Terror

In the beginning of the 21st Century, a wave of kidnappings spread across the East Coast of the United States of America. Normal, everyday people disappeared during business hours, on lunch breaks, at parties. Coaches cancelled games. Schools closed. People called in sick from work. Sometimes they never made it back.

Sociologists reasoned some new malaise had set in. Whole population clusters didn’t vanish. There must have been some secret migration. A sign of the times, perhaps. The disenfranchised people of the Western World had seen enough and were moving on.

This theory was incorrect. The missing children of Urban America came back in division sized globs of humanity. The Sons and Daughters of the Eastern Hemisphere known colloquially as The Horde joined them. A panic gripped the cities and sprawls of the Eastern Seaboard from Maine to Florida.

It wasn’t until the acceptance by local, state and federal government of the vigilante/hero movement that normal citizens could walk safely to their jobs again. This acceptance was slow in coming because of a massive smear campaign engineered by journalist Sly Peterson of the Daily Chronicle. There is anecdotal evidence that he was paid substantial sums of money for his efforts.

The Cape Busters program flourished as doctored footage of The Demon Crew, a gang of loosely organized heroes with a reputation for quick and decisive violence, set the public against all heroes. Peterson spent the majority of his time producing slanderous reports and fake documentaries that eventually brought down the group’s self proclaimed leader, The Harmless Man.

When the true nature of the threat was finally realized, The Harmless Man was a shadow of his former skull crushing glory. He’d deteriorated in a solitary cell in a Supermax Prison outside of Detroit. His crew had splintered into smaller groups with different aims. It’s no shock that when the brainwashed masses returned with their lethal dose of vengeance, even the veteran building jumpers were not prepared.

The criminal mastermind Pig Fink, after many defeats, hid until everything was in his favor. Without the writings and deeds of superhero Harmless, the movement drifted aimlessly into the waiting, psychotic arms of the world’s most dangerous man.

The unsatisfactory nature of the situation became evident when Sly Peterson supposedly committed suicide by pouring gasoline on his head and lighting a match. His suicide note was never fully substantiated. It serves as a reminder to us all that the best defense against evil is right here in our midst. It is ourselves.

Excerpt from the Foreward to Almanac of Heroes, written by Richard Dubois, American Boss.



Clink

To whom it may concern:

In a recent article, your magazine lumps all the street heroes into one category: Brawlers. This is far too general. Boxing and sparring are not like a bar fight. A bar fight is cleaner than a street fight. And then, there’s the prison fight. The strategy is kill in one second. The tools are bits of scrap, plastic, metal, wood, glass, it doesn’t matter. Do as much damage in as little time. If a fight ends with both parties upright, someone screwed up.

The streets are not like the movies. People get shot and die on the streets. In prison, given a long enough stretch, even the nastiest wolf will get popped. Most people don’t walk out of prison, they get rolled.

Even in solitary, punks die every day. If a dude wants to survive inside, he can’t be a punk. Respect is the currency. It doesn’t matter if he killed to get in. Will he kill to stay in? It’s called The Game. Jail is where hustlers learn to survive. If a dude gets out, he’s bound to come back. There’s nothing out there. It’s all in the Pen. Drugs, money, power, fame, it’s all in. No one gets out alive.

Unless some bad, neck snapping, six foot four dude gets the cube next to him. If someone like that shows up, dude’s got a chance. Life on the outside is easy if someone shows you how to be useful. Grab something and use it to flip The Game. Now, Cons die on the outside. Prison’s safer.

One thing they never get in prison is women. If you like women, stay out. No one has to go clean to be a street hero. Hero would be a bad name for some. The dude that showed up put some thugs together and told them how to make it all happen. They got paroled easy. Hell, the man even smiled when he signed the form.

Next thing you know, it’s the violent on the violent. These brainwashed freaks tearing up the streets, they might be high enough to talk to God, but they don’t know how to implement prison justice.

Now, street fights are prison fights. No one is left standing if it’s done right. There’s no guards with rifles in the towers to break it up. It ends in death. Inside Guys like me, we don’t want to die. We want to be like Harmless. We want to live forever.

Another thing they’ve got in prison is the Bible. God of the Beginning dispenses prison justice. The God of the Middle learns Mercy. The God of the End has tried both. Which one do you think he found works best?

You become an agent of the God of the End and you live forever. We’re all Harmless once we get with God.

Calvin ‘Clink’ Hayworth



Stratagems

Boss didn’t buy it. They suited up ready for a war. Fifteen carriers, two support vehicles and the Wailer. The Inside Boys wanted to meet, so he would meet them. It wasn’t about fighting but being ready to fight. Terrible risks have high rewards. The Inside Boys could turn this fight for them.

Rumors floated. He didn’t buy them at all. He saw wholesale slaughter at the last appearance of these street vigilantes. Heroes don’t do that. Part of a person’s soul must be missing if they can do that. This was justice on a very sharp edge. The letters sounded like him. It was hard to tell.

If so, they would stop him.

The risk.

They rolled out into the street. Night, of course. Mercy drove outside the city to a dark field far away from prying eyes. They parked the transportation. Heroes flooded the night. The days of makeshift capes and crude devices ended shortly after Pig Fink’s first defeat. They got stronger, more clever, better armed and less lethal.

Then The Horde came back. Fifty thousand lunatics charged the city while decent folk tried to sleep. That was the first night. After a week, The Inside Boys complicated things. Lethal for lethal. Harmless vowed to trade death for death. That’s what the letter said, anyways.

“This is where it’s gotten us,” Guise said.

“Shut it,” Buzz hissed.

Explosions burst around them. A dirigible cleared the trees and dropped phosphorous devices. The cool recesses of night shocked to bright white. Instant daylight. People appeared and died in the same instant. Horde, Heroes and Inside Boys tangled violently. Communications slapped out of devices. Chaos.

In the center was Harmless. Mercy dashed off with Guise tailing her. The stout shape of Pig Fink rappelled from the airship. It got thick quick. No innocents. Tactics changed on the go. A mix of bodies, blood, bullets, fists, boots, canisters and colors fizzed in white relief against the woods.

Three pockets formed. The lines stabilized. The phosphorous faded and they fumbled around, stabbing at each other. Ultimate blindness.

“Goggles, folks,” he transmitted. Low red fires blew out enhanced sensors, fragging everyone’s retinas. A shaky voice suggested retreat. “Stay and slug it out,” he responded.