Heroes and Villains Contest

[Tempest Kitsune]

Well, here's what I've got so far. Not a final draft by any means, and comes in at just over 1800 words.

Spoiler: show

"DOWN!" Three figures dropped to the ground as a fourth shot upwards over a wash of black flames. "I hate this bastard so damn much," a red-haired man growled, even as his form stretched and grew, hair and skin bleaching, before black stripes emerged, growing out into fur. His head warped, leaving a feline snarl in place of the grimace he'd just worn. The entire transformation was over and done in half a second, leaving a tiger-man dressed in combat fatigue pants and vest kneeling behind some shattered stonework. Snarling, he drew a pistol from a holster at his back, popping up and getting off six shots before another wash of flame answered him.

"Freaking armor-plated bastard," he snarled, reloading the gun.

"Hey Tigerpaw, anymore brilliant ideas? Maybe next time you should throw a pillow at him, see if that has any more affect?" This came from a young black man who was draped in a gray and white camouflage trenchcoat, a gray wool watch cap pulled down low over his forehead and goggles pulled over his eyes. He was fiddling with a handful of silver spheres.

"I didn't see those glue-bombs of yours doing any good either Boneyard," Tigerpaw growled at the younger man.

"Hey, they're a work in progress! I didn't take the different supernatural properties of his flame into account when I used them on him!" Even as he snapped at his co-worker, Boneyard was injecting something into the spheres through a tiny rubber nub. "Let's try this again." So saying, he tossed the spheres overhand, arcing them even as he spread their path. A moment later there was a muffled *SQUELCH* and an even more muffled roar of anger.

"Oh, nice. Now he's even more mad," snarked a tall, broad-shouldered Hispanic man. He was dressed in black sweatpants, and bare chested. Clutched in both hands was a warhammer, the head and haft seeming to be all of one piece, a near flawless chunk of quartz granite that seemed to have been sculpted more by time and the elements than by any human hand.

"Then DO something about it Rampage. He's down, so HIT HIM!" Boneyard snapped. Rampage grunted, before vaulting over the barricade he and the others had thrown themselves behind.

Hefting the warhammer, Rampage charged their enemy, a monstrous form nearly seven feet tall with black, rock-like skin, spurts of black-shot green flame spurting from the cracks in its mineral hide. Its eyes were pits of blazing purple energy, visible even through the viscous blue goo that coated its body and held it in place. "YOU THINK THIS WILL HOLD ME DEMON SPAWN? I WILL CLEANSE THIS CITY OF YOUR WICKEDNESS!!!" it screamed.

Rampage let out a guttural roar as he charged, bare feet pounding the pavement. And as he charged, he began to shift. His stride lengthened, feet putting craters into the asphalt, before first one foot, then the next, crashed down as hooves. His face extended into a bovine muzzle, horns sprouting from his temples, curving forward and dipping into sharp, deadly points. Brown hair sprouted over his body, with longer tufts of black painting lines down his chest and spine. Muscles bulged and flexed as the minotaur reared back, spinning on one hoof for a full 360 degree rotation as he closed within a half-step of the target.

*KA-RUNCH*

There was a visible shock wave as the hammerhead made contact with the creature's chest, its eyes widening in pain even as it was lifted clear off the pavement and launched nearly fifty feet down the road, landing in a heap of limbs, goo, and car parts from the truck it'd crushed. Rampage winced as he shouldered his hammer. "Hope that guy had insurance." One bovine ear twitched as a high whistling noise pierced the air. Looking up, he saw a multicolored meteorite falling from the heavens. "S'bout damn time. Lazy gringo letting us do all the work..." There was no heat to his words though. A clattering sound had his attention back on his foe. It was climbing out of the wreckage, most of the goo that'd been caked on his body haivng either peeled off due to flames erupting from within, or due to the shock wave of the hammer strike knocking it off. "HEY BRIMSTONE!" The creature turned to snarl at Rampage, "HEADS UP ASSHOLE!"

"Huh?" was all Brimstone was able to croak out, before the "meteorite" hit him, driving him up to his neck into the asphalt and knocking the beast unconscious. The projectile shook his fist to getthe feeling back into it, before hopping off of his target and letting out a cackling laugh.

"Damn but that always feels good!" He was sharply dressed, black trenchcoat with red and orange flames licking the bottom edge over a solid gray shirt and bluejeans, black fedora with a red hatband, and black combat boots capped with steel that glinted in the hazy sunlight. Around him wove seven fox tails, three blood red, the others each a varying hue running the gamut from dark brown to a sea-green.

"Nice entrance Tempest, but you were cutting it a little close there," Rampage grumbled.

Tempest shrugged. "Sorry. He's been getting tougher, so I figured I'd need some extra height as compared to last time."

Rampage nudged Brimstone's head with the butt of his warhammer. "Well, looks like it worked at least." He turned to where his compatriots were emerging from their cover. "Oi, Boneyard, prep the restraints while me and Mr Showboat here pull this turnip and put a patch on this mess."

Boneyard didn't even glance up from where he was prepping what looked like a harness of cables as thick as his arm. "Already on it."

Rampage nodded, before leaning on the butt of the handle of his hammer as if it were a cane, the head making a slight indent into the soft asphalt as he put pressure on it. Closing his eyes, a faint brown glow surrounded him, running down his arms, through his hammer, and into the street itself. Tempest was surrounded by a similar glow, as he knelt on the ground, one hand pressed palm-down to the road, though there were flickers of red running through the aura as well.

A shudder ran through the earth, before Brimstone's unconscious body slowly pushed up and out, like a gigantic blackhead in the ground, before popping free and falling to one side, the crater that he'd made bulging upwards until it was level ground once more. "Try to keep it level this time TK, we had some complaints about potholes over on Main and Sixth the last time we patched the road up."

Tempest snorted. "There's always been complaints about potholes on Main and Sixth, even before we started operating in this town." The broken pieces of pavement were starting to steam now, before flowing together seamlessly, the steam cutting off as a dusting of frost appeared over the now rapidly cooling asphalt. Tempest nodded as he got to his feet, dusting his knees off with his hat. "There we go. Just need the road crews to do a re-paint and you'll never know that there was a meta-human battle here. Again."

Tigerpaw snorted as he came up beside them, rolling Brimstone onto his chest and beginning to attach parts of the harness that he'd been given by Boneyard. "I think Brimmy here is starting to get predictable. This is the same church that he tried to level last month for being "heretical demon lovers"."

"That's because it's the church with the greatest number of active metahumans as attending parishioners in the city," Rampage snorted. "I oughta know..." Carlos Santana's "Into the Night" begin to play tinnily in the night air, "One sec guys, that's Eliza." Rampage removed a cellphone from an armored pouch at his back. "Hey beautiful, what's up?" A pause. "Wait, that was tonight!? Oh jeeze 'Liza, I'm sorry. We got called out, Brimstone decided that tonight was a night for his usual brand of holy wrath. Look, I've still got," he checked the watch that Tempest had bared and shoved in his face without a word, "Twenty minutes till our reservations come up. I'll meet you right outside, promise. Love you too, and I'll tell em. Bye." The minotaur snapped his phone shut. "Sorry guys, but I've gotta run now! Oh, Eliza says hey, and Tigerpaw, your wife called her about us watching your kids next Tuesday."

"Get goin' hoofhead, we can haul Brimmy's near-worthless carcass down to the station on our own. And thanks in advance for watching the girls." Tigerpaw waved one hand as he continued to concentrate on restraining Brimestone. Rampage nodded, before looking around to orient himself, and bounding off to the south. Tigerpaw looked over at Tempest. "How long do you think before he works up the guts to pop the question?" The foxtailed mn shrugged.

"Who knows Brian? Between his issues with his dad in general, still looking after his sisters, and Eliza still trying to come to terms with her alternate form even after all this time, could be a long while yet." Tempest conjured up a globe of orange flame, using it to give Tigerpaw, or Brian, better lighting. Boneyard wandered over and began to hook up the various cables to junction boxes, which pulled the harness tight. "How about you Dylan? Out of the four of us you seem to be the only one without company. I mean, Brian's already got three different girls driving him up the wall-"

"And loving every day of it," Tigerpaw interjected.

"-Benny is still seeing Eliza, and all I have to do to get some female companionship is circle the block until some lady decides she wants to see how soft these tails of mine really are," Tempest smirked. Boneyard looked up from where he was attaching one last component, and Tempest winced. He could feel the glare, even through the polorized lenses of Boneyard's goggles.

"My love life is of little to no concern of yours." The teen shook his head. "Shoulda called you "Horn Dog" instead of "Tempest Kitsune". I swear you're worse that some of those insane girls..." The two older men shared a smirk.

"Ah yeah, heard about your little fanclub and that incident outside the Electro Hut. Surprised you made it out of there with your goggles on, let alone the rest of your clothes." Tempest started snickering.

"Shut. Up. Jason. Or so help me I'll have TALOS wipe out your entire music collection," Dylan snapped, his dark complextion and the hue of the light from the fire hiding his blush. Tempest, or Jason, raised his hands in a mock surrender motion.

"Alright, alright, you win. Still don't know how you got the AI that was a copy of my brain on your side, but you win."

[Kirai]

So... did anybody else actually go over their stories... or were they also forgotten?

And when will this voting be?

Just to get some attention on this thread

[Calinero]

Wow, these are some good stories...if this thing actually does get voted on, I hope it's not too late to post an entry.

[QuoteMyFoot]

Wait, crap! I reserve the right to get a better draft up here!

But I do hope this is still going ahead?

[Calinero]

Assuming this contest isn't actually dead, how much time might be available for us latecomers to come up with something? The end of the month, maybe?

[ewuvi]

Sure, enter! That'd be great!

[Calinero]

Woot! Now, to get to work!

...I wonder what it says that the vast majority of the stories seem to be about villains, or at least about morally questionable heroes?

[SirKaid]

Villains are usually more interesting. Anyway, I'll have a third and final draft up tomorrow, I think.

[Calinero]

Here is the first draft of my story. My first real foray into any sort of world with costumed heros and villains.

Spoiler: show

“It was far too easy, you know.”

He stood in front of me, leaning forward casually onto the back of his chair. His eyes were a piercing green, resting calmly n the center of the face that the whole city—maybe even most of the world—had known for years. The face that had once hidden behind the mask of the Ghost.

The face of the most dangerous man in the world. Walter Grey.

“No one ever questioned. No one ever suspected. No one even thought to look too closely at what I was doing.”

I was frozen with fear. The weight of those eyes pinned me to my seat even as the wheels in my tape recorder continued to quietly click. Though he was older than me by at least ten years, with the first hints of silver creeping into his hair, I saw only confidence on his face.

“I mean, it started out innocently enough—hell, I even meant it the first few times I stopped a mugging or a robbery. I wasn’t the only mask back then, the fad was just catching on.”

He rose from his leaning position and began to pace as he mocked me with his story, giving the chair a light spin as he walked away from it. Though his eyes seemed to be gazing out the window of his steel tower and surveying the rest of bustling, downtown Marchen City, I knew better than to run for the door. Before I could even touch the knob he would have me, and the fists that had defeated half the organized crime in the city, and even villains like Underlord and Pariah, would close around my throat.

“Those were good times, when all the first masks popped up. Everyone throwing on costumes, no confusion about who the good guys and the bad guys were. Of course, they were all idiots.” He smiled coldly. “No one ever saw the possibilities. If you dressed up as the hero, no one ever questioned you. No one ever noticed how you took on the heads of the mobs, but left the lower levels intact and leaderless. No one ever noticed how one crook always got away with the loot, never to be found.”

I felt a chill. Recently, one of them had been found—floating in the river, mangled almost beyond recognition. But no one had thought, even I hadn’t thought—

“The city needed heroes, Mark,” he said, my name jolting me from my thoughts. I nearly jumped, certain that he was done toying with me. “Ever since the Outbreak there have been freaks the police can’t deal with. They needed someone like me keeping the streets clean, and no one likes to look a gift horse in the mouth.” He grinned at me, showing as many teeth as a politician in an election year. “the people were afraid, and it took a ghost to make them feel better.”

“H-how long?” My voice finally managed to escape my throat, showing only a little of the fear-induced weakness and trembling that filled my limbs.

“How long?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling smugly. “Well, more than twenty years since I became the Ghost. But you knew that. You’re a good reporter, Mark, I know you’ve done your homework. If you’re asking how long I’ve been…” His grin widened. “…’playing both sides,’ you might say, then it’s a different story.” Though he still smiled, his eyes looked distant, almost thoughtful. “It wasn’t always this way.”

“I started out like a lot of the others,” he continued. “But they were stupid and blind. I could see. And better yet, I could think.” His fist clenched. “I could see better than any of them that it was hopeless. No matter how many thugs you knock flat, or how many freaks you lock away, there’s always more. And I was the only one who figured out the better way to do things.”

“Better?” I nearly spat out the word. “taking over the mob? Killing people? You call—“

His hand crashed down onto the desk in front of me faster than I could see. His knuckles left an indentation in the wood. As I paled and choked on my next word, I knew that my head could have been crushed by that fist like a tangerine. Close to where he had struck sat my tape recorder, reels still whirring. It wobbled with the impact, then finally teetered and fell off onto the floor on the other side of the desk.

I was going to die following a lead for a story that The Journal hadn’t even agreed to pay me for yet.

“Don’t you talk down to me you son of a bitch!” I could see Grey’s muscles ripple under his suit, a suit that would have been fit for a CEO. Grey looked more like a crazed evangelist now, his face flushed and twisted with rage instead of religious fervor. “I made something decent out of this city! This place was a slum, with criminal filth roaming the streets whenever they weren’t too busy stabbing each other in the backs and fucking in alleys. I took that mess,” he growled, leaning so that his face was only inches from mine, “And I turned it into a place you’d want to live. A good economy. Safe, clean, streets. Strictly white collar crime.”

“And that’s how you ended up a millionaire, owning the biggest company of the city?” My fear had begun to give way to rage. “Because you’re such a humanitarian?”

Before I knew it his hand was clenching my shirt and I was soaring over the desk. I felt a flash of pain in my knee as I struck a lamp and then hit the ground, burning my palms as I skidded across the rug. My breath exploded from my body in a pained gasp. Grey was already standing near me, looking down dispassionately as I struggled to regain my breath.

“No, you little punk.” He spat on me, but I was too winded to care. “Because I deserve it. I put my life on the line cleaning up this city, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to get some of the benefits. All the gangs whose headmen I put in jail needed a new leader to keep them under control. Better me than another thug, right?” He didn’t sound like he cared about my answer, and I wasn’t sure I could talk without wheezing yet. “I kept them under control, and the money they gave me is going to make this city great!”

He walked over to his desk and pulled out a drawer. In one easy motion he flipped it towards me. The small, round, shiny object that I first mistook for a coin landed right next to my foot. As I struggled to sit up, I recognized it for what it was. The three words inscribed upon it filled me with dread.

Ghost for Governor.

“That’s a bit of a sneak peek for you, I’m not announcing my candidacy for another month. Of course, no one expects old man Warcheck to step down after this term, but I have ways of seeing to it that he’ll be ready to take a nice, long retirement. If he doesn’t want the tapes I have of him released—and the ones of his wife, and the arrest records of his daughter. And Governor is only the beginning, Mark…I have big plans.”

My stomach twisted in a combination of disgust, pain, and fear as I looked upa t him. The tape recorder lay only a few feet away, mocking me.

“You’ll never get elected,” I said with less confidence than I would have liked, feeling like the damsel in distress of a bad action movie. “Candidates are looked at closely. Someone else will see what you’ve done, that—“

“No one ever sees, Mark.” He paused. “Well, not ‘no one’…after all, you’re here. And there have been others.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

“Others?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Only a few. There was a cop who got too nosy and didn’t know how to shut up. Made sure he got taken care of…oh, ten years ago. And another reporter, that Lovett bitch.”

I went pale, and my fists clenched. I had known her, but not well. Had seen her at press conferences. She had been the victim of a mugging gone wrong.

Allegedly.

“Other than them, you’re the only one. You should feel proud, Mark.” He paused again. “Then again, I’m pretty sure Titan suspected. I would have killed him anyway.” I gaped at him.

“You—you killed Titan?” The city’s most beloved and well-known mask, other than perhaps the Ghost, Titan had seemed invincible. He and the Ghost had even worked together on occasion. Then, when the Underlord had placed bombs throughout the sewer system, their battle had taken them beneath the city. The explosion that had erupted up from the tunnels destroyed almost a third of Ammonds Park. Only ghost had emerged, battered and bleeding. And no wonder—he had had to kill two masks, not just one.

“Well, I had to,” he said matter-of-factly. “He would have gotten suspicious. Besides…he was competition.” His eyes went cold, and his voice soft. “Tell me, Mark, since you notice so much…did you notice how no new masks seem to be cropping up in Marchen City? Did you wonder?” He raised an eyebrow and gave me a mirthless smile. “I thought not. You see, as long as the Ghost is the only masked hero around, the city depends on him. If any freak on the street could throw on a mask and be a hero, I’d just get lost in the jumble. And we can’t have that.” He leaned back against his desk, eyes never leaving me.

By this time, I had sat up and was watching him warily. Trying to think of an escape when there was none.

“Of course, even I couldn’t hunt down everyone with a power. Not yet,” Grey said calmly. “Any masks I didn’t nip in the bud, I framed. Any hero needs his villains, after.”

The gears in my mind were turning. How many of the ‘supervillains’ who terrorized the city were actually innocent, hunted for a crime they hadn’t committed? The Cavalier? Madam Night?

When Grey rose form his desk and cracked his knuckles, looking down at his watch, I knew that I might never know. He had finished toying with me. I only had one chance—

“It’s been great talking with you, Mark,” he said wryly. “I hope that you got the answers you wanted to all your questions. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to cut this interview short—“

“Just one last question,” I said, interrupting him. “If you’ve spent your life fighting supervillains and maniacs who are almost as twisted as you, why the hell don’t you know better than to spout monologues at me?”

With that my hand flew under my suit jacket and pulled out the small pistol I had started carrying when I first began interviewing mob members. I was far from a marksman, but even I couldn’t fail to hit Grey from this close. Especially when I expended the entire clip aiming straight at his smug smile.

I saw him reel with the impact of the bullets, eyes widening with shock, but didn’t stick around to see if he was dead. Instead I bolted for the door, scooping up the tape recorder as I ran. He had let me keep it on even after revealing that he knew I had investigated him, thinking I would never leave the room alive. But now he was going to regret that mistake, now I—

The thud of was accompanied by a cracking sound that might have been one of my ribs. The pistol flew from my hand and into the window, sending out a spider web of hair thin cracks. I was sent flying into the far wall and collapsed to the ground, strange colors whirling for my eyes.

Grey was standing in front of me. Any trace of his cheery façade was gone, replaced by the face of a man who had claws his way up from the streets. I saw two holes in his suit where my bullets had gone, but almost no blood had seeped through and he didn’t look any worse for the wear. To my horror, I saw one bullet had hit his face. It had pierced his skin but stopped as it hit his cheekbone. He calmly picked the bullet out of the wound, only wincing slightly. The wound did not bleed, but almost seemed to shrink slightly. It looked as though within a few hours it would be gone without a trace—as would I.

His face a twisted image of fury, Grey lifted me up and pushed me against the wall so tightly that I couldn’t breathe.

“For that, you are going to die slowly and painfully. Did you think no one had tried that before?” He sneered at me before releasing me, freeing me to lean against the wall weakly. “You have to do better than that. But you’re right, Mark—I’ve toyed with you long enough.” His fist clenched and he drew it back. I knew that this blow would kill me. My hands clenched involuntarily, and I felt the tape recorder—somehow still in my hand—creak under the pressure. And then I knew what to do.

I do not have superhuman speed. But, I was still able to dart to the side quickly enough to avoid Grey’s punch that shattered the wall behind me. I don’t think he expected any resistance from me—I slipped by him. But I couldn’t outrun him for long.

I do not have superhuman strength. But, what strength remained in my bruised limbs was enough. Enough to propel me through the weakened glass of the window and into the open air beyond.

I could not see the window as I tumbled down, and could only imagine the look on Grey’s face. I did not feel the impact of the pavement below, or hear the shocked cries of onlookers. As they gathered around, I was aware of only one thing—the plastic tape recorder in my hand. Had it survived? It was the only thing that could tell my story, stop Grey before he—

I heard it. Above the dull fog that clouded my mind, I could hear the tapes turning and feel the minute vibrations. I smiled weakly as my body failed. Someone would investigate. Someone would know. The thought gave me comfort as I slipped into blackness, lying on the streets of Marchen City, with the Ghost looking down on me.

[SirKaid]

The final draft of my submission:

Spoiler: show

Hmmm, readings are a little above normal, but nothing catastrophic... Ah, Miss Miller. You're awake. Welcome to your new home. My name is unimportant, but you can call me Alexander French. You know, the famous doctor and philanthropist? Yes, the very same. You're probably wondering where you are and why you're here. Yes, I can see it in your eyes. My guests are very predictable in their inquiries, after all, and I have been doing this for nearly two decades now.

I'd like to begin by saying that the 'Super' community, by and large, are stupid and selfish children. I can only think of a few names worthy of their powers... Franz Balznik, for instance, and Celine Grand. What? Yes, I'm aware that Franz is a murderer. What else would he do with the ability to turn someone's blood into molten iron at thirty paces?

Fight crime? See, it's answers like that. They're the reason I hate the lot of you stupid, stupid Supers. Answer me this. Which is more important, beating up small-time crooks and mob enforcers or fighting to make the world a better place? Obviously the second. In his three-year run Franz killed one hundred and thirty-seven people. Each and every one of them was a walking environmental disaster. Josef Selin was responsible for over a thousand square kilometers of deforesting in the Amazon. Maria Turnbill personally spearheaded the lobbying efforts which killed the proposed law for stricter environmental regulations on car emissions. The list goes on.

Celine uses her power, teleportation, to put satellites into orbit. Every day she spends eight hours popping them up there. She charges around ten percent what a rocket would cost and donates ninety nine percent of her earnings to Amnesty International. She's a real inspiration, I say, on how to use superpowers for good.

Unlike the rest of you idiots. Dressing in spandex and beating up muggers? It's a waste! When my powers emerged in '89... Oh, what are my powers? Simple, really. My mind lives in a series of computers. Anyway, when my powers emerged I knew it was my duty to the world to make life better for as many people as I could. It is the duty of the strong to protect the weak, after all, and I was suddenly one of the strong.

But how should I go about it all? It was obviously pointless to attack the problems in the world from the bottom up. The source of most of humanity's ills comes from our leaders. Corrupt politicians, greedy industrialists, religious leaders preaching hate, and so on. At the time I was only nineteen years old. I was only poorly educated, having slept through all of my classes, and I worked in a minimum-wage job.

I had an epiphany one day when I saw the evening news. Amanda the Amazing, you remember her? Blond hair, breasts out to here, regenerated from wounds almost instantly... Well, I saw on the news that she had been credited with stopping a group of bank robbers. I remember the thought with perfect clarity. 'You're wasting your powers!' I thought. 'Leave the crooks to the cops and let researchers experiment on you!'

My life goal suddenly was clear. If the Supers won't willingly come forward to aid humanity, then I would make them do the right thing by force. I immediately set to work. While visiting my parents at their home in Canada I had my flesh body fake a coma. I then set myself to learn everything I needed to know. A year later I had learned everything I could from the Internet and I set my plan in motion.

I had this facility constructed in secret before I sent one of Amanda the Amazing's friends on an all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas. I then sent Amanda an email telling her to come here, alone and without telling anyone, or I would kill the friend. Since she is a complete idiot, she came. From there it was child's play to force her to walk into her current home. She has been my guest for nineteen years now.

Why did I kidnap her? Haven't you been paying any attention at all? Her powers were being squandered! In the last nineteen years, through experiments on her I have developed fifteen kinds of burn treatment, from sunburns to tissue burns to blackened bones to nerve damage. Twenty-seven kinds of treatment for blunt trauma. Vaccines to over a hundred previously incurable diseases, including the common cold, five kinds of influenza, and three strains of multiple drug resistant tuberculosis.

Because of her the average lifespan has been extended by ten years! I believe that within the century I will crack the secret to immortality because of her. And think, she was wasting her time playing cops and robbers!

What? Yes, the experiments were most painful for her. How do you think I learned how to synthesize the methods her body uses to heal her, inspirational posters? No, I had to inflict those very same wounds on her multiple times. Why should I care that her life, such as it is, is a never ending nightmare of torture and misery? Her sacrifice has saved the lives of millions!

Of course, once I realized just how valuable one Super was, I had to collect another. In '92 I acquired Johann Colfer, known to the media as Iceman. The man casually broke the laws of thermodynamics, and what did he use it for? That's right, beating up crooks. He has been invaluable in furthering humanity's understanding of the universe. I made a fair bit of money on a line of refrigerators as well, which was nice.

'94, I acquired Adolf Weiss. He could run at two hundred kilometers an hour and made his living as a courier. He helped me develop a line of exoskeletons. The latest one in the line, the White Seven, allows a quadriplegic to run at fifty kilometers an hour while carrying five hundred pounds. It also required knowledge from two other Supers, being Dominic Thomas, known as Barbell, and Susan Finnigan, known as the Metal Minstrel. They were acquired in '96 and '98 respectively.

I celebrated the new millennium by acquiring a much more powerful metal-based Super. Adrianna Gelder, known as the Metallic Marvel, was taken in 2000. She required a fair bit of training in identifying metals and alloys before she became useful, but after her lessons I was able to make her create all sorts of alloys to test. Even better, because of the nature of her body I could just lop off her limbs to experiment on and replace the lost material with molten iron.

Mmm? Yes, of course it was painful. The metal was at a temperature of thousands of degrees. It's fast, efficient, and it works, so why not?

'03, I took Hank Green. He dressed in drag and called himself Mother Nature. With my guidance he has created seeds that can grow anywhere, require virtually no labour, and mature into a perfectly nutritious root vegetable within a month! We're still working on the taste, though.

You remember the untimely death of Red Eyes in '05, I am sure. You will be happy to note that I acquired her for her powers. You might not follow the financial papers, but one of my dummy corporations sells industrial strength lasers. Dearest Sara Randall and her eyes increased their cutting power by 55% and decreased the energy requirements by 38%.

She attempted suicide a year ago, so I was unfortunately forced to paralyze her from the neck down. As she is no longer capable of changing the orientation of her head it is a simple matter to ensure that she cannot reflect her lasers back at herself again.

Last year I took Boris Noborov. He was big in the chess world. It seemed like he always knew what his opponents were going to do. As it turns out, the media was right. The man's a telepath. Research is still pending on how to replicate the feat, but the preliminary results are promising.

You see the pattern, I trust? Every time in the last twenty years that a Super disappeared without a trace, I kidnapped them. The best part, though, is that you're all so self-centered and selfish that no one has ever put all the dots together. Everyone sees the kidnappings as isolated incidents and not the workings of a single mind. You're all fools.

Oh, you want to know why I went after you? Simple, really. Miss Miller, your power is to mental illness what Amanda's is to physical injury. You don't understand? My dear, you can make someone feel whatever emotion you want. Calmness, happiness, sadness, anger, hate... Once I isolate what it is that makes your power work, I will be able to cure all sorts of mental illnesses. Depression cured with a pill! Anxiety with a booster shot! You and I are going to get on famously, I can tell.

Oh, you are all so terribly predictable. 'You're a monster!' 'You're evil!' 'You'll never get away with this!' Blah, blah, blah. I already have gotten away with it. I've been getting away with it for twenty years. With every further day of 'getting away with it' humanity gets another cure, another accomplishment, another invention. Even if someone discovered this lab, bypassed all of my defenses, and freed all of my test subjects, there's no stopping me. I can always begin again. No one other than me knows which comatose patient contains my soul. What're you going to do, start executing people until I die? Not very heroic of you.

As far as evil goes, I feel it is a matter of opinion. Is it evil to torture a more or less innocent woman for twenty years? Yes. Is that mitigated by the millions of lives improved by her suffering? Yes. If all lives are equal in value, then one woman's suffering cannot possibly equal the suffering of millions. I see you are afraid. Don't worry, I probably won't have to torture you too much to learn how your power works.

Hold that thought. My shipment of the Ebola virus has arrived and I will need to pay close attention to Amanda while the procedure is ongoing. Before I go, I should warn you against self-harm. If you attempt to harm yourself then what few freedoms you have will disappear. I have absolutely no problem with binding you to your bed for the rest of your life, since damaging your spinal cord might harm your powers. So long as you cooperate with the proceedings I will see to it that your stay is as comfortable as possible.

Have a good day, Miss Miller. Goodbye.

Calinero, I liked your story. I've got one question for you, though.

Spoiler: show

Why does Ghost consent to the interview? Does he just have the massively megalomaniacal urge to monologue occasionally, or was the entire point of the interview to just kill the reporter? If the latter, why not just stage another back alley mugging?

[Calinero]

SirKaid:

Spoiler: show

Ghost agreed to the interview partially out of a desire to see exactly how much information Mark knew, and if killing him would be necessary. In the conversation before the story started one of them let something slip, and Ghost knew that he couldn't let Mark leave alive. That's when the monologuing begin. Also, after fighting so many supervillains, I'm going to say that a subconscious urge to monologue had been building inside of him for quite some time. If you can think of a less clumsy way to set the encounter up, feel free to let me know.

I really liked your story as well. Your evil monologuing skills surpass my own, and the whole premise is extremely...creepy, I have to say. I chose to put a spot of hope at the end of my story, while yours seems to be a pretty bleak scenario. A very well written, interesting bleak scenario.

[QuoteMyFoot]

Final draft. No longer in second person, because it's really awkward to write in.

Spoiler: show

I never really thought of myself as a hero.

I cannot remember the day I discovered that I had powers, that I was different - superhuman. As far as I know, I have been that way since I was born. Not that anybody can tell me for sure. My earliest memories are all of care homes, or occasionally foster parents with more compassion than sense - the Kings’, who took me in even after hearing about my first ‘accident’. They were warned, but, like they said at the time, it was their own funeral.

It was not really a bad life, I have since decided, just not perhaps the best upbringing I could have had, and certainly not one I would have chosen. I have tried to trace my origins but never quite managed to find them. I wonder if anyone else had this power; my mother or father, whoever they are. I often wonder if that is why I ended up in the care of the state.

I stop wondering at that point, and just deal with the fact that I am unique. I like to deal in facts, but some I like more than others.

This city suits me. I like being anonymous, and anonymity is probably a good thing after my most recent - and largest - accident in my last place of residence. Was that the fourth Home or the fifth? I cannot remember.

I had always been regarded as something of an oddity there, and my ability made people wary of it/me, of the damage it could cause. I do not think it really mattered to them, though, until they found out just how much damage it could cause. To be fair, I did not know about this until recently either, else I would have warned them myself. And it is not like I planned to be in a car accident. Really, they got off lucky - I am not sure what would have happened had I actually died.

In all the confusion and destruction, I was able to slip away, and with luck they will assume my own ability killed me - presumably that it also destroyed my body, and any trace of it. I have noticed that those without a power like to adopt a view of the world most kindly described as ‘optimistic’.

This city is loud, big, bright and there are more people here than I have seen anywhere else in my life. Here I am simply one of a crowd, not the odd one out. No one knows me here. Hopefully, no one will ever know me here. At least not by my real name.

Not that I am too sure of my real name myself. That is another part of my origins that I was told about, but I have been unable to confirm. This does not bother me unduly. What is a name, after all? Only a title by which others can refer to you. It is necessary to write it on documents and faxes and cheques, but nobody needs to call me by my name anymore - I do not intend to appear on state documents for a very long time. And I have no one who needs to call me by name. That man passing me on the street; the woman crossing the road at the moment - they almost certainly have friends and relatives, perhaps even children, and it would certainly be inconvenient to refer to them by moniker all the time.

I have none of these - except the moniker - and would not want them. I prefer anonymity, or at least being unnoticed. Nobody is invulnerable, of course; I know this very well. I am, after all, missing half of my left arm. It is, however, easier to hide your vulnerabilities if you keep to the shadows. Do not let anyone shine the light on you, and they will not know how to hurt you.

It has occurred to me that this may come across as paranoia, or perhaps insanity, but I disagree with that. I like isolation, and if everyone knew the full extent of my abilities - and my new line of work - they would certainly agree with me. Isolation would be considered essential, even. It is a dangerous game, this hero business, and all the others in it who died had somebody: parents, siblings, a partner - even children, some of them. People who could be used; who could be hurt. It is probably the main thing they have in common with the average person on the street: vulnerabilities.

This actually surprised me when I first heard it - but I suppose that even those kind of people (my kind of people, now), like to have weaknesses. Personally, I do not have or want any. I can see the attraction, though. It is a silly thing, really, to think that I can understand the feeling, just because I had a small attachment to a pet - I still remember Polka fondly, and to this day have a soft spot for Dalmatians. She actually belonged to one of my earlier foster parents, but she felt like mine. I was not careful enough, though, since I did not know much about my ability in those days. She died. And then I was moved into another care home.

Not that it matters. The point is that I understand the gist of it; I understand the need of some to have a weakness, because the feeling you receive in return is worth taking risks for. If I hadn’t decided to pursue this life, I would probably seek it out myself - I would just have to be more careful.

But I do not like the thought of my weakness being hurt because of me, not again. So whilst I am working for Valignant, I am not going to have weaknesses. I am only going to do my job.

I stumble on the sidewalk suddenly and automatically reach out my arm to catch myself. I fall anyway, landing heavily on my knees and right hand. Too late, I remember that I do not have a left arm below the elbow, at least for the time being - I never lost such a large part of me before my last accident, and I am still not used to it yet.

There are eyes of passers-by on me, but none of them move to help me up. I did not really expect them to, either. Scrambling to my feet awkwardly, I continue on my way, until the stares have stopped and I can become anonymous again. That is the one bad thing about being in a city: if you do something extraordinary, there are a lot more eyes on you.

My hand stings. I glance at it briefly. It is bleeding. Quickly, I lower my hand again and clench my first tightly. I did not realise I had fallen hard enough to break skin. That could have been dangerous, but fortunately nothing happened. It would have been awkward to manage without either arm.

I break into a smile at the thought. Of all the reasons I could have for not wanting it to happen again, the first one that occurs to me is the simple inconvenience. How, after all, would I explain to my new employers that I am currently incapable of signing their contract? Even Valignant, polite as he has been to me, might take an issue with that.

Shaking my head at the image, I try to keep the smile from spreading but fail. Well, nevermind. Smiling will not do me any harm, even if it does earn me a lot of odd looks from passers-by; they are probably wondering what I have to be so happy about. I should not worry, though. If they are so willing to forget me in my old town, I doubt I will make much of an impression on these people. It is a big city and I am not the only odd person. That is, after all, why I came here in the first place.

I take the next left, and then the second right, and dart down the small alley opposite the pizzeria. The directions were complicated and it took a while for me to memorise them, but I definitely remember this bit. Of course, that is only because the owner of the pizzeria shares a surname with my first foster parent. I cannot say I have fond memories of her, but they are vivid.

The alley is not the cleanest place in the city, and the smell hits me with the strength of a baseball bat, but it is probably not the worst place I have ever been in. At the moment, though, I am struggling to come up with another option. I suppose this is one way to keep your stronghold safe.

There is a door on my right, set into the brickwork in a way that makes it difficult to see but not incongruous if you do happen to notice it - just as Valignant described it. I try it, and step inside when I find it unlocked - just like Valignant said it would be. It makes a nice change to know somebody who is reliable. Also, the smell seems to evaporate when I close the door behind me, which is a relief if nothing else.

Things have already been explained to me, so it does not take very long to get everything finalised. There is a contract, but not the sort that is legally binding; Valignant’s assistant, who does not have a moniker, tells me that the rules of the contract cannot be broken, unless I want “bad things” to happen to me. He does not answer when I ask exactly what. The contract is suitably specific, though, so I am confident that whatever his ability is, it will not have a chance to affect me. Anyway, where else could I go? What else could I do? I knew the risks when I agreed to join them - even if I do not have weaknesses like the others...

An hour later I step back into the alley, remembering to breathe through my mouth when I have to breathe at all. Valignant has told me to get back in contact with them when my left arm has finished regenerating. I said I thought it would be a month, but I have never lost half an arm before, so I am not certain about that. Valignant is understanding anyway and says some delay is to be expected; it doesn’t matter, he claims, if I am a little behind schedule. He thanks me for agreeing to work with them before he closes the door softly behind me. I notice that he is not fond of the smell in the alley, either.

So now I have a job. It is not the sort of job they encouraged me to take when they talked about it in the care homes. They probably would not think of it as a job at all, in fact. I disagree. Just because it is not, per se, government sponsored does not mean I am not currently employed. Anything that employs me counts as a job, in my opinion - if it does not, well... it should.

I step out of the alley, gratefully leaving the stench behind - it has to be some kind of power (I hope), to be so concentrated and so powerful. I pity the guy who got stuck with that one.

Valignant’s orders are still preying on my mind, and I cannot help glancing upwards. I can see the building he talked about from here. Even in a city of skyscrapers, this one is impressive. I only know it as some kind of corporate headquarters, but it is several storeys taller than others I have seen in the city, and looks nicer - where the others are square concrete, this one is gently curved and made mostly of glass.

I do not want to think about how much it cost to build. I am not sure I am even capable of imagining that much money. Valignant has been quoting numbers at me for several weeks now; profits in numbers so large that they do not even seem real. I cannot remember how many zeroes there were, I just know that there were far too many, when I and people like me have spent their whole lives depending on others, with nothing to their name. Valignant definitely seemed to think so.

A month, I remind myself, as my eyes flicker from the curved glass to the sidewalk. I keep my head down and start walking, knowing that I will not be able to stop the scowl. Luckily, many people in this city wear a similar expression.

A month, perhaps more. It suddenly seems like a long time to wait.

*

I have realised - thanks to various accidents over the years - that I am very hard to kill.

It is, of course, because of my ability - my unique ability. Unique as far as I know, anyway, and as far as Valignant knows too. If there was somebody else with this power, he would probably not be so willing to work with me. I might like anonymity, but employers in this business generally frown upon it. Considering the circumstances, Valignant has been very accommodating.

I have not seen Valignant in six weeks, although I spoke to him only recently. I already know what my job is, so there is no reason to speak to him face-to-face until the aftermath. I only needed to confirm the time and that the job was still going ahead.

Valignant assured me that it is, and that he would love for me to do it as soon as possible. That he managed to do this without sounding condescending or desperate is a mystery to me.

Today is the day.

Smooth glass doors slide open for me, almost without a hint of resistance. I step into the building’s lobby and begin to work my way up the stairs without glancing once at the employees. This trick, one I worked out a long time ago, works even here - treat people like you are too superior to even notice them, and they will not dare to contradict you. Nobody stops me. I look the part too, of course, in a sharp business suit and carrying a briefcase. Valignant gave me the money for these, but the employees here obviously do not know that. I am certain that if I turned up in my usual clothes, I would not even get to the first floor. I am pretty sure I would be laughed out of the building. To be fair, I would probably laugh myself out of the building.

I have chosen these stairs on purpose, because they are the easiest place to access the structural weaknesses of the building. Besides that, nobody in their right minds would use the stairs in a building this tall. It will take me a while to get to the top, but it is necessary. I do not really mind the exercise. It seems unimportant, compared to everything else.

After a brief stop with a sharp implement made out of something that is not metal - courtesy of one of Valignant’s friends - there is a cut on my left forefinger that keeps bleeding. I have to admit that I feel slightly annoyed, important job or not; my left arm has only recently finished regenerating, and I do not like the thought of being without it again, just after I got used to it being available. I am right-handed, though, and need both legs to walk, so there are not many other options available.

The only other limb I have that will work for this is my head, and really, the notion of losing my head is just silly.

I press my finger against the wall intermittently as I ascend the stairs. The red dots of blood left behind stand out to me, but the chances of the building’s employees spotting them and making the connection is somewhere between slim and impossible, and anyway, I have always had to be hyper-aware of my blood. The point is, even if somebody does see the unusual spots of red, they will not be able to ruin things. Valignant is a good planner, whatever else I think of him - not that I am sure I have any opinion of him yet. I think his heart is in the right place, of course, but I am not certain his methods will work. He discussed this with me when we first met - I had not moved to the city yet, then. Valignant said I would understand if I was in the city myself.

I can see what he meant by that now, but I am not wholly convinced yet. I still have a job to do, though. I keep climbing the stairs. My finger keeps bleeding.

If only my blood were safe in any body but mine, I would make a wonderful donor. Alas, it was not to be.

It takes me a long time to walk to the top of the building; I had to move to a set of stairs in a different area every ten floors. My practised air of superiority worked wonders again.

Maybe a few hours have passed. I am not really sure. I was not counting, and have never been very good at keeping time. I do not think it is important, anyway. What is important now is that I am almost done, although the most crucial bit has yet to happen.

The briefcase I was carrying is digging into my skin painfully. I had to swap it from hand to hand several times during my journey from the ground floor, so now both my arms ache equally. Really, I feel almost glad to be rid of one of them.

I open it and find the promised instrument inside; non-metallic, to escape detective by rudimentary security systems, and sharp. At least, I hope it is sharp. Cautiously, I press my finger against it - not my left forefinger, that one is already bleeding - to test the edge. If it is the slightest bit dull, the plan will be ruined. Admittedly, that would be largely because I would refuse to go through with it. The thought of cutting through my own arm is bad enough - but I refuse point blank to even attempt it with a dull blade.

Normally I would not try it with a sharp blade, either. The last time I lost my left arm, it was a very painful accident, and I am not eager for that to happen again. Valignant, however, knows somebody with an ability that obviously works wonders even with a weapon of unconventional material, and the point is so sharp that I have barely ghosted it with my finger before more blood appears. Good. I can trust that this will work properly - quickly, that is the most important thing. I have seen how easily something like this can cut through things, at least when touched with that power. My left arm should be no trouble at all.

I am not under any illusions, or stupid. It will still hurt. I am used to the pain, though - it comes with my ability, the thing that makes me superhuman. This is not because of some silly prejudice, of course, but because I was unlucky enough for my ability to require some sacrifice. But it would not work nearly as well without it.

I swing the blade down. At least I know my arm will grow back.

It hurts, like I expected, but the pain is dulled automatically by a body designed to cope with this and as long as I grit your teeth, I am pretty sure I can stop myself from screaming.

I can hear other screams. It sounds a lot like my last accident, though of course it was not an accident this time. The chain reaction has already started. The building shakes and starts to collapse. The screams sound confused, although that could just be my imagination. My ability is unique - at least I think it is - and it is unlikely that the employees here have training in how to combat it; any idea, even, of what it is. At least some of them must know that this could not have been caused by conventional explosives. It must be terrifying, to be killed by the unknown.

Most superhuman abilities are believed to have evolved out of a need for survival. Valignant believes mine is different. He seems intelligent and his idea is not unreasonable, so I have accepted this information without much thorough checking. It answers some of the questions I have about my past, but by no means all of them or even most of them.

There are some species in the animal kingdom that, whilst not being able to defend themselves perfectly on an individual basis, leave such an unpleasant imprint on the predator’s mind that they will rarely attack a member of the same species more than once. It is a way of ensuring the survival of the species as a whole, even if it does require sacrifices.

Valignant thinks that my ability evolved along similar lines. Every time my blood is spilled, it is impossible to remove. This does not do much until I acquire a more serious injury - I lose a part of a finger, for example, or maybe the whole of my left arm - but then the effects can be, and usually are, catastrophic for the people around me. If they were trying to kill me, it is not something they would want to try a second time. Assuming they survived, of course.

My blood has explosive properties, but an explosion is only triggered by sudden trauma - the larger the trauma, the larger the explosion. I am by no means a biologist, so I am not sure how this works, or even if it should be possible - but I never worry about that, because a lot of superhumans have impossible abilities. Science does not explain everything, no matter how hard it tries.

Thankfully, this ability does not kill me. It is painful, yes, but I have a regenerative ability that allows me to survive. It is not immediate, though - I do not have the metabolism or calorie intake for that, unlike Valignant, the lucky bastard. I have to be content with slow regrowth, and what little instant recovery occurs to stop me bleeding to death.

My body is a complicated thing, to say the least.

Valignant thinks my ability is one of the strongest he hass ever seen, given my ability to replace blood incredibly quickly. When you take into account everything that would be required to set up the same kind of explosion with C4 and a remote detonator, my ability starts to look very favourable. I also tend to be harder to trace. That is why he asked me to do this, and not some common mercenary.

By now the building is crumbling around me. I am not really very worried by this; I am pretty sure I can survive almost anything at this point. This is why normal people are scared by superhumans. My ability is inexplicable, dangerous and powerful. There are probably others stronger than me, though I have no reason to fear them if they have no reason to fight me. Anonymity helps there, too.

If they do have a reason to fight me, well, I have a simple but effective way of dealing with them. I have used this on occasion, albeit accidentally. It normally results in death. I do not feel bothered by this - it is a natural response, and I have little control over it even if I have learned to use it to my advantage.

Valignant is quite poetic, I think. He put it like this: ‘Every drop of your blood spilled will hurt them a hundred times over. It’s the perfect retribution.’

That is how Valignant came to give me my current moniker.

Vengeance.

The dust settles as the building collapses all at once, almost burying me with it. I manage to blast away a large piece of rubble by losing part of my little finger. I can live without that for a few weeks.

Carefully, I pick myway out of the remains of the building, ignoring desperate pleas for help and the sound of whimpering I can hear. It’s almost as loud as my own heartbeat. My main concern right now is getting to Valignant’s safehouse before the authorities arrive or I have the time to make an impression. I don’t really care about anything else.

I never really thought of myself as a hero, anyway.

[Calinero]

Very nice, Quote. Great job of doling out the information sparingly, I was dying to know just what his power did by the halfway point of the story.

[Tempest Kitsune]

Alright, here's the final draft for me.

Spoiler: show

"DOWN!" Three figures dropped to the ground as a fourth shot upwards over a wash of black flames. "I hate this bastard so damn much," a red-haired man growled, even as his form stretched and grew, hair and skin bleaching, before black stripes emerged, growing out into fur. His head warped, leaving a feline snarl in place of the grimace he'd just worn. The entire transformation was over and done in half a second, leaving a tiger-man dressed in combat fatigue pants and vest kneeling behind some shattered stonework. Snarling, he drew a pistol from a holster at his back, popping up and getting off six shots before another wash of flame answered him.

"Freaking armor-plated bastard," he snarled, reloading the gun.

"Hey Tigerpaw, anymore brilliant ideas? Maybe next time you should throw a pillow at him, see if that has any more affect?" This came from a young black man who was draped in a gray and white camouflage trenchcoat, a gray wool watch cap pulled down low over his forehead. He was fiddling with a handful of silver spheres.

"I didn't see those glue-bombs of yours doing any good either Boneyard," Tigerpaw growled at the younger man.

"Hey, they're a work in progress! I didn't take the different supernatural properties of his flame into account when I used them on him!" Even as he snapped at his co-worker, Boneyard was injecting something into the spheres through a tiny rubber nub. "Let's try this again." So saying, he tossed the spheres overhand, arcing them even as he spread their path. A moment later there was a muffled *SQUELCH* and an even more muffled roar of anger.

"Oh, nice. Now he's even more mad," snarked a tall, broad-shouldered Hispanic man. He was dressed in black sweatpants, and bare chested. Clutched in both hands was a warhammer, the head and haft seeming to be all of one piece, a near flawless chunk of quartz granite that seemed to have been sculpted more by time and the elements than by any human hand.

"Then DO something about it Rampage. He's down, so HIT HIM!" Boneyard snapped. Rampage grunted, before vaulting over the barricade he and the others had thrown themselves behind.

Hefting the warhammer, Rampage charged their enemy, a monstrous form nearly seven feet tall with black, rock-like skin, spurts of black-shot green flame spurting from the cracks in its mineral hide. Its eyes were pits of blazing purple energy, visible even through the viscous blue goo that coated its body and held it in place. "YOU THINK THIS WILL HOLD ME DEMON SPAWN? I WILL CLEANSE THIS CITY OF YOUR WICKEDNESS!!!" it screamed.

Rampage let out a guttural roar as he charged, bare feet pounding the pavement. And as he charged, he began to shift. His stride lengthened, feet putting craters into the asphalt, before first one foot, then the next, crashed down as hooves. His face extended into a bovine muzzle, horns sprouting from his temples, curving forward and then dipping into sharp, deadly points. Brown hair sprouted over his body, with longer tufts of black painting lines down his chest and spine. Muscles bulged and flexed as the minotaur reared back, spinning on one hoof for a full 360 degree rotation as he closed within a half-step of the target.

*KA-RUNCH*

There was a visible shock wave as the hammerhead made contact with the creature's chest, its eyes widening in pain even as it was lifted clear off the pavement and launched nearly fifty feet down the road, landing in a heap of limbs, goo, and car parts from the truck it'd crushed.

Rampage winced as he shouldered his hammer. "Hope that guy had insurance." One bovine ear twitched as a high whistling noise pierced the air. Looking up, he saw a multicolored meteorite falling from the heavens. "S'bout damn time. Lazy gringo letting us do all the work..." There was no heat to his words though. A clattering sound had his attention back on his foe. It was climbing out of the wreckage, most of the goo that'd been caked on his body having either peeled off due to flames erupting from within, or due to the shock wave of the hammer strike knocking it off. "HEY BRIMSTONE!" The creature turned to snarl at Rampage, "HEADS UP ASSHOLE!"

"Huh?" was all Brimstone was able to croak out, before the "meteorite" hit him, driving him up to his neck into the asphalt and knocking the beast unconscious. The projectile shook his fist to get the feeling back into it, before hopping off of his target and letting out a cackling laugh.

"Damn but that always feels good!" He was sharply dressed, black trenchcoat with red and orange flames licking the bottom edge over a solid gray shirt and bluejeans, black fedora with a red hatband, and black combat boots capped with steel that glinted in the hazy sunlight. Around him wove seven fox tails, three blood red, the others each a varying hue running the gamut from dark brown to a sea-green.

"Nice entrance Tempest, but you were cutting it a little close there," Rampage grumbled.

Tempest shrugged. "Sorry. He's been getting tougher, so I figured I'd need some extra height as compared to last time."

Rampage nudged Brimstone's head with the butt of his warhammer. "Well, looks like it worked at least." He turned to where his compatriots were emerging from their cover. "Oi, Boneyard, prep the restraints while me and Mr Showboat here pull this turnip and put a patch on this mess."

Boneyard didn't even glance up from where he was prepping what looked like a harness of cables as thick as his arm. "Already on it."

Rampage nodded, before leaning on the butt of the handle of his hammer as if it were a cane, the head making a slight indent into the soft asphalt as he put pressure on it. Closing his eyes, a faint brown glow surrounded him, running down his arms, through his hammer, and into the street itself. Tempest was surrounded by a similar glow, as he knelt on the ground, one hand pressed palm-down to the road, though there were flickers of red running through the aura as well.

A shudder ran through the earth, before Brimstone's unconscious body slowly pushed up and out, like a gigantic blackhead in the ground, before popping free and falling to one side, the crater that he'd made bulging upwards until it was level ground once more. "Try to keep it level this time TK, we had some complaints about potholes over on Main and Sixth the last time we patched the road up."

Tempest snorted. "There's always been complaints about potholes on Main and Sixth, even before we started operating in this town." The broken pieces of pavement were starting to steam now, before flowing together seamlessly, the steam cutting off as a dusting of frost appeared over the now rapidly cooling asphalt. Tempest nodded as he got to his feet, dusting his knees off with his hat. "There we go. Just need the road crews to do a re-paint and you'll never know that there was a meta-human battle here. Again."

Tigerpaw snorted as he came up beside them, rolling Brimstone onto his chest and beginning to attach parts of the harness that he'd been given by Boneyard. "I think Brimmy here is starting to get predictable. This is the same church that he tried to level last month for being "heretical demon lovers"."

"That's because it's the church with the greatest number of active metahumans as attending parishioners in the city," Rampage snorted. "I oughta know..." Carlos Santana's "Into the Night" begin to play tinnily in the night air, "One sec guys, that's Eliza." Rampage removed a cellphone from an armored pouch at his back. "Hey beautiful, what's up?" A pause. "Wait, that was tonight!? Oh jeeze 'Liza, I'm sorry. We got called out, Brimstone decided that tonight was a night for his usual brand of holy wrath. Look, I've still got," he checked the watch that Tempest had bared and shoved in his face without a word, "Twenty minutes till our reservations come up. I'll meet you right outside, promise. Love you too, and I'll tell em. Bye." The minotaur snapped his phone shut. "Sorry guys, but I've gotta run now! Oh, Eliza says hey, and Tigerpaw, your wife called her about us watching your kids next Tuesday."

"Get goin' hoofhead, we can haul Brimmy's near-worthless carcass down to the station on our own. And thanks in advance for watching the girls." Tigerpaw waved one hand as he continued to concentrate on restraining Brimestone. Rampage nodded, before looking around to orient himself, and bounding off to the south. Tigerpaw looked over at Tempest. "How long do you think before he works up the guts to pop the question?" The fox-tailed man shrugged.

"Who knows Brian? Between his issues with his dad in general, looking after his sisters, and Eliza still trying to come to terms with her alternate form even after all this time, could be a long while yet." Tempest conjured up a globe of orange flame, using it to give Tigerpaw, or Brian, better lighting. Boneyard wandered over and began to hook up the various cables to junction boxes, which pulled the harness tight. "How about you Dylan? Out of the four of us you seem to be the only one without company. I mean, Brian's already got three different girls driving him up the wall-"

"And loving every day of it," Brian interjected.

"-Benny is still seeing Eliza, and all I have to do to get some female companionship is circle the block until some lady decides she wants to see how soft these tails of mine really are," Tempest smirked. Dylan looked up from where he was attaching one last component, and Tempest winced. He could feel the glare, even through the polarized lenses of his goggles.

"My love life is of little to no concern of yours." The teen shook his head. "Shoulda called you "Horn Dog" instead of "Tempest Kitsune". I swear you're worse that some of those insane girls..." The two older men shared a smirk.

"Ah yeah, heard about your little fanclub and that incident outside the Electron Hut. Surprised you made it out of there with your goggles on, let alone the rest of your clothes." Tempest started snickering.

"Shut. Up. Jason. Or so help me I'll have TALOS* wipe out your entire music collection," Dylan snapped, his dark complexion and the hue of the light from the fire hiding his blush. Tempest, or Jason, raised his hands in a mock surrender motion.

"Alright, alright, you win. Still don't know how you got the AI that started out as a copy of my brain on your side, but you win." He trailed off for a moment, before shaking his head. "Speaking of which..." he brought his watch close to his mouth, "TALOS, we're clear for pickup. Send the Warhorse over, wouldja?" The voice that comes through the communicator built into the watch sounds almost identical to Jason's, with a static tone underlying the words.

"You got it boss. Warhorse inbound. ETA 2 minutes due to high traffic." Jason sighed.

"Damn." He looked up at the remainder of his crew. "Alright boys, smile pretty. Odds are the sharks are gonna start circling before we can get this idiot out of here."

Dylan muttered several vile curses under his breath. Brian merely groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Jason nodded in agreement with both opinions, spoken and non. "Yeah, I know. But look at it this way. Coverage equals publicity, which equals more business for us. And while our patents may make us some cash Dylan, with the insurance premiums we've got, the cost of materials for both our labs, not to mention upkeep on our operating license, legal fees and retainers, every penny counts in this business." He flashed a grin as the first news vans begin to pull up. "But hey, working for Maverick Investigations makes it all worth it, eh?"

Flashbulbs began to go off, but before the press can move in to shout questions, a steel-grey Ford Mustang rolled through, coming to a stop between the vans and the bounty hunters. Doors opened to reveal no driver within. "Perfect timing TALOS!" The relief in Dylan's voice was audible.

An image crackled into view, projected from the dash. It was a man in the armor of a Roman Centurion, helmet held in the crook of his arm. He looked nearly identical to Jason, aside from the fact he appeared to be fully human. And cast entirely of bronze. "Managed to find a shortcut. Where's Benny?"

"Had a hot, ergh, date," Jason grunted as he and Brian hefted Brimstone's bulk into the back seat of the car. The suspension creaked dangerously, for a second, before the low whine of hydraulics sounded, raising the back of the car off the pavement. The back door closed on its own as soon as the bound bounty was inside, mechanical tendrils extending from beneath the cushions to interlock with the harness that already held him.

"Okay guys, now comes the fun part. One... two... Three!" On three all of them threw out their right hands. Brian's was fisted, while Dylan's and Jason's were laid flat. Brian let slip a sulfurous curse.

"Well, looks like you get to field the press this time. Dylan, you want to ride shotgun in case sleeping ugly manages to come 'round?" The teen nodded. "Meet you at the station then, I'll be filling out the paperwork." With that, Jason vanished in a plume of blue flames. Brian sighed as he shrank down to his other form and began making his way over to the press, while Dylan slid around the car, and hopped into the passenger seat.

All in all, it had been another lucrative night for Typhun City's finest crew of bounty hunters.

*TALOS = Tactical Analysis Life-like Operating System.

[Kirai]

And mine:

Spoiler: show

To protect the Innocent

- - -

The sickly smell of burned flesh, mixed with blood and despair greeted him. Gingerly he stepped over a corpse. The road was filled with them, corpses and rubble.

Stopping he looked ahead, a city could be seen in the distance, white and pristine, in sharp contrast to the smoking ruins of the road.

It was one of humanities last refuges. One of the few places were life wasn't a constant struggle for survival. And they accepted everybody. It was his goal. The reason he followed this road of corpses.

He walked on, making sure not to step on a corpse. Bandits and worse waited on the road, but he didn't worry about them, not now. They weren't a threat, not anymore.

Briefly he wondered why it came to this. How he started to walk this road, leaving behind him the corpses of the fallen. He supposed it started with that first battle, ten years ago. It was just a piece of meat, not even a particularly large one. But he and the other boy had fought like it was one of the biggest treasures they had ever seen.

And he had won. Killed the other boy in the fight. But hey that happened, it was all too common.

But it had gotten him a few people, willing to follow him, for a few scraps of meat. No matter where they came from.

It had snowballed from there, first only a trickle joined the group, then a small stream, then a river, then a flood.

He didn't look back, he really didn't want to. The road of corpses simply was too long. Too many of them and not nearly...

His mind shied away from the thought, he hated thinking about it. Hated thinking about those that followed him. Or better maybe steered him, kept him on a leash.

He looked towards the pristine city again. His salvation and freedom, if he was lucky, if they were strong enough to defend against the waste, then maybe he would find peace there, him and maybe his followers too. If not... well if not then it was all over anyways.

One of his scouts calmly walked towards him, making sure not to step on a corpse, as carefully as he himself did.

“The road is clear for the most part.” the scout said. “We found a few more Dellis. But nothing we couldn't handle.”

He nodded, barely suppressing a shudder of revulsion as he thought of the Dellis. “Good, any news from the scouts near the city?”

His scout shook his head. “No sir, they should have reported back an hour ago, we think they have died.” The scout didn't look upset at all, he noticed. Not worried about what had happened to the other scouts at all.

To be expect of course, the waste quickly removed any feelings of compassion or empathy, still they should at least be curious what had killed their comrades.

But he shouldn't complain. It would make his plans all the easier to carry out. And it hopefully meant the city had their defenses up. And were strong enough to stop him and his people.

He and the scout reached a crest, and for the first time he could see full splendor of the city, not just the spires on top. It was besieged from all sides, various tribes were throwing themselves against the city only to be scythed down mercilessly.

He couldn't help but smile at the sight. They wouldn't have to worry about that rabble for much longer.

He turned around, and looked over his people. He nearly snorted, his people, he was their leader, theirs. They decided what he did, not the other way around.

They were moving down the street, around a million people in rags, some stopping for a few seconds around each corpse, the others, who couldn't reach it simply surging around. Behind them nothing indicated that there once were corpses. They were gone. Even the blood on the road had been licked off.

He nearly got sick, as he always did when he looked at those following him.

Quickly he turned around. The city was all that stood between them and the rest of humanity. It was humanities last hope, if it fell... everything would be over, humans would die.

And yet, he had led this rabble to their doorsteps, fully intending to assault the city, in the hope it would break the rabble, gorging itself on the corpses of bandits and tribesmen.

He would first have them killed. The fire from the city and the more primitive weapons of the tribesmen should reduce his army considerably before they even assaulted the city.

And then... then it depended on the city defenders, if they could kill enough...

He laughed, an empty, hollow sound. Who was he kidding, they would need to kill every last one of his people. They were insane, utterly insane. He had seen them... he stopped himself. He didn't want to think about it.

But he had prepared them for this, had prepared them since he started this trek. They would sit down and eat the first corpse they came across, uncaring of anything else. It didn't matter if they were hungry or not. They would sit down and eat. Presenting an easy target and giving a reason for the gunners to shoot them.

And it was just one of many advantages the city had.

Hopefully it would be enough. It had to be enough, because if it wasn't... he looked down at a corpse, his stomach contracted, and he started salivating.

If it wasn't he didn't know how long he could resist before he joined them in their madness.

- - -

On the city wall Captain Markus DeVoul watched as his soldiers proceeded to throw the tribesmen back. It was an ugly job but somebody had to do it, they didn't even try to enter the city peacefully, how could they let them in?

He sighed, he wished he didn't have to...

He frowned, as he saw a tiny figure on the southern road, standing just on the crest of Munchi pass.

There was something about that, wasn't something coming along the southern road? Something bad?

With shaking hands he reached for his binoculars. The figure sprung into focus, a dirty unkempt man, in the uniform of a protector. It was filthy, crusted in blood, but you could still see the wings on the arms, even under the brown crust.

Markus didn't notice the binoculars falling from his hand, he didn't notice himself falling down.

He only noticed the tiny figure of the Protector, the man who led the hungry children.

They had arrived, to kill anybody in the city, eat them and move on. A million hungry people, all intending to devour whatever they came across.

He heard one of his sergeants call to him, but he couldn't make out words.

Slowly he picked up the binocular and himself up. He looked at the Protector again, the madman was laughing.

- - -

Pit stumbled along. Along with a million other people, no a million monsters. He was hiding as one of them, led by a deranged madman who demanded their very humanity.

But what could he do? If he tried to run... if he tried to run he would be killed and eaten. He glanced at one of the monsters. It glanced back, eyes devoid of all humanity. All he could see was hunger. He almost immediately looked away.

And now they were going for a city, the city, the only one for thousands of miles. He was leading them to destroy the only hope humanity had. And Pit would march along. He couldn't do anything else, there was no choice. He had seen what happened to those who tried.

Well, he couldn't actually remember anybody trying. But he had seen what happened to those who didn't join them, who fought.

He looked ahead. The madman had stopped on a crest. The spires of the city could be seen beyond.

Pit wanted to cry, to howl, to escape. But he couldn't escape the horror. Today they would destroy the city and devour every living soul within.

- - -

Marcy quickly looked away form the monster that had watched her. Probably wondering how she tasted. She wanted out of this, she needed to wash the blood of her hands. But they would... they would... the monster that had watcher her looked at their leader the tyrant who delighted in corrupting them. Who smiled as they committed sin after sin after sin.

He was a devil in human form, come to destroy humanity. He laughed as he watched the city, the cruelty swinging on every shrill tone he emitted. She wanted to weep, but didn't dare.

- - -

Chief Orel glared at the wall, the wall that stood between him and salvation. They looked down on him. On his people, however soon they would realize the folly of their way.

They wanted him to beg, to degrade himself. Him! He had forged the desert tribes into an army superior to all that come before him.

And they expected him to beg for entry. He wouldn't, his people deserved better than a slaves life. They fought and won every battle before. If those fools behind the walls didn't realize that? Well, they could burn with their precious city.

They would soon realize the folly of their ways. He had sent a group of his best trackers, to destroy part of the wall. Soon they would be able to enter through that hole. And the spoils of the city would be theirs.

He laughed deeply at the thought.

Until he was interrupted by a breathless runner.

“Chief!” The boy panted, his eyes wide, expression close to panic. “Chief!” He repeated.

“What is it?” Orel barked.

“The children... the children they...” The boy stuttered.

“What about the children? They are safe, far from the wall...” Orel trailed off, no matter what happened to the children, no runner would be in that kind of panic. Loosing the children would be a hard blow, a terrible blow yes. But not one that would induce this state of panic.

But there was another kind of child, a child residing in nightmares and more tales.

“Not our children.” The boy was shaking in terror. Orel could feel the fear stirring in his own heart, but he remained calm. They still had more than 300 thousand warriors. The hungry children were untrained rabble, barely capable of fighting of a clan child... but there were so many of them. So many and they didn't give up. In the stories they had heard, from the rare survivor...

You couldn't frighten a child, they just kept on coming, almost as if possessed by a demon.

And their leader would urge them on, his mad laugh driving you insane. It was almost as if he could hear it.

He looked to the pass, the only road they could have taken.

On it stood a man. He was haggard, his face covered in blood frozen in a mad grimace of insane amusement, as he laughed.

And Orel knew that the tales were true. This battle would no longer be about the spoils of civilization. This battle was now about the defeat of an evil more profound than any seen before.

- - -

He stopped laughing, almost as abruptly as he had started and turned around. Surveying his followers. He smiled softly, it wasn't all their fault. He had started it and he would end it. Today. One way or the other. He raised an arm, a million faces filled with madness watched eagerly.

“Feed.” he whispered, but the dropped arm was all the instruction they needed anyways.

“Feed death.”

He watched them surge around and ahead. And he couldn't help himself, the hysteria bubbled up, forced it's way out of his mouth into the open in the mad laughter he indulged far too often as of late.

It would be over today, it must be over today.

[Aldraia Dragonsong]

Ano, is it too late to enter?
If not, I would like to submit:

Spoiler: show

Shadow Archetype

There are two of them, facing each other above the park, floating in the air. In appearance, they are quite similar; color is the greatest distinction between them.
One has silver hair, long in such a way that it looks like two antennae. His eyes are golden, and the hair glows very slightly. Except for that, he seems almost human, though oddly dressed.
The other has golden hair and red eyes. Instead of glowing, what looks like multicolored lightning crackles around him, in seemingly random little bolts. (It is not, in fact, lightning, merely similar in appearance.)
“Back again, Starlight?” mocks the red-eyed one.
“Only because you are here, Sunshade,” the other replies quietly.
It is night, the moon shining in the sky. No one else is in the park this late. Even ordinarily, people being out would be unlikely.
In a town like Alicubi, this is even more true.
Sunshade laughs.
“If I was a girl, I might think you were flirting with me,” he taunts as the crackles grow more frequent and gather in his hand. “Of course, I know you better than that.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Starlight says mildly. “It would be most unpleasant if you were to receive a mistaken impression.”
Sunshade, annoyed by his failure to annoy Starlight, throws the crackles he has drawn into a sphere.
A shieldlike construct appears before Starlight in a small flash of light.
“Again and again,” Starlight says, sounding tired. “You know how this will end as well as I do. Why not stop, Sunshade? Why not do something different for once?”
“You know why,” Sunshade growls, casting little slices of whatever the crackles are made of at Starlight. “I’m bound by my nature, just as you are. You know I can’t stop.”
“I know,” Starlight agrees, avoiding the attack. “Yet at the same time, I cannot help hoping that my knowledge is wrong. That you are able to choose... and that one day you will choose differently.”
Sunshade, growing angrier, attacks harder and faster. Starlight fights defensively, dodging and blocking without striking back.
The two of them fight on, the dark-clad Sunshade against a pale-clad opponent who never strikes back, only evades.
Eventually, Sunshade begins to slow. His attacks become more careful and fewer.
The battle is almost over.
“Next time... Starlight...” Sunshade whispers. He seems to be getting fainter, as though fading out of existence. “Next time... I will defeat you...!”
He is nearly invisible now. Starlight lands on the grass, watching the fading image of his opponent.
And then Sunshade is gone. He has lost once again.
“How many more times?” Starlight asks himself softly. “How much longer must I fight him?”
He fears that the answer to his question is “forever”.
He could choose not to fight Sunshade. But it is as Sunshade said: Starlight is bound by his nature, and it is his nature to oppose evil and to uphold justice. Though it is his choice to make, he can only choose one way.
If he made a different choice, he would not be Starlight.
Starlight is wherever he is needed. And when he is not needed, then he is not.
A minute after Sunshade disappears, there is no one in the park.

[Calinero]

Is it safe to assume that there are no entries waiting?