Joined: Apr 2005 Gender: Male Posts: 3,790 Location: Centennial City
Blitz: The Grip of Fear « Thread Started on Nov 1, 2009, 11:47pm »
After a long hiatus, I'm back to Blitz for at least a while longer.
Just as a general note, this story is going to take a darker turn than the previous Blitz stories I've done up until now. There's a purpose behind this, but it may not be immediately apparent.
I'm also going to play around more with some of the conventions of the series. The character of Amy has mostly dominated the narrative, but the nature of this story makes that not workable with this story. She will, however, be the dominant first-person narrator.
I don't think this story will require very much Blitzverse continuity, though it does pick up a little on plot elements in Fire & Ice (which I dislike in retrospect, so don't feel you have to read it). Oh, yes... and this story will completely reinvent Night Spider's past to fit in the Blitzverse, so feel free to ignore stuff like Point of Origin for the purposes of this story.
So without further ado... here's "The Grip of Fear". Enjoy.
Joined: Apr 2005 Gender: Male Posts: 3,790 Location: Centennial City
Re: Blitz: The Grip of Fear « Reply #1 on Nov 1, 2009, 11:48pm »
Blitz: The Grip of Fear
Prologue 1: 18-19 Years Prior
A chill wind fluttered on the rooftops the night that the McRaes were murdered.
Gerald Hawkins took no notice of the cold as he observed the window across the street through his telescopic sight. He considered the wind, but only in that cold scientific way that one might regard an amoeba. As he leveled his rifle against the ledge, he methodically calculated the effect of the wind, adjusting the angle of the weapon to account for the wind resistance.
For Gerald, this was the same milk run that he had done for almost twenty years. Most of this had become an automatic process. Even the trigger of his trusty old sniper rifle meant nothing to him; it was an extension of his hand and little more. The smell of machine oil and even the familiar creases along the shape of the weapon registered no real thought in his mind. At this time, his mind was focused solely upon his target.
Gerald trained the telescopic sight upon a lonely window in the townhouse across the busy street. Centennial City often howled during the nighttime hours, between the raging winds, the roaring of car engines, and the crackling of the elevated train on the other side of Gibson Street. Gerald had lived in the dark side of Centennial for so long that the ambient noise of the South Hilltop traffic meant nothing to him.
The scope caught a glimpse of Gordon McRae crossing the window for a mere moment. Gerald wasn’t very good at reading lips, but he knew enough to tell that McRae hadn’t suspected a thing. He never guessed, for instance, that Baron Fear had secretly bought the building contractors that had recently renovated the McRae townhouse. Nor had McRae even imagined that the contractors had failed to install the bulletproof glass in the windows that he had paid extra for. Had he done so, he might have stood out of sight entirely.
During all his long years as Baron Fear’s personal assassin, Gerald had mastered the art of patience. One bullet for maximum damage, and no more. Be swift, be silent, and then vanish into the wind. The assassination was a delicate ballet of death, where no movement could be wasted. He had learned to wait as long as necessary for all of his targets to set themselves for the perfect shot. That moment had not yet come.
Gerald’s trigger finger tensed as the slender figure of Monica McRae slid ever so slightly into view. Gordon turned his attention to his wife, his back now firmly away from the window. Gerald betrayed a hint of a smile at the welcoming distraction. The animated body movements of the McRaes indicated an argument, but Gerald had enough information to guess if it had mattered at all to him.
Both of them had to die. The McRae criminal family was expanding too quickly for Baron Fear’s liking. At one time, the McRaes were a small time criminal syndicate that worked out of South Hilltop, but they had lacked the money and manpower to threaten the larger organizations.
However, that had recently changed when the McRae family had found new management. Gordon McRae was something of a financial prodigy, a good organizer of people and resources. In only a few years, he had done the impressive feat of restructuring the McRae family business into a profitable criminal enterprise. At one point, even the great Prescott Baron had considered hiring him as a financial expert, but declined due to the open criminal connections in his past.
Would things have been different if McRae had joined Baron Industries? Gerald gave the question no thought. All that mattered to Baron Fear was that Gordon McRae had become too successful. McRae was close to attaining full control of all criminal operations in South Hilltop. Baron Fear would not permit such a rival to go unchecked for much longer. Centennial City would never live in terror of a criminal mastermind that couldn’t enforce his will on even his smallest enemies.
As for the wife, she meant nothing to Baron Fear. However, she would stand to inherit all of Gordon McRae’s holdings upon his death. While she lacked his financial wizardry, she would still have control over his operations. For Baron Fear, that was threat enough as far as he cared. For Baron Fear to establish dominance over South Hilltop, the McRaes needed to die. Swiftly, brutally, and without a hint of mercy.
With Gordon’s back against the window, Gerald saw his chance to strike. He steadied his aim, then adjusted his sniper rifle to account for the wind and distance of the shot. He knew that he would not have a better shot than this. He steadied his right finger against the trigger, and peered once more into the telescopic sight.
However, what he saw in the scope froze Gerald’s trigger finger as though it were made of solid ice.
He looked carefully at Monica McRae. She had meant nothing to Gerald, but he realized suddenly that she was holding something in her arms. With Gordon’s stocky frame blocking his view, he couldn’t clearly see what she was holding in her arms. However, it was clear that the couple were fighting over it.
Then Gerald saw a hint of cloth-swaddled flesh resting in her arms. The hint was faint, but it was there. Clearly enough that Gerald could make it out, but only through his telescopic sight. Clearly enough to make him loosen his hold over the trigger.
Gerald’s stomach churned when he realized the truth. Monica McRae was holding her infant daughter as she was facing her husband. Maureen, just newly born to the pair.
As Gerald looked at the family standing together, he knew he could not take this shot. He cared little for the parents, who were involved in the business and corrupted by the criminal lifestyle. They took the money from South Hilltop and turned it into death and misery. Even now, the neighborhood was falling apart as they squeezed its last remaining drops of blood from the cobblestones. These people meant nothing to him. They had signed up for Baron Fear’s bloody retribution, as far as he was concerned.
However, he knew he could not kill this child. She was still an innocent. She could still be saved. He didn’t know why this mattered to him, but it did. Little Maureen had not chosen to be born to parents that profited from the decline of the neighborhood that they had grown up in. She hadn’t chosen to be the heir of the McRae criminal syndicate, yet here she was, swaddled in her mother’s arms. All she understood was the touch of her parents and the pain of birth. Little Maureen was not a part of this war.
At the same time, Gerald also knew he could not defy Baron Fear. The Baron was the head of the Travis Cartel since as long as anyone could recall. While his past was a mystery, what was known is that Baron Fear had ruled over the Centennial underworld since at least the Golden Age. He was an arch-nemesis to nearly every hero operating in Centennial; the Lightning, the Terror, and the Inventor had all learned to their cost the price of crossing Baron Fear. Even the Wraith was afraid of him, and the Wraith had killed nearly every other one of his great enemies over the past few decades.
Gerald understood one truth: he had no chance of surviving the night if he did not take this shot. Baron Fear could not afford to tolerate any insubordination in his agents. If he were to control the city through terror, then terror must be maintained through strength and iron will. Anyone who defied Baron Fear must either submit to his will or suffer. There was no alternative to such a vision.
Gerald wiped the sweat from his brow at the thought of Baron Fear. He could not betray his master at any cost other than his life. Nor was he in the condition to live the life of a renegade. While Gerald was not yet an old man, he was approaching his middle years and didn’t trust his body enough to handle the physical rigors of going rogue. Those years were gone. The lines on his face would only get longer unless Baron Fear killed him first.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, then adjusted his aim. He realized there was still a third option. So long as the arguing couple did not move the baby into his line of fire, he could at least save her.
Gerald focused on the target, allowed himself a first prayer in decades, and fired.
The bullet smashed through the window glass and struck Gordon violently through the head, killing him instantly. A second blast of gunfire burrowed its way between the eyes of the now-widowed Monica. He was certain that the child had survived, protected by layers of clothing and sandwiched between the bodies of her parents. It was the only kindness that the McRaes had ever been capable of.
*
A chill hand ran through Gerald’s spine as he was admitted into the office of Baron Fear. It was not every day that he returned to the inner sanctum of the Aristocrat of Crime and report that he’d failed to eliminate the entire McRae clan. Nor was it every day that Gerald returned to the sanctum while carrying an infant in his arms. Neither pleased his master in the slightest, judging from the scowl forming on his thin lips.
Maureen clawed at Gerald through layers of swaddled clothing, but did not scream once the entire time that he held her. Gerald had always been good with children, or at least had been before he added murder to his professional resume.
Baron Fear was dressed in his traditional attire. His clothing was a throwback to the 19th Century: all polished white ruffles in his shirt, a traditional black coat, and a practical top hat. The Baron gripped his sword cane firmly, leaning it casually against the burgundy leather chair that he always favored.
“Your inefficiency is appalling,” Baron Fear said, tapping the cane against the floor in annoyance. “Especially from one of my most trusted servants. Do you know what you’ve done, Mr. Hawkins?”
“Indeed, sir,” Gerald said, containing his emotions inside a boiling pot. “I eliminated the McRaes as you had instructed.”
“Do. You?” Fear repeated, his tone even colder than usual.
“Perhaps you could do the honor of enlightening me, then, sir.”
Gerald held the child firmly in his arms as Baron Fear struck him hard with the side of his sword cane. The black eyes of Baron Fear glinted with a savagery that Gerald had never seen in all his long years of serving the organization. Gerald never loosened hold of little Maureen, however, even as the sword cane pounded against the side of his skull.
“Very well, then. Since you insist upon acting like a fool, then I will treat you as one. You left a survivor, Mr. Hawkins. This… child places everything that I have built at risk merely by breathing. Now because of your incompetence, I must now reorganize my plans to regain South Hilltop. Please at least tell me that you weren’t foolish enough to be seen while removing this McRae brat of yours.”
Gerald slowly shook his head no. He had not been seen entering the residence; of that he had no doubt. No one had heard the shots, or else there would have been a mad dash among the McRae operatives to take the baby. Stealth had always come naturally to him. He was, after all, an operative of the Travis Cartel. If he had been seen, then Baron Fear would not have been nearly as kind to him.
“Excellent. Then perhaps this botched operation may yet be salvaged.” The Baron leaned back in contemplation while lighting one of his favorite specialty cigarettes. “As long as there is no direct evidence to trace back to the Travis Cartel, then we may yet be able to proceed with the acquisition of the McRae holdings as planned.”
“As you wish, sir.”
“This child may present the key to the utter domination of South Hilltop.” Baron Fear rose to his full height and began to pace the floor. “Maureen McRae is the only living heir to the illustrious McRae organization. She now has no living relatives; her parents made certain to eliminate them during their rise to power. This power vacuum that you have been kind enough to provide creates an opportunity to strike.”
“How so, sir, if I might inquire?”
“Through simplicity itself,” he said, tapping the top of a nearby model of the globe with his cane. “While you eliminated the McRaes, I took measures to have their will subtly altered to my design. It’s truly amazing how cooperative lawyers are once you threaten to have their children slaughtered in front of their eyes, isn’t it?”
Gerald could only offer a quiet nod, fighting down the revulsion growing in the pit of his stomach. The longer the night wore on, the more he felt doubts about the business of contract killing. In his day, it was acceptable to slaughter the adults in broad daylight, as long as their children were unharmed. It was the old rule of South Hilltop. However, Baron Fear always crossed the nearest line. It was only by doing the unthinkable that the Travis Cartel maintained its power over the criminal underworld.
But this line, the line of murdering and threatening young children… that was a line that Gerald could never cross. In his entire career as an assassin, he had taken pride in the fact that he had never shot a child. There was a certain amount of honor in that. In the old days, he would have been respected for that.
Not now. The times were changing. The world was becoming more brutal. Gerald knew he must either adapt to the new age or face permanent retirement.
“Now, where was I?” Baron Fear continued. “Ah, yes… total control over South Hilltop. Mr. Hawkins, after some reflection, it seems you may have unintentionally done me a service. As long as no one connects us to the untimely end of the McRaes, then it may be that the brat you’re holding is instrumental to my plans.”
“So you have no plans to kill her as well, sir?”
“Kill the only legitimate heir to the entire McRae fortune? Don’t be such an imbecile, Hawkins.” The Baron scoffed, then puffed on the cigarette holder in his mouth. “No, the alterations I made to the McRae will should play directly into my hands. You see, I anticipated the possibility you would fail to kill the child.”
Gerald’s entire body froze at the sound of those words. He knew now that his game was up. Baron Fear had worked out exactly what he had done. More to the point, he had concluded precisely why little Maureen was still alive. The cruel smile of Baron Fear only confirmed all of Gerald’s fears.
“You think I knew nothing, Hawkins? Naïve fool.”
Baron Fear pounded the end of his sword cane into Gerald’s foot. With a flick of a switch in the handle, Baron Fear triggered the blade. The sword edge tore angrily into Gerald’s foot, sending him into a bout of searing agony. The Baron only laughed as Gerald tried desperately to hold on to the baby in his arms.
“Even now, you refuse to sacrifice the child.” Baron Fear twisted the blade into his foot as Gerald struggled to stand. “If you felt nothing, you would have let the girl fall to the ground as she deserves. The brat is weak, as are you.”
“Do as… you will,” Gerald said, stammering from the pain. “Kill me.”
Baron Fear only scoffed, retracting the blade back into the sword cane. He wiped away the blood with an elegant white handkerchief and turned to face Gerald. He regarded the assassin with a stare of dismissive scorn.
“For what? Acting precisely as I’d anticipated? Don’t be ludicrous.” Baron Fear leaned ever so slightly against the frame of his desk. “Fortunately for you, you are ever so predictable to me, and thus your… disease of mercy is not a liability. Because of your long association with this cartel, I’m reluctant to throw away a perfectly capable operative on a whim. It would be ever so wasteful. Would you not agree?”
Gerald nodded hastily, leaning back against the wall as he struggled to support Maureen in his arms. He couldn’t speak a word, lest it become a cry of pain.
“It strikes me that you are indeed loyal to the organization… if only to a point,” Baron Fear concluded. “I find it would be foolish to push you further on that moral point. You would then betray me and I would have to put you out of our mutual misery. I see no profit in that. Therefore, I must reassign you to… less intensive work.”
Baron Fear paced the room again, as he so often did while he was in his thoughts. This time, he twirled the sword cane in an arcing motion. It came close to striking Gerald at least once as the Baron paced, but it never quite struck the mark. Gerald was not certain if the motion was deliberate or not. Baron Fear was not known to do anything by happenstance.
“You are no longer fit to serve me as an assassin.” The cane smashed into Gerald’s shoulder, sending him down to the ground with Maureen in his arms. “You have grown to attached, too sentimental… and in all candor, too stupid in the presence of children. But since you seem so interested in the McRae child’s welfare, then it may be that I have the perfect assignment for you.”
Gerald admitted only a low growl of pain in response. He could barely focus on his master’s words, yet he knew he had no choice but to listen. The slightest further misstep would cost him what remained of his life.
“Bring in young Roland,” Baron Fear called into the speakerphone at his desk. “Immediately.”
Baron Fear relaxed back into his leather chair as he heard the voice on the other end of the line assent. He weighed his sword cane delicately between his legs, where it rested in perfect balance. Finally, he removed his hat and placed it cautiously on his desk. He pulled back his mat of black hair and allowed himself a smile.
“I feel quite confident that you will like this new assignment, Hawkins,” he said. “It’s so simple that even a fool could carry this out. Hence why I’m giving this one to you.”
“I… endeavor to do my best, sir,” Gerald blurted out between painful grunts as he patched up his wounded foot. Maureen slept soundly beside him as he applied the first aid pack to the wound.
“Of course. But do attempt to sound more grateful. It is rare indeed when I’m this merciful to an insubordinate employee. Mind, if you breathe a word of this conversation to another living soul, I shall extract your eyes from their sockets with a scalpel.”
“My lips are sealed, sir.”
“Excellent,” Baron Fear said, smiling ever so brightly. “I knew I could count on you, Hawkins.”
He opened the door to his office, admitting a very young boy. Gerald knew he was Roland Travis, the only heir to the Travis Cartel. The boy looked to be no older than four, with black curls streaming down from his angelic face. In most respects, he looked much like Baron Fear in miniature, except with flashing dark eyes and a devilishly curved grin plastered on his face.
“Ah, Roland,” the Baron said. “A distinct pleasure. You’ve grown a whole few centimeters since the last time I saw you. Your progress pleases me, boy.”
Roland said nothing. Perhaps he was already grown old enough to know not to question the word of Baron Fear. Or perhaps the boy was studying the situation and holding his tongue until he knew what was going on. More likely it was the latter, Gerald finally decided.
“This is Gerald Hawkins,” the Baron went on. “He shall be in charge of your education from now on. At one time, he was my finest assassin. You will fear him as you do me. Are we understood?”
Roland nodded, but Gerald understood the arrangement quite well. This would be Gerald’s last chance to survive in the organization. Even the slightest failure or insubordination would be his last. The glare of Baron Fear’s dark eyes confirmed what he already feared, a veiled threat that hung in the air like the ether.
“Who’s that?” Roland said, pointing to the baby in Gerald’s arms.
“That, Roland, is your sister. Her name is Maureen. I expect you to take very good care of her. Why, if anything ever happened to Maureen, I really don’t know what I would do with myself.”
The echo of Baron Fear’s laughter shook the foundation of the sanctum. Where once his laugh used to be a pleasant thing, now it reached into the core of Gerald’s soul and twisted it into a pretzel. He now dreaded it, as a child might dread the distant thunder of an oncoming storm.
The lightning had yet to strike.
« Last Edit: Nov 1, 2009, 11:49pm by Gray Lensman »
Joined: Apr 2005 Gender: Male Posts: 3,790 Location: Centennial City
Re: Blitz: The Grip of Fear « Reply #2 on Nov 15, 2009, 3:09am »
Prologue 2: Here & Now
Night Spider felt the chill of the dead as he crawled into the window.
He tried to suppress his usual grin of elation as he broke into the townhouse that night. He almost missed it, the exhilaration of breaking into a home that didn’t belong to him. It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d entered other homes, some much like this one. For him, it was as easy as breaking. Just a simple matter of finessing the lock and then crawling through. That no security alarms sounded meant that someone had expected, perhaps even hoped, that Night Spider would be creeping into the dark just then.
His muscles started to lock up as he realized that his entry had been entirely too easy. Under the black mask he wore, Night Spider realized that he should never have been able to pull this kind of textbook entry off with such distinct ease. Not in this townhouse.
Gerald would have scolded Spider if he’d been caught reacting in such an amateurish way. Well, no, not scolded exactly… Gerald was far too composed and quiet for such a reaction. But Gerald would have silently scowled at him in their more private moments, reminded Spider of his long years of training. Why Night Spider had abandoned the path of crime and tried, in his own way, to become a masked hero.
Behind the mask, Night Spider was still Roland Travis. In some ways, Roland hadn’t changed so much since Baron Fear had introduced him to Gerald. He took too much of a childlike pleasure in his work, lived too much in the moment. The rush of adrenaline from jumping rooftops at night still pumped in his blood. It was the one thing that even Gerald’s long years mentoring had never been able to cure.
Roland knew only one thing. It was not like Gerald to leave his townhouse unguarded. He was too careful for such a thing. But then, it wasn’t like Gerald to go missing for days without leaving so much as a note for him. Gerald was always thorough, always methodical in leaving plans. Roland had valued that in his faithful butler, mainly because he never had the patience to bother with trivial details himself.
His mind flashed again into the moment, leaving his thoughts aside. He knew something had gone horribly wrong, just not what exactly. The world was slipping out of his grasp.
Silently, Roland allowed the hilt of his photon sword to fall into his hand. Gerald had commissioned the weapon for him, back when Roland had turned away from crime for good. Back when he first donned the mask of Night Spider. With a flip of a switch, Roland could ignite a blade of pure photonic energy that could tear through duranium steel. He didn’t want to think about what it could do to flesh.
For now, he kept the weapon inert as he slid across the room, taking care to keep the floorboards from creaking. Gerald had liked creaking floorboards, if only because it would alert him to the presence of an enemy. It irritated Gerald only a little when Roland found a way across without making even the slightest sound. However, it was mixed with a hint of pride too. Roland had surpassed even his father at the art of stealth.
A small part of Roland wanted to call out for Gerald, see if he would answer. He shook his head, decided against it. If there was danger here, Roland would be alerting the enemy to his presence here. Far too risky. Besides, even if Gerald were safely at home, he’d likely be able to guess that he wasn’t alone by now.
Roland inspected the surroundings, taking great care not to disturb anything while he was here. The coffee table was perfectly clean, with all of Gerald’s books neatly stacked in a row. All were books that had meant the most to Gerald over the years; judging from the lack of care to the pages, he must have done a binge reading recently. Roland held down a smile when he found a worn, dog-eared copy of The Amateur Cracksman lying at the top of the stack. Gerald had often read that book to Roland as a child, usually after a hard session of training.
His resolve stiffened as he crossed the hall towards the bedroom. It was no accident that Gerald had placed that particular book there. As Roland scuttled forward with his back against the wall, he realized. Each of those books was chosen with a purpose. When he saw the light at the foot of the door to Gerald’s bedroom, he found understanding.
The book was a message. A warning of danger in the winds.
Roland saw the signs clearly. Gerald Hawkins, even in his advanced years, was not a man who lived in the past. He had always been too practical for such a thing. His mind was always on the next task, always on how best to serve his young master. The work had kept his mind active. It was as though Gerald knew the moment he hesitated in his duty would be his last moment of life. He had no room in his world for nostalgia.
He crept slowly towards the door, putting the facts together. If Gerald left that book as a warning, then he must have known who was targeting him. Someone from the past. No. Someone that Gerald knew intimately well. Only Roland knew the significance at all. Not even Maureen knew about that book. His hand clenched into a fist at the thought of what he knew must have happened.
Roland approached the door, stepping just carefully across the floorboards to maintain complete silence. With one hand, he kept a firm grip on the hilt of his photon sword, his finger planted against the trigger. With the other, he slowly turned the handle of the door with his gloved hand.
As Roland slammed the door open, his eyes widened in revulsion.
The bloody and broken body of Gerald Hawkins was laid to rest in the single twin-sized bed. Where the rest of the house was clean and immaculate, the bedroom was now a jagged abstract portrait of blood and flesh. The body was pale white, his fist locked in rigor mortis. The nearby desk was broken down the middle, as though sliced in half with a sword. White sheets hung over Gerald’s face like a death shroud.
Roland very nearly betrayed his movements. However, he held to Gerald’s training, kept his heart locked in a box. First, he would kill whoever did this. Then, and only then, would he allow himself to grieve.
“Show yourself,” Roland said. “I know you’re here, Maureen.”
He felt the winds shifting around him. Using his enhanced speed, he spun around in a wild arc, igniting the photon sword. A blade of bright purple photonic sparks burst to light before his eyes. The photonic blade had only an instant before it caught the steel edge of another sword.
“Always a failure, Roland,” her voice hissed into the darkness. “You failed dear old Gerald. Just as you failed me.”
Maureen kicked Roland in the shin, sending him stumbling back into the grime-encrusted bedroom. Roland ignored the pain, allowing the curse of the Mind’s Eye to repair the wound. He felt his rage blistering as he stood to face her.
“You’ve changed, dear sister,” he said. “You’re stronger than I remember.”
Roland quickly studied the girl who faced him now. She wore a blood-red costume that clung firmly to her slim figure. Her muscles bulged where they hadn’t been there the last time he’d fought her. Then again, the last time they met, Roland had slid a blade through her abdomen. He was strongly tempted to finish the job.
“So are you.” Maureen’s voice was the hiss of a serpent. “Baron Fear sends his regards.”
His eyes narrowed in rage at those words. This was a contract kill. Maureen had taken Gerald’s old place as the Travis Cartel’s assassin. It was exactly what Baron Fear had always wanted for her. An assassin who would kill anyone for him at a word, without pity or remorse. She would kill without question, just to please their father.
“How could you do this?”
Roland lunged forward, his photon sword spiraling into an arc above her head. Maureen caught the blade with her own. Photon sparks sizzled in contact with steel, sending a jolt down Roland’s body. He tried to press forward, but to no avail. Maureen held her ground, grinning viciously as her sword pressed into the photon blade.
“Gerald was never one of us, Roland.” She broke off her attack, danced back a few paces, and slid into a combat stance. “Always bleating about stupid crap like mercy and honor. He was a dumb old man who didn’t get reality. And you joined him.”
Roland spun his blade into motion, trying to anticipate her attacks. Even now, she was still better than him. He hadn’t managed to even scratch her yet. Worse, he was boxed into a small room, where he risked stumbling over the chaos Maureen had left in her wake. How had she become so strong in such a short time?
“I saw the light,” Roland corrected, his eyes flickering a bright red. “Baron Fear is using you, Maureen. Like he uses everyone. Gerald saw that before anyone did.”
Roland fell into a firm stance, holding the hilt of his photon blade with both hands. Maureen savagely charged forward, the edge of her sword aimed directly at Roland’s heart. With a burst of speed, Roland side-stepped her blade, which tore viciously into a nearby pillow. Roland landed only a scratch to her shoulder as he twisted around her, the hall facing behind him.
“I should kill you, Maureen,” he said. “Kindly tell me why I shouldn’t gut you right here.”
“Because you’re weak.” Maureen tore her sword loose with a firm motion. “You’re all talk, Roland. You always have been.”
Roland stepped back to the threshold of the door, shifted his blade to the left hand. Questions raced through his mind, but they had to wait. Right now, he knew he had to get out of here. Maureen was taunting him, delaying Roland until Baron Fear could send his minions to block his escape. This entire setup was a trap, and he had blundered smiling into it.
“Suit yourself. I find it preferable to stupid.”
Roland swiftly reached for the door handle and pulled it shut behind him. From there, he pointed his photon sword at the lock. With a simple motion, he blasted it with a short energy burst from the blade, and dashed back the way he came. He ignored Maureen’s frenzied cursing as he ran back through the hallway.
As he reached Gerald’s study, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Four masked killers in black drifted around Roland, training pistols at him. Roland managed a smile as he noted their positions. He kept his photon blade twirling in front of him, blocking their lines of fire in a subtle motion. They weren’t about to kill him. Maureen would savor that pleasure for herself.
“Fancy that,” Roland said. “Uninvited guests. I don’t suppose you’d surrender now.”
As the masked killers squeezed the triggers, Roland launched himself into motion. He deflected two energy bolts with his photon blade in a rapid motion, sending them ricocheting back to their owners. The force of the bolts knocked the killers back into the walls, unconscious. Roland had little time to register that the breathing of the men, a trademark of stun bolts.
Before he could react to this, Roland crouched under two more stun bolts, scurrying under the table. With his free hand, he sent the table flying at the remaining attackers, rising to his feet with a devilish grin. The table plowed into the other shooters, smashing them into the floor.
“Delightfully unprofessional, gentlemen,” he remarked, stopping only to pick up the copy of The Amateur Cracksman as he approached the window. “We simply must do this again sometime.”
The photon blade fizzled into nothingness as Roland placed it back into its hiding spot in his costume. From there, he retrieved his grapnel as he slid the window open once more. Normally, Roland might have enjoyed such a dramatic exit. He always had before. But this once he didn’t feel like cheering. Not with Gerald gone.
“Don’t you dare think you’ve gotten away from me, Roland,” Maureen said, stumbling into the room. “We’ll meet again.”
“I’m positively counting on it.” Roland spat his words at her like poison. “You’re no sister of mine. Consider us at war.”
The grapnel line blasted outwards through the open window towards a nearby rooftop. Roland squeezed carefully through to the other side of the window and waved farewell to the cold shell of a woman who was once Maureen McRae. With a press of a button, the grapnel line retracted, carrying Roland Travis into the fog-covered night.
*
Roland Travis lost all sense of time as he jumped across the rooftops of Centennial City. He took the quickest course he could to remove himself from the old neighborhood of South Hilltop. Gerald had always thought he could get himself lost in this place, vanish into the streets until he no longer existed.
He had now gotten his wish. Roland felt lost and empty, as though he had gone through the motions. The joy he’d felt scant hours ago seemed like a distant memory. All that remained was stabbing pain and a burning desire to rip Baron Fear in half. The laughter, the grin he wore as a mask, had long faded from sight.
Roland climbed to the tallest spire of Technopolis and looked down at the flickering lights of Centennial at night. Baron Tower was the one place where he knew that the Travis Cartel wouldn’t dare follow him. This place was owned by the one man in Centennial City more dangerous than Fear himself. As long as he wasn’t spotted, he could rest, plan, and devise his next moves.
But for now, Roland allowed himself some tears for Gerald. As he sat on the highest ledge of Baron Tower, he stared intently at the copy of The Amateur Cracksman and lost himself in the pages. What was the line that Gerald had so often loved to quote? “The scene of my disaster was much as I had left it.” Roland held his head down and buried his head in the book, feeling the weight of his curse gnawing at his soul.
“Farewell, Gerald, you old rascal,” Roland whispered into the winds. “Rest assured, I will avenge this. However long it takes. You have my word.”
In the blink of an eye, Night Spider had vanished into the dark from whence he came. If asked, all anyone on Baron Tower reported seeing that night were the torn and musty pages of an old book. It was as though no one had ever been there at all.
The rain poured down in Centennial City for an entire day afterward.
Joined: Apr 2005 Gender: Male Posts: 3,790 Location: Centennial City
Re: Blitz: The Grip of Fear « Reply #3 on Nov 15, 2009, 10:16pm »
Act I: Crossed Swords
Chapter 1
I was the last person to find out Gerald was dead.
I kinda found out about the murder pretty much the same way the rest of Centennial did. ‘Kay, maybe I got a little bit of a head start. When your big sister is Miranda Mason, the star reporter of the Centennial Times, that kinda broadens the options. Not like it makes with a whole lot of access or anything.
Maybe I oughta backtrack a little for the viewers at home. Hiya, I’m Amy Mason. Wasn’t that long ago that I just Jo Average college girl, trying to stay awake through economics class and make with the cool grade point. I still kinda pretend to be all normal for the folks out of the know. My sis is big on keeping up the whole secret identity. I get why she’s all strict about it. I mean, it’s her job and her whole life up in the big smoke if I do something dumb and tell everybody that I got the cool superpowers.
Long story. Some months ago, I trailed my sister when she was doing a case on the Machinist, this black market tech dealer. So I got split up from her and dug through the Machinist’s junkyard. Which wasn’t all fun and glamorous, y’know? ‘Cause lemme tell you, the place seriously needs a fumigation. I spent like a week getting the stink of old junk outta my hair.
So anyway, I lucked out on this weird device while I was digging around for clues and stuff. I dunno what exactly it did, ‘cept I wasn’t normal after I got it working. Ever since, I got fast enough to leave the Centennial Expressway in the dust. I dunno exactly how fast I can run, but it’s enough to dodge bullets, catch fastballs blindfolded, and zoom past a fast-moving Porsche without even being seen. Gotta admit, it’s pretty cool, though the world goes by all slow and stuff.
I also heal real fast from just ‘bout anything. Cuts fade in seconds, bruises are outta sight in maybe minutes. Gotta admit, it comes in way useful after a nasty fight; nobody questions much where I’ve been when the marks are gone. I gotta get my hair cut way more often now, but hey, not gonna make with the complaints.
So after that, I got drafted into the Sentinels by Night Spider. Well, kinda; it’s more complicated than all that. Anyway, I’m so the bona-fide superhero now. These days, I wear the bright red costume and patrol the city as Blitz. Not that anybody knows I’m even alive or anything. Running fast and stuff ain’t all that special when you got flying caped wonders like Meta Man grabbing all the headlines.
So that’s me. Looking good and fighting crime, while everybody else gets all the credit. Not that I’m bitter or whatever. I just know that one day I’m finally gonna get some respect around here. Maybe.
*
I stopped caring ‘bout all that when I found out about Gerald.
I knew something looked weird when Miranda got this phone call early that morning. The storm that weekend was pouring down outside, so I spent the day in with the studies. I kept my face close by the window, looking wistfully out at the billowing black storm clouds. A crackle of lightning bounded in the morning air.
From there, I passed a small treat to my birdie. Phaeton was a phoenix, a seriously rare kinda bird that I rescued from some bad guys. He mostly looked like a small golden eagle, ‘cept with these crimson and shimmering gold feathers. His beak looked like solid gold, and his talons looked ready to rip through steel. His black eyes burned with this real fierce intelligence, like Phaeton could see straight into my soul. He didn’t set himself on fire while he was in the house. Least, not mostly.
Phaeton lowered his head by a notch and nibbled gingerly on the treat. He then allowed me to pat him on the head, like he was granting permission for me to touch the royal feathers or something. Gimme a break. Least he wasn’t trying to eat the neighbor’s cat like he did last time.
I got my head back into my textbook, trying to keep Phaeton out of it with my free hand. As my eyes glazed over, I reminded myself that no way was I gonna take macroeconomics ever again. I don’t care if it was a required course or whatever. Those guys could bite me for all I was gonna care.
Phaeton suddenly cast a glare of warning at the door I kept locked. I got this weird premonition right then, like I wasn’t alone. Forgot to say. I’m what they call a phoenix bearer. I took care of Phaeton since he was just an egg. Once he hatched, I got this weird connection with my birdie. I can’t really explain it all well, but it’s like I can sorta sense his perceptions and stuff when he’s close enough. Comes in handy sometimes, especially when I’m about to get blindsided by a goon sneaking up behind me in a fight.
“Come in, Sis,” I said right before the knock came at the door. “The door’s open, y’know?”
The door slowly slid open. Miranda looked too dazed to be much shocked by the big prediction. At first, I figured she’d finally gotten used to my weirdness with Phaeton to bother with the surprise anymore. Then I figured something was way off. Miranda was dressed up in her finest black suit dress. Her blonde hair was straightened and set back like she put a lot of thought with it. Her face looked all stricken, like she was fumbling around with the words.
“Amy?” she said, her eyes flickering to the window, like she was searching for the way to make it all gentle. “I just got an urgent call. Something’s gone terribly wrong.”
I widened the eyes in skepticism. Okay, so clue me in with the details, Sis. Wrong what? I mean, there was wrong like you exchanged the wrong sweater at Carter’s Gift Shop. There was wrong like you got overdrawn at the bank. And then there was the really, really wrong, like nobody was never gonna feel whole again when it was all done.
I was gonna guess it was door number three. Looking at Miranda trying to hold her poise with me, it’s like she was struggling just to look all strong around me. I hated when she did that. I mean, I wasn’t a kid anymore. I could take the bad news. I figure after you fight crime in Centennial after a few months, you pretty much gotta be ready for anything.
“I’ll be okay, Sis,” I said with a low voice. “C’mon, what is it?”
“It’s about Gerald. You remember Roland’s butler, don’t you?”
Was I gonna remember him? He was only there like every time I visited Roland’s house. Gerald Hawkins was this really old guy who kept the place all tidy and neat. Always dressed in these dark tuxedoes and blue ties, dusting the house and greeting me with this smile on his face. His hair was this grizzled white and balding, and he was always immaculately clean. Even when he was fixing the Sentinels’ airship, he always had this way of not ever getting a spot of machine oil on him. All stiff upper lip and such. I don’t think I ever saw the guy without a feather duster in his hand.
I never really knew the guy. I don’t think anybody but Roland ever really did. Gerald always kept all secretive around me. Probably ‘round just about the whole group. Sis, Meta Man, Optima… I dunno that any of us really ever were that close with him. I guess I kinda liked him okay. I mean, he never did anything bad by me or whatever. But I can’t say we were real close or anything.
Roland Travis, though? Now he was something else. I didn’t really get him totally either, but I probably knew him better than anyone else in the group. So I’ll break with the condensed version. Roland used to be a professional thief, way back in the day. Worked for this major crime organization called the Travis Cartel. I didn’t know what in all Roland did when he was a crook; he didn’t talk ‘bout his life of crime much. I know he had a sister, and things went all bad with her after Roland left the Cartel. More than that, though? Your guess was gonna be as good as mine.
My ears perked up when Roland’s name came up. Cause trust me, when Roland showed up, all kinda trouble was gonna follow. Guaranteed. But I gotta admit he was a cool guy. He was all ‘bout the laughs, and he knew all the best places in Centennial to hang out. And by hang out, I mean it. Roland liked showing me around the rooftops at night, especially around the cathedral in Usherwood. Sis always warned me not to get too close to the guy, cause he was a slick talker and stuff. But hey, it’s not like I ever listened to Sis much when it came to the social life anyway.
So whatever. I just made with the brisk nod. So long as she got to the point already.
“Gerald’s… gone, honey,” Miranda said slowly. “The police found him dead in his home today. Murdered. I just got the call from Detective Hill.”
All the blood drained outta my face. The words struck me like a thunderbolt. Even though I didn’t know the guy all that well, I wanted to grab my pillow and sob right into it. I mean, it felt like just the other day when Gerald first gave me the warm welcome into the Sentinel’s base and showed me around. He showed me how to use all the equipment, never complained even when I got real loud and obnoxious. I mean, he didn’t even complain after Phaeton scratched up Roland’s brand new upholstery. Maybe it sounded corny, but it was like he was a friend even though I didn’t really know him. Least, he felt that way to me.
I took the whole deal back. Things weren’t ever gonna be okay again.
“Do they know who…?” I started, but could only choke out the words.
Miranda slowly shook her head and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. Part of me hated it, but I knew it was cause I was hurt by the whole thing. Why did she always gotta be the strong one for me? Why did I always gotta be the one that had to break down like this? Some big bad superhero I was.
“Roland thinks it’s the Travis Cartel,” she went on. “That’s about all I know so far. The police is still looking for evidence, working on the time of death. Maybe once we find out more…”
I suddenly got all composed. This chill shuddered all its way down my spine. If it was the Cartel, that meant Roland was in all kinda trouble. I looked back to Phaeton, who gave me this solemn nod and a deep-throated crow. I was ‘bout the only one in the whole team who knew much about how deep Roland was with the Cartel. That meant this was gonna be something I had to do.
“Where’s Roland?” I asked, my voice cracking like ice. I threw away the pillow against the headboard and stood up to my full height.
“I wish I knew,” Miranda said. “Nobody knows where he’s gone. Believe me, if there’s anyone I want to investigate, it’s him.”
“Investigate?” My mouth hung in disbelief. “You gotta be kidding! He’s their target, not the guy who did this! Sis, we gotta find him if we’re gonna find out what really went down!”
Miranda folded her arms together and took a step back. I rolled my eyes as she gave me the whole disapproving stare. Whatever. Figures that she’d be back to the same distrusting journalist she was always gonna be. Like Roland was ever gonna get a break with her, no matter what kinda good he did.
“Amy, the police haven’t ruled him out as a suspect. We don’t have any real facts. And you don’t know Night Spider’s record the way I do. Please, Amy. Don’t go rushing into this again.”
I threw on my black leather jacket and made my way to the door. I said nothing as I waited for Phaeton to land on my shoulder. I tried not to show the hint of tears in my eyes as I stopped at the threshold. I knew then that this was something that I gotta do. Sure, I was hurting, but I was the only one who was gonna play the hero here. Cause it wasn’t like anybody else was ever gonna give Roland Travis the benefit of the doubt.
“What’re you gonna do, Sis?” I asked softly. “Cause I’m not gonna back off from this.”
I heard the loud sigh of her voice behind me. Like she figured she was gonna regret whatever she was gonna do. Tough cookies. There was nothing else I was gonna do. Nothing else I could do. I gotta stand with what I knew was gonna be true.
“Investigate the crime scene, for now,” Miranda said. “Meet with Detective Hill to find out what he knows about this. Try to keep a lid on Gerald’s link with the Sentinels. Once I’m done with that, we’ll see what our next moves are.”
I allowed myself a slow nod, taking this all in. In my head, I knew she got a point. But I felt like all she was gonna do was point the finger at Roland again. ‘Kay, maybe sometimes he deserved it. Maybe he was a thief and a liar and stuff. But no way was he a killer. I wasn’t ever gonna believe that.
“Cool, you do that.” My voice felt so cold and empty. “First, I’m gonna take Flurry over to a friend’s place. I guess Minnie Gold’s would be okay.”
Flurry was my adopted kid sister. Imagine a thirteen-year-old girl with a mouth that won’t quit. With the superpower to freeze all the hot water in the house into solid ice when she’s not soaking all the attention. Not long on the shower fun, lemme tell you. Miranda decided she was gonna adopt her ‘cause with all those ice powers, she was way too dangerous to leave alone. That, and she’s not really a bad kid, just real annoying. Long story there too.
“All right. Amy,” she said. “Call me once you make sure your sister is safe, and then you can go out and patrol. I know I can’t stop you from doing whatever you’re going to do. You’re too fast for me to babysit and I know it. But whatever you do, be careful. I’m not going to be able to bail you out of this if you get yourself too far in.”
I barely heard the last words as I shifted into speed mode and zipped downstairs. I had so stopped caring about whatever Miranda was gonna say. All I knew was that stuff had gone wrong and that a friend needed me bad right now. If Roland was gone, I gotta find him, whatever that took.
The tears were gonna have to wait.
« Last Edit: Nov 15, 2009, 10:17pm by Gray Lensman »
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