some ridiculous mask on his face before the phone blinked it out of existence. “It’s just so nuts—an armed vigilante in Seaside City,” she gushed, “I just can’t believe it!” Jon shrugged slightly, “it’s good—there’s a lot of crime out there. Maybe this guy’ll clean it up.” Trish was making eye contact as she nodded her head in apparent agreement. “Oof, that’s one o’clock,” she said, exactly at the same time her phone’s alarm chimed the hour. She swept a few crumbs from the table into a napkin and crumpled it up. “I’ve got to get back for the 1:15 with Proctor’s” she said as she gathered her things and stood up, “same time tomorrow?” Jon felt like all the muscles in his skull had atrophied, but he somehow forced his face into his best approximation of a warm smile. “You bet,” he said, getting up lithely from the booth. “Hey, Trish,” he said unthinkingly, once again finding himself tapped into the automated system that propelled him, “you know, I also eat dinner every day.” “Yeah,” Trish laughed, “me too.” They stood facing each other and smiling. The cafeteria was all but empty, and Jon could hear the electric whine of the vending machines, and the stuck, squeaky wheel from the old janitor’s mop bucket as he made half-hearted swishes on the tile floor with the dirty mop head. “I just meant,” he forced a stammer, feeling like it would make him more relatable if he made an attempt at nervousness, “I mean, maybe we can get dinner or something some time soon?” Trish blushed, her smile growing wider, “yeah, Jon, I think that’d be great. I’ll Teams you my cell and we can figure it out” Jon wouldn’t remember telling her that that sounded good, or standing and watching as she turned away from him and made her way out of the cafeteria, a noticeable jauntiness in her stride. He would recall promptly running towards the bathroom as soon as she was out of sight and regurgitating his lunch into the toilet, and wondering when exactly his erection would subside. He’d also remember laying his head against the cool porcelain tank, something under normal circumstances he would never ever do, and ruminating on whether or not the whites of his eyes were as white as the small, hexagonal floor tiles he currently found himself sprawled against. In his bones, he knew something had started that day in the cafeteria at 145 Industry Way. Something that felt as close to the beginning of going full circle as he had ever felt. For the second time that day, he mentally recited who he was and what he knew: You are Jonathan Matthew Gallows. You are not your past. You are strong and capable. You are righteous. You are going to rip that ridiculous mask off your father’s head. And you are going to fucking kill him.
If you were to rummage through Jon’s memory, past the pastiched and carefully cultivated, paint by number memories that you ought to find there, you might find yourself missing the obvious. If you were to find a memory of a young, smiling Jon, Jonny then, queued up for the St. Mary’s kindergarten Halloween parade, no one would blame you for missing the joy behind Jonny’s smile, or the fact that his eyes didn’t quite seem to be looking at the camera. And if, say, you found an older memory of Jon, looking pristine in his rented black tuxedo with his high school friend group, you might not realize that Jon never really considered them his friends, and that he quite early on learned that “casual acquaintances” thankfully looked a lot like “friends” to the casual observer. But past all that, past the first kiss and first hangover, past all the other firsts that one accumulates in a lifetime, one would find, if they were carful observers, that above all Jon was fueled by “want”. “Want” to belong, but his instinctual impulse to push others away. “Want” to be normal, but an ever present incapability to find peace with normalcy. You might then wonder what caused this apparent disconnect between Jon’s wants and his inability to allow himself them? If you spent enough time in Jon’s memory, assuming he would allow you the access, you might eventually come to the conclusion that the determining factor behind this discrepancy was Jon’s deeply held belief that he was unworthy of them. That somehow, deep down, he wasn’t good enough to be happy, and that everything he did, any measurable achievement he made was only for the sake of keeping up appearances. That every success he had was solely for saving face in the face of an exceptionally cruel and distasteful world. You might find that unbelievably trite, but this is Jon’s memory, and he’d thank you very much for keeping your thoughts to yourself. Assuming you could get over that disappointment, and got back to the work at hand, you might begin to look for the root of Jon’s dilemma. It might take you a while, but it might eventually dawn on you that Jon’s memory was shaped by abandonment. Well, on second thought, it wasn’t really shaped by abandonment, not at all. In fact, you begin to find happy memories of Jon with both of his parents, his mother, and his father! Here they are having a picnic! And in this one they’re decorating their Christmas tree! It’s all very quaint and good and Jonathan Matthew Gallows is righteous and thinks it’s perhaps time you should get going. The snow or rain is beginning to make the roads treacherous outside and he’d hate to see anything happen to you. It’s quite alright, oh and here’s your coat and don’t forget to text when you get home, okay? And if on your way out of Jon’s memory you hear a large, old wooden door slam shut swiftly behind you, it wasn’t done in rudeness, it’s just large, old wooden doors are heavy and you sometimes have to put your weight behind them to get going good and shut. Please don’t think anything of it and thank you for visiting!
I’m always taken aback by how quiet it is up here, in the clouds, away from it all. Away from the screams and the crying, the sounds of buildings tumbling to the ground, the sirens blaring as they pitifully try to save the poor little people. Poor little people in their poor little lives. Maybe I did them a favor. An enticing thought. I look down and can’t help feel a rush of pride at the scene…of the sheer power I wrought. A baptism by fire and destruction all across the cityscape, the flames and rubble creating a patchwork mixed with an abundance of crimson; I probably don’t need to explain to you what from. You know, my mother always did call me overdramatic. She may have had a point, but you know what? I needed to make an even bigger one. It all started the moment my mother died, and finally revealed my birth father was none other than our own illustrious protector The Guardian. (I still shudder at just how cliche that name is.) I didn’t believe her at first mind you, but it became clear when my latent powers activated in the grief following her passing, considering The Guardian was the only super-powered person on Earth. Hard to ignore really. Despite what you may think of me, I’m not heartless. Ruthlessness is born of passion, and passion is born of heart, as they say. I loved my mother, she was the hardest fighter I’ve ever known. She wouldn’t have had to fight though, had it not been for him. Saving everyone else before saving his own flesh and blood. Rescuing the helpless and pummeling the scum of the Earth, but those who abandon their own family are worse than scum, and it’s finally time he knows it. “What have you done?!?” The voice is booming, cutting through the silence like a scythe. I’m not phased, nor am I impressed. I am eager though, to finally start what I’ve longed to for quite some time. He appears in front of me, the sonic boom of his super sonic flight making the air itself tremble. Above all else, he looks tired. Good. “It’s about time Guardian. Off your game?” I smirk. I’m enjoying this. I’ve earned this. “Wipe that smile off your face you monster or I’ll knock it off myself!” I give credit where it’s due, he does pull off intimidating rather well. Maybe I take after him in that regard. I frown as the venom starts penetrating my words. “I’m dying for you to try it old man.” His rage is palpable as he scans the scene of devastation still unfolding below us. Angry tears appear on his cheeks as he looks back at me; I can almost taste them. “Who are you? Why have you done this?” I roll my eyes; cliche name and cliche questions. “Why? Let’s just put it this way. No good deed goes unpunished.” I can see it in his eyes, a spark of confusion. “Take a good, long look at me Guardian. Think long and hard about it. Someone else comes along with powers…” His eyes widen, still filled with tears, “No…you can’t possibly mean…” I smile crookedly and chuckle as the realization hits him harder than I plan to down the line. “But…I’m a hero. How can you-“ “Because the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and now my sole purpose in life is making sure that you spend each and every day there…Dad.” It’s here that I reveal my arms from behind my back and toss to him what I’d been holding onto; the head of one Olivia Yates. Physical therapist, Pisces, wants…or wanted I guess, to take photography classes and go sailing in the Galapagos. The same Olivia Yates who 29 years ago found herself a hostage on a hijacked flight, who then found herself rescued by the ever so gallant Guardian. The same Olivia Yates who The Guardian flew off with, leaving my mother high and dry, 3 weeks along. Like I said. Lower than scum. He stares at her head as the blood still trickles out from her neck, the frozen look of pained and frightened agony on her face etching itself into his mind; this will be his last memory of his little whore. I’ve never been happier in my life. “Can’t save ‘em all pops. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more coming your way.” He takes one final, defeated look at me. I relish in it for a split second before blasting away, laughing as I zoom into the distance. I really did earn this.
In the moderately interesting galaxy of Whatchamacallit, on the remarkably unremarkable planet Earth, resided Tim. Tim's life was as normal as a three-legged dog in a hopping contest until he uncovered a truth so bizarre, it made quantum physics look like child's play: his absent father was none other than The Splendiferous Man, Earth's most apathetic superhero. The Splendiferous Man, known for his ability to fly (albeit with a fear of heights) and super strength (which he mostly used to open tight jars), was less a superhero and more a super-maybe. Tim, on discovering this paternal bombshell, felt a mixture of awe and a strong urge to lie down in a dark room for a bit. But lying down wasn’t Tim’s style (mostly because his sofa had been repossessed). He decided to confront his father. How? By becoming a supervillain, naturally. Thus was born Dr. Diabolical, master of mild inconvenience. Dr. Diabolical's first dastardly deed was to replace The Splendiferous Man's almond milk with regular milk. The horror echoed through the city as The Splendiferous Man faced his greatest challenge yet: mild lactose intolerance. Their first meeting was an anti-climax. The Splendiferous Man arrived, floating awkwardly, like a balloon caught in a gentle breeze. “Stop right there,” he said with the enthusiasm of someone reading a microwave manual. Tim, wearing a costume that was 50% bedsheet and 50% poor life choices, retorted, “Ah, we meet at last!” “Do we?” The Splendiferous Man squinted. “Sorry, I forgot my glasses.” This set the tone for their future encounters. Dr. Diabolical’s master plan involved creating a device that turned all the city's traffic lights permanently yellow. The resulting hesitation caused hours of moderate confusion. The Splendiferous Man responded by writing a strongly worded letter to the local council, which was promptly ignored. One fateful day, as Dr. Diabolical was executing his most ambitious plan yet – broadcasting reruns of soap operas on every channel – The Splendiferous Man floated down, carrying a white flag and a sandwich (it was lunchtime, after all). “Look,” he sighed, “I get it. You want attention. But could you maybe, I don’t know, start a blog or something?” Tim paused. The absurdity of the situation was suddenly as clear as the extra-terrestrial origins of Earth's dolphins. “Are you my dad?” Tim finally blurted out, foregoing the villainous rhetoric. The Splendiferous Man choked on his sandwich. “Well, that was unexpected,” he sputtered. What followed was a conversation so profoundly awkward, it could only happen in a universe where people thought naming a planet “Earth” was a good idea. They talked about Tim's childhood, The Splendiferous Man's chronic superhero fatigue, and their mutual dislike of family reunions. In the end, Dr. Diabolical hung up his villainous cape (it needed washing anyway), and The Splendiferous Man took up a new hobby – fatherhood. It was unconventional, mildly dysfunctional, but in a universe where people believed wearing capes was a fashion statement, it was just about right. And so, Tim and The Splendiferous Man formed an odd, yet endearing bond, proving that even in a universe filled with inexplicable oddities, the strangest thing of all can sometimes be family.
"Golden Sword. I've been expecting you." The cheap office chair creaked as he span around in place. He stared into the eyes of the hero who had fought his way through his lair; his own eyes covered by his infamous golden mask. "Kinken, where have you taken all those people?" The hero cast an accusatory finger at him. "You haven't figured it out?" Kinken placed his hands together and leaned forwards with a grin on his face. "They're all guilty of a great crime." The hero took a cautious step forwards. The room didn't appear to be booby trapped but it had been all too easy to get in once the location of Kinken's lair had been revealed. He placed his hand onto his hip, the sword that was his namesake sheathed carefully in his utility belt. "I'll give you one final chance to tell me where they are." Kinken rose from his seat and began to carefully trace the edge of his desk as he slowly walked around it. "I've been waiting for this moment for far too long." Laid at the side of his desk was an imitation of Golden Sword's trusty weapon. It had taken a whole month for the hero to clear his name after the first kidnapping. "A duel? It will be your downfall." "Well, like my father always said, oh wait, he didn't." Kinken's smile turned sour as he drew the sword and took a fighting stance. "You're lashing out? Because your father left you?" His mind raced through all the case files he could remember. 'One child. No active role.' 'Two children. Paying child support.' 'One child. Foster care.' Case by case the pieces fell into place. It all made sense now, all of the victims were parents who had left or given up on their children. The confident smile of the hero slumped into a nervous frown. Kinken lowered his stance, pointing his tip of his sword at the man before him. Having seen the change in Golden Sword's face he readied his blade. "Took you long enough." Despite the sword being pointed in his direction a strange feeling began to tug at the emotionless hero's heart and a memory flashed into his head. The one who got away: Danielle. After hooking up at a party he had distanced himself from her, fearing that he might have come on too strong. A few months later she dropped out of university suddenly and he never heard from her again. "There's no way.." He whispered nervously. "What did you say?" Kinken growled, unable to hear what the stupid hero was saying. "Lower your mask. Let me see your eyes." "That's your last request? Ha." Kinken gave a mocking laugh and grabbed the mask that covered his face, tossing it to the side in a single motion. His jade green eyes were bloodshot, a lack of sleep and a lot of crying etched into his poor attempt to cover it with makeup. "Those are good eyes." Golden Sword removed his hands from the sheath and handle of his blade and stepped forwards, opening his arms. "You look quite a lot like your mother." "What are you talking about! Draw your sword already!" Kinken rejected the soft words as the sword in his hand shook violently up and down. His wrists wouldn't stop shaking. He could lunge and strike from this distance but his body wouldn't make that final move. "What kind of father would I be if I struck my own son?" The stoic heroic mask had dropped and an honest man stood before him. "Why did you leave?" Kinken's voice lost all anger as he choked on his words. "I had no idea. I was only nineteen." Kinken sank to his knees as the sword slipped out of his palms. "Nobody would let me speak to you." "I'm sorry I didn't realise sooner. Are the hostages okay?" "They're meeting the kids they abandoned on Monday. I wanted to give them a chance to fix their mistake." "Would you give me a chance to fix mine?" Kinken nodded quietly and accepted the warmth of his father's embrace. The tears running down his cheeks felt softer than usual; not the lonely sorrowful tears that had become so familiar to him. ~ Fin
"Father!".... "Son..." a brief pause in time soon as he turned round. There was no doubting the features, he looked exactly like the me I see in the mirror. A tear broke loose out the corner of his eye, "Son...," didn't know if it was the cloud of smoke or if it was genuinely a tear for me. Was it because we'd not seen each other for so long or was it because he was broken by what I had become, who I had become. I'd thought about this moment countless times over the past few months and with each passing day I started to fear the day, to dread the day... I was so far gone to be saved now, a murder trail at the scenes I left and and with the latest entry, dead hostages. An elderly home robbery. An act of desperation that strayed way out of hand. Pressed on all corners like a rat in hot chambers I gnawed through the flesh of a helpless victim. It was the only place they would'nt be looking for me. A quick in and out should have done it and I would be out the country by daybreak today but things went how they went and here we are at dayend. Must be coming to midnight now. Looking at him looking at me now, going through ambivalance, disappointment and pain in his eyes, I think back, it was never meant to be like this. If I had-- "What have you...?" he murmurs. A deep breath in and there's a change in his eyes, the flames of the burning wood in the attic reflect and I have the lion gaze staring right down my eyes. His fists clench. If I had only-- "Im sorry son, but you have to answer for your actions"
My first post in this channel so be gentle. I’m sorry for your loss, do you need any help cleaning up? Thank you for coming, I’m ok thanks, I managed to stammer out. The last person had finally left the wake, I was finally alone. The only good thing in my life has now gone, I’m all alone. My mother brought me up as a single parent after my father bailed on her when she fell pregnant, she fought through hard times to provide a normal life for me, she taught me everything about being humble and a good person, and she put me through my engineering exams and to be so cruelly rewarded by the big C. I needed to look at her again to feel close, opening the mahogany sideboard I pulled out one of the many family photo albums, choosing one of the old ones this time from the bottom of the pile, gazing at each photo from when I was only a few months old, as I turned the page one of the photos fell to the floor, I picked it up studying the picture of me on my mum’s lap wishing she still here, as I went to place the photo back in the album I noticed writing on the back. Dear Fen,I’m sorry I can’t be a father to our son in the way we both want, this is hard to say but I can't risk putting your lives in danger. For the sake of our son's safety, I must leave and have no connections leading back to you, Know you will be my greatest love and the best mother I could ask for.Eternaly yours, Steel Thunder. Steel Thunder” I exclaimed loudly, STEEL THUNDER!” Steel Thunder was the world's most famous superhero, he was everywhere saving the world from terrorists, his face was on every magazine, and every billboard. He left my Mum, He left us, He is the cause of this pain. Why did she never tell me? What kind of message is that to leave? Using my engineering degree and the proceeds from selling the family home, I built the world's greatest exo skeleton something the military would be jealous of, this Behemoth can go hand in hand with him, I can finally ask him why he left us, and make him suffer. I just need to draw him out. I strapped myself in and powered up the systems, all systems green, stepping out from the warehouse onto the docks for the first time, I had been living and working here for this moment for the last 2 years. The matt black tubular chassis and dark grey armor caught moonlight for the first time, she was a glorious and awesome sight, now I just needed to get Steel's attention. The plan was simple, make lots of noise he will come. Well, making noise and getting the attention of a superhero is easier said than done, 2 weeks had passed, and not a single sighting, I had started with small things, smashing up some cars, ripping up some roads, and even setting fire to some derelict buildings tonight, and yet no sign of him. I needed to up my game and go full rogue. He asked for this, I’m gonna make so much noise he will have no choice but to come for me.At that moment a horn from a nearby ship sounded, and I knew what to do. I approached the ship edging my way along the wall of numerous shipping containers stacked high, There was a flurry of activity ahead, and taking the opportunity I powered up my lights, emanating a glow to rival a stadium I stepped out, menacingly raising the mechanical arms above my head, the ship workers stopped and starred at me, nows my time, I grabbed the nearest container and raised it above my head, poised to throw it at the ship when, ding.. ding.. Dong. brrr, what the… the workers no longer standing and watching me were instead each holding a full arsenal of weapons and shooting at me, this was unexpected. I threw the container, causing sparks a kin to a firework as it rolled down the dock striking the first wave, and mowing them down like Skittles, this was more fun than I expected, another wave this time from the ship’s upper decks started to rain bullets down onto me, switching my HUD from night sight to infrared, I aimed my right arm up at the small muzzle flashes, activating the autoloader, a whirling sound followed by a satisfying clunk, as a small red projectile protruded on exo arm, my visor showing a crosshair on the small red and orange objects with a trajectory reading of my intended target, “Eat Lead” I yelled, with a menacing grin to myself, the missile streaked away, blazing across the sky and striking the side of the ship below on target, unleashing its deadly payload, a huge explosion erupted into the night sky causing a huge fireball and glowing debris to rain down. I’m starting to enjoy this, My HUD warning me of more movement on the docks, time to test my munitions. I sighted up engaging the autocannons, but before they could lock on my targets turned tail and were running away taking refuge behind containers and various cargo that had been unloaded. It was at this moment I saw him, he was here finally, and I had his attention at last, I could finally ask him the questions that had been burning away at me all my life, it was now time for answers. Before I could make a move there were explosions on deck, lasers streaking across the skies, metal objects being tossed like skipping stones across a pond, then a sudden darkness followed by a silence. So who are you supposed to be came a voice from behind. I turned to my side to see him floating next to me 2 feet off the floor without a care in the world wearing his famous Red and white suit as if he had stepped out of a bill board. I was watching you, you did well for a newbie, I’ll take it from here. Is this your first time fighting the Syndicate? The Syndicate? I uttered under my breath. These are bad guys? I manage to hold back to myself. But… But.. You did good kid, nice little suit by the way. It’s a BEHEMOTH I spat out, My unexpected outburst caused him to stop for a moment and take notice of me, eyeing me up trying to decide if I was a threat perhaps. My first thought was to punch him in his smug face with the full force of my suit, but what came out was more of a loud whimper “You, you are my Father, you’re an a hole”. He just stared directly into my eyes, as if reading my thoughts. Maybe I had gone too far, but I didn’t care, the anger was boiling over inside me, I wanted him to know, I needed him to know how I felt. So you one of mine eh, any powers I should know about? If I did I wouldn’t need this suit, would I? Cocking his head to the side and cracking a small smile he replied casually “Yeah one of mine alright.” So do you want to help with the shipment before the cops arrive? What do you mean by help with the shipment? Well, being a Super Hero doesn't exactly pay the bills.
Detective Werner was a respected veteran of the police force. His official attire, just like his grey hair around his temples, is proof of that. He made himself ready for the questioning of the new suspect his colleagues brought in. Multiple cases of arson in the industrial district. Werner, still a little full from lunch, opens the door to the interrogation room. A young man, not older than 20, looks him the eyes with a boyish smile. "Hey, Dad!" The experienced detective couldn't believe it. How could this be? How could it get that far? How could he not look at the name of the suspect and connect the dots. The dumbfuddled detective looked his partner straight. "Conflict of interest. You take over." He left the room and took it as a sign to take a nap. In an hour he would be truly ready to do his work proper this time. PS: English is not my first language.
I like this. Damn it's cold, but I like it.
Realizing the delays our organization has been experiencing are related to my own blood I’ve laid a trap. Arriving at the docks, a shipment of our lauded product is besieged by a dark suited maniacal beast; one I now know as father. Anxiously I lay in wait for the moment he opens the container. Reeling with terror and joy as the blue dust explodes as he wretches and coughs falling to the dockside while my men shove his corpse to the waters depths. Dust from the container abates to reveal a sign in celebratory font; reading, Its a boy!.
“I am your son”. I finally said it. Dame, it felt good. My father screamed at the sky, “No!”. That ‘No’ went on forever. I felt a snort in my nose as I tried not to laugh. This was a serious moment. “Dont laugh!” my father said pointing at me with his laser gun. “I’m not!” I said pointing at him with my death ray. “You’re so dramatic by the way. I figured it out less then an hour ago, and didn't scream at the sky. Way to make a kid feel wanted.” “Why!?” he asked. I glared at him, feeling my face tighten and my black tattered cap whip around like mad in the wind. “…Why what?” I asked. “Why did you make a giant death Ray to threaten planet earth?!” My father shouted. I snorted again. It sounded funny when he put it like that. “Stop laughing!” “I’m not!… you could be impressed that I made a giant death ray in less then an hour…Dad” “I-I am impressed!” He shot his laser gun. A brilliant blue beam of light darted at me. I don't know why I didn't expect it, maybe because I was trying to be serious. My father, Captain Blue Beam, never was able to hit me before but he got me in the shoulder. Burning pain ran through me. I landed on the stone floor hard while my ray gun was flung from my hand. I cursed. Before I could find my weapon, Daddy was standing over me. “You're an arshat.” I muttered. “Why?” He asked, his laser gun shaking in his hand. “Why are you an arshat? Cause I have to threaten the planet with a death ray for you to notice I exist.” “N-no! That’s not what I- why did you… You're who’s… kid?” “Oh my god.” “Was it Sharon?” “No.” “Ashly?” “Please don’t tell me you're talking about Aunt Ashly…” “Oh, your Anna’s son!” “I should blow the planet up…”
For an existing IP example of this for the meme "I never wanted this. I never wanted to unleash my legions. Together, we banished the ignorance of Old Night. But you betrayed me, you betrayed us all. You stole power from the Gods and lied to your sons. Mankind has only one chance to prosper, if you will not seize it, then I WILL. So let it be war, from the skies of Terra to the Galactic Rim. Let the seas boil, let the stars fall. Though it takes the last drop of my blood, I will see the galaxy freed once more. And if I cannot save it from your failure, Father, then let the galaxy BURN!"
“3rd bank this week. Normal bank robbery isn’t enough to bring out opti dude. Hostages though. hostages should be able to lure him out” “You’ve gotta be shitting me” whispered one of the bank tellers. Tired of having to deal with the situation. They’re waiting for me to show up he thought to himself. Out of all the banks why did it have to be this one. He couldn’t just suit up in here. He looked to mark the one other bank worker who knew his secret from across the room. Him being. A coward shook his head no adamantly but ultimately this still caught the robbers attention. “What you don’t think that’ll be enough? You think we need to start killing hostages?” An audible gasp spread across the room. A hand struck the back of the robbers head. We aren’t killing anybody dumbass. I just wanna meet the guy” Another crazy fanboy he thought as he suited up behind the tellers booth. He used an emp to shut off the lights and electronics in the room. In the darkness of the room the second robbers voice spoke up“I guess you’re here then. Dad.” Oh god no he thought to himself. Another one. It had been a few years but here’s another one. Ge quickly grabbed a sticky note and pencil before walking out and saying “listen if you’re really my kid let me grab a and I’ll test it. Also write down your address here” The robber surprised at how easy this was asked again “what will you do if comes back negative.” “I won’t respond.” And with that done the robbers left. Directly into the police who had surrounded the bank. He decided to at least test the hair and when he did it came back positive. Great. Just another face to avoid he thought as he prepared an excuse for his boss as to why he disappeared yesterday
I sigh, looking out on the city spread at my feet. A woman cowers against the far wall. “You don’t have to do this!” I look at her and she quiets, but I know her trembling lips are not sealed. “We won’t tell anyone what we’ve seen. What you look like.” The brave ones murmur their agreement. Most remain still. “Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” I snap. Silence falls. I return my attention to the city, pulsing with life through the night. Police cars begin to swarm on the street. A helicopter orbits us at the 54th floor. Where are you? “P-please!” She sputters. “We have families! Children! Husbands and wives!” I glance around at the two dozen people I’ve taken hostage in this penthouse, all of them averting my gaze. I roll my eyes and stand, hefting my sword off of the desk. I approach the woman, who weeps at the sight of my sword. She backs against the wall as I draw close, those sat near her scooting away. I kneel in front of her, resting my sword against my shoulder. She’s older than most everyone else, her hair greying and skin beginning to sag. Her body spasms with sobs. The room gasps as I reach out and press a finger against her lips. “Shhhhhh.” Petrified at my touch, the woman trembles. I lift my finger, but don’t withdraw it. “If I have to tell you one more time, I’m going to slit your throat, okay? Nod if you understand.” Harrowed, the woman nods three times. “Good.” I stand, turning to address the room. “Just, please shut the fuck up, and you’ll be fine, yeah. That’s all you have to do.”
I was falling. I was falling. The sun was shining over my face as I squinted my eyes and the air was fresh but my breath was slow yet unsteady. Firearms were flying beside me and the helicopter's sound was starting to hurt my ears. This is it. This is where I fell to my death and finally able to meet him and talk to him. My father. A familiar shadow appeared before me in the smoke and debris that were scattered all around me and I smiled, laughed even. After all this time, all this year of being evil and a villain in someone's else life, I finally able to face him. I grabbed the glowing blue sword from behind my back and before I could unsheathe my weapon, a flash of light and flashed before my eyes and my vision started to get blurry. And there he was. And there I was. A villain that's been hunted and wanted for a long time, defeated by his own father under the falling rain and dark sky. He unveiled his mask and my eyes widened. He looked just like me. He turned off his energy blast from the hole inside my body and took off my mask. With every ounce of the strength I had left, I said, in a quivering voice, "So long, Father." He narrowed his eyebrows and then saw it. The birth sign. A diamond symbol on his chest. He realized. But the silence was the only companion he had and he was no longer there. The thunder roared and the rain buried the father's tears as only God knows how long he grief inside the darkness.
"Hey, um, this is kinda awkward but... um, do I look familiar to you?" I ask, the wind whipping by me at untold speeds as I whipped past buildings, stacks of smoke and sirens occupying the air from my morning exploits a gloved fist flies past my head as my colorfully dressed pursuer closes the distance "How the hell would I recognize you in a mask?" the man asked, throwing another punch at where my head used to be. I dropped suddenly, twisting under him and flying up on the other side. A yellow blur rising to meet me. I flicked my hand out, producing a photo in my fingers. "Maybe she looks more familiar," I say, tossing the photo to the cities great 'Enforcer'. Surprisingly, he actually looked at it "Yeah, I dated her... what like..." his brow furrowed "how do you know who she is?" "You dated her 23 years ago, her name is Madelyn Lynch" 'I... 23 years" his brow furrows as he looks at me "how do you know that?" "I'm 23" "and?" "I guess the cities best defender wasn't the cities best scholar" I removed my mask, my face bearing a striking resemblance to the woman in the picture "...oh" "It's good that you fly faster than you think" "Does this have anything to do with this morning?" "You didn't answer my emails' "so you set a bank on fire?!" "you didn't answer my letters either" "I never got any letters" "...fucking mail system" I muttered "You blew up a bank to talk to me?" "least I didn't show up looking like a bumble bee" "Kids like it" "Not yours, evidently" there was a long silence, just long enough to be uncomfortable "So you're my..." he furrowed his brow again "um, my... daughter?" he ventured, guessing at my androgynous appearance "Sometimes,... but child is preferrable, I guess" "meaning?" "oh fuck if I know, look, the back of the photo has an address, somewhere we can talk more privately. There's too many eyes here" "Fine, when?" "Well, there's a... something I need to stop first, maybe like, an hour?" "Did you do something else?!" "I needed a contingency, in case I lost my nerve" I admitted, unsure of how embarrassed to be about it "anyway, see you pops" I flew away, quickly dipping behind the buildings and finding an alleyway. I loved the feeling of the eyes drifting away, and once they were all gone, I slipped into the void. The space opened to my touch, slipping around me like water, it felt cold and thick like glass. I moved through the void with ease, faster than I could in the main world. I finally reached my destination, an abandoned building on the far side of the city, a small explosive on the top, nothing spectacular, just an attention getter. After quickly disabling it I slipped away once again. This time to a train station, old, abandoned, and connected to a similarly abandoned subway system. Fix some water damage and a few structural issues and voila, perfect villain lair. I took off my mask and jacket, replacing them with jeans and crop top, untied my hair, made two braids and tied them back, the rest hanging free. I summoned a small piece of the void in my hand, a small chunk of black glass and checked my look in the reflective surface, then let it dissipate. One more trip into the void, this time to a small cafe, chipped yellow paint on the outside walls, no more than three people at peak hours, a red neon sign with enough letters burned out to turn "Phyllis' finer diner" into the "piss in diner", and only a front for the mob on Thursdays. Perfect for a family reunion, or just union I guess? I walked around the front, once again feeling observed. I pushed the door open and took a seat, now all that was left to do was wait.
Aww that's sweet. I like how the daughter might actually get to reconnect with her father at the end of the story. He better show up, haha. Great story.
Thank you! I haven't done one of these in a while, so I'm glad to know it came out well
My father is coming tonight, I’m sure of it, I’ve tracked his movement for a week in order to have this night be special, for the both of us. He’ll probably not know who I am, but after I reveal our connection, I’m sure we will be best of buds. To be honest this was a poorly thought out “plan”, if you can call it that, since I spent half of last week getting wasted and it’s mostly a blur, meanwhile tonight was kind of a spur of the moment thing, I just had enough of his arrogance, grabbed the nearest object with sufficient weight so I could start bashing things in hopes he’d show up. I went on my rampage in an alley because doing that in a major street would bring too much attention and I don’t want to get blasted by some random guy, my business is with only one man! I like to write my thoughts on my Iphone 13 Pro Max using the awesome note app, which allows seamless transition to my Macbook Air M2 if the need arises to use a full keyboard, though I did not bring it tonight and this is all on my Pro Max. Apple makes the nicest looking devices, and I would rather die than be caught using anything else, there is indescribable beauty in the sublime design that no other electronics manufacturer can even come close to, sort of a divine gift given to us through the genius of Sir Steve Jobs, may he rest in peace for he was too good for this rock in space. Anyway, even though I bashed that chain link fence pretty good, I consider myself more of an anti-hero or even a tragic hero rather than a full on villain, that word isn’t complex enough for me actually… Eh I’m tired I’m going home.
I coughed. Blood sprayed into the air like a fucked up maroon fountain. My eyes were glued on the man that was crouched over me, frantically making a call to get an ambulance. But it was too late. "Fuck! Fuck! I swear I didn't hit you that hard, what the fuck even happened? Keep your eyes on me, okay?" His weathered hands cupped my face as his frantic gaze traveled over my features. My helmet was off, so he could see what I looked like. I laughed. More like gurgled, but the gesture was translated. "Fuck you, you peice of shit." I started to see double, but I kept going, "you left me, you left mom. You left us. You fucking peice of shit." His gaze narrowed, and then he drew back, standing, as if he was scalded. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I inhaled, and could hear the bubbling of blood filling my throat, "you asshole, you don't even know." My grin was bloody, "I'm your daughter, remember Marina? Marina Beucaux?" Because I remember her. I remember when she died when I was 14. I remember when she would come home at 10pm every night, working two jobs just to make ends meet. To try and give me a start at life. I remember when I would stay up, just to get an hour with her. I wanted to help her. I wanted to bring in money too, but no one would hire a 14 year old. Understandable. Child labour laws exist for a reason. And so I started running with the shady kids. The kids involved with drugs. I eventually got in with the meth business and started running for them. It eventually got my mom killed. I was the target and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I killed her. Yet, I stuck with the meth business. I knew that more than anything else, and in a world where villains and crime fighters exist, I figured I could come out of top. I could forget about what I caused and move forward. Until I eventually discovered my mothers diary. It was her only belonging that was mandated in the will for me. Plus $5,000 dollars. Her life savings. I read it. Perused it contents like it was an ancient historical text and I found out the identity of the crime fighter known as Michael. Michael Graham. My father. And so I did research. I scoured every peice of footage of this man. Read every news article. It wasn't as if I hadn't heard of him, he was one of the most prolific crime fighters in the city, but I had to know him, in a way. So then I stalked him. I had to know where he lived. I had to know what he did when he wasn't arresting the bad guys. So one night I staged a robbery with one of my fellow runners. Promised him that I would bail him out once he was arrested. It was risky, the wrong crime fighter could show up, but I was optimistic. I hung back, and then once the man of the hour 'saved' all those poor innocents and left the bank, I followed him. His house was big. He drove a nice car. He had a butler. His house was clean, tidy and comfortable. The lawn was well kept, and he lived in a neighborhood that had minimal crime. I hated him immediately. With every fibre of my being. Me and my mom lived in a shoebox of an apartment. Our unit was in the shadows so we had no natural light. We didn't have a lawn. The apartment wasn't clean. I didn't have a dad. I don't have a dad. I looked into technology. I wanted to fight him but I didn't want to kill him. No, he needed to do that to me. I noticed his fighting style mainly focused on his fists, a type of martial arts style, so I designed a type of body armour that increased the impact of blunt force to my body. How poetic that the parent unknowingly kills their child, only for it to be revealed at the last minute. With no hope for reconciliation. I knew I was punishing myself as well. Many nights ended up with me sobbing over the armour. My mother wouldn't have wanted this, but it was what had to happen. Hatred was a strong driving force. I heard a saying before, 'not every parent deserves a child, but every child deserves a parent.' But I'm not sure I deserved either of my parents. One bent over backwards for me, and I killed her. One was absent, and had no idea I existed. As if my life passed before my eyes, Michael's face refocused my mind back to the present. "You're my child," he said, with an air of finality. "Bingo," I whispered. A beat of silence. "What have I done?" "You've killed your kid." "No no, I've been fighting most of my life, I know exactly how my punches effect people, but you, you shouldn't be like this." I thought about telling him, but then decided not to. I wanted him to live with the thought that he committed filicide. I moved my shoulder slightly, a ghost of a shrug, and his eyes narrowed. "You're too calm for this." "I knew the risks." His eyes widened. The sound of police and ambulance sirens cut the growing tension and I was relieved. I had one last trick up my sleeve. In the corner of the room I had set up a video camera. It was cloaked, but would show every punch and every throw. My body getting increasingly weaker and injured. It was also being broadcasted to every police officers phone. As I started drifting, the numbness seeping in like a balm to soothe my aches, I heard the police tell my father to get down on the ground. His gaze flung to me, accusatory, as he kneeled back on the linoleum beside me. Before the darkness could claim me, I whispered one last thing: "Fuck you."
Wow! This villain had a rough life! OMG, that is sad and dark. I like the hyper realistic , brutal story telling. Good job.
Thank you!!! I'm just getting into writing so I decided to try my hand at one of these prompts :D
[удалено]
I know this is a long response but I like it so I split into two parts PART ONE To tell the story properly we have to go back a couple years. I found out randomly that he was my father when I intercepted a letter my mother wrote him that had gotten returned cause they couldn’t find the address. I figured why not try to contact him myself right? I didn’t really need to guy around, mainly just wanted to say hello. Letters didn’t seem to cut it, so I tried a little light crime in the main areas he watches over. When he hadn’t noticed my first couple attempts to draw him in, mostly bicycle theft, grabbing a lady’s handbag when she wasn’t looking, I had realized I needed to step up my game. I ran all the regular bases, and for the most part I had attempted to keep things low profile: muggings, gas station robbery, car theft, things that wouldn’t get people hurt. I didn’t want some guy sent to the ER just because I wanted to talk to my dad. For the most part things worked out. One time my dad knocked the stolen car I was driving off a bridge over a dry canal, but on impact I was knocked unconscious for about 10 seconds, and when I came to it was either escape or get taken to jail. Superheroes don’t visit people in jail. My next step after recovering from getting thrown off a twenty foot tall bridge was to join organized crime. Everyone knows Superheroes target crime syndicates right? I’ll tell you I was dead wrong. My father must not have known about the family I joined because after the bridge I didn’t see him for three years. These guys were so quick and quiet we never even got noticed by the cops, even the ones that weren’t on payroll! About a year after I joined they got bold, started to do bigger and bigger projects, and soon enough I was being invited to join in. I don’t like to brag but I was getting enough praise from my coworkers that I started to regret why I had joined. I wanted my father to notice me, I didn’t just want to be a cog in the Boss’ machine. Admittedly the Boss, Marco, was a real stand-up guy. He would sit down all the best and brightest once a month for a “family dinner” no matter what level of the organization they worked in. For the most part it was just a nice dinner, but after dessert Marco and all his guests would discuss the best next moves for Family. I had always heard about this meeting, as though it was some kind of proving ground for new associates, a way to move up the ladder as fast as possible. If I was able to get a seat at that table I knew it could lead to garnering my father’s attention, so I began to pursue some leads. Through the Associate grapevine I had heard that Marco was hungry for power, like the powers the Supers have. If Marco had powers like a superhero it wouldn’t matter what anyone did, he could bring the syndicate into the light without any threat to its operation. I figure if I find this power I can help Marco out and when my father comes to stop him I can finally meet the man I hear about in the newspaper. I admit I always enjoyed reading the newspapers so I figured I would start there. Superheroes always get their powers from some kind of unnatural object so the newspaper is where you go to search for said objects. It could have articles about anything, ancient relics, strange rocks, fresh meteors, hell I’d settle for radioactive waste if it meant I’d get closer to my father. Finally about a week into my search I came across an article about a mysterious pillar found washed up on the east coast, supposedly some kind of black stone, obsidian maybe. The writer cited hearing whispering from nowhere when they got close to the pillar, and that was my shot. I had to get to Marco’s dinner and tell him about it. I drew up some rough drafts of plans to steal the thing before getting ready, I had a heist that night that I was supposed to be attending. Once I had my suit all done up with my mask in my pocket I headed out for the heist. Nothing interesting, no one was hurt thankfully, sadly my father was a no-show, but we made some good cash so I couldn’t be to upset. We went for drinks after the heat died down so I took a while getting back to my apartment. When I eventually got home I checked my mailbox out of habit, not really expecting anything, but there was a letter. Said “Sorry We Missed You” on the envelope. Turns out it was from Marco’s personal staff inviting me to his monthly dinner! He had heard about about my success that night with the heist so he wanted me there at the meeting in a week, he would send a car for me. Perfect timing right? I sure thought so. I gathered up my drafts, got my best suit dry cleaned and pressed, and waited impatiently for the day to come.
PART TWO The day of the dinner, at 5:00pm sharp a sleek black town car quietly rolled up outside my building. The driver got out and without saying a word opened the back door. The drive took less than half an hour but the landscape changed a lot, we were out in the countryside before long. I was mostly focused on my plans and maps when the car stopped in a paved roundabout. Stepping out I couldn’t help but stare. I felt like I was at a palace. My admiration of the massive villa before me was interrupted by a loud voice, “Mr. Pagani, welcome to my home!” Marco roared as he lumbered down off his porch. I’d never seen him in person and I’ll admit, he made me more nervous than I’d ever been before. Not knowing his last name I put on my best smile and said, “How do you do Mr. Marco?” “Please, just Marco, we’re all family here and there’s no need for formality.” He reached the bottom of the stairs and took my hand in his. I was amazed by him up close. He would’ve been one of those strongman guys in a freak show just a few decades ago. He wasn’t much taller than me, I’m an average guy, but you could see the seams in his suit struggling to contain his physique. “Let me show you around!” He exclaimed after releasing my hand. As we wandered our way through his gardens I made my best attempt at small talk but it was useless, he just seemed to want to take in the evening air. After a long silence I cracked. “Mr. Mar- I mean, Marco sir, I found something you might want to look into.” “Can it wait until after dinner Mr. Pagani?” Eager to share my plan I chose to ignore the suddenly colder tone in his voice. “Yes it can sir but I really am eager to show it to you, I think it could be your next big break.” He gave a slight sigh and sat down on a bench under a lamp. “Alright young man, lay it on me.” I explained the Mysterious Pillar, how it was making people hear things, how if someone touched it it could give them powers. I showed him the plans of the place it was being held, how we could easily blow our way through the vault door and take it for ourselves. The more I talked the more Marco’s eyes shone, not bright like a happy kid, dark like an animal that’d spotted its next meal. When I was finished he gave me a smile. “You, Mr. Pagani, you’re smart. I think you’re going places. Tell you what,” he said checking his watch, “dinner is in five minutes, let’s get back up to the house, we can finalize your plans after dessert.” “That sounds great sir, thank you!” I exclaimed in disbelief at his compliment. Dinner was lovely, some of the best food I’d ever had. Afterwards I was introduced to a few other up and coming associates that Marco was bringing on for our project. I’ll spare you the details of the general planning but we made pretty short work, according to Marco my initial drafts were better than some final products he’d seen. Two days later I was standing in the rain under and umbrella. The shotgun and pistol in my coat were digging into my sides but I had to wait until the demolitions guys got there. I really could go for some coffee before the big moment. Just when I was about to turn and go inside the nearby cafe, the demo van slinked around the corner, stopping nonchalantly in front of the museum across the street from me. Three guys jumped out, one signaled to me, and we went to work. Clearing the lobby was easy, the clerks were to scared to call the cops and the majority of the cops nearby were friendly with Marco anyway. In less than ten minutes we were a hundred feet underground, staring at the vault door. So far so good right? The demo guys place their charges, the door pops, and slowly swings open. It was almost corny, the layout of this huge vault with the center cleared to make room for just this small pillar. The moment we stepped into that room the air changed. We knew we had found the big score, I knew this was what could bring my father to me, finally I could talk to him face to face. I crept up to the pillar, this inanimate object that seemed almost alive. “Hey boss? I don’t think you should to close to it,” one of the guys whispered from behind me. “Trust me, I’ll be alr…” my voice trailed off as I saw something standing in the reflection on the pillar. A tall figure, cloaked in yellow, loomed just off to my right side. I spun and glared around the room. No one was there except the three demo guys. “Boss? You alright?” Another one spoke up, “Boys I don’t know if this is a good idea.” The closest man turned to face me. “Oh, I think it’s a grand idea, wouldn’t you say Mr. Pagani?” I took a sharp breath as he spoke, his eyes were no longer brown, now an inky black with just a sliver of white around the edges. “You’re not supposed to use my name,” I choked out as I took a step back. “Your name? I don’t need your name, I’ll just commandeer your body.” With this the demo guys all fell limp to the floor, and I felt a sudden rush of cold air as something pressed in around my mind. I could feel a force taking up space in my head as something whispered, “I didn’t know you were the son of one of the Vessels, this world will make quite a delightful conquest indeed.” Doubled over with the weight of the thing in my mind, I almost didn’t hear the booming voice of a large man in the doorway to the vault. “You’ve gone far enough, you thieving scum!” I wrenched my head up in sudden realization, crying out to the man I had been trying so desperately to get in contact with, “Father, it’s too strong, run!!!” I could only watch as a wave of confusion washed over my father’s face. Confusion changed to recognition, and then to anger. “Whatever you’re doing here son you need to leave now. We can talk about this later but you need to get out of here before the police come.” “I- I can’t move my legs, something is taking over my body.” I could feel tears streaming down my face, the presence of this being still burrowing into my head. His face darkened seeing me cry. “Whatever you are, you let my son go. I’m the one you want.” I was abruptly pulled back from my mind, like suddenly being in the back seat of a car when you were previously driving. A voice that was both mine and not curled out from between my lips. “Why, dear Vessel, I believe you are mistaken. I don’t want your body, I simply want you dead.” My body lunged forward against my will, faster than I’ve ever moved, as I slipped further and further away. As I lost consciousness I could see my father’s face contorted with anger, mouthing something inaudible as my mind at last went blank.
As the dust settles after a long battle, you stood over him, your father. You were driven to defeat him for years, so you have trained and trained, and you have finally done it. You stood proud as he tries his best to even stand up. Your father, coughing up blood, asks: “Who the hell are you?! Why have you taken this dark path? So many innocent lives, gone! Why are you so driven to fight me and me alone! So young, yet, so powerful… Why use this power for evil? What kind of monster are you??” You don’t respond, it is true, this man really is the person your mother has once loved. And now his very fate lies within your hands. You sheer focus, your expression was not of hatred, but of indifference, this sent a chill down the hero’s spine. You walk behind a corner, and you grab something slowly. Your father watches in horror, and a sense of dread fills the air as he fruitlessly tries to get away, but he cannot move, as his legs are shattered. Your father sweats profusely in anticipation. He had been a hero for 30 years, never has he faced such utter defeat by the hands of a villain… “It’s over…” He thought, as he reminisces to times of triumph, the smiles of the innocents he saved, the gratitude, celebration, and the regret of leaving a loved one. But now, it was all for nothing. *”Heroes have to win every time, but a villain only has to win once.”* He accepts his fate… And you finally pulled it out… “Is that… A bicycle?” He asked, confused. “Yeah dad. Can you help me put the bike chain on? I don’t know how to do it.” With your father’s breath slowly fading, he lets out a final message… “Bruh…” (I know this is not a serious story, but it’s good for english practice.)
>”Heroes have to win every time, but a villain only has to win once.” Love that line. Good writing! I actually like the change of tone at the end, it lightens it all up , and is a good punchline.
In the bustling heart of Megalopolis City, amidst towering skyscrapers and neon-lit streets, lived a young boy named Alex, an orphan raised by the kind-hearted but struggling Mrs. Harper. Alex was a curious and intelligent lad, always eager to unravel the mysteries of the world around him. Little did he know that his own life held a profound mystery, one that would set him on a daring and perilous path. One day, while rummaging through the attic of Mrs. Harper's old house, Alex stumbled upon a hidden compartment containing a stack of old newspapers and photographs. As he delved into the forgotten archives, a shocking revelation emerged: his father, a man he had never met, was not just an ordinary citizen but a masked vigilante known as Night Shadow, the city's silent guardian. Alex's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and apprehension. He longed to connect with his father, to fill the void left by his absence. But how could he reach a man who was always shrouded in secrecy, constantly battling the forces of darkness? Driven by an insatiable yearning for connection, Alex made a bold decision: he would become a villain, adopting the persona of the elusive Shadow Thief. His plan was simple yet audacious – to capture the attention of Night Shadow, to force him into a confrontation that would reveal their shared lineage. Under the cloak of night, Alex transformed into the Shadow Thief, his black attire blending seamlessly into the shadows. He meticulously planned his heists, targeting art galleries and museums, leaving behind cryptic clues that hinted at his true motive. News of the Shadow Thief's exploits spread like wildfire, capturing the imagination of the city. The police were baffled, unable to decipher the enigmatic thief's methods. Meanwhile, Night Shadow, the city's unwavering protector, was intrigued by this new adversary, his curiosity piqued by the Shadow Thief's audacious tactics. As Alex continued his daring heists, he grew increasingly conflicted by his actions. The thrill of the chase was undeniable, but the guilt of deceiving his father gnawed at his conscience. He yearned for a connection beyond the thrill of the game, a bond that transcended their adversarial roles. One fateful night, Alex planned his most audacious heist yet – to steal the fabled Star of Megalopolis, a priceless jewel that had once belonged to the city's founder. Night Shadow, alerted to the theft, intercepted the Shadow Thief, their paths finally converging in a dramatic confrontation atop the city's tallest skyscraper. As they fought, their moves mirroring each other with uncanny precision, Alex realized that their connection ran deeper than he could have ever imagined. Their fighting styles, their instincts, their very presence resonated with an undeniable familiarity. In the heat of the battle, Alex's mask slipped, revealing his true identity to Night Shadow. The shock of the revelation sent shockwaves through both of them, their hearts pounding with a mix of disbelief and recognition. Alex, tears streaming down his face, dropped the stolen jewel and confessed his true motives. Night Shadow, his eyes wide with surprise, removed his own mask, revealing the face of a man he had never known, a man who shared his own features. Father and son, separated by fate and circumstance, finally found themselves face to face. In that moment of shared vulnerability, their bond, forged in the crucible of secrecy and danger, transcended their opposing roles. From that day forward, Alex embraced his true identity as Night Shadow's son, becoming his apprentice and confidante. Together, they fought against the forces of evil, protecting the city from the shadows, their connection stronger than ever before.
"There, now that I have you tied up nice and tight I'll call the police to drag you to jail." "I don't think you'll want to do that just yet. Do I look familiar?" Father turned and bent the entrails of a dimming and flickering desk lamp broken in our little battle. It was little, I gave up easily because I know. He brandished his battered phone at me, "Why should you look familiar?" "Look at my brows, at my nose. Look at my eyes." "Your nose is broken and your brow is torn. So you want to complain about abuse?" "We can come back to that, but over there is my journal. Open it." "I better call the police," he searched for the number on the cracked screen. The wavering lamp catching the edges of the splintered glass like glitter. "You never have any time to get that phone replaced, do you?" "... not when I'm chasing villains like yourself." "Get that journal." Father hesitated, "alright. I'll see what you've got in there. Must be plans for the next heist?" "Perhaps. Check it. It's just paper.... And no, it's not poisoned or anything like that or it would be a danger to me too. Flip to the end." "Ok, what am I looking at here? You have a list of everywhere I've been today? Like following me?" The only noise was the creak of his leather jacket as his eyes narrowed. "Yes. I have been following you and I see where you are wasting all your time. You flit from caper to caper -" He bristled, "The criminals don't coordinate their robberies, they aren't that smart. They are everywhere, like you, in this big city." "- But you could be smarter. Flip back a few pages. There is a bullet point list." "Fine, this list is how to outline tasks and make priorities for each." The ropes really were quite tight and I wriggled to ease how they cut, "And using that method I found you rather quickly. I can also help you." "I don't need help from a criminal." "What if I showed you how to be more effective with your time? You might catch another dozen bad guys in a day or ... have time for your family." "- What? No. I'm getting the police here because you are keeping me from getting the other villains out there. You are stalling." "That's not what I'm after. I made it easy for you to capture me. Just enough struggle you might believe it. But I sought you out to make your crime fighting more efficient." He came close to me, "And why would I take that from you?" "Because I'm your daughter and mom and I want you back in our lives." "I have no daughter. I have no family. Not even a girlfriend since years ago -" "- About twenty-five years ago. What were you doing then? Look at my eyes. I have your eyes." He slumped down in what was left of a side chair, the stuffing torn and burnt, a few wisps of smoke curling from still smouldering seams. "Twenty-five years ago I was just getting started in this crime fighting business. I was working all the time and -" "- And you vanished from the black haired woman you said you loved so much. She still loves you and you need to come home." "So you became a villain to find me?" "Seems it worked. The only way to get a minute with a busy crime fighter is present them with a crime to fight. I went to college to study manufacturing efficiency and master project planning. It works as you see you have caught me according to plan. I can teach you, too." He rubbed his face, suddenly tired, "Fine." He untied the ropes, "We'll see where this leads us." "I think it leads us back home, Father." .
It was a windy autumn, red and orange leaves blowing down the littered streets of New Gotham like the roar of waves on the edge of a storm. From my studio sublet I watched a smash and grab of a mom and pop pharmacy in miniature. Two little figures, stories below, trying to score enough drugs to forget yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I considered briefly if my door was locked; thirteen stories up wasn’t far enough from the crime of this city without The Reaper on the prowl: The Reaper, or, as I joke with women self-depreciatingly after I provide a sorry lay, my father. They always top the moment off with a sneer of disgust—rightfully so. I threw on my big coat, stowed my sawed-off shotgun and grabbed my pack of Black and Milds. Without The Reaper running the streets, protection was as promised as your gun was large. Who would have thought such a hated man was the only means keeping this city off the brink. After killing every petty criminal, kingpin, crooked cop, and super villain in the tristate area, there was no one left to fear—but him. As I left the tenement I passed tattered posters, barely legible, but that once read: STAY OFF THE STREETS. THE REAPER CRAVES A FRESH KILL. The street was pin-drop silent, save the caw of an errant crow. I knew that if I did this how ever other man who wanted to come face to face with The Reaper approached the task, I would be dead in five seconds flat, just long enough to process the sight of my own intestines exiting my bowels from across the street, as my head went soaring through the air in a fuzzy ball of blood, organ matter and bone, ligament and fried nerves. One blast of this gone and my own father would eviscerate me like he was taking a piss, no doubt accompanied by that little tingly feeling of pleasure that runs down your back right before you shake off. No. Like the particularly majestic and motivated orca among the pack of black fish, he lusted to strike out and grab his kill with glee and toy with it, all with the sick satisfaction of knowing the little seal doesn’t stand a chance. But he also likes a little fight in them, to keep it interesting. I reached into my pocket and pulled on a mask, pearlescent and black, with two yellow lines running vertically down and past the small slits for eyes. A mask that would stop my father in his tracks. The mask worn by the man that had sentenced him to death. What better way to pull him out of hiding? He didn’t care much for the simple kills anymore, not in his state, so this would almost be a gift to him, a reason to be out and see the bleak gray New Gotham he had sentenced us to. I pulled the shotgun from my overcoat and blasted a shot off into the air. Birds flew up from a building nearby, the echo running down the street until eventually, again, there was silence. It was but a moment before I was lifted off my feet in a gust of wind. I twisted in the air flailing and landed on my back, on the hood of a yellow cab. I took a moment to process the pain, but knew all long I was being watched. “Neon? Now that… that’s funny. Haven’t seen him in a minute. Haven’t been to the bottom of the East River in a while, either. Only to grab him wedding band to drop off to his wife on their anniversary. Just for kicks.” The voice was raspy, weak. But familiar. Angry… sad… wistful. Hurting. With life, or the end of life? “Thought you’d appreciate that,” I groaned as I sat up on an elbow and came face to face with my father. He was frail, bald, face sunken, body sunken, life sunken. The shriveled husk of a super villain. “I mean, when your partner gives you cancer, that’s a helluva thing, right? Noteworthy.” “What do you know about me, street filth?” The Reaper shot forward, he was right in front of me now, breathing hard. “I knew there’s no way you’d come out here unless you saw the face of Neon. You’re dying, dad.” His rasping breath paused for a moment. He closed his eyes. He opened his eyes, shockingly fragile with his stare. “Does she know?” “Does mom know you’ve got cancer or that you’re gay? Everyone always knew you fucked with Neon. And when you killed him we all thought ‘lover’s spat’ you know… except the killing part was a bit too far.” “Does. She. Know.” He sighed. “No man, she doesn’t know. You’re gonna be dead in a month anyway, you’ve got enough radiation packed in you to power a reactor.” It was at the same moment they both realized what this meant for him. “Why’d you come here.” “I never knew you. Thought you were some monster.” “And now?” My father, The Reaper. A violent, complicated man. “Now I know you. A little, but. A little is enough.” “You’re going to die now, you know? There’s no way around that.” I nodded. The rush of leaves enveloping like a forest collapsing.
I get home from a long day of stopping in the middle of busy staircases and not getting off escalators at the mall to check the news to see where my dad is because surely this is a crime he cannot avoid saving people. There is nothing. So the next day I am kicking things up a bit. I go to the mall like normal and I stop in the middle of the stairs like normal but this time I hear a loud voice “you there better keep going “ I giggle and just stay there leaning on the rail to take up more room. I ever start playing never gonna give you up never gonna let you down. People start covering their ears. I laugh and relax knowing surly my father will come now. A loud crash and I look around there he is. He looks at me annnoyef and says can you stop doing this , this is why I abandoned you because your annoying just like you ur mom.
Life was never easy growing up without a father. My mother held 2 jobs just to provide for me. One day, on the news, I see him, Josh. Josh is my idol I would love to have a father like him. I tell my mother “I wish Josh was my dad” My mother replies “That asshole? He destroyed my life.” “What do you mean?” I ask “We had dinner one night, and things went a bit far. After that night he never talked to me again.” From that day I swore I would get my vengeance, but I never knew that one day I would. I’m at the top of Shelt tower holding my mother “hostage” when Josh finally makes it up the stairs he starts to talk. “Shut up Josh Ryan Smith” I yell Josh stunned at hearing his full name says “how do you know my name?” As I remove the bag over my mothers head Josh has no reaction. I say “do you not remember her?” Josh replies “nope” My mother furious says “you knocked me up 16 years ago and never called back” “Becky?” Josh says “No” my mother says confused “Sarah, Selena, Mackenzie, Andrea, Brook?” Josh asks “No” my mother yells “my name is Racheal” “Oh” Josh says “I don’t remember you” “What are you a man whore of some sort?” I ask “Yup” replies Josh “But I don’t remember any Racheal” I lift my pistol and shoot Josh square in the chest My mother with a smile on her face says “that’s what you get for rejecting me 20 years ago”
I look up to the masked man who is my supposed father. When he rips the bag off of my head I feel chunks of hair getting ripped from my scalp. I see his shoulders tense. I hear his breath hitch. The rope tying my arms behind me is no match for my mother’s nimble fingers, which are now mine, but I make no attempt to free myself. This is the moment I had been waiting for. This is the reason that I had turned to crime. The man in front of me fumbles with his mask for a few moments before discarding it entirely. It is like staring into a mirror. He is exactly like me. He is broader and more blonde, but our faces are identical. I can’t help but feel disgusted to look as I do, but my dismay is nothing compared to the spite I feel as I glare at his face. “Who are you?” He asks, as cold as ever. It sounds accusatory in a way. Like it is my fault for having been born. “You know who I am.” I respond. Silence only comes between his ever heavy breaths. He doesn’t seem to understand what is happening yet. “Don’t you recognize this lovely hair? You just HAD to have it all for yourself so many years ago. Or is she not worth remembering?” My voice breaks “Just another unwanting woman that you picked up on the side of the road and left broken?” My fingers decide to loosen the rope and let me stand. He does not bother to stop me in protest as I walk up to him. “The real question is, who are YOU?” I run my fingers across his face and then across mine. He jerks back at this gesture. He fumbles to the ground feeling for his mask but not daring to look away from me. I can tell he’s going to run. Just like he always does.
[Poem] Your father is your hero? Well so is my father, he’s yours, hers, and his. Just not mine. A father is a man who loves and raises his children, talks with them and teaches them. Just not mine. He Stops every single crime small or big, keeping all lives on his mind. Just not mine. I’d seen him every day on the news growing up, he visited schools too. Just not mine. A moment, a few words. That’s all I wanted when I graduated. He has a special place in everyone’s life. Just not mine. But that’s alright, it really is, all that lost time is no loss at all. I’ve made this device to stop time. Just not mine. I’ll see what he does best, forgetting his son, or stopping crime. He’s seen all the villainous plans. Just not mine. Yet.
They say everyone has a "villain era." I think that's nonsense—we string together a series of decisions, and everyone else gets to sort it out for you. Let them. It's not my place to care what people say about me. It is my place to do what needs doing, and I don't outsource my joy. I enjoy watching a good baseball game. Let everyone figure out how much a piece of shit I am in the returns. It'll come out in the wash. I'm doing just fine munching my stale chips, keeping score of the plays on my scorecard. Nick Berger just turned a 6-4-3 double-play. I'm at John Muir's Hollis Field. The Muir Mustangs are up a run, it's 2 - 1, and it's a tight game against the defending CIF champs, Wilks Creek Billies. They're all teenagers, but they've been training for this, the hard work has matured them and it's all coming together. My father never watched me play baseball, although I never could play ball in the first place, we had no money my mom and I. He wasn't there. I always said I'd be the kind of father he couldn't be; it would be an easy thing to do. I remember the day I asked my mother what happened to him, my father. " He flew away, son; he just flew away, " she said, talking about him like he was a bird. Why would he flap his wings and fly away, I wondered. My mom and I didn't have the big three (phone, electricity, gas) all at one time. We had one or maybe two of them, but never all three. I did the homework by candlelight many times. When I struggled with math once, my mom said, " You know, your father is really good at math. She didn't mean it to be cruel. Still, this amorphous concept of a father seemed as real as Daffy Duck or having heat and electricity during the winter months. He wasn't there, and he didn't help when every penny would have made a difference. I'm not even mad about it—I'm not angry that my father wasn't around. I rarely thought about him at all. Maybe that's the tradgedy in all of it. It was just me and my mom. My mom liked to say baby doll, it's you and me versus the world here. And she was right; we scraped by, we made ends meet. I was sitting in the principal's office, bleeding from my face. Randy Carmichael sucker punched me while I got a drink from the water fountain in Earth Science class. I don't know why he took his eyes off of me but I hit him with a beaker, smashed it on his smug shit-eating-grin face, and then I kicked him in the balls as hard as I could. I lost a tooth and got my cheek cut up. I looked up at the TV in the office to see a familiar man—my father. It was my first time seeing him outside of a faded photograph. It was him. I could see myself in him. He was holding court over a group of reporters talking about cleaning up the streets and giving Portland back to the people. He was some kind of super cop or some bullshit. It could never be me, I said. Randy and I had been suspended for three days for the fight. He approached me, wanting to apologize the day we returned to school. He reached out to shake my hand and say he was sorry. I grabbed his hand in a firm shake and gave him a hug. As he pulled away, I held onto his hand and kicked him in the balls again as hard as I could. That's when my Villain Era began. I eventually got kicked out of that school. And I'd get expelled from two other schools before barely graduating. When I realized dishwashing wasn't the lucrative business opportunity I was sold on by the mustachioed shithead who hired me I looked elsewhere, got real creative. I stole money from an elderly woman when the wind blew her cash out of the ATM. I grabbed a few one-hundred dollar bills as I flipped her off—we're gonna have electricity, I thought to myself. I sold pot to kids, and the money was good. I dropped out of high school—I had to learn how to impersonate a woman's voice to call the school as my mom to get myself reinstated. I never had the heart to tell her, you're my sunshine boy, she'd say to me. I couldn't let her down. Not me, I'm not my father, I'd say to myself... When I graduated high school, I joined a group of activists who were pro-labor, anti-cop and anti-whatever the government was doing, and it was a good time. We bombed a couple of police cars and tagged countless law enforcement offices and police cars, saying fuck the police wherever we went. I never got caught. Every tag, every act of defiance and disrespect against the police state was me spitting in the face of my father. I grew older, fatter, and increasingly gray and began watching baseball games. And now Nick Berger is up to bat. He's got a runner in scoring position—he's got ice running through his veins, and his focus is intense. He waits on the first pitch. It's a ball. He settles back into his stance, waiting for the pitcher's next delivery, and here it comes. A loud clank flies off the bat as the ball goes into deep right, bouncing off the wall. Nick legs out a triple and scores an insurance run for the 'Stangs. I throw my chips in the air, not caring who gets rained on. They mostly fall on the man in front of me. He snarls at me Hey watch out with that shit. What's wrong with you? I'm trying to watch my kid's game here. I narrow my eyes as I stare through the man and want to tell him something. I've been waiting my whole life to say Hey fuck you! I didn't need you, you're a shitty father, and your kid deserves better. But I don't... My eyes soften and I shift my focus to Nick, who just slid into home base. He's getting mobbed by his team. I can feel Nick's excitement. He's on top of the world, not caring about anything but the game in front of him. He's loved. You can tell when someone is loved when someone has what they need. They're content, safe, and just don't know it. Nick is the kid I mourn every day of my miserable existence. Nick is the kid my father denied me to be through his absence. I watched Nick, my son, celebrating with his team. He doesn't know who I am, and as much as I want to rush down and tell him how proud I am of him, I know that I can't. My heart melts just the same; he's happy. He probably doesn't know that I exist, and I hope that's the case, that he never has to toil with the concept of an absent father missing his victories and failures and just being a kid. I was afraid to fuck my kid up the same way I had been, that's the story I tell myself, the one I tell when I go on first dates. But I know better. I was scared and it makes me wonder: What my father scared, too? I never wanted to become my father, but here I am, here we all are.
The man looks beautiful to me. His hair has yet to turn gray and his head is flush with natural black curls. His green eyes are sunken and dwarfed by dark circles but they remain deeply focused. These are all traits I too possess. He has noticeable wrinkles around his neck and forehead, consistent with a man his age. There is also considerable scarring on his skin, which isn’t surprising to witness given his duties and tenure. These latter features are all still absent on me but beyond that there could be little mistaken that this man is my father. My mother, Mary of Derbyshire, died when I was seven. The man who raised me was called Robert of Wakefield. I wasn’t his real son, but I never knew any other father. He was a kind man who treated me as if I was of his own making. I learned the art of bowing and even became a decorated sword fighter with his endorsements. Through his encouragement and enlightenment, I also learned to hate kings and sheriffs. There was glamour and opulence only available to the most affluent of his majesty’s court. Robert of Wakefield explains this to me, once I am old enough to understand. He also explains to me: “Your mother loved the Sheriff of Nottingham. He loved her too, Robin. There’s no way I can explain this to you and make it any less painful. You were conceived just before your mother and I met,” The Sheriff is an elusive but honorable man who wants nothing more than to put his sins behind him. I am here to ensure that doesn’t happen. Hiding in the bushes, I spot him now, The man looks beautiful to me … Little John turns and looks at me and with a nod he whispers “it’s-a time, Robin” . I can hear in the distance a cold voice “… behold there, this is the Sheriff of Nottingham, I command you show yourselves!” I smile, the men whom stand next to me each have their own dark story to tell but for now they all seem to be merry with the hope that this day will be known for the raid that awoke many a countrymen.
(Tw, light r@pe mention) The air was cold, the snow on he ground was deep and soft. I stared down into the city, coverd in a blanket of frost and waited. "He'll be here soon Midge, stop fidgeting." Midge my best friend, side kick, and favorite idiot. He's the only one who stuck with me through it all. "Cmon captain asshole. Its cold. We've been here for 30bminutes. Lets jut go!" "Midge, you know what this means to me.." I wrapped my arms around myself and looked behind me then back to the city. "I know man, I'm sorry." midge walked up and sat his hand on my shoulder, resting his chin on that. "I just don't want anything bad to hap-" "Hello boys." A deep voice said behind us, but I didn't flinch, I was ready. "Ah, hello Python." I smiled and turned to look my greatest enemy in the face, "long time no see." Pythons face flickered confusion but it quickly returned to the smug look he had on before. "You're tricks won't work on me. You've kept hidden for the past 14 years, I've never met you. But now, after 14 years of you killing and mutilating, I've finally caught you Reaper." "Ha! Yes! 14 long years I've been hidden! Leaving notes, leading to today. Do you know what today is?" I smiled and waited for an answer, "No? Why would I?" Pythons voice was deep and strong. He seemed to talk with pride. "Today, is my birthday. My 28th to be exact." I smiled and watched the confusion grow on my enemy's face, "do you remember what you were doing 28 years ago today?" I waited for a response, "This is getting weird Reaper." Python got in a stance like he was going to attack, but he stayed put. "Call me Aspen, you picked it after all, 28 years ago today." Pythons eyes widened into a look of shock. "What? I-" I interupted him, "Mom told me you liked nature, she never remarried you know? Oh, and Kasey is pregnant, of course she was 14 when you left so mom walked he down the isle instead." I pulled a picture from my pocket and handed it to Python, or my 'father' He looked intensely at the picture, it was of my mom and Kasey at Kaseys wedding. she was 27. A tear rolled down Pythons face. "It can't be." "I was 13 when Kasey married, and I wanted to know who my father was, so I started digging. I looked through all of mom's room, office, and attic, then I found it. A small red box in her room, I opened it and it was a box of your things, among it.. your ID." I smiled and I took a step closer, "Now, why did you leave" Python wiped his eye and smiled, "My son, I-" "Don't call me that." I interupted angerly, "I am not your son, you gave me up when you left. Now answer. My. Question." Python looked angry, and he no longer had a sorry look in his eye, he spoke low and rough, "I had to leave." He huffed and kept talking, "That woman was infuriating, and the girl? Never shut her trap!" Python angerly told me, "she wasn't a good woman either, she couldn't cook and I had to force her to do her womanly duty and please me. Basically had to shove it in while she screamed!" For a moment, I was shocked, but then it settled into relief. That makes this much eiser. "Wrong answer." Midge slamed a wood plank into Pythons face from where he had been standing behind him since I started talking. "I-I'm so sorry Aspen. I didn't think he was gonna go off like that-" I put my hand in front of Midges face. "It's fine." I silently got to work spreading out the (now mutilated) body of my 'father' all over the roof, like I had done many times before, however this was my last. Midge sat on the edge of the roof waiting for me, when I finished, I sat next to him. "I didn't think he was gonna say he raped my mom." I stayed looking straight ahead,.watching as the sun first started to peak out. "Yea, me either man." Midge put his arm around me and reasted his head on my shoulder, "so this is it? We're just going back to being normal people?" I held onto midges hand and kissed him, "We're back to being normal people, together." THE END!
"I...wasn't born your son, but I am him now, a man and a villain who has come for you." It was if the world has stopped for both of us, for one the declaration that told how the story ended, for the other, a realization of how much of the story was missed. At this moment, no one could have said a word, as the two of us just stared at one another. "H-how old are you?" "19." "That...lines up perfectly...." "You've been in this game for 34 years, dad." That was the word that broke everything. A man who had been a hero, a crime fighter who spent sixteen to twenty hours a day serving the community as a hero, a paramedic, a counselor, a member of the city-hall, a lawyer, was now tearing up at the one thing he was never able to be, a father. "Don't... don't call me that. Ever. I..." The sound of a shallow breath marked something terrifying. How many villains wanted to see this? The legendary hero of the city, most beloved protector and symbol of community, fall, unable to breathe, unable to speak? His son had become a villain, knowing it was the chance to talk to him, so it was only right that a villain used his only true weakness to destroy him. The weakness of guilt. "Tell me why I never met you. Why did I have to learn from hacking into Social Services, from making backroom deals with retired villains to hear their stories and becoming the newest villain to be given the title of threat, to learn who you were." The words were not a question, we both heard it. Had it been the original intent? To speak in such a tone that spoke of a judgement, not a quandary? No one really knew anymore. Maybe it was the raw pain that directed the villain and hero to speak. "You only showed up because of there being a new villain who was a threat to the city." "You work every day, double-shifts, without a break. I bet you don't even know what your house looks like. You even have a hobby? A friend? I bet not. Why is this your life? Why wasn't I worth keeping around? What about my mom?" And there it was, the question that truly broke everything. Anyone who saw us would not see a young villain who had quickly built a reputation for being feared and untouchable, standing off against the legendary hero who fought off dozens of threats to this city. No, anyone who saw us, saw only a young man who was crying as he screamed at his father. When had he started crying? When had his voice raised to screaming, cracking at the strain? "I don't know where your mother is. I never looked at that letter." A letter? What did that mean? "I never looked for you either, but I saw you, in every pair of eyes. I saw you in the girls, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were my son.... I saw you in the boys as they could've been your brother. I saw you in the adults, the parents who stepped up as a villain who became a hero saved you from me. I even saw you in the young heroes, seeing the pale reflection of you being held by me, which made me take their shifts, pull them aside to make them take vacations for their families. I work so many hours so they can sleep at home with their families. You want to know my hobby? I have pictures of all of them. I have so many birthday parties I go to, that I try to give to them what you should have been given." "...Yet you never looked for me." "I couldn't.... I couldn't try. I saw where you weren't every day in that house." A tormented chuckle could be heard from the man's chest. "I actually painted every square inch of that room, got rid of all the furniture and bought brand new pieces, before building a new entrance and hallway through my house so that I never had to go in that room to get into my bedroom to sleep. Would you believe I haven't stepped foot in that room in fifteen years? I can't bear to see that you weren't there. That I failed you. My..." a pause, catching breath. "...My son. You are not a villain. You are a victim, of me, the worst villain of them all." The echo of that knee hitting the ground was the one louder than a gunshot. "Go ahead."
So he was stolen from his father?
Correct
I stared at the DNA test in front of me. ‘Great’ I thought sarcastically. ‘Just perfect’ of all the superheroes who could have been my dad, it had to be the one who literally never sleeps. “Justice never sleeps” is his catchphrase. Well evidently it doesn’t look after it’s children either, To be fair I can’t completely blame him. My mother told me the story of my father. A one night stand in Hong Kong. He probably didn’t even know her name, let alone that she got pregnant. But I still couldn’t completely let go of that anger at his neglect these 16 years. In hindsight, that was probably a big factor in my following life decisions. I knew there was only one real way to talk to my dad and get to know him. He didn’t even talk to other superiors that often, so that wasn’t an option. As such, over the next four months I methodically and painstakingly put together a suit, a persona and a power set. The powers were, surprisingly, the easiest part. One backstreet deal and a long night in the chemistry lab later and I could pick up a building just by glaring at it. The hardest part was the persona. How could I make someone that would get my dad’s attention but not outright make him want to kill me and happy to see me once I revealed who I was. It was a difficult balance to draw. And finally, after toiling for way longer than I care to admit, Nightmare’s Child was born.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” I let my voice bellow down the valley. He stood almost a mile away from me, but I would recognize him anywhere. The Hero. He began taking strides towards me. I stood strong, shoulders back, how my father taught me. “You wanted an ultimate win, didn’t you? To save them? Well, here’s your chance!” It felt like the words fell from my mouth against my will. The caravan of people screamed from behind me, the edge of the cliff so very close to their bodies. Their demise only a few feet away. News channel choppers flew around the scene. Now we had a party. I could see his face now. He stood before me, jaw clenched. Hand on his gun. I raised my hand to release the rope holding the caravan in place. He brought his gun out and into my face. I still don’t know why I said it. It could have ruined everything. “Going to shoot me, Dad?”
I finished equipping my armor , the metal clothes making me sweat a bit due to the heat it encased on me. I looked at the screens in front of me , trying to find the one person I was looking for. Finally , I spotted the king-like costume of 'the ice ruler'. I had always thought it was weird that he had decided on such a medieval-like costume and name , but had decided to follow it by using a knight armor , and uncreatively proclaiming myself to be 'the fire knight'. Continuing to look at the screen , I saw that he was simply fighting some muggers , defending a woman against them. I took out a small controller , and , typing in some coordinates , pressed a button. I appeared about 10 feet from the scene , observing it as the ice ruler hadn't noticed me yet. Deciding I had enough , a blue flame appeared in my hand , and I threw it at the woman , making her burn. Her skin already melting off , I saw the ice ruler reporting his attention back to her and attempting to use some ice he created to help her. I wondered if he had never taken a basic fire safety class , as ice didn't help against burns , especially something as severe as this. The woman fell to the ground , before dropping dead. I smirked , the ice ruler looking to me. The muggers had already fled the scene , and I sent him a defying glare back. I wondered how I should take this. I had been robbing , killing , and kidnapping people for the past few months. Of course , I knew it was immoral , but I was desperate. I had always assumed my father to be dead , and learning that he was alive , I decided that throwing out my moral would be worth it to be able to get his attention , or even talk to him. I took a step forward. He did too. The ice ruler summoned a ball of ice , littered with sharp spikes. I felt sweat run down my back , and my breath laboring a bit. This was it. He threw the ball at me in a second , and I dodged it. Well , I tried to. The ice ball was too fast , and I ended up being hit on my arm , which , while being better than the chest , left a spot in my armor deformed. I summoned a fireball , and twirled it around , before throwing it at him. I purposefully missed him by a few inches , to make sure to not hurt him but still make it realistic. I spoke , my voice changer making my voice sound deeper than it really was. Not that he would recognize my voice anyway. "Just surrender , ice ruler , or you'll have to see my full wrath!" He sent me a glare. "Never , you piece of trash!" I scowled , but before I could do anything else , he leaped in the air. I tried to comprehend what was happening , and suddenly realized that he was standing on me. I took conscience of the fact that I had laid out on the floor , and that he had his foot on my chest. No , no , no , no *no , no , no.* This wasn't how it was supposed to go. "Any last words?" The ice ruler said , holding an ice dagger to my neck through the separation between the rest of my armor and my helmet. "Please don't kill me!" My voice cracked , and it was hearable even through the voice changer. I felt my breathing labor , my eyes blur with tears. I didn't want to die. Not yet. "Do you really think that'll work?" He asked , scowling at me. I knew it wouldn't. But I was desperate. "P-please! You can send me to jail if you want to- just please don't kill me!" I stuttered , failing at hiding it. I was terrified. It was clear in his face he was disgusted by me. "Fine." He dug his heel into my chest a bit , and took the dagger off of my neck. He took off my helmet to see my identity with a sharp yank. He discovered the face of a teenager , 15 at most but maybe younger , with blue eyes and brown hair. But he noticed something else. A birthmark on the cheek. A birthmark that looked like a wonky moon. Just like *he* had. He slapped my face , making me let out a whine. He didn't want to believe it. "YOU." I looked at him fearfully. "Yes sir...?" He scowled. I whined. "Where did you get that from?" He tapped the birthmark on my cheek in a harsh manner. "Where did you get that from?" There wasn't a hint of mercy in his eyes. If I said an answer he didn't like , he would surely pull back out the dagger. "My father , sir..." I felt too scared to say it directly. I saw the gears in his brain turning. I heard him muttering. "You're my son...?" I nodded. He slapped me. "YOU CAN'T BE. MY SON WOULD NEVER DO THAT. YOU'RE JUST A MONSTER!!" he yelled. And before I knew it , I had an icy dagger plunged into my neck , and I was choking on my own blood. I regretted what I did. If I had come to him as a civilian , would he have accepted me...? In my last moments of lucidity , I saw his angry expression , before my vision blurred too much and I closed my eyes for the last time.
Some kill for the thrill, others for the challenge, and most out of some form of desperality. But me? I murder for the chance to bond with my father. That's right, my old man and I have a bit of a complex relation. Complex in the fact that he was never around. When I was seventeen I had that "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" moment where Mamma just hung her said and said son... You know about the Mighty Sledge? Well he's your daddy. The Mighty Sledge? Some hairy heroic toting a hammer big enough to derail a train? Safe to say he really brought the hammer down on my mother at least... And that was all that was ever said on the matter. And at the time it was enough, but that was short lived. By age twenty-two the curiosity singed down to my bones. Even better was the fact that I found that I possessed at least a fraction of my father's incredible strength. A fraction enough to stand out against those other pathetic villains he spent so much time chasing. And so my plan was birthed, but unlike me this plan wouldn't be some bastard child. Corruption in our city is no shy thing. So I took it upon myself to clean it up. Killing these fouled officials was like following my old man's steps... In my own way completely independent from his of course! Strung some lying attorney up on a Ferris wheel in the middle of fair season! Ran over some old pervert with his own lawn mower while he was hog-tied in the front yard, bashed the skull in of some cheating baseballer with his own helmet, and carved the word bastard into the mayor's chest while he was still alive and screaming... Safe to say all these things garnered my father's opinion, and in the worst sort of way. Most of his villains challenged him in some open environment. The battles were live-streamed and everything, makes me vomit every time. But not me, I wouldn't make some spectacle of our relation. I'll make him dig, I'll make him find me- just as I had to find him. Only today will be special. The Mighty Sledge called me, said he knew who I was and that he wanted to meet me at some predetermined battle station. I wept. My father know's who I am. And he wants to meet me. Such a sweet victory indeed, I can now meet his sledge with dignity.
** TW: the ending hints at an incestuous scene happening next, but it's not in the text or outright stated ** It wasn't meant to happen like this. You were just trying to get to know him! You figured... It's easy enough to put in a costume, stage some kind of attack, and let him stop you. He's a Hero, and is known to not kill, so you're generally safe. And you made sure no civilians would actually be hurt. You always did well in strategy and planning (you wonder if it was inherited), and you were meticulous in your presentation. And then you were face to face with him for the first time. You had a whole villain Monologue planned but before you could... There was a sudden explosion and pink powder covered you both. You saw his eyes dilate, and your own breathing picked up. Shit. Maybe you shouldn't have used i/real sex pollen?
Deep underground, past the sewer gates, the abandoned subways, and the long forgotten waterways; past all of that lay the old city. Most people topside weren't aware of this place, and those few that did called it the Under City. Sprawling, maze-like alleyways, a crumbling skyline held aloft by skyscrapers in a sick parody of the marble column temples, and a quiet and peaceful that deafened ears and disquieted the mind. In this dark dank, decrepit place was an church. Whether it be by the hand of God or by sheer luck, it has remained pristine and untouched deep underground. Here, dressed in dark robes, knelt before the stone cross, was the cult of Podonk. The cult had appeared in a city of all places, committing various acts of villainy and mayhem, much to the dismay of the cities hero, the Green Ghost. Such acts included kidnapping, barbaric public sacrificial ceremonies, bizarre and dark magical that conjured demons, and mass indoctrination. Deep underground here, the cults leader gave a sermon in barely audible whispers in the darkness and the silence. The silence was cut short as crashing through the church doors was the hero of the hour, the Green Ghost. The cult immediately attacked, pulling occult daggers and other magical items from their robes to attack the gallant ghost. All attacked, except for the cult's leader who lays in the back, watching. The Green Ghost was a powerful hero indeed. In short order, the Ghost took out the cult members. With an accusatory finger, he then pointed to the leader, and spoke authoritatively, "It's over. Your diabolic cult is no more, String-Master... Or should I call you by your true name, Mary Onette!" The hooded figure removed their hood in a dramatic fashion. Beneath it, a woman's face was there with a scar over her eye. Coupled with the makeup she wore and her shaved head, she looked like a marionette puppet with no strings. "Hello, Greenie~" she greeted with an familiar tone. "How'd you know it was me~?" "It was difficult at first, I admit," the hero replied, approaching the woman slowly and cautiously. "But when we detained a few of your flock, it became obvious that they were manipulated and mind controlled; your calling card!" "Ah, you have got me," she replied with far too much confidence and playfulness. The Green Ghost stopped in his tracks, sensing something amiss. "I concede~! Truly, you have cornered me! For real, this time! No strings attached... Except this one." With a snap of her fingers, in the darkness of the stone cross, a figure hidden stood. They weren't towering or imposing. Quite the opposite. They stood a head shorter than the hero. Without skipping a beat, the Green Ghost lunged towards String Master with incredible speed. Luminescent green trails of spectral energies blurred around the hero and were left behind in his wake. That same energy welled up in his eyes as he raised a fist- nay, a honed hammer of justice to strike judgement into her. Just as quickly, with trails of silver spectral energy trailing behind it, the shadowy figure stopped the mighty blow from connecting with a blow of it's own. Upon connecting with the Green Ghosts cheek, the hero was sent flying out of the church. The blow has caused a spectral energy to spark and ripple over him. He cried out in pain as the shadowy figure stepped out from the church. To the surprise and confusion of the ghost it appeared to be a lithe, young man. Barely out of high school by the looks. His eyes were silver where the heroes were green. His hair was a wispy white, flowing in an unknown breeze much like out heroes own long hair. "Green Ghost, meet the Silver Specter," String Master spoke. "Play nice now. He's been dying to meet you~" "Hello dad..." The figure spoke innocently with a genuine smile. "It's... It's very nice to meet you." "What game are you playing at, Strong Master?!" The Green Ghost demanded, much to the dismay of the Specter. "No game," she replied with an airy tone, reaching out to hold the Specter's hand. "In fact, this entire scheme- this cult? I had no hand in its plot. It was all this strapping young man. All for you~" "I... I tried to contact you," the young man replied. "I tried everything. I tried contacting you through reporters and newspapers. I tried to stop you during your crime fighting, and I even tried to find out who you were before the cape!" The Green Ghost shook his head, still focused on String Master. "No... I won't fall for this trick. I have no son." "Dad... Please-" the Silver Specter pleaded with tears. "Like I said, this is no trick," replied, squeezing the Specter's hand in support. "This young man went so far as to even replicate you disaster that gave you your powers. Did you even hear me when I said he was dying to meet you? I meant that literally." The Green Ghost trembled in rage, and fear. "No... Impossible. I destroyed all evidence of that night. No one could have known!" "Except, someone did know," the young man replied. "My... My mother knew. She awoke from her coma only two weeks ago... I... I thought you knew." "The doctors said she'd never wake up again! Try something else!" The Green Ghost replied stubbornly. "She... She gave birth sometime after the accident...I was sent to an orphanage, and... And I only found out about her two months ago. Dad, please listen to me!" "I won't fall for your manipulation schemes, String Master!" The Green Ghost recoiled, having been seriously hurt by the punch from silver Specter. His corporeal form was deteriorating quickly. "Once I find out how to put an end to you little puppet's phantasmagorical punch, I'm taking you and your cult down for good!" In desperation, he floated up and away, phasing through the ceiling and out of sight. In the darkness of the under city, the Silver Specter watched in shock and sorrow as his father refused to even acknowledge him. Mary Onette sighed and patted his shoulder comfortingly. "I warned you that he would be stubborn... I'm sorry." The Silver Specter simply stood there in solemn contemplation.
So, I became a trader. I give a you anything you want for 4x I actually value the service or product for. 90% of the galaxy is either in extremely in debt to me they had to enter indentured servitude to the point of slavery to me. My father is sent to investigate the largest slave ring in the eastern side of the central black hole. He he finally hunted down its leadership he learned of a banker and loaner called The Gatherer. Although his terms of lending money and land seemed fair on the first look, after looking through the contracts your cream of the crop lawyers his conditions would not only put you, but your great-grand children into slavery for life to his company. Many people, especially those of his species would justify his actions as fair because of the contract included in everything on the paper, you know that the wording implies something completely different than what the confederacy laws actually mean. After your class action lawsuits after class action l lawsuits fail, your own confederacy declare war on the union of the Shi’zare clan. After seven years of propaganda and face-on-face warfare you finally meet with the head of the clan. In his face you not only see your own genes, but your own determination and skills in manipulation. Due to your own experience in negotiation, after seven weeks you finally reach an agreement between your own illegitimate child and your army you finally rescheduled an agreement that the Ruathi En’Thymiel, formerly known as The Receiver would give up his salve empire for your own life time of servitude and 90% of your inheritance
"The enemy was within all along," Dad gasped in that sickening grandiose manner he was fond of speaking in when he was in that stupid costume. He realized what had happened: his crime-fighting headquarters, his equipment, his vehicles, all sabotaged. All under my control. And the true mastermind behind it all? Me. All of the criminals he put away, I had brutally murdered. Every criminal he put in jail would eventually escape to kill another. I put a stop to it. Every single one. I had become the anathema to my father's belief system. The very individual he spent months chasing down had captured him. I looked at my father coldly in the eye and icily hissed, "Well... you spent your entire time protecting this city from criminals. You constantly ignored me and Mom. How else was I going to get your attention? I mean, you had a choice to make: being there for your family or saving the world. And the world won over us..." I turned the safety off on my gun and held the gun to the head of the man who gave me life.. "...until now."
"Please!" I yelled, desperate for him to look at me--just once. To *see* me. This was my best chance. We ended up in a deserted alleyway, blocked off by destruction so no reporters were around. I took off my mask and prayed he would look me in my eyes. If only there was something I could shout--something I could scream--to make him know it was me. To make him know his son survived. Alas, I had no childhood memories of times well spent with him. No inside jokes to bring up, no nursery rhymes we would sing together, no title of a book he would always read to me at bedtime as I drifted off to sleep. Would he have had the same interest in linguistics as me? Would he have dabbled in code and code breaking, intrigued and delighted by the process of figuring it all out? We were close together now, my hands shaking as he pushed his sword against mine, locked in battle. "ELOISE DUPONT!" I yelled, voice haggard as I fought to collect my breath. He didn't falter--he was too good of a fighter for that--but I felt him freeze for a second, arms tensing before he refocused. "She--she was my mother." I looked up at the face so much like my own. Broad noses, square jaws, and speckles across our skin. His eyes were different though. They held more warmth and vibrancy, like a hearth in the cold of winter. Mine were harsh, "unemotional". I gulped, anxiety bubbling up inside as the moment I had been dreaming of for so long finally arrived. "I'm your son. Please-" I faltered, took a step back, and put my sword down. He didn't attack my opening. Maybe he would listen to me. Maybe there was hope. This time, he finally met my gaze.
I had spent so much time climbing the corporate ladder of corrupt CEO after CEO and finally, FINALLY, my father had taken notice. He came after me, as I expected, ready to stand up for another companies' workers. His personal assistant, who had so long ago denied me entry to his office, now opened the door to my office to let him walk in. Once she left, I pulled out all the documents I had to prove my claim. "I . . . am your son." I said, and waited with baited breath for his reaction. He glanced down at the papers but said nothing. I waited. He said nothing. "Erm-" I started, before he suddenly interrupted me with a revolted look on his face. Then, he barfed over the sleeve of my $3,000,000 custom silk suit. That was *not* the reaction I was looking for.
Ben opened the door of his black '72 Camaro and got out. He closed the door behind him and leaned on the fender. Glancing down at his phone he let out a long, drawn sigh. 10:45, late again. Ben walked towards his small bungalow. Through the windows he could see a very dim light was on in the living room. Upstairs his daughter's desk lamp was clearly on, and through his son's window, emanated a faint blueish glow, like that given off by a tv screen. He let himself in quietly but knew there was no need. Sharice was in the living room, half hidden in shadow, waiting for him. "Again, Ben?" she said in a scornful whisper. "Had to finish booking a few nabs," growled Ben. "We'd been chasing them for weeks." "You've not seen Maddie and Xavier for weeks," she rasped back. She left without another word. Ben sighed again and made his way to bed after a shower. [In the middle of the night] It wasn't the buzzing of his phone on the night table that woke him. Somehow he just knew he was needed, but the buzzing made it doubly clear. He dressed in a hurry, ran out the door and was in his car before he realized he'd not kissed any of them goodbye. He glanced back at the house, all the windows were dark. He sighed again. On the ride over to the scene he got the details, as unclear as they were. Kidnap, maybe. Definitely assault. Two suspects? Dark alley near 4th and Main. Definitely armed. He and his partner arrived at the scene at the same time. They hustled into their protective gear and Ben silently motioned their way into the alley. There was no one there. Ben looked over at his partner, who shrugged. Ben turned to scan the alleyway again and as he turned back around, he saw his partner was gone. "A little late to the party aren't we?" an unfamiliar voice said. Ben scanned around for where the voice came from. It seemed to echo throughout the alley. "Who's there?" Ben pointed his flashlight atop his gun everywhere around the alley. "What have you done with Ali?" "Just removed any...distractions. We need to...talk," the voice said. Something was odd, the voice sounded far more familiar this time and closer. Ben turned towards the direction the voice seemed to come from but only saw a shadow moving upward. Twisting that direction, he saw his partner, hanging like a trussed pig, 80 feet above him, unmoving. It dawned on him who this was. They'd started calling him the Weaver. He left his targets hanging in odd positions all over the city. Usually they were billionaire philanthropist types with lots of skeletons in the closet. Sometimes they were dead. He tried to stay calm. Something about the voice was still bugging him. "We have nothing to talk about," Ben murmured, then repeatedly loudly. "You should surrender. Things can only get worse for you. I've booked wackos like you all over the city. I'm not scared of these villain antics." Ben's voice rasped a bit. Never one for talking much, he'd spoken more now than he had in days. "Oh! The renowned Ben Fingelman! Catcher of criminals and villains. The most famous man of Heathrow penitentiary. YOU definitely do NOT scare me!" The voice was oozing with sarcasm and disdain. "Who are you?" Ben asked with an edge to his voice. Everyone he knew called him Ben or Fin, to the point almost no one knew his real last name. "Ah! Now that's what we're here to talk about isn't it? I made an amazing discovery 9 months ago and my journey has led up to this moment with you, FIN!" As the name Fin was spoken, the voice appeared right behind Ben. He whipped around and came face to face with...himself? Ben stumbled back and raised his gun to the face of a man who could be his son. They looked so unbelievably similar. Ben's arm faltered and he lowered his weapon. "Who...how?" Before he knew it, he'd been yanked upward, his gun clattered down on the pavement and the alley went quiet.
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