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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:25:45 GMT -5
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:27:32 GMT -5
The Question Quarterly Issue 2: "The Death of Vic Sage, Part Two (of Two)" Written by House Of Mystery Additional Material by Ramon Villalobos Cover by Scott Kruger Edited by David Charlton
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:29:52 GMT -5
Chapter One: Unthinking and Unknowing, the realms of The QuestionThe Before...There are doors I haven't opened... And windows I have yet to look through... Going forward may not be the answer... Maybe I should go back… You can never go back. Victor Sage has learnt this. He lies in Professor Rodor’s guest bedroom, his wound reset and cleaned. He still feels drowsy, disjointed from the reality, and he doesn’t much mind. He tries to raise his hand but his body won’t respond. His head jerks up, his body shaking, his face going red at the fact he can’t move his limbs. His body shaking more and more, sweat starting to pour down his face, he grits his teeth, tries again, and moves a finger, tears near streaming down his face. He lost control. He lost control of the one thing he could always hold onto. He collapses down on the bed, shaking. You can never go back. “You were drugged. Injected with a compound that made you highly susceptible to suggestion. Sexual and… Otherwise.” Professor Rodor, with his grey hair and stubble, shakes his head as he speaks. “You were drugged. I know how that must make you feel.” Vic looks up with red eyes, and then looks back down, sighing slightly. “Like crap.” Rodor laughs for a moment, and then looks at his young friend. “Exactly. Heh. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. You’re still weak from your wounds opening, but if you rest for a while, they’ll be fine.” “No.” Vic closes his eyes and thinks for a moment, then looks up. “No.” Rodor looks up, confused. “No? What do you mean, ‘no’?” Vic tries to stands, but stumbles onto the bed side table, his eyes darkening. “Something’s gone wrong… Something bad has happened…” “What do you mean?” “I don’t rightly know…” He shakes his head, confused at his own words. Rodor smiles slightly, uncomfortable with the conversation. “Nothing’s happened Charles… Vic…” A sound like water freezing and cracking fills Vic’s ears, and then he feels something inside him snap. Something oozing it’s way out of his being… Snap. Three times lucky. Something is happening in the Hub, something deep into The Question, something that deserves his attention, his meticulous investigation, and his paranoid views on… Everything. Something new emerges from Charles Szasz, a thing that hasn’t seen the light of day for weeks, months, years and decades. New personalities emerging as Vic’s mind fractures and falls into the depths of schizophrenia. A personality who sees in black and white. Right is right, A is A and wrong will be punished. Someone alike to The Question in being, but in spirit, changed and different to react to different situations. Another, one who sees in changing shapes and in a simple view of life. Beware this one, for if this man emerges, there will be blood and death because once unleashed, he shall never be banished into the depths of Charles sanity. Tick, tock, tick, tock… Something is happening… Vic remembers reading the documents that he stole from Steel Hand. Schematics of a device in a language that didn’t make sense. It was some kind of drill, but not in any design he knew of. A small pod of sorts, with a drill tip that protruded… It was insane. It didn’t make sense. What was Steel Hand planning?
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:31:17 GMT -5
Chapter Two: Betwixt her Getaway Sticks…
“Hrnn…”
“You sound constipated.”
He looks up and stares at the woman, who has a wry smile across her lips. “Thanks N’omi. I value your opinion, genuinely I do…” He looks down at the files and then back up, frowning. “But I’m not constipated. I’m thinking. There’s a difference.”
Naomi laughs loudly, and then passes another folder to the detective. “Autopsy report from the coroner. Some interesting stuff. Metallic fragments in the chest wounds, large bruises, and the only thing that Mitchell can think of that caused them is… An anvil…” Miller looks up with a smile on his face.
“Oh wow. This is… You know what this might mean?” Naomi looks down at the detective, and her eyes light up.
“What?”
“We’re looking for a guy with anvils for hands. Duh.” Miller scratches his head and stubble covered chin, and then stands up. “Want to get a drink?”
Naomi shrugs and places her hands on her tilted hips. “Why not?”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:31:45 GMT -5
Journal Entry. Subject: ‘The Question’… What kind of name is that for a vigilante/ justice seeker/ masked hero? ‘The Question’… Hmm. I’ve had experience with super powered heroes and villains, the brightly clad ones that have monthly battles across the rooftops, the ones who strike without warning and then hide out for months on end, no clues to where they are, but this guy, ‘The Question’… He strikes without warning… Well, if you think through his motives, like I’ve spent many a night… He has motive, a method to his immense madness…I know heroes. I know villains. They’re my life, my calling. I’ve been doing this over half my life and I’ve got my fair share of scars to show for it. I’ve taken leave of my job for a couple of months, packed my equipment and gone underground. Last my friends saw of me I was in Metropolis, helping out with some kind of DEO incident that’s not for the eyes of the grunts. I took my leave right then and there, handed in my notice to the Director, and vanished off the face of the Earth… A trait that this new character shares with me. Better get back to work so I can track this bastard down. I know who you are. Play nice. End entry.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:32:45 GMT -5
“I’m glad you made it in such short time.” Steel Hand smiles to the man in the shadows, and awaits an answer.
“A simple task in my present state.” The man talks in a metallic drawl, his voice fuzzy and distorted. “I can be anywhere in moments. All I need is a phone line and one of my empty shells that are positioned in all the major countries of the world. I have twenty five scattered across America for a start.”
“Wait… What?” The man steps out of the shadows, a patchwork of human flesh and robotics, a black and red mask covering his face.
“I’ve been alive since the cold war began, comrade. You don’t live as long as I do in my profession without adapting. Upgrading.”
Steel Hand smiles. “You’re not human anymore…”
KGBeast smiles beneath his mask and stands halfway between shadow and light. “Are we ever? All we are, to my knowledge, are pieces of information stored in living batteries. Little machines that walk around and collate data until they expire.”
“Stop with the techno philosophy, KG. Do you know of the target?”
KGBeast smiles, and raises his hand. “Of course. You know the price. All up front. You know my reputation, you know I will deliver.”
“Alright. Tell him Intergang sends their regards and then end him, simple as that.”
“It will be done.”
“The money is already in your account. How’s that for quick service?”
“Hmm.”
KGBeast turns around, and walks out of the small office, leaving Steel Hand thinking. Was all this going to be over in the next few hours? “Heh. Bubye Viccy.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:33:11 GMT -5
Journal Entry. I know the players who have entered the city. KGBeast, ex KGB assassin with little or no human flesh on him anymore. He was the best the Russians had to offer in the cold war but Captain Marvel put a kibosh on those schemes. Back then, before the new age of heroes, and between the Justice Society of America’s retirement and the Challengers of the Unknown’s debut, there was a secret cold war within a cold war, both sides developing super soldiers to battle each other. The Russians developed Anatoli Knyazev, turned him into an unstoppable assassin who could kill any man given the right amount of preparation time before hand. His first mission was to kill the President Kennedy, but let me make this perfectly clear, this is all rumour and hear say, and I’m gathering that only King Faraday knows for sure about all the facts, but I collect facts like others collect stamps so I like to think I’m in the know. Two people were at the side of Kennedy when the attack took place, Captain Marvel and another, classified figure, who has become a urban legend in America. I’m talking about The Guardian, the guy with the gold shield and helmet. All rumours. Captain Marvel punched Anatoli so hard he was flung back to Russia with his tail between his legs, and from then on he was made to retire, and they created a new ‘Beast. Anatoli was placed in the black books and made his life as a mercenary, the KGB not wanting a failure in their company, so they wiped every single file on his existence clean. Anatoli Knyazev is dead to the world. But Hub City is a place apart from the rest of the world, so this would seem to be the place where he makes his return. Unfortunate for some. For you. End entry.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:35:39 GMT -5
Chapter Three: Countdown“I have to go, Tot. I’m putting you in danger being here.” Vic is dressed and putting his tie back on when Aristotle Rodor enters the room. “I’m sorry for putting you in a position like this.” He places his hat on his head and walks past the silent doctor, and then turns when at the door, a dark look on his face. “I’ll call you later, when this is all over.” Rodor stands at the stairs, silent still. “Charles. I don’t want you to get into any more dilemmas… Just… Just keep out of trouble, right?” “When have I deliberately gone out to look for trouble?” Vic smiles, winks, and then leaves the house. “Oh son, why do you leave me in these positions..?” He looks over to his telephone and then frowns, walking back downstairs to get a cup of tea. “Terrible, terrible positions…” Every fibre of my being hurts, an unimaginable ache drifting along my spine…Along my limbs and coursing through my body. I need to think through my next move, think it through and leave no room for error. I haven’t been doing this right, I haven’t let my thoughts form coherently. I’ve been acting without thinking, doing without proper guidance from my head. Madness. Need to be Vic Sage, not Charles Szasz. The Question not the answer… Why is everything so hard? Why does my head hurt so? Gah! Ignore it; get to the root of the problem. And that’s back to Steel Hand…Vic walks in the shadows, avoiding the bright light of the street lamps that hang high above the side of the road. His head aches, his temples throb and he doesn’t know where he’s going. The Ditko Lounge could be an option, but is that an option for the crime boss known as Steel Hand? To go back to a compromised location? Vic doesn’t think so, so he walks, keeps walking until he reaches the bay, and stands on the soft sand looking out on the ocean as the waters slide up and down the beach. For all the corruption in the city, for all the evil men and women that lurk the streets, this place is a haven, a place where one can relax and catch your breath. So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, Blue skies from pain. Can you tell a green field From a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? Vic is hit squarely in the back by something as solid as rock, and is flung into the salty water that recedes as he scrambles around on the floor. He turns and looks up, and sees a man who’s not entirely there… A mesh of flesh and robotics, his hand gone at the elbow, and a massive gun there instead. What the hell is this, science fiction? Vic scrambles up and runs at him, hits him in the chest with his shoulder and simply bounces off, groaning in pain as his shoulder stings with fire. This guy is solid. And his skin is cold, blood not pumping through his veins… He can see tubes wrap themselves around the man’s body, digging into his arms and jutting out of his neck, a black oily substance every now and then circulating through him with a spitting noise. “Who are you?” “That is the question, Sage.” He points his gun arm at him and fires at the journalist, but Vic leaps away, the sand turning to glass at the intensity of the heat. “I am KGBeast Mark One.” Vic’s eyes widen slightly. “I have been contracted to kill you, a contract that I will be collecting now.” Vic’s eyes dart everywhere, trying to see some safe haven, some place he can escape to, but he’s punched backwards on to the sand, this ‘Beast moving faster than he looks. He feels his nose break at the force of the blow, and warm blood stream down into his mouth. He coughs slightly, and before he can get up, Anatoli steps on his hand and wrist with massive metal feet, his quarry’s bones fracturing and shooting through his skin. Vic stifles a scream and watches as his attacker raises his other foot, and then seizes his chance, knocking the Russian over when his weight is not balanced. Vic wrenches his bloody hand out from under his attacker and sprints towards the pier, where he hopes there is someone there to help him. Did they get you to trade Your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange A walk on part in a war, For a lead role in a cage?
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:43:06 GMT -5
Sam and Naomi sit in the near empty bar and talk about the case, bringing up different suspects and dismissing them as the evidence sees fit. A man opposite to them sits in a corner booth, files scattered everywhere, cups of coffee scattered among the papers, his face in shadow and his large body leaning over his work, and another sits near the toilets, many used cigarettes extinguished in an ash tray. His face is obscured in shadow, the light above him broken. Sam nods slowly..
“We have eye witnesses telling us that they saw Vic Sage leaving the apartment in a hurry, but the witness was high at the time, so we can’t exactly use that as hard evidence, even if it was him. Stevens spoke to a kid who had ran out of his mom and dads apartment when they were having an altercation, and he said that he saw a man with a metal arm. You know who that means, don’t you?” Naomi looks up at the man talking in front of her, and smiles.
“You really think that Steel Hand is going to messy up his hands with a whore?”
N’omi shakes her head. “He’d have his men do that for him.”
“Unless it was personal… Do you think what the crazy rags say are true? That Steel Hand is really Danny O’Mac, Boss Moxie’s second from the forties? I’ve heard whispers around the precinct that it is, and I’ve heard on the street that he’s made a deal with the devil to stay young and maintain his iron grip on the city. But that…” Sam laughs loudly, finding the ridiculousness in his own statement. “Heh, but that isn’t true, is it?”
“You might be wrong, detective.”
Sam and Naomi turn at the man speaking, and have to strain their necks slightly to see all the way up his body. The guy is big, long blonde hair covering his face down to his nose, and the rest tied in a ponytail behind his hulking shoulders. He wears a black jacket and jeans, and a Keystone Flash shirt beneath adorns his chest.
“And who would YOU be to interrupt our conversation?”
Sam feels his hand slowly move down to his ankle, where his back up is strapped. Naomi follows suit.
“Me? I’m a psychologist. A Rogue Psychologist to be more specific, formerly of the Department of Extranormal Operations. And formerly formerly of Keystone/Central Cities Rogue Profiling Division.”
He puts out his hand, a smile forming along his lips.
“Travis Clevenger, pleased to meet you.” Sam places both of his hands on the counter and shakes his head. “And you’re here because?”
“I’m hunting someone. You might have heard of him. The Question.”
Naomi looks up, and moves her hand through her dark hair, away from her eye. “Why?”
“Why? Travis looks around the room. “I have my own reasons. And I think he might have something to do with your case.”
“The Question? He… he’s never been proven to exist. An urban legend of Hub City. A story to scare children to be good… In fact, the last Question appearance…”
“Years. I know. Do you know why he hasn’t shown his face? Heh… Do you know why he hasn’t been seen since?”
“No… And I don’t rightly know why we’re talking to you.”
“You’re intrigued by my words, so you’ll listen.” He looks at Naomi and his smile vanishes as the words formed in his mouth pour out. “I also can tell, by the way that you fawn over this officer like no tomorrow, that you’ve had issues with father figures over the years, and you… You hold yourself as if you’re actually a really, honest to God straight cop, but I think we both know otherwise. Steel Hand, through one of his lieutenants, has had you in his pocket at one time during your career. I’m assuming he got to you early…”
Sam and Naomi look at him with wide eyes. Sam is speechless; Naomi looks down at her coffee and scratches her chin, denying the truth.
“You’ll listen to me, won’t you?”
Sam looks at Naomi, and Naomi doesn’t look up from her drink.
“Si’down and tell your piece. Then we’ll decide if it’s worthwhile.”
“Holster your gun then, detective. I could always tell the distinct sound of someone pulling up their back up, and I’ll have you know… You better hit me good if you pull it, because your 9mm doesn’t have the stopping power to take me down unless you hit me square.”
Sam looks at him with wide eyes, and holsters his weapon, believing that this mass of muscle means business.
“Good. Let’s talk.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:47:02 GMT -5
“Hkt!” Vic is blasted forward, hitting the metal railing that leads up to the pier. Think think think think THINK! He looks up at the wooden pier and smiles to himself, sucking it in and sprinting up the steps, away from the deceivingly fast assassin. The machine man mocks him in a metallic drawl, his gun arm firing off blasts one after the other, white-hot heat searing at Vic’s heels. “You can’t escape this inevitable.” Vic spins around and dives into a rocky outcrop, and KGBeast fires off another salvo, dissolving the stone and hitting Vic in his shoulder, a chunk of flesh searing off. He holds in the scream and looks over his good shoulder, then sprints into the large wooden theatre atop the pier, a place where all the old greats used to perform, but yet has seen better days… and then is blasted into the stage by another blast from the Russians appendage. The muzzle of the gun shifts and a rail of ammunition pops out of the bottom of it, and he releases a barrage of bullets that scatter above Vic’s head, plaster falling atop him. A stream of bullets hit his coat, tearing through the fabric, and one shoots through his wrist, blood spraying back against the wall. How I wish, how I wish you were here. We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year, Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:47:55 GMT -5
Why can’t he get that song out of his head? Pain over takes his mind, and he slides down the wall, dragging himself towards KGBeast for one final confrontation.
There’s no point in trying…
To…
Escape…
Is this the end?
Gun shots. I stumble back, a bloody taste in my mouth, and grab for whatever’s closest, which seems to be nothing… I fall to the ground, and hit the wooden floor with a thud. I drift into darkness, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below the pier filling my ears. My head aches, and I can feel blood pouring across my eyes.
Is this the end?
“Victor!” The man. The assassin. His gun arm drawn, aimed at my head, me, powerless, weak. “We grow tired of your attention. So my employers, they hire me, yes?”
I hear him cock the weapon with a thought. His mechanical implants buzzing and whirring. A laser sight from his eye drifts over my face, and he smiles.
“So goodbye from my friends... My employers… Goodbye from Intergang!” I cough up more blood, and look over at my assassin. He smiles and I hear the whirring of cogs in his head.
“Bastard… Aren’t you g-going to let m-me have my l-last w-words?”
“Hhh. Go on then.”
He moves the gun away from my head. I breathe a sigh of relief but find myself choking on my own blood.
“C-come closer.”
He does so, trusting in the fact that he’s already broken both my wrists. He leans over me, my bloody lips whispering to him.
“You… do realise that this disused pier is condemned? Do you think it not a stupid coincidence that I lured you here for our confrontation?” I smile. The wooden panels creak loudly. “Do you not hear that noise?”
His dark grin turns to a look of fear. The first manifestation of fear I have seen on his scarred face. I reach to my belt with broken fingers, and fumble with a button on my buckle. Green gas shoots up, surprising him, causing him to jump up and then down again, causing the rotten wood to shatter completely, sending us both down into the rocks and water below. He screams from the soul, his cybernetic implants going into overdrive, and crunching as he connects with the rocks below.
I’m luckier, if you could call it that. As I plunge into the depths, and as my breath rushes out of me, I smile. I’m ended.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:49:20 GMT -5
Memories, thoughts, events, they all flood back to Vic Sage. Things that have never occurred to him before. All the wrong choices he’s made, all the wrong turnings. His brain slowly shuts down on him. And something awakens. A personality that emerged mere hours ago. A burst of horrible information -- creating an eruption of nightmares. Information as weapon: a holocaust of bad dreams.Can’t die. Can’t die, the truth must come out! My face… Need my face, WAKE UP! WAKE UP! Vic feels his arm twitch, but doesn’t acknowledge it. You will move because I’m telling you to! He feels the sting of someone slapping him and jerks up, slowly lifting himself out of the murky waters. Good. Good. You’ve done what you have to do. Leave the rest to me.Vic feels his consciousness fade to black, and he lets his body take orders from a new voice… Rorschach. “At midnight all the agents And the superhuman crew Go out and round up everyone That knows more than they do.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:50:30 GMT -5
Chapter Four: Guilt
“The Question is unstable. He has no drive to do what he does, unlike what the information I’ve gathered on other heroes suggests for them. Batman has… His motives… He lost someone close…I’m thinking it was a childhood trauma, paralleled with an event that scarred his psyche… The Flash feels an obligation to his powers and his heritage… Wonder Woman, well… I don’t want to bore you. Anyway, The Question has no real reason to do what he does. No obligation to a legacy, no death in his family that I can discern… But insanity. He’s insane! He searches for answers to questions he doesn’t even know…” Travis shakes his head. “His mind has snapped before, and that what drove him to this crusade for answers. He needs this to function, and without his quest, he’d probably become catatonic. We need to bring him down before his psyche fractures anymore, because I don’t know how long it will be before a malevolent personality forms and escapes the confines of his subconscious.”
Sam shakes his head slightly. “But he’s not… Now, I’m not saying that I agree with you, but he’s not shown himself for so long, what makes you think he’s a threat to the populace?”
“I was reviewing my old files from the past decade. I’ve worked all over the country, moving wherever I feel there is a challenge, and I’ve been to this city before. I worked freelance for a broadcasting company… And in hindsight… I know who The Question is, and I also know why he hasn’t been seen for the past four years.”
Naomi looks up from her drink, confused. “What? Who?”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:52:24 GMT -5
He awakens from a bad dream, Rodor looking down on him. “Tot… I… Why does everything hurt? How did I get here?”
“Because your arm is broken and you… You’ve been badly hurt, Charles. Lay still.”
“Something bad happened… I was attacked… I drowned… It was…”
“Nothing. It was nothing. A dream. Relax.”
Vic lurches up, and tries to get out of bed. “I can’t- I can’t! Too many things to do!”
Rodor shakes his head and stabs Vic in the arm with a syringe. “Wha-?!”
“I’m so sorry…” He holds Vic down as he seizes up, trying to move away from his old friend turned attacker.
“You- You caaan’t…” Rodor shakes his head.
“I have to…”
“Noooouuuh…”
“Sleep.”
He hears rustling in his frenzied sleep. He’s trapped in his body, something he can’t ever abide, and no one realizes that this doesn’t work on him! He’s totally aware, trapped in the worst prison known to man! He never told anyone, showed weakness, but… Why? Why was he paranoid? Why did Tot do this? Why, why, why? Why must he search for the questions when the answers are truly the thing that allude him?
He remembers something in his frenzied torture. He screams but no one hears. He remembers what it was like to be betrayed by someone he trusted. Someone put everything he held dear in danger, and no one would help him. Only two old friends would stand beside him, and one… One left the world to find a better place. And the whiteness… Is this just a dream? A misremembrance? Something implied but never followed through…?
Help?
He dreams of birds in the ocean and fish in the sky. Music plays in the background, a weird mesh of techno punk and Brit pop. Question marks arise from everywhere but the wet birds and the dry fish. Three men and a child confront him in the dream, each wearing a mask of some sort. The boy wearing the façade of childhood innocence.
He addresses them.
“Rex. Charles. Walter. Charlie.” The four of them nod at Vic. “What do you want now?”
Rex nods. “To address what is right and what is wrong.”
Charles pleads. “To be released.”
Walter mumbles. “To spread the truth.”
Charlie smiles. “To be me.”
“But if I let one of you… What will become of me?”
“You’ll join us where you belong.” Charles and Charlie walk to one side, and Rex and Walter to another. “Back to the subconscious you were born from.”
“What? What does that mean? I’m real, real as anything!”
“As real as us? I’m you’re objectionist point of view.” Rex smiles. “Because A is A and right is right. No doubt about it.”
Walter looks up from his spot and grimaces. “I’m your violence. You suffered abuse at the hands of your guardians in the church. It scarred you more so than you thought. I was the product.”
Vic clenches his fists and shakes his head. “WHAT AM I THEN?”
Walter and Rex speak as one, a chilling statement leaving their lips. “You, Vic Sage? You are escapism.”
Vic feels his hand shaking. “I can’t… What? It doesn’t… Why have I…”
“Because everyone needs a place to escape to…”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:53:56 GMT -5
“This is insane, I have no idea why I’m sitting here listening to this crap. I mean come on, Vic Sage is The Question? Why the hell would you tell us? Why the… This is bull. Total bull.” Travis smiles as Sam finishes.
“You’re still sitting here because I’ve so totally intrigued you. Because you believe me in the ever so slightest.”
He leans back and stretches. “Because I’m Purdy. I don’t know. But you’re here.”
Naomi looks up and then shakes her head, resuming drinking her now cold coffee.
“I think you’re talking rubbish, Clevenger.” She looks up, an angry look in her eye. “You’ve not said why you’re really here. You claim to know his identity, but then you come out with some crap like that, I mean come on! Get a clue; you’ve got no idea!"
Travis frowns. “I’ve shown you the evidence, and I’m telling you this because I know that there is a Vic Sage connection to your murder case.”
“Bull. You have an ulterior motive.”
Travis smiles slightly and Naomi notices the scar running horizontally along his nose. “How the hell did you get that?”
Travis immediately smiles to hide his insecurity. “When you work with Meta psychos, things like this happen.”
He moves his finger along the scar. “And when the security guards don’t properly search folks like The Joker for shivs and other bladed weapons before they go into interviews… This was meant to be a smile, you know what I’m saying?”
Naomi gasps slightly.
“You worked at Arkham?”
“Hell yeah, I did. But when they get some foreign brain box in, I decided to leave. He was trouble and I had had enough of getting attacked by inmates.” Travis smiled. “So I accepted a job that a very important man offered me a while back. But like I said, I read the files. I realised my error in my first interviews.” He clenches his fist. “I aim to rectify that and get the man the help he deserves.”
Sam nods slowly and then looks over to Naomi. “I think we should resume this conversation at my office.”
Travis looks at the man from the corner of his eye and nods.
“Of course.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:55:58 GMT -5
“Where the hell is KGBeast? He was supposed to get back to me by now…” Steel Hand clenches his fist and grits his teeth. “He couldn’t have failed though, that would just be ridiculous. Because he’s a trained assassin. Yeah. He couldn’t have failed. Nah… Heh.”
Steel Hand paces the room. “It’s not like ol’ TQ has superpowers anyway. He just has no face. Heh. Ha!” He bursts out laughing, and then looks up. “But then again…” His face drains of colour. “It would be improbable…” He slams his fist into his desk, and pieces of wood flies everywhere.
“HE FAILED! I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!” He throws his computer at the wall in a rage. “He knows everything! He read the documents…”
He frantically leaves the office, and enters the dark chamber opposite. A massive screen is attached to the wall, and it buzzes to life as he enters the room. A face appears on the large monitor, cloaked in shadows, a croaky, shaky voice.
“What is it?”
“The Question, he knows of our plans!”
“‘Our’ plans?” The man snarls his worlds, at the impudence of Steel Hands statement.
“Your plans, sorry, sorry… But he knows!”
“Foolish man. I shall have to organise this now. I shall sort the mess you have gotten yourself in to.”
Steel Hand smiles broadly and scratches his back. “I would be very grateful.”
“Hrn.” The screen goes blank and Steel Hand stands in darkness.
“Well that was easier than expected.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:57:46 GMT -5
Travis steps out of the small bar, the two officers behind him.
“Where to then?” Sam looks around and motions to the alley.
“There’s a taxi queue through there. It’ll be faster.”
Travis nods. “Sure.”
Click.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Bullets fly through the air, hitting the Rogue psychologist in the back, and he falls to the floor, blood exploding from the wounds. Sam looks around and holsters his weapon, picking up the bullet casings and placing them in his pocket. Naomi picks up the folder that their victim was holding and wipes off the blood with a napkin, then looks over to Sam, smiling. He leans over to her and they kiss, not noticing the hulking form of Clevenger slowly rise from the floor.
“I said…” They turn at the words, eyes wide. “You better…” Sam struggles to take out his weapon as Clevenger begins to rise. “Hit me…” Naomi pulls her piece and fires at him, four rounds in the chest, and he flies back once more, rolling along the floor.
She smiles and blows the smoke away from her weapon. “No last words for you, bitch.” Sam sighs slightly at her sudden outburst, and then turns away, uncomfortable.
“What now?” Naomi smiles.
“Put on these.” She throws latex gloves at Sam, and then puts on a pair of her own. “Go through his pockets. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong. We can report it in a couple of minutes. Reload your weapon. Quickly now, put his wallet in…” Travis grabs her arm and shoves her gun into her chest, her instinct to fire off her weapon being a wrong decision, shooting through her stomach and the bullets whizzing straight through her body. She makes a quite moaning noise, and falls down, blood trickling from her mouth. “HIT ME SQUARE! I SAID HIT ME SQUARE!” He punches Sam into a wall, the officer’s nose breaking on impact, and then he proceeds to break his ribs with a punch to the chest. “Idiot!” He grabs his head and smashes it into a wall, splinters of bone floating into his brain, and at last, Sam is dead, blood pouring from his ears and the many open wounds on his face.
Travis looks around at his own blood and looks around frantically. He let his anger get ahead of him! Mistake! He holds his chest and shakes his head, the sting of the bullets making him slightly light headed. Hell. Well. Nothing else to do really is there? He picks up Naomi’s gun and places it behind his back, in his belt, and walks away to his apartment. His blood isn’t on the data base because of his ties to the DEO, and he can simply vanish into the night. Damn shame. Nice people… But too ambitious. Don’t they know what they call him? What they call him behind his back, the name they don’t he knows? Bloodhound. They call him the Bloodhound.
“You do this all the time, you know King’ll get a clue, don’t you?”
“Bill, are you following me again?” A slim man steps out of the shadows, and lights up a cigarette. “Because you know I don’t appreciate it…”
“I do it to rile you up, pardner. I saw what happened… They jumped you. Why do you drive people so stark raving that they jump you?”
“It’s an effect I have on people.”
“One of these days, I will report you… You realise it, you know?”
Travis feigns shock. “Me? Report me?” He waves him down. “You wouldn’t.”
Bill Nodell takes a long drag on his cigarette and looks at him, smiling. “You’re right. You’ve got too much on me. Now fill me in.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 19:59:03 GMT -5
Chapter Five: A Death In The Family
There are other places a heartbeat away from this universe, where light and darkness have battled, where one side has won and the other has been banished, and in one such place, a man talks to a comrade, a tall man, smile plastered on his face. “You understand it now?”
“Yes, yes, an easy enough task. It shall be done before the day’s end, and I shall have pleasured myself with a bit of violence.”
The hunched man licks his lips and smiles. “I wish I could help.”
“Well you can’t. Go continue your experiments.” The tall man walks away laughing, and the other giggles where he stands, then continues back into his torture chamber. “I have a specific idea of what I want to use! Someone I’ve been working on for a while now… And what a time to test him out, eh?”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:00:59 GMT -5
Vic awakens to himself and shakes his head. His wounds are set, his broken bones in casts. He can’t do anything like this. He remembers what Tot did to him, drugged him, but things elude him. How did he get back here? How did get out of the water? Those voices he heard in his sleep… Were they real? Or was it a dream?
“You were delusional. Soaking wet, loosing a lot of blood and doing nothing to help your wounds heal. I had to stick you back together, and I’ve always told you that is not a job I enjoy.” Tot shrugs his shoulders.
“I’ve… You never knew what it’s like for me… to lose control… And yet… I should have told you…”
“Told me what?”
“I forgive you.”
Rodor frowns, a bead of sweat sliding down his brow. “What?”
There are shouts downstairs, rumbles as men and women in body armour burst through the door and hurry up the stairs. Rodor stumbles out of the room as a large man pushes him out of the way, then raises his gun to the injured vigilante. “Victor Sage, we have a warrant for your arrest...” Vic smiles slightly.
“I know, I know… I’m ready. Let me just get my belt.”
The man watches as Vic stands up and slowly moves his hand over the belt on the table next to his bed. “I’m sorry, Tot.”
Rodor stands silent behind the police, confused at what Vic is doing. “I’m the one who…”
“I’m sorry for this.” Vic presses the button on his belt and the entire room erupts in green gas. The police shoot in Vic’s general direction, bullets tearing through the smoke and hitting whatever is in their wake. Rodor screams for them to stop, but the drilling noise of their guns drown him out, until the smoke clears, the guns are silent, and blood is spilled everywhere… Old blood, not fresh… Blood from before, when Vic’s wounds opened… Because… Vic is gone. Vanished. The window opened, the curtains waving in the wind, the smoke being dragged out by the strong breeze.
“We must have hit him… We must have! We had him cornered…” The man turns to Rodor, and grabs his shoulder. “Why didn’t you warn us, old man? Dammit!”
Rodor smiles slightly. “That is the question, isn’t it?”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:01:32 GMT -5
Vic scrambles down the street, hiding in the shadows, trying to figure out what to do. What happened to him, those lost hours of his life? He clenches his fist and speeds up, thinking through circumstances and events and how they’ll affect the outcome of his situation. He could be found. He could be arrested. Do they know? Do they know about his other name? Argh, why is everything so hard? He needs to go underground… he needs to find somewhere to heal… But where? Who can he trust? Who would take in a broken and shattered person..? A light snaps on in Vic’s head, and he knows the truth. Only a couple of hours away… Gotham.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:03:41 GMT -5
Later...
Professor Aristotle Rodor sits in an interrogation room at the HCPD headquarters, and awaits an interview. There is one window in the small room, bars over the panes of (probably) reinforced glass, and one small security camera in the corner, more than likely beaming a direct feed of the room into a room nearby. Rodor smiles slightly, glad that Charles remembered the other button on his belt. The full release. The door to his side opens and a man eating a large donut enters, smiling.
“You called us in because you thought that Mr Victor Sage was murderous? Because he was having blocks of memory missing? You somehow think…”
“I somehow know that something has happened that concerns… Victor… And the law.” Rodor looks up and shrugs.
“Like what?” The detective scribbles something down and nods to himself.
“He came home, badly beaten but stitched up professionally, and he was weak… I just…”
The officer puts up his hand to make Rodor stop talking. “Holy Mary, Joseph and Jesus on a motorcycle...”
“What is it?”
Gunshots echo into the room and Rodor ducks beneath the table. “Stay down there!” The detective runs out of the room and locks the door, his gun out and cocked. More gun shots echo out and then silence, footsteps slowly become louder and louder, until the door handle is slowly turned, and wrenched out of the hinges. Aristotle gasps and looks up and sees Vic, his mask on, hands bloody.
“Charles!”
“No. Be-” Gun shots erupt from behind the faceless man and he lurches forward.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:04:06 GMT -5
The car ride is painful. Every time he moves his hands on the steering wheel, pain rushes up his nerves and hit him squarely in the head, and he’s barely able to keep in a straight line. Every brain cell throbs, and he finds his thoughts wandering back to that dream… Is he just an escape? Is Vic Sage a fake like the others? Nah, leave it, leave the memory alone, it’ll be easy, just concentrate on the road.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:05:31 GMT -5
Two men wrestle with the masked vigilante, a large man, made entirely of muscle and strength, and a smaller one who immediately disarms the attacker with a swift kick to the shoulder, with such force that there’s a large crack as the limb falls limply to his side.
“Take him Travis!” Clevenger picks up the man and slams him to the ground, where Nodell pulls his side arm and steadily aims it at the attacker’s skull.
“Stay down, idiot!”
The man on the floor lies still, and Clevenger looks up to his partner. “This is why I have an apartment opposite the station!”
Clev is about to smile when he is suddenly thrown into the ceiling as the super powered man jerks up, and then punches him in the jaw so hard he hits the iron bars and reinforced glass and flies straight down into the street below and crashes into a parked car. Nodell fires off three rounds into the mans head and is amazed that the faceless man just grabs the gun, crushes it and punches him into the wall opposite, knocking him out instantly.
“Y-You’re not Charles!”
“You’re right.” The faceless man turns to Rodor, who shakes his head in disbelief.
“HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:05:52 GMT -5
Why have I got a red wet feeling in my gut? Something’s happening in Hub City. I could always feel it when there were bad goings on. But this… It feels like something in my chest is trying to claw its way out, twisting and churning in my belly, a feeling I’ve not had since I was a kid… Something’s happening and I can’t deal with it because I’m not there and if I turn around right now I’m dead… Rock, Hard place, fire and saucepan…
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:08:40 GMT -5
Later still...
Travis Clevenger wakes up in a stiff hospital bed next to a wheezing old man with a hole in his throat to his right, his untouched dinner in front of him, and a sickly old woman to his left complaining for more lime green jello. His back aches in a thousand places as he leans over to check to see if he still has his gun with him. He feels flesh where his gun should be and lets out an exhausted grunt and falls back into his rocky mattress.
“Looking for this?” he hears a familiar voice ask, “ They took mine too and I told them it was a felony and they could be killed for that kind of offence. Figured I might as well get yours too.”
Bill Nodell, Clevenger’s shorter, darker haired partner walks in with a smirk on his face and a cigarette in his mouth. “Nice dress.” Nodell carefully takes a seat next to his fallen partner, and scratches his neck uncomfortably.
Travis rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that Bill, people are gonna start to talk.”
“Oh really?” Nodell smirks again, and looks around, taking the juice off of the elderly man’s tray, and opening it with a flick of his thumb. “Next thing you know they are going to be making fires and really nice monoliths, all that stuff.”
“Cute,” Clevenger snatches the juice away and replaces it in front of the man, who slowly picks it up and starts drinking. “What are you doing here? Normally when I’m in hospital you continue with the mission regardless. You’re a bitch like that.”
Nodell smiles slightly.
“Had to let you know I am going out of town, Gotta’ head to Gotham for a few days.”
“What’s in Gotham?”
Nodell goes silent and looks around the room, darting his eyes back and forth and whispers, “Batman… and strippers…”
Clevenger lets out a snort and clenches his ribs in mid laugh as he winces in pain. Nodell chuckles and puts out his ashes on the bedside table of the old man.
“Alright, alright, really I have to go because I have a hair appointment.” He explains as he combs his fingers through his shaggy hair and tiny white particles begin to fill the air. “I have needed a cut for the longest damn time.”
“YOU need a hair cut?” Clevenger asks in disbelief as his partner commences to pick the dandruff from his scalp.
“Yeah, we can’t all run around like we are roadies for Motley Crue.”
“So let me get this straight,” Clevenger begins with leaning up on his pillow to get a good look at his partner, “You are driving all the way to Gotham City, miles and miles out of your way to get a haircut, while I am stuck here in between Ma and Pa Kettle?”
”See, I knew you would understand, that is why I like you Clev.”
“Oh, and here I though it was because you had a thing for my wife.”
“You’re married?” Nodell asks with a grin as he takes a long drag of his cigarette.
“To this lovely young lady right here,” Clevenger says gesturing to the woman still rambling for lime green jello, “Eloped last night.”
Nodell chuckles as he checks his watch and gets up putting out his cigarette on the table, “Hey Bill, you know smoking is not allowed in like… any hospitals right?”
”Yeah, its not a problem, once I took my gun back the staff was very open to modifying the rules and regulations.” Clevenger begins to laugh and winces in pain once more.
“Hope you have a good time getting your haircut.” Clevenger says holding out his hand towards his partner.
“Nah, the ladies a damn butcher. I will come back late on. Meanwhile, get some sleep, looking like that might get you fired from your roadie gig.”
Nodell leaves the room and shakes his head, jumping into his car and turning the engine on. on the passenger seat lie Clevenger’s files, and an upturned, recently read page rests on top of the pile.
“For a long while, I’ve been researching past sightings of The Question, his appearances normally occurring in Hub City, obviously, or one other place, some what like the Hub in spirit. Gotham City, home of the Batman, and maybe The Question’s only ‘super’ friend. If I was in trouble and I was Vic Sage… I’d head straight there. Because these two characters seem to have a lot in common.”
He remembers reading the notes written by Travis when he first broken into his apartment, and it always stuck with him. So this only means one thing. He needs to get to Gotham. “…For a haircut…” Nodell slams his foot down on the accelerator and speeds out of the city.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:09:31 GMT -5
The screen flickers on, and a hooded man appears, his features hidden in shadow and darkness. “Steel Hand, what is it now?”
His voice is dry, rough, and he expects obedience. Steel hand abides. “Sir.”
“What is it, human?”
“I need to know what is happening!”
“We are handling it. In fact, past tense, we have handled it. I have contacted another one of the Master’s underlings. He has done what had to be done.”
“Oh God, I hope he doesn’t make a mistake… It seems to be a popular trend these past few nights…”
The purple robed man spits a reply. “We do not make mistakes Steel Hand.”
Steel Hand feels the blood drain from his face, and his anger overcomes in, so he sticks out his good hand and points at the camera. “You removed my hand! You said it was a clerical error on your part!”
“And now you have a bright shiny one. You should relax, or his wrath will be upon you.” Steel Hand looks down at his fist and flexes it, nodding, his anger leaving him.
“You are right, of course…what would you have me to do?”
“Wait in readiness for the next move.”
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:11:07 GMT -5
Chapter Six: Road Trippin’The lights blink in and out on the highway, rain pattering down on the windscreen, visibility at a minimum, the illuminated directions on the side of the road the only things keeping me going because I know I’ve got to get there. Bruce will know what to do. He always does. Always has a plan… Gotham. Head to Gotham. Team up. Happy times… A golden age. Things that are missing from the grand scheme of things nowadays. Now it’s all about dark, gritty, evil men and women, as opposed to the colourfully clad loons from the past. These people… Their masks aren’t removable anymore. You can’t walk away from it… It’s always there, always on, never ending, never stopping…
Unthinking, unknowing… These are the realms of The Question.
My broken fingers fumble the knob on the radio, trying to create some noise to drown out the silence that causes me to think about… Everything. I can’t live like this… I’m falling apart. My whole world crashing in around me and I need help…
But whom can I go to? Who would help me now?
Bruce. He knows what its like. He knows what I suffer from, we’ve spoken but it was years ago since I last shared words… Why, why, WHY is it so hard?
Why can’t it be like the good old days?
Raindrops keep falling on my head And just like the guy whose feet are too big for his bed Nothin' seems to fit Those raindrops are #
“SHUT UP!!” I punch the radio, and I wince as my wrist stings with sharp pain. I’m not together. I’m in shards and if I don’t pull myself together I won’t ever be fixed… And there are some stupid songs you don’t want to hear when you feel like this… Bloody Burt Bacharach…
I shake my head; rub my eye with my bad hand, keeping my semi-good hand on the wheel. I squint as a car attempts to over take me, and as the driver turns to me his eyes widen. Who the hell? He slows and returns behind me. Think nothing of it. You’re too paranoid, Vic, you’re too paranoid. Not everyone is your enemy, remember that. He must have misjudged the overtake. He who hesitates loses I guess.
I look through the wet windshield and see another sign, saying I’m only a couple of miles from Gotham. Good. I’m getting closer. I smile to myself, and remember my pain, something that takes the expression out from under me. I’m about to wallow in self-pity once more when a bright light fills my car, and then it happens. I lurch forward as the car behind me pushes the back of my own, and I struggle to keep the vehicle on the road, the wet surface playing havoc with my wheels. I look back, try to see who is doing this to me, but the lights blind me, and I’m rammed again, causing me to lose control, the car swinging into the ditch at the side of the road.
Steel Hand. It’s Steel Hand. I know it.
He’s coming for me, because I know too much. I shake off my nausea, open my door and stumble out of the car, and try and see who is in the car that has stopped at the top of the road. He doesn’t turn off the lights, he just stands there, hand on car, waiting. Can’t give in now, got to keep moving. I slide over the bonnet of the car and head into the woods to my right, and then keep running.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:11:32 GMT -5
Bill Nodell smiles. He turns off the lights on his car and holsters his weapon, then gives flight, following Vic Sage into the woods. This creep may be Clev’s pet project, but he… Or someone who was his exact double… But he hurt him, and Nodell doesn’t like being hurt. So using his gun was out of the question, but that doesn’t stop him using his fists!
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:13:38 GMT -5
Chapter Seven: Crisis of Faith
The twigs and branches snap back into me, whipping the skin on my face, causing me to cringe with pain as blood leaves my lips. I’m hurting bad, and something… Someone… Is trying to claw its way out of my head. I can feel it again. Those same people who confronted me in my dream. The same people who claimed that I wasn’t real, just another personality fragmented from the original. And ever since then, it’s been hard to think, hard to think through my actions. Tot betrayed me, but I don’t hold it against him. He was trying to do the best he could for me, but if I was cornered, I had to fight. Had to escape.
Oh lord.
I fall into a wet muddy puddle, a crack emanating from my ribs, and I near scream in agony. The voices in my head get louder, screaming at me to stop running, to give into the inevitable, but then I realise something I didn’t ever want to.
They’re right.
Everything they said, everything they revealed to me. They’re right. I’m not real. I’m just… A piece of a person that splintered off into something new. Like a starfish… I was cut and I grew back. As something new.
I’m not obsessed with finding the facts. Nor do I want to find the answers… The questions elude me because I don’t care if I find them or not.
Everything that has happened to me these past years… All I’ve ever wanted to do was escape.
Stop…
Stop…
STOP THINKING! KEEP RUNNING! THOSE ARE THE REALMS OF THE QUESTION!
I hear the footsteps get louder behind me. I spit blood and mud out of my mouth, then struggle to get up, when I’m smashed into the ground as someone leaps onto my back, tackling me to the floor, skidding us across the muddy forest floor.
I see my attacker. Beard on his face, straggly hair, and his fists like lightning, hitting me everywhere, taking advantage of my every injury. He reads my body language, knows my every move before I even act upon it. I slam my head forward, causing him to stagger back, to fall off me, and I leap up, grab a fallen branch from the wet muddy floor and slam it onto his back, causing him to gasp in pain. I throw it at him, and grab my side, my eye already swelling, my mouth bloody and the pain growing every moment I breathe. I run. Escape. I head to the west, scrambling through undergrowth and wet patches, sinking into the marshy land as I go, and as I slowly turn to see where the man who attacked me is—
He’s gone.
No! He dives onto me, gouging at my eyes with his fingers, causing me to scream in agony as the pain overtakes me. I slam my good elbow up into his face and he dodges it, bringing his fist down onto it and causing it to suddenly go numb. He hits my side and takes advantage of my broken ribs, digging the bones into my lungs and causing the air to rush out from inside me. I twitch in agony as the rain pours onto my exposed face, and I shake my head, not knowing why this man hates me so.
I strike out again, this time with my numb arm, flopping it in his face and causing him to be distracted, then kick upwards, sending him falling over me, arms flailing in surprise by my attack. I get up again but stumble down, my knees not able to hold my battered body up. I drag myself towards an old tree and pull myself up, grab another branch that has rotted off the main trunk and push myself over to my attacker, who looks up in surprise as I swing the branch up, and then takes my legs out from under me, sending me earthwards with another crunch.
What’s the point in fighting back? I hear his screams but ignore them, and slowly, I give in to the fact that everything I’ve known, everything I’ve done for the last twenty or so years… was a lie. Everything. My life, my loves, my hates, my mistakes… They weren’t mine to make. Someone else would have made the right choice in the right places and the wrong decisions at the wrong time. Charles Szasz. He would have lived this life just fine. I was… An anomaly, and as I drift back into the recesses of what I thought was my own mind… I smile, and then that smile is wiped off my face as another fist knocks me out cold.
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Post by Admin on Apr 4, 2006 20:14:09 GMT -5
“Don’t smile when a guy is beating on you. It’s not very polite.” Nodell wipes his wet face with his muddy sleeve and frowns as he spreads more mud onto his features. “Tut.” He kicks the fallen man on his good side, and spits out blood and saliva into the mud.
Bzzt. Bzzt.
“Excuse me, it was on silent. Nodell here. Yes, yes I’m nearly in Gotham. Yes, they will be open this late.” Nodell pauses. “You know what I’m doing? Oh uh. Sorry? Is he in one shape? Uh… A couple I guess… Ah… Where am I? In some woods… Let me see… Other there… I see something. A wall. Oh wow. That’s surprising. We’re next to a house. I dunno which, come on Travis. I don’t live in Gotham. Wayne Manor? Could be…” Nodell smiles quietly. “Lucky that the punk rich kid didn’t hear me do my job, else we might be in trouble. Yes, yes, he’s at my feet. What do you mean you wanted him in a good shape? He’s broken loads of his bones! I don’t know how. He fell? Jeez, get some rest, Clev. Now can I go? I am late for a hair appointment.”
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