The Role-Playing League - Season I - IC Thread

[Karem-Knight]

Spiderman:
The Most​

Wonderful Time​

Of the Year!​

​

Act Three:​

Revelations. ​

​

“You’re not my Uncle!”

The impostor looks at me frightened and shocked, even insulted. “Peter how can you say such a thing? I’m your Uncle! Peter don’t act like that.” I swallow my thought as my fist squeezes tightly, starring at my “Uncle”.

“My Uncle when ever he had to face a problem would run towards it, you’re the opposite, my Uncle was never a coward, like you. He would never run away from the problem which is what you’re making me do!”

I see him gulping and breathing hard, his wrinkled hands touching his withered face and putting it down as if to wipe something off his face, I stare angrily at him. Waiting for an answer. “I know you’re hurting, son, but you have to remember! You must do this, you owe it to Gwen, Harry, your Aunt, your wife. Me! Peter please, I know death is a horrid thing but please, don’t do this.” I stare at the mirror, wondering what’s happening, the past few days. The worst in my entire life, but this, this is just to much!

With all my rage, I leap to my the impostor smashing into the floor, “WHO ARE YOU!”

I grab him face flat in the floor shaking him, I hear him begging through his breath “Peter…What are yo….- stop----PETER STOP! PETER!”

“ANSWER ME WHAT IS GOING ON! ARGH!”

THUD! Smashing his head onto the floor, I see blood.

OH NO! NO! NO!

He was right, I have killed everyone, oh no. What have I done, no I didn’t mean to, my anger got the best of me, I was never this angry before, oh god. What is going on, oh lord no!

Standing up, I see his body fading away, oh god! This is not happening, this can’t be real, “Peter?”,, I turn around, hearing that voice and all those memories flooding back to me of her.

“Gwen!?”

“Yes, Peter. It’s me!”

She walks over to me, holding me. And I’m reminded of that kiss, that soft and gentle kiss that we gave each other all those years ago, she let’s go and then stares at me. “The kiss of death Peter, what you gave to me when we first met!”

“What!? No! Gwen please, it wasn’t my fault! I tried to save you but-“

“You failed!”

Turning around, quickly Captain Stacy, her father staring at me with disappointment. “My dying wish, Peter Parker, was for you! To protect my daughter, and you FAILED! That monster Norman Osborne may have done the deed! But you failed your duty as a hero to save my daughter.”

“No! Please, Mr. Stacy, I tried everything, I’ve carried that guilt my entire life and-“

“That wasn’t good enough!”

Harry Osborne comes from behind starring at me with anger, “You just had to kill my father, like you did so many didn’t you Pete?” Okay, this is to much, What the hell is going on.

“Harry! Your father was a monster, he used you, he got the better of you!”

“Like you! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

I turn around, Norman, laughing stares at me with his glider, floating above me smiling and laughing, “Well well, well isn’t it Peter Parker! The murderer HAHAHA! It feels sooooo good that I’ve taken everything from you this time haven’t I?”

“YOU, It’s your fault!”

“No, Peter.”

Turning round, I see my Aunt May, withered and old and crying staring in awe and hopeless almost crying myself she responds finally.

“It was you!”

It can’t be true, no it can’t! This isn not real this is not real!

“This isn’t real, please people, I’m sorry just tell me what’s going on!”

“Peter Parker, you’re guilty of murder!”

Mary Jane, my wife, the love of my life. If I knew one person that would understand me I thought it would be her, but no. Even she’s against me here, “Mary Jane, please you have to…”

“Save it Peter, you killed all of us! All because you couldn’t have stopped a burglar on the way from murdering your Uncle! Most people would have moved on but no you kept that burden, and look what’s happened because of it! You haven’t helped anyone, you’ve killed everyone you ever loved just because of this burden!”

“Mary Jane, please!”

“NO! All that time when I was being beaten, gagged I kept crying, thinking, hoping, you would save me! But you didn’t! You the one person I thought would always be there for me, gone. You were to late!”

“Mary Jane, you have to listen to me!”

“Shut up Parker!”

Norman glides above me, smiling and starring at me. “You’re no different then me or them!” Looking over I see them, all the people who have tried to kill me, Ock, Venom, Kraven, Carnage, Chameleon, Electro, Vulture all staring at me laughing.

[FONT=&quot]“Why don’t you let us finish your misery, Parker!”

[/FONT]
Venom says with glee, making his teeth form in a smile, all of a sudden Ock’s tentacles attack me and I go flying into the air, OFF! Venom catches me with his web line and throws me in the air, Elector chucks lighting at me and I feel Sandman’s fist hitting me in the back.

AH!

I land on the floor; all I can hear as my air and my world turn to black are pleas as the villains laugh at the fallen hero.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

“Why didn’t you save her!”

“Why didn’t you save them!

“Why didn’t you save me!”

“Why, Peter!”

As I feel all the punches hit my face all the beatings and my world nearly turning back, I punch the ground, NO! This isn’t real, I’m not going down without a fight!

“If you all want me dead, you’re going to have to do better then that!”

I stand up, and start running, jumping into the air I kick Norman first, out of his glider, Ock’s tentacles try to hit me I dodge them and manage to kick him off into the floor, next Venom catches me, and the symbiote opens up.

“Take me Peter!”

“NO!”

With all my might I kick the alien rip off of me right in the head and the chest, and land, perfect on my feet, Sandman, Vulture, Electro, Carnage, they all charge at me, with everything I have running towards them I pound Electro in the face, dodging Carnage’s attacks and throwing him into Sandman, next a bunch of more of them.

Each and everyone of them, I fight back. All the anger I’ve kept bottled up over the years, I don’t know what I’m fighting but I know as hell I’m winning, every punch, every kick is for Mary Jane, for all those I’ve let down, ignoring all the blood all the broken bones I might have fighting with every ouch of strength in my radioactive body.

AGH! My lungs feel squased and I start coughing, NO! Must keep fighting! ARGH! More and more using every bit I’ve got, Electro, down, Sandman, down, Carnage, down, Venom down, Ock, down. Norman down!

Landing, victorious on the floor, out of breath my body is beaten, I fall to the ground. I ugh I can’t breath, NO! I can’t give up, ignoring the chanting that everyone I’ve “failed” voices steaming down me, I force myself up, and with all my strength yell, getting up. Yes I can-


AH!

All of a sudden a quick flash of a warehouse, then I’m back here, the pain becoming more and more incredible I keep coming back and forth between them, finally I wake up.

“AHHHHH!”

Waking up and starring along, I’m out of breath, and feeling extremely tired, what the hell is going on here! I see myself in a warehouse tied to a medication bed, chained and tied to the uncomfortable bit of metal, my eyes are nearly blinded.

I keep blinking adjusting and trying to figure out where the hell am I and what the hell is going on, I then hear a voice as lights flash into my face.

“WELL WEEL! We’re finally awake, Mr. Parker!”

I know that voice! “Mysterio!”
“Well done, my dear dear boy!”


“WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!”

“Well, I tried to give you a Christmas present, a free give away if you will.”

“YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!”

“Well, what did you expect? I tried to let you relive your worst fear so that you would kill yourself, lose your entire will to live, what that is? I don’t know.”

Looking round the place, it’s almost impossible to see him, I stare to me, a operation table next to me and a tablet that says “Lucid Nightmare”

“You see, Mr.Parker. What you experienced was what I have been living with, for years on end. All I had left in life, were my movies. Now they took that away from me. Where and what was I supposed to do? I turned to crime, no where else to go. Now I mastered the illusions, I made you experience pain and suffering, trauma that was so great for you to bear, but no! People like you must keep living, no matter what why do you still live!”

He finally reveals himself to me, his fishbowl of a head staring down at me, I don’t know if my wife and aunt are alive. I don’t know what to think anymore, “Someone, very important to me, once said, “With great power, comes great responsibility!” With my rage I break the suckles, leaping into the air, and to Mysterios’ surprise he runs forward, landing on the floor I’m mad, and have to face him.

“And you nearly took that away from me!”

Blackness, I can’t find anything, all of a sudden a giant Mysterio comes from the ground, a lot of animals, giants, cave men the most random things in existence come flying at me.

“Enough games Mysterio!”

“WHY Wall crawler!?”


I don’t have time for this, it’s Christmas, at least I think it is, I run to the wall and up as fast as I can jumping to what ever as I jump straight down again my spider sense tingles and I narrowly dodge a bullet shapes as a missile.

BOOM!

Great sound effects there, he changes the scenario again I consternate for a split second as I see him reorganizing the room, shooting a web quickly I grab him forward I hear him scream then, SMASH! I break his helmet and see his ugly face, “What did you do to me!”

“AH! Nothing, only now I know your identity!”

“HOW!”

“Got your picture and serched around, don’t worry though no one knows about it……yet!”

Grabbing him and slamming his body into the floor, I look at the Fishbowl;

“I swear, if you touch me or my family, so help me GOD! I’ll be watching you!”

Throwing him away into the wall and webbing into it I exit the building quickly as possible, no time to focus on minor things, swinging out of that mess, I have to know what day is it, what year!

Swinging into the air, I have to get home, find out what’s going on! I must, I have to!

​

​

​

​

 

[Karem-Knight]

Spiderman:
The Most​

Wonderful​

Time of the​

Year​

​

Epilogue​

As I swing by the city, it hits me. Have I really done more bad then good, stopping at Times Square, kneeling at the night I wonder, could I actually kill someone, to actually take someone’s life, what if all those things did happen! What would I do, how would I cope, how can anyone cope with this, standing up looking over the city, I zip line down onto an alleyway seeing a child waiting outside for his mother to come back from the store.

As I’m heading down starring the kid while hanging on the web I whisper him, “Psst, Kid!”

He turns around, and to his amazement he yells my name, “SPIDERMAN!”. I give a chuckle, “Yeah, listen could you tell me what day it is?”.

”What day? It’s Christmas Day!”

I give a big smile, “Thanks kid.” I give him a note that I wrote once, “Here’s a little Christmas gift from Uncle Spidey!” I get out a note and pass it to him before going up and riding back home, thinking to myself, what if Mysterio was planning something! Rushing home, thinking to myself, oh no! Please be home Mary Jane, Aunt May! Please be there.

Rushing home, like I’m trying to stop a nuclear disaster leaping home into the window I climb in. NO! Lights are off! I run forward as fast as I can, “MARY JANE! AUNT MAY!”

Nearly knocking myself over all of a sudden when I turn the lights on, “SURPRISE!” “SURPRISE!”


“Woah!”

“Hahaha, what’s the matter sweetey? See your old Aunt can act young enough to surprise a superhero!”

“Yeah, what’s the matter tiger you looked like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Ha, well you could say that!”

I take my mask off as Aunt May and MJ both kiss me, I move forward to the tree and soon MJ surprises me by having a missile toe right above me, “Well today is just full of surprises isn’t it Pete?”

We both laugh and then do the deed, kissing passionately, “I’m so glad you’re home!” “Well, why wouldn’t I be?” She says with a smile, we both laugh again, and finish our kiss.

Aunt May comes in, “Now now! I won’t have any of that on Christmas, now you two sit down and watch the movie!”

“What movie is it?”

“It’s a Wonderful life, it’s tradition!” Aunt May says, preparing the table for dinner, “Oh and Peter, change your cloths, I want to have my nephew for Christmas for once!” she says smiling.

“Of course Aunt May!”

I go to the bedroom and change quickly into a shirt and jeans walking back to the living room and sitting down on the couch MJ sits next to me followed by Aunt May, I stay quiet smiling while we watch the movie, I watch the two quietly nearly distracted by the movie.

“What is it tiger? You seem distracted.”

“Hmm, I don’t must just be Christmas!”

After all, it is the most wonderful time of the year!

​

 

[Feature]

THE ROLE-PLAYING LEAGUE
SEASON I, WEEK 4
-------------------------------------------------------

INITIAL SCENARIO
Stanley Blackwell and some of his fellow inmates have spent weeks planning a jailbreak. After studying things from every angle, Stan is certain there will be no surprises. However, in the middle of the action, a dormant mutation within Stanley's biology manifests itself. For the first time in his life, Stanley is able to read the minds of those around him. Unfortunately, his psychic gift may turn out to be a curse!

CONDITIONS
Each team must satisfy two of the following four conditions in their telling of the story...

• Using his new ability, Stanley learns that someone in the prison is responsible for an event that dramatically changed the course of his life. Does he seek this person out? And if he does, what does he intend to do to them?

• By reading the minds of those around him, Stanley learns that one of his accomplices is planning to kill one of the other inmates during the chaos of the jailbreak. Does Stanley intervene?

• Someone in the prison is not who they claim to be. Stanley discovers this by using his pyschic ability. What, if anything, does he do about this?

• Stanley uses his psychic powers and learns that an inmate he has befriended is going to be sent to the electric chair tonight. Is he willing to jeopardize his chance at freedom in order to attempt a rescue?

THIS WEEK'S POSTERS:
Marvels Finest, Electro UK, Johnny Blaze, Venom160, Green Lantern, JinnSato

DUE DATE:
Tuesday, January 8th, 7:00pm​

 

[Green Lantern]

[FONT=&quot]Now, Mount Blackton Federal Penitentiary:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Six years I’ve been sitting in this cell. Six long years, I’ve been punished for a crime I didn’t commit.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Six Years Ago:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Hey, hon. Yeah, I’ll be on my way home soon. Yeah, the ass made me stay late and finish some reports. See you soon, sweetheart.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I hung up the phone, and old Willy, the janitor, walked by.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Hey Stan, ya have a nice evenin. Kay?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Yeah, thanks Willy. You too.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Say hi to that pretty wife of yours for me. Best be goin though. Its gettin nasty out there.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“See you tomorrow Willy.”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Now:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I never did say hi to Becky for old Willy. Never saw him the next day either…[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Six Years Ago:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Will had been right though. The snow was coming down hard. It took me well over an hour to get home, and I was lucky I made it at all. There hadn’t been a blizzard like that in over five years.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Now:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Soon though, soon I’ll be out. We got a good plan. Almost fool proof I’d say.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Six Years Ago:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I got a chill when I got home, and not just from the weather. Beside my wife’s Taurus, in MY parking spot, there were tire tracks. Fresh tracks in the deep soft snow, someone had been in my house, just minutes before I got home. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Now:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]We’ve been working on this plan for over a year. That’s nothing when you’re facing life though. A year feels like a week, and tomorrow morning we’ll be out again.[/FONT]

 

[Green Lantern]

[FONT=&quot]Six Years Ago:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I dreaded opening the door. Scared to see what I might find. I’d been suspicious for a while, I knew she was cheating on me, but I hadn’t caught her in the act yet.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Now:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Never would. I’m not so sure she was cheating on me now. I’ve had six years to think about it.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Six Years Ago:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]What I saw when I did go into the house was worse though. My wife was lying on the kitchen floor. Our beautiful white and gold tile was stained with a dark crimson. Next to her was a kitchen knife, covered in her blood. I couldn’t take that, I fell to my knees sobbing.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Now:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I’ve always wondered who could do such a thing. The cops didn’t though. They thought I did it. Got home, and in a jealous rage over the extra tire tracks, I killed her. I had no alibi, and my prints were on the knife. Didn’t seem to matter that it was a kitchen knife I used on a daily basis. I got sentenced to life in prison for a crime I could never have committed. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“I’m sorry Becky. Really I am.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A guard walks by my cell. He used to be a cop. He was one of them who arrested me. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]What you apologizing to her for, chump? She was cheating on you. B**ch deserved it.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“What’d you just say?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Hearing things, creep? I didn’t say nothing.” Weirdo. No wonder he’s locked up for killing her. Too bad he didn’t hear her scream when the knife went in the first time.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“You bastard! You did it!”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Did what dumbass? Keep talking to me like that, and I’ll throw your ass in solitary!” F**ker can’t know… can he? Why would he just pick now to say anything? Nah, he’s just loopy.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Always wondered how that guy was so quick to the scene. It’s because he had just left. Don’t know how I’m hearing this stuff though. He’s not saying it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am losing it. I’d better shut up now, so I don’t blow our chances tomorrow though.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Ah. Tomorrow we’ll be free men. Beautiful fresh air and sunlight only a couple hours away.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Johnny, that you?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Course its me Stan, I’ve been in the cell next to you for four years.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I turn and whisper in the direction of my friend’s voice. [/FONT][FONT=&quot]“Why you talking about that, Johnny? Want them to hear?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“I didn’t say anything, Stan. I think you just need some sleep. We got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” Three of us do anyway.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]He’s right. I’m just tired. Wait. Did he say three of us? There’s four. Me, him, Jack, and Bill. Eh whatever. I close my eyes and lay down on my cot, and drift to sleep.[/FONT]

 

[Green Lantern]

[FONT=&quot]The Next Morning:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]As I wake up I shake the sleep from my eyes. In an hour I’ll get brought my breakfast, and in two hours I’ll be out in the exercise yard. We’ve been planning this for nearly two years. Working on implanting it for nearly a year. For months, Jack and Johnny have been digging an escape route in the far corner of the yard, while me and Bill have kept the guards attention by pretending to have a long running feud. Bill’s out in a month. He’s not coming with us today, but he was more than willing to help us set it up. Great guy, Bill. Today, he has the biggest role. Its up to him to make sure the guards are preoccupied during our escape.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot] [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]My mind goes back to my hallucinations from last night. The cold black eyes of the guard who I heard talking about my wife, burn into my brain. It sounded so real, but its gotta be just the stress getting to me. I look over, and in the cell next to me, Johnny’s waking up.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Ah. Bright new day. Today. Today’s the day. Jack’s going to regret what he did, though. Oh boy is he.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“What’d Jack do?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Huh, what? “[/FONT][FONT=&quot]What are you babbling about, Stan?” I didn’t say that out loud, did I?[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Wait. Am I reading minds? Is that what this is? Dear god, what the hell is going on?[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Johnny, I want to try a new trick. Think of a color?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]What does Stan think he’s a magician now? Stupid bastard. F**k him. Chartreuse. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Violet?”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Hah. Nice try Copperfield. I was thinking of Chartreuse.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Damn. Okay. Calm down. I can read minds. No big deal. Just need to keep this to myself.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Yo. Space case. Earth to Spaceman Jo. Pay attention, bud. We can’t have your mind wandering today.” God, he’s acting weird today. Maybe I should kill him too. Get out on my own.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]He’s gonna kill Jack, but how?[/FONT]

 

[Green Lantern]

[FONT=&quot]The guards finally come, and we’re escorted down to that yard, for our weekly exercise session. On the way down, we pass Jack’s cell, we’re only going to have a ten minute overlap when he gets down there. Should be enough time. One of the guards escorting us is the smirking bastard, the one who killed my wife. I keep his face in mind for when I get out. It’s too risky to do anything today, but in a week? Cocky sumb**ch will be begging.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]We halfheartedly play basketball on the far side of the court for nearly an hour, and then wander over to the fence. Jack’s brother on the outside’s been helping us. Hidden by the lone bush on the yard, is our hole that we started over a year ago, connecting up with the hole on the other side that Ralphie had dug. That’s when we get our cue. Bill collapses in the walk down, faking a heart attack. The ensuing chaos provides Jack with an easy getaway. As we see him approach, Johnny looks at me.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Alright, hurry up Stan. Get through and wait at the meeting spot.” That way I can wait for Jack, and bring the tunnel down on him, making them think it was just a foiled attempt by him to escape.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]It’s a good plan. But I can’t let him do that to Jack. I hurry through the tunnel, but instead of hiding, I wait. I wait for Johnny, and as he comes out the hole, I hit him in the head with a large rock. He collapses in a heap at my feet, as Jack comes out of the tunnel also. He has a scared look in his eyes.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Whatd you do that for, Stan? Stay away from me!”[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I hear his thoughts, and he’s terrified. Thinks, I’m going to kill them.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“He had the tunnel rigged, Jack, he was gonna kill you. I say we return the favor. They’ll think we all didn’t make it.”
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]He slowly nods and we throw Johnny’s body back into the tunnel, and pull out the support beam holding it up. As the tunnel collapses on the man we thought was a friend, Jack and I quickly run to the meeting spot to wait for Ralphie.[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The Next Day:[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]The papers say it all. Well most of it anyway. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Three inmates assumed dead in foiled escape attempt.”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I smile to myself. I’m free, and that bastard guard’s dead.[/FONT]

 

[Johnny Blaze]

I break bread with killers, but I am not a murderer.

I lay my head down and sleep next to thieves, but I am no robber.

I sit surrounded by the dregs of humanity, but I am not one of them.

My name is Stanley Blackwell, but you can call me Stan, and I've been stuck in Hell for ten years, nine months, and twelve days. And for those of you who don't know, "Hell" is called Andersonville.
The prison was built ten years ago on the site of the old Andersonville POW camp during the Civil War. It was a black mark on an already dark time in American history. Twelve-thousand-nine-hundred and thirteen Union soldiers died on this soil along with many of their Confederate jailers. A lot of misery and death took part here a while back.

Whoever thought to build another prison here really has one sick sense of humor.

"Yo, Red", came a voice from bottom bunk, snapping Stanley from his thoughts.

"What is it, D", asked Stanley as he ran his fingers through the red hair that gave him his nickname.

"Tomorrow's the big day man", replied Diamond D, Stanley's cellmate and only real friend in the place. Diamond D was a tall, lanky man that Stanley thought looked like an anorexic Shaq. The first time he met D, he smiled at Stanley, showing off that famous fake tooth he had that, when the light hit it right, glinted like a sparkling diamond. He had taken Stanley in and showed him how to survive in the harsh reality that was Andersonville. Diamond D was also a very popular man in the prison as he had the uncanny ability to get his hands on items other inmates wanted. Of course they weren't free, and D, who was serving ten years for cocaine possession, made a nice little profit off them.

"You ready fo' it", asked D as he lay there on his cot with his hands folded behind his head.

"You damn right I am", replied Stanley after a moment's pause.

"That's good, Red", smiled D, "that's real good."

Stanley sighed and closed his eyes. The "it" that they needed to be ready for would come in the morning, just before commissary. He, Diamond D, Johnny Styles, a smart ass country boy doing thirty years for two murder charges, and Michael Hirst, a young kid doing three-to-five for assault on a police officer, had planned it for four weeks. They had gone over every conceivable detail they could think of over and over again. Finally, after a month of planning it was time.

Time to escape.

Stanley laughed at the idea at first. Prison breaks only happen in movies, he told D when confronted with the idea. But D, with that disarming smile of his, convinced Stanley that it would work. So Stanley joined the group. And, from D's plan, they needed him. The escape plan was simple enough. During the morning chow, a riot would start thanks to D's paying off of a few of the inmates. Stanley, who worked in the kitchen, would sneak the other three back in during the confusion. There was one guard they had to worry about in the back and it was Stanley's job to distract him while Styles takes care of him. Once out of the way, the group would head down the small hallway into the laundry room where Hirst worked. There, thanks to the bribing of the crooked guard Aaron McKee, the pair would have exactly a thirty second window to make it through the laundry room and into the drain pipes.
The day before Hirst would make sure the grates would be loosened enough for them to make a quick run of it.

Stanley scoffed at the idea at first. It was like something out of some lame TV movie to him. He had major doubts about the plan, and he still felt uneasy inside. But he was in it now. There was no going back. If he tried to get out now, Styles would kill him. He had no doubt about that. The man was already under investigation for two other prison murders. Nicknamed the "Cottonmouth" due to the fact that he was white and had a "venomous bite", Styles was definitely not right in the head. And that fact made him a wild card in all of this.

How and why D got him to join was a question Stan kept asking himself.

Stanley shook his head.
There's no point in worrying about it all now. Just get some sleep and be ready in the morning.

Stan rolled over to his side and pulled the gray wool blanket over his shoulders.

Sucks that ya'll won't be makin' it though.

"What'd you say", asked Stan as he raised his head from the hard pillow that it rested on.

"Huh? I didn't say nothin' man", replied D from his bunk, "you trippin'. Get your ass some sleep, Red."

"Yeah...right", Stanley spoke as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger and thumb. He could've sworn he had heard D say it.

It was just him being tired is all. His mind was playing tricks on him. He just needed some sleep is all....

 

[Johnny Blaze]

The whistles blared out as the guards rushed the scene when the riot began. D paid off one of the Muslim brothers and one of the skinheads to start a fight in the middle of the large cafeteria as half of the prison sat down for breakfast, thinking that the fight would be the match to light the powder keg. And it was.

Within seconds the entire eatery was a rage of violence, and D, Styles, and Hirst ducked and weaved there way through the mob towards the kitchen as guards rushed the scene.

"Holy ****", cried Hirst, a young, clean-shaven man, not a day over twenty-one, as a pair of Mexicans tackled a guard down right beside him.

"C'mon boy", said Styles in a cold, calm voice as he pushed Hirst along.

After some careful navigating, the three finally made their way into the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ, that was some heavy **** man", spoke Hirst as he breathed heavily.

"Down on the ****ing ground", came the shout of the kitchen guard as he leveled his gun at the three prisoners.
Stanley, crouching behind a steam table, watched the scene unfold.

"Now, God dammit!"

Go on ******, spoke a voice in Stanley's head, give me a reason to shoot your ass.

"What the hell", Stanley whispered to himself under his breath in surprise. It wasn't his voice or thoughts. It...it was the guard's.

"What the hell is happening to me", Stan asked himself as the guard moved towards the three.

But Stanley did not have time to consider it. He had to move.

"Yo! You're a ****ing punk, Sully", shouted Stanley to the guard, Sean Sullivan, from behind the steam table.

"Sit your ass down, Stanley", shouted Sully as he turned briefly to regard him, "or I'll put your ass down!"

It was only a brief second, but it was all Styles needed. With the unnatural quickness, the Cottonmouth leaped from his kneeling position and tackled Sullivan from behind, knocking the gun from his hands and sending them both hard to the floor. Styles, using his muscular six-foot-four, tow-hundred and fifty pound frame, pinned Sully down as he sat on his back and began to bash his head into the cold, hard tile floor of the prison kitchen.

Over, and over, and over again.

"Jesus, Styles, I think you got him", came the cry of Hirst.

Styles just shot the kid a menacing glare that froze him in his place and shut his mouth.

Best watch yourself junior, or you might be joinin' him, came the voice of Styles in Stanley's head.

Stan shook his head as if trying to clear it of the cobwebs.

It was like...well, as crazy as it sounded, it was like Stan was able to hear Styles' thoughts. There were people who were called mutants. People who manifested special abilities at a certain point in their lives. Was he one of them?

Stanley snorted. It didn't matter. It was something he could figure out later on the outside.

"Enough with the bull****tin'", said D as he grabbed the guard's gun.
"Let's get to goin'."

The group did not say another word as they moved down the hallway and into the laundry room where McKee was waiting for them.

"All right", McKee said to them as he looked them over, "you got less than a minute to move, so get your asses in gear."

"Coo', thanks my man", replied D as he shook Aaron's hand.
"The package is in the mail."

"It better be", replied Aaron McKee as he walked out of the laundry room, leaving the group to their own devices.

With all the speed they could muster, the four cons made their way through the piles of dirty linens and sheets and back towards the drain on the floor by the large, out-dated washing machines. The drain was not a big one, but it was large enough for a man of even Styles' size to squeeze into. Once inside, they would all work their way down into the drainage system of the prison. Then, crawling through a mile of **** and sewage, they would end up at the runoff at Stark's pond just outside the prison walls.

"All right, Mikey", said D as he turned to regard the young Michael Hirst, "time to do yo' thing."

"Right."

Hirst went to work immediately as he began to take out the already loose screws and remove the grate.

When we're out, D...you're a dead man.

Stanley's eyes went wide and he quickly turned to regard the man who's thoughts rang in his head.

Styles looked on at Stanley's friend Diamond D as D helped Hirst remove the grate. Noticing Stan was watching him, Styles turned to regard him.

"What the **** are you lookin' at, Red?"

"Nothing", replied Stan after a few awkward moments as he turned back to watch as Hirst disappeared into the large drain.

"Damn right, nothin'. Now move your ass", Styles stated with a hard shove in Stanley's back, pushing him towards the drain.

"No. D, you go next", Stan said as he turned to his friend, desperate to keep Styles apart from the only friend he's ever known in this terrible place.

"No time to argue, Red", replied D with a hint of agitation.
"Get yo' ass in hole and let's go."

With a sigh of frustration, Stanley did what he was told. After all, they only had a handful of seconds left before McKee would be back to close the grate behind them before the other guards returned.

"After you", smiled Styles to D as he motioned to the drain with a wave of his hand.

Without hesitation, Diamond D jumped into the darkness after Stanley, with Styles right on his heels.

It was dark, and the only thing lighting their way were the prison matches each one of them carried. Stanley could read the thoughts of each one of them as they traveled the drainage system to freedom.

Hirst just thought about getting back out and scoring some weed and blow, and ****ing the first ****e he could get his hands on. D was harder to read, it was as though his thoughts were stuck in a haze. But images floated past Stanley's mind. One in particular looked familiar, but Stanley decided not to push it now. Styles thoughts though rang out loud and clear. Once they were on the outside, D was a dead man.

And all Stanley could think about was how he could stop it from coming true...

 

[Johnny Blaze]

"We made it", cried Hirst as he fell into the dirty waters of Stark's pond, Stanley coming out right behind him.

Making their way to the shore of the small pond, the four prisoners sat down to catch their breath and take in their new-found freedom.

"We did it, guys! We ****ing did it!"

"Alright, kid", said Styles, "calm yer ass down."

"C'mon you guys", smiled Hirst, his excitement of freedom getting the better of him.
"We're ****ing free! How can you not be as excited as me?"

"Because it ain't over yet, kid", stated D matter-of-factly. But there was something not right about him. The way he said it...the look in his eyes...hungry, like a predator.
Stanley dove into Diamond D's thoughts once more, pushing through the haze surrounding them. And that image he thought looked familiar flashed in front of him once more. It was fleeting, but Stanley was able to grab hold of it.
There was a cloud of some sorts hanging over it, a veil of sorts keeping him from making it out fully. But Stanley pushed on. His powers may be new and he may raw in using them, but Stanley had force of will and pushed past the gloom. And his eyes went wide in horror as the beautiful blue eyes of his girlfriend Samantha flashed before him.

"Sam...", he whispered under his breath.

"What the **** did you say, Red", asked D.

But Stanley did not answer. He pushed deeper into the mind of Diamond D, pushing through the mental blocks like a bulldozer.

Diamond D grunted and stumbled backwards as his friend invaded his mind.

"You all right, D", asked Hirst, not knowing what was taking place before him.

But D did not answer. He couldn't answer. Both he and Stanley were reliving that fateful night all over again...

 

[Johnny Blaze]

"How long until you get here", asked Sam over the phone.

"I'm stuck in traffic, but I should be there in ten minutes", replied Stanley as he quickly changed lanes in his beat-up eighty-six camaro.

"Dinner will be cold by then."

"It's fine, babe", replied Stan.
"I'm looking forward more to dessert anyway", smiled Stan as he came to a stop at a red light.

"You're bad", chuckled Sam over the phone.

"And you love it", stated Stanley cockily.

"That I do. See you soon, baby. Love you."

"Love you too, bye."

Stan hung up the phone and looked up at the red light shining in front of him.

"C'mon you bastard, hurry up", he said with a sigh as he couldn't wait to get home to the golden haired beauty that awaited him...

Stanley was working in the kitchen at a local hotel three years ago. It had been a long day, and he stopped by the Ruby Tuesdays restaurant across the street for a much needed drink. He was sitting at the bar lost in his thoughts about the day when she walked it. She was the most beautiful woman Stanley had ever seen. Her small, shapely figure moved gracefully across the floor towards him. Her long, straight blond hair flowed gracefully down her back, and when her baby blue eyes met Stanley's his heart leaped into his throat.

"Hi", she had said to him, her ruby red lips curling up in a smile that seemed to melt all of Stan's problems away.

"Mind if I sit here", she had asked him, to which he replied a simple "go right ahead."

He had met quite a few women in his day, and though he was no smooth talker, Stanley thought he was good when it came to talking to a girl that had caught his eye. But this one was different. There was something about her that made Stanley weak at the knees, but also gave him a feeling of strength as well.

"My name's Sam", she had said as she reached out her hand to him.

"Stan", he replied simply as he took her hand in his, the touch of her silky smooth skin sending goosebumps down his arm.

"Not much of a talker, are you Stan", she asked with a playful smile.

"Just been a long day is all", he had replied.

"I'm with you on that one", she said.
"I think I could use a drink as much as you. Got fired today."

"What happened?"

"Got into it with my boss. Cussed him out for being a prick."

"What do you do?"

"I was bartending at Flannigans down the street", she replied.
"Gotta go out tomorrow and find some work."

"Sorry to hear that, Sam."

"It's ok", she said with a warm smile, "he had it coming."

Stan smiled and chuckled, "I'll take your word for it. So, what are you having?"

"Hmmm...", she wondered aloud as she thought the question through, "I think a margarita. Yeah, I'm definitely in a margarita mood."

"It's on me", Stan stated as the bartender went about making Sam her drink.

"Cheers", she said as she raised her newly arrived drink in a toast.

"Cheers", smiled Stan as he raised his glass of whiskey.

That was the night they first met, and they had been together for three years now. It was the longest Stanley had ever been with the same woman, and he didn't think twice about it. Samantha was the one. He was going to ask her to marry him tonight too after dinner.
He reached in his pocket one more time to make sure the ring was still there. It was. Just like it was ten seconds ago when he last checked.

Stanley sighed as he turned the corner of his street and made his way to their home. He had never been so nervous before in his life...

 

[Johnny Blaze]

Diamond D moved through the shadows of the backyard unseen. He crept past the hedge row and moved swiftly to the back patio. Using a screwdriver, D jimmied open the sliding glass door and entered the house. He had scoped the place out for weeks, making sure to plan out every angle, every possibility. This was going to be a big score for him, get him back on top of the game. It was just some white couple who lived here, some young punk and his girl. No dog, and the man was gone. D had made sure that he timed his work schedule down to a "T". And all that left was the woman to deal with.
Diamond D cocked the hammer back on his gun.

Nothing to worry about.

The lights were on in the living room and the kitchen as D silently moved through the home. Looking at the table, he could see it was set for dinner. He didn't have long then. The man would be home soon, so he had to take care of the woman and get what he could and split.

D quickly ducked behind a side wall as the woman exited the kitchen and entered the living room, carrying a roast on a silver platter.
D smirked as he crept up behind her and quickly put his arm around the woman's mouth and the gun to her back. She tried to yell out as the platter fell to the hard wood floor, but D squeezed his hand around her mouth tighter.

"Scream and your dead, *****", he stated in a cold voice.

She began to cry as he pushed her down hard to the floor.

The woman looked up at him, a mix of fear and anger in her eyes.
"What do you want?"

"Money", replied D as he leaned over her, his gun pointed at her head, "where it at?"

"Look, just take what you want and leave."

"Oh, I plan on it", smiled D, his fake tooth glinting in the lamp light.
"Now you be a good girl and show me to where you keep yo' cash."

So Diamond D helped the woman to her feet and she led him into the kitchen, all the while D had his pistol trained at her back.

"My purse is on the counter", she said as she pointed to the large, tan-colored bag sitting next to the toaster.
"There's two-hundred in it. Just take it and go."

"****, you crazy if you think I'm stoppin' with just two-hundred", scoffed D as he took moved in front of her and took the money from her purse.
It was a mistake he'd play over in his mind over and over again.

As soon as he moved in front of her, the woman grabbed a nearby frying pan and smashed it into the back of his head, sending him to the floor.

As she ran off screaming for help, D rolled over and took aim.

"****in' *****!"

Two shots rang out into the quiet night and the cries of help stopped. The woman froze in her place and suddenly fell to the floor, a puddle of blood slowly growing around her still form.

Suddenly headlights were seen in the drive way, and D cursed once more. Pocketing the two-hundred, D ran off wildly heading for the back door. In his haste he tripped over the coffee table and fell flat on his face. The gun flew from his hand and landed near the body.

**** it, he thought to himself as he took off out the back door. It didn't matter. Cops wouldn't find any prints on it, or anywhere else in the house. He had made damn sure he had on the proper attire before going through with this robbery. And the gun was stolen anyway with no traces back to him. It was time to cut his losses and run...

 

[Johnny Blaze]

"What the hell", said Stan aloud as he could've sworn he had heard gunshots. Turning off his car, Stanley ran into the house.

"Sam? Honey?"

Is everything..."

Stanley's heart felt like it was going to be ripped from his chest as his eyes fell on the unmoving body of his girlfriend who rested in a pool of blood.

"SAM", he cried out in panic as he rushed to her side. Sliding in the blood, Stan gently rolled her over and cradled her in his arms. Tears fell freely from his brown eyes as he held his love in his arms, her breath coming out in ragged gasps as blood trickled down her ruby red lips.

"Oh no...baby, no, no, no..."

"It's gonna be all right baby. I'm gonna get you to a hospital. You're gonna be all right", Stan spoke, his voice breaking with the heartache welling up inside him.

Sam reached up weakly and gently caressed his cheek, leaving a smudge of blood on his once clean face. She looked up at him with her baby blue eyes and smiled.

And then her head lolled backwards and her arm fell to her side. She was gone.

"No, Sam! Don't leave me, baby! Please don't go! You're gonna be all right!"

Stanley hugged her tightly to him, not wanting to ever let her go. And the tears flowed freely from his red eyes.

Stanley was too caught up in his final moments with his love that he didn't hear the sirens as the pulled up out front and came bursting into the door.

The cops, upon seeing Stan holding the body of Samantha, gun by his side, aimed their weapons on him.

"FREEZE! Hands in the air!"

"Officer", Stan called out as he rose to his feet delirious over the entire situation.
"Thank God you're here. We've got to get her to a hospital!"

"I said freeze, scumbag! Down on the ground! NOW!"

"Please...", said Stanley through the tears, his white chef's coat now a dark shade of red, "we have to save her."

"Tag 'em", commanded one of the cops and the other responded by firing his taser at Stanley.
Stan stiffened as the jolts of electricity coursed through his body. And soon he fell limply to the ground. Still conscious but unable to move as the police moved in to secure him. He was able to slowly turn his head to see the body of his wife laying there. Her lifeless blue eyes gazing into his, and it was then that Stan noticed the ring in the between them. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he fell, and it now rested in between he and his murdered love. And her eyes looked past the ring and into his, and Stanley could feel the sorrow and the guilt welling up inside him...

 

[Johnny Blaze]

"You", said Stanley as he stared at D in disbelief.
"You did it..."

"What the **** was that", asked D as he snapped back to reality with Hirst hovering over him trying to bring him back to his senses.

"Jesus, dude, I thought we lost you for a sec", said Hirst as helped D up.

"It was you", Stanley said again, the shock of the revelation giving way to anger.

Fire burned in Stanley's eyes now. A fire of pain and passion lost.

"You killed her. You killed my Sam", he stated as he moved towards D.

And Diamond D knew what he was talking about. He now knew that it was Stanley who somehow made him relive that night. That it was Stanley's house that he had broken into. And that it was Stanley's love that he had killed.

"Get the **** back", yelled D as he grabbed Hirst and held the gun to his head.

"You murdering piece of trash...", Stanley said as he stopped his advance.

"If she hadn't tried any funny ****, she'd be livin' right now", stated D as he cocked the hammer back on the pistol.

"Dude, D, what the **** man!? Chill out, bro", stammered Hirst as he tried to get a grasp on the situation.

"Shut the **** up, white boy", shouted D as he pressed the pistol hard into Hirst's temple.

"Now, I'm walkin' out'a here, but before I go...can't leave no witnesses..."

D pulled the trigger and poor little Michael Hirst's brains scattered out across the shoreline of Stark's pond. Without giving it a second thought, Diamond D turned and pointed the gun at Stanley and smiled.

"Say hi to yo' old lady for me."

BOOM!

Diamond D's mouth opened stupidly and the gun fell from his hand. He fell to his knees and then face first into the dirt along the shore. Stan saw in surprise that the back of D's head had been blown out, seemingly from the inside.

"Been trackin' that piece o' trash for a while now", came Styles voice from behind Stanley.

Styles...Stanley had been so caught up in his discovery of the truth that he had forgotten he was even there.

"H-how..."

"You ain't the only one with gifts, boy", smiled Styles.
"I've spent my entire life huntin' scum like this one here. Had ta let myself get caught ta get rid o' this one."

"But why?"

"Long time ago I was lot like you. Had a good woman, a little girl...had a good life. But then my powers manifested. I could look inta the hearts of men, see 'em for what they truly are and got what some folks call telekinesis", Styles went on as he moved to stand next to Stanley.

"Then one day I get a call at work...sayin' my wife and daughter've been killed. Some junkie tried to car jack 'em as my wife was pickin' my little girl up from school. Wife died instantly...my girl...she died a day later", Styles continued as he looked down on the dead body of Diamond D.
Stanley could sense the sorrow hinted in the man's voice.

"So I vowed that night not to let anyone else suffer like I did. I was gonna use my gifts to hunt down the pieces o' **** that prey on the innocent. Been doin' that for twenty years now and I aim to keep it goin'."

"I...I don't know what to say", replied Stanley after a brief moment of silence as he tried to take it all in.
"This is all a lot for me to handle right now."

"Well there'll be time to sort through it all later. Your a good man, Stanley Blackwell, and you got yerself a powerful gift there for readin' minds."

"How did you know I was--"

"Heh, I told you I've been in this game for a while. I seen many a folks with powers and got pretty good and figurin' them out when I see them at work. Could use a guy like you on the crusade."

"Crusade", asked Stanley curiously.

"The crusade to stop the evil in this world Mr. Blackwell", came a voice from the treeline as a man and woman stepped from their hiding spots and entered the scene.

"Stanley, I'd like to introduce you to my team", said Styles.
"This is Rojer, a pyrokinetic", Styles continued as he motioned to the medium-sized man with the shaved head, glasses, and black goatee.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blackwell", he said with a nod.

"And this here is Amanda, a flyer", Styles continued as he motioned to the petite woman next to Rojer with the short auburn hair and baby blue eyes.

"Good to meet you, Stan", she said with a smile, "you look like you could use a drink."

THE END?

 

[Apprentice]

Frames Of Mind
The Story of Stanley Blackwell: Part One
​

It was time.

The deafening night silence was broken only by the sound of the rain lashing against the concrete walls of Fox River State Penitentiary, and the muted shuffling of Stanley Blackwell as he hurriedly jammed his last remaining possessions into a battered duffel bag and draped it across his shoulders, his frantically-moving gaze darting to and fro. He sank back into the shallow darkness of his cell, his breathing growing feeble and desperate. His head was pounding almost as hard as his heart, but his muscles were quivering so intesnely that he could not summon the energy to massage his temples. Swiftly-approaching footsetps snapped him free of his panicked reverie, and he darted forward to greet a familiar face at the bars of his stone-walled chamber.

"Blackie! I thought you'd bailed on us..." he whispered, gripping the stell tubes and swallowing hard. "The guard's down?"

Blackie grinned, revealing the gaping hole between his teeth that had earned him his unflattering title; he looked rather awkward in his thick black jumper and gaudy prison-issue orange trousers, and his greasy blonde hair was splayed about in several directions. "Yeah! I cut his throat and stashed him in my bed!"

Stanley mimicked his companion's smirk. "Good. God, I wish I could've been there to see that..." For a moment, he was lost in a psychotic fantasy, thoughts of the guard's gruesome fate filling his mind before the urgency of their situation struck him once again. "According to my watch, it's about seven minutes before the second watchman makes his round. That means we've got about six to get Harvey out of his cell and escape into the Medical Office."

Blackie fumbled with the stolen key, thrusting it into the lock and twisting it in vain; even as he mentally recounted their strategy, following Stanley's verbal musings, he grunted in frustration and cursed his incompetence. "Is this the right key. . .?"

"Once in the Medical office, we ambush the pretty little doctor, take her keys, and get the hell outta here." Stanley paused as the key clicked in the lock and bars slid aside. "And yes, it's the right key."

Stanley ran free of his cell, barely resisting the urge to cry out in glee. Beckoning for Blackie to follow, he dashed through the corridor, ensuring that his footsteps remained light so as not awaken any of the slumbering inmates that were not involved in his daring escape. No doubt, most of them would react with a "if I'm staying, so are you" mentality firmly in place, and Stanley was not going to allow his carefully-laid plans to be laid to waste by a jealousy-ridden inmate. He reached Harvey's cell within a matter of moments, taking the second stolen key from Blackie and releasing the final member of their three-man cadre. Harvey was the brawns of the group, perfectly complementing Stanley's knowledge and Blackie's dispensability; tall and imposing, he was toned by years of training. Stanley greeted him with a stiff nod.

"We move now," Harvey murmured, his eyes roaming across the empty hallway.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Stanley responded, although his voice was drowned out by the agonising war that was being raged within his head. The thumping was blurring the edges of his vision, sending a dull ache spidering through his body...but he ignored it, and pressed onwards until it all became too much. The pain was suddenly external as well an internal, assaulting him from all sides. Seemingly randomised words filtered through, resounding through his mind - keypunchloserlovesimplyinnocentPAIN.

Stanley cried out sharply, crumpling to his knees.

"Stan!" Blackie hissed. "You'll get us caught! Quiet down, just quiet -"

Blackie's tones blended with a cacophany of sheer noise and Stanley felt tears strike out across his cheeks -- and then there was silence. Echoes of pained shrieks began to fade as Stanley, panting and half-sobbing, hands clutched to his head, slowly looked up to see the hallway littered with motionless bodies.

And each of their noses was stained with scarlet blood.​

 

[Electro UK]

Stanley Blackwell, the definition of misunderstood. Looking at him, you’d think he was a dangerous man. When you heard he was in jail, you’d think he was a criminal. On both accounts, you’d be wrong. If however, you thought “Here’s a harmless man who just wants to make his way in the world.” You’d be spot on, until the jail part.​

We could traipse through the tragic childhood, the uneasy teenage years, and the wasted adult life, but there’s no room for sob stories here. The real tale of Stanley Blackwell begins on a cold November night, where we find him pacing the room of his cell, going through every nook and cranny of his plan as he bites his teeth. How had it all come down to this? Falsely accused of his abusive Mother and Father’s murder, sent to this hell hole to live out the rest of his days, he’d snapped. It was time the world stopped pushing him. He was getting out.​

The night was harsh and biting, rain swept the skies with the occasional interruption of thunder. It sent a chill down Stanley’s spine as he looked out over the prison bars that stood between him and freedom. A pebble to the back brought him out of his trance. He turned away from the fresh breeze of the wet air, and back to reality, spotting Thomas Rice, in the adjacent cell.​

“You ready to go Stan?” Rice asked, a stone hint to his voice. Stanley asked himself the same question for a second, a frown on his face. In truth, he didn’t feel all too great, a slight headache coming on perhaps. He put it down to nerves and snapped back to earth.​

“Yeah.” He sheepishly replied. It was no secret to anyone round the jail that Stanley was the quiet type, keeping himself to himself. Rice was the closest thing to a friend he had around. They weren’t as thick as thieves, Rice had always sympathised with Stanley, his lonely swagger around the grounds made him an easy target, despite his large frame. Everyone knew he wouldn’t harm a fly, and that’s why most gave him a hard time, because they were cowards who wanted to look tough. Rice’s gang themselves gave him a bit of push and shove, but he’d always managed to stop them going out of control.​

“Right, just remember to keep a low profile, I haven’t exactly told the guys you’d be tagging along yet.”​

“What!?” Stanley spluttered.​

“Look, it was just hard to tell ‘em, they aren’t too fond of you—“​

“Don’t remind me. And besides, I came up with this plan, Tom!”​

“You think they’d have gone along with it if I’d told em that? But as long as you hang back, they won’t find any problems.” Stanley took a moment to calm himself. It was happening, it was really happening.​

“Fine, let’s get a move on.” The two moved up onto their beds, with synchronization that looked like it had been practised thousands of times, which it had. Rice let out a short, sharp whistle, a sign to his friends. Pressed against the wall, Stanley spotted a pair of hands emerge out of the darkness of the cell above Rice. Dreben, James Dreben. In here for murdering his wife, a small guy with the agility of a cat. He was an ace shot too. “Alright, let’s do this.” Rice called up to Dreben.​

“Right-o, boss.” Dreben replied, with a menacing voice. Stanley watched Dreben roll a pebble round his hand before throwing it straight into the cell across from him. 5 years in the dump had given Stanley enough time to memorize who went where in the cells, and he knew Dreben was throwing the pebbles into Frankie’s cell, or as everyone called him, Frankie the baby. Why that name? Because Frankie was the kinda guy who flinched when a fly came near him. So when Dreben connects a sharp pebble with his head from where he sleeps, Frankie the baby gives out a deafening scream.​

As Stanley shields his ears, he watches Dreben laugh, hearing the muffled sound of the guards storming into the room. It’d take a trip to the infirmary to and a lollipop to shut Frankie up, so as the guards took their rehearsed positions for emergencies, no one heard the grunts of two guards as Stanley and Price seized them through the bars as they ran past their cells. Both immediately covered the guard’s mouths, showing the same perfected moving. They’d seen the guards move to these positions a hundred times, and the dimmed lights meant no one really took notice of what appeared to be two guards with their backs against the cell. As far as the other guards were concerned, they were in their positions.​

Rice leant forward to whisper into his hostage’s ear. “Listen up, because if you don’t do exactly as I ask, my friend over there is going to snap your friend’s neck.” The sound of Frankie’s cell door opening interrupted Rice’s threat, followed by the whimpers he made as he was yanked out of his bed. “What you’re going to do is march back to your station and pick up the second set of keys, and you’re going to hand them over to me like a good little boy. You do it fast, and you do it unnoticed, because I see your head so much as twitch from one side to another, because not only will hostage number 2 get a good case of death, my friend Drebin, you know the one that’s oh so good at throwing stuff, will plant a knife in the back of your head.”​

Stanley wouldn’t snap the other guards neck, and Drebin had no knife, but Rice knew the guard would do what he wanted out of fear before even questioning the validity of his statement. “Okay, off you go.” Rice’s vision stayed glued to the guard as he darted back to the door.​

The guard now out of vision on Stanley’s side, he turned his attention back to his growing headache. This wasn’t helping things at all, by the second he found it harder to concentrate. He re-established his grip on the guard’ neck, desperate to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. A sigh of relief came when the other guard came back into sight, the keys just about visible in his hand.​

He saw Rice’s smirk as he snatched the keys from the officer and nodded towards Stanley. A harsh reminder to the guard to keep quiet as Rice slowly unlocked the door and slid it aside. Without a moment’s hesitation, his hand snapped back around the guard’s mouth and he was pulled inside. Stanley’s eyes widened as he noticed a guard on an upper level twist his head at the muffled sound. Dreben however, had caught on, and tossed a pebble right behind the guard, the impact on a bar taking his attention away.
Rice stepped out of the darkness, dressed in the guard uniform. He marched over to Stanley’s cell and unlocked it, no one batting an eye lid as he repeated the process of dragging him inside and snapping his neck. Stanley flinched at the sight of it, finally managing to tend to the sweat. He didn’t want anyone to get killed, but an unconscious guard may later give up their position. “Get changed, I’ll be back with the lads in two minutes.”​

Stanley snapped into action, removing his vest. “Easy tiger.” Rice quipped, a smile creeping up his face as Stanley undressed, failing to find any humour in the situation. Rice began to strut up the stairs, Stanley noticing him adjust his cap to hide his face a little better. He gave what was hopefully one final look around his cell as he pulled on the guard jacket.​

Suddenly, the headache attacked like a knife diving into the back of his skull. Stanley had to stuff his discarded clothes into his mouth to stop himself from screaming, he aided his head as he fell to his knees, unbearable pain starting to swarm into his head. As he bit into the clothes, he heard… voices. “What’s going on?”​

“Frankie again?”​

“Wish that mother would just shut up.”​

And then, much to his relief, the pain stopped. Spitting the clothes out, Stanley began to take deep breaths, confused and relieved. The headache was gone, completely gone.​

“You alright Stan man?” Stanley shot his head up to see Rice and his gang standing in front of his cell. All of them were clearly disturbed by Stan’s appearance.​

“Yeah… yeah… just stumbled a little that’s all.”​

“Well you better not slow us down boy, if Ricey hadn’t told us this exact moment, no way you’d be coming along.” Dreben spoke up, grunts of agreement coming for the other 2 members, Justin Redfield and Andrew Griggs. Justin had a large build and a shaved head, dangerous was written all over him from first glance, especially his muscle bound arms. Griggs on the other hand, looked fairly normal, bar his long, greasy hair.​

They fell well under the lead of Rice with his impressive build and serious look. “He’ll be fine, come on Stan, we’re getting out of this dump.”​

Stanley got to his feet and joined the group, ignoring Grigg’s disgusted expression. “What a joke, I can’t believe we gotta play babysitter to this loser.”​

“Shut up Griggs, leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone.” All four of them glanced at Stanley, confused.​

“You… sure you’re feeling Stan?” Rice asked, looking into his eyes.​

“Yeah I’m fine, why?”
“Because Griggs didn’t say anything.” Stanley in turn shot a puzzled look.​

“What a freak.” Justin spoke up. “Come on, just ignore him.” The four started to walk, Stanley eventually catching up after pondering on what had just happened. He looked to Rice for support.​

“Everything’s going smoothly, we’ll be outta here soon. Just hope Stanley’s okay.” Stanley’s jaw dropped. Rice hadn’t moved his mouth at all. He looked towards Justin.​

“When I get out of here, I’m grabbing enough alcohol last a lifetime, and enough hookers to last the night.” His jaw hadn’t moved at all. Stanley for a brief second actually allowed himself to believe he could read minds. No, surely not. He tried to pass if off as sleep deprivation and pushed it to the back of his mind. They reared round the corner into the guard booth, Rice assuring they were all still present.”​

Out of sight finally, they relaxed a little while Rice fiddled with the door, attempting to lock pick it. Dreben kept his eye on the door they’d came through. It was a tense break in the plan, the others watching Rice’s every move, desperate for the door to open. Finally, the click of it opening allowed everyone to breathe again. “Quiet now guys.” Rice whispered. “Can’t fall at the last hurdle.” As they crept through the door, Stanley strutted up in front to speak with Rice.​

“Got a few talents haven’t you Tom? Snapping necks, picking doors, darting around in the dark. You’ve gotta be in here for something real twisted.”​

“Was in the Marine Corps. Got a discharge for some clumsy work. That night I went to a bar, had a couple of drinks… a couple too many that is. Was confident I could drive, killed 3 passengers in my car including my best friend, and 2 people in another… one of them was a kid.”​

“Gee… that’s tough.” Stanley replied. “Everyone thinks I killed my parents, they were gunned down in an alley, near our house. I was out drinking at the time, so when the police came to question me I was hammered. Along with incentive for revenge, it apparently added up to me being the most likely candidate.”​

“Incentive for revenge?” Stanley brushed back his hair revealing a large scar.​

“Just one of the many results of a pair of twisted freaks for parents.”​

“Rough.” Stanley nodded in agreement, noticing Rice try to pull his head away after the sheepish answer.​

“God, I can barley look at him anymore.” At that point, Stanley knew two things. Firstly, he knew somehow, he could read minds. Secondly, he knew Rice was lying to him. Right now, he didn’t know which was more important. He mind burst with questions, questions that would have to go unanswered for now.​

“HALT!” Stanley snapped back to reality, rearing his head round. A lone guard. He was outnumbered easily, but at long enough range to alert the others. He cautiously raised a whistle to his lips, everyone frozen with fear.
“Friend,” he spoke up, “if you sound that whistle, you’re a bloody dead man.” The guard closed his eyes and gulped. Rice immediately knew the idiot was going to do it. The whistle rang through the building, and voices could immediately be heard around the complex, everyone starting to close in on them.​

Moments that were like years went by the group looked to Rice for guidance. Hearts started to pump and rise into throats. “Leg it.” Rice command, turning and running down the hallway. The sirens had started to go off. “We can make it!” he called out “Turn left! We make it to the entrance before the gate closes and we’re there!” that’s when Stanley tripped, an army of guards coming like a swarm towards him.​

Only Rice looked back, only Rice ran back to aid him. The others darted down the corridor, not even bothering to persuade Rice to forget Stan. “Get up!” he roared, yanking Stanley back to his feet. He immediately began to follow the others, Rice’s footsteps pounding along behind him. Stanley depended on the sound of those footsteps to let him know he was still safe.​

Then they ceased. Never stopping, Stanley reared his head around in shear panic, seeing the guards swarm in on Rice. “GO!” he cried before a bat connected with his face.​

Stanley did go, and as he went, he rehearsed the word “Coward” with every step. He flung round the corner, tears starting to block his sight.​

Trapped.​

The gate was already closed, the iron bars shut down. “Where’s Rice?” Justin cried at the sight of Stanley. Stanley could only look to the floor. “WHERE’S RICE?” he screamed once more, charging at Stanley, grabbing his collar and forcing him against the wall. Stanley gritted his teeth at the pain of being pinned to the wall.​

“Rice… he’s gone.” It sunk into everyone for a moment, a deafening silence falling into the room, all that could be heard was the approaching guards. Justin raised a fist.​

“You useless piece of—“​

“Justin, shut it.” Griggs spoke up. “We’ll deal with it later, we’ve got to hide.”​

Dreben kicked the doors to the stairs open. “In here, hurry it up.” They jumped inside and started to shoot up the stairs. “Okay… what the hell do we do now?”​

“This was a crap plan from the start, shouldn’t have trusted Rice.” Justin said.​

“Rice, we’ve got to go back for Rice.” Stanley interrupted. They all stopped to gaze at him.​

“Who the hell put you in charge?” Justin spat, advancing on Stan once more. Griggs put an arm out to stop Justin.​

“We’re not going back for him now, it’s pointless.”
“Why?” Stan demanded. Griggs turned away. Stan dared himself to push Griggs further. Then he remembered his new found ability.​

“Can’t tell them he’s getting the chair tonight… it’s not right.”​

“The chair!?” Stan spat out in disbelief. “They’re giving him the chair for drink driving?” Griggs turned back and eyed Stanley cautiously.​

“How the hell did you know that? He only told me, he didn’t want it to be a distraction.”​

“We’ve got to save him.” Stan cried. “It’s not right! Why’s he getting the chair for that?”​

“He’s not getting it for that Stanley, he lied to you.” A sick feeling came over Stanley, he suddenly already knew what Griggs was going to say.​

“We was never in the Marine Corps for Christ sake, he developed those skills as a simple mugger. He’s getting the chair for… for.”​

“Say it.” Stanley took a serious tone, he knew what was coming.​

“He’s getting the chair for the murder for James and Emma Blackwell.”​

“Holy s***” Justin cried out, jaw dropped.​

“It’s why he gave you so much sympathy Blackwell, guilt. He’s the reason you’re standing right here today.” Stanley’s world crumbled around him. He’d looked up to Rice, respected him, considered him a friend… but he was nothing more than a common mugger. A common mugger who murdered his parents.​

“I think now you can just leave him to go to the chair.” Griggs said, a stern expression on his face. “There’ll be time for tears later, come with us now or you’re going to end up just like him after killing those two guards.”​

“No.” Stanley ordered.​

“What?”​

“I’m going to find him. I’m going to save him.”​

“Don’t be ridiculous, even if you could make it to him on time, why would you bother?”​

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking but I am going to save him.” Griggs stepped back, paused for a moment, then shook his head, laughing.​

“Be my guest, but you’re going alone.”​

“Fine by me.” Dreben and Justin looked at each other, amazed at what was happening.​

“Then Stan, I wish you all the luck in the world, but honestly, you’re screwed.” And with that, the three were gone from sight, up the stairs, the guards approaching below. Stan took a minute to embrace what was happening before running up the stairs too. He could hear the others run to the very top, so he ducked into a door way and let the rush of guards pass before quietly poking his head back inside and heading downstairs again.​

He brushed past the scenery he’d been running past mere minutes ago until he came back to the corridor where he’d fallen. It was empty now, leaving alone the sirens to be heard. The floor was stained with Rice’s blood. A surge of confusion hit Stanley. Why was he doing this? Rice was a liar, a criminal, and a murderer, he didn’t deserved to be saved.​

But no, he would save him, even if he didn’t know why. A smudge of blood leading off down to the right sent Stan in that direction. Footsteps, directly in front, he hung back while two guards marched past. Stanley closed his eyes and focused, one must have the answer.​

“How did 5 escape? How could that many people just slip past us? At least one’s caught, taking him straight to the chair.” Stanley came back to his own senses. The chair. He’d been past the room before. If he ran, he might just make it there in time.​

 

[Electro UK]

Rice hung his head in shame. Guards spat on him as he walked up death rowing, every footstep a deafening blow, a scratch closer to his end. He’d failed his friends, and he’d failed Stanley. No doubt he knew by now, what a monster he truly was. He was marched up at gun point towards the door, the urge to be sick all too apparent.

The door opened and he was shoved in side, a disgraced filled silence drowning him. He chose not to listen to the priest as he blabbered on. All he could concentrate on was the night he killed Stanley’s parents for a wallet, it helped him to accept what was about to happen to him.

He was now fully strapped in, and he could see someone standing by the switch. He closed his eyes, and waited… and waited. Something wasn’t right. He opened his eyes to find the guards lined up against the wall, hands in the air. Standing in front of them was Stanley Blackwell, holding on of the guard’s guns.

“Hey Rice, sorry about the timing.”

“Stan… what are you doing here?”

“I’m asking myself the same question. Either to save you or kill you, haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Kill me?”

“Yeah, just like you did my parents.”

“So you know.”

“Sure do.”

“Listen, I can’t imagine how—“

“No you can’t imagine Thomas Rice, because you’ve never been in this situation. No one has ever been in this situation. Right now my mind is torn in two, because the part of my that hasn’t gone over the edge is saying this isn’t me, and it isn’t. But this has been a day for strange twists. Oh and the guy on the far right, I know what you’re thinking, take one step and I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”

“Stan, just try and calm down. You’re armed, we can get out easily. I bet the others have been caught.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, they’re a bunch of bumbling idiots. Not as much as you though, you coulda left me Rice, and you’d be home free, but you saved me, why?”

“Because… because I can’t be responsible for another Blackwell death.”

“Oh but if it had been Griggs or someone else, that would have been fine would it?”

“Stanley, this isn’t you. You don’t want to do this and you know you don’t. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Still trying to save your own hide, I can’t believe I ever respected you. You’re wrong, I do want to do this.” Moving the gun over, he pulled the trigger. The explosion rang deep into his ears. He watched part of Rice’s chest exploded into a mess of blood, he watched the blood run down his white shirt. He felt no pain as Rice began to breath deeper and deeper. No regret, no sorrow. He wasn’t Stanley Blackwell anymore, and he knew it.

As Rice went limp, Stanley closed his eyes. “Don’t worry guys, I’ll save you the effort.” The guards began to charge towards Stanley, but no one reached him before he put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. His head hit the back of the wall, the light faded, and he slid down, smearing blood all over.



Stanley Blackwell was a liar too. He wasn’t out drinking on the night of his parent’s death. He was behind them. Holding his own gun, pointed at his Father’s back. He’d never seen the face of the real murderer until he’d met him in jail. Seconds before he killed Thomas Rice, he had one feeling. He had the feeling he was looking into a mirror.

 

[Matt Murdock]

Where The Sun Doesn't Reach
I
​

BANG.

The last sound Stanley Blackwell ever heard.

BANG.

And that was that.

BANG.

One syllable.

"Stop!! STOP!! YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! I KNOW YOU DON - "

The last thing Stanley Blackwell ever said.

BANG.

The last sound Stanley Blackwell ever heard.

- - - -
​

"Stan. Get your ass up." Dillon McMerchant said, shaking Stanley Blackwell out of his sleep.

Nobody had attempted anything like this before.

Sure, people had broken out of prisons.

People had turned over new leaves; started their lives anew.

But to try both in the same night?

That was downright contradictory. Starting a new life with a prison break?

Insane.

Or, at least, that's what Blackwell thought.

He didn't dare to tell this to his bunk mate, McMerchant, though. The man was a cold blooded killer. He had raped and killed seven women. Merciless. That's what landed him here in Alpha-Omega.

A clichéd name to say the least.

But that's what the government wanted. A beginning and an end to mutate-crime.

Created in 2174, the "Alpha-Omega Correctional Facilty" was headed by Travis Sullivan, the great, great, great grandchild of Michael "Mikey" Sullivan, who took control of Sullivan Industries after his brother had attempted a daring robbery and was arrested. Michael's great, great, great grandson, though was the Sullivan who truly brought Sullivan Industries to its peak by getting the first contract with the government to both immobilize and rehabilitate mutants.

It had been a growing problem, the mutation of humans. Real concerns began in the late 2050's, when a small group of Welsh townsfolk destroyed all of the glass in their town; unable to control the frequency of the waves in their voices.

As the mutations grew more diverse (from telekinesis and retrocognition to more mundane abilities such as spontaneous finger-nail growth) and more common, the Government reacted like something out of a Post-apocalyptic comic book.

"Cleansing centers" were developed throughout Europe and the United States. Mutants who were sent there were never heard from again.

Thus, the governments of the world were forced to shut down the stations, and eliminate the mutant threat through other means.

The CIA of the United States and MI-5 of the United Kingdom were compounded into the Global Agency for the Purging of Evolved Men. GAPEM for short.

Police officers from around the world were recruited to, essentially, be the James Bonds of their day. They'd have access to global funds, limitless weaponry, and the best training money could buy.

Rumors had been flying around of a crime syndicate located within the Alpha-Omega compound. Since the governments of the globe didn't know what would be going on within the Alpha-Omega complex, the had to pick a single police officer to go deep under cover to get some grasp of the mafia within the prison.

As you no doubt have guessed, Stanley Blackwell was that cop.

He was told that he would have nothing to worry about. A job under cover for a month tops.

Three years.

He had spent three years in this prison, isolated in the darkness of his psyche with only himself for true company. He had lost who he was. He was falling apart at the seams.

Someone had made this choice. Someone had been responsible for the destruction of who Stanley Blackwell was.

Now, in his place, there was a whole new man.

A man who was taken from his family, his mother, father, wife and son.

Though stripped of his identity to the point where he couldn't remember who he was, Blackwell knew one thing.

He was a cop. A cop with a job to do.

This was the world that Stanley Blackwell was thrust into.

"You there?" McMerchant asked, his collar gleaming in the moonlight.

Blackwell felt his neck and knew that his collar too was on.

For a split second, Blackwell had hoped that this was all a sick dream... that somehow he'd wake up in bed with Maria sleeping quietly next to him in their Manhattan loft, her sweet perfume ebbing in and out of his nose's reach as her body rose and fell as she slept.

The electrical jolt he got, however, as he tried to remove his collar showed him that this was all too real.

Blackwell was covered in an icy cold sweat, making the shock that much worse. The cheap cot reeked of cheap cotton and heavy sweat, as he propped himself up in bed. He'd planned this break out for days; weeks even, simply to keep appearances up.

It all came down to one night and Stan felt the anxiousness swelling in his stomach like a beast that needed to be tamed.

"Do you have - " He asked as his cellmate slid a small blade out of his sleeve. "it? Good. "

He took the blade from McMerchant.

"First we get Tommillson. He's two cells down. Then Endyke. He's on the other end of the main hall." Blackwell muttered, mentioning the other members of the so called "mob."

The two heard the faint whistling of a guard pacing down the hallway towards their cell. McMerchant leaped into bed as Blackwell slowly crept towards the metal bars between him and the hallway.

The officer's nightstick thudded loudly as it hit the cell bars before coming to an abrupt stop on Blackwell's hand.

The guard stopped midstep and glanced down.

"What th- GLLK!"

He could've cried out for help if Stan hadn't placed the blade directly through his voice box.

The guard slumped backwards, fumbling with his neck, the blade securely lodged below his flesh.

A look of sheer panic gripped his face, as he tried to call out for help, only to be met with a mouthful of blood.

Reaching out of his cell, Blackwell fumbled with a small key fob on the man's belt.

The guard's hand snapped around Stanley's wrist and he was forced to look up. The guard's eyes were so full of fear. Fear and pain.

In silence, Blackwell slid his hand, holding the magnetic keys, into the cell and out of the hallway, illuminated only by red lights placed evenly throughout the six-foot wide corridor.

He stood back up and dangled the magnets over his neck, one of them unclocking the device on him with a soft BZZT.

"Give 'em 'ere. Give them here!"

McMerchant was desperate to get the collar off as he reached over the gap between their beds, snatching the keys out of Blackwell's hands like a starving dog.

"Come on, come on." He said, unlocking his collar.

His collar flew open, still attached to his neck by a needle that dug right into his spine. Quickly rising to his feet, McMerchant motioned for his partner to stand up as well.

Blackwell obeyed and watched as his bunkmate placed his hands on the side of his open collar.

Stanley followed suit and braced himself as McMerchant began counting down.

"Ready?"

Stanley nodded.

"3. 2. 1."

Both men pushed up on their collars, blood trickling down their backs as the needles slid from the spine and out of their flesh.

After a few seconds both collars fell to the ground with a defeated THUNK.

With a triumphant grin, McMerchant turned his attention to the steel bars in front of them.

After a few seconds of intense concentration, the bars began to melt. Igniting his hands, McMerchant stepped forward and wrapped his hand around two columns of burning steel.

A cop by nature, Blackwell flew through the gap in the metal and placed a supporting hand on the innocent guard's chest.

"Hey, hey. Hey. Look at me." He said, regulating the officer's breathing.

"It'll take some time, but you'll eventually learn to speak again. I don't think I hit any - "

CRACK!

A fist flew straight through the guard's skull, coating Blackwell's face in blood. He flinched and spat out a piece of skull as he followed the fist's arm directly to McMerchant's eyes.

In a fury, he pressed himself in McMerchant's face.

"What're you thinking? He wasn't gonna do anything." He said angrily.

McMerchant stood cold, calculating for a moment. Igniting his hand so that the blood might evaporate with a sickening Sssss.

Without warning, he slammed Blackwell into the wall, gripping him by his collar.

"You aren't thinking of turning on me, are you Blacky?" The Irishman asked quietly, blood dripping from Blackwell's face.

"'Course not, Red..." Stanley said, nervously twitching his head to the side, suddenly defeated. "Let's go get Tommillson, eh?"

"Let's." Dillon said.

So far, aside from the death of the guard, everything was going well. The breakout was going according to plan and the gangsters didn't suspect a thing.

As the two sprinted to Tommillson's cell, Blackwell could swear that he could hear the whispers of other prisoners.

He stopped on a dime and jammed his index finger in his ear.

Was his mind playing tricks on him?

It had to be... he was worried... Yeah. That was all.

[blackout]I had my head in a noose [/blackout]​

He had to be crazy, right? Thinking that people were whispering?

[blackout]I had nothing to loose.[/blackout]​

But still... there was something in the back of his mind...

[blackout]Had enough of abuse.[/blackout]
​

Something that had laid dormant... but now...

[blackout]And now I'm dangerous [/blackout]
​

With this panic brewing in his gut...

[blackout]Hateful, contagious. [/blackout]
​

Something had changed.

[blackout]It owns us.[/blackout]
​

Coming back to his senses, he felt his whispering fear vanish.

A settling calm came over him as McMerchant began to melt the bars on Tommlinson's cell.

Just as they had with themselves, Blackwell and McMerchant freed Tommlinson who promptly turned invisible.

"Good to be back, *****es." He said in a gleeful tone.

"No time to talk. We've got work to do."

 

[Matt Murdock]

Where The Sun Doesn't Reach

II
​

"Jeez, lighten up McMadMan..." Obviously exercising his wit. "Isn't that a burger?"

The three men started heading for Endyke's cell, through the winding corridors of the bowels of the prison.

A scream tore through the hall, sending Blackwell flying through the air with surprise.

To his astonishment, the other two men kept running, stopping only to see what was wrong with him.

"Been hitting the moonshine a little hard, bud?" Tommlinson asked.

Stanley felt himself go slackjawed.

"'Tell me you heard that." He said.

[blackout]I'm angry[/blackout]
[blackout] I'm raging[/blackout]
[blackout] I'm breaking through the pain [/blackout]
​

His two cohorts simply stared at him.

​

[blackout] The monster's loose [/blackout]
[blackout] And now you know the truth [/blackout]
[blackout] Tell me can you feel it [/blackout]
[blackout] As you hit the wall [/blackout]
​

"God..." He said, angrily. "Tell me you're kidding around with me."

​

[blackout] The monsters loose [/blackout]
[blackout] And now you have to choose [/blackout]
[blackout] And prove you can take it [/blackout]
[blackout] To the top before you fall [/blackout]
​

They continued to stare at him as the scream faded from Blackwell's ears, leaving nothing but a high-pitched ringing.

He shook his head.

"Sorry..." He muttered quietly. "Must just be my nerves."

McMerchant looked pissed... to say the least.

"Listen pal." He said, heaving Stanley to his feet. "Get your **** together or I'll burn you alive."

Flames seeped out of McMerchant's eyes. Paired with his burning red hair, he could be mistaken for the devil himself.

"I'm just... getting it together." He said, breathing heavily.

The three men walked through the remaining hall in silence until reaching Endyke's cell.

"Take care of him." Stan said, heading straight for the upper levels.

Placing a foot on the ladder, Stanley heard something in the silence.

<"Single shot. Right to the temple. I'll burn his frontal lobe. Poor Blacky won't know what hit him.">

Blackwell felt himself fall off the ladder, shocked.

[blackout] I've walked a slippery road
Felt a twitch in my soul
Through the wind and the cold
With no protection
Just one direction
Destruction [/blackout]
​

Something swept over Stanley as he heard this.

Rage.

[blackout] I've paid for all my mistakes
Taken all I can take
Until I'm ready to break[/blackout]

​

As Endyke slipped out of his cell collarless, a piece of one of the steel bars clanged to the ground.

[blackout] I'm feeling vicious
And so outrageous
It breaks us[/blackout]
​

The whispering in the back of Stanley's head was so enticing... beckoning him to pick up the steel... to take a preemptive strike.

He couldn't sit back and let this happen.

Let what happen?!

Maybe... maybe this was all in his head.

But what if it wasn't?

"What'd you say?" He asked Dillon, staring at the bar on the ground.

Dillon turned from the prison cell.

"Say what?" He asked aggravated with Stanley's tone.

Stanley stood, for a moment, staring at the bar, unaware that McMerchant was staring at him.

<"I ought to do it right now... take the poor bastard out of his misery... I have what I need from him.">

In a fleeting second, Blackwell felt himself lose it. He refused to just stand around and allow himself to be murdered.

[blackout] I'm leaving
Still breathing
I'm tearing through these chains [/blackout]
​

With a precise step, he had snatched the bar from the floor and had slammed it against Dillon's head, smearing blood on the wall as his several of his face bones broke as he slammed into the wall.

The monster's loose
And as you know the truth
Tell me can you feel it
As you hit the wall
​

Blackwell felt himself grin softly as he pummeled McMerchant's head with the metal.

After a few fast seconds, he was standing in a pool of blood with Tommilllson and Endyke staring at him.

"W...why'd you do that?"

Wiping the blood off of his face with his sleeve, Blackwell stared at Tommillson.

"He was going to kill me." He said, carelessly throwing the steel pole to the ground with a CLANG.

"Are you sure?" Tommillson asked, still in disbelief.

"Positive." Blackwell said flatly, staring each man in the face.

Tommillson noticed something had changed in him... his eyes seemed cold and hollow... like he'd been wasting away and only now had he shown signs of it.

A stray thought entered Blackwell's mind.

<'My god. He killed Dillon McMerchant. I had not anticipated this happening so early.">

"Who said that?" Blackwell asked, glaring at Endyke.

"Said what?" Endyke replied.

"Nobody heard that?" Stanley asked.

<"I'm innocent... I didn't hurt nobody."> Another new voice said.

Voices began sprouting up in every corner of Stanley's mind until he couldn't stand it.

<"The filthy skank had it coming... I'm glad she bled... she bled and she liked it."> One sick voice said.

<"WHAT WILL THE NEIGHBORS THINK?!"> One incredibly angry voice screamed in Stanley's ear. So loud was this scream that Stanley had to clutch the side of his head in agony.

It was beginning to be more than he could bear... Until, without reason, it all stopped.

Time around him stood still and he was confused for a moment, until Endyke stepped forward.

"T-t-this is your power?" Blackwell asked, reeling from the massive onset of voices.

"I can freeze time." Endyke replied. "I'm still a bit confused about what you do though."

"I'm hearing voices." Blackwell muttered, collapsing into the wall, still reeling.

"Interesting." Endyke muttered. "I suppose I need to tell you this, though. I'm no killer."

Blackwell looked up.Could this be a trap?

"You're a government agent?" Blackwell asked, skeptically reading the man's mind. "Like me? Under cover?"

"Deeper under than the sun can reach." Endyke replied.

I've lived a thousand years in darkness
Banished all alone
Inside my mind with just my madness
Behind these walls of stone
​

Blackwell stared at him for a moment.

"Why're you here?" He asked softly.

"I'm here to get you out... we've watched you break down into borderline psychosis."

Blackwell snickered.

"Alright... what do you want?" He said, still skeptical.

"Just to get you out of here." Endyke said.

Blackwell wanted to know much, much more... but he knew that if he was to ask anything, he might test the agent's patience.

Placing a hand behind his back, Endyke withdrew a hand gun.

He touched the barrel to the side of Tommillson's head and pulled the trigger.

He released the gun and it floated in the air, frozen in time.

As Endyke walked off, down the corridor leaving the gun floating in the air, Blackwell followed.

Without warning, a loud BANG! tore through the hall.

<"All who's left now is Blackwell."> Stanley heard.

He passively glanced at Endyke's face and saw that he was strutting along with what could only be described as a smug smile.

I was falling apart at the seams
Holding my breath just to breathe
I tasted the sting of my tears

​

The echoes in Stanley's subconscious had grown much, much louder. He felt his heart racing and when he saw the gleam of another gun's handle from Endyke's back, he knew what he had to do.

Letting Endyke walk in front of him slightly, Blackwell followed the gun with his eyes.

Why would Endyke need two guns?

Unless...

<"Poor sap. Doesn't even know about his precious Maria.">

The name meant something to Stanley, like a relic in his mind of who he used to be.

He had to find out what Endyke knew.

I was waking up stuck in a dream
Ran out of air, couldn't scream
Wasted away by my fears
​

Delivering a fast kick to Endyke's knee, Stanley snatched the gun from out of Endyke's belt.

He held the barrel to the man's brow.

"Tell me what you know about Maria!" He screamed angrily.

Endyke simply laughed.

<"Looks like the dunce caught on."

"TELL ME!" Stanley roared, spitting in Endyke's face.

The man continued to chuckle.

Stanley pulled the trigger once, narrowly missing Endyke's face, hitting a pipe on the wall, sending liquid nitrogen pouring into the room.

His smug grin stayed on his spit covered face.

<"You can't shoot me, Stan. I'll stop the bullet before it even touches me. My boss won't let you kill me.">

<'Shoot him."> Stanley heard in his head. The voice sounded so familiar... but he couldn't place it.

<"End his life."> Then quieter, like in the back of the man's mind: <"He cannot tell you what he knows.">

Stanley wrapped a hand around Endyke's collar and dragged him to the liquid nitrogen.

The monster's loose
And now you know the truth
Tell me can you feel it
As you hit the wall

​

"Say 'hi' to your boss for me." Stanley said, coating one side of Endyke's face in the ice cold gas.

As his flesh cracked, Endyke wailed in pain. Not for long, though, as Stanley slammed the frozen part of his face into the steel wall, shattering it. Blood smeared along the wall as Endyke's flesh, eye, cheek, and muscles were torn from his bone.

Time froze for a moment and just like that, Endyke was gone. He swore, thought, that he could hear footsteps in another hallway.

He breathed deeply, smiling softly.

"Can you feel me coming?" He whispered angrily. "I'll find you."

The monster's loose
And now you have to choose
And prove that you can take it
To the top and never fall
​

 

[Matt Murdock]

Where The Sun Doesn't Reach
​

III
​

Stanley Blackwell now had to do one thing, before escaping from the bowels of this hellish prison.

He had to find his wife.

Sprinting down the hallway, he pivoted and ascended a flight of stairs.

Kicking down a door, he found himself free of the cell block and in the administrative portion of the Alpha-Omega complex.

Much like any office, building, it was carpeted, luxurious, and modern.

At night, few guards roamed the hallways, but in his ascent to the penthouse floor, Blackwell knew he would encounter some of them.

Staring up, Stanley already saw one of the guards patrolling the huge, spiral ramp that lead to the top floor.

Stanley slowly made his way up the path, with such precision that he didn't even drag a foot, until he was behind the guard.

He stood up slowly, not even casting a shadow and jammed his gun into the back of the man's neck.

The guard froze.

"My name is Stanley Blackwell. I am a federal agent." He whispered intensely. "Put your weapon down."

The man slowly eased his hand up to the radio on his shoulder.

"Don't even try it. Put. It. Down."

The guard place his hand at his side again and withdrew his pistol from its holster.

Stanley snatched it and delivered a crushing blow to the back of the man's skull, knocking him out.

He felt along the man's belt and found a flashlight.

Snagging it, he turned it on, aiming it at the carpet.

He spotted a blood trail, no doubt from Endyke's face.

He followed it for about three minutes until he heard the whistling of another guard.

He took cover behind a corner and watched the man's shadow.

The guard was staring right at the corner Stanley had perched himself behind, obviously told to watch the corridor leading to the lobby.

Pivoting from behind the wall, Stanley took aim at the man's chest as the guard drew his weapon.

"Sir put down the gun!" Stanley said calmly. "My name is Stanley Blackwell. I am a federal agent. I am giving you a direct order to disarm."

Skeptically, the man put a hand on his radio, preparing to signal for backup.

Stanley charged him, tearing his wrist away from the transmitter before he could signal for help.

A thought made its way into Stanley's mind.

<"If he finds out she's dead...">

Then nothing.

As if the voice had been cut off.

Directing his attention back to the man he held in his grasp, Stanley punched him in the face, knocking him backwards.

With incredible precision, Stanley wrapped a hand around the man's throat and dragged him over the banister.

He held the man over the bronze rail, dangling at least ten stories in the air.

Stanley eyed an ID badge on the man's chest and took it.

"Please." The guard pleaded."I got a family... a little girl."

The monster's loose
You've lost your last excuse
Now show me that you got it
Even when you fall
​

"Me too." Stanley said, thrusting the man over the handrail, sending him to his death with a crash.

Stanley continued to follow the blood trail, not encountering any guards until he reached a locked door.

He slid the ID badge in front of a magnetic pad on the wall next to the door and, as if by magic, the door slid open.

He stepped inside and followed the blood trail until it ended outside of an office.

He tried, but failed, to hear if there were voices coming from within the doors.

He eased the office doors open and saw that the blood trail ended with Endyke's lifeless body, stabbed in the side of the head.

Blackwell looked up and saw a man in a purple shirt wiping blood off of his hands with a towel.

<"Ah... He's here.">

The man turned slowly and Stanley was greeted by an incredibly familiar face.

"Hello, Stanley." He said.

It took Blackwell a minute just to recognize the man.

"D...Dad?" He stammered.

"That's right, my boy." Martin Blackwell said, opening his arms. "You're beginning to remember."

With resolve, Stanley raised the gun and pointed it straight at his father's chest.

"Tell me what you know about Maria."

"You could have had all of this, son." Martin said, ignoring his son.

"Hey! Answer me!" Stanley shouted, his voice full of rage.

"You could've been a millionaire... dated models..."

"Maria!"

"Had a gulf stream... given your family a good education."

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

Martin stopped speaking for a second and glared at his son.

"She's dead."

"Dead?" Stanley asked.

"Yes. Dead. Y'know. When the monitor in the hospital goes 'beeeeeeeeeeeeee.'"

How could his father do this?

Make light of the woman his son loved?

The mother of his...

Grandchildren.

"Where are my boys?" Stanley said, memories washing over him.

"Dead." Martin said, heading for the bar, while Stanley watched in shock.

"Can I get you anything? You're a Scotch fan if I remember right."

He quietly tapped a red button on the wall and brought Stanley a drink.

"Drink up, son. I gave you a future."

The monster's loose
This game is win or loose
Sometimes you gotta' do it
And show the world you want it all.

Stanley took the drink from his father and slammed it on the ground, shattering the crystal glass.

"No scotch?" His father asked, sounding confused.

Stanley glared at him for a moment before wrapping his free hand around his father's throat and placing the gun's barrel in the center of his forehead.

"How could you do this to me?!" He cried, barely able to stop himself from pulling the trigger.

"I gave you -gllk- a future!"

Reading his father's mind, he sensed that he was telling the truth.

That didn't matter now.

He wanted this man to die.

"I left you behind. I was happy. I didn't want to live in your corporate world." Stanley whispered, tears sliding down his face.

<"You can't kill me."> His father thought.

"You just told me the one thing I love most in this world is gone. Do you really want to try me?" Stanley said through gritted teeth.

He loaded the bullet into the chamber and pushed as hard as he could on his father's forehead.

"They were -gllk- dead weight. You needed them to be gone." His father said, trying to pry his hand off of his throat.

"I loved them." Blackwell muttered helplessly.

Without warning, a flurry of new thoughts hit Stanley's mind.

<"I hope we're not too late. The boss has never called us in before... I hope I don't kill someone.">

<"Nobody has to die... Nobody has to die... Nobody has to die...">

<"Non-lethal unless it's absolutely necessary. We blow the door in three.">

Two seconds later, the doors to the office were blown open.

"Finally." Martin muttered under his breath.

"PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN." One of the men storming the room screamed.

Stanley began screaming back.

"I am a federal agent, I outrank you. I am conducting an interrogation. Drop your gun and leave the room."

"IF YOU'RE TELLING THE TRUTH YOU KNOW I CANNOT DO THAT. I'LL TELL YOU AGAIN: PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN."

The two stared at each other for a split second before Stanley Blackwell turned to his father.

"Take him." The agent whispered.

Stanley's head snapped backwards. They wouldn't kill him, right? He had just read their minds... they didn't want to kill him.

"Stop!! STOP!! YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS! I KNOW YOU DON - " He screamed in vain.

And just like that...

BANG.

Stanley Blackwell was dead.
​

 

[Feature]

THE ROLE-PLAYING LEAGUE
SEASON I, WEEK 5
-------------------------------------------------------

INITIAL SCENARIO
In the middle of the night, a group of specially-trained government agents are called into the heart of the desert. They are told that a UFO has fallen from the sky. They investigate the craft, but are unable to locate its extra-terrestrial pilot. As they search the vicinity, they come across a small diner. There are six customers inside who must have seen something. The only problem is, the man behind the counter swears there were only five customers in the diner before the crash...
Someone in the diner is not who they claim to be.

CONDITIONS
Each team must satisfy two of the following four conditions in their telling of the story...

• One of the customers in the diner is not carrying identification, making them a prime suspect. What is their excuse, and how can their true identity be proven?
  
  
• After a series of chaotic events, the agents kill a customer who they are certain is the guilty party. However, they soon come to realize they've made a mistake. What events inspire the murder, and what triggers the realization?
  
  
• A series of grueling tests reveal that one of the customers possesses extraordinary powers that may or may not identify them as the alien. What sort of tests are conducted, and how did this customer obtain these powers?
  
  
• Upon identifying the alien, the agents realize that they have endangered themselves and everyone else in the vicinity. What threat have they awakened, and how can it be avoided?

THIS WEEK'S POSTERS:
Eddie Brock Jr., Blacklight, Harlekin, Matt Murdock, Mr. Marko

DUE DATE:
Friday, January 18th, 7:00pm​

 

[Eddie Brock]

APPRENTICE AND PALS present:
SEASON I, WEEK V
​

The sun was setting fast on the red desert. The sky echoed shades of orange and pink. Agent Spade recalled learning about the sky in school. The sky was actually colorless, he was told. The reason that it appeared blue was due to the way that the light was refracted by the air molecules. So, at dusk, the sky changed colors due to the movement of the sun. Its rays now hit the atmosphere at a different angle, causing them to literally change colors before your eyes.

Spade loved learning little things like that. Ever since he was a kid, he was an intellectual sponge - soaking in all the knowledge he could get his hands on. Spade was notorious among his friends and coworkers for always spitting out some 'little-known fact' at the most random moments. There seemed to be nothing that Spade didn't know about.

It was this natural propensity towards knowledge that led to Spade's placement on his Special Forces squad. Together with two other men, Spade investigated disturbances - both domestic and abroad.

Agent Johnson was younger than Spade, but with a similar outlook on life. Johnson had always been 'book-smart,' though not near the levels that Spade achieved. However, unlike Spade, Johnson looked the part. Naturally, he was picked on and bullied throughout his school career. When Johnson got to college, the teasing ceased. But he was still very insecure about himself. It was this insecurity that drove him to improve his physical stature. Eventually, Johnson became one of the strongest guys in his circle of friends. His combined IQ and physical strength proved to be valuable assets for the military. Assets which they wasted no time putting to use.

On the opposite end of the spectrum was Agent O'Hara. Only one word was necessary to properly describe O'Hara - jock. This was no reflection on him as a person, mind you, but he never aspired to be an intellectual. O'Hara subscribed to a philosophy of matter over mind. Since getting older, he has become more aware of the value of intelligence, but he is no more 'book-smart' than the common man.

Together, these three men made an excellent team. With Spade giving orders, Johnson carrying out the mental tasks, and O'Hara providing brute force, there was very little that these men weren't prepared for.

Or so they thought as their convoy moved into the desert.

"What's the mission, Spade?" O'Hara asks while smoking a cigarette. For someone who took so much pride in his body, O'Hara had no problem with smoking a little stick of death. Every man has his vice.

Spade shrugs honestly. "They didn't really tell me, O'Hara," he explains. "They simply said that the mission would speak for itself when we get out there."

"I don't like the sound of that," Johnson announced without looking up. He was fiddling with his PDA. He had just gotten it from his [SIZE=-1]fiancée for Christmas. Ever since then, he was rarely seen without it.

"I wouldn't worry too much," [/SIZE]Spade suggests as he turns around in the passenger seat. Spade squints to look past the final, blinding rays of the sun. It would be set soon.

O'Hara nods towards the driver. "Why doesn't he talk?" he asks gruffly.

Without taking his eyes of the road, the driver says, "I have nothing to say. And before you ask - no, I don't know what your mission is about." O'Hara shrugs and goes back to smoking his cigarette. Both Spade and Johnson are visibly repulsed by the smell of smoke emanating from the back of the van. O'Hara, however, doesn't take the hint.

After traveling a short distance further across the red sands, the convoy reaches its destination. "Is this it?" Spade asks as the van slows to a stop.

"Would I be stopping otherwise?" the driver responds rudely. Unfortunately, Spade had become all too familiar with rude men and women like this in the military. For some reason, they think that their job requires them to be cold.

After the three men get out and walk out of earshot, O'Hara states, "I could kick his ass if you wanted, Spade."

"Pleasant," Johnson interjects dryly. Johnson and O'Hara butt heads on just about everything. Spade often announces that they act like two brothers. Perhaps there was simply too much testosterone between the two.

Spade ignores both comments as he walks down a small path in the sand. Clearly, this is where they were supposed to go. After just a few feet, the trail began to run uphill. Spade and his men trudged on until they reached the precipice.

"My God," Spade gasps as he looks down into a crater. O'Hara and Johnson arrive seconds later, and their reactions are not much different.

"What in the world--?"

"Not in the world at all, my friend," Johnson gulps.

All eyes have fallen upon a strange ship lying in the sand. The origin of the ship is unknown, and none of them recognize it. "Well, you two are the geniuses. Do you have any clue what this is?"

"I've never seen anything like it," Spade admits. "This is nothing like the types of developmental aircraft that I know about."

Even though no one is looking at him, Johnson feels compelled to reply, "Don't look at me."

The three men inch closer to the unidentified object. The sun has set too far for Spade to get a good look, so he equips his standard-issue flashlight. Running the beam along the side of the ship, Spade finds something even more horrifying.

"It's been opened," Spade announces grimly. His light remains fixated on the spot where there appears to be an open hatch.

"So we're dealing with a ship of unknown origin, lying in the middle of the desert--"

"--And it may or may not have had a pilot, who is quite possibly on the loose."

"The question is," Spade began, "Who - or what - was that pilot?"

"You're not suggesting..."

"Aliens?" Johnson asks disbelievingly.

Spade didn't know what to say. "We've always wondered if we're alone in the universe. Maybe we're not?"

Spade's communicator beeped to life. "Agents Spade, Johnson, and O'Hara - you have arrived at the start of your mission," the voice of Captain Green announced. Captain Green was their boss. Spade was glad to be getting some kind of explanation.

"What's going on here, Captain?" Johnson interjects.

"Hours ago, an unidentified flying object crashed right where you are standing now. You were the closest to the site, so we got your team there as fast as we could - but we're apparently too late," Green explains emotionlessly. Green was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve. But he seemed almost indifferent about this possible threat. "The pilot of that craft was an extra-terrestrial of unknown origin. Now, it is loose in the desert. You three need to bring it in - dead or alive."

And just as quickly as the communicator turned on, it returns to its hibernating state. All three men are at a loss for words. Finally, O'Hara asks, "What now, Spade?"

Spade scans the desert. This was harsh terrain - especially for those unfamiliar with it. The alien couldn't have gotten far, and there was nowhere to hide out here. "If I was an alien, I'd look for shelter first of all," Spade begins. "So let's get a move on. Our target probably wandered into the nearest town."

Without further discussion or protest, Spade and his men enter the van again and set off. "There's a small diner around here," the driver explains.

"Take us there."

***
​

The convoy pulls up in front of the diner. Spade, Johnson, and O'Hara exit the van. "We'll be in touch," Spade tells the driver. And so the van pulls away.

As Spade enters the diner, he is instantly beginning to scan the customers. There are six of them, with one man behind the counter. "What now?" Johnson asks.

"Let's not draw attention to ourselves. Keep this quiet," Spade commands. He motions for Johnson and O'Hara to sit down in a booth. As they do so, Spade approaches the man behind the counter. "Excuse me."

"Yes?"

"I don't wish to alarm you, but we're looking for a potentially dangerous person," Spade explains, "And we think that he might have hidden in here."

The man's eyes widen as he looks around at his customers. "I can tell you one thing," the man starts, "I know that there were only FIVE customers when I went into the back."

Spade looks around. No one looks particularly suspicious, but that doesn't vindicate them. It seems too ironic that one customer magically appeared right after the crash. "Who's the new person?"

"I'm so sorry, but I don't know," the man responds sorrowfully. "I've been in the back mostly. My waitress, Sally, had been tending to the customers."

"Where's Sally?" Spade inquires eagerly. If Sally can point out the suspect, this case is over already.

"She had a quick family emergency, and she had to leave. I've been watching the diner since then," the man replies. "It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes ago."

Well, so much for the easy way. Spade and his men were going to have to narrow down their options. Feeling bemused after such a fruitless questioning, Spade returns to the booth.

"Any luck?"

"None," Spade states sadly. "All we know is that one of these customers is the you-know-what. Unfortunately, the counter guy doesn't know which."

"Then let's put our heads together, Spade," Johnson suggests optimistically. "We've got three working brains - albeit one is severely underused--"

"Go fly a kite," O'Hara grumbles.

"Anyway, there are only six people. How hard could it be?"

Spade nods. The odds do seem to be in their favor. But Spade has learned too often that odds are meaningless. "Ok, be on the lookout for suspicious behavior," Spade orders.

"Wait...why don't we just ask everyone to cough up some ID?" O'Hara suggests.

Spade shakes his head. "If we alert the alien, it will flee," he reminds his colleague. "This has to be done stealthily and quickly. We'll investigate them one-by-one, as we see fit. But it has to be inconspicuous."

"He's right," Johnson agrees. "Try to be smart about something for once, bonehead."

As O'Hara opens his mouth to retaliate, Spade interjects, "Enough childishness. This is a serious matter of national security."

Neither of the other two dare defy their leader. So as they sit quietly, Spade begins to silently watch the customers. There's a couple talking rather loudly, a biker (woman, no less), a woman chatting away on a cell phone, a teenager who has apparently ran away from home, and a man sitting by himself in the booth. Normally, none would seem overly suspicious - but one of them was an alien posing as a normal person.

Spade eliminated the couple. They obviously knew each other, and they would know if the other was an extraterrestrial. Nonetheless, Spade would keep them in the back of his mind, just in case. Often times, the least alarming is the culprit.

If the woman with the cellphone was the alien, then she was a good actress. Her conversation sounded genuine - perhaps with a lover? Furthermore, how could an alien get its hands on a cell phone in the middle of a desert? Once again, Spade didn't rule out the possibility entirely...but it definitely seemed a lot less likely.

The remaining three were all alone, making them top suspects. Spade gets Johnson's attention and nods to the single man in the booth.

'What?' Johnson mouths out.

"Go find out his story," Spade whispers urgently. "And remember, act natural."

Johnson puts down his PDA and walks over to the booth. As he takes a seat, the man says and does nothing. "Hey, man, are you okay?" Johnson asks. The man continues to stare absent-mindedly through the window. "Well, I saw you across the diner, and I was wondering what your deal was. You seem a little...out of it." Again, the man makes no response. "Do you speak English?" Johnson finally asks. When the man continues to be silent, Johnson reaches for his shoulder. "Hey--"

The man shrinks away from the contact as best he can. When Johnson doesn't stop approaching, the man yelps before cowering in the corner of the booth. Once Johnson backs off, the man goes back to staring at the desert sky.

Johnson returns to his booth, full of new information. "I think we have Suspect Numero Uno," he states confidently.

"What makes you so sure?" O'Hara asks hesitantly.

"The guy isn't talking. Maybe it's because he doesn't know our planet's languages!"

"Keep it down!" Spade orders. Regaining his composure, he asks, "What else?"

"He keeps staring outside - maybe he's looking for something to come for him?"

"Seems like a stretch, but go on..."

"He shrinks away from contact and seems...frankly...afraid," Johnson finishes. Spade nods once Johnson's analysis is complete.

Spade decides that the behavior is suspicious enough to investigate. He gets up and approaches the man behind the counter. "Excuse me, but what do you know about that man?" Spade asks while pointing to the man in the booth.

"Hang on," the man behind the counter replies while holding up his index finger. He begins to rummage through the receipts until he finds the one he's looking for. "The guy ordered only...water, with sugar."

"Sugar water?" Spade repeats.

"That's right," the man confirms it.

Spade simply walks away and back to his booth. "The guy ordered sugar water," he tells his men. "That's it."

"Maybe he's not hungry?"

"Even so...sugar water? Why not regular water?" Johnson inquires.

"Let's try not to make a rash judgment, but everything seems to be stacking against this guy. Let's talk to him ag--"

Before Spade can finish, a car in the parking lot backfires. Everyone jumps, naturally, but the man in the booth gets up and runs for the back door. "Stop him!" Spade yells.

O'Hara is caught totally off-guard. In a split-second, he makes his choice. O'Hara pulls his sidearm and fires one shot - right in the man's back. His dead body sprawls onto the floor.

Instantly, all stealth about the mission is gone. "Johnson, get the door! No one leaves!" Spade shouts in frustration. If that man wasn't the alien, then they have officially alerted it to their presence.

"What the Hell is going on here?!" the man from the couple roars.

Spade pulls out his sidearm. "Your questions will be answered in a minute. Until then, SHUT THE HELL UP!" Suddenly, no one seems interested in questioning the men with guns. "Check him," Spade orders O'Hara, motioning to the dead body.

O'Hara frisks the body until his hands stop on the back pocket. The look on his face is one of dread as he reaches in, pulling out a wallet.

"Dammit, he was clean!" Johnson shouts angrily.

O'Hara opens the wallet, flipping through the personal items. "He was in the goddamn military, Spade," O'Hara explains. He pulls out a small piece of paper. "Here," he extends the piece of paper to his leader.

Spade snatches it away from his hand. "Doctor Wilber?" he reads aloud. There are 7 little numbers inscribed underneath it. "Do you have a phone?" he asks the man behind the counter.

"Have mine," the woman with the cell phone interjects. Spade takes her cell phone and presses the numbers.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end answers.

"Doctor Wilber?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to ask about a patient of yours - Greg Armenti," Spade explains, reading aloud from Greg's driver's license.

"Ah yes, Mr. Armenti - the one with Posttraumatic Stress Disorder," Doctor Wilber replies. "He got it fighting in the war, I believe. Why? Who is this?"

Spade slams the phone shut. They had the wrong guy, and they blew their cover. This is not looking good.

TO BE CONTINUED...
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

SEASON I, WEEK V
CONTINUED

"What now, Spade?" Johnson asks from the door. He appears extremely stressed by the situation.

Spade takes a deep breath. "Ok, I want to see some identification from ALL of you!" he barks. No one moves - they're all in shock. "NOW!" Suddenly, everyone rushes to pull out their wallets and purses. Everyone, that is, except for the biker chick.

"You got a problem?" O'Hara calls out.

"I don't got ID," she explains nonchalantly. Her arms are folded, and she has big sunglasses covering her eyes. Spade approaches her.

"Mind explaining yourself?"

"You first."

Spade grits his teeth. If he explained what was really going on, he'd cause panic. And panic would play into the hands of the alien. So he'd have to dodge the comment.

"You don't have a gun," he reminds her. "So you have five seconds to tell me who the Hell you are. Otherwise, I might not be very trusting of you."

"Fine. I'm Abigail Winters - former adult movie actress," she replies casually. Spade finds it hard to believe.

"Adult movies?" Johnson repeats mockingly. "Someone like you?"

"I didn't say I liked it, little man," she snaps back. "But it was good money, and all I have to do was act like a pretty little **** princess."

O'Hara is oddly silent. "O'Hara? What do you think?" Spade asks.

O'Hara's expression is one of pure concentration. "Abigail Winters?" O'Hara approaches Abigail cautiously. "Oh my God, it is you!"

"What?!"
"What?"

"Trust me, guys, she's not lying," O'Hara states.

Abigail looks just as confused. "How do you know?"

O'Hara chuckles embarrassedly while avoiding the question. Spade smirks knowingly. "Lucky for you, I trust my men," Spade explains to Abigail. "Otherwise, this would be a totally different conversation."

"I demand an explanation!" the man from the couple barks again.

"You're in no position to demand anything!" Johnson responds spitefully.

"Someone here is not who they claim to be," Spade explains. "And that's all I'm going to say about that."

"What now, Spade? Our two top suspects are done," O'Hara reminds his leader.

Spade nods to the teenager. "Not all of them," he states coldly. "What's your name, kid?"

"Oh come on, it's not the kid!" the man from the couple protests.

"How would you know?" Johnson snarls. Tensions are rising - this is exactly what Spade was worried about.

"Well you three clearly aren't any good at this, so my word is more credible than yours!"

"Maybe you're the alien!" O'Hara snaps.

"Dammit," Spade mutters. O'Hara said the 'A-Word.' Well, any control they once had over the situation is now lost.

"The what, now?!"

Out of nowhere, another shot is fired. The man collapses to the ground, and Spade's eyes fall upon the smoking gun of Johnson. "What the Hell are you thinking, soldier?!"

"He knew too much!" Johnson yells.

"They all do now, you friggin' idiot!"

"You know what, Spade? I say we just toast them all! What are the lives of 5 people when you're trying to stop an invasion?!" O'Hara reasons.

"We have no idea what the alien's intentions are, O'Hara! No more killing!"

"The mission directive clearly said bring it in DEAD or ALIVE, Spade!" Johnson reminds Spade.

"I think everyone should--"

BANG!

And like that, the teenager was dead. O'Hara had fired the fatal shot.

"Did you just disobey a direct order?!" Spade asks madly.

"No! You did! Our mission was clear, Spade! Now let me finish this!"

BANG! BANG!

Everyone gasped in horror as Spade killed his own partner. O'Hara had gone rogue, killing with no provocation. Spade saw only one way to end this violence.

Johnson's face was plastered with sorrow and rage. "You...you killed...O'Hara!"

"It had to be done!" Spade insists, tears in his eyes.

Without warning, Johnson charged at Spade. In a frenzy, Spade fired several shots randomly. None of them hit their target as Spade dropped his firearm. Reaching down to his belt, Spade pulls a standard-issue knife. As Johnson collapses upon him, Spade drives the sharp blade into his partner's stomach. Unfortunately, Spade instantly realizes that Johnson had the same idea. Spade can feel the cool metal piercing his side.

Johnson collapses almost instantly. Spade, however, stumbles for a moment before uttering, "Oh sh**..."

"You can say that again," Abigail mutters. She was bleeding from the shoulder. In his self-defense attempt, Spade had shot Abigail. Both looked into each other's eyes as their bodies heaped down to join the other casualties.

Unnoticed until now was the sobbing woman who had been here with her husband. Now, she held his dead body in her arms. If only he hadn't spoken up...if only Johnson's trigger-finger hadn't pulled...

The woman with the cell phone crawled over to the newly-widowed woman. She began to call for help while putting a hand on the widow's shoulder. Just as contact was made, the cell phone woman's body was incinerated. The widow looked up to see the man behind the counter holding a strange weapon.

"I...don't...understand..."

The man smiled. "Of course you wouldn't," he replies while pulling the trigger. A fireball engulfs the final survivor of the night's mayhem. Dropping his weapon to the floor, the alien retrieves a recording device from his pocket. When he presses the button, a tiny red light comes on. He begins to speak clearly into the device.

"This is Sergeant Nathan Kirby of the United States Space Expeditionary Force. As of January 16, I have infiltrated the Martian homeworld. Behavioral note: the Martians are easily confused, deceived, and agitated. They show a strong tendency to turn on one another rapidly. According to the data I have acquired so far, it is my professional belief that the United States of America, and subsequently the Earth, should move forward with our plan to invade and colonize the planet Mars. Will report in tomorrow. End of transmission."​

 

[Harlekin]

DESIRE: PART I

Welcome to Special Ops.

You might have heard of us. We do everything the average soldier can&#8217;t. Or won&#8217;t. We walk into enemy territory with just a knife between our teeth and a radio. We kill presidents, kings, queens, and anyone else that may get in our way. If the government needs a job done, if they need a dirty job done, we&#8217;re their man. We&#8217;re the best. The best of the best.

And tonight, we&#8217;re hunting aliens.

* * *​

The four men walk cautiously through the Nevada desert. They&#8217;re in their standard military uniform, a rifle in hand and one slung over the shoulder. Their belts are lined with grenades. A mask partially obscures a face covered in war paint. The flashlight on top of their helmets cut a swath through the dark of the night, the moon hidden behind the clouds. They speak in hushed tones, and only in military code.

Taking point is Colonel John &#8216;T-Rex&#8217; Briggs, a man built like a bear, or rather, as his nickname suggests, a dinosaur. He peers through the dark. Concentrated. Attentive. Alert. T-Rex is the pinnacle of discipline, his hair short and his face clean-shaven. The living dream of COs and uniform-loving women alike. His hands grip the rifle tightly, his large fingers barely fitting through the trigger guard.

Following close behind is Sergeant Tom Decker a.k.a. &#8216;Texas Tom&#8217;. Texas Tom is everything T-Rex is not. Lightly built, and unlike the others, Tom glides rather than walks across the desert sands. In his work, Texas Tom is thorough, leaving no stone unturned, which has proven to be both an asset and a detriment. He is a clown, living to entertain his fellow soldiers. More often than not, he is considered a nuisance on the army base, but he can always be sure that his unit will be there to back him up.

Walking to the side of Texas Tom is Captain Alvin &#8216;Golden Boy&#8217; Bancroft. The heir to a major family fortune, Bancroft serves not just as an operative but as the team&#8217;s regular pilot. Capable of piloting anything that was built since 1906, Bancroft is known as the only pilot on base that actually has an Apache chopper at home. At times he can be unknowingly snobbish and arrogant, the result of growing up by money rather than love.

Closing rank is Lieutenant Ronald &#8216;T.B.M.&#8217; Speirs. T.B.M. stands for &#8216;Token Black Man&#8217;, proving once more that nicknames are given, rather than chosen. In fact, Speirs once suggested the name &#8216;Ace&#8217;, but had ended up getting laughed at for his trouble. Fitting his position in the field, Speirs is actually the last one to have joined the unit.

Finally, the four men come upon the unknown craft they have been sent to investigate. The design on its hull is intricate, as the men can immediately recognize, but somehow, it seems ever-changing. Continually in motion, shifting into something else at the hand of some unknown force. To the greater surprise of the men, the craft otherwise looks like a typical saucer.

Climbing onto the ship, T-Rex makes his way to the dome that protects the vehicle&#8217;s pilot. It is slightly ajar, already giving away that the pilot has made his escape. Still, T-Rex seeks to confirm and slips his large fingers into the opening. With a muffled roar, he lifts the dome, revealing only an empty cabin inside.

&#8220;Ah, hell,&#8221; T-Rex can&#8217;t help but exclaim. &#8220;We&#8217;ve got ourselves a bogey.&#8221;

* * *​

&#8220;What are we going to do now, Colonel?&#8221; Golden Boy asks as he takes a long drag from his cigarette.
&#8220;We&#8217;ll have to do a sweep. Split up in twos and scan the premises. There&#8217;s ten hours left to daylight. I want this wrapped up in at least three. Golden Boy and I will take east. Tex, you go with Ron and head west. Radio when you find something,&#8221; T-Rex replies as he points his men to their directions.
&#8220;Let&#8217;s go and get E.T. home,&#8221; T.B.M. says with a chuckle as the unit splits up.

* * *​

&#8220;You know what you guys never told me, Tex?&#8221; T.B.M. asks as he and Texas Tom make their way through the desert.
&#8220;What?&#8221;
&#8220;Why the &*%# you call the Colonel &#8216;T-Rex&#8217;.&#8221;
&#8220;We never told you that?&#8221;
&#8220;You didn&#8217;t.&#8221;
&#8220;Sucks to be you then, huh?&#8221; Texas Tom replies with a grin.
&#8220;&*%# you, Tex.&#8221;

* * *​

&#8220;You know, Colonel, I was thinking&#8230;&#8221; Golden Boy starts.
&#8220;Yeah?&#8221;
&#8220;What are we going to do when we come across E.T.?&#8221;
&#8220;We try to bring it in, send it to 51.&#8221;
&#8220;You ever been there, Colonel?&#8221;
&#8220;Never.&#8221;
&#8220;I heard they got all kinds of crazy ^&$# there.&#8221;
&#8220;Sometimes it&#8217;s best not to think to hard about things, Bancroft.&#8221;
&#8220;Right you are, sir.&#8221;

* * *​

After about an hour, T.B.M. and Texas Tom finally come upon something: a diner.
&#8220;Well, would ya look at that. Diner in the middle o&#8217; the desert,&#8221; T.B.M. says as he admires the building. They&#8217;re only a few foot away, just avoiding the lights that hang over the door and the windows, illuminating everything in a small radius around the diner.
&#8220;Should I radio the Colonel?&#8221;
&#8220;We&#8217;ll see if anything is out of the ordinary first. Stay here,&#8221; T.B.M. orders, turning serious again, as he slowly walks into the light. Stealthily, he opens the door and silently glides into the diner. His entrance goes unnoticed, until he yells out:
&#8220;United States Military. Please remain seated.&#8221;

T.B.M. turns to the frightened man behind the diner&#8217;s counter. The customers remain seated at their tables, as if frozen in their place.

&#8220;You the owner?&#8221; T.B.M. asks the man.
&#8220;Yeah, that&#8217;s me, Ralph Bronson.&#8221;
&#8220;Can I see your ID, sir?&#8221;
&#8220;Sure, sure,&#8221; the man says, his voice a little high as he brings out a card, with his personal information.
&#8220;Good. Everything&#8217;s going to be okay, sir. There&#8217;s nothing to worry about. This is a standard training exercise. We&#8217;ll refund you on any costs. Now, we&#8217;ve been told to retrieve a person from this diner. You couldn&#8217;t help us with that by any chance?&#8221;

The man looks at T.B.M. with his mouth wide-open.

&#8220;Sure, sure.&#8221;
&#8220;Have you noticed anyone out of the ordinary, sir?&#8221;

The man slowly turns his head away from the soldier, his mouth still open, and takes a look through the diner.

&#8220;I&#8230; I&#8230; well, there&#8217;s just these six people here. But&#8230;&#8221; the barman finally says.
&#8220;What is it?&#8221;
&#8220;Well, that crash you could hear, about an hour ago, I think? That was one of you guys wasn&#8217;t?&#8221; the man responds, turning to T.B.M. with a conspirator&#8217;s smile. &#8220;I could&#8217;ve sworn there were only five people here before that.&#8221;
&#8220;Aw, shucks.&#8221; T.B.M. grins as he turns to the window and shows the &#8216;okay sign&#8217; to his partner. Acknowledging, Texas Tom proceeds to step out into the light, shocking the people present in the diner even more. The &#8216;clangs&#8217; of forks and knives falling on tables and the floor in shock rings through the air.
&#8220;What&#8217;s up?&#8221; Tom&#8217;s voice can be heard over the small receiver in T.B.M.&#8217;s collar.
&#8220;Call the Colonel.&#8221;

 

[Harlekin]

DESIRE: PART II

&#8220;You sure?&#8221; the Colonel&#8217;s voice crackles over the radio.
&#8220;Definitely, Colonel. He&#8217;s in here.&#8221;
&#8220;Standby. We&#8217;ll be there ASAP.&#8221;

&#8220;He&#8217;s coming,&#8221; T.B.M. says to Texas Tom, who nods in reply. &#8220;I&#8217;ll check the basement, you do a head count. We&#8217;ll wait on the ID check till the Colonel is here. We don&#8217;t want to frighten the target and have him do something stupid.&#8221;
&#8220;Like blowing up the diner and the world with it?&#8221; Tom whispers, with a grin.
&#8220;Exactly.&#8221;

As T.B.M. moves away, Tom takes a good look around the diner. All of the customers are terrified, avoiding eye contact. To assuage their fears, Tom takes off his helmet and wipes away some of the paint on his face, revealing the handsome face of somebody in his mid-twenties. The act does little to help, as the customers remain rooted to their seats, some praying to their God, hoping that they&#8217;ll make it out of this okay.

&#8220;It&#8217;s okay, people. Nothing to worry about. This is a standard training exercise. That crash you heard was one of our planes. We&#8217;re from the military base just a few miles away. Now, one among you is a trained soldier, but he can&#8217;t reveal his identity. Telling you about this would&#8217;ve ruined the exercise. We&#8217;re sorry for any inconvenience, but we do this with your best interests, and national security, at heart. Now, our job, me and my partner&#8217;s, is to locate our colleague and &#8216;arrest&#8217; him.&#8221;

Tom flashes a smile while the customers look at one another, baffled.

&#8220;Now, I&#8217;m going to need to do a head count. We&#8217;ll also be checking for ID later when our commander arrives. Now, when I point at you,&#8221; Tom says, and he sees the customers are still frightened, despite his explanation. &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry; I&#8217;ll point with my finger... I&#8217;d like you to call out your name, occupation and age. That okay with everyone?&#8221;

The men and women nod in unison.

&#8220;Good, we&#8217;ll start with you,&#8221; Tom says as he points to a man, sitting alone and to the side.

&#8220;Thomas. Thomas Moore, thank you kindly. I&#8217;m a businessman,&#8221; he responds, having regained some of his confidence.
&#8220;And your age, sir?&#8221;
&#8220;Thirty-&#8221; He sighs. &#8220;Forty.&#8221;
&#8220;Good. That wasn&#8217;t so hard, was it? You,&#8221; Tom says as he points to the next booth, in which a man and woman are seated.
&#8220;Ja-Ja-James&#8230; James Robertson, thirty-five, I-I-I-I run a security firm.&#8221; He looks towards the woman across him.
&#8220;And you?&#8221;
&#8220;Kaylie Jane, twenty-four,&#8221; she says, staring Tex straight in the eye.
&#8220;And?&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;m his secretary,&#8221; she replies.
&#8220;Ah, a little after the work entertainment, huh? Good on you,&#8221; Tex says with a grin. The woman doesn&#8217;t respond.
&#8220;You,&#8221; he continues, pointing towards the following booth, to a woman.
&#8220;Gwyneth&#8230;, twenty-six, actress.&#8221;
&#8220;And what&#8217;s Gwyneth&#8217;s last name?&#8221;
&#8220;Just Gwyneth.&#8221;
&#8220;Like Cher, huh? I like that.&#8221;
&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; the woman whispers as she looks down at her table.
&#8220;And you two lovers?&#8221; Tex asks as he points to the final couple.
&#8220;We&#8217;re&#8230; we&#8217;re not lovers. We&#8217;re siblings,&#8221; the woman replies.

Tex responds only with a steely look.

&#8220;Sarah Day, eighteen, no work.&#8221;
&#8220;Nicholas Day, nineteen, I work at a vegetable stand.&#8221;
&#8220;Well, wasn&#8217;t that fun?&#8221; Tex says with a grin. &#8220;We&#8217;ve got a Thomas, a Kaylie, a James, a Gwyneth,&#8221; he gives Gwyneth a wink &#8220;a Sarah, a Nicholas and our good host Ralph here. Fantastic. Just fantastic&#8230;&#8221;

* * *​

&#8220;You think they got him, Colonel?&#8221;
&#8220;I sure hope so. Get this ^%&$ mission over,&#8221; the Colonel replies as he and Golden Boy make their way through the desert. &#8220;What&#8217;s our ETA?&#8221;
&#8220;We should be there in half an hour, sir.&#8221;
&#8220;Good.&#8221;

* * *​

&#8220;You done yet!?&#8221; T.B.M. yells as he comes up from the basement.
&#8220;Yeah, stay here, I got to take a whiz,&#8221; Texas replies.

As Tex makes his way to the bathroom, T.B.M. smiles at the customers. Unlike Texas, T.B.M. still wears his helmet and gear, the camouflage paint still covering his face. Seeing his great big grin in combination with that frightens quite a few of the people, and they keep their head bowed to the table.

With a bit of a swagger, T.B.M. makes his way through the diner, finally settling on the woman sitting alone. His smile widening, he takes the seat beside her.

&#8220;Well, well, hello ebony goddess. What&#8217;s your name?&#8221;
&#8220;B-B-Beyonce.&#8221;
&#8220;And what&#8217;s Beyonce doing out here all alone?&#8221;

He edges closer.

&#8220;Yo, T.B.M., stop harassing the lady,&#8221; Tex says as he comes out of the bathroom. &#8220;The Colonel should be here any moment.&#8221;

Reluctantly, T.B.M moves away and joins his comrade near the counter.

* * *​

After a few minutes, T-Rex and Golden Boy enter the diner. Texas Tom and T.B.M. hurry over to their commander.

&#8220;Give me a sit rep, folks.&#8221;
&#8220;We&#8217;ve got seven people. The owner and six customers. We&#8217;ve got them sitting where they are. We&#8217;re following protocol-57, T,&#8221; Texas Tom responds.
&#8220;Training exercise? Good choice.&#8221;
&#8220;Thanks, Colonel.&#8221;
&#8220;I need to establish contact with base. Separate the customers. Do an ID check.&#8221;
&#8220;Done, Colonel.&#8221;
&#8220;Good, I&#8217;ll be back in fifteen,&#8221; the Colonel responds as he walks into the back of the diner.

&#8220;I&#8217;ll take the couple to the right,&#8221; Tex says.
&#8220;I&#8217;ll take the two loners.&#8221; Golden Boy.
&#8220;Leaving me with the teens, thanks a lot guys,&#8221; T.B.M. responds.