Generations of Strangers

[teh bunneh]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Well, it's not like this is the first time I've been killed before. I always get better.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Well' date=' it's not like this is the first time I've been killed before. I always get better. [/quote']

 

its just cracked ribs. The evil bunny doesnt get killed until Bubba Smith gets killed. Dont worry about it.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

9

 

 

1948-Susano swam to the bottom of the bay. He followed the lines from the boats on the surface. He spotted lights from the navy divers' suits. They seemed to be examining the submarine for where they could secure lines to pull it to the surface.

 

He doubted the men inside of the sub had that much time.

 

He took a look at the ship for something he could do with his powers. Maybe the damage wasn't that bad.

 

He frowned after his inspection. Something had bit the sub. That had caused water to rush in and drive it to the bottom. He wasn't sure there was anybody alive onboard without power running through the interrupted lines.

 

He looked at the divers. They shrugged. They didn't know if anyone was alive either.

 

He decided he could do something if there was anybody aboard. He still had time until he had to head back to the surface and recharge his lungs. He hoped the Americans didn't want their vehicle mostly intact.

 

He dug his sword into the hull until the hilt hit the steel. He began pulling the sword up the side of the ship, slicing a line as he went. He completed his circuit when he reached the ground on the other side. He pried the hull apart to give himself room to slice the next layer of the decking away.

 

He worked liked this until he had to swim to the surface. He made four trips before the tail and bow were in separate sections. The divers swarmed in and secured lines to the bow first. The cranes started lifting that section to the surface.

 

Susano headed to the surface also. The crane would be hooked to the tail. It would be lifted up out of the water. He had saved hours on the salvaging of the craft.

 

Maybe he had saved some lives by doing so.

 

He pulled himself out of the water, summoning a cloud to hold him in the air. He brought a wind down to blow the water out of his clothes. They were still damp but would dry more rapidly now that he had finished swimming.

 

The bow surfaced. Water spilled off and from it as the crane lifted it high in the air. The long arm turned and brought the ship fragment to rest on a barge. Men went forward to unhook the lines so the hooks could bring up the stern.

 

Southern Cross waited on the deck. He watched as the hatches were opened for the rescuers to go in and see who was still alive.

 

His own powers didn't lend themselves to a rescue under the sea.

 

Susano floated over to watch the action. He had done all he could. It still felt strange to save sailors of a former enemy, but he had agreed to find this monster for his country.

 

"What do you think?" The Australian nodded at the sailors doing what they could.

 

"Something bit into the metal." The lord of thunder combed his hair back with his fingers. "The bite was in the belly of the submarine so it was attacked from below."

 

"I'll wager the other three had initial attacks the same way." Southern Cross nodded. "Then it surfaced to attack the corvette."

 

"Perhaps it didn't have the right angle of attack on that ship." Susano shrugged. "Sometimes you missed."

 

"I can see that." He looked out at the ocean. "Why hasn't it come after these boats?"

 

"I suppose it prefers single targets of a certain size." The sword swinger looked around. "All of these boats are in the right size range from the looks of them."

 

"Maybe we should pick one to ride with when they head back to port." The star hero looked at the work on the barge. "Maybe we can use the boat as a trap."

 

"It sounds reasonable." Susano smiled. "Which should we use?"

 

"That one over there." Southern Cross pointed at a boat at the edge of the dredging area. "It's being used as a diving platform, and wouldn't attract any attention if it was last going home."

 

"Then we're agreed?" The Japanese hero smiled.

 

"Yes." Southern Cross nodded. "We'll wait and ride the dive boat back in before we continue our search. Hopefully we will be able to capture this thing if it does attack."

 

"If we can locate its lair, that will be a step in capturing it and removing it from shipping lanes." The lord of thunder crossed his arms as he watched the sailors being dragged out of the wrecked sub. Some of them seemed to be alive. "I doubt we have the power to kill it between the two of us."

 

Southern Cross nodded again. Their enemy could wreck a ship with a single bite. How much punishment could it take to go with what it had already shown it could deal?

 

How much heat would he have to inflict to turn it from a charge?

 

Could he inflict enough to turn it from a charge?

 

The second piece of the destroyed ship surfaced in a spray of ocean and cloud of mist. The crane swung it across to the barge. Men waved the burden in before the ropes were disconnected and the crane swung back out of the way.

 

Medics and crewmen headed into the stern through the exposed hatch where a bulkhead was supposed to keep out any water if the sub was holed. Sailors appeared moments later, confused and dazed by daylight and oxygen.

 

The heroes waited as the crew were transferred to another ship for better treatment. As the boats started in to the dockyard, the mystery men headed over to the dive boat. The divers still walked along the bottom. The crew had winches going to pull them out of the ocean.

 

They waited for the divers to be pulled up. Hoses and lines were disconnected. Helmets were taken and stored away as the divers were pulled from their heavy suits.

 

The captain gave the order to sail on to shore.

 

The mystery men waited in silence. If this didn't work out, they would have to try some other kind of trap. Maybe they could trawl the waterways until the thing attacked.

 

Searching for it from the air was out. The ocean was its home. They could look for it forever, and not find it. Luring it in seemed to be the best way to work things.

 

And both men wanted to get the job done. Trying to kill each other during the war prevented them from being friends even though the war had ended.

 

They were more comfortable trying to kill each other.

[kahuna's bro]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

hopefully they'll get used to being on the same side

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

10

 

1948- Southern Cross looked out over the ocean. He had been on the monster hunt for a week. He had gained nothing so far.

 

They needed an aquatic hero patrolling the ocean for whatever was down there. There was little he could do from the air.

 

He knew his old enemy, Susano, had the same problem. Neither could penetrate the depths of the ocean with their powers.

 

Why had they been asked to engage in this hunt?

 

A forward headquarters had been set up for Colonel Long's organization. So far he had not met any of the members of his relief. He supposed that was just as well.

 

When he went back to his civilian identity, he wouldn't need to know them in any case.

 

A flare boiled up from the ocean. He tracked the flight path back to the water as he directed his star power to increase his flight speed. He smiled when he saw a boat sailing through the target zone. Something was in the water attacking it.

 

This was what they had been waiting on.

 

Southern Cross built up his solar power. He wanted to strike and eliminate the threat before it knew he was coming. The scientists could examine the thing at their leisure when it was no longer a threat.

 

The thing's head turned to face him. It resembled a dog's head without fur, just slick scales. It opened its mouth. Lightning reached for him with a boom of thunder.

 

The hero dove out of the way, releasing the heat from his internal furnace. He scarred some flesh, but it didn't seem to bother the sea creature. He passed on the right, looking for a weak spot.

 

He didn't see one as he circled around for another attack run.

 

Susano drifted at the edge of the battle, riding on a cloud. He looked at the beast with same concentration he had displayed against the Allied forces. He held his sword ready to attack if he got an opening.

 

The creature paused to take in the odds. Then it roared lightning at the sword swinger. The blast struck the sword and vanished.

 

Southern Cross circled its head at high speed. He didn't have any fear for his counterpart, but the ship was still too close to danger. They had to buy it time to get clear. Confusing it seemed to be the best way to do that.

 

The monster snapped at him with its huge jaws. The clacking of meeting teeth didn't leave him hope of surviving a bite if it caught him.

 

Susano came in from the side, flying near the ocean's surface on the top of his cloud. He lunged with his sword. The blade sliced across the neck of the monster in a silver ribbon.

 

The monster started to retreat into the ocean. The slicing had bitten deep into it. It needed to retreat to its lair and recover.

 

It spat lightning as it sank down to hide below the waves. That forced Southern Cross to evade instead of shooting with any accuracy. He didn't want to return fire if it meant shooting allies.

 

Susano caught the lightning as he charged in. He lunged again with his sword, stabbing as deep as he could with his blade. He hoped to hit something that would force the monster to bleed out before it could flee.

 

The attacks on the shipping had to end.

 

The monster roared its pain. It bit, swallowing its enemy whole. That should stop the cutting.

 

Southern Cross roared in, firing blast after blast of solar power as he flew by the beast. He couldn't leave an ally in dire straits, even one that had tried to kill him in the past. He had to do his best even while thinking good riddance.

 

The point of Susano's sword appeared through the top of the monster's skull. It spun in place. The section fell into the ocean. The monster roared one last time, then fell over on its side.

 

The sword swinger stood in the hole. He swam into the ocean to clean the ichor off. He summoned a cloud and took to the air as fins appeared in the water. The local sharks had decided to investigate from the looks of things.

 

It wouldn't be long before they went into a frenzy and started doing what they did best.

 

Susano looked at something in his hand. He frowned as he studied it. He let the cloud give him some height so he didn't have excited sharks trying to jump up to snatch at him like they did sea birds.

 

"What do you have there?" Southern Cross hovered in, letting his inner heat die down now that the fight was over.

 

"I don't know." Susano handed the object over.

 

The Australian turned the thing over in his hand. It was the size of a plate. It had an engraving on its surface. The one word was Vitus. He wondered what that meant.

 

He had a feeling there was a mystery that they had not even discovered the first clue to solving.

 

"What does it mean?" He handed the object back.

 

"I don't know." Susano looked out over the ocean, frowning in his mask of writing. "We can't move forward without information. We will have to wait until something else becomes known to us."

 

"That's marvelous." The mystery man shook his head. "Let's get someone out here to pick up the corpse before it sinks to the bottom. Maybe some scientist will be able to put things together."

 

"You have no interest in finding out who is behind this?" The lord of thunder tucked his find in his sash.

 

"I'm retired." Southern Cross oriented on where he supposed the docks of the bay had to be. Then he blasted toward the island nation. "My only interest is getting back to my garden now that the war is done."

 

"Other things will bring you back to battle." Susano followed, surfing the air. "It's inevitable."

 

"I will deal with that when I have to and not a moment before." The star man saw the docks. He aimed for the ship the Americans should be using. "Until then, someone else will have to save the world."

 

"What happens if there is another Vitus out there?" The Japanese hero seemed amused.

 

"I'm sure you can handle it just as handily as the one we just killed." Southern Cross landed lightly. "You haven't lost your touch."

 

"We'll see." Susano dispersed the cloud as Colonel Long appeared on the deck of the ship set up as his headquarters.

 

"The job's done." Southern Cross gave the Army officer the coordinates to where they had left the monster corpse to the sharks. "You better hurry if you want to find any to study."

 

"This was in the monster." Susano handed over the plate. "I don't know what it means."

 

Colonel Long looked at the plate for a second. He began barking orders as he headed back on the ship. They still needed to know what the monster was to prevent other attacks.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

11

 

1949-Tim Daschle pulled his service revolver as he sniffed the door. He could see why the neighbors had called him when they saw him walking his beat. Something was wrong inside the apartment.

 

His nose told him that much.

 

Something bad had happened inside the place.

 

He knocked on the door. He listened. He didn't hear anything moving. Whatever had happened was over from the dead emptiness that came back to him. He needed to go inside and check the place out.

 

He decided to ask for the key. The manager could hardly object from the way the place was emitting gas into the hall.

 

And if he did, Tim would just kick the door down.

 

The policeman holstered his weapon as he walked over to the office. It was a little place off of the U shape the rest of the place had. He saw several people standing by the door. Two were the ones that had stopped him. They all had the same expression of worry.

 

"Is Miss Conner all right?" The questioner, Mrs. Avery, grabbed Tim's arm as he went to open the office door.

 

"I don't know." He wanted to reassure her, but didn't want to lie. "I need the manager key to get inside to look around."

 

Tim opened the office door and stepped inside. The manager, a dumpy man in a flowery shirt and corduroys, looked at him with worry on his face.

 

Was he worried about his tenant, or being able to rent the place out again?

 

"I need to open one oh six." Tim looked around the office. "Something's wrong in there."

 

"Miss Conner has been a good tenant." The manager produced a set of keys. "Has she done something wrong?"

 

"I'm more concerned if she is still alive." Tim took the keys. "I'll let you know if something is wrong."

 

Tim walked back to the apartment door. He tried the keys until he found the one that fit the lock. He gently turned the key. He used his sleeve to turn the knob in case there were fingerprints for the lab boys.

 

The smell exploded over him, making his eyes water. He stepped back and fought the urge to vomit. What had happened in there?

 

Tim pulled his revolver again as he walked inside the apartment. He listened before he announced himself. The place was empty of living people.

 

He pulled his flashlight. He didn't want to touch anything. He played the beam around the room. Things lay on the ground. It looked like they had been sliced apart by something incredibly sharp. He mentally assembled the damaged parts as the light roved around the room.

 

What had happened here?

 

"Miss Conner?" Tim saw three doors from where he stood. She could be behind any one of them. He doubted she was alive.

 

"What's going on?" Mrs. Avery spoke from the door.

 

"Don't come in here." Tim walked to the door to deny the rubberneckers access. "I want you to call the station and have them send a couple of men down here."

 

"Is it bad?" The old lady looked at him with wrinkles on wrinkles. It was the first time since he had met her that she looked close to her age.

 

"I don't know." He waved the crowd off. "Get that help for me, please."

 

He shut the door in their faces.

 

He didn't want them contaminating the scene until the experts went over it.

 

He used the flashlight to pick his way through the apartment. The first door was a closet. Coats hung on hangers over shoe and hat boxes. No murderers stood in there.

 

The second door was a bedroom. He noted the sliced furniture and belongings everywhere. What had made the vandal to that? And how had no one noticed?

 

It also looked familiar somehow.

 

He put the nagging tug on his memory away. He would think about it when he was sure nothing was wrong with the place.

 

He had one last door to check. He dreaded opening it. He worked the knob with his sleeve and pointed the light and gun inside the room. He shook his head at what he saw.

 

Someone had been hacked up and left in the tub. He couldn't tell if it was Miss Conner. He certainly didn't envy anyone who had to ask the next of kin for something they could use to identify the body. He couldn't see a face for a picture to be taken from where he stood.

 

What had done all this damage and didn't leave blood splatter doing it?

 

Tim said his mantra. He needed to let his expert take a look at things before the department did. He wanted to find out who had done this and stop him no matter what.

 

Ghost Angel helped him do both.

 

The figure in black erupted from the floor, straightening his tie and hat. He took in the scene with a glance and shook his head.

 

"This is bad." Ghost Angel checked the tub. "Very bad. They killed her while she was alive."

 

"I want to track down the person responsible." Tim put his pistol away. "Can you do that?"

 

"I can try." Ghost Angel looked around the apartment. "Random victim in a random place subjected to the death of a thousand cuts. She must have been scared out of her mind."

 

"She died." Tim set his jaw. "I'm going to have to hold the scene until I'm dismissed. Find out who did this and meet me at the station at the end of my shift."

 

"I'll do what I can." Ghost Angel faded into the floor. "I'm not a detective."

 

"Stupid spirit of vengeance." Tim opened the door. The crowd was still there. "Did anyone call the station like I asked?"

 

"Mr. Howard did." Mrs. Avery hugged herself. "Is Miss Conner all right?"

 

"I don't know." Tim opted for the truth. "The detectives will take over and try to make sure if she is."

 

Tim planned to beat them to the punch for capturing whoever had left the segmented body behind. Then he planned to hand out some vengeance.

 

G.A. had better find the guy fast before the newspapers and radio got the story. A circus would spring from what he had found.

 

He didn't want his movements hampered by reporters.

 

A uniformed sergeant arrived with another patrolman. Tim made his report on what he had found. The other patrolman was sent back to the prowl car to call headquarters. Things had been temporarily taken out of his hands while the machinery of the law went to work.

 

What he planned to do had nothing to do with legality.

 

Tim was released from the scene after the lab people and the coroner had arrived and left with everything they could glean from the rooms. He taped the door over, and hung the order to tell people to keep away from the apartment until the police was done.

 

"Is Miss Conner dead?" Mrs. Avery had waited the whole time off to one side.

 

"I don't know." Tim rubbed his hair back with one hand before resettling his cap. "Something bad happened. Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

 

"No." Mrs. Avery shook her head. "She works for a department store. She came in and we had a couple of drinks. She said she had to lie down and get some sleep. She worked extra hours when she could."

 

"The detectives will probably be back to ask more questions when they identify the body for sure." Tim looked at the sealed apartment. "I hope your friend is alive."

 

Mrs. Avery went back to her own apartment. Tim heard locks being thrown. He wondered how many times the lady had done that before the murder. Probably not many he decided.

 

Tim checked his watch. He needed to get back to the station and clock out now that his shift was over. Then he had to see what Ghost Angel had found.

 

This was one time he planned to enjoy the street justice he was going to inflict.

 

Something like this was only the beginning. He didn't want to find more bodies reduced to slivers like slices of ham from a deli.

 

Tim walked along. Why did the slice pieces of everything look so familiar?

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

12

 

1950- Rory Hobson stood outside of prison and wondered what he was going to do with the rest of his life. At least his power worked again. It felt stronger to him.

 

He put it down to rarely using it over the years.

 

Rory needed to get on with his life.

 

How could he do that?

 

Rory went home and looked around for work. Everywhere he went, he was refused. No one wanted to hire a convict. He thought about going back to robbing banks. His savings wouldn't last forever.

 

Hobson decided he needed to get a new life to start over.

 

He decided to do that he needed to talk to Callahan.

 

Rory hit Chicago with the last of his money. He found Callahan's print shop on the second day. He went inside the grimy place.

 

Obviously, he wasn't making any money with his regular printing work.

 

"Callahan?" Rory looked around the shop. "Do you still do identification?"

 

"Sure." The printer looked him over. "What can I do for you?"

 

"I need some fake identification in another name." Psybolt smiled. "Can you do that?"

 

"Sure." Callahan gave him a base rate. "Half now, half when the package is done."

 

Rory handed over his money. It was all he had. He would have to pull one more job to get the rest. He didn't like it but he didn't have a choice.

 

"When will it be ready?" Hobson didn't want to admit that he was out of money.

 

"Two days." Callahan put the money in a safe behind the counter. "I have some prepared papers that I need to ink the dates in."

 

"I'll see you in two days." Rory walked out of the shop. He needed a big score right away. Then he needed to leave town. Chicago had superhumans on the job. He didn't want to run into them while he was doing his thing.

 

He wanted to avoid prison at all costs.

 

Rory decided the best thing he could do was hit a bank after casing it. He needed to get the money just to live on while he was in town.

 

He walked the streets, looking over likely targets. He discarded any that looked guarded beyond what he wanted to break through. He wanted to do smash and grabs, not D-day invasions.

 

Rory made a list of banks that he would hit that night. He needed a car and time.

 

He also needed to get out of town as fast as possible. He couldn't have the Veil, or any of the heroes in town, try to stop him before he got his new identity.

 

He didn't want to fight anyone. He just wanted a new life.

 

Rory waited for the night to come. He improvised a mask from a wooly cap and a parka. He didn't want to be recognized if cameras were mounted on the walls.

 

He also needed to change his m.o. He couldn't slice everything out of the way. He needed to do something else with his powers.

 

He needed finesse.

 

Rory smiled. He had just the means to do the job.

 

He needed a car. He had to hit every bank as fast as possible. He couldn't do that if he was walking, or riding the elevated.

 

Rory pulled on his coat and hat. He walked the street until he found a car parked in a long term lot. He cut the fence and used his power to lift it out on the street. He started it and drove off. Now he had to switch the plates to throw off the cops.

 

He didn't want some flatfoot spotting the plates and getting wise while he was on the job.

 

Rory stopped for two seconds to pull a plate off another car. He quickly pulled the original plate off and put the new one on. He would put it back when he was done.

 

The owners of the cars didn't need to get in trouble over this.

 

He hit the banks one at a time. He didn't blast his way in like he used to do. He opened the locks on everything with no problem. The money went into bags and into the trunk of the car. He locked up behind him as he left.

 

He dropped the money off in a hotel and then returned the plates and car. He walked back to his room. Now he had to wait for Callahan to get him his identification.

 

He hoped he hadn't overplayed his hand with the bank jobs.

 

Callahan might turn him in for the reward if it was high enough. That was why he needed to get out of town quick.

 

He couldn't risk it.

 

Rory stowed the money in a duffle. He needed to get some sleep and then he needed to check on his identification. He knew Callahan and his reputation, but he didn't want to chance it. He needed to make sure he had backup identification from someone else.

 

Callahan might sell his new identity for the right inducement.

 

Rory slept lightly and was up with the break of day. He took the duffle and checked out. He needed to move somewhere else.

 

Callahan might tell them to start checking hotels for him. He had to keep moving.

 

He got a cab to the airport and checked the duffle in a locker. He hid the key in a crack in case he was arrested. No one would notice it, and no one normal could get it out if they did.

 

He took another cab back into the city. He still had another day to walk around while he waited.

 

Rory hit the museums and music halls, moving from place to place. He kept an eye out for trouble as he went. He couldn't get involved in anything that looked bad. As an ex-con, he would be blamed for anything that happened.

 

He spent the night in a dive on the Southside. The locals stopped bothering him after the first one got some busted legs.

 

He got up at the break of day and wondered what he was going to do with the rest of the day. He couldn't check on his identification until tomorrow. Callahan would know about the burglaries by now. What would he do about it?

 

Would he finish the job, or turn Rory over to the cops?

 

Hobson wouldn't know until he showed up to pick up his identification.

 

Rory walked the streets, and hired a boat to sail the lake fishing. At the end of the day, he checked in another place and waited out the night.

 

He retrieved the other part of his payment and checked the print shop out before he went in and picked up the new him.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

13

 

1950- Mad George Tribolyte looked up from his pedestal. He wanted his hands and feet back more than anything. Dr. Long would pay for this.

 

Revenge could wait until he had a base he could use to rebuild his empire.

 

Suffering two major losses had put him on the skids. He needed to stop the slide before he turned into a schizophrenic wreck like some bum wondering around talking to himself.

 

Mr. Cook busied himself turning their new home into something liveable. He used his artwork liberally in his work. He almost whistled as he went about things.

 

If he had started whistling, Tribolyte would have burned out his brain without a second thought.

 

The fugitive turned his thoughts to how he was going to get a new body. He certainly wasn't going to be able to magic one together from the substance of the universe. Dr. Long's curse precluded that option. He could feel the bans whenever he thought about it.

 

How else could he build a body from nothing? Where was Frankenstein when he needed him?

 

George stretched his mental power. He sent it out to the surroundings. He relaxed when he couldn't feel another mage close. He was safe for the moment.

 

He inspected Mr. Cook's work. His butler had built adequate physical defenses. He couldn't put on the wards and magical attacks that were required to keep out things men didn't think exist.

 

Tribolyte would have to do that himself.

 

He started by putting in shields against scrying. Unseen watchers were a pain. He added a summoning to the scry block. Anyone trying to use magic to see his new fortress would have problems.

 

He added more mirrors to block other means to see inside his new home. Then he added mirrors to deflect attack spells back at their users. He added summons to call for help in case of physical intrusion.

 

He created a pool of water inside the house. Mr. Cook added a retaining wall to make it look better. He formed the spell lattice to catch ley energy and use that to fuel the defenses.

 

It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do until he got enough energy to add more to plug in the holes in the defenses.

 

At the moment he had to rely on stealth to keep hidden. Any competent magician could punch through his lines with no problem. If he attracted any attention to his activities, he doubted his magic ability and Mr. Cook's art would be able to stop their enemy.

 

George examined the estate and nodded. He had done what he could with what he had. He had only one last spell to put in place.

 

He concentrated on the lines. Writing obscured the walls around his new home from the memory of those that passed. People would forget the place was there once they passed.

 

He felt a smile on his missing face. That was a nice touch.

 

"Mr. Cook." The butler appeared by his side. "Put me in the water, please."

 

The assistant picked up his master's remains and dropped him in the pool in the center of the house. Energy coursed through the brain, letting him view the tides that surrounded his new home. He could hold off an army with what he had done.

 

He shut down his mind, letting the lines carry him in their circuits. He dreamed of things that didn't mean anything at the moment.

 

He needed a body to carry out his plans. He needed material to build a body. He needed something more permanent than a drawing.

 

He didn't want his new form dispelled by the first mage that figured out what he had done.

 

That would be embarrassing.

 

He woke gradually as the lines surged energy into his pool. It revitalized him at the same time. He had a plan he considered workable. He just needed to gather the material.

 

He also needed to talk to someone. That man knew everything about magic. He would have the answer to the body problem.

 

He would have to make a field trip.

 

He groaned. He had just got his home ready, and he had to travel across the country. He should have known it would come to this.

 

"We have to see someone." Mad George floated on the surface of his pool. "We will need a conveyance to take us to Minnesota."

 

"That should not be a problem." The butler picked up his master. He headed for a garage to one side of the house. He opened a door on an empty bay. A car drew itself into existence.

 

"We're going to drive to Minnesota?" Tribolyte did a mental calculation on the time needed for such travel. He didn't like the results.

 

"Not really." Mr. Cook placed the brain in a bowl in the passenger seat. "I'll show you."

 

The butler got behind the wheel. He started the drawing up and drove down the long driveway to the road. He turned and headed north. The car changed shape as he went, sprouting wings and a tail. The wheels vanished behind a shell.

 

The car took flight, moving smoother than a wind.

 

"How long will it take for us to reach Minnesota?" Tribolyte had done enough flying with his butler to not worry about the man's piloting skills.

 

"It will take a few hours at least." Mr. Cook shrugged. "Then we will have to look for the particular place you want. We might be able to get there just as the sun goes down."

 

"If we can't get there before the sun goes down, find a place for us to stay for the night." George hated the delay. "The man we're going to visit hates visitors."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

14

 

1950-The car rolled up the dirt road as the sun broke in the east. The occupants could feel the watching eyes on them as the vehicle followed the meandering path. They expected that.

 

That's why they tried to look harmless to the sentries.

 

"The cabin is just ahead, Mr. Cook." Mad George hoped the man living in the wilderness would help him.

 

Spangler was reputed to know everything having to do with magic, and magical doings, in the world.

 

"I see it." Mr. Cook nodded as he turned a final curve and spotted a set of logs stacked in a square under a roof of wooden shingles.

 

He parked the drawing in front of the plank steps leading up to the porch of the place.

 

The owner of the cabin stepped out on the porch. He wore the flannels and jeans common to the area. His beard had been trimmed back, gray strands mixing with the blonde, like silver and gold. His keen eyes stared at the two visitors.

 

"I see you're in a fix." The hermit didn't offer them one of the chairs on the porch. "What do you want me to do about it?"

 

"I want a body." Mad George probed the other man's shields. He found thousands of spells reacting to his intrusion and backed away carefully. "Everyone says you know everything about magic."

 

"What do you want me to do about your problem?" The hermit tapped the wooden column next to him. "There's no reason for me to help you."

 

"Don't you want something we can use for a trade?" Tribolyte mentally warned his butler not do anything threatening.

 

"There's nothing you can give me but your absence." The hermit took a step down from the porch. The sound of flipping pages could be heard as he glared at them.

 

"How do I reverse this?" The brain raised his own shields. He was not confident they would survive any contact with Spengler. The other mage's powers were the equivalent to a tornado to his own hand fan.

 

Mr. Cook would cease to exist before he could finish a drawing.

 

"You can't." Spengler paused, the calm stilling the phantom pages turning. "I recognize the spellwork. The Dragon fixed you for good. You might be able to get away with a spirit transfer if you had enough power to overcome his spellcraft, but you don't."

 

Mad George considered his position. He could try to weasel another answer out of the hermit, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor. He couldn't lose any more than what he had already.

 

"Get in the car, Mr. Cook." He knew that was the right decision. He could feel the air grow lighter.

 

The butler put the brain in his bowl and walked around to the other side to get behind the wheel. He performed a three point turn and headed back down the road.

 

He kept an eye on the mirror. He watched the hermit watching them until they rounded a bend and the cabin vanished among the trees.

 

"Take us home, Mr. Cook." Mad George closed his eyes. "I am going to have to think about what we can do next."

 

"How much power do you think you will need to break the curse?" The butler watched the road as he drove. When they reached the end, he would change the car back into a plane and fly home.

 

"I don't know." Tribolyte didn't bother telling his assistant not to ask questions. The man would have to carry out any plan they might concoct.

 

George cursed the loss of his limbs. Someday he would get his revenge.

 

Mr. Cook turned onto a paved road. He drove along until the wings emerged from the skin of the car and it took flight. He turned south and headed back toward their hidden estate.

 

Mad George thought about how to gather energy as they flew along. He needed books to supplement his memory. Unfortunately his secret library had been seized by the Crown, whether they knew that, or not. Getting them back meant traveling into England. He hadn't done that in many years.

 

If he could get back on the grounds, he could secure his library and transport it back to America with a minimum of fuss.

 

Mr. Cook could handle that. He was good with any job that required taking things from people.

 

The Englishman would be lost without his aide.

 

Mad George decided that he had to know if his library was in place. He also needed to be ready to acquire artifacts to help in his quest.

 

He nodded a phantom head at his decision. He wanted to get his body. He needed energy. The only place other than ritual sacrifice was out of the Earth. He needed to do research to figure out how to harness it.

 

He certainly wasn't going to kill people in the hopes to gain enough energy to do something. That would take forever.

 

And it attracted the attention of every do-gooder within miles of his home.

 

"When we get home, Mr. Cook, get some rest." He didn't need that as much as he once had. "We'll be traveling again."

 

"A long trip?" The butler glanced over at his passenger. He admitted he couldn't read the fuzzy ball as well as he had the master's face in the past.

 

"We're going home to see if my books are still hidden where I left them." Tribolyte chortled. "The building might not even be there anymore."

 

"We will have to fly to get across the Atlantic." Mr. Cook tapped the wheel with long fingers. "It will have to be in something bigger than this craft."

 

"If push comes to shove, we will take only what we need and destroy the rest." Mad George hated that, but his enemies couldn't be allowed to go over his notes.

 

"Understood." The butler hid his expression. He had performed some evil deeds to get those books. He had learned his art out of one of them. He hated to think he might have to burn them.

 

He didn't like it, but he would carry out his orders as well as he could.

 

That was the nature of his employment after all.

 

Mr. Cook brought the plane down for a landing in the driveway of their new estate. He parked it in the garage before picking up his boss and taking him into the house. The brain went into the pool in the center of the house.

 

He fixed himself a sandwich while he waited for his boss to launch him on his next job. He wolfed it down and made another. He ate that one a little more slowly.

 

He had plenty of time before his services were put in play. He could enjoy being the butler for a little more time.

 

Mad George would understand why he would love to return to England after their exile.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

15

 

1951-Tim Daschle looked at his wall. Clippings from the papers adorned it. A city map with pins in it was hung above it. It had been a couple of years, but he hadn't made any progress in finding the killer.

 

Ghost Angel hadn't been any help either. His contacts in the Underworld didn't know anything according to him.

 

Tim wondered what he was missing. He knew it was something about the method of killing. The killer sliced everything in their domiciles into pieces. Then he killed the victims themselves in their bathrooms. Where did the blood go? Did it all go down the drain?

 

The lack of clues suggested a more supernatural cause for the killings. No one had seen anything, heard anything. The victims were well liked, worked professionally across the city. They had a vague resemblance to each other, like sisters.

 

Tim looked at the pins. They were in a small circle in one small section of the city. He noticed a gap in the design. He wondered if that was where he should concentrate his effort.

 

No earthly policeman would be able to stop this. He had that feeling.

 

Tim made a note of living places in that gap, concentrating on apartment buildings. Then he realized the victims had been killed above a certain height. He thought about it. He decided he would concentrate on buildings that were tall enough to suit his needs.

 

Now he had to find the victim.

 

Tim pulled on his black suit, sunglasses, and hat. If he did find the killer, he wasn't bringing him in to a human court. He headed out.

 

The policeman found two buildings in his gap immediately. He shook his head. Now he had to pick one to get started.

 

Tim decided to look over each one to make sure it fit what he thought the killer was using. If he could rule one out, he could concentrate on the other.

 

He decided to talk to the doorman first. He should know if there were any woman in the building that fit the description.

 

Tim pulled his badge out and showed it to the man as he walked up. He didn't want the department knowing a patrolman was interfering with an active case, but he needed the edge authority gave him.

 

"What can I do for you, officer?" The doorman looked bored, and solid in his heavy coat and hat. He might be able to handle himself in a fight.

 

The slicer would turn him into a stack of baloney from the way he had done business already.

 

"I'm looking for a brunette, living alone, fairly young, in an apartment above the fifth floor." Tim pulled out his notebook. "No pets either."

 

"Excuse me?" The doorman looked at him with raised eyebrows.

 

"I'm working on a canvas in the apartment killings." Tim frowned. "Do you have anyone that fits that description here?"

 

"I heard about that." The doorman shook his head. "What's the world coming to?"

 

"I don't know." The patrolman wanted to shake the man until he spat out an answer. "Anybody like that here?"

 

"Not that I know of?" The man shook his head. "Most of the people that live here are old people, and couples. We have a couple of small families, but the apartments aren't really that big."

 

"If you see something suspicious, I want you to call the police station." Tim handed him a card. "This guy is dangerous, so be careful."

 

"You don't have to tell me twice." The doorman opened the door for a dowager to leave.

 

Tim headed over to the other building. Maybe he was barking up the wrong tree. He might have put the doorman on alert for nothing.

 

The doorman might be the killer.

 

Tim reached the other apartment building. He looked it over. This could be the place. He didn't see any doorman. That fit with the other buildings.

 

He needed to talk with the super.

 

He checked the mailslots, and went to the door indicated as the manager. He knocked on the door. He felt uneasy in the hall. He wondered why.

 

"Can I help you?" The manager, a short, balding man, opened the door. He was almost too wide to fit through the frame.

 

"I'm doing a canvas of the apartment buildings around here." Tim showed him his badge. "I need to know if you have any single brunettes living above the fifth floor here."

 

"We got two." The super frowned. "Can I see that badge again?"

 

Tim showed him the badge again.

 

"We have two." The super gave him names and apartment numbers.

 

"Are they home?" Tim felt his nerves cranking up.

 

"Miss Carmichael is." The super nodded. "I saw her come in."

 

"Call her and tell her to come down here." Tim put his notebook away. He didn't like this at all.

 

The super retreated from the door. He returned a few minutes later.

 

"The line is dead." He frowned at the thought of having to fix it.

 

Tim ran for the stairs. He muttered his mantra as he went. A dead phone line could mean anything. He wanted to make sure it was the only dead thing around.

 

Ghost Angel emerged from the stairs as Tim took them two at a time.

 

"What's the excitement?" The spirit of vengeance floated after his summoner.

 

"Apartment 6-c." Tim shook his head at the sign that said 3rd Floor as he passed it. "Go now."

 

Ghost Angel spread wings from his black suit and blasted upwards. His flaming sword sprang into existence as he passed through the real world.

 

Tim ran as fast as he could up the stairs. He had to find the culprit if he wanted to stop the killing. He doubted whatever it was had been so precise on purpose. That spoke of a planning mind. That spoke of a killer that worked for someone else.

 

He wanted to meet that person and show him how he felt about killing people in his town.

 

Tim reached the sixth floor and pulled his pistol. He hoped bullets would do something to whatever it was. He ran down to apartment C. There was a bunch of noise in there.

 

He hoped Miss Carmichael was still alive from what was coming through the wood.

 

Tim kicked the door open. He was usually a lot more cautious than this. He took the room in a glance. He didn't see how he could help.

 

Ghost Angel had three flying swords engaged with his own blade. He seemed to be having to make an effort against them to keep from being stabbed. The resident was on the other side of the apartment cowering in fear. Half of the place had been wrecked. The other half was well on the way.

 

Tim charged the room. He shot at the blades as he went as a distraction. He aimed high to keep from hitting the girl. Bullets smashed against the blades as he made it to the woman's side.

 

"Close your eyes." Tim raised his coat as a shield. He didn't want her seeing Ghost Angel's true face.

 

The spirit of vengeance took off his sunglasses. Energy exploded from his eyes. He put the glasses back on. The three swords crumbled away.

 

"I have a scent." He floated through the wall.

 

"It's safe now." Tim dropped his coat. "Are you okay?"

 

"What was that?" Miss Carmichael got to her feet. "Look at my place."

 

"Your super should be able to fix some of this." Tim straightened his sunglasses. "I wouldn't tell anyone what you saw. They'll think you're crazy."

 

"I think I'm crazy." The woman wandered in the middle of the room. "What am I going to do?"

 

"Pack some bags and check into a hotel." The patrolman reloaded his pistol. He put the empty brass in a pocket. "Stay away from here until it's clear for you to come back."

 

"How will I know that?" Miss Carmichael went into her room. She began laying clothes carefully in a bag.

 

"I'll find you and tell you." Tim looked out the window. He realized he could see one of the other murder scenes from where he stood. "First, we need you to be safe until that happens."

 

"What if they come back to finish what they started." She grabbed her bag and walked to the door.

 

"It's my job to make sure that doesn't happen." He ushered her from the room. "I will let you know as soon as things are safe to come back."

 

"I don't even know who you are." She gave him a look.

 

"I'm a policeman."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

16

 

1951-Tim Daschle ran from the building. He had an idea that Ghost Angel would take whoever it was on without him. He didn't know if that was a good idea.

 

At least the latest victim was safe unless they failed taking down her attempted murderer.

 

Tim checked his service pistol. He didn't plan to fail. He also didn't plan to go by the book.

 

He rushed down the street. The spirit of vengeance had spread his black wings and soared through the air. He seemed to be heading for a building in the center of the murder sites.

 

Tim kicked himself. He had canvassed the area after finding the first body. He hadn't seen anything to raise his suspicions about anyone in that particular building. He should have examined it more closely than he had.

 

How could he have missed it for so long?

 

He pulled his badge and brushed past the doorman with a kick to the door. He ran for the stairs. He didn't want to get trapped in an elevator with those flying swords maybe able to show up while he was stuck.

 

Tim ran up the stairs. He had lost sight of G. A. when he hit the front of the building. He had to get up there if he wanted to be any help.

 

They were a good team most of the time. Sometimes Ghost Angel wanted his own way. Sometimes that went well, sometimes it didn't.

 

He didn't want this to be one of those times it didn't go well.

 

Tim paused at each landing to look down the hall. He doubted that Ghost Angel's arrival was stealthy. He tended to announce his presence and start chopping away with that sword of his.

 

He heard the sound of battle at one floor. He walked down the hall, his pistol down by his leg. People were looking out in the hall from their apartment doors.

 

"Go back inside." Tim waved his badge to the nearest before they could ask any questions. "This could be a dangerous situation."

 

He waved people away from their doors as he passed. He paused at the door of the apartment he wanted. Some of the residents seemed unmoved by his warning.

 

"Get inside and out of the way." Tim stepped back to kick the door down. He smashed the door open in one try.

 

He didn't like what he saw.

 

Ghost Angel seemed to have cut his way into the apartment through an outer wall. Three of those swords floated in the air. They seemed to be dueling him. G. A. had several cuts in his suit that said he was on the losing end.

 

The resident of the apartment held a book in his arms. He stood in a drawing on the bare floor. Tim had noted carpet in all the other apartments and seeing that thought the man had pulled the carpet up himself. He had dressed in something like a monk's cassock with the hood pulled up to help hide his face.

 

Tim had been trained to warn someone that he was a policeman and give the suspect fair warning he was about to be shot. He decided that would be a bad idea in this case.

 

He leveled his pistol and fired. One of the swords broke off and knocked the bullets aside to protect their summoner. He saw sparks as the slugs hit the blade.

 

That couldn't be good.

 

Ghost Angel plunged through the opening created by his diversion. He sliced through the drawing with his sword. The summoner caught his arm before he could bring the blade up into attack position.

 

The book slammed the spirit of vengeance in the face. The ghost went down to one knee with the impact. The book came down again before he could raise his free arm to defend himself.

 

Tim reloaded his pistol as the swords circled around to stab Ghost Angel in the back. He snapped the cylinder shut as he rushed forward. One of the swords turned to face him.

 

Daschle pulled his hat off his head as he ran forward. The sword went to stab him in the chest. He covered the point with his hat and ran it down the length of the blade. He pulled the flying weapon after him as he kept going. He fired his revolver.

 

The other two swords tried to block his shots. They were just a bit slow off the mark as they turned from Ghost Angel with wide swings. They managed to block the six bullets for their master.

 

They moved to stab the sudden threat. They left the real threat to get his wind back.

 

Ghost Angel blocked a third swing from the book. He lifted his sunglasses. Energy exploded from his eyes. Tim turned his face away from whatever made that beam blow skulls up from the inside.

 

The summoner staggered but didn't die from the release as Tim expected. He raised his hand to his face. His swords floated in the air without direction.

 

Ghost Angel took the book and stabbed it with his sword. The magic pages burned away under the blade's awful touch.

 

"I can't see." The summoner raised his hands. "What did you do to me?"

 

"I'm surprised you're still alive." Tim looked at the hole in his hat. The swords exploded as soon as the book burned away.

 

"He's blind, Tim." Ghost Angel straightened his suit, erasing the cuts. "He's immune."

 

"What do we do with him?" Tim looked at the mess. "We can't prove he killed those women."

 

"We don't have to prove anything." Ghost Angel sliced through the summoner. "He's going to a lower court."

 

"You don't have to explain this." Tim shook his head. "I can't explain it."

 

"If you don't want to explain it, you should leave before anyone else in your mortal police arrive." Ghost Angel vanished into the floor in a blast of brimstone.

 

"That's easy for you to say." Tim turned and stepped out in the hall. Too many people had seen him. Sooner, or later, he would have to explain what happened. Some of the residents peeked out at him as he stepped in the hall.

 

What could he say to alleviate their fears?

 

"The danger is over." Tim put a smile on. "Detectives will be by to ask you questions. Tell them what you saw."

 

He headed for the elevator. It should be safe to use now. He would have to get another pistol. He couldn't use his service revolver fighting spooks. Someone would tie him to it eventually.

 

If he was lucky, no one would be able to tie him to what had happened in the apartment. He couldn't explain what happened. He couldn't admit that he knew Ghost Angel.

 

The spirit of vengeance had sliced his way across the city.

 

Tim threw his hat in a garbage can as he walked down the street. He could let the Carmichael woman know she was out of danger. That was the least he could do for telling her to move out.

 

Hopefully no one would ask her what he looked like if they tied the two events together.

 

He hoped some luck would go his way. He liked being a policeman, but he knew that what he did on the side was over the line. He had to decide which did he want to do more with the rest of his life.

 

He couldn't flash his badge to any witness at the scene of his next crime.

 

Tim pulled off his tie and coat and headed for the beach. He had to think about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Maybe the waves would give him some insight on what to do.

 

He walked along, ignoring the police cars headed the other way. He pulled off his sunglasses. The job was over. He didn't need them as long as Ghost Angel wasn't around.

 

He walked aimlessly west. He reached the oceanfront and found a bench. He sat down and watched the surf as the sun went down.

 

Stars came out as he wrestled with what he wanted to do. Everything seemed empty to him.

[DusterBoy]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Good work, csyphrett.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

Good work' date=' csyphrett.[/quote']

 

Thanks.

CES

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

17

 

1952- Mike Prescott looked around. He felt out of place among the people he had been asked to join. He wondered what was going on. The representative had arrived at his home and requested his presence.

 

He wore his old uniform out of habit. He didn't expect trouble, but if it showed, he wanted to be able to combat it instantly.

 

He spotted the Arc crossing the room. The younger man didn't look comfortable either. Maybe he was projecting his own edginess on his fellow mystery man.

 

"What's this about?" So he didn't know what was going on either.

 

"I don't know." Prescott kept his eyes moving over the crowd. "Someone from the ministry asked me to be here, so here I am."

 

"Same here." The Arc nodded at reporters near the entrance of the room. "Who called the bloody buzzards?"

 

"Probably the same people who called us up." The older man looked around. "Looks like security is clearing the room for our mysterious guests."

 

Men in black suits appeared at the back of the room. They came forward and took up positions around the dais where speeches would be given. Guests began to sit down in the folding chairs. The masked men retreated to the back of the room to stand out of the way.

 

Prescott spotted a familiar face wandering the room. He frowned. He wondered if this old acquaintance was why he was there.

 

"I'm going to visit for a bit." He started forward. "Keep an eye out for trouble."

 

"No problem, old man." The Arc smiled as he leaned against the wall.

 

"I see you are finally visiting my country." Southern Cross greeted his old enemy. "What's going on?"

 

"I'm providing security for the minister while he is negotiating with your minister." Susano smiled. He wore the same inexpensive suit as the rest of the security detail. "The government doesn't want anything to happen to him while he is on foreign soil."

 

"Who cares about art exchanges enough to kill over it?" Prescott looked around the room.

 

"Who knows?" Susano frowned at the surrounding dignitaries. "I'm only here to make sure that if there is such a person, he doesn't get close to my charge."

 

"I suppose my colleague and I are here for the same reason." Southern Cross indicated the other masked man. "No one said there was any danger."

 

"This is just a precautionary measure." Susano raised his hand slightly. "There are still hard feelings over the war on both sides."

 

"Someone caught wind of something and they didn't bother telling us." Prescott didn't believe he would be recalled just because Susano was present. Someone had been tipped off to something happening at the conference.

 

"There is another operative here." The lord of thunder nodded to a young lady standing with the reporters. "If something happens, she will help us."

 

"Got it." Southern Cross turned to resume his post. "Maybe I'm wrong and nothing will happen."

 

"You must always prepare for what the worst could be whether it comes, or not." Susano bowed before retreating closer to the official he was supposed to be guarding.

 

Prescott walked back to where the Arc waited. The younger hero seemed nervous about something.

 

"What's wrong?" He looked around and didn't see anything out of the ordinary.

 

"There's something in the air." The Arc closed his eyes. "I feel a lot of extra electricity in the air for some reason."

 

"Where is it coming from?" He supposed Susano was gearing up for battle.

 

"I can't tell." The masked man shook his head. "It's a leak from somewhere outside this room."

 

"Find out where it's leaking from in case its actual trouble." Southern Cross swept the room with his eyes again. "If something happens, all of these people will have to be escorted out of here and gotten clear."

 

"I'll snoop around." The Arc started off. A crackling surrounded him as he moved. He cast about like a hound on the scent as he left the conference.

 

Prescott moved to stand by Susano's young lady. She seemed almost a child compared to him. He hoped she was trained at least.

 

"If there is trouble, please try to escort everyone out." He made sure only she could hear his words. "Susano and I will run interference."

 

"Lord Susano." The young woman kept her eyes on the crowd. He approved.

 

"I don't think so." Prescott smiled at her. He went to stand in his spot. He hoped his comrade could rule out his strange feeling as something important. One less worry would relieve some of the burden that had been put on him.

 

At least if things went bad, he knew Susano could slice his way clear with that meat cleaver he used. He wasn't quite sure about the girl, but knew that he had no choice but to trust her.

 

The Are already had a reputation for blasting anything that got in his way with lightning. He approved of that.

 

Figuring out what had happened was for after action reports, not when someone was trying to kill you.

 

He had done the same thing when he had been in action.

 

He heard a rumbling. He looked around. Others were doing the same thing. This was trouble. He waved at the lady as he made his way to the center of the room. He held up a hand. His body glowed with the furnace he contained.

 

"Everyone." Prescott shouted to make himself heard. "Please leave through the exits in an orderly fashion. We want you to make your way outside until we know what's going on."

 

The young lady took some of the people around her in hand. She pointed them to the exit firmly.

 

The security detail joined in. They took their charges by the arm and led them away despite protests.

 

Susano wrote on his face with face paint. He gestured and his sword warped the air as it appeared. He pointed his minister to go with the rest of the detail.

 

Southern Cross clouted a man trying to push people aside with brute force.

 

"Slow and easy, mate." Fire and light burned from Prescott's chest. "No hurry."

 

The man nodded as he rubbed the back of his head from the blow.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

18

 

 

1952-Kyle Bennet sensed electricity coming from below him. That confused him. There was nothing below the hotel. It sat on a solid mass of concrete.

 

And it was coming closer.

 

He didn't like that at all. Electricity should stay in its wires. It shouldn't roam around like a dog.

 

Bennet went back to the conference room. The other agents were ready to fight whatever it was. The moving targets were getting clear.

 

All they needed was the problem to fix.

 

"It's below us." He pointed down with a gloved hand. "It's coming up."

 

"Make sure the perimeter is clear." Southern Cross looked around. "We don't want any casualties."

 

"All right, old man." Bennet turned into lightning and raced around the hotel to make sure everyone was still moving.

 

Getting someone killed in a fight with a monster was not approved by the authorities.

 

"Keep moving." Bennet paused in his flight to warn a man not to stop running like he seemed to be doing.

 

He returned to the conference room in a blast of light. Lightning rolled around him.

 

"Everyone is clear from the looks of things." The Arc paused at the crack running through the floor.

 

"That's marvelous." Southern Cross glowed in his flag suit. "That means we're all alone with the monster."

 

"We're ready." Susano spun his sword in one hand.

 

The woman nodded. She pulled the sleeves of her jacket and shirt up above her elbows, and kicked off her shoes.

 

Bennet wondered what kind of power she possessed. Everyone knew Susano. The lord of storms filled up pages of action reports and newspapers. He didn't recall any mention of a sheila in any of that.

 

He hoped she didn't get killed in what was coming. She was quite the looker. He thought about asking her out after the conference was over.

 

The floor exploded upwards. A triangular head on top of a long neck reached for the ceiling. It focused on the two older men in the room, ignoring the younger agents.

 

"That looks extremely familiar." Southern Cross cut loose with a solar blast as he took to the limited flying space in the room.

 

"It looks like that creature we encountered in the Bay of Tokyo." Susano flung a lightning bolt. "We should try to get it outside before we ruin the hotel."

 

Kyle winced when he saw that neither energy blast did anything to the beast. He could actually see the lightning from Susano's sword deflect down the monster's skin. He doubted his own abilities would help out except as a distraction.

 

He decided he didn't have anything to lose by trying.

 

The Arc raised both of his hands. He called on his power. A bolt of lightning cooked the air as it whipped into the monster. The thing shuddered, but showed no other ill effect from the blast.

 

That wasn't good.

 

It lashed out with a long paw. Bennet threw himself to one side as the limb tried to reduce him to soup. He needed a physical weapon to deal with the thing.

 

The woman came in from the left. Her hand glowed with a blackness that warped the air. She punched the monster in the neck with her hand. Flesh burned away from her touch.

 

The monster turned and opened its mouth. Lightning vomited from its mouth. It planned to extinguish this sudden threat with everything it had.

 

Bennet threw himself in front of the blast. He took the lightning into his body as he rode it across the room until it vanished. Smoke lifted from his skin.

 

"Bugger." Southern Cross punched the thing in the face. He bounced away from the armored skin.

 

Susano passed on the opposite side of where his associate had struck. His sword trailed sparks as he sliced with it. Blood fell on the floor behind him as he kept going.

 

The woman punched the monster's neck again. She hit next to the previous strike. Another sore opened up under her touch. The flesh around the wound stank of rot and decay.

 

Southern Cross blasted the twin wounds caused by her touch. The flesh burned away from the star fire he used. The spine and muscles were clearly visible from the duel assault.

 

"Go for the spine." Lightning forced him to stop giving orders and fly around as the monster took aim at him.

 

Bennet picked himself up from the floor. He didn't have the raw physical power of Southern Cross, or Susano. He did have speed and agility. He also had the ability to draw electricity into his body to boost his own blasting strength.

 

"Get out of the way, girl." The Arc drew in as much energy as he could from what was flying around in the air. He waited as Susano's comrade jumped out of the way. Then he cut loose before the monster could try to hide the wound in its neck.

 

The lightning blasted the spine apart into shards that exited out the other side of the monster's neck. The thing roared before collapsing to the floor. Its eyes glazed over as it tried to breath but slowly suffocated from the wound to its nervous system.

 

They waited for it to die. They could afford the minutes that took as they got their second wind.

 

"Another Vitus?" Susano put his sword away with a flick of his wrist. The metal blade came apart and became nothing.

 

"It would seem so." Southern Cross landed to one side. He seemed not to trust it being dead. "That would explain why we were summoned if someone called and threatened the conference."

 

"No electricity." The Arc shook off the smoke drifting up from his gloved hands. "The sheila did better than the rest of us combined."

 

"I agree." Susano smiled. "You performed excellently, Yamamura."

 

"Thank you, sir." Yamamura bowed.

 

"This takes time and money." Southern Cross shook his head. He looked at the damaged conference room. "We must have angered someone badly to send another of these creatures after us."

 

"I will have the ministry begin searching for anyone capable of this." Susano pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped his warpaint off his face. "I will track them down since you are retired."

 

"Call Colonel Long." The old man gave one more glance at the carcass. "Maybe he can arrange for a burial since he was able to secure the other one."

 

"Where are you going?" Kyle got in front of the exit. "There's a stack of paperwork to file and getting that thing out of here will be a mess."

 

"I'm retired." Southern Cross smiled at him. "I don't have to do that any more."

 

"Sticking me with the mess?" Kyle looked at the monster's head. "That's not cricket."

 

"I don't have to be."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

19

 

 

1952- Mad George Tribolyte extended his mental feelers. He mentally smiled. It felt good to be in his own country after so long. It must be what career sailors felt after being at sea for long years.

 

Mr. Cook carried him in a hatbox. The cardboard gave him protective cover without hindering his psychic ability.

 

He wanted to get a body of his own. Being carried like a child was humiliating.

 

The butler waved at a passing taxi. The black car pulled over to the curb. The driver concentrated on his potential fare with the air of expecting some haughtiness.

 

"I would like to hire your taxi." Mr. Cook checked his watch. "I would like a lift to the train station."

 

"Any other luggage to go with the box?" The driver got out and opened the back door for his customer.

 

"No." Mr. Cook carefully placed the container on the floorboard before climbing into the vehicle.

 

"I'll have you there in two shakes." The driver got back behind the wheel and pulled into traffic.

 

Mad George mentally shrugged. He had only ordered Mr. Cook to get them to his former estate. He hadn't specified how. His servant must be saving his strength for any surprises at the manor.

 

He wanted to get his library. The days of physical confrontations were a memory as long as he remained a furry brain.

 

He also hated to rely on anyone else, and now he was dependent on Mr. Cook for everything.

 

This trip would be impossible for him as a legless blob unless he controlled the brains of people he could use to take him where he wanted to go.

 

That would take more effort than he was willing to put forth if he didn't have to.

 

Tribolyte took the time afforded by the ride to check his defenses and offensive spells in case he needed them. He doubted he would have to fight a magical duel, but you never knew what could happen.

 

He had made that mistake with Dr. Long. He didn't want to repeat it while on a simple errand to his home country.

 

"Here's the station, governor." The driver pulled to the curb in front of the gray building.

 

Mr. Cook paid him before picking up the hatbox. He slid out of the car and headed inside the station.

 

He checked the times on a chalkboard posted next to the stairs to the platforms. He had some time before his train would arrive.

 

He decided to get something to gnaw on while he waited. He didn't foresee being on the train for long. Once he had what his employer wanted, he could pull out the stops to get away.

 

He found a little place not far from the station. He noticed other travelers milling around. They were obvious from the bags that rested wherever the patrons settled. He went to the bar and ordered a beer and some fish.

 

Mr. Cook ate slowly and carefully. He kept one hand on the hatbox. He didn't want anyone looking inside it.

 

At least the master was uncharacteristically silent so he could enjoy his small fare.

 

He checked his watch when he was done. He had some minutes to kill before his train arrived. He decided to walk back to the station via another route to get the most from his temporary freedom.

 

He bought his ticket after a pleasant walk around the neighborhood. He walked to the platform. He noted many from the pub he had just visited. He claimed a spot near a column and stood there to wait. No one could see him from the main doors, and he felt that if trouble happened to show, he could escape using the tracks in front of him.

 

The train rolled into the station a few minutes late. The butler boarded with hatbox in hand. He took a seat in a private cabin and waited for the conveyance to pull out. He looked out the window as the other travelers boarded, or stayed to wait on a train going where they wanted to be. He calculated he would arrive at his destination after the sun had gone down.

 

He smiled. That was perfect for what they had to do.

 

He waited patiently for the iron wheels to carry him to his former home. He wondered how much damage the government had done when they took the place. The master had gambled poorly when he had allied with the enemy.

 

The train rolled to his stop in a few hours. Mr. Cook smiled as he stepped out on the platform. He turned and walked down to the end of the train and crossed the tracks. He started across the fields. He didn't want to herald his arrival for any of the locals to see him and call the police to detain him and his master.

 

Mad George wanted to keep their visit quiet. It was his duty to do that.

 

They reached the border of the estate after a few hours of walking. Tribolyte sent out various probes. A watchman was on duty. It was a simple matter to put him to sleep while they conducted their business.

 

"We can proceed, Mr. Cook." He kept a burning eye out for any who might cross their path to the house.

 

The butler crossed to the servant's entrance. He produced a key and unlocked the door. He stepped inside and headed for the library.

 

He was surprised no one had changed the lock.

 

"They took my books." Mad George seethed inside his camouflage. "They will pay for this."

 

"What about the other material?" Mr. Cook put the hatbox on the desk that dominated the room. He shook his head at the dust everywhere.

 

"It's still where we stored it." A sign wrote on one of the empty shelves. It swung open to reveal another room beyond. "Let's get what we came for and return to our new home."

 

Mr. Cook stepped into the vault, ignoring the chill of the other space. He took several of the tomes off the shelves. They went into a case propped next to the door. The bag would block emanations from the books from other sensitives they might get close to while they were traveling.

 

The point was to avoid trouble until they were ready to carry out any plan they might determine to accomplish their goals.

 

He made sure the bag was secure before leaving the secret closet. Another sign sealed it shut as he adjusted to warmer air.

 

"The watchman is still asleep." Mad George didn't have the face to show the smile his mental voice conveyed.

 

Mr. Cook picked up the hatbox and bag. He retraced his path back to the kitchen. He paused a moment to lock the door behind him before heading back toward the train station.

 

He watched the stars as he passed among the trees. He would try to nap on the train back into the city. Then he would get them passage on a ship. He could sleep fully while they sailed.

 

He knew his master no longer required sleep thanks to his condition.

 

"This went better than I anticipated, Mr. Cook." Tribolyte chortled in his box.

 

"We still have to make it home, sir." The butler knew they were still vulnerable while they were in transit back to their bunker.

 

"Child's play, Mr. Cook. Child's play." The chortle drifted on the night air. "Soon I will have a body again."

 

"I'm sure it will be splendid." Mr. Cook tried not to roll his eyes. That would be a bad move in his opinion.

 

"It will be the best one I can build." Mad George fell silent. "It won't be as good as my natural body. I expect my spelling will suffer until I grow into it."

 

"I'm sure it won't be all that bad." The butler concentrated on the direction he felt the tracks lied. "You'll be ready to rule the world in no time."

 

"Thank you, Mr. Cook."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

1952-Calhoun Gary hadn't planned to work on any more cars, but when a damsel in distress arrived at his garage, he didn't turn her away. He gave her his chair, rolled her car on the rack, and started poking in its innards.

 

"What do you think is wrong with it, Mr. Gary?" She watched him with bright eyes.

 

Gary ran his fingers over everything, feeling the motor. He shook his head. His talent said there was a problem with the alternator. All he needed was a new one, and she could move on.

 

"I don't know yet." He wiped his hands. "It might take a day for me to get the parts when I do know."

 

"How do I get home tonight?" She regarded him with her bright eyes.

 

Gary frowned at her. He had just arrived in town, and got the job as a mechanic. He didn't know anyone, and kept to himself. She was giving him too much attention for the five minutes he had looked her car over.

 

"You want a lift?" He finally asked.

 

"That would be swell of you." She gave him a smile. He squinted at the way the garage seemed to light up.

 

"What's your name and number?" Gary pulled out a pad and pen. "I'll give you a call when I have a better idea how much everything will be."

 

"It's Madeline." She gave him the number.

 

Something slammed on the garage door.

 

"What was that?" The mechanic went to the door, putting the pad and pen in his pocket. He looked outside, paused at the lean man trying to catch his breath. "We're closed for the night."

 

"I need help." The man grabbed Gary's arm with a trembling hand. "They're going to kill me."

 

"That's a real shame." He saw a pair of cars coming down the road. They looked crammed with men. He couldn't afford any trouble. He should turn this guy away and get on with his business. "Come in."

 

He berated himself for not keeping to his cover as he shut the door behind his unexpected visitor.

 

He had arrived in town to keep his head down. He could see that slipping away fast.

 

"You two go over there on the other side of the car." The mechanic shook his head. "We'll see if we can just wait them out."

 

"What did you do?" Madeline shook her own head. "Don't tell me it's a lynching."

 

"That would be a real shame." Gary went to the Coke machine in the corner and got a bottle out of it. He popped the top and took a sip while he waited. It wouldn't be long. He could feel it.

 

"I didn't do anything." The man gave them staring eyes. He looked ready to bolt out the door and start running again. "I just told Mrs. Manson her things were ready at the cleaners."

 

"I guess that wasn't what her husband wanted to hear." Madeline gave him a look of disbelief.

 

Cars slammed to a stop outside the garage. Doors opened as something crashed against the rolldown door. The mechanic finished his drink as he went to the outside door.

 

"You two stay here out of the way while I handle this." He stepped outside in the cool air, enjoying the wind on his face. It felt so much better without bars.

 

"Send that wife humper out here." The roundest, tallest man slammed a two by four in the palm of his hand. "I want to show him what we do to blacks that touch our women."

 

"Really?" Gary tossed his bottle in the drum he used for the trash. He looked the ten men over. None of them had guns. That was good. It meant he didn't have to cut loose. "You're going to have to do that tomorrow somewhere else."

 

"You getting in our way, Gary?" The man strode forward, slapping the stick against the palm of his hand. "We'll deal with you next."

 

"Are you Manson?" He waited for confirmation. "You can beat this guy all you want tomorrow. Right now, I have a customer, and I would like for all of you to clear out while I fix that problem. I'll fix your wife when I'm done with that."

 

Manson swung the board with fury on his face. No one talked to him like that. He would put this goon in the tree right beside the other one. One more piece of rope wouldn't matter that much to him.

 

Gary caught the board with one hand. He swung with the other. The bigger man went down, clutching his face.

 

"Anybody who is still here when I get done counting is going to have this piece of wood put somewhere it shouldn't be put." He spun the board in his hand. "If I see any of you on the street, you better cross to the other side."

 

Gary started counting. A couple of the men grabbed Manson and put him in the back of his car. They all gave him dirty looks. He stood there and waited, ticking off his count on one hand.

 

They pulled out with shouted threats. He gave them the bird while he dropped the stick in the trash. He shook his head at the blood on the ground.

 

He would have to clean that up in the morning.

 

He stepped back in the bay. Madeline grinned like a little girl. The man looked relieved.

 

"I have to move Madeline's car." Gary lowered the rack. "Those idiots will probably try to torch the garage when they get the nerve."

 

"They'll burn my house." The man started sweating again. "I have to warn my family."

 

"The phone's over there." The mechanic pointed to the black box on the wall. He put Madeline's car in neutral and pushed it off of the lifter. He ignored his visitor's frantic talking on the phone as best that he could.

 

"That was heroic." Madeline followed him as he pushed the car out on the gravel in front of his shop.

 

"Being a hero gets you killed." Gary turned the wheel and rolled the car down the street to a little lot for a diner that was closed for the day. She kept step with him as he went. "No one causes me trouble on my own turf."

 

"Robert Manson won't forget what you did." Madeline smiled. "Neither will I."

 

"You better forget." He shook his head as he locked up the car. "You'll get in trouble right along with me."

 

"That would be a real shame." She smiled even wider. "I still need a ride home."

 

"You're looking for trouble." Gary started back to the garage. "I'll give you a lift."

 

"What about the boy?" She kept in step with him as he walked.

 

"What about him?" He shrugged at her bright eyes. "I'll give him a lift home too."

 

"You are such a sweetheart." The world brightened another smidge as she turned her gaze on him.

 

"I'm still charging you full price for fixing your car." Gary made sure none of the roughs were around as he opened the garage door.

 

"Can you help me?" The man had a Coke in his hands. He spilled more than he drank.

 

"Let's go." Gary waved him along. He locked up the garage. He wondered how long he had before Manson and his thugs came back to try to teach him a lesson.

 

They got in the car. Madeline had to take the back much to her chagrin. Gary looked around before he got behind the wheel. How long did he have before he had to do something to break his new identity?

 

He enjoyed being Calhoun Gary. It gave him a chance to live a normal life without anyone knowing what he could do. He should have let Manson have his wife's lover.

 

On the other hand, he hated a bully. Putting one in his place made the world spin a little easier on its axis.

 

"Give me some directions." Rory Hobson started the engine. "The faster I drop you two off, the better I will like it."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

21

1953- They came into the bank with old fashioned tommy guns. A spray of bullets scattered the customers away from the counter.

 

"Get out here and on the floor." The leader of the gang pointed to a spot on the carpet away from any phones, or alarm switches. The ears of his bunny mask flopped around. "I don't want to say it twice."

 

The rest of the gang herded anyone slow on the uptake with drawn weapons. They wore normal half masks and hats to conceal their features.

 

"I don't have all day." The bunny pointed his Chicago typewriter at one woman. She flinched at the threat. "Do I have to kill someone here?"

 

That spurred the rest of the people to gather together. The bunny laughed. He waved at his men. They needed to get the loot together. He could terrify people on his own.

 

The rest of the gang opened the tills and went into the vault. They tossed filled bags next to the counter as they began stripping the bank dry. One of the men pulled out a crowbar to open the safe deposit boxes.

 

"I know you people think that we're just common crooks." The bunny started pacing in front of his captured audience. "You're wrong. When we rob a place, we take everything. That's why we're taking your clothes and belongings with us."

 

"What?" One of the more modest women couldn't help the exclamation.

 

"Don't make me repeat myself." The bunny pointed his machine gun at the speaker. "Get naked right now."

 

The men and women started pulling at their clothes. They knew they were in the presence of a crazy man. They didn't need him spraying bullets into them in anger.

 

"That's better." The robber nodded. "Hand them over."

 

The clothes were piled at his feet. He whistled at one attractive woman. She hung her head as she retreated.

 

"We're done." One of the men looked at the naked crowd. "We're taking their clothes?"

 

"No." The mask turned to look at the minion with hateful pink eyes. "I just like seeing them naked."

 

The henchman rubbed his chin. Why was the room so hot all of sudden?

 

"I'll put them out in the car." He grabbed the pile of apparel and rushed from the bank.

 

"Can you believe what passes for underlings these days?" The bunny shook his head. "I lost my train of thought."

 

"We're nearly done." One of the other men reported from the vault.

 

"Excellent." The leader of the mob checked his watch. "And we're ahead of schedule."

 

The men started loading the bags in a panel truck. It looked like any one of the many delivery trucks plying the roads.

 

"I want all of you people to know that you're lucky this is a good day for me." The leader of the gang was the last man to leave the bank. "That's why you get to live to tell everyone the Evil Bunny is in town and doing business."

 

The Evil Bunny sprayed the rest of the bullets in the tommy gun's drum into the walls. He laughed and turned away.

 

The robbers split up. The Bunny climbed up into the truck's passenger side. Two men rode in the back with the loot. The other four rode in a backup car. The little caravan pulled away from the forlorn institution. None of those customers would bank there again.

 

The Bunny laughed again as the truck rolled toward the highway.

 

"Every cop in the state will be looking for us." The driver pulled off his own mask. "This is asking for trouble, boss."

 

"Don't tell me you're scared, Bubba." The Bunny pulled off his bunny mask. "No cop can stand up to us."

 

"A bunch of cops can stand up to us." The driver looked at his chief. "Not to mention guys like Nightmare are still around."

 

"Are you more scared of Nightmare than you are of me?" The bandit looked at his minion.

 

"No." Bubba knew anything else would get him killed even though the truck was speeding along the highway just below the posted limit.

 

Buddy Keys didn't know the meaning of restraint.

 

"That's using your noggin." The Bunny nodded. "It would be a mistake to be more afraid of anybody else while you're working for me."

 

The driver kept his thoughts to himself. He decided that was the smart thing to do.

 

"We'll hit Miami in the next few days." Keys tapped the dashboard in front of him. "That should make you feel better."

 

"It does." Bubba Smith smiled. That was excellent news. As soon as he got his cut from the jobs, he planned to disappear.

 

Keys was more likely to shoot him than running into the cops at this point. He didn't need the ulcer from watching every move he made. It was better if he took his money and fled.

 

Keys wouldn't forgive him for deserting, but he knew it was in his best interest to run and go into business on his own.

 

He didn't want his obituary to say ‘Gunned down by a bunny head wearing psycho'.

 

Bubba took the next exit and headed for the house they had rented on the edge of the Everglades. The plan was for them to divvy up the loot there, and get ready for the next job.

 

He planned to look for a hole to get away in the middle of the job. He would take the backup car and drive as far away as he could.

 

He hoped to stay far away from Keys after that.

 

The gang rolled to a stop under some trees. They spread out tarpaulins to disguise the vehicles from the air. Helicopters from the nearby Coast Guard and Air Force bases could be used to find them if they weren't careful.

 

They had made sure the house was similarly disguised from any air search.

 

They opened the back of the truck. They formed a fire bucket chain and handed the bags of loot from one man to the next until it was all unloaded and sitting in a pile in the house they had rented. Keys stood to one side and watched everything with a small smile.

 

Things couldn't have gone smoother from his point of view.

 

There was nothing better than frightening and humiliating people. It gave him a sense of power unmatched by any drug. He could terrify someone all day without getting tired. Just to hear whimpering was enough to make him smile.

 

He would have to do something about Bubba. He could smell the betrayal in the other man's veins. He couldn't allow that. The others might try to jump ship too.

 

The next thing you knew, they would have the cops coming to take him back to prison. He was not going back to prison.

 

After this next job, he would have to dump Bubba somewhere no one would ever find him.

 

Maybe he could feed Smith to the alligators. That should be a good show. He might even let his lieutenant try to fight the big lizards.

 

He wondered how long Bubba would last.

 

Keys walked into the house. He needed to split everything up for the men. He might be a ruthless sadist, but it couldn't be said he wasn't fair about rewarding his loyal employees.

 

He sat down at the dining room table. He looked at the big pile from the bank. The men looked on. They expected to be rich out of one robbery. They might have enough for a night out on the town.

 

He started with the money first. Items had to be fenced. That would take a while since they couldn't fence anything close by. The police would be all over them if they did that.

 

A robbery spree meant hitting and moving on. Getting tied down trying to fence valuables said come put me down.

 

Keys put the money in separate piles on the table when he was done counting. He handed the packs out with a smile. He put the jewelry and other things in a chest for later handling.

 

"Get some rest." Keys smiled. "I'm going to scope out tomorrow's target so we can hit it in a couple of days."

 

He walked out to the car. He got in and drove away. He knew they wouldn't try to go anywhere in the truck. Every cop in the state was looking for it.

 

He cleared the swamp's edge and headed into distant Miami. He wanted a bank close to the major arteries so they had a choice of escape routes. He also wanted some place he could clean out in a few minutes.

 

Hit and run was the key to his continued success.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

22

 

1954- Tim Daschle smiled at the gold badge. It had taken a lot of work and dedication, but he had made detective. He didn't have to walk a beat anymore. Now he could sit in an office and answer the phone all day.

 

He laughed at himself.

 

He would be walking a beat just as much, only for different reasons.

 

Tim had been assigned to the Burglary detail. That meant rounds of hitting the pawn shops, taking reports on stolen valuables, hunting down people with records. He expected to wear out just as much shoe leather doing that as he did when he patrolled the streets in his precinct.

 

Burglary wasn't an intensive squad like Murder, or Robbery, but it was the only posting he could get fresh from his detective's exam.

 

In a few years, he might be able to transfer to another squad. Running down pawnshops might lead to some small time collars, but he doubted a good burglar would try to fence his take in town.

 

Tim walked into the squadroom. He looked around. No one seemed interested in him. He needed a place to work. He picked a desk and sat down at it.

 

"I wouldn't sit there." One of the men finally looked at him. "That's Santini's desk."

 

"Is there an empty one I can use?" He looked around the office. "I'm supposed to start today."

 

"Give me a minute." The detective went back to his phone call. He took some notes, and hung up. "Swanson."

 

"Tim Daschle." Tim shook the offered hand. "I just got my assignment from patrol."

 

"Have you talked with the Lieutenant yet?" Swanson stood. He looked around the room. "He should have your partner for the probation period."

 

"I just walked into the building." The new detective shook his head. "The only thing I have is my orders to report to the squad."

 

"Let's introduce you to the Lieutenant." Swanson led the way across the work area. "He'll get you a desk."

 

"Thanks." Tim followed the older policeman to the office set up at one end of the bullpen. He wondered how many burglaries were solved by the squad. He noted an awful lot of paper piled on the desks as they passed.

 

Swanson knocked on the closed office door. He opened it when he heard the command to come in.

 

"New guy is here, Lou." He gave a small smile at the expression hidden from the new recruit.

 

Tim stepped into the office. The wide man behind the desk gave him a look. He wondered what kind of recruit they expected.

 

"Tim Daschle, sir." He didn't offer his hand. It would be refused from the looks of things. "I was ordered to report here."

 

"I'm Lieutenant Kent." The wide man got up. He looked too heavy to move in his new officer's unstated opinion. "Do you know what the ninety day period entails?"

 

"I have ninety days to prove that I can cut it as a detective." Tim kept his expression bland. "If I don't, I can be shipped back to patrol, or fired."

 

"That's exactly right." Kent nodded. "If you want to stay here, you have to close cases. New guys have to close fifty cases in the probationary period. If you don't, you're gone."

 

It was a little harder to keep his expression bland. Fifty cases was two and a half cases a day roughly. Senior partners got all the credit for collars on top of that.

 

"How many cases are open now?" He doubted there were fifty open cases in the city.

 

"Two." Kent smiled at his new man. "Find an empty desk. Get to work."

 

Tim nodded. He didn't have the words. He had words, but he knew they would get him shunted back to patrol if he said them out loud.

 

"You should be able to clear fifty easy with no partner." Swanson pointed to an empty desk.

 

"That doesn't make me feel better." Tim went to the desk. He found its emptiness uncomforting.

 

"You only have to catch the bad guys." Swanson leaned on the desk. "The more cases you can put on one guy, the more you close before your probation runs out."

 

"How many have cleared the limit?" The new detective looked at the veteran.

 

"All of us." Swanson looked around the squadroom.

 

"How many were guilty?" Tim gave him the raised eyebrows of the unbeliever.

 

"Most of them." Swanson gave him a smile. "We'll give you a hand with it."

 

"Thanks." He looked at his desk. He needed a typewriter at least to write up his reports. "What are the two cases that are open?"

 

"Two home entries." Swanson went back to his own desk. "Women were attacked when they found a man rifling their rooms."

 

"Give me all the details." Tim pulled out his notebook. "If I'm going to clear fifty cases, I better get started."

 

"I can do better than that." Swanson pulled on his jacket. "I can show you the scene of the crime."

 

"Let's go." Tim wrote ‘property of tim daschle' on a sheet of paper and propped the paper on the telephone.

 

Swanson led the way out of the building. He had his own notebook out to check for the addresses they would have to visit.

 

"We'll get a car out of the motor pool." Swanson walked down to the garage entrance next to the station house.

 

"Do you think these cases are connected?" Tim followed the other detective into the garage. He watched as his new partner signed out a plain car for them to use.

 

"It would be a strange coincidence otherwise, wouldn't it?" Swanson got behind the wheel. He sent a message to dispatch to let the operator know they were rolling.

 

She gave him the all clear as he pulled out of the garage.

 

Swanson drove over to the address of the first crime. He parked in the street, placing a police sign in the window. He noticed his recruit staring at the building by where they stopped.

 

"Something wrong?" The recruit looked up at the building with a grim expression. Was there some kind of personal history with the place?

 

"There was a murder here when I started as a patrolman." Tim got out of the car. He couldn't tell his new partner about his old one at this point. That would cause too much trouble.

 

"Was it solved?" Swanson knew there were murders all the time in Old Troy. He found the Burglary squad better for his sleep. He had seen enough bodies during the war.

 

"I don't know." He wasn't going to admit that he tracked the killer down and set his angel of death on the man, and then starting shooting.

 

He wanted to serve and protect, not take a free ride to the chair.

 

"I doubt there's a connection." Swanson pulled out his notebook. He made a note. "I'll still call the murder boys and get a copy of their files. You never know. Maybe the guy is returning to the scene of the crime."

 

"That was years ago." Tim paused. "It couldn't be the same guy. The victims never saw him before he killed them."

 

"He might have lost a step." The older detective smiled. "It happens sometimes."

 

"I like a totally unconnected new thief on the scene." The rookie looked the street over. He checked his pad. The other address was in another of the buildings that one of the murders had occurred in. That was too much of a coincidence.

 

Once was a coincidence, twice was an attack.

 

He needed to get his notes. It might be someone duplicating the threat from earlier years. If it was, he might have to call on Ghost Angel once more.

 

He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

 

He had decided to do everything by the book. Resorting to vigilantism was backsliding like a drunk falling off the wagon.

 

He wasn't going to let the killing start again.

 

"Let's go up and look at the scene of the crime." Swanson's words dragged him out of his thoughts.

 

They went into the building, heading for the elevator. Tim hoped it was a copycat following in the footsteps of the wizard he and Ghost Angel had killed. He didn't want to think the man had returned to life after what had happened.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

23

 

1954- Tim went over the reports after they had returned from the crime scenes. He didn't like the fact that the two crimes were on the same floors as the earlier murders. Something was going on.

 

He didn't know what yet. He needed more information.

 

If the burglaries were connected to the earlier murders, he expected the next crime to occur in the next building where a murder had occurred.

 

He decided he needed to stake out that building to make sure. That seemed the fastest way to clear the case.

 

He knew the lieutenant would never authorize it. He would have to act on his own. He looked at his gold badge as he considered his options.

 

It had been nice while he had it.

 

Tim went home and found his patrol notebook from those years. He went through it until he found the addresses of the buildings he wanted. He headed out.

 

He hoped he wasn't making a big mistake.

 

Tim checked the burglary addresses, then the murder addresses. The third burglary should take place in the third murder building.

 

The only problem he saw was how could he find out which apartment would be invaded. He needed to figure out which one fast if he wanted to catch the guy before he slipped away.

 

He checked the addresses again as he entered the apartment building. He compared them to the original murder scenes. The apartments were beside the original crime scenes. He paused when he realized that.

 

Why was he sneaking into the neighbors' places?

 

What could he be after?

 

Tim took the elevator up to the floor he wanted. He walked the hall. He nodded. This felt right to him. His thief would enter the building and come up here to the apartment to get whatever he was after and leave.

 

He needed to get into the apartment legally so he could do his job.

 

He listened at the door first. He heard nothing. He checked his watch. He still had a couple of hours before the perp would show up.

 

That is if he showed up at all that day. His burglaries didn't have a set time to them as far as he could tell.

 

He might not even show up at that apartment at all until last.

 

He would try to watch for the guy once, maybe twice. If the burglar didn't show up, he would ask Swanson for some backup.

 

Tim rousted the manager and explained what he wanted. The man nodded, and let him in the apartment. The detective asked him to stop the tenant in the lobby downstairs. He would tell him/her everything if things didn't pan out.

 

He hoped he wasn't embarrassing himself the first week on the job.

 

Tim took a seat and went over his notes of the cases so far. He used the light from the window to read. He didn't want to chance the burglar seeing his light and skipping. He needed to catch this guy to get a handle on his probationary status.

 

He wondered how much of the fifty case limit was real, and how much was hazing. He didn't want to be sent back to patrol. He already had his eye on a new car. He couldn't afford that on his patrol pay.

 

How were the two chains of crimes connected? He and Ghost Angel had saved the day the last time. The wizard they had cut down hadn't murdered anyone else because of them. Did he have someone trying to follow in his footsteps? What made the apartments targets for burglaries?

 

Could he expect the guy to show up according to plan?

 

That was the first tricky part of his plan.

 

The second tricky part was whether or not the guy was bulletproof. If he was, things could go downhill fast.

 

He had a feeling he should have stocked up on silver bullets before he started chasing his theory.

 

Maybe he was wrong about everything. The burglar might not have any connection to the murders.

 

It could just be a wild coincidence that a pair of burglaries had happened in the same places as two murders. Stranger things had happened in his experience.

 

He just didn't like them.

 

Tim put his notebooks away when it got too dark for him to read. He wanted to know what was in the room that required it being taken. Why was it so important?

 

He heard a noise in the bedroom after a few hours of stillness. He shook off the daze he had fallen into while he had waited. He pulled his pistol as quietly as he could.

 

He wished he had those silver bullets once more.

 

They were great against some of the things he had faced in the past when he called on Ghost Angel all the time for the pettiest of things.

 

Tim eased out of the chair he had sat in at the start of his watch. He crept toward the bedroom with his gun drawn. The movement inside the room seemed to be frantic. He could hear furniture moving in the dark.

 

What was the guy looking to find in there?

 

"Police!" Tim flung open the door. He pushed the light switch up with his free hand.

 

The light blinded both of them for precious seconds. Tim had the advantage of closing his eyes before the brightness hit them. He squinted at the burglar as he pulled his gun on target.

 

The burglar exploded into action. He flung himself for the window with a more than human speed. He smashed the glass out as he dove through recklessly.

 

Tim didn't bother to shoot at the silhouette. He would have wasted bullets trying to hit that blob of darkness.

 

He jumped to the window and peered out. He spotted the thing scaling the wall faster than he could run. He needed to stop it somehow.

 

The lack of a fire escape stymied him from following the burglar.

 

Tim said the words he had told himself never to say again. Black tendrils ripped from the floor to become a black suit and hat. The thing in the suit adjusted his sunglasses with thin fingers.

 

"It's been a long time, Tim." Ghost Angel looked around.

 

"No time to talk." Tim pointed out the window. "A monster is getting away with evidence."

 

The spirit of vengeance flowed out the window with the spreading of his black wings. He soared upwards. The flame of his sword lit the night as he headed after the blob.

 

Tim looked around the room. He didn't think the burglar had broken in and found what he had been looking for before being interrupted. What he wanted had to be in the room.

 

The only thing that looked likely was a piece of black glass that didn't seem to fit the rest of the room. It was in the baseboard in the wall of the apartment closest to the murder room. He dug it out with a pocket knife and put it in an evidence envelope.

 

He needed to check the other apartments that hadn't been burgled yet. Maybe there were black glass in their walls too.

 

He rushed out of the apartment. He needed to catch his perp if he wanted to close the case. Two unsolved cases at the start of his career would hang on him forever.

 

He hit the stairs and ran for the roof. He had to catch up with Ghost Angel and the blob. G.A.'s sword would send the thing to Hell without leaving a trace to take back to the squad room.

 

Tim reached the roof and had to catch his breath as he looked around for the two monsters. He saw them facing off on another building across the street.

 

"I need him alive." He used his hands as a megaphone. He knew the plea might not be answered. Ghost Angel tended to destroy his opponents whenever possible despite reasons to the contrary. "I have to prove he was there in the apartment."

 

"I don't have that capability, Tim." The spirit of vengeance glided after the blob as it skated around the roof to avoid the flame of his sword.

 

"I need it in a bottle." The policeman looked around. He needed to get over there to stop things from going too far. "It hasn't done anything wrong as far as we know."

 

Tim hoped his attack dog didn't see the flaw in that reasoning.

 

The burglar jumped from the roof. It fell like a big drop of jelly and exploded on the sidewalk below. The detective slapped his face.

 

He should have seen that coming.

 

"Get down there and guard the body." Tim pointed at the splat below. "I need that for my boss."

 

"I'm not your servant." Ghost Angel vanished into the roof.

 

The detective shook his head. He had to get down to the street. That was the only way to prove he had seen the burglar in action. He ran for the stairs.

 

He hit the street minutes later. He cursed when he reached where the blob had fallen. It had picked itself up and gotten away while he had been running down from the roof.

 

He should have seen that coming.

 

Tim made a note where the burglar hit the ground. He had to talk to the tenant, file a report, and look at the other addresses on his list. He needed to know if there was black glass in the walls there.

 

He walked back into the building. If he could get the rest of the glass, maybe he could use that as a lure for the blob. He couldn't involve his fellow detectives in such a scheme.

 

They would get killed if they got in the way.

 

Tim went to the manager's apartment. He hated to report a failure, but it was something he had to do.

 

He wished he knew a magician to ask what was so important about black glass.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

24

 

 

1954-Tim Daschle looked at the bits of black glass on his desk. He didn't know what they did. He didn't know why someone wanted them. He didn't know why they were in apartments next to the murders he had investigated as a beat cop.

 

He leaned back in his chair as he considered his problem.

 

He had the things because he had dug them out of the walls once he had figured that was what the blob wanted. It had taken most of the day to find them all. The residents were not pleased by his intrusion into their lives.

 

How could he use the glass to catch his burglar? He doubted the thing would go to the apartment looking for the fake gems. Didn't monsters have some kind of tracking instinct?

 

What would it do if it did break in and find the glass gone?

 

He checked his list of locations, and the time table of the break-ins. He had a chance to confront the thing again if he hurried.

 

He scooped up the glass pieces and checked the loads in his revolver as he left the squadroom. He had a feeling he would need the special bullets.

 

He hurried down to the motor pool. The debate on whether or not he should include the burglary squad stopped when he got behind the wheel of a car. He had to handle this on his own. They wouldn't believe a monster was committing the crimes.

 

He imagined they would try to lock him up in a nut house somewhere. He knew that no judge would accept what he had seen even in the world of superhumans that touched Old Troy every once in a while.

 

Just because someone got turned into a monster from a movie, or could fly, wasn't enough for some people to believe in moving globs of pudding.

 

That would be abusing their view of reality to the extreme.

 

Tim drove as quickly as he could without hitting his lights and siren. He didn't know if the thing would show up. He didn't know anything. He did know one thing he corrected himself as he saw the next building on his list hove into sight.

 

The thing he was after wasn't going to answer any of his questions.

 

He knew brainless when he saw it. This thing was out there to get the gems and get back home. It didn't have anything else in it except get home at all costs.

 

He had to either kill it, or follow it back to its nest. He doubted he could do either successfully on his own. He didn't have enough monster hunting knowledge to kill it despite working with Ghost Angel for years. His body wasn't made to do what his target did.

 

He needed to summon Ghost Angel again. He clenched his teeth at that.

 

He had thought he could avoid dealing with the spirit of vengeance since the incident with the magician. He had made it through his career so far without the murderous thing. He had called him before out of desperation and that hadn't worked out like he had hoped.

 

He supposed that was life getting a laugh at his expense. Nothing ever went the way you wanted.

 

He parked in front of the apartment building. He flashed his badge at the doorman before heading up to the apartment in question. It looked like he was going to have to talk to the tenant again.

 

The first time hadn't been great in his opinion.

 

Tim gave the door his best policeman knock. He might as well be as forward as possible. He might not be a detective much longer the way he was going.

 

"You again?" Miss D'Angelo gave him the eyeball through the crack she left when she opened her door. "You put a hole in my wall the last time you were here."

 

"I just came back to ask if you had noticed anything unusual in the last few hours, Miss D'Angelo." Tim winced at how that sounded. He didn't want to scare her if nothing was going to happen.

 

"What do you mean unusual?" She didn't sound scared. That was good.

 

"Noises in the walls, things moving in your place, maybe a damp place on the carpet." Tim wondered if he was sounding crazy.

 

"There's been nothing like that." She inched the door closed a little more to keep it between him and her.

 

He did sound crazy.

 

"I think an animal has been trained to break into places." Tim tried not to slap himself for such a transparent lie. "I think it got entry through the vents on the last two places it hit."

 

"What kind of animal?" She inched the crack a little thinner.

 

"I have no idea." Tim decided that was close to the truth. What kind of animal was a blob? "The other residents didn't get a look at it before it attacked."

 

"What do you mean attacked?" Miss D'Angelo froze at that. He supposed she didn't like the thought of an animal loose in her place ready to pounce.

 

"It got what it came for and took off before the victims could see it." The detective thought he was getting the hang of telling half of the truth. "I think the black glass I dug out of the wall here had some kind of significance to it. Similar holes were in the other apartments."

 

"You think it's going to come here for that glass?" She thought about that for a second.

 

"I don't know." Tim thought it was more than likely. "I just want you to keep an eye out, watch for it when you're home, lock your valuables up somewhere else."

 

"Can't you do something about it?" She had the door wide open. "I don't want some animal in my place."

 

"The department would never back any search on a hunch." Tim didn't mention that he hadn't talked to his new boss about his hunch. That would stop the conversation cold. "I have to have proof of such a thing. All I have now is two unsolved burglaries."

 

"What can you do besides scare me?" Miss D'Angelo glared at the man in black.

 

"Nothing." Tim shrugged. "I'm sure it's harmless as long as you don't get in its way."

 

"There has to be something you can do." She had her hands on her hips. She loomed over him.

 

Tim took a moment before he said anything. She was taller and little wider than him, a little older, and looked slightly dangerous to his eye. He thought he could put her in cuffs if he had to use force.

 

"If this was a human burglar, we would set up a stakeout." Tim thought that was proper procedure. "Since I don't think anyone will believe me because I am a new detective, I doubt anyone will agree to watch your place in case it shows up. The force can't act without a crime, or evidence of a crime. That's how it works."

 

"So I have to protect myself?" Her voice went up a notch at that. "That's unacceptable."

 

"I suggest that you put something like a bucket in front of the vents." Tim thought a bucket might do. He wasn't sure. "That might hold it if it does break in."

 

"You have got to be kidding me." Miss D'Angelo loomed more. "I want you to do it."

 

"I would need permission for something like that." He covered his face by rubbing his chin. "And I doubt I would get it."

 

"I don't care if you can get permission, or not." She turned to go back into her apartment. "Catch it, whatever it is."

 

"Can I use your phone?" Tim needed help. He knew Ghost Angel would give him some lip if he was called. He needed more mundane hands to help him out.

 

Swanson would have to do.

 

He would have to tell a version of the truth that convinced the detective he had a solid lead while leaving out all mention of the other life he had thought he had left behind.

 

Ghost Angel had chopped too many ordinary criminals with the other things they had encountered to be trusted by the police.

 

Pointing the spirit of vengeance made Tim just as guilty of murder as if he had used the fiery blade himself.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

25

1954-Tim Daschle looked at his traps. He hoped he was right about the glass. If he wasn't, he faced being thrown off his squad, maybe a disciplinary review, and firing.

 

He needed to catch that blob. It was his only real piece of evidence. If he had it, he could try to figure out what was going on with it.

 

Could he catch it?

 

Tim had set open jars underneath the vents. He hoped the thing would come out of the air conditioning and fall into one of the jars. The lid would fall down on top and seal it in. He had set bells to give him the alarm when one of the tops dropped.

 

He cut the lights and made sure his light was working. He only had this one chance. If he blew it, he could kiss any career good-bye.

 

He might as well use Ghost Angel to rob the syndicate.

 

Tim sat down in a chair close to the bedroom door without actually being in it. He knew from the prior cases that the thing wasn't afraid of violating a place with a human in it. A human probably couldn't hurt it without some kind of monster killing gear.

 

He waited in the dark, listening to the place with eyes closed.

 

His biggest fear was the thing would drop from the vent and not fall into the trap. If that happened, he was back to square one except he had the black glasses from the other apartments.

 

Maybe he could set another trap with the glass shards as bait. Would it fall for the same thing twice? How much did it want the things?

 

That was the key as far as Tim was concerned. How much did it want the things, and what would it do to get them?

 

It hadn't hurt anyone yet. Would it kill to get the glass back for whomever sent it? Who had sent it?

 

That seemed the big question. He didn't see a blob as a mastermind. Who was really behind the break-ins? Why did he want the shards?

 

Tim wondered if it had something to do with the killer he had killed when he had been on a beat. It seemed too much of a coincidence that the apartments with the glass were in the same buildings as the killings.

 

Could the man have survived? Tim hoped not.

 

Something squished in the other room. He opened his eyes. This had to be it. He got to his feet. He readied himself to charge into the room and make sure the trap had caught his monster.

 

The lid slammed shut with the clanging of a bell. Tim turned on his flashlight as he rushed into the room. He spotted the closed jar immediately. He rushed over and held the lid down to keep the thing inside. The container shook as the beast fought to escape.

 

Tim smiled as he wrapped the lid down to the bottle's mouth with tape. He went over to the light switch and lit the room up. His blob threw itself against the glass sides.

 

"Don't worry." He placed the jar in a small safe. "I have just the place for you."

 

He closed the lid on the safe with a smile. That should hold it until he got an expert to look at it. They could tell him how to kill it.

 

The only drawback he could see was convincing the others that what he had was his burglar.

 

Maybe he could claim it was some kind of exotic animal trained to retrieve things for the real burglar.

 

Would they believe that?

 

Tim looked around the room. None of the other traps had been sprung. He hoped that only one of the things was wondering around.

 

He decided to lock the safe up in his car. He needed to pack the rest of the jars and the other equipment. Then he could show the boys in the squad what he had captured.

 

He put the safe in the truck of his car. The box of jars joined it in a matter of minutes. He needed to call the resident and give her the all clear so she could come home. He would do that when he got his prize back to the squadroom.

 

He wondered what the blob was. Why did it want the black glass? Was it safe in the safe?

 

He kept having thoughts that it had broken out of the jar and then oozed through the safe. He pushed the feelings aside. He couldn't stop the car and check the trunk every few minutes because he was worried.

 

It would either be in the safe when he got back to headquarters, or not. He couldn't control that. He had the glass shards. If it wanted them, it would have to come after him too.

 

He still had Ghost Angel as a back up if that happened.

 

He had kept his word about using the spirit of vengeance for years. As soon as he faced something strange, he had broken his vow without a thought. What did that say about him?

 

He hoped it meant he would rather live than be killed by a ball of black snot.

 

Tim pulled into the garage and parked the car. He got out and pulled the safe out of the trunk. He carried it to the elevator and rode up to Burglary's floor. He deposited the heavy box on his desk with a thump.

 

"What's that?" Swanson gave the safe a set of raised eyebrows.

 

"Hopefully, it's the burglar from the first two cases you guys gave me." Tim crossed his fingers. He opened the safe. The jar was still full of angry monster.

 

"What the crap is that?" Swanson leaned back from the shaking bottle.

 

"This is your burglar." Tim grinned. "Two cases closed. I only have forty-eight more to go."

 

"Where's your evidence?" The senior detective lit a cigarette as he looked at the thing.

 

"That's exactly what I was thinking, rookie." The lieutenant had emerged from his office and had joined the gathering crowd around Tim's desk. "How do we know you're right?"

 

"All I got is circumstantial." Tim pulled out his notebook. He flipped through the pages. "I don't how well it would stand up in court."

 

"Lay it out, rookie." The lieutenant waved a hand.

 

"I checked over the evidence photos given to me by Detective Swanson. I discovered that there were recent holes in the walls. I checked the addresses. I remembered the apartment buildings from an old case I helped with when I was a beat cop. I went around and checked other apartments in the area. I found these at each one." Tim produced the envelopes he had put the shards in. The jar started going crazy. Everyone stepped back. Swanson drew his pistol.

 

"I ran into this thing at one of the apartments and couldn't catch it. So I went around to one of the apartments that should have been next on the list and asked the lady if I could set a trap for it. And I did."

 

"This thing doesn't seem smart enough to have what we call a motive, rookie." The lieutenant eyed the captured beast.

 

"I figure there's a brain behind this thing." Tim put the glass away. "I just don't know how we can get to him."

 

"Case is closed when you get that guy." The lieutenant started back to his office. "Figure something out."

 

"Good work, kid." Swanson put his pistol on his desk. "How are you going to get the brain?"

 

"Heck if I know."

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

26

 

1954- The Burglary Squad gathered around their newest member and his visitor. The jar on the rookie's desk vibrated as they talked about options. The problem was how to execute the basic idea they had of letting the beast go and following it back to its lair.

 

"I have some basic equipment in my car, Tim." Doctor Algernon Shadow still moved with customary grace and power even if he had celebrated his fifty-fifth birthday recently. "I am sure we can find what this thing is made of and use that as a guide."

 

"This thing moves like water." Tim held the jar down. "Once it's gone, it's gone."

 

"I don't know if a conventional tracking system would work on its body." Doc Shadow maintained his wooden face. "That's why I am going to have to examine it so I can see what will work."

 

"We can use an interrogation room." Swanson pointed to a room in the corner. "That will keep that thing in one place while you look it over."

 

"Let's do this before I lose my nerve." Tim picked up the jar.

 

"I'll get my cases." Doc started for the door. A small mob followed at a distance.

 

"How do you know Doc Shadow?" Swanson watched the crowd leaving with a half-smile.

 

"I met him once when I was a kid." Tim carried the jar into the interrogation room. "I didn't really think he would remember me."

 

Tim thought that was a good explanation for the few days they had chased after some Nazis trying to rule the world with something from another planet. Swanson didn't need to know about the death and destruction that had taken place during that time.

 

"Do you think he'll be able to figure this thing out?" Swanson made sure to stand in a part of the room that the evidence couldn't easily reach him if it escaped.

 

"No one else has." Tim set the jar on the table near the middle. Suspects sat on one side of the table, detectives on the other. That seemed fitting. "I've got nothing to lose by asking Doc Shadow to look at it."

 

The jar quit moving as soon as he stepped away from it. He knew it was responding to the shards he still carried in his jacket. They were his only real proof. He didn't plan to let some evidence clerk lose the shards before he had his brain in cuffs.

 

Tracking the jelly monster back to its lair seemed to be the only way to do that.

 

Tim went over their theories in his mind as he waited. The brain wanted whatever was in the glasses. The monster was his messenger to get them back. He was waiting on his monster to get back with whatever he needed.

 

That assumed a brain existed for them to hunt.

 

The other theory was the monster was acting on its own, had no clue what it was after except as food, and the lair would be empty of anything but similar black glass diamonds.

 

Either one had to be proven so he could close the case. Then he could pick up the next few that needed his attention.

 

Doc Shadow agreeing to look at the jelly baby had been a stroke of luck. None of the scientists in the local universities could figure the thing out. That prompted Tim to track the man of mystery down and ask for help.

 

That Doc had remembered him after all these years had been a surprise. That he had arrived in a few hours, not so much. The adventurer had always moved fast from Tim's perspective.

 

The crowd returned a few minutes later. Doc had two cases in his hands. He put them on the floor.

 

"You men might want to wait outside and watch through the glass in case something goes wrong." He waved the other detectives out. "We don't know how dangerous this thing could be if gets desperate."

 

The detectives retreated reluctantly so he could begin his examination.

 

"I have a case to put it in so we can take samples." Doc put one of his cases on the table and opened it. "We need to know how to handle it before we can tag it and set it loose like you propose."

 

"You're the expert." Tim shrugged. "How do you want to handle this?"

 

"Let's get a look at it." Doc assembled a transparent box and placed it on the table. He turned the jar over and pulled the lid off so gravity would help him. The jelly tried to flow away from the trap, but he shook it into the box before it could stop him. He closed the lid of the box and sealed it.

 

He said nothing as he watched it move around its new home.

 

"What do you think, Doc?" Tim hoped the adventurer had an opinion that would make this worthwhile.

 

"A mechanical tracker won't work." He slipped a syringe into the box through a sealed opening and stabbed the jelly baby. He took a sample and pulled the needle out. "There's nothing to hold it in place."

 

He pulled out a stand and put the sample on that while he assembled a microscope to take a closer look at it. He frowned as the sample refused to be put in a dish to be checked under the magnifying lens. He finally placed a drop on the dish and took a quick look before sealing the dish.

 

"I think I have something that will work." Doc placed the needle back in the box and pushed the plunger. His sample and the bigger monster combined as they watched. "It depends on whether the chemical will stick to its skin, or not."

 

"We can use that to track it?" Swanson stood with one hand on his pistol. He had edged as far away as he could from the experiment.

 

"Yes." The man of mystery looked at the dish. The sample in that moved toward the bigger monster as he watched. "I believe we can track the monster on release."

 

"What do you need for this?" Tim frowned at the monster pressing up to the glass on his side of the box.

 

"I'll have to spray it down with the chemical." Doc placed the dish in his pocket. "The rest depends on what it does after we let it go."

 

"We'll have to give it the shards." Tim knew he would risk everything on whether, or not, the thing would go home after it had what it wanted.

 

What happened then?

 

"If that's what it's after." Doc nodded.

 

"When can we start?" The detective hated to be stuck with that kind of choice. He didn't see any other way to handle things.

 

"It'll take me a few minutes to put things together." The man of mystery indicated the other case. "We should arrange for air travel and an open space to release the thing."

 

"I'll call the airport and see if we can get a helicopter we can use." Swanson edged around the table to the door. "Will this thing attack anybody if we let it loose?"

 

"I don't know." Doc studied the blob. "I doubt it."

 

"It won't attack anybody once it has what it wants." Tim shook his head at the question. "What happens after it gets back to wherever it goes might be a different story."

 

"This does have the earmarks of another mad man." Doc went to his other case. He pulled out a miniature lab and started mixing ingredients.

 

"Exactly." Tim went to the door and closed it. The other detectives still watched through the window. "This might tie in to another open case I helped work as a patrolman. The apartments with the glass were next to the apartments where murders had been committed years ago."

 

"There could be a link." The scientist put the finished mix in a sprayer. He pulled out an instrument that buzzed next to the sprayer. "Let's see if this works like it should."

 

He inserted the end of the sprayer into the box using the same opening as the needle. He pressed the trigger. The resulting cloud covered the jelly baby with green. He pulled out the sprayer. Everything went into the box to be stored until he could clean it later. He sealed the box to block the residue from the instrument. He put that next to the monster.

 

It buzzed to let him know it was working.

 

"We should carry this to the airport so we can release it there once we have a helicopter we can use." Doc closed the other case.

 

"This thing can go through narrow spaces like anything." Tim handed over the envelope with the shards and picked up the container. "We won't be able to stop it once it goes."

 

"I have some things in the car we can use if things come to that." Doc picked up the cases.

 

"What happens if we lose it?" The two men left the room.

 

"Then we lose." Doc nodded as the monster turned to follow him around as he walked.

 

He didn't plan to lose. That wasn't how he did things.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

27

 

1954-Tim Daschle watched the ground roll by below his helicopter. Doc Shadow sat on the other side of the passenger bay. His detector was in his hands. He spoke with the pilot several times using the microphone and headset he had been given.

 

Tim wondered where the blob was going.

 

It had headed south as soon as they had turned it loose. How far did it plan to travel now that it had what it wanted from the glass shards?

 

He hoped it stopped before it left the county. He couldn't imagine how he would explain this to officers in other jurisdictions.

 

"It's pausing." Doc Shadow indicated the detector. "It might have reached its destination."

 

"We'll have to land to get close." Tim didn't see a spot that could be used.

 

"We'll want a spot that's close enough to walk back, and far enough not to draw suspicion." Doc said a few things to the pilot. "Our enemy might be suspicious as soon as he notices the marker dye on our mole."

 

Tim checked the load on his pistol. He frowned at the thought they were getting ready to beard some unknown villain in his lair over a string of burglaries.

 

This could get them killed if they weren't careful enough.

 

He missed not having the rest of the people from that long ago trip with them.

 

The helicopter dropped down as Tim watched the buildings become more than blocks. The pilot touched down gently in a parking lot for a grocery store. Doc Shadow dropped out his door before the blades stopped spinning overhead.

 

The policeman stepped out when he was sure his head wasn't going to come off.

 

Doc started across the lot, detector beeping out directions as he swung it. Tim ran to catch up. The older man had always been faster, and that much hadn't changed over the years.

 

"This way." Shadow pointed to a row of houses. He jogged down an alley between two of them. He paused as his machine gave him a steady tone. "We have to go down."

 

Tim looked around. He went to a manhole cover. He yanked it out of the way with a grunt. Darkness faded under the late afternoon sun.

 

"It always has to be some kind of cave." Tim pulled out the light he used when he was a patrolman.

 

Doc climbed down into the tunnel. He wore a set of goggles hooked to a thin battery on his belt. He pulled out the old pistol he had modified at the start of his career at the bottom.

 

He started down the tunnel silently.

 

Tim followed a few seconds later. He frowned at the old stone work in the walls. He knew Old Troy had a series of tunnels under the city. He hadn't thought it had spread this far south from the city proper.

 

Doc had faded out of sight in the few seconds it had taken him to get his bearings at the bottom of the ladder.

 

Tim flipped on his light, cupping his hand over the beam. He just wanted enough light to see by without blinding his companion. He walked along as silently as possible. There was no telling what was in the tunnel with him.

 

He paused at a cross tunnel. He listened. Doc was moving quieter than he ever could.

 

He turned left.

 

He should have asked for another detector of his own. Then he wouldn't be walking along, feeling lost in the dark. How many tunnels were under the city?

 

"This way." Doc's voice hissed in the darkness. "Cut off that light."

 

Tim put the flash in his coat pocket. He paused. He couldn't see Doc.

 

A hand took his arm and led him along the tunnel. He walked slowly to avoid tripping on something blocking the floor in the dark. He had a feeling that could be disastrous.

 

A glow lit up the tunnel ahead after a few steps. He squinted at the light. It didn't look like regular light that he was used to seeing above.

 

He pulled his pistol in case he needed it. He had a feeling that his mastermind wouldn't want to explain things. That would be too mundane.

 

They crept forward to get a good look into the chamber emitting the glow. Tim frowned at what he saw. He should have expected it, but hadn't.

 

Slime flowed in a moat around a central platform. A stone table sat on that. Their jelly baby had flowed through the moat and out the other side. It dropped the glass shards on the table.

 

The slime rushed toward the fragments. As soon as it touched the black diamonds, it began to take on a more human appearance. A hand emerged from the goop as the first thing to look almost human.

 

"What is going on?" Tim remembered to whisper at the last second.

 

"It looks like he is building a body for himself." Doc Shadow didn't need to whisper. His voice was as loud as he wanted it to be.

 

"How do we stop it?" The policeman didn't think his pistol was going to be much help with moving jelly.

 

"You're going to have to call Ghost Angel and turn him loose on it." The man of adventure pointed his pistol at the mess. "He's the only one who can do anything about this."

 

"We're not getting along lately." Tim frowned. "I don't think he'll help us."

 

"You have to try." Doc watched the mass as it sculpted itself. "I don't think the loads I'm carrying will do much better."

 

Tim said the mantra to summon his ally once more from his home. The spirit of vengeance slid out of the floor. His wings folded into his dark suit. He glared at the doctor when he spotted him.

 

"Why the summons?" Ghost Angel stepped to the doorway. "I see. I thought I killed this guy already."

 

"Can you stop what's going on?" Doc didn't seem concerned about the answer.

 

"Why should I?" Ghost Angel floated into the room. He smiled as the slime danced in front of him.

 

Shadow glanced at Tim. The policeman shrugged.

 

The body coalesced from the slime. The wizard stood on the table and looked around. He moved as if testing his body for problems.

 

"Look over here, stupid." Ghost Angel had one hand on his sunglasses.

 

The new man glanced at the sound of the strange voice in his resurrection chamber. He saw two glowing views of a place he didn't want to visit. His molded body exploded from the pressure.

 

Ghost Angel replaced his glasses as he inspected where the wizard stood. The slime dried swiftly without something to direct it.

 

"See you." Ghost Angel descended into the floor.

 

"How am I going to explain this?" Tim stepped into the chamber. The gunk flaked away like dry scabbing.

 

"I'll vouch for anything in your report." Doc Shadow pulled out the specimen dish. The sample shifted around the bottom of the thing in a scattering of dust.

 

"I would like to leave out Ghost Angel." The detective switched on his flashlight. The glow from the chamber sputtered around him as he walked out of the place and toward the exit to the surface. "The department wouldn't understand."

 

"Your secret is safe with me." The man of adventure lifted his goggles and took the lead back to the ladder they had descended. "What do you plan to do about Ghost Angel?"

 

"I don't know." Tim smiled when he saw the ladder. "I'm trying not to call him at all."

 

"If you need help, just call." Doc started up the ladder. "I know some people."

 

"I'm going to try abstinence and see how that goes." Tim turned at some noise he thought he heard. Nothing moved in the tunnel. He started up the ladder.

[csyphrett]

Re: Generations of Strangers

 

28

1955-Rory Hobson had been Calhoun Gary for three years. He looked at the calender on the wall and paused as he remembered his other life. The time had gone by in a flash.

 

The time in prison, and his years under an alias, had taught him some things. He supposed he should thank Patriot when he saw him again.

 

He wondered what had happened to his old enemy. The masked man had vanished off the face of the earth during the war. Prison had left him nothing to do but read, and the papers had not said anything about the masked man in a long time.

 

He turned back to his latest job. They were making cars more complicated every year, but his sense and constant reading was allowing him to keep up. Most of his time was waiting on parts from the dealers around town.

 

"There you are." He looked up at his visitor. He smiled slightly.

 

"Hello, Maddie." He wiped his hands off with a rag. "How's things?"

 

"I'm waiting on you to get done." Madeline Finch smiled. The world grew brighter with that.

 

"Something going on?" Rory smiled as he went back to work. This was their anniversary. Madeline wouldn't forget that.

 

"You're such a tease." She walked around to the other side of the car. "I already have everything planned."

 

"I'm almost done." He took a screwdriver and ran the screws in their threads. "I'll have to make sure it runs, then we can leave."

 

"Go ahead." She waved nonchalantly. "I can wait five minutes."

 

Rory got behind the wheel. He turned the key. He listened to the motor hum. He nodded. He rolled the car off the rack and out of the garage. He frowned at the paint splashed on the walls of the shop. He glanced to see if anyone was looking. Then he erased the slurs with his third eye.

 

He wiped his hands again as he walked back inside the garage. Madeline's smile made it worth it not digging out his old suit and inflicting some grievous harm on the local yokels.

 

It would be so easy to let his third eye rip someone apart as an object lesson. It would be too easy. And he was retired with a new life, and someone he loved.

 

The minor vandalism was the price he paid for punching Manson in the face. He could stand it as long as they didn't do anything really bad.

 

He had already broken cover once. He had kept things down in the intervening years. Madeline had made it worth it. If paint was the worst they did, he would live with it until they got tired of the game. If they decided to escalate into something worse, he was ready to meet them.

 

He didn't know what they expected him to do. He certainly wasn't going to break under their petty harassment.

 

Prison had hardened his heart too much for that.

 

"What's wrong?" Madeline came out and joined him. She glanced at the wall. "I could have sworn there was something painted on the wall."

 

"I was just thinking about these mysterious plans of yours." Rory smiled. "They wouldn't involve a steak, would they?"

 

"Maybe." She smiled. The mystery of the vanishing words might be there, but it wasn't the most important thing in her mind. "Maybe some other things too."

 

"Really?" He closed up the shop after dropping the key to the car in the safe kept for that. "I can't wait to see what the other things are."

 

"Patience." Madeline locked the bay doors down before joining him in the office section of the place. She watched him make out the bill for the car he had just finished and post it on the pegboard behind the counter.

 

"Ready?" He joined her by the door.

 

"I sure am." Madeline waited for him to lock up before taking his arm. "We have to get you cleaned up, then we'll head over to Bridgeton for dinner and a show."

 

"Not a dreaded show." He covered his laugh with his hand.

 

"Yes, a dreaded show." She tugged on his arm. "Then we'll go back to my place so I can show you some of the things I bought from the Sears catalogue."

 

"I have something to give you first." He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small box. He handed it over.

 

Shaking hands opened the box. A small squeal of happiness escaped her. She pulled out a glittering ring and put it on.

 

"This is so much better than what I had planned." She hugged him furiously.

 

"I wouldn't say that." He hugged her back. "What did you get from Sears?"

 

"I'll have to show you." Madeline smiled at him. "Come on. They won't hold our reservations forever."

 

The rest of the night passed in a blur. Rory woke up the next day, glad that he hadn't passed away in his sleep. Madeline slept by his side. He kissed her on the cheek, before getting out of bed. He still had to get to work.

 

He left a note in her hand. He locked up the house and headed over to the shop. He whistled as he walked down the sidewalk.

 

He paused when he saw someone in the front of his shop. That person had a can of paint and a brush.

 

The day couldn't get better.

 

He walked up behind the vandal. Some kid on the way to school with too much time on his hands was what he decided. He stood silently behind the boy.

 

He shook his head.

 

"That word is spelled with two ‘g's. The other one has a c in it." He pointed out the places where the letters go.

 

The boy dropped the brush and started running. A hand grabbed his neck and suddenly he was looking at his writing much too close to read all of it.

 

"Kiss the wall." Rory stepped back and picked up the paint can. "I have one question for you."

 

"What?" The boy started to turn.

 

"Don't look at me." Rory pointed. "What will your parents say when you come home covered in paint?"

 

"I'm sorry." The boy shook his head. "I'm sorry."

 

"A great man shows mercy." Rory hefted the paint can. "Do you think I'm a great man?"

 

"Yes. You're the greatest." The boy hid his face. "You're the greatest."

 

"I'm not." He poured the paint on the boy. "Don't let me see you around here again. The next time will be bad for you."

 

The boy ran off. Paint trailed him as he went.

 

Rory picked up the abandoned school books and took them in the shop. He put them out of the way as he opened up.

 

How long did he have before the parents arrive to talk to him? Would the boy even involve his parents? Did they know what he had been doing?

 

Rory shook his head. He would have to wait before cleaning up the mess. He didn't want to get caught cleaning it up before the elder vandals arrived to discuss the nature of his retaliation.

 

"Mr. Gary?" Mrs. Whitlock poked her head in the door. "Is my car ready?"

 

"I have to make sure no one did anything to it, Mrs. Whitlock." Rory smiled at her. "Give me a second."

 

Rory checked Mrs. Whitlock's car for any sabotage. He nodded when he was satisfied that it was safe to drive. He handed her the bill and the key.

 

"I'll have Jasper send you a check, Mr. Gary." The older lady got behind the wheel. "Are you painting the outside of your garage?"

 

"Some kid spilled some paint." Rory smiled as he waved at her.

 

"Take care, Mr. Gary." Mrs. Whitlock pulled away with slow grace.

 

Rory wondered what was on the docket to be done today. He wondered if he could finish everything in record time.

 

True love was a bad influence.