The Golden Age of Epic City

[GoldenAge]

Up or Down

-or-

The Beginning of Something Special...

 

 

Up or down? It was the same question Venessa Jackson had to ask herself every day. Down forty-two flights to the first floor, through the marble and bronze halls of the Sheltner Building main concourse. Past the many exclusive shops, through the high arching double door front entrance, past the red coated doorman and out onto Drucker Street where she was sure to find a cab waiting. Or up twenty-three flights to the Sheltner Building’s sixty-fifth floor and its vaulted glass and iron observation plaza where blue and gold Peregrine Transit dirigibles arrived and departed every fifteen minutes.

 

Through ornate leaded glass doors Venessa watched black cables serpentine up and down as they governed the ascension of her lift and the descent of its counter balance. A quick glance at the black iron dial atop the doors indicated that Venessa would have to decide soon. Up or down? On most days the decision would be down, but today was different.

 

Venessa stood alone. Usually there where would be dozens of weary executives encircling her, each crowding for a spot on their only means of escape from the administrative doldrums of conference calls and e-mail correspondences. It was well past her usual departure time of four-thirty. Despite the late hour she was feeling quite satisfied. Closing the Varney-Smuthers contract before Monday’s executive review far outweighed the extra time she’d spent at the office.

 

A single melodic chime reminded Venessa of the time. She looked to the walnut grandfather clock at the end of the hall, its large hand at XI, its small hand hovering dangerously close to IX. If she didn’t hurry the Fifth Pier Galleria would be closed before she was able to do a bit of celebratory shopping. Up it was. Before the grandfather clock on the forty-second floor struck its ninth harmonic claxon Venessa was airborne.

 

It had been a long time since Venessa had chosen up. She enjoyed reacquainting herself with the luxuriously upholstered dark wood and blue velvet seats of the air ship. The comforting sway of the PT dirigible and the wondrous Epic City lights below wooed her into a trance-like state as she slid across the downtown skyline. She made a mental note to do this more often. An evening shuttle by dirigible was a treat. The usual commuter rush was gone and window seats were plentiful. Moreover the scenery was breathtaking, assuming you were riding Peregrine or one of the other exclusive air ship transporters who owned high altitude rights over the downtown metropolitan area.

 

The Fifth Pier Galleria had several of its own air ship docking bays. Venessa was positive that Peregrine would have a private concourse near some of the more chic shops of the mall. No better place to start, she thought. Venessa began a mental stroll through Epic City’s largest bazaar. Her mind’s eye took her to Clowen’s, its latest ensembles proudly displayed upon dynamically posed mannequins of blond wood and brushed steel, each ensemble holding true to the new vertical lace neckpiece and double breasted trends that she loved so much. Her imagination put her into the new clothing, its lush fabrics cascading from her shoulders to the floor. She would have remained there, playfully window-shopping at the edge of her imagination if she had not seen something past the curtained plate glass window off her right shoulder. Smoke.

 

The Gordon Building was aflame! A quick reference through her mental rolodex was all it took for her to place the Gordon account. Thompson Fields was her company’s rep for that account. All thoughts of an amusing stroll through the Fifth Pier Galleria were dashed and replaced with dread when Venessa realized Thompson could loose his job if he were forced to pay in full against the Gordan insurance claim. Venessa really liked Thompson. He was one of the few people at the office who could carry on an intelligent conversation about something other than premiums and percentages. Without a second thought Venessa sprung into action.

 

Venessa vaulted from her seat and ran the length of the dirigible cabin to the glass doors of the cockpit. The few other passengers aboard her flight hadn’t notice the smoke billowing from the building below and were upset by her outburst. At the forward end of the passenger’s cabin, through glass doors and past gold trimmed blue velvet portieres she could see the pilot and co-pilot. Gathering herself she grimly rapped upon the doors. The co-pilot immediately met her. A quick exchange later and Venessa had convinced an unconventually considerate Peregrine crew to dash their schedule and dock their dirigible atop a nearby building.

 

Many of the other passengers disembarked with Venessa upon the Biltmoor Hotel, intrigued by the flames now shooting high into the air from the top ten stories of the forty story Gordon Building. Though the Gordon Building stood half a block away from the Biltmoor Venessa and the other Peregrine commuters could feel the waves of heat shed from its flames. Venessa was immediately on her cell phone calling Thompson. Unfortunately her plan to warn him of the Gordon tragedy was foiled by the droning of a pre-recorded answering device. With nothing else left to do Venessa stood in horror and watched as the flames ravished her friend’s investment.

 

Venessa’s view from her perch near the hotel’s rooftop swimming pool was perfect. She had clear sight of over half of the Gordon Building from the ground to its antennae strewn apex. She could see the emergency vehicles already on scene and the arrival of several more. Fire vehicles of all shapes and sizes were positioned about the building’s base. Strangely, though, the army they had brought with them were doing nothing to stem the angry flame’s increasing hunger. Not one official had heroically stepped into the building and no last minute survivors were being rescued.

 

It was just after a strange delivery truck labeled McKormic Foundation, led by an escort of police officers and fire officials arrived that Venessa remembered the video recorder she had tucked away in her coat pocket. She had used the recorder to document a car accident two days ago and forgot to return it to her administrator. She pulled the recorder out and brought into focus the disaster and the strange truck as it arrived. Her intent; to document the fire departments lackluster attempt to save the Gordon Building. She hoped her footage would exonerate Thompson of any liability and place the financial responsibility for damages to the Gordon Building squarely upon the state. As for what happened next… Venessa wouldn’t have believed her own eyes if not for the very real existence of the visual recording she personally authored.

 

Slowly the McKormic Foundation delivery truck came to a stop along side a city vehicle adorned with the Epic City Fire Chief emblem. As soon as the truck halted the double doors to its cargo space sprung open and a giant winged creature burst into the night sky, its black and white wings eerily highlighted with red by the roaring flames above. It… was a he, a man with long black hair and wings… real wings! He circled the truck like a vulture would road kill, awaiting the disembarkation of who or what remained inside.

 

One at a time they emerged. Second came a young black man wearing a gray sweat suit and a black baseball cap… backward. Other than his association with the winged creature (and the others to come) he was unremarkable. Another, suited in some sort of leather and iron flight gear who moved with incredible speed followed and passed the black man, rushing to the side of the Fire Chief’s auto. Then, finally, someone Venessa recognized stepped from the rear of the truck.

 

The Incredible Bouncing Boy was known to anyone who had ever perused the pages of The Sanguine News or Event Magazine. He was the stuff of tabloid celebrity. Jacob Eisner’s ability to contort and exaggerate his body had been covered by the Sanguine since his early childhood. It was one of Venessa’s favorite reads, though until that night she never truly believed in his existence. When the last member of the incredible quintet stepped from the rear of the vehicle Venessa swore she felt the vibration caused by his footfall. Despite the reality of Venessa’s sensation the recoil of the McKormic truck upon his disembarkation proved evidence of his incredible mass. It was not until the improbably heavy man had taken a few steps that Venessa realized who he was. Left behind by his tremendous footfalls were unmistakable impressions highlighted by the flames above. Societies Shield was real. Venessa nearly fainted.

 

With her mouth agape Venessa retained the presence of mind to keep the video recorder pointed at the quintet. There was a quick discussion between a person in a trench coat whom emerged from the Fire Chief’s auto. While the winged man circled above The Incredible Bouncing boy, Society’s Shield and the running pilot were speaking with the Epic City Fire Chief. The black man had busied himself plundering a nearby fire truck for coats and masks. Their preparations concluded the quintet sprang into action. After a quick exchange with the pilot the winged man soared toward the high-rise and began circling the building just below its fire-engulfed upper reaches. His flight was obviously hampered by the tremendous winds created by the inferno and Venessa worried that he’d be violently pulled into the building and break a wing. At the same time The Incredible Bouncing Boy and his backward hat-wearing companion hurried to requisition a nearby fire truck.

 

After only a few revolutions around the blazing building the winged man came to an awkward hover near a window on the third floor. His huge wings contorted and flayed as he tried to maintain stability. He seemed to be pointing at something inside the building. It was then, with grim determination that Society’s Shield sprang into action. Incredible leg strength launched his massive weight at the building just below the winged man. With an unimaginable crash he impacted the side of the building. Shards of brick, stone and glass along with the body of Society’s Shield rained down upon the sidewalk below scattering emergency crews and fire fighters alike. Venessa was awed. The strength possessed by Society’s Shield was unbelievable. Though he was unable to burst through the building’s superstructure and fell like a small bomb to the ground he seemed undeterred. He rose from the rubble and again launched himself at the building. There was a second thunderous crash and Society’s Shield found himself grounded once more.

 

Venessa couldn’t conceive of why Society’s Shield would attack the Gordon Building so ruthlessly. But there had to be a reason for not moments after he fell the speedster also launched himself at the building. For a third time the wall sustained considerable damage. The pilot’s incredible velocity had compensated for his normal strength. Venessa thought he’d killed himself by plunging headfirst into the stone wall. He fell like a limp sack of potatoes, but safely into the waiting arms of Society’s Shield instead of upon the hard pavement below. Shaken, but not deterred, the speedster realigned himself to again leap at the building. In a blur the pilot hurled himself skyward. This time, though, he had a new plan and burst through a window to the right of the bird-man. Venessa assumed the attack on the building’s exterior was complete. Reinforcing her suspicions, Society’s Shield turned and strode heroically through the Gordon Building’s main entrance and into the unknown dangers beyond. As a cheer went up from the gathering crowds Venessa said a silent thank you to the fates for her forgetfulness. Her video recorder would be the answer to Thompson’s prayers.

 

Venessa then heard the notorious beep made of a large vehicle moving in reverse peal above the riotous chaos below. The Incredible Bouncing Boy was directing a fire crew to position their fire truck below the hole caused by the running pilot. With the fire truck in position The Incredible Bouncing Boy and his sidekick, the young black man, clambered on top. Once atop the truck The Incredible Bouncing Boy performed a miraculous feat. His brow creased with resolve, he stretched his limbs to bridge the three-story gap between the open window and the fire truck. He remained extended until his sidekick was able to scramble over his body into the window above. Then, once his friend was safe The Incredible Bouncing Boy contracted his limbs and pulled himself up. The winged man followed them through the window. Unfortunately his gigantic black wings filled the window and obscured any chance of recording what went on inside. Venessa took a moment and lowered the recorder. History, she thought. I’m witnessing history unfold.

 

“Its arson and there’s hostages still inside!” One of the Peregrine commuters held a small transistor radio to his ear and was relaying what he heard. Venessa realized that the Fire Department hadn’t rushed into the burning Gordon Building out of prudence rather than laxity. Thompson was behind the eightball again. Venessa kept recording though. Her video had become more significant than the simple insurance chronicle for which it was originally intended. For long moments nothing seemed to happen. All members of the incredible quintet were inside the building. Then, suddenly, the winged man burst from the gaping window. In his arms was a swaddled mass issuing streams of choking smoke. His huge wings thrust him through the night sky at incredible speed. Past the emergency crew’s spotlights he flew, disappearing into darkness. Like that, the bird-man was gone. For long moments there was no sign of the others.

 

Venessa lowered her recorder for the second time to get a better look at the entire scene. The fires atop the Gordon Building had grown in size and now consumed the top twelve floors in a hellish fury. Emergency crews on the ground seemed paralyzed as they awaited the reappearance of the four strange beings valiantly working inside. Four gleaming red Fire Department dirigibles had arrived and battled the flames from above. The skill of their pilots was apparent as they defied common sense and hovered near the lick of the flames, on the edge of a smoky deluge. The pulsers of their air ships whined in protest as they continuously corrected for dangerously shifting wind currents.

 

Surreal was the only word Venessa could come up with to describe what was unfolding before her. The intense light shed by the huge flames above seemed to make the city recede. Behind the fire and spotlights there was only blackness, as if the Gordon Building was the only structure within miles. As she inspected the dark skies she spotted something. It was the winged man; unburdened and returning with as much speed as when he left. Quickly Venessa brought her video camera to bear. She was able to focus on the winged man just as he reached the Gordon Building. He circled the building several times as if to survey any changes since his departure. Then having spotted whatever it was he was looking for the winged man he came to a halting mid-air stop. He flapped his wings and increased the distance between himself and an area of the building just above the section damaged by the speedy pilot and Society’s Shield. He hung there in mid air for a moment or two. Then, with a tremendous surge from his wings he sped directly towards the cracked and crumbling façade.

 

Venessa recorded the image of the bird-man’s impact long before she felt or heard the tremendous crash. One moment the winged man was there, miraculously floating in mid air. The next he was gone, replaced by a plume of dust and debris. Venessa realized that such an impact would have been fatal if not for the collateral damage to the area caused earlier. She was awed by the quintet’s preparation.

 

Venessa kept her video recorder trained on the gaping hole created by the winged man hoping to see something else, but for naught. As the dust from the impact settled to the ground the hole remained empty. Soon, though, she noticed a stream of wet and frightened hostages escaping from the building’s front entrance. Emergency crews immediately attended to each, supplying blankets, oxygen and medical care where needed. Not long after the last hostage was accounted for four of the five miraculous beings exited the building. With them, bound in the malleable arms of The Incredible Bouncing Boy was a man who could only be described as conscious but catatonic. The whites of his eyes were evident even from Venessa’s vantagepoint and spittle dripped from his open mouth. Quickly he was remanded over to law enforcement authorities on the scene.

 

Though they appeared victorious and were mobbed by appreciative hostages and news reporters alike, the four refused to revel in their success. Numbly they moved toward the McKormic Foundation delivery truck. Only Society’s Shield made any effort to quell curiosity and had a quick word with fire officials. Soon he too was boarding the truck. Then Venessa noticed the fifth hero leaving the building. It was the young black man. At first glance he appeared injured, burnt by the fires raging within the building. His clothing was all but seared from his body and wisps of smoke trailed behind him. Fire fighters felt similarly and rushed to help as he strolled from the building. He pushed them away roughly, refusing any aid other than a blanket, and strode to join his comrades in their truck. Once the quintet was together again they secured the rear doors of their McKormic Foundation delivery truck and sped off to whence they came, hounded all the way by an entourage of media vehicles.

 

Venessa lowered her video recorder slowly, still reeling from the impact of what she had just witnessed. One look around the Biltmoor Hotel rooftop was all she needed to know that she hadn’t imagined things. All of her Peregrine co-passengers stood silent, mouths agape and eyes fixed on the departing delivery truck. Only the chirp of one man’s transistor radio broke the rooftop silence. Eventually her senses returned. As she made her way to the hotel’s poolside lift Venessa Jackson hesitated and scanned the sparkling night horizon. For long moments she absorbed the beautiful city around her, all the while wondering if things in Epic City would ever be the same again.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Just Another Claim?

The frost on the black iron and leaded glass bridge connecting the Sheltner building with its twin across Drucker street still shimmered in the noonday sun. Jets of white steam filled the air around a blue and gold Peregrine dirigible as it fought tricky city winds to deftly maneuver into a docking position at the Sheltner Observation Concourse ten stories up. Its decorative tassels had become enormous jewels cased as they were in a thin coating of ice that refracted the daylight into rainbow bursts. Thompson always loved winter in Epic City. Everything in sight seemed to undergo a pleasant transformation, a shift from the everyday reality of stone and iron to a world of fairy dust and magic clouds. He especially loved snow. It blanketed the world with purity, hiding all of the city’s flaws and blemishes. There was no snow yet, but it would come.

 

As Thompson wistfully gazed upon the city on the first official day of winter he took solace in the season. Soon he and his family would settle in to celebrate Yule. He smiled to himself, content that the mistletoe and red candles were perfectly placed, and that he had purchased the perfect gifts for everyone. He could almost smell the aromatic Yule Log as it burned in his living room fireplace filling his home with the wonderful smells of the holiday season. His children would have a very happy Yule this year.

 

“Hey Thompson, what’re you looking at?†came the voice of Vanessa Jackson as she entered his office, her arms filled with paperwork.

 

“Hmm?†he replied, suddenly wrenched back to the grim reality of the worst week he could remember in a long time. “Oh, Vanessa,†he stammered on, “wh-what do you need?â€

 

“What do I need?!? Don’t you mean what do you need? I’ve been working all morning to scrounge this stuff up.†With a huff Vanessa unloaded her burden of many multi-colored folders all over Thompson’s desk, waiting for some form of recognition from her favorite associate. When it was obvious that Thompson still hadn’t caught on she calmly tried to fill him in.

 

“Look Thompson, I’ve gathered all of the information I could find in city records on the Gordon building.†She indicated a pile of green folders. “I’ve organized the Fire Chief’s arson assessment,†she continued, pointing to a stack of red folders. “As you requested I’ve accumulated every bit of information I could find on the McKormic Foundation, though I don’t think it will help you all that much,†she said pointing to a few thin manila folders, “and…†she continued, her hand sliding into and out of a side pocket in her business suit producing a thin disc cased in a protective gel casing, “I’ve made you a copy of my video tape of the arson incident.†With a flip of her wrist the disc fell like the last piece of a puzzle atop Thompson’s desk.

 

Thompson awakened from his holiday malaise and smiled. “Thanks Vanessa,†he said as he addressed the folders and disc, “I owe you big.â€

 

“Damn right you do.â€

 

With a wink and a nod Vanessa was gone, back to her own claim files and fraud cases.

 

Thompson fingered the disc atop the pile of green and red folders and wondered if it held the key to his own happy Yule.

[Trebuchet]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Well done!

 

Very pulp/golden age in feel. I half expected Sky Captain to dive out of the clouds! Is this from your campaign?

 

Can't rep you just yet, but I'll get you as soon as I can.

[TheRavenIs]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

You must spread some Reputation around before giving it to GoldenAge again.

 

WOW!!!! That was great. I could see the action play out. I loved it, I hope we get more......soon.

[Cold Steel]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

:hail: Must Have More!!!

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

More soon... But from this point on I'm going to share some stories about the characters of Golden Age Epic City.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

REFLECTIONS

 

Toby sat alone in the dark on the observation deck of the Merchants Union Tower, the tallest building in Epic City. Above and behind him were the blinking lights of the airship dock, Peregrine of course, and below him stretched out the big bright city and the dead black lake. It was the most impressive structure downtown, sheathed in black marble, 122 stories tall, with eight flying buttresses that descended gracefully from two-thirds of the building’s height to sink themselves in the ground outside the circular drive around the main structure. It was well after hours, and Toby wasn’t supposed to be up here, alone in the darkness, but he didn’t much care. He ran his scarred hands over the smooth-worn rock of the railing. Carved granite sheeting covering pre-stressed concrete and structural steel. One thing on the outside, something else on the inside. Toby snorted. Just like everyone and everything else. Himself included. He sure as hell never asked to be what he was. Never asked to have done to him what was done to him. He breathed in the cold wind that always blew in this high place, calming himself. That was the main reason he liked it up here, the chill touch of the wind made it easier to keep it from happening. The McKormic docs said there was no scientific reason for that but there it was. Geeky white boys were guessing most of the time anyway.

 

Toby sucked the Hawk wind deep inside him, reveling in the cold mass of air in his lungs and its caress on his skin, ridged and webbed as it was with the scar tissue of countless immolations. His eyes were half-shut, watering in the wind, and he gazed over Epic City through a blurred prism. In the distance the spotlights illuminating the still fitfully smoking Gordon building sparkled like warped diamonds. Toby’s heart rate picked up and he felt the familiar hot, slick feeling on his skin. He closed his eyes, finding his center quickly, and breathed slowly, deeply. The feeling diminished and his heart slowed. Damn good thing, too. A midnight torch on Merchies’ Tower would be a bit whack for the cops.

He was calm enough now, he guessed. He let the face of the dead terrorist swim into his mind’s eye. Piece of **** cowardly *****. Hurting people, kids, just to make a point. Piece of **** cowardly DEAD *****. Wouldn’t be playin anybody else that way, no how. Part of him was disgusted at what he had done to the killer. Part of him nearly screamed at what his power had nearly done to a roomful of innocents in the hotel. Part of him regretted that it wasn’t his own act of will that had carried out the man’s sentence, that his power had usurped his volition. The rest of him felt that crazy honky just plain deserved it. Rubber Boy didn’t understand. None of them did, and that confused him. Couldn’t they see? Couldn’t they feel? That child-hurting pig needed to get capped. It wasn’t fun but then neither was turning into a damn zippo.

 

He cursed. Nobody got that every time he saw somebody hurting a kid, they wore Knedster’s face. Nobody got that he had to stop them, no piece of **** was going to get away with doing to another kid what had been done to him. They just listened to the white boys in charge, the ones saying ‘wait, play by the rules, trust the system…’ Bull****. Those cracker bastards were like all the others with power; they just waited for a chance to use it to hurt people…

 

PHOOOM!!! An exquisite quicksilver agony tore through Toby’s body as his skin ignited. Caught by surprise, he screamed and collapsed to the well-worn stone floor, unable at first to do anything but wallow in the consuming pain. Each second an eternity, he was slowly able to regain control, using his mental exercises to shut the door to the pain, putting it in its own room where he still felt it but he could think and move and make decisions. He lurched to his feet, looking quickly around for cop-zeps, then reeled to the door of the service stairwell and started down the stairs. Ten floors later he was calm and centered enough to self-extinguish. He focused on the rhythm of his footsteps and the counterpoint of his breathing the rest of the way down. It took a half-hour. There were no police in sight so his flare-up must have been missed. He looked up and down Lake Street. He hadn’t been back to McKormic since the night it happened. He didn’t know if he could go back. They just didn’t understand. Shaking his head he moved off into the shadows, towards his crib where he had a bed and another set of cheap sweats.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Tinder…

 

“Free?” echoed the incredulous teenager, looking up at the snaggle-toothed man leaning against the burnt out streetlight, scratching at his purple doo-rag.

 

“Absolutely homes,” was the reply. “Yo, it’s a buyers market out here on the streets, man, lotsa competition, you dig? I gotta do my thing to stand out. Free samples is just my thing.” The man grinned around a soggy toothpick. “This way you remember the Flashman and come see him again, right?”

 

“Sure,” said the kid, impressed, “Gimme the stuff.” With an ease borne of practice the older man slipped the teen a small clear bag, so smoothly that the transaction was barely noticeable. Muttering his thanks, the youth scuttled off down the trash-strewn street into the Epic City night.

 

This **** is too easy, thought the Flashman, scratching a shoulder blade on the ornate wrought iron of the lamppost. That kid would be back, no doubt. Those free samples were purer than the normal ****, setting the hook hard on the first hit. They all came back.

 

He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his ratty army coat as the wind keened like a falcon. He looked up and down the street, pretty well deserted at this time of night. It wasn’t the best spot, but it was a good one, and it didn’t cost too much to ‘lease’ it from Jimmy Po and his Dragons. This was the life; he had a nice crib, and a Benz and women when he wanted them. Minimal cop hassles too. If these kids from the burbs had to come to him, hurting and shaking, handing him money they got in desperate ways, well that was their lookout.

 

Another kid was headed his way, across the street. He shuffled past boarded up storefronts and a stone building with decorative turrets, government offices or some ****. He came across the street to the corner, head deep in the hood of his Goodwill sweatshirt, swaying and weaving in his thrift-shop threads, he stopped in front of the dealer.

 

“You the one they call the Flashman?” the voice came out as a harsh whisper, almost a croak. Obviously this one already had it bad.

 

“That’s me, my man, what you need?”

 

“I need a hook-up, man. My connection got put in the joint an’ I’m hurtin’.” He unslung a torn up shoulder bag with the Phatsole logo on it and set it on the ground. “You holdin’?”

 

“Sure, bro, I got what you need. You got money?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Then show me, my man. I gotta see it before I hook you up.” The young junkie dug in a frayed pocket, looked around furtively from the shadow of his tattered hood, and stepped close to Flashman. He pulled his hand from the pocket and extended it to the dealer. Flashman reached in his own pocket for another bag and went to take the money.

 

Suddenly the kid grabbed Flashman’s wrist with one scarred hand while the other snagged a wad of the army jacket’s collar. The pusher’s head bounced with a dull clang off of the iron pole behind him.

 

“Ow! What the f-“ he started to snarl, reaching for the gun in his pants.

 

“Dead bang, punk-*****, you done pushing your poison on kids!” Flashman stared in mute surprise at the hate filled expression on the bald, scarred visage of the young man, now mere inches from his own face. Then his world exploded.

 

The dealer tripped and fell, Toby landing on top of him, their agonized screams mingling as Toby’s fiery torment enveloped them both. It wasn’t long before the screaming and the thrashing ceased. Toby lay on top of Flashman’s body, feeding it more of his fire as he walled off the pain and found his center. In a few moments he went out. He quickly patted down the undamaged parts of the smoking body and found the man’s money roll in his boot. Piece of **** won’t need this anymore, came the cold thought. He stood, naked and freezing in the chilly night, and looked around. He grabbed the shoulder bag with its set of thrift store clothes in it and disappeared into a trash filled alley.

[OddHat]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Very good stuff. Looking forward to more.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

The Shade: Opal’s Encounter

 

News had spread fast on the streets about the killings, not through the media, but rather by word of mouth. Nobody outside of the neighborhood of Waterbury had ever cared about some two-bit whores like Nancy, Mary, or Rachel; and word of their gruesome murders at the hands of some slasher probably hadn’t even been reported to the proper authorities. The pimps just hung closer and carried bigger knives and guns to guard their investments.

 

That fact didn’t comfort girls like Opal who often found herself working a strip of dive bars without the protection of her pimp. She viewed each John suspiciously and they in turn were put off by her apprehension. She hadn’t turned a single trick all night. Business was bad, and tonight it was worse.

 

“That’s it, Margo, I’m heading home.â€, Opal said loudly over the din of the bar’s juke box to her tawdrily dressed companion.

 

“What about Vinnie?â€, Margo responded, “He won’t like you coming back empty handed again.†Margo was right, Vinnie’s temper was legendary. Opal decided she needed to do something.

 

She looked around nervously. The whole place was filled with suspicious types. Then she caught the gaze of a man who seemed to radiate the creeps. He was seated at the far end of the bar. For a moment, he stared through the hazy smoke and shadows, emotionless, cold down to Opal’s bones. She felt unable to move or speak paralyzed by fear. The man’s spell was broken only when a knot of men walked past talking and laughing, interrupting his line of sight.

 

“I’ll think of something on the way!†Opal stated, hurriedly picking up her purse and pulling on her inadequate jacket over halter top and mini-skirt.

 

“It’s your neck, honey.†said Margo flatly, returning to her flirtations. Opal glanced back at the bar as she stood up, but couldn’t spot the creepy John. She quickly made her way to the door.

 

Outside, the air felt lighter. Opal took a deep breath and began walking down the road through intermittent pools of light cast down from streetlights above. She stopped beneath one to light a cigarette still shaken from the creep in the bar. She glanced around, the entire street was empty. “How can I go back to Vinnie with nothing, there has to be somebody around here somewhere†she muttered to herself.

 

The lone figure of a man emerged beneath a streetlight back up the road. Opal took a final drag before dropping the butt and stepping on it. Another chill ran down her spine as she caught sight of the stranger.

 

“Screw Vinnie,†she muttered, “I’ll sleep in a doorway somewhere safe!†and continued walking briskly along her course; yet, she believed she could still feel the figure behind her, following. She couldn’t bring herself to glimpse over her shoulder or stop and check if her intuitions were true. On Opal went, driven by an unceasing fear which grew with each panicked step. Soon terror filled her brain. Her heart raced. Was she running? “Yes, run!†her mind screamed, her body had already responded.

 

Minutes later, gasping for breath, she was forced to stop. Opal became aware that she had inadvertently fled into an unfamiliar area. Quickly, she ducked into an alleyway; panting, her breath billowed out as great gusts of white vapor in the cold night air before being consumed by the heavy darkness all around. Suddenly her heart stopped, there was the sound of footsteps with her in the shadows of the alleyway. A large, neatly dressed man walked out of the gloom, knife in hand, his face twisted by an insane grin. Opal opened her mouth to scream, but nothing happened.

 

“Hello, Opal.†he whispered eerily.

.

.

.

 

She seemed little different than the others he’d followed: over teased platinum blonde hair, under dressed for the cold late autumn night, and over done make-up covering a face as worn and dirty as the streets she worked. This one’s name was Opal, he’d heard her friend call her that earlier.

 

Opal did, however, appear visibly nervous while the others had all seemed not to know or care about the danger they were putting themselves into. From the shadows, Hugh watched the two prostitutes talk for some time. Opal was agitated and kept looking around the bar while her inattentive friend would flippantly say something as she eyed prospective Johns, presumably to comfort her. It wasn’t working. Suddenly, Opal’s furtive gaze met Hugh’s, her eyes widened as the moment grew. Had she guessed that he’d been observing her? He felt it best to leave.

 

Seizing an opportune moment, Hugh drifted back into the deep shadows away from the bar, passing through their cold darkness and out upon the roof ledge. Standing between worn statuary of long dead saints, Hugh looked down, the breeze tugging on his long dark cloak, as a handful of individuals entered and left the establishment below.

 

A brief time later, Opal burst out of the door then paused, perhaps still aware she was being watched. Hugh waited until she had quickly headed down the empty road, before dropping into the dark narrow passage between the bar and the adjacent building. It was another second before the coast was clear, then Hugh soundlessly poured around the corner and onto the sidewalk. Sticking near the storefronts, he kept his distance from Opal. Something would happen tonight, the streets were not empty, he could feel it coming.

 

As he followed, Hugh remembered being as afraid as these whores he’d tailed recently, afraid of what might lurk around the next corner, or what may lay in wait amongst the shadows. But now, that had changed with the gift of his new powers. He had become the thing everyone, both good and evil feared, the darkness, the Shade. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought.

 

Opal had increased her pace and was almost out of sight, it wouldn’t do to lose her, just when things had begun to look so promising. Hugh took to the darkness once more, emerging from a shadowy doorway very near her now. He could see her looking up and down the street as she stood smoking a cigarette. She put it out then looked directly at her pursuer, fear filled her eyes and muttering something under her breath, she hurried even faster. “Fear can be an excellent motivator.†Hugh thought grinning to himself. The chase continued to build speed until they had broken into a full run. Thankfully, the darkness provided even faster transport.

 

Hugh had come to the alleyway first, and waited, lost in the sinister darkness for the arrival of the one he wanted. It wasn’t long. A clattering noise echoed down the passage. Soon he would have his due. Soon the unjust would be punished for their impure acts. Opal stumbled around the corner and leaned against the grimy brick wall looking like a she’d seen a ghost. Darkness loomed up before her as all life’s blood drained from her open mouthed visage. It was time for the Shade to do what he’d come to do.

 

The slasher and Opal stood together against the wall. Quickly, Hugh passed through to a dark window alcove above them. Then he climbed out onto a fire escape ladder.

 

Opal could feel the cold metal of the slasher’s knife as he drew it menacingly up her bare leg, his hot breath on her face.

 

“You know I love you.†he told her with a look of madness growing in his eyes. He continued louder, “Why can’t you *****es understand that!?â€. Opal began crying.

 

“Shhhhhhh, close your eyes.†said the killer consolingly as he put his calloused hand over her face, tipping her head slightly back. She could feel the knife being slowly drawn toward her throat. “It’ll all be over soon.†whispered the killer in her ear, relief edging into his voice. Opal mouthed a silent prayer between sobs.

 

Without warning, the killer was thrown back. Opal opened her eyes and saw the slasher buried under a large black shape. She thought she could hear the growl of large cat just before an ominous, low, throttling gurgle. The slasher’s form ceased struggling after a moment, then the ebon form rose up becoming a reaper-like figure who’s features were lost beneath its enveloping cloak’s folds and hood.

 

The killer lay motionless with a gaping wound at its neck from which blood now slowly bubbled, steam rising from it into the dark night above.

 

Opal’s eyes flitted back and forth between her would be killer and savior. The figure reached a dark gauntleted hand toward her, handing her a broken bottle, whose shards dripped with blood. Opal held it limply. She could hear a distant crying sound, was it her? The figure stood still as death another moment.

 

“You’re safe now.†it rasped.

 

“Who, wha, huh...†Opal stammered. The crying became wailing and grew louder.

 

“Go home.†the shadowy form commanded before stepping back into the deeper dark of the alleyway. The wailing stopped with the sound of tires screeching to a halt. Blue and red police lights flooded the passage.

 

The Shade had vanished.

 

Opal collapsed.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

A Tragic Beginning – A New Protector

 

 

I never knew what sorrow was until today…

 

It started like any other, waking up and getting some coffee. Zephyr was eating his fourth helping of breakfast. I got my coffee and began my long trudge up to the roof, it is a workout in itself to make every step soft and light… I really have gotten used to these boots, I still wish they could be smaller.

 

Watching the sun come up on the horizon of Epic City has become my morning meditation routine. Seeing “Lady Liberation” stare over her city always put me in a good mood. These are the things I missed while working in Capitol City.

 

I usually spend about an hour, hour and a half up there working on my new passion, yoga, it seems to really help with my new weight, it keeps me mindful of what my body is capable of. This morning was different though; my mind was adrift in the early red and purple haze… she was on my mind… Katherine.

 

I find myself back in our apartment watching the sun rise, she comes up behind me with a hug, a kiss, her warmth was something I never tired of. Christ!… this thing is getting heavy… remember your training… concentrate… come on. That’s when she got the call, the call that took her away from our life and me.

 

Katherine had been accepted to the senates new International Dividends Spending Board. It was another fancy name for the senate to approve export and import spending abroad. But it was her chance to get in the front door for what she really wanted and that was in the Senate. It also meant being far from me in Epic City… Why didn’t I ever call when I got here?… Oh yeah, because I weigh one and a half tons!… I should have called.

 

We had both promised each other and ourselves that our relationship would never compromise our goals. We where so young and stupid. Because we had both promised we let ourselves separate, both of our young hearts broken.

 

My internship was going great, primarily because all I did was work so I could forget… It helped numb the pain. I missed her so much!!!

 

The rubble is shifting! “Chief! It’s shifting, I need more support beams!!”

 

The beams are nearly in place before I finish my sentence, along with a pat on the back from my new friend Kent, out of all the new guys from McFreak as Jake likes to put it, Kent has become the closest of all. I replant my feet and get my… Sixteenth wind is it now?

 

Three years ago Katherine came to Epic City to work inside Castor and Pollux, the twins, for the senate. Today the twins fell and all the beautifully crafted marble and statuary that resided on it came crumbling down… Along with countless lives… Including Katherines.

 

The rest of the foundation and myself have been working here for the last 27 hours. Right now we are recovering the first wave of EFD that was trapped under Pollux. We've found about 300 of them… At least 200 are still missing along with possibly ten thousand employees of the Global Trade Centers.

 

When the first plane hit we were horrified. When the second plane hit we were there and gave as much help as we could to evacuate people. When Pollux fell and the majority of firefighters and medical personnel where lost we ended up leading the effort.

 

I have been holding up this main girder for 6 hours now… I would continue to do it for 6 days, but the fire chiefs have just told me that I can let it go now, they have rescued everyone they can, for now. They tell me that the press would like a word with me; they've already had a chance to talk to every other member of the McKormic Foundation.

 

I'm standing just outside of ground zero on a small podium, realizing that I'm half naked, all my clothes have been shredded in the last day. Questions fly at me but I can’t seem to make sense of any of them, they're just noise. I can only look out upon the faces and blink my eyes to the explosions of countless camera flashes. I can only respond with my heart.

 

“I hope to never know another day like this. I hope to never know such a loss of innocence again. My unusual abilities began for me nearly a year ago and in that time I have been shunned and revered by society. At some point during that time you, the people of America, gave me my name… Society’s Shield."

 

"I will not speak for my friend’s… Friends, who on dark wings gathered falling bodies and set them upon firm ground, their lives shattered but saved. Friends who stretched their limits beyond anything they have before to allow lives to clamber to the safe earth. Friend who took the fire upon their flesh again and again only to protect others who could not withstand the lick of the flame. Friends who know the power of a moment and have the speed to change fate's call..."

 

"I will not speak for all the hero’s here today, I speak for me. I appreciate all the help and guidance the McKormic Foundation has given me to do what I did here today, but it isn’t enough. I ask the people of America today to let me earn the name the have given me as Society’s Shield. I ask America and the United Societies Government to allow me to be a foot soldier in the fight against Terror. I await your call America, thank you."

 

I turn in silence knowing what my words mean…I have never felt stronger about them in my entire life… They have given me my seventeenth wind, I return to the rubble.

 

 

Note: This was written by the player of Society’s Shield not long after the terrorist attack upon the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center on 9/11.

 

It made me cry that day.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

The Shade: Dark Visions

 

What time was it? Nine, midnight, three? Hugh could never tell because the river of lights below never diminished. Standing on the balcony of his penthouse, Hugh looked out over Epic City at night. Cold wrought iron pressed against his palms as he leaned on the railing. A chill breeze blew straight through him. Again, his supper sat untouched, growing cold. He couldn‘t remember the last time he had been hungry, thoughts of recent events made him sick to his empty stomach.

 

There of course had been all the questions. How had the slowing economy affected Ward Industries? How had he returned from Central America? Where was the plane and its pilot? Hugh’s PR agent had adeptly answered most of these. The press had been told that Ward Industries would release a statement on possible downsizing strategies in a few days. His mysterious return and lack of knowledge about his pilot had been chalked up to amnesia from a crash (the bandaged head wound seemed to confirm that theory). Hugh knew differently, however, as his thoughts drifted to the poisoned Umbaro dart laying in a locked box in his penthouse safe.

 

Fortunately for Hugh, recent acts of terrorism had drawn the media’s attention elsewhere. Castor and Pollux’s absent lights left a hole in his view; beyond that, lay the endless black of the sea rising up to meet the night sky at a horizon which was lost to darkness.

 

Ward Industries had had offices in Pollux, and thankfully everyone had managed to escape safely. Quickly, the McKormic team had turned up to assist. They had done well and the city loved them. Hugh chose to quietly donate Ward Industries profits into a private relief fund. With the media: WEPC, SNN, etc... currently distracted, he felt it best to remain anonymous, helping from the shadows.

 

Hugh decided to rest. Going back in and laying down, visions fell on him like a shroud. Again, as in nights before, Hugh found himself walking down dark, deserted streets following a jet black jaguar through wisps of fog. They passed a worn sign that read ‘Waterbury’.

 

As he walked, images and voices as vivid as reality filled Hugh’s head. Young girls with the look of terror twisting their faces loomed at him from the shadows, incessantly, hopelessly pleading. Past them through the mist, the jaguar led Hugh to a corner, around which it disappeared. When Hugh turned the corner, he looked down on an alleyway chocked with the bloody, mutilated bodies of prostitutes; their dead, accusing eyes stared at him coldly.

 

He woke up driven by the fading nightmare. A minute later the Shade stood on the balcony and dove down into the night toward Waterbury.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Well done!

 

Very pulp/golden age in feel. I half expected Sky Captain to dive out of the clouds! Is this from your campaign?

 

Can't rep you just yet, but I'll get you as soon as I can.

The campaign is long over. But I still love this setting and the stories it produced.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

I loved it' date=' I hope we get more......soon.[/quote']

Thanks!

 

There's plenty more to come. I just wonder if anyone (other than 3 or 4 of you) actually read these.

[OddHat]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

You got 154 thread views. Figure that's at least 25 or so readers.

 

Besides, we're a quality group of three or four.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

' date=',,we're a quality group of three or four. [/quote']

That you are!!!

 

I'll keep the stories comin'

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Epic City Port District

By Scott Aubushon

 

It was night and Epic City was being tested by an electrical thunderstorm that was rare for the East Coast. The blazing shots of lightning seemed to find an echo in the city lights, which dimmed and re-lighted as its electrical grid was stressed by the power of the storm.

 

At Epic City’s port there were no fading lights. The storm and the hour had brought a standstill to one of the busiest ports on the continent. All appeared quiet and most of the area seemed devoid of occupants till business restarted the next morning.

 

When it came to Epic City’s port, appearances can be deceiving. A port as immense as this one had many layers and many unseemly undersides. There was much going on, at all times, but it took experience and intelligence to figure out much of it.

 

That was why Izmir Karpathos had hired Mr. Gogolak.

 

They stood together in dockside warehouse that stretched for nearly a half-mile on prime port real estate. Karpathos had purchased it and four like it in what The Sanguine News described as “…the largest real estate deal of the Port District since the construction of the Brookland Tunnelâ€.

 

Karpathos was very wealthy. He was a Turkish shipping tycoon who was looking to land a firm toehold in the United Societies of America. He had made a splash down south on the Gulf of Mexico in the Port of San Haven, purchasing most of its docks, and now he appeared ready for a much bigger move into Epic City.

 

The lights were out entirely in the warehouse. The only lighting came from the lightning strikes and reflections coming in through the narrow line of windows that ran the length of the building. These were above a similar line of cargo doors that could open onto the piers and docks of Epic City’s Bay. The building was so long that the windows became a narrow line of light stretching into the distance.

 

Mr. Karpathos had a large cigar and its glowing tip did add a little light, but not much.

 

He seemed at ease in the near dark, as did the four other men near him. Mr. Gogolak seemed the only one on edge. Of course, he was only recently hired by Mr. Karpathos and he didn’t possess the sawed off shotguns the four other stout, swarthy skinned men held with such assurance. Mr. Karpathos, standing there in his expensive suit and overcoat, large chest thrown out with arrogance and confidence, seemed to finally take note of Mr. Gogolak’s discomfort.

 

“You can relax Mr. Gogolak. The building is sealed off. Only the messenger will be allowed to enter and these four,†he waved his cigar at the ones with the guns, “they will see to it there is no funny business.†The way he said “funny business†with his think Turkish accent, would normally have amused Mr. Gogalak, but not tonight. “Call me Georgie or Georgie Go Go, not Mr. Gogalak sir.†Mr. Karpathos raised an amused eyebrow. “As you wish Go Go,†he said emphasizing it heavily and letting his accent run with it. He chuckled roughly.

 

“Are his messengers usually on time or will he make me wait and waste my time?â€

 

Georgie had a bad feeling about all this. This Turk had entirely the wrong attitude about this meeting. On top of that, the Turk still hadn’t said what his response to the messenger would be. Georgie decided it was worth asking again.

 

“So what are you going to say? I mean what are you going to tell the messenger about the Quiet Man’s request… sir?†He said, adding a belated honorific.

 

“The answer is most certainly no.â€

 

Georgie winced inside. It was as he feared.

 

“Sir, I think that would be a real bad idea.â€

 

“Yes, you’ve said that in the past. You’ve explained it all. My answer is no!â€

 

Mr. Karpathos suddenly looked around animatedly and with irritation.

“Where is this messenger? Why does he waste my time?!?â€

 

Georgie was in his mid 60’s and he had learned more than a few things in the fifty years he had worked the Port Docks. One was that the timetable was dictated by whoever the boss was. Whatever time was given was really irrelevant. You waited as long as it took for the boss to contact you. There had been four bosses in his lifetime and the Quiet Man, the most recent, was no different than all the others. It was, in fact, for all this knowledge that he had supposedly been hired by the Turk. Georgie wondered now why the Turk had even bothered since he clearly wasn’t going to act on any of his advice.

 

Georgie checked his watch and saw that it wasn’t even the specified time yet. Georgie was altogether certain The Quiet Man would hear about his involvement tonight and he was starting to pray that when he learned of his participation in this upcoming fiasco, he would realize that Georgie wasn’t responsible for this rich fool Turk’s actions.

 

“Will this Quiet Man send his strong boys here? I’ve also heard of the strange man he has recently hired. This Illustrated Man. Will he perhaps send this man?

 

“No sir. This will be just a messenger to convey your answer. It’ll be a nobody. Just someone who can be trusted enough to tell him yes or no or whatever your answer will be. He doesn’t waste his strong boys unless he plans on fighting and I don’t think the Illustrated Man would be here unless Despot wanted you or someone specific dead.â€

 

At this thought everyone but Mr. Karpathos began staring into the shadows and up at the rafters as if this had just occurred to them. Mr. Karpathos continued puffing his cigar and glaring at his wristwatch.

 

“Tell me more about this Illustrated Man, Go Go.â€

 

“I’ve already told you everything I know. He showed up about a year ago.

I’ve heard he’s not oriental but he has dark skin and hair, like he’s Mexican or something. And he’s covered with tattoos.â€

 

“Yes, and these tattoos do amazing things, correct?†Mr. Karpathos raised an eyebrow again.

 

“Yeah, strange things. Lot’s of em. If you want to get specific you could say they kill people. He’s the Quiet Man’s killer now.â€

 

Mr. Karpathos chuckled loudly. For what, Georgie couldn’t figure.

 

“Look, Mr. Karpathos, these are the Quiet Man’s dock’s. The whole Port

District is his. No one operates here without the Boss’s permission. No one ever has. If you think you’re going to change that, you’re in for a big let down. This is Epic City. This is Epic City’s Port District. There’s no getting around the Boss down here.â€

 

“Go Go. Settle down, settle down. I am wealthier than you can imagine. I have survived the crime mobs of Turkey and Eastern Europe. I have bought or fought my way into every major port in this world and I have succeeded where ever I have gone.â€

 

“Yeah but you’ve never been to anyplace like Epic City’s Port District,†Georgie muttered.

 

Mr. Karpathos laughed loudly and put his hand on Georgie’s shoulder. “You are a cynical man, eh? But you will learn. My boys are the best in the world. They broke a yearlong strike in Amsterdam where the unions formerly ruled.

They crushed the Russian mob in Odessa freeing the Black Sea to my ships.

This Quiet Man will go the same way if he gets in my way.â€

 

Georgie held his silence but the doubt never left his face.

 

About thirty minutes later Mr. Karpathos walked out of the warehouse, Georgie and the four toughs trailing behind. Mr. Karpathos strode toward his armored sedan with a confident swing in his step and a satisfied look on his face. Georgie was looking at his feet and the four toughs were looking at everything else. The electrical storm had passed but another sort of storm was brewing.

 

“So, Go Go, what do you think?â€

 

Georgie was tired of this man. Tired of the way he refused to use his correct nickname, tired of the way he used his stupid accent to pronounce other people’s names and tired of being ignored.

 

“Well Mr. Karpathos, that depends. It depends on how the Quiet Man takes your refusal.â€

 

Georgie stopped, scratched his head, and then looked straight into the eyes of Mr. Karpathos. “If he thinks you’re just stupid or stubborn about paying, he’ll make you pay in a variety of ugly ways until you realize you’re being stupid or stubborn – or both. But if he thinks you’re challenging him for the docks, then I’m talking to a dead man.â€

 

Mr. Karpathos frowned mightily around his cigar, his face turning red with anger. One of his toughs opened the car door. Mr. Karpathos stood glaring at Georgie.

 

“No thanks sir. There’s no way I’m getting into that car with you. I’ll find my own way.â€

 

And with that Georgie turned and quickly walked down the wet, flagstone pavement of the docks, past the warehouse, piled shipping freight and moored ships, till he disappeared in the dark.

 

Mr. Karpathos muttered angrily to himself in Turkish as he entered the gray sedan, which slowly wound its way out of the Port District.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

EC Port District:

The Illustrated Man

By Scott Aubushon

 

 

Three years ago Stu Rutledge was a very successful sport fisherman’s guide, working off the East coast of Austrasia, sailing the waters of the Great Basin Reef. He owned three boats and catered to the very rich. Sometime during that year he took out a group of businessmen, one of whom included, though he didn’t know it at the time, the Quiet Man.

 

Which trip was it? He would never know. He took between fifty and sixty groups of very wealthy men out every season. He would never be able to place which one of all those men had actually been the man who would be his future boss.

 

Something during that fishing trip must have made an impression because at the end of the fishing season he was flown to Epic City and offered a large amount of money to be the Quiet Man’s personal messenger.

 

This was how he now found himself delivering a message to a person who never failed to make him uncomfortable -- The Illustrated Man.

 

He went into a very normal, high-rise apartment building overlooking the docks. He then went to a very normal looking, though expensive, apartment near the top floor. He knocked and a very normal -- perfectly normal -- voice said, "Come in."

 

Stu stepped inside the unlocked door (of course it was, who would want to break in?) and saw a perfectly normal looking, small-framed man in a long silk robe walk down a hallway towards him.

 

From Stu’s history in the East he knew the man was either Indian or Bangladeshi.

 

He had an open, utterly unblemished, peaceful face.

 

The Illustrated Man stopped in front of him and asked "Another message?" in that frighteningly normal, placid, voice of his that was totally bereft of any discernible accent, of any kind. It was just a flat sort of unassuming speech.

 

"Yeah, the Boss said to tell you ‘I want him scared to the point that he sweats money.’"

 

"’Sweats money’", the Illustrated Man repeated wonderingly.

 

"Yep."

 

"What about his family?”

 

"You heard what he said, from his mouth to my ears to my lips, that’s exactly what he said, so I guess they’re in."

 

"But he doesn’t want him killed."

 

Stu sighed inwardly. The Quiet Man lived by the motto: speak softly and carry a big stick. He said little and was exceedingly precise in what he said. He was specific when needed and vague when he wished to allow latitude. It was one of the reasons that Stu was hired; he never forgot what was said to him.

 

This man, the Illustrated Man, should have known this by now.

 

"I guess he couldn’t sweat any money if he was dead."

 

The Illustrated Man smiled widely but didn’t say anything. His teeth were so bright; they seemed blinding in that dark face.

 

Stu nodded briefly then got the hell out of there.

 

 

Izmir Karpathos strode confidently through the lobby of a posh hotel. He was renting a large, sumptuous suite there until he could purchase an appropriate residence near his newest budding success story in the docks of Epic City.

 

He had just finished taking a leisurely sky tour of his holdings by zeppelin. Construction was going quickly and without hitches. Contracts were rolling in. Ships were already in route. The whole project was actually three months ahead of schedule and he learned this morning that current estimates showed he would turn a larger profit than he originally believed, at an earlier time than he had ever hoped. Things couldn’t be going better.

 

He squeezed into the elevator with his four bodyguards and pressed the button for his penthouse suite.

 

Just as the doors began sliding shut, a small unassuming man stepped forward abruptly and halted the doors. He quickly stepped in, glanced at the lit up penthouse button, and hit the button to shut the doors behind him.

 

He then looked up and Izmir lost all his thoughts.

 

 

Izmir Karpathos came too, as if out of a trance, noticing first that his hands were sticky. He looked down and saw that they were red and covered with the gore of his four slain bodyguards who were sprawled about the floor of the elevator. Izmir’ fine coat and suit were splattered with their blood.

 

It all came back to him.

 

The small man had dropped his jacket and was standing, bare chested, in front of him and his men. Fine black lines were rotating and spinning about into an ever-tightening circle of a black hole directly in the center of his chest. Izmir felt terribly nauseous as the bottom of his stomach fell out.

 

Desperately Izmir stared into the face of the slight man, trying to avoid that churning circle, and saw that lines on the man’s face were doing the same thing, spinning about, down towards a bottomless pit where his face was. Frantically, loosing all sense of reality, Izmir dragged his gaze up and focused on the man’s eyes one final time to avoid all those twirling lines on his chest and face but saw that they were even in the man’s eyes. Fine slender threads, circling about into black holes, in the man’s eyes.

 

Izmir could only stand there and watch as the man calmly reached into each of his bodyguard’s suit jackets, remove the guns stowed there and calmly execute each man with his own gun, one shot to each man’s head. The guns, after being used on their prior owner, were dropped into that man’s lap.

 

No one said anything or did anything to stop him as he massacred them all. When the four men were killed and the last gun dropped, the slight man with the nightmarish swirling lines stood in front of him and flashed a brief bright smile. The doors shortly opened and he stepped off the elevator.

 

Stu Rutledge was ensconced in his favorite booth in his favorite diner the next morning. Laid out in front of him were his breakfast, his first cigarette and several newspapers. It was his habit to pass through the papers each morning, to stay on top of any news dealing with business. Of course, the story that immediately captured his interest was the one on the front page of the Sanguine News that had the mug shot of Karpathos within it. The story, in very excited language, detailed the behavior of Karpathos the previous afternoon wherein he was seen running through the lobby of the very expensive hotel he stayed at, screaming for his life, covered in the blood of his slain bodyguards.

 

It seems that an assassination attempt had just fallen short of taking his life. Karpathos was so shaken that he was in seclusion at an unknown location. He was also not cooperating with the police in the investigation.

 

"Good boy," Stu said quietly, smiling to himself and taking another puff of his cigarette.

 

The story went on further detailing just how much Karpathos had already invested in the docks and that it was highly unlikely he would be able to pull out now from his commitments without risking bankrupting his corporation.

 

"Sweating like a pig, a billionaire pig," Stu chuckled.

 

Stu had a fine breakfast that morning before going into work.

[OddHat]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Just wanted to note that I once again owe you rep.

[Cold Steel]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

I like this so very much. It has an "Astro City" feel to it.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

I like this so very much. It has an "Astro City" feel to it.

Y'know... I started Epic City long before I ever picked up an issue of Astro City (It began as a game called “Time For a Changeâ€). When I finally did read Busiek's stories... I was entranced! I love Astro City!

 

Usually, when I come up with a character or a scenario then find it in print (especially when it was printed AFTER I conceived of it) I usually get mad or am at least disappointed. I sulk around for about 10 minutes and consign myself to being as creative as the pros (whether that's true or not I don't really care )

 

But when I read Astro City I wasn't disappointed that Busiek had cast a city as his main character just as I had... I was inspired and fell in love with his work.

 

To this day Astro City is an inspiration to me as I grow and enhance Epic City.

 

Thanks for noticing! If there is ever a compliment it's when you remind someone of a great like Kurt Busiek! (Genuflect if you got 'em)

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Now I'm going to move a bit to the future.... Epic City 2027 to be specific.

 

Thought the city retains it's Victorian soul, technology has quickened the pace of life and superheroes are much more common...

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

In this story we find ourselves in Epic City's New Orient; a place of intreague and racial tension. Located in and around Epic City's 6th District, the New Orient is the largest Asian established neighborhood in the United Societies. Founded in the late 1870's by Chinese immigrants, the New Orient offers a unique historical and cultural experience not found anywhere else in the world...

 

 

New Orient Streets

 

The Vietnamese girl in the cheap vinyl raincoat and the expensive, clunky heels stared out at the rain. It was a slow moving squall drifting in over the river and she could see it moving in lines like endless soldiers crossing the water’s surface. She squinted, water dripping in her eyes, watching a private zep from a livery service ghost silently overhead. It was still early, the sun hadn’t set yet and the Epic City streetlamps glowed only faintly. She sighed with mixed emotion. Business would be slow, and she was alone.

 

Or so she thought. A rough hand shoved her hard. She stumbled on her heels and nearly fell. Through strands of wet hair like bars she saw Billy Vu sneering down at her. Several cronies of his set of the Black Thread gang stood with him. He barked at her.

 

“Tan-tan! Why you standing here, eh? You won’t make any of us money here, eh? No money for us, no money for the Big Wind Brothers. No money for them, they get mad and tell us to make that pretty face not so pretty, eh?” Anger flared in the young girl’s face.

 

“The Chinese are dogs!” she retorted, “Why you let them boss you?” With a snarl Billy grabbed her raincoat’s lapels and shoved her into the slick marble wall of the Pearl-Yamato Building. The impact jarred the ire right out of her.

 

“The Chinese everyone’s bosses here!” he hissed in her face, “You know it! Chinese, Vietnamese, and the rest all make money this way, eh?” He bounced her off the wall again and turned away muttering. In their black leathers the gangers looked like disembodied heads floating in the shadows and mist. The darkness was gathering. Billy turned back. “How much so far?” She looked down sullenly.

 

“Two-hundred,” she replied in a monotone.

 

“That all? Gimme!” He waggled his fingers at her and she handed him a slim roll of bills. He riffled through it quickly, giving her fifty and pocketing the rest. Somebody snorted. “I tell you there no money here, Tan-tan. You go down to Hyatt tonight, big convention, eh? You make lotsa dough there, eh? Grabbing her arm he started hustling her down the street towards a distant ground cab. His comrades fell in behind them. Billy kept muttering in her ear. “Do what you’re told. Listen to Billy, eh? You good talent, be smart and next thing you know you pushing ass in the Golden Lotus.”

 

In the dusk and drizzle they never saw it coming. As Billy Vu escorted her forcefully down the dirty sidewalk, she heard a soft scuffle and a choking cry. Billy cursed and spun, pushing the girl to the pavement, then screamed and staggered as a blade, bright in the gloom, slashed across his face. Rubbing her skinned hands, she saw two of Billy’s cohorts on the ground twitching, the last struggling with two attackers.

 

There were four of them all together, all thin and wiry. They wore nylon jackets in bright colors with large Thai lettering on them. In their hands were bent Gurkha knives. The brightening streetlights glinted off the wet skin of their heads, shaven except for a long queue starting at the top of their heads. The last of his lieutenants had stopped struggling; Billy was alone. The tallest of the newcomers grinned and slid the evil knife into a sheath at the small of his back.

 

“What the Hell!” screamed Billy, clutching his cheek with blood streaming between his fingers, “What the fucking Hell, eh?! The Black Threads will hunt you down and cut off your balls! When the Wind Brothers get you, you wish you were a worm in the mud, eh? What the Hell, fucking Thai trash!” His hand shot into his pocket and yanked out a small automatic.

 

The girl watched, terrified, from her spot on the ground. The taller man flowed toward Billy as he began to level the weapon. Hands clenched in fingerless gloves held in front of his face, palms out. A foot flashed out and the shin connected with the Billy’s gun hand. With an unnaturally loud impact it flew from his hand into the shadows. Another quick step and one of those fists smashed into Billy’s bloody cheek. He was right next to her now, and she could see armor on the man’s shins, like a player she had seen once in a baseball game on TV. He nearly stepped on her and she hid her eyes in her hands, forehead on the pavement. So she did not see the end. She did not see the man clasp Billy behind the head and ram his knee, over and over, into midriff, into chest. She could, however, hear the ribs snapping. The knee went up a final time as he yanked down on Billy’s head. His jaw shattered and he collapsed next to the girl. The thug had never lost his smile and he crouched next to Billy, next to her.

 

“I piss on the Great Fart Brotherhood,” he whispered, “there is more than one Triad in this great city. You chose the wrong side.” There was no answer. The man stood and stepped on Billy’s neck, pushing until something gave and the girl heard a muted crack. Everything was quiet for a moment. Then he crouched back down and touched her hair.

 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he said softly, “a little Hoochie Minh? Don’t cry, little lotus blossom, we won’t hurt you. We just saved you from those scum the Black Threads and their stupid bosses, the Wind Brotherhood. You are now under the protection of the Bangkok Warriors and the Bamboo Society.” She whimpered. Smiling, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on my sweet rice cake, your new employers would never make you work out here in a place like this.” With the terrified girl in tow, the Bangkok Warriors faded into an alley, headed for the heart of Epic City’s infamous New Orient.

[OddHat]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Very dark. Looking forward to the next bit.

[GoldenAge]

Re: The Golden Age of Epic City

 

Very dark. Looking forward to the next bit.

 

Well, since you asked for it...