Generations of Strangers

[csyphrett]

bookmark for stranger novel.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

1935-Tim Daschle wandered the streets. He was ten, an orphan, and looking for work. The papers he looked at were calling for Hoover to resign.

 

He couldn't blame them. Everywhere he looked, people were scrambling for anything they could use to get by. Suffering seemed to be everywhere.

 

What could anyone do to fix something as big as what the world seemed to be going through at the moment?

 

Tim looked at the lines. How was he going to get a job in this?

 

"Hey, boy." Tim looked around. An old geezer in a suit and tie held his hat down on his round head. "Are you looking for work?"

 

"What of it?" The boy glared at his questioner.

 

"I have a job opening for someone like you." The old man smiled. His teeth were perfect white in his short white beard. "If you would be willing to sign the papers, I can get you started right away."

 

"What kind of job it is?" Tim raised his eyebrows. "What do I have to do?"

 

"Nothing major." The old man waved a hand. "You just have to pick things up. Someone will help you with the business, show you the ropes."

 

"How much does it pay?" The orphan couldn't believe his ears. It sounded too good to be true.

 

"The more things you get done, the more money you'll get." The teeth flashed again. "If you don't want the job, I'll find someone else."

 

"I'll do it." He put aside his misgivings. He needed something, and this was his first likely prospect.

 

"I have an agreement for you to sign before you can get to work." The old man smiled. "When do you want to come by the office?"

 

"Can we do it right now?" Tim looked around. He didn't want to miss his chance with lines of people ready to take his place. "I don't have a problem with it."

 

"I don't see why not." The old man smiled again. "I have to take care of some things first. I will be glad to meet you there in about an hour. Don't worry if I don't arrive on time. Some of the people I have to talk to aren't that punctual."

 

"I understand." The boy thought he did. "Where is your office?"

 

"I'm sorry." He pulled out a card. "It's the Excelsior downtown. I'm in 3151. McCoy Reclamations."

 

"McCoy Reclamations?" Tim took the card. "I'll be there."

 

"I'll see you there." The old man turned and headed into the crowd. He tipped his hat to any who said anything to him. Most turned away from his gaze from what Tim could make out.

 

This had the smell of illegality on it. Who would hire a ten year old for anything other than something illegal? Still, he did need a job and this could be legit. He had to take a chance if he wanted to get off the street.

 

He didn't want to be starving, and begging for scraps.

 

Tim put the card in his pants and headed down the street. He had an hour to get downtown. He had to get going if he wanted to make it in time.

 

Old Troy had a street car system set up to run a circuit around the city. It didn't cover the whole city, but he might be able to catch a ride if he hurried. He could reach the Excelsior and have an elevator take him to the right floor.

 

Tim hurried, but he missed the street car. He saw it heading down hill to its next destination. He decided not to chase it, but cut across its path and try to get ahead of it.

 

He cut through a few lots, yards, and a park. He saw the car coming up the street on its rails. He ran to catch it as it approached.

 

He let the street car pass before he jumped on the back bumper. The car kept rolling as he sat down to enjoy the ride.

 

Tim kept turning the offer over in his head. What did Reclamations mean? Why would they hire him? What could he do?

 

Maybe they needed some kind of spy. A kid could see things they wouldn't let an adult see. Maybe they needed someone who could sneak into places.

 

He could picture himself as a member of Doc Shadow's crew, or trying to find out who the Pattern Ghost could be.

 

He put those thoughts out of his head. There was no way anyone would hire him to anything like that.

 

They probably wanted an errand boy to carry messages all over the city.

 

Tim nodded as he followed that chain of logic. A kid made a great messenger and you didn't have to pay them much. And they were beneath anyone stopping them to ask what they were doing.

 

It made some sense. A kid who could avoid notice was the perfect messenger.

 

He hopped off the bumper when he reached the cross street he wanted. He could see the Excelsior rising up out of the jumble of the city's skyline. He started toward it. He had to hurry if he wanted to make it on time.

 

Tim crossed through several courtyards and lots before he saw the doors of the office building. He hurried up to the door. The door man raised an eyebrow.

 

"I'm supposed to go up to McCoy Reclamations." Tim thought for a second. "Old man, white beard, white teeth."

 

"I know him." The door man opened the door. "You're his first visitor that I have ever seen."

 

"Really?" Tim scratched his head. "Nobody else has ever said that's where they're going."

 

"That's right." The door man waved the boy in. "Go ahead."

 

Tim crossed the lobby. He headed right for the elevator. How big a business did this old man run?

 

The elevator man took the request and pushed the lever up to the right floor. He held the door open for Tim to get out. Then he closed the door and headed back down to the lobby.

 

Tim walked down the hall until he saw a door with a pebble glass window. He knocked on it. He tried the knob. The door swung open for him. No one was inside the neat office. He stepped inside to wait.

 

He settled in a visitor chair and looked at the almost emptiness of the place. A desk, some chairs, some file cabinets were the only furniture. There were no pictures, knickknacks, or even a clock.

 

"You're right on time." McCoy entered with flash of a smile. "Let me get those papers for you to sign."

 

"What kind of work will I do for you?" Tim stood.

 

"Getting things back from people who shouldn't have them." The old man pulled out a roll of cracked leather. He opened it and handed Tim a pen. "Sign at the bottom."

 

Tim signed his name where indicated. Pain shot up his arm. He saw blood on the tips of his fingers.

 

A figure all in black appeared. It looked around the office before focusing on the two humans in front of it.

 

"Meet your partner, Tim. Meet the Ghost Angel."

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Dan-dan-daaaaaah! Tim and the Ghost Angel! The Origin!

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

It seemed the easiest way to get started.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

2

 

1938-Rory Hobson frowned as he came out of the bank. He sensed danger. It was part of his gift. He just didn't see where the danger could be.

 

He took another look around. There was a star in the sky. It was dropping down on top of him.

 

Rory concentrated on the glow. Mental energy struck out at the object. He planned to make his escape. Fighting other mystery men meant nothing compared to the loot he had in his hand.

 

He headed for his car. Once he made his escape, he could decide what he wanted to do next. Old Troy was bristling with heroes lately. Maybe he should move further south.

 

The glow dropped down on his car. It became a man wearing a flag with a white star on the chest being the most prominent. A striped cape fluttered as the wind died down.

 

"Do we really have to do this?" The masked man smiled. "A peaceful surrender would be nice for once."

 

"I don't think so." Rory tried to remember who this guy was. Starman, Flying Flag, Patriot. Patriot sounded right to him. "I have things to do, and places to go."

 

"It's always the hard way." Patriot launched himself off the car, swinging a fist for a fast conclusion to things.

 

Rory let his power blast out. He didn't know if he was doing the right thing, but he didn't want to go to jail either.

 

The flag waver blasted into a store front in a sharp left turn. He crashed through the window and vanished inside. The psychic blast sanded part of the roof of the getaway car at the edge of the beam.

 

Rory dove behind the wheel. He could worry about the car later. Now he had to get away before his enemy recovered.

 

He should have robbed something else. Now he had to run for his life. He hoped he hadn't killed Patriot. He liked money, but murder was for guys with stronger stomachs than he had.

 

That's why he preferred to operate at night.

 

You could blast open a safe, gather everything up, leave in a matter of seconds. The only interference was anybody answering the alarms once you started work.

 

He would happen to get the only guy in Old Troy who could fly. He should have seen that coming from a mile away.

 

At least he hadn't drawn Ghost Angel, or Minute Man. They seemed a lot tougher in the papers than Patriot. And Ghost Angel already had a reputation for maiming guys for no reason.

 

Why would you do that? Cutting a man's arm off seemed a tad bit excessive to the villain.

 

Rory looked in the mirror. A glow was back down the road. He didn't know if it was a car, or truck. It was coming down the road fast. He turned into an alley and tried to cut across the block.

 

He couldn't take the chance it was something he didn't want to deal with while trying to make his escape.

 

Patriot might be tougher than he had thought.

 

Rory wondered what he was going to have to do to put the mystery man down. He couldn't blow up city blocks just to make his escape. He needed to do something to pin the guy down without killing him.

 

He checked his mirror. The glow had stuck with him as he cut through several more streets. He might need to lure this guy to the beach so he could cut loose without hurting anyone else.

 

He needed to keep a rein on it though. One bad miss was just as good as taking deliberate aim.

 

Rory made two more turns and then hit a straightaway to the beach. Maybe he could drop the car off a pier and escape into the water.

 

He liked that option a whole lot better than going toe to toe with a guy tougher than he was.

 

Rory looked for a pier he could drive off to make his escape as he tried to stay ahead of the glow. He just had to make it look like he had died while trying to escape. They wouldn't know he was alive until they found the car.

 

The glow descended in front of the car. It started shooting sun beams at him. He ducked under the dashboard. The window melted from one of the light rays.

 

He took a chance and leaned up enough to look out the warped glass and opened space. He cut loose at the glow. He felt the energy punch hit dead on. The light bounced out of his path.

 

Rory pressed the gas pedal down. The car whined but refused to move. He blasted open the door. It was time to abandon ship.

 

Where could he go?

 

"The game's over, Psy-Bolt." Patriot stood. Spinning stars rotated around his hands. "I'm taking you in."

 

"I don't think so." Rory looked around. "Don't make me use my full power."

 

"How much more can you do?" Patriot raised his hands. A shield formed in front of him. The other sent a whirling star at the villain.

 

Psy-Bolt sent out a blast designed to blow a vault. His enemy had proven that he could take it.

 

The wide beam hit the shield. The star cracked under the psychic pressure, but didn't break as he had hoped. Instead it spread the force around to either side of the hero.

 

The whirling star hit Rory's own shield. It wrapped around him as his mental energy tried to split it apart. He struggled in its confines.

 

The Patriot was in his face before he could form a counter. Sudden pain put out the lights for a few seconds.

 

Rory woke in glowing manacles. He flew through the air behind Patriot. He tried to shoot the hero to get him to let go of his grip.

 

"Don't bother trying to escape." Patriot pulled Rory to the local police station. "Your powers are shut off until after your sentence is done. That will prevent escapes in my opinion."

 

"You took my powers away?" He felt around in his head. He couldn't feel the switch he used.

 

"They'll come back as soon as you're released from jail." Patriot dropped the stricken villain in front of the police station. Uniformed men came out for an explanation. "Try to do something useful with them when they do come back."

 

He went over to give the sergeant an explanation for the sudden delivery.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

3

 

1944-The islands of the Pacific saw some of the bloodiest battles of the war as the Allies moved to push the Japanese forces back. One island had surfaced during such an exchange. Both sides wanted it for their side.

 

And their advance agents met to determine who would get it.

 

"Give up, Susano." The Southern Cross stood on one side of the beach. "The Yanks will be here in a few minutes. It's over."

 

"I will never admit defeat." The Japanese hero swung his sword. Its blade flung a bolt of lightning at the Australian. He only had to hold his position for a few minutes himself.

 

Southern Cross turned to let the bolt of lightning go by. The four discs that decorated the torso of his costume glowed as they drew on the power of the stars to fire his own blast of heat from his chest. The sword sliced the beam in two, forking it to either side of his target.

 

Susano spun his blade in a circle with a twirling around his fingers. A wind blasted out, forcing his enemy back with the force of it. He smiled as he stepped forward. This masked man would join the others that had been defeated by his control over nature.

 

Southern Cross hit the ground and rolled. He dug his hands into the ground as the wind tried to batter him along. He closed his eyes as he summoned his power from within.

 

He couldn't lose. This island would be a perfect place for the Allied navies to launch deeper into enemy held territory. The enemy could hold it against their forces long enough to stall their offense. Many more fighting men could die if that happened.

 

He had to fight the wind. He had to take the ground no matter what.

 

He launched himself over the horizontal tornado and took the high ground. He fired blast after blast of light at his enemy. The wind obscured his vision, but maybe he could get lucky shooting blind at the other mystery man.

 

His wild burning beams forced the Japanese hero to step on a cloud to fly into the sky to meet him on equal ground.

 

Southern Cross wondered if his enemy could fly without a platform.

 

He decided to see how fast the other man could turn.

 

He took a path through the air where he could turn into a large curve to try to get behind his enemy. The cloud turned the lightning thrower to follow him as he moved. He would have to get through that defense if he wanted to touch his enemy.

 

Southern Cross returned fire as he took an S shaped path at the cloud. He didn't aim for the blocking Susano. Instead, he directed his blasts at the cloud.

 

The fog boiled away from the beams of heated air. He smiled as his opponent started to fall.

 

Susano was a dangerous combatant. He had forced an almost stalemate in the naval advance toward his homeland. He had provided cover for his home fleet to attack and run away without losses. He could hold the island with enough reserves for months until enough force could be brought to bear to clear him out.

 

He had to be forced off the land before that happened.

 

The Japanese hero brought his sword down as he fell. Lightning exploded across the sky. It missed its target by hair raising inches.

 

More fog drifted in to carry the sword swinger over the ocean. He concentrated on trying to drive his counterpart into the ground. Then his superior strength and deadly blade would decide the conflict.

 

The Imperial Navy would use the island to regain the ground they had lost to the enemy in the last few years. Nothing must stop that from happening.

 

The roar of planes filled the air as the two enemies squared off again. A flight of marine pilots appeared in the distance. They seemed to be heading for the combat zone.

 

Susano spun his sword again. He thought he could destroy the five planes, and battle Southern Cross at the same time. He also had to retreat if he was outnumbered. His orders demanded it.

 

He didn't waste time trying to decide what he should be doing. He acted.

 

The fog from his platform spread to block out the sky. He was surrounded by enemies. It didn't matter if he struck blindly, or not. The pilots and Southern Cross couldn't do that unless they wanted to hurt their allies.

 

He slashed lightning out to keep them on their toes. Maybe they would fly into each other and save him some trouble.

 

A glowing sun erupted in the middle of the fogbank. The fluffy cover boiled away under the intense heat. The Australian smiled as he burned the cloud away.

 

Bullets reached for the sword swinger. He cut them away as he backpedaled from the fight.

 

Where were his kamikazes?

 

Southern Cross fired another burst of light from his torso. He used the bullets as distraction for his own attack. He frowned as it rebounded off the flat of the blade.

 

The pilots turned for another strafing run once they were pass. If they could drop this one mystery man, the war would be shortened by an unknown amount of time.

 

Lightning sent one of the men for the ocean with a missing tail assembly. He pushed back his canopy and jumped under an expanding silken mushroom.

 

Susano let him go. He still had four more planes and a mystery man to try and deal with before he could deal with someone who was effectively helpless for the moment.

 

More planes appeared in the distance. They bore down on the island. He realized that soon he would be outnumbered. One lucky bullet would be enough to end his career. He had to think about fleeing as his orders stated.

 

He called up a wind and directed it at his enemies. It propelled his cloud away from them as it forced them to scatter. He gritted his teeth and kept the image of the Emperor in his head. He would get his revenge for this slight when his empire had won the war.

 

He watched the Allies fall behind him as he headed for his fleet. They had lost their stronghold before they could set up operations. He wondered how the rest of the fighting forces were doing.

 

Southern Cross smiled as he flew after the drifting parachute. At least that marine wouldn't have to wait for a rescue plane from their home fleet. He grabbed the silk and pulled the pilot to a gentle landing on their future base of operations.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

4

 

1946- Tim Daschle stood in a crowd of other young men. He refused to look around. He knew his adopted parents were in the audience. He had grabbed them seats personally. The others in his row were also holding themselves from looking around.

 

Tim took a moment to wonder if he was doing the right thing. It had taken a lot of work to get to this point. He had forced himself to learn to read and write, do some math, and generally learn things that he had no interest in.

 

He considered everything and felt he was making the right choice. He had learned things as Ghost Angel's handler in the last decade, or so. He wanted to make a bigger impact than unleashing the spirit of vengeance on someone. This was how he could do that.

 

His parents had expressed their concerns, but had given their blessing. That had meant the most to him.

 

The commandant called his name. He walked up to the stage. He took his certificate with a smile and a handshake. He paused to look over the crowd. He saw his parents standing at their chairs. They were clapping. He nodded before walking off the other side of the stage and heading back to his seat.

 

He held back his laugh of joy. He had gotten through the academy. He had thought he would flunk out compared to the other guys who had signed up. Most of them had military experience to draw on.

 

All he had was his vengeful mentor.

 

The commandant and the chief both said their speeches. They wanted their recruits to remember that they were supposed to shield the citizens against harm. They were the watchdogs against bad things. They were the ones who had to fix the broken. And they had to do it with honor.

 

Tim wanted to do that. He had inflicted a lot of harm on people with no way to help their victims. Now maybe he had a chance to pick up where Ghost Angel left off.

 

He hoped being a policeman would give him that chance.

 

The ceremony ended and the recruits broke up with cheers. Tim made his way to the aisle. He walked down, searching for his parents. They stood, waving at him.

 

"Good job, Tim." His father shook his hand. "We knew you could get through."

 

"I made you a cake to celebrate." Mom smiled and gave him a hug. "Your friends are welcome to come by the house."

 

"I don't really have any friends yet." Tim smiled at the both of them. "I couldn't have got through the exams without you. Thanks."

 

"Nonsense, Tim." Pop waved his thanks away. "You're quick as a whip. We only helped with the fine stuff. You did all the work."

 

"Do you know where you'll be posted, Tim?" Mom tucked her small purse under her arm.

 

"In the South Ward." Tim smiled. "Let's get that cake."

 

"That's a rough neighborhood, Tim." Pop and Mom fell in beside him. The other graduated cadets milled around as they talked to their own families.

 

"I'll be fine." He smiled. "We get some training with an experienced officer, then we walk a beat for a while. In five years, I'll be behind a desk answering calls and sending other guys out to take all the risks."

 

"Baloney." Pop laughed.

 

"You'll never settle for a desk job, Tim." Mom shook her head. "You're too much the adventurer."

 

Tim laughed as he walked them to the academy lot. He had to admit they were right. He would stay on the street as a beat cop, or try to move up to be a detective. He would never settle for a desk somewhere when he needed to get his hands dirty.

 

Ten years as a kid vigilante had changed him that much at least. He didn't know if it was for the better.

 

He decided it had to be for the better. Every crook he and Ghost Angel had put down would never hurt anyone else. They had even saved the world a couple of times. That had to count for something.

 

If it didn't, he might as well have given up years ago.

 

And he wasn't going to do that.

 

"No one knows what's going to happen tomorrow." He smiled. "I've been lucky to have you as my parents the last ten years. Thanks for everything."

 

"We've been lucky to have you as our son." Pop smiled back.

 

"Luckier." Mom nodded. "You would have been fine without us. We would have still been broken."

 

"You two would have been all right without me." Tim shook his head. He opened the car doors for them. "You're excellent people."

 

"Excellency doesn't protect you from the slings and arrows of fortune, Tim." Pop got behind the wheel. "If your luck runs out, it just runs out."

 

"That's why you have to enjoy what you have while you have it." Mom got in the passenger side of the old car.

 

"I can't argue with that." Tim tossed his cadet hat in the back seat and climbed in. He settled in for the ride to his folks' home.

 

He had found a place for himself when he joined the academy. He had moved in with Pop's help. He still dropped by their place whenever he could.

 

He had been lucky to run into them those years ago. They had lost their own child. They had adopted him as a replacement at first. They had never said that, but he felt it was true. He had adopted them back since he didn't remember his own parents.

 

Sometimes he wondered what had caused his real parents to abandon him on the streets. Were they even alive? He didn't even know if Tim was his real name.

 

Ghost Angel didn't know, or was lying to him about being able to find out. That was unusual for the spirit, but he claimed there were things he didn't know, or couldn't find out from the underworld. He claimed it was something about celestial priorities.

 

Tim let it slide. He couldn't push the spirit for information. He couldn't go into the underworld and look for the information himself. He would just keep his eyes open for something he could use to find his parents.

 

He looked out the window. Old Troy passed by without a thought. He was going to celebrate his graduation. Then he was going to his own home, and get ready for work on Monday. He wondered what it would feel like to get paid for things he did for free.

 

Maybe it would be like double dipping.

 

He thought it would be more like working twice as much for half the pay.

 

He smiled to himself. At least Ghost Angel would be there to help out when he needed him.

 

"Here we are." Pop pulled into the driveway with a smile. "A piece of cake would hit the spot right about now."

 

"It's in the refrigerator." Mom hopped out of the car. "I'll have slices for us in a few seconds."

 

"What does Ghost Angel think about you becoming a cop, Tim?" The older man waited for his son to get out of the car, and his wife to get out of ear shot.

 

"I don't think he cares." Tim grabbed his cap before getting out of the car. "Personal stuff has no place in his mission statement."

 

"Baloney." The old man smiled. "Personal stuff is his whole mission statement."

 

"I'll be sure to tell him that the next time I see him." Tim laughed as they walked up to the front door.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

5

 

1948- Rory Hobson had five more years to go in his sentence. He kept to himself, worked when he could, read when he couldn't. He avoided the cliques as much as possible. In a place ruled by wolf packs, he had chosen to be a lone wolf.

 

This attitude meant that the other prisoners harassed him when the guards weren't looking. He had sent several to the hospital before they respected his choice.

 

He had felt his talent return when threatened and made it look like he was physically beating his opponents. He didn't want to rely on the mental blast. He knew it was a loophole in whatever Patriot had done to him.

 

He didn't want to close the loophole for good by being stupid.

 

That day he had decided to follow a group of his fellow prisoners. He didn't know why. Usually he didn't have any interest in their business. He saw they were up to no good and decided to find out what without thinking about it.

 

Hobson wondered where he got such an impulse from since he generally liked looking out for number one.

 

Rory followed the six men toward the hospital. He scratched his head. They all seemed unhurt to him. What did they want from the hospital?

 

He recognized them from the yard. Buddy Keys hopped in the lead. He was a minor villain transferred in from the Midwest somewhere. Bubba Smith was from Florida. He didn't know much about the other four. They didn't have enough of a reputation in the pen to hang around with Keys who was reported to be a psycho.

 

Smith was a bank robber who was said to have worked all over the South at one point, or another.

 

And good old Bubba had a reputation for killing anyone that crossed his path funny. Several murders were laid at his door, but no one would come forward to testify.

 

What were they planning to do?

 

The gate into the hospital forced them to pause. Keys waved to one of his mooks. The man worked the lock with a piece of wire. He pushed on the bars. The door swung open.

 

The men stepped through the gate. Smith shut it behind them to keep anyone from following. They headed to where the doctor and nurse should be looking after anyone who had fallen sick.

 

Where were the guards? They should be there to stop whatever was going on. Rory froze in indecision. What should he do?

 

He didn't have time to get guards. They wouldn't believe him anyway. He had to do something right then.

 

Rory tried the gate. It was locked. He didn't have a lock pick with him. He looked at the lock. He had to get through. His third eye opened a little, sensing his panic. Invisible tendrils reached into the lock and turned it. He shouldered the iron door out of his way.

 

Rory jogged down the hall. He heard a scream ahead. It sounded like the nurse. Why couldn't he remember her name? He broke into a sprint.

 

What would they do to the civilians?

 

Rory found three of the goons blocking the hall. He stopped to consider. He doubted he could talk them out of whatever they planned to do. Keys was notoriously crazy.

 

"What are you guys doing?" He put his hands in his pockets.

 

"Beat it, Hobson." One of the men pointed back the way to general population. "This doesn't concern you."

 

"You can let me pass, or you can be in there for a reason." The bank robber started walking forward.

 

The guardian swung at Hobson. The other men moved to flank their victim on both sides. Once he was down on the floor, they would kick him into bloody paste.

 

Hobson's third eye opened wide at the threat. He was in prison to reform, not to be killed. His mental power cleared the way as soon as he turned his head to look at each man for a brief second. The cracking of bones meant nothing to him as he passed.

 

Maybe the doctor would help them out when things returned to normal.

 

Rory walked to the office where the doc and nurse looked the prisoners over. Why couldn't he remember their names? He realized he had never been in the hospital before.

 

The lock picker stood out in front of the office door. He didn't looked pleased to see the bank robber coming down the hall with his hands in his pockets.

 

"What are you doing here, Hobson?" The man banged on the door.

 

"Putting people in the hospital." Rory smiled. "What are you doing here?"

 

"None of your business." The man banged on the door again. "Get lost."

 

"What do you want, Scrub?" Smith yanked the door open and looked at his lookout. He glared at his colleague. "Get lost, Hobson. I don't have time for you."

 

"I think you need to get your boss out here, Bub." Rory looked around for any more goons. "I have something to say to him."

 

"I don't have a boss." Smith stepped out in the hall. "I heard you used to have some kind of power. We could use something like that with what we're doing."

 

"Tell Keys to come out here, or we're going to have problems, Bubba." The bank robber nodded at the office behind the two men. "I'm giving this to you out of professional courtesy. The next time I ask, you're going to get hurt."

 

"You're messing with the wrong man, power or not." Smith came forward from the door. He held a shiv in his hand.

 

"You messed with the wrong man, dummy." Hobson felt his third eye open as Smith went to stab him with the shiv. The blast swept the two guards into the examination room like a tidal wave.

 

That felt good.

 

Rory stepped inside the room. He kicked Smith in the head out of satisfaction. Keys was on the other side of the room. The doctor was down. The nurse had a knife to her throat and a torn uniform.

 

"What are you doing, Psybolt?" Keys had a lackadaisical expression on his round mug. "I don't remember inviting you to the party."

 

"I invited myself, Keys." Hobson could feel the crack in his mental power's cage. It was ready to be used if he needed it. "I go where I want."

 

"Call me Bunny." Keys dug the point of the cell made knife into the nurse a little. "I don't see why you don't turn around and leave me to my fun."

 

"I don't see why you don't head out of here." Rory threw a thumb over his shoulder. "No one has to know about this."

 

"I can't let the nurse live." The other man dug in again with the knife. "I don't see any way other than to kill her."

 

"I'll kill you if you do that, Keys." Hobson took a step forward. "Right now, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Don't make me change my mind."

 

"I'm the Evil Bunny. I have gone up against guys a lot more dangerous than you." Keys delivered his statements with the flatness of indifference. "I don't think you can do anything to stop me from killing this slut, and then you."

 

"I'm not giving you any choice in this." Hobson took another step forward. His eye opened as he concentrated. "You're going down."

 

Keys tried to apply the last killing pressure on the knife. The nurse grabbed his wrist to try and stop him. His hand broke in a hundred places. He let the woman go out of reflex. She stumbled out of the way, blood running from her neck.

 

Rory unleashed his power before the other man could recover. He didn't want this to turn into a fair fight. Keys was too dangerous to allow that.

 

The mental beam slung the Evil Bunny into the far wall. He hit and dropped to the ground. His cracked ribs told him he needed to lay there and think about trying to breathe for a while.

 

"Your neck is bleeding, ma'am." Rory grabbed pads and bandages. "Hold still, and I'll do what I can for it."

 

"Thank you." The nurse bent her head out of his way. "They were going to kill me. He laughed about how much he would enjoy it."

 

"That's why they call him the Evil Bunny." He examined the wound. Blood poured from it but he couldn't tell if a vessel had been cut. He let his mental power reach out and close the wound as gently as he could. Then he taped the bandage over it. "This is the best I can do."

 

"Thank you for saving my life." The nurse pinned the front of her ripped dress together. "How can I repay you?"

 

"Forget I was here." Rory felt his eye closing again. "Tell the guards the doc beat them up before they knocked him out, or something. Tell them anything but I was here."

 

"I guess I can do that." The nurse went to check the doctor. "Why?"

 

"Because I can't be a villain if I'm saving people's lives." Hobson turned and headed out of the sick rooms. "It's bad for my reputation."

 

He headed for the regular part of the prison before he was discovered.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

6

 

1948-Mad George Tribolyte wondered what had happened to his hands. They were there at the end of his arms moments ago. Where were his arms?

 

"Mr. Cook?" His voice projected from his brain instead of his mouth. Why couldn't he feel his mouth?

 

"I'm here, sir." The butler sounded far away. "I'm in a little distress at the moment. I will be with you in a moment."

 

Tribolyte didn't like that. Mr. Cook rarely admitted any personal problems. Why couldn't he see? What had happened to him?

 

He concentrated. Magic opened his mind to his surroundings. He preferred being blind.

 

His body had been reduced to a lump the size of a brain. He had nothing but his powers left. He floated a piece of wood in the bay. The lights of San Francisco, both electrical and mental, glowed in the distance.

 

Mr. Cook floated on another piece of wood. He seemed to be concentrating on his legs. Pieces of bone, muscle and skin knitted themselves from the blood trying to escape into the surrounding water. He flexed a toe when he was done.

 

"Where is our ship?" Tribolyte scanned the surrounding water.

 

"It sank to the bottom as soon as the spell was disrupted." Mr. Cook looked around now that he was able to move on his own again.

 

At least there weren't any sharks around.

 

"Dr. Long?" The magician's psychic force leaped toward the city. Something blocked his vision.

 

"He escaped." Mr. Cook tried to concentrate to summon something that could lift them out of the water. "I saw him before the boat went up."

 

"What happened to my body?" Tribolyte examined himself with his mental ability.

 

"Burned away by the spell backlash." The butler dropped his hand in the water. A fin appeared, then a back of the giant fish they needed to carry them.

 

"So we lost everything." Mad George would have bowed his head in defeat and depression if he still had one.

 

"Yes." Mr. Cook directed the large fish out to sea. He didn't want to give the Chinese magician another shot at them to finish them off.

 

He had failed his responsibilities once. He didn't want to fail again.

 

The butler had already planned to land in Oakland and try to get shelter there. They could rebuild their resources while moving away from San Francisco. His master would have to explore the new limits placed on his abilities.

 

That was the best he could do at the moment. Master George would have to snap himself out of the funk he was in.

 

Tribolyte stared at the shore. How had things gone so wrong? How had this happened to him? He was one of the most accomplished magicians anywhere. He couldn't believe the loss that had been inflicted on him.

 

The plan had seemed so perfect.

 

He had wanted to expand his crew of his ship, and take over a piece of land. San Francisco had several communities around it that houses the city's dead. He had planned to perform a ritual and call up all the dead men in the ground and take over one of the islands in the bay.

 

He had set his plan in motion, gathering up the ley line energy he had needed. He had started his ritual. There had been an outburst of magic spells stopping him.

 

He and Dr. Long had dueled across the small town into the city. He had Mr. Cook transport themselves back to the ship in the bay. They could complete the ritual there. Then he would make the Chinaman pay for his effrontery.

 

Only things hadn't gone that way. He didn't know why. His mind was a bit fuzzy from whatever spell had been used on him.

 

He supposed it could have been a combination of spells.

 

He needed a cure for this. He couldn't strike fear in his enemies if he was a lump of fur. He needed to examine the energy in his body to figure out how to reverse the effect.

 

He froze at the thought he would be without a body for the rest of his life. How long could he live like he was? He didn't want to be immortal without a body to enjoy it.

 

"We'll be reaching the shore shortly, sir." Mr. Cook's voice drew him back to reality.

 

"Thank you, Mr. Cook." Tribolyte turned his gaze on Oakland. Where could they go from there? They were hunted men all over the world.

 

They needed shelter to regroup. Then they could plan their next move. They certainly had to get out of Oakland as soon as possible. There was no telling if Dr. Long was on their trail. They couldn't battle him in their present state.

 

They couldn't battle a ghost in their present condition.

 

"We need to find a train heading east, or south, from here, Mr. Cook." The decision meant getting over what had happened and trying to get back in the game. "Find us one we can board and ride on until we recover our strength."

 

"Yes, sir." Mr. Cook caused his giant fish to leap on land. He let the drawing fade away as he picked up the remains of his master. He started walking.

 

The butler wandered the streets for a few hours before he found train tracks. He also found a group of men out in the predawn hours. They tried to give him a wide berth because of his disheveled appearance and bland mask of a face.

 

"I have some questions." Tribolyte's mental voice froze the men before they fled. "Where is the nearest train station?"

 

"Go down to the next block and look to the left." One of the men pointed.

 

"Do you have any money?" The question gained a sheave of small bills for the butler to take. "Forget us."

 

The men walked away with dazed expressions. None of them looked back.

 

"At least I still have enough ability for cheap mesmerism." Mad George watched the men go with his new vision.

 

Mr. Cook carried the fallen magician along the directed path. He nodded when he saw the train station gleaming in the distance.

 

"We'll need a freight train, Mr. Cook." The furry brain looked around. "Something like an express perhaps."

 

"I'll find one." Mr. Cook went around the station to the tracks behind it. Several trains were parked on a siding. They looked as if they had been placed in waiting for some extraordinary load that hadn't happened yet.

 

Mr. Cook walked around the trains. None of these were moving anytime soon. He would have to check the train schedule for the next one out of town.

 

The butler found the board. He frowned. It would be some hours before a train arrived in Oakland. They had to get moving faster than that.

 

He thought about it. He decided the best thing was to hitch a ride with someone headed south.

 

He looked out on the street. A long hauler would be the perfect thing.

 

He started walking, looking for a big rig to sneak on.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

7

 

1948- Shimada stared at his garden, trying to decide what he should plant along the borders. He wanted something with a bright color. He stood at parade rest as he thought about it.

 

He should consult his books on what the appropriate blooms should be. Pictures would help his decision along.

 

"Sir?" Hagashi stood in the door to his private court. "There's a man here to see you from the government."

 

Shimada stared at his servant. What would the current government want from him? He had failed in the recent war. He should have committed seppuku for that failure. He couldn't undertake the ritual because of who he was.

 

"Did he state his business?" He thought it must be some kind of business. Why else would anyone from Tokyo bother to visit him in his exile?

 

"He said it was a matter of life and death." Hagashi bowed his head. "I asked him to wait in the atrium while I talked to you."

 

"I will handle this." Shimada turned from his garden. He flexed his hand as he crossed through the wooden house to the front. Inner walls had been set up from paper screens on runners. Rooms had been arranged around the central square with the atrium being next to the front door.

 

"Master Shimada." The visitor bowed. He wore a suit without a tie. His hat rested in his fidgety hands. "Thank you for seeing me."

 

"What can I do for the government?" The civilian folded his arms across his chest.

 

"An object has been reported in Tokyo Bay." The agent frowned. He couldn't give out classified information on a whim. "It has eluded American pursuit. The ministry would like for you to return and find out what the object is, and deal with it if it is hostile."

 

"The treaty?" Shimada frowned. Superhumans in the Japanese service had been mentioned in one of the clauses from what he could remember.

 

"It is not in effect on this action." The agent nodded. "We don't know what the thing is. We want someone there we can trust in case it is dangerous."

 

Shimada stared at the man as he thought. This could be a chance for him to win back some of his honor. It could be nothing more than a new government trying to get glory for itself. There might be a real threat in the bay for him to deal with if the government was right. What happened to anyone caught in the path of whatever it was if it decided to land?

 

It was something to do other than work on his garden in his retirement.

 

Shimada smiled at the younger man.

 

"I will be honored to look into this for you." He waved the man toward the door. "Please inform your minister that I am on the way."

 

"Thank you." The agent put on his hat as he walked toward the door. "We will be honored if you would like to ride the train with us."

 

"I have my own conveyance." Shimada held the door for the man to step out. "I will see you in Tokyo."

 

"Thank you." The heavy door slammed in the agent's face before the words were halfway out his mouth.

 

Shimada walked to his chambers. He had a chest there. He opened the wooden top. His costume looked as if it had never been worn. He quickly donned it, enjoying the way it felt. He wrote the kanji for thunder on his face in red makeup.

 

He felt like he was alive again after being dead.

 

He walked to his garden. He reached out and drew his sword from its other plane of existence. He smiled when it hummed in his hand. He spun it one handed to draw a cloud under his feet. He stepped on the cloud and it headed into the cold air.

 

Tokyo was south of his home. He turned his cloud in that direction and enjoyed flying once more.

 

It had been a long time since he had flown on a mission. The Americans had grounded him as they occupied his country.

 

He couldn't blame them after some of the things he had done for his country's dream of expansion.

 

He should have seen what kind of disaster that would turn out to be.

 

Shimada spotted the agent riding in a car heading in the same direction he was traveling. He knew he would beat it back to the city. He had a straight line of travel compared to the snake the car would have to take back.

 

He wondered what kind of thing could be in the water. Most natural animals were ignored by the faster ships. Most natural animals couldn't outrun a modern navy.

 

What could it be?

 

He expected something no one had ever seen before. He couldn't think of any other reason to request a disgrace like himself back in action to deal with it.

 

He surfed the air, using his abilities to speed the cloud along by sensing the wind and using it to push him. He spotted the rebuilding city in the distance. It had taken a severe beating from bombing raids in the later years of the war. The holes were being filled by new buildings and homes for people.

 

The city would be better than it had ever been by the time they were done.

 

Shimada looked toward the bay. Ships were down there. He spotted flags from several countries in port. That was where he should start.

 

Maybe the agent had been wrong about something in the water. It wouldn't be the first time for such a thing.

 

He had still had a good flight even if there wasn't any trouble.

 

He would also enjoy the flight home if all he had to do was stand around before he took his leave.

 

He spotted a familiar sight as he soared over the docks. He smiled slightly. His old enemy stood on the dock, looking out to sea.

 

Shimada brought his cloud down so that he could talk to his counterpart. He sat on the fluffy surface as it hovered above the wood jetty.

 

"Southern Cross." He smiled beneath his war paint. "I see that I am not alone in looking into this nautical problem."

 

"Susano." The masked man nodded. "I thought I would lend a hand in case there was something to the story. So far, I haven't seen anything."

 

"So we're working together?" Shimada smiled.

 

"I don't have a problem with it." The Australian nodded. "I heard that you had retired."

 

"I thought I would be no longer used." He rested his sword on his lap. "I should have realized that I would be called on as soon as the next emergency presented itself."

 

"That's the way of the world." Southern Cross shrugged. "How do you want to find this thing?"

 

"We could patrol the likely spots until we see it." Shimada scratched his chin. "The bay is a big place for anything to hide in."

 

"I'm hoping we will be able to use the navy to help us with our search." The masked man went back to looking out over the water. "We don't know enough to find this thing on our own."

 

"I imagine someone should be here to tell us what kind of search they had already committed before they called us." The sword wielder pointed at the nearest ship. "One of these could be the search party headquarters."

 

"You're probably right about that." Southern Cross turned at the sound of a car. "That looks official to me."

 

"I agree." Shimada frowned at the black car. "I don't recognize the men inside."

 

"Neither do I." The masked man rubbed his face under his half face mask.

 

The passengers got out of the car. One of them nodded to the driver to drive on while they walked to where the two heroes waited.

 

"Hello, gentlemen." The man who spoke pulled a heavy black coat around him. "My name is Smith. This is Colonel Long from the US Army. Thank you for joining us."

 

"What's going on?" Southern Cross glanced at Susano. A Londoner and a Yank? What was behind this?

 

"We think a monster came up from the ocean thanks to the nuclear bombing." Long pulled out a pipe and loaded it. He lit it with a zippo. "We don't know what it is, but it is attacking shipping."

 

"How big a monster?" Shimada smiled. This might be what he wanted after all.

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

tellus more of this hero named susano

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with "G". . .

 

Ace work, csyphrett

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with "G". . .

 

Ace work, csyphrett

old hot lips?

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

There is a poster on the board using the handle Gojirra.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

tellus more of this hero named susano

I just have some basic stuff since this is the first story for him. He is strong, controls rain, and lightning. He slices and dices. He worked for the Imperial government during the war as an agent.

 

He might be related to other heroes, but I won't know that until I start on backstory things that aren't related to this yet.

CES

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

There is a poster on the board using the handle Gojirra.

CES

and since gojira is the proper name for the creature commonly misidentifed as godzilla i was half right

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

I'm kind of surprised that there was no comment on the return of Bubba Smith when he was alive. I must have slipped that right by.

CES

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

I'm kind of surprised that there was no comment on the return of Bubba Smith when he was alive. I must have slipped that right by.

CES

i went back and saw it thanks how'd buba end up in the steelbar hotel?

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Arrested at a club for basic thuggery, and villainy.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

8

 

1948-Colonel Long went to the front of the briefing room. He activated the slide projector. Smith cut the lights with a gloved hand.

 

"We lost two merchant ships here and here." Long indicated the picture on the wall with a pen he used as a pointer. The area was nothing but water according to the map. "We lost a British corvette here. We lost a sub here. Navy divers are looking for the sub for a rescue attempt."

 

"Four ships could be natural consequences of the water." Southern Cross rubbed his chin. "These four locations are in some dangerous waters in the bay because of the mining."

 

"The maydays from these ships makes that improbable, Captain Prescott." Smith had become invisible in the darkness of the room, hiding in the shadow left from the projector.

 

Southern Cross turned in annoyance at the use of his real name. No one was supposed to know who he was.

 

"Smith is right." Colonel Long stepped in. He didn't need for one of his contacts to go up like a torch.

 

The American walked over to a large tape recorder. Spools were already loaded. He hit the play button.

 

"Mayday, mayday." The radio operator sounded calm but afraid. "This is the HMS Endure. We have been struck by something in the water. We are sinking."

 

"Struck by something?" Susano gestured for the tape to be replayed. "What is that sound in the background?"

 

"We don't know, Captain Shimada." Smith sounded again from the darkness. "It's the prime reason we suspect whatever it was wasn't a mine."

 

Susano nodded. His identity was supposed to be secret. Evidently the Englishmen worked for the intelligence community.

 

"Listen to the rest of the tape." Colonel Long let the tape continue.

 

"Mayday, mayday." The operator sounded a little more desperate. "This is the HMS Endure. We have struck something in the water. We are sinking. Stand by for map coordinates."

 

He read off latitude and longitude for anyone who might be listening and could send a rescue. The sound of an explosion drowned the end of the transmission. The reels had exchanged their recording completely by this point.

 

"Can we listen to that again?" Susano frowned. "That last sound in the background sounded like thunder."

 

Long rethreaded the recording and hooked the end of the spool to the receiving reel. He played the recording again. Both heroes frowned at the sounds.

 

"Sounds like an animal of some kind." Southern Cross leaned forward. "A big animal."

 

"Also various sounds like thunder." Susano closed his eyes. "A big animal and thunder."

 

"What did the survivors say?" Southern Cross turned his eyes to the man in the back of the room.

 

"They reported a giant beast assaulted the boat and blew it apart." Smith stated it as matter of factly as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.

 

"That's interesting." Susano opened his eyes. "That fits with the recording. That's why you called us."

 

"I have a team being assembled but approval is slow." Long nodded by the projector so they could see him. "Until I can get them running, I need two local experts to keep an eye out for this thing and make sure it doesn't wreck any more boats."

 

"What do we do if we find this thing?" Southern Cross blinked as the lights came on. "How big is it? How fast? Can we use our powers on it with some measure of success?"

 

"The rules of engagement are simple." Long lit his pipe again. "Do not engage this thing until we have something we know we can use to stop it in place. If it heads for any place where people are, drive it off if you can. We want to find where this thing lives and do whatever we can to make sure it stops attacking the sea traffic."

 

"It sounds simple enough." The Australian looked at the faint picture on the wall from the projector. "At least we know where it's hunting at the moment."

 

"It is a narrow field of action." Susano stood. "Let's begin our search."

 

"Is there anything else we need to know before we start?" Southern Cross had dealt with intelligence people in the past. They didn't always have his best interests at heart.

 

"We don't know what this thing is, we don't if it's just a dumb animal, we don't know if it is a natural creature that suddenly started eating sailors because something made it bigger and more dangerous." Long puffed on his pipe. "We know it's dangerous, capable of sinking ships, and hasn't left any survivors to give us something to work with so we can deal with it."

 

Southern Cross and Susano exchanged a look. Military Intelligence wasn't normally this concise.

 

"We need flying people who can handle themselves to look for this thing from the air." Smith smiled. "You two have seen a lot of action in the war, you both can fly, and you're here."

 

"Sounds like a perfect combination." Southern Cross walked toward the door.

 

"We will deal with your monster." Susano smiled. He bowed to Smith and Colonel Long before he followed his once enemy from the room.

 

"Where do you want to start?" Southern Cross took to the air on his star power.

 

Susano pulled his sword and called up a cloud to follow. He surfed the air as he thought about the question.

 

"We should start where the last ship went down." He pointed southeast from where they had launched. "That should help us a little."

 

"The Americans will be there trying to pull their submarine up." Southern Cross turned on the new bearing. "I don't have any sub lifting skills."

 

"We will examine the scene." Susano smiled. "If the monster is attracted to ships, it might attack the dredge operation."

 

"It would be convenient for us if it did." The star hero nodded. "We can deal with this and go back to our civilian lives."

 

"I think that is impossible for men like us." The sword carrier smiled. "We have been too long in action. There will always be something that needs our particular talents."

 

"I hope not." Prescott pointed ahead. "There's the navy ships like we expected."

 

"Stay up here." Susano descended to the water. "I'll see if there's anything I can do."

 

He dismissed the cloud and dove into the water. He vanished out of sight in a matter of minutes.

 

Southern Cross headed for the ship he saw connected with air hoses. Those would lead to divers on the bottom. He landed with raised hands.

 

"We're here to help."

[teh bunneh]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Keys tried to apply the last killing pressure on the knife. The nurse grabbed his wrist to try and stop him. His hand broke in a hundred places. He let the woman go out of reflex. She stumbled out of the way, blood running from her neck.

 

Rory unleashed his power before the other man could recover. He didn't want this to turn into a fair fight. Keys was too dangerous to allow that.

 

The mental beam slung the Evil Bunny into the far wall. He hit and dropped to the ground. His cracked ribs told him he needed to lay there and think about trying to breathe for a while.

 

Man. Why's everybody always gotta be killin' on me?

[death tribble]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Man. Why's everybody always gotta be killin' on me?

 

Your reputation precedes you, that's why.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Would it help to say this character will have wonderful kids?

CES

[death tribble]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Don't throw a sop to him now !

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Just a small reminder is all. Billy Keys had to have a Dad, Granddad, somewhere down the line.

CES