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3 comments on "EXCERPT: All That Remains [Heroes & Villains III]"

NOTE: this is pretty raw. If you want to point out things I need to edit, that’s fine. This whole story needs a thorough going over before it gets submitted anywhere. (What a hot sexy mess.)

*

There was the acrid stink of smoke filling the air, along with the screams and desperate cries of the hurt and dying. The street in front of Caspian Dukes was a wreckage of twisted metal where dozens of vehicles had collided.

He felt helpless. Tragedy had already happened and he didn’t know how they could clear away this mess. His mouth tasted sour with failure.

One hour ago he was eating a food truck taco and contemplating a nap. Now he was looking at a triage situation he didn’t feel up to handling.

The lifestyle was wearing him down. Statistically speaking, most superheroes retired out of the field by their tenth year of active duty. He’d been doing this job for close to thirty.

He didn’t think that he was quite ready to retire, but he might cut back on some duty shifts. He wouldn’t do anyone any good if he let himself burn out.

Maybe it’s time for a nice vacation, he thought. Surf, sand, and a chance to get my gills wet.

Just the thought of immersing himself in the ocean soothed some of the tension out of his shoulders. Enough that he was able to focus on the task at hand.

As the old timers had said, the ocean always called their people home in the end.

“All right, boys and girls, the situation has changed,” Caspian called out. “It’s time to focus on cleaning up the mess rather than making it. I want each of you to pair up with an Emergency Services team. It’s search and rescue time. Follow the orders of the ES team leader and be careful, safe, and smart. Understood?”

The Junior League members answered in unison, “Yes, sir!” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation as they rushed forward to rescue the wounded and comfort the dying. They were strong as a unit, even the ones that had never worked together.

Smart, loyal, and quick to follow the orders of their superiors–they were a good bunch of kids and Caspian felt proud watching them swarm the scene. Maybe he was getting old, but the new League members looked younger to him every year. He couldn’t remember a time when he was ever so young and eager to please. There was a part of him that secretly wanted to wrap them up in bubble wrap and deliver them back to their parents safe and sound, which was ridiculous because they were competent professionals that wouldn’t have appreciated his babying.

He shook his head and stalked forward to do his own part. People needed his help.

Trusting that the Juniors would know to give him a yell if they needed him, he helped a couple of Emergency Service officers by ripping the passenger side door off of a car that had been crumpled like a tin can in the fist of a giant. A single peek through the window showed that the driver–a young woman with blood darkened hair shrouding her face–was dead, but the man next to her was weakly struggling with his seatbelt, his dazed eyes unable to focus. He seemed frantic to reach the toddler screaming in the backseat.

“Hold on, buddy,” Caspian said. “Don’t try to move.”

He stepped out of the way of the rescue workers and their backboard, wishing that the car had been a four-door so he could get to the kid. She was unharmed, though the shock of the crash had turned to terror of the unknown. Interspersed with her shrieks were what sounded like the words “Mama!” and “Dada!” and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her as only one of them was ever going to answer.

Once the father was out of the way and being loaded onto a gurney, Caspian was quick to pull the toddler out of her car seat, turning her so she didn’t get a good look at her mother’s body. “Sh, sh, it’s all right,” he murmured, patting her back and giving her a quick once over.

Her small hands fisted against the front of his uniform and her shrieks trailed into hiccuping cries. Her head moved back and forth, trying to see where “Dada!” had gone, but Caspian kept her turned away from where the paramedics worked. There was quite a bit of blood and he didn’t want to traumatize her more than she already was.

Looking around, he knew she was going to have plenty of stuff to talk about with her future therapist. She’d lost her mother, and her father was probably going to be spending some time in the hospital.

“Here, I’ll take her.” Caspian turned to look at the man that had spoken. He was wearing an Emergency Service uniform along with a Megacity Mavens baseball cap. “You’ve got other stuff to handle.”

“Thanks,” Caspian said. He carefully passed the toddler over, reining in his superhuman strength. He’d feel terrible if he accidentally hurt her, especially after everything else she’d experienced.

Stepping away from the totaled car, he looked around to see where he was most immediately needed. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to what he was seeing, like some horrible optical illusion coming into focus.

The street was a scene of damage and destruction. The epicenter was three low buildings close together. From the way the awning had been blown across the street from the middle building–with its plaster pillars shattered and broken mirrors everywhere–Caspian thought that it had been the main site of the disaster.

There was a ten-year-old boy seated on the curb, a vacant expression on his dirty face. He was cradling something in his hands and his dark brown hair was nearly white on top from plaster dust. When he glanced up at Caspian’s approach, his eyes were a startling shade of blue. It was such a striking sight that Caspian hitched his step.

“Hey, kid.” Caspian didn’t bother faking a smile. The situation was too raw to be made light of yet. “Do you know what happened here?”

The boy looked up at him. His hands shifted and Caspian briefly glimpsed the watch that he held. “It was Becky. She said that she wasn’t feeling good. Then all this happened.”

“I see. And who is Becky?” Caspian asked. The first responders would have gathered the information on their arrival, but it didn’t hurt to get a first hand account when he could.

“She’s a girl in my class.” The boy rubbed the back of his hand under his nose. “She’s dead now. Can I call my dad? I want to go home.”

“It will be a little while,” Caspian said. “You’re going to have to be patient.”

The boy hunched his shoulders with a sigh.

/EXCERPT

– So yeah, “All That Remains” starts off with Caspian being called out to the scene of an out-of-control Manifestation. The girl’s sudden powers and Nor-gene mutation result in tragedy. But it also results in Caspian meeting a powerful young boy.

Bum-bum-BAH!

0 comments on "Sometimes I receive inpiration from television"

ARCHER => S1 E8. “The Rock.” Sterling and Lana are out on a mission and things go pear-shaped.

The tech team is busy with their own issues and not offering the support necessary. As a result, the agents are left to hang for a while, depending on intel that’s going sourer by the moment.

* * *

Ah, the joys of working for a Company with a small Operations budget, Opal sighed.

She was hanging from a paracord rope she’d woven herself. The carabiners and gloves were new, but the rest of her gear was stuff she’d cobbled together on the fly.

The woman she was facing was neatly pressed and poised. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a military supply catalogue, all black leather and web belts. She looked professional and ultra-competent at her job. She was intimidating.

“I think you’re going to hand me that sapphire,” the taller woman said. Her gun was unwavering in her left hand.

“You’d really shoot a stranger in the face over a rock?” Opal demanded, all hurt feelings and accusation.

“You’d let a stranger shoot you in the face?” The woman cocked one eyebrow. “I think that says more about you than it does about me. Now do what I say and roll that sapphire my way.”

Staring down the barrel of the gun, Opal wore her most fearless expression. “My boss is going to hate me, thanks-a-freaking-lot, the least you can do is aim that at my forehead. I’d rather they need to use some skull putty rather than a whole reassembly kit. I was promised a Viking funeral when I die and I want to look beautiful for me mother. You know how it is. I’ve spent my whole life running away from dresses, so I owe it to Mummy to be the little girl she always wanted.”

As she spoke, Opal crouched with the giant sapphire in her left hand, poised to roll it skeeball-style. She drew her arm back, but at the last moment she spun her whole body around on the toe plate in her right boot.

It was a little harrowing to have shots pass so close to her head, but she didn’t let herself hesitate.

The rope was a hindrance as she dodged to the right, but she was going to need it to get back up to the roof. She shoved the sapphire into her hip pouch, trusting that the velcro would seal it up safe as she slammed her hands flat on the floor and began spinning her legs as fast as she could around the rope, winding it around her thighs.

She huffed out a breath as she shoved off the floor, reaching up to grab the rope and pull herself up higher and faster. It wasn’t graceful or lovely–nothing like the rope dancing at the class she’d taken–but it was enough to get her up to the hole she’d burned into the ceiling. Bullets pinged against the rafters and she yelped when a graze dug a furrow against her right side.

Opal clambered out of the hole faster than she’d gone down, log rolling across the asphalt of the rooftop toward the anchoring spike she’d used to attach her rope. She tried to stand up and almost fell over, the rope tightly tangled around her legs and hips.

“Shit.” She fumbled the knife out of her sleeve and began sawing through the paracord. She needed to get her ass out of here before Miss Brown-Eyes decided to shoot her in the face gangland style.

/END EXCERPT

 

0 comments on "EXCERPT: “Ruined Lilacs and Broken Dreams”"

Title: Ruined Lilacs and Broken Dreams
Author: Harper Kingsley
Character: Lindsey
Fill for the Bed Amongst the Leaves prompt.

EXCERPT-

Lindsey wanted to enjoy her life. She wanted to be happy and proud of herself. She didn’t want to be this giant loser, where everything she tried failed and every golden opportunity spoiled in her hands.

She wanted to be one of the shiny happy people. She was tired of wallowing in the muck of poverty.

It hurt to realize that her every problem could be solved with the addition of copious amounts of money. Her debts could be paid, the family wardrobe could improve, the quality of groceries that she bought could help fix any health issues. With some money in her hands, she could change the fate of her entire family and together they could prosper.

But as it was, nothing she did worked.

Her artistic abilities were sadly lacking. Her typing ability didn’t bring in much cash. And her profile on the shady solicitation site had received no offers.

It terrified her to think that it was only a matter of time before she lost the Kid. Someone would realize how poor they were and how much trouble she was in, and they’d take her little boy away.

“You’re squeezing me too tight, Momma.”

“Sorry, baby.” She pressed a kiss against the top of his sleepy head.

They were lying on the couch with an afghan tucked around them. The air was starting to chill, but she didn’t want to add another precious piece of wood to the fire. Monster House was almost over and they’d be going to bed soon enough.

Lindsey held her boy in her arms and stared unblinkingly at the television screen. The flickering motions and colors blended together as she tried to focus the rushing panic of her thoughts.

They were out of money for the month. All the bills were paid, but the food was thin in the fridge and on the shelves. There was a good chance that they’d be enjoying flour soup a couple times before she’d again be able to afford groceries.

/EXCERPT

Help me buy pants and receive a copy of this story.
One-time donation: Paypal.me/HarperKingsley.
Patrons on Patreon can download a free copy in mobi format when it’s available.

0 comments on "“He was the man in black. The stolid face of grinding bureacracy…”"

For A Little While sideshot: He was the man in black. The stolid face of grinding bureaucracy, telling the proletariats that they needed to live a certain way or a very stern “Or Else” was implied.

Some incarnation of Phil had been walking around since the beginning of the organization, way back in the dark days of S.H.I.E.L.D., of S.W.O.R.D., of A.T.L.A.S., or of I.R.I.S. Every organization as far back as memory reached had had their own version of Phil. His genotype has existed since the beginning. And with the merging, there were hundreds of Phils filling the hives beneath the city.

They were sent out to handle the troubles of the agencies, garnering Phil the reputation of being at every situation everywhere. He was a LEGEND! to the people out there. From what the message boards implied, he was in the same league as the Arthur’s, the Charlie’s, and the Tony’s.

It would have been a heady knowledge, if Phil92 had known that he was not the original Phil. If he’d had any inkling that nearly everything he believed about his childhood had been a lie.

But he didn’t know.

He was currently living and working as Agent P872-549, alias Landon James. He hadn’t been back to base in more than 15 years. He doubted there was anyone working there that even remembered his real name anymore.

He’d been Landon for so long that he was probably going to die under the name. His family would mourn at an empty tomb and never know what had really happened to him.

It should have made him sad. And in a way it kind of did. But mostly he was resigned to it.

His job was important. He was saving lives. What was a bit of personal misery compared to that?

Phil sighed and hauled himself out of bed to face another day as Landon, personal assistant for the Secretary of the Union.

*
A. Phil clones, like the azi.

B. Each of the Phils is a person that has been Conditioned to be that person. They were snatched up off the street, offered tons of money to have their faces changed, then spent the rest of their lives as a Phil, loaded with various skillsets.

C. Phil died for a lot longer than he realizes. When he was brought back, it was deemed inadvisable to tell him what had happened. His memory was modified through surgery–a lasering away of the various memory strings–and he was assigned to a new team and a new life, believing that he’s Phil pretending to be Landon, while he’s really Landon thinking he’s Phil pretending to be Landon.