HALLOWEEN
2021
PRESENTS
2021
PRESENTS
The Yancy Street Avengers
“It’s All About the Candy”
Written by Dave Golightly
NEW YORK CITY
YESTERYEAR
“C’mon, ya mooks! This candy ain’t collecting itself, ya know!”
The five other children bounced off one another as they skipped down the rough inner-city sidewalk toward the sixth and tallest member of their group. There had been others among their collection over the years, but some had moved away or moved on as kids sometimes do. Tonight, they totaled a half dozen, which was large enough to keep the other gangs out of their way.
If they happened to cross paths with another set of street kids, instead of squaring off and breaking some noses or worse, they would just glare and keep on moving. Tonight, was probably the only night of the entire year when the youths of Yancy Street were more interested in a common goal as opposed to claiming their block.
Tonight, it was all about candy.
“Take it easy, Stan!” one of those shouted as the kids caught up. “It ain’t like the candy is going anywhere, see?”
“Nowhere but Lugwrench’s bottomless pit of a stomach,” another said with a snicker, which caused a few more laughs to rise up from the group. Even the butt of the joke couldn’t help but laugh with his friends. Afterall, they had been through a lot together and were like a second family. A jab in the ribs was just part of being accepted by the gang.
“Cut with the real names!” Stan shot back. “Tonight I ain’t Stan, you ain’t Carlos, he ain’t Lugwrench, and et-cetree.”
“I think you mean ‘et cetera,’ Stan.”
Stan reached out and lightly smacked the back of the outspoken kid’s head. “Listen to what I mean and not what I say, got it?” he replied. “What I mean is that tonight we ain’t ourselves. Tonight we’re the greatest heroes the world has ever known, right?”
“Right!” the collective roared, complete with raised hands and stretched smiles.
“Right!” Stan continued. “So I ain’t Stan, now am I? No. Tonight, I’m the big man hisself. Call me…Giant Man!”
Stan posed just like he had some many times already that night; his chest puffed out and his fists pressed against his hips. The other street youths struck similar poses, both admiring their self-appointed leader for the night as well as how they thought they might appear in that moment.
Stan’s costume was just like the rest of theirs: homemade. Scraps of fabric repurposed because they matched the desired color schemes had transformed them from juvenile troublemakers into the stalwart figures they so admired. An old red jersey of his fathers had black yarn haphazardly stitched into it by his mother, changing Stan into a facsimile of Hank Pym, also known as Giant Man, the towering Avenger.
The tableau before him was populated by his equally famous teammates: the mighty Thor, the incredible Hulk, the invincible Iron Man, the sharpshooter Hawkeye, and even the sentinel of liberty himself, Captain America.
Together they were the world’s most powerful heroes, albeit with a curfew.
“Alright, enough of that stuff,” Giant Man said, his voice suddenly dropping an octave. “We got at least three more buildings to hit on this block alone. And if we want to get all the way to Duncan Avenue before Iron Man’s ma screams for him to get his rusty butt home—”
Snickers rippled among the heroes.
“—then we got to move! Now…Avengers assemble!”
The gang rocketed down the patched sidewalk, hoping over a tree root that had torn apart at least two concrete slabs and was a serious hazard as far as Hawkeye’s dad was concerned. And he would know, too, since he had once blown out a tire on his jalopy after running through a pothole the size of the mayor’s pocketbook (again, according to Hawkeye’s dad).
The next building would be a good one, one the gang had been looking forward to hitting up. It was the Arconia, where the rich people lived (rich for Yancy Street anyway), and they were sure to have the good stash. Not just single pieces of penny candy, but more often than not entire baggies filled with the stuff. One year Dictionary Dawson even claimed to have gotten a dollar, but this was unsubstantiated.
Giant Man hopped up the stoop steps in two great leaps and slipped by the smiling doorman, rushing through the vestibule and reaching for the first of the proffered treats. The tenants had gathered in the lobby to pass things out to any wayward kids that might grace their entryway, saving everyone the time and effort of having to go up several flights of stairs or rely on a notoriously out-of-order elevator.
The rest of the Avengers piled in behind him, rushing by the doorman and eagerly grabbing onto marshmallows, popcorn balls, and other sweet things. It was a cornucopia of delectable goodies, sure to rot their teeth.
No sooner than the last tenant had made their offering to the saviors of the world, than Giant Man ushered his crew back out to the street again.
“Did you see the size of those lollipops?” Captain America exclaimed.
“Yeah!” replied the Hulk, his green grease paint starting to smear and run down his cheeks. “But you didn’t grab one of those candy apples, did you?”
“Heck no,” Cap said. “It wasn’t even wrapped. Who hands out something like that? It would roll around in the bag and ruin everything I worked to get.”
“Less talk; more walk,” Giant Man said, and he bounded toward the second to last building on the block.
The Peterson Building, so-named for some guy that did something a long time ago, loomed over them. Thor spun his mighty rubber mallet in his hand, licking his lips as he thought of what this building had yielded to them last year. He would never forget the Halloween when the building’s occupants, deterred by the hubbub of the night, had opted to just leave an entire bowl of candy for the neighborhood to pick through. The sign said to just pick one, but their crew knew opportunity when they saw it.
“Have at thee!” Thor bellowed (at least in his mind it was a bellow worthy of the Thunder God himself, but puberty had reduced it to a mere screech).
With the battle cry sounded, the gang broached the entry and were rewarded with their heart’s desire: a large ceramic bowl, overflowing with sugary treasure. It was as if Odin’s legendary vault had stood unguarded, its contents laid out before them.
When the spoils had been collected and nothing was left but an empty vessel, the heroes retreated to the sidewalk once more. The moon was hanging carelessly above them, granting them the dim lighting they needed to shroud the poor stitching in their costumes.
“One more building to hit on this block,” Giant Man said.
An alley split down between the Peterson Building and their final destination, Yancy Street Lofts. It was just a short hop across the pavement and onto the next curb. The Lofts were known to be home to retired tenants, which meant that the candy wouldn’t be as good. In fact, last year several of them had gotten oranges instead of chocolate.
Still, in their stalwart dedication to visit every citizen, the gang was determined to hit all the buzzers for the Lofts.
Giant Man paused in the alleyway, spinning around and saying, “Look both ways, boys. Ma told me alleys count, too.”
Captain America snickered. “You serious, Sta…I mean, Giant Man?”
“’Course I’m serious! I wouldn’t think you would—”
The words caught in Giant Man’s throat. Something, some noise, had slipped into his ear and caught him off guard, choking off his retort. Something wet and solid, like meat hitting the butcher’s block. His brow crinkled and he squinted to try and look deeper into the alley without having to move closer.
“C’mon,” Hawkeye said. He brushed by Giant Man. “Let’s go! Maybe we’ll get lucky and Mrs. Beck will have muffins for us.”
“Oh, yeah!” Iron Man said, his face lighting up behind his red-and-gold-painted welder’s mask. “I’d definitely rather have a blueberry muffin than some of the other junk they pass out in the Lofts. Hey, Giant Man! Hurry up!”
“Shut up,” Giant Man whispered. “Didn’t you hear that?”
The other heroes had crossed over the alleyway and were about to reach the steps leading up to the next building’s entrance. They exchanged glances and confused looks before Thor said, “Hear what?”
Giant Man stepped into the mouth of the alley, passing over the invisible threshold established by the corners of the adjacent buildings. “There’s something down there,” he said.
“Probably a stray,” Captain America said, although he pulled his trash can shield a little tighter to his chest.
A thick, heavy slap reached out of the alley, this time engulfing all of the heroes without question. Glances were exchanged all over again as the hint of fear crept into their minds. Something was down in the alley, covered by darkness and masked in imagination.
“H-hey,” Iron Man said. “C’mon, Stan. Let’s go. Candy, right?”
Without replying, Giant Man breeched the threshold and slipped into the darkness to join with the unknown.
“Crap,” Captain America said, but without hesitation, he trotted in behind his comrade. The others followed suit, scared, but their loyalty to one another trumped any semblance of possibility that lurked somewhere in the alley.
A cloud had passed over the moon, dimming the night. As their eyes adjusted, they saw the typical furnishings of a New York City alley: dented metal trash cans, crumpled newspaper, red and brown piles of leaves, and rusted fire escapes. The back of the alley was a brick wall; the back of a building on the opposing side of the block, effectively boxing them in with whatever they had come to investigate.
And that thing, whatever it was, appeared to be crouched down over something near the far end of the alley. Their pupils were opening wide enough to absorb all available light, allowing them to see better by the second and make out the figure as it turned its head toward them.
The thing, whatever it was, breathed heavily. Thick arms pulled away from the center mass as if welcoming them to its humble abode. Something dark dripped from its mouth. At its feet was a lump that may have been alive, but it was difficult to tell beneath the smears of blood.
“Chillllllldreeeeen…” the creature said, its voice deep and resonating off of the walls. It took a step toward them, their own fear keeping them frozen in place. It reached a hand in their direction.
But then it paused, hesitating, as if second-guessing its own intentions.
“Stan,” whispered Hawkeye. “Let’s get out of here. Please.”
“What is it?” Iron Man said. “Is that…is that a body behind it?”
“G-get away!” Giant Man shouted, and he launched a piece of brick he had scooped up from the alley floor.
It fell short and feebly rolled against the foot of the creature where it harmlessly came to a stop. The creature glanced down at the improvised projectile, confused, and then back at the one who had tossed it. It tilted its head to the side, saying, “Chillldreeen?”
It seemed to lose focus somehow, as if the heroes were beneath it or it had no interest in chasing down new prey. It turned back to the bleeding pile at its feet, lowering its mouth once more to the delicacy helpless on the cold alley floor.
Giant Man focused on the possibly alive thing under the creature and puffed out his chest. “Get out of here!” he screamed in a moment of bravery. “Leave him…or her, I guess…alone! Leave us alone!”
He swiftly scooped up another chunk of brick and lobbed it high into the air, his adrenaline thinking on his behalf. This time it connected with the creature’s chest and something primal stirred within. It hissed and large white fangs were revealed behind a chalky face. Curled lips peeled back beneath a collapsed nose.
The creature’s legs bent and it was poised to pounce. The cords of muscle in its arms grew tighter, ready to latch onto the first victim it could find. The heroes watched in abject terror, unable to move, but determined to cluster together instead of racing for safety. Their fight or flight reflex had been skipped over completely and they were now just bait for a thing they couldn’t possibly understand.
With a snarl that ripped into their mental faculties, the creature leapt into the empty space between them. Supernatural strength propelled the creature forward unnaturally. The crisp night air parted between them, useless to slow its descent onto the kids. Saliva and blood rippled out of the creature’s gaping jaw, which had unhinged to a point of impossibility.
“Michael, no!” someone screamed, which was followed by a soft silky noise.
The creature was yanked back out of the air, as if anchored down suddenly. It dropped short of where they were and was even dragged back several feet, despite its protests. The moment snapped the youths to attention and they all sucked in a lungful of air, kickstarting their hearts once more.
Giant Man watched the creature roll onto its stomach and come up on all fours, like a vicious animal ready to spring forward. It had spun around and was facing away from them toward the back of the alley again, and Giant Man saw something latched onto its back. Something grey with tendrils that looked out of place. His eyes traced the stringy and clotted rope adhered to the creature’s back to the alley floor, where it spooled around and led back to the barely alive and bloody lump that the creature had been feasting on.
As the creature leapt to the back of the alley, Giant Man’s eyes went wide as he realized just what, or more precisely, who the creature had been draining mere moments ago.
“Spider-Man!” he exclaimed, then he turned to his friends. “Guys, that thing’s going to get Spidey! We have to help him!”
“What?” Thor said, his attention snapping back to Giant Man. “What are you—”
“Back off!” Giant Man said as he charged forward. “Avengers assemble!”
Shocked and confused at what was transpiring, the other kids needed an extra moment to process what Giant Man had already comprehended. The bloody mess on the alley floor had managed to get to its feet as the creature sprung forward. The cloud blanketing the moon finally passed and what they had thought was smeared blood was actually a mix of shredded crimson costume and blood, with swaths of blue spread throughout.
It had been difficult to tell at first, but now there was no doubt that their friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man was fighting for his life before their very eyes.
The creature crashed into him, rapping him up in arms and teeth. Spider-Man managed to grip the creature’s wrists and keep from being trapped in a bear hug. Spittle covered his mask as the creature snapped its jaws at him, just out of reach from biting him.
“Let him go!” Giant Man shouted as he crashed into the creature’s legs.
“No!” Spider-Man shouted. “Kids, get out of here! Get somewhere safe!”
The creature reared back and kicked out a leg at Giant Man, but Captain America jammed his trash can lid in the way to block the assault. The strength of the creature was enough to force Captain America back into Giant Man and then both of them went flying back another ten feet, crashing into the other approaching heroes.
The incredible Hulk, his face paint long since gone from flop sweat, roared, “Hulk smash!” as he charged into the battle. He got within a few feet of the brawl before the creature lashed out at him as well, clawed toes thrashing even while his arms were held in place by the amazing Spider-Man.
To his credit, the Hulk avoided the first kick, but the second slashed a deep gash on his shoulder and he spun around to the alley wall. Once the scent of fresh blood hit the air, the creature found renewed strength and thrashed wildly in Spider-Man’s grip.
“Morbius!” the wallcrawler said. “Michael! Listen to me! He’s just a kid! You’re better than this, if you would just let me help you!”
The creature, Morbius, relaxed slightly. In reflex, Spider-Man loosened his own grip so he could better wrap his fingers around the creature’s wrists. But it was a feint. Morbius burst away as soon as he felt the grip shift, bringing his feet in tight to his chest and then slamming them into Spider-Man’s chest, breaking them apart.
Instead of collapsing to the alley floor, however, Morbius rose higher into the air. The moon loomed behind his dark shape as he ascended, quickly slipping over the rooftop and disappearing completely.
Spider-Man sunk back to the ground, exhausted. His mask was torn, but still hid his nose and eyes. His mouth was exposed, revealing a bloody and swollen upper lip. The rest of the costume was equally decimated, making him appear as if he had gone through a paper shredder.
Hawkeye helped the Hulk up to his feet, wiping away from of the blood from his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked.
The Hulk nodded, and then said, “Is that really him?”
“I think so,” Hawkeye replied. “I mean, who else could it be, right?”
Giant Man crouched down in front of Spider-Man as the other heroes gathered behind him. He reached out a hand and said, “You need some help, Spidey?”
Between choked breaths, Spider-Man looked the ragtag crew over. He couldn’t help but smile. He said, “You guys look like the real deal. Thanks for the assist, Avengers, but I need to go track my friend down before he hurts someone else.”
Spider-Man took the offered hand and stood up, a little wobbly, but standing nonetheless. Giant Man stepped back, unsure if he should try to help steady the wallcrawler. It was then that he noticed the torn away costume at Spider-Man’s neck and a pair of bite marks near his jugular.
“You don’t look so good,” Giant Man said.
Spider-Man clamped a hand over his neck wound. “You should see the other guy. Ah…actually, I guess you did see the other guy. In fact, I owe you guys a big thank you. You saved my life.”
They looked around at each other, confusion spreading among them. “We did?” Thor asked.
“My friend Michael is a very sick man,” Spider-Man explained. “He has a sort of disease. I’m trying to help him, but as you can tell, he gets a little…resistant to help. He got the better of me tonight and would have finished me off, but you guys distracted him so I could rally myself. Seeing you in danger pushed me to shake it off.”
“Uh…you’re welcome,” Captain America said. “I guess.”
“Gotta fly, kids,” Spider-Man said. “I appreciate the assist tonight. Honestly. But it’s time for you to head home to your parents. Go count your candy and gorge yourselves. I think you’ve earned it. Stay out of trouble. Stay in school. Don’t do drugs. Eat all your vegetables. Look both ways before crossing the street. Never trust a bald barber.”
“Huh?” Iron Man said.
Spider-Man shrugged. “Just imparting some final wisdom.”
The wallcrawler raised his right arm, noticeably cringed at the effort, and positioned his fingers in an oddly specific way. The soft, silky noise they had heard just before Morbius had been plucked out of the air sounded again, and they watched a stringy line rocket out of Spider-Man’s wrist.
The webline latched onto the lip of the rooftop that Morbius had flew over, drawing taut. Spider-Man saluted the group, said, “Happy Halloween, Avengers!” and then spring up into the night.
As the Yancy Street Gang stepped back onto the sidewalk in front of the Lofts, they came to a collective halt and looked awkwardly among themselves. The brush with death and meeting an honest-to-God monster made their homemade costumes seem silly and childish now. The hunt for candy that they had been so enthusiastic about earlier seemed pointless.
“Now what do we do?” Thor asked, his rubber mallet hanging on his dad’s leather belt.
Giant Man took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at each of his friend’s faces in turn and smiled. “We do what the man said,” he replied. “Let’s head to my place to start trading candy.”
Their faces began to light up at the thought. “Dibs on circus peanuts!” the incredible Hulk said.
END
YESTERYEAR
“C’mon, ya mooks! This candy ain’t collecting itself, ya know!”
The five other children bounced off one another as they skipped down the rough inner-city sidewalk toward the sixth and tallest member of their group. There had been others among their collection over the years, but some had moved away or moved on as kids sometimes do. Tonight, they totaled a half dozen, which was large enough to keep the other gangs out of their way.
If they happened to cross paths with another set of street kids, instead of squaring off and breaking some noses or worse, they would just glare and keep on moving. Tonight, was probably the only night of the entire year when the youths of Yancy Street were more interested in a common goal as opposed to claiming their block.
Tonight, it was all about candy.
“Take it easy, Stan!” one of those shouted as the kids caught up. “It ain’t like the candy is going anywhere, see?”
“Nowhere but Lugwrench’s bottomless pit of a stomach,” another said with a snicker, which caused a few more laughs to rise up from the group. Even the butt of the joke couldn’t help but laugh with his friends. Afterall, they had been through a lot together and were like a second family. A jab in the ribs was just part of being accepted by the gang.
“Cut with the real names!” Stan shot back. “Tonight I ain’t Stan, you ain’t Carlos, he ain’t Lugwrench, and et-cetree.”
“I think you mean ‘et cetera,’ Stan.”
Stan reached out and lightly smacked the back of the outspoken kid’s head. “Listen to what I mean and not what I say, got it?” he replied. “What I mean is that tonight we ain’t ourselves. Tonight we’re the greatest heroes the world has ever known, right?”
“Right!” the collective roared, complete with raised hands and stretched smiles.
“Right!” Stan continued. “So I ain’t Stan, now am I? No. Tonight, I’m the big man hisself. Call me…Giant Man!”
Stan posed just like he had some many times already that night; his chest puffed out and his fists pressed against his hips. The other street youths struck similar poses, both admiring their self-appointed leader for the night as well as how they thought they might appear in that moment.
Stan’s costume was just like the rest of theirs: homemade. Scraps of fabric repurposed because they matched the desired color schemes had transformed them from juvenile troublemakers into the stalwart figures they so admired. An old red jersey of his fathers had black yarn haphazardly stitched into it by his mother, changing Stan into a facsimile of Hank Pym, also known as Giant Man, the towering Avenger.
The tableau before him was populated by his equally famous teammates: the mighty Thor, the incredible Hulk, the invincible Iron Man, the sharpshooter Hawkeye, and even the sentinel of liberty himself, Captain America.
Together they were the world’s most powerful heroes, albeit with a curfew.
“Alright, enough of that stuff,” Giant Man said, his voice suddenly dropping an octave. “We got at least three more buildings to hit on this block alone. And if we want to get all the way to Duncan Avenue before Iron Man’s ma screams for him to get his rusty butt home—”
Snickers rippled among the heroes.
“—then we got to move! Now…Avengers assemble!”
The gang rocketed down the patched sidewalk, hoping over a tree root that had torn apart at least two concrete slabs and was a serious hazard as far as Hawkeye’s dad was concerned. And he would know, too, since he had once blown out a tire on his jalopy after running through a pothole the size of the mayor’s pocketbook (again, according to Hawkeye’s dad).
The next building would be a good one, one the gang had been looking forward to hitting up. It was the Arconia, where the rich people lived (rich for Yancy Street anyway), and they were sure to have the good stash. Not just single pieces of penny candy, but more often than not entire baggies filled with the stuff. One year Dictionary Dawson even claimed to have gotten a dollar, but this was unsubstantiated.
Giant Man hopped up the stoop steps in two great leaps and slipped by the smiling doorman, rushing through the vestibule and reaching for the first of the proffered treats. The tenants had gathered in the lobby to pass things out to any wayward kids that might grace their entryway, saving everyone the time and effort of having to go up several flights of stairs or rely on a notoriously out-of-order elevator.
The rest of the Avengers piled in behind him, rushing by the doorman and eagerly grabbing onto marshmallows, popcorn balls, and other sweet things. It was a cornucopia of delectable goodies, sure to rot their teeth.
No sooner than the last tenant had made their offering to the saviors of the world, than Giant Man ushered his crew back out to the street again.
“Did you see the size of those lollipops?” Captain America exclaimed.
“Yeah!” replied the Hulk, his green grease paint starting to smear and run down his cheeks. “But you didn’t grab one of those candy apples, did you?”
“Heck no,” Cap said. “It wasn’t even wrapped. Who hands out something like that? It would roll around in the bag and ruin everything I worked to get.”
“Less talk; more walk,” Giant Man said, and he bounded toward the second to last building on the block.
The Peterson Building, so-named for some guy that did something a long time ago, loomed over them. Thor spun his mighty rubber mallet in his hand, licking his lips as he thought of what this building had yielded to them last year. He would never forget the Halloween when the building’s occupants, deterred by the hubbub of the night, had opted to just leave an entire bowl of candy for the neighborhood to pick through. The sign said to just pick one, but their crew knew opportunity when they saw it.
“Have at thee!” Thor bellowed (at least in his mind it was a bellow worthy of the Thunder God himself, but puberty had reduced it to a mere screech).
With the battle cry sounded, the gang broached the entry and were rewarded with their heart’s desire: a large ceramic bowl, overflowing with sugary treasure. It was as if Odin’s legendary vault had stood unguarded, its contents laid out before them.
When the spoils had been collected and nothing was left but an empty vessel, the heroes retreated to the sidewalk once more. The moon was hanging carelessly above them, granting them the dim lighting they needed to shroud the poor stitching in their costumes.
“One more building to hit on this block,” Giant Man said.
An alley split down between the Peterson Building and their final destination, Yancy Street Lofts. It was just a short hop across the pavement and onto the next curb. The Lofts were known to be home to retired tenants, which meant that the candy wouldn’t be as good. In fact, last year several of them had gotten oranges instead of chocolate.
Still, in their stalwart dedication to visit every citizen, the gang was determined to hit all the buzzers for the Lofts.
Giant Man paused in the alleyway, spinning around and saying, “Look both ways, boys. Ma told me alleys count, too.”
Captain America snickered. “You serious, Sta…I mean, Giant Man?”
“’Course I’m serious! I wouldn’t think you would—”
The words caught in Giant Man’s throat. Something, some noise, had slipped into his ear and caught him off guard, choking off his retort. Something wet and solid, like meat hitting the butcher’s block. His brow crinkled and he squinted to try and look deeper into the alley without having to move closer.
“C’mon,” Hawkeye said. He brushed by Giant Man. “Let’s go! Maybe we’ll get lucky and Mrs. Beck will have muffins for us.”
“Oh, yeah!” Iron Man said, his face lighting up behind his red-and-gold-painted welder’s mask. “I’d definitely rather have a blueberry muffin than some of the other junk they pass out in the Lofts. Hey, Giant Man! Hurry up!”
“Shut up,” Giant Man whispered. “Didn’t you hear that?”
The other heroes had crossed over the alleyway and were about to reach the steps leading up to the next building’s entrance. They exchanged glances and confused looks before Thor said, “Hear what?”
Giant Man stepped into the mouth of the alley, passing over the invisible threshold established by the corners of the adjacent buildings. “There’s something down there,” he said.
“Probably a stray,” Captain America said, although he pulled his trash can shield a little tighter to his chest.
A thick, heavy slap reached out of the alley, this time engulfing all of the heroes without question. Glances were exchanged all over again as the hint of fear crept into their minds. Something was down in the alley, covered by darkness and masked in imagination.
“H-hey,” Iron Man said. “C’mon, Stan. Let’s go. Candy, right?”
Without replying, Giant Man breeched the threshold and slipped into the darkness to join with the unknown.
“Crap,” Captain America said, but without hesitation, he trotted in behind his comrade. The others followed suit, scared, but their loyalty to one another trumped any semblance of possibility that lurked somewhere in the alley.
A cloud had passed over the moon, dimming the night. As their eyes adjusted, they saw the typical furnishings of a New York City alley: dented metal trash cans, crumpled newspaper, red and brown piles of leaves, and rusted fire escapes. The back of the alley was a brick wall; the back of a building on the opposing side of the block, effectively boxing them in with whatever they had come to investigate.
And that thing, whatever it was, appeared to be crouched down over something near the far end of the alley. Their pupils were opening wide enough to absorb all available light, allowing them to see better by the second and make out the figure as it turned its head toward them.
The thing, whatever it was, breathed heavily. Thick arms pulled away from the center mass as if welcoming them to its humble abode. Something dark dripped from its mouth. At its feet was a lump that may have been alive, but it was difficult to tell beneath the smears of blood.
“Chillllllldreeeeen…” the creature said, its voice deep and resonating off of the walls. It took a step toward them, their own fear keeping them frozen in place. It reached a hand in their direction.
But then it paused, hesitating, as if second-guessing its own intentions.
“Stan,” whispered Hawkeye. “Let’s get out of here. Please.”
“What is it?” Iron Man said. “Is that…is that a body behind it?”
“G-get away!” Giant Man shouted, and he launched a piece of brick he had scooped up from the alley floor.
It fell short and feebly rolled against the foot of the creature where it harmlessly came to a stop. The creature glanced down at the improvised projectile, confused, and then back at the one who had tossed it. It tilted its head to the side, saying, “Chillldreeen?”
It seemed to lose focus somehow, as if the heroes were beneath it or it had no interest in chasing down new prey. It turned back to the bleeding pile at its feet, lowering its mouth once more to the delicacy helpless on the cold alley floor.
Giant Man focused on the possibly alive thing under the creature and puffed out his chest. “Get out of here!” he screamed in a moment of bravery. “Leave him…or her, I guess…alone! Leave us alone!”
He swiftly scooped up another chunk of brick and lobbed it high into the air, his adrenaline thinking on his behalf. This time it connected with the creature’s chest and something primal stirred within. It hissed and large white fangs were revealed behind a chalky face. Curled lips peeled back beneath a collapsed nose.
The creature’s legs bent and it was poised to pounce. The cords of muscle in its arms grew tighter, ready to latch onto the first victim it could find. The heroes watched in abject terror, unable to move, but determined to cluster together instead of racing for safety. Their fight or flight reflex had been skipped over completely and they were now just bait for a thing they couldn’t possibly understand.
With a snarl that ripped into their mental faculties, the creature leapt into the empty space between them. Supernatural strength propelled the creature forward unnaturally. The crisp night air parted between them, useless to slow its descent onto the kids. Saliva and blood rippled out of the creature’s gaping jaw, which had unhinged to a point of impossibility.
“Michael, no!” someone screamed, which was followed by a soft silky noise.
The creature was yanked back out of the air, as if anchored down suddenly. It dropped short of where they were and was even dragged back several feet, despite its protests. The moment snapped the youths to attention and they all sucked in a lungful of air, kickstarting their hearts once more.
Giant Man watched the creature roll onto its stomach and come up on all fours, like a vicious animal ready to spring forward. It had spun around and was facing away from them toward the back of the alley again, and Giant Man saw something latched onto its back. Something grey with tendrils that looked out of place. His eyes traced the stringy and clotted rope adhered to the creature’s back to the alley floor, where it spooled around and led back to the barely alive and bloody lump that the creature had been feasting on.
As the creature leapt to the back of the alley, Giant Man’s eyes went wide as he realized just what, or more precisely, who the creature had been draining mere moments ago.
“Spider-Man!” he exclaimed, then he turned to his friends. “Guys, that thing’s going to get Spidey! We have to help him!”
“What?” Thor said, his attention snapping back to Giant Man. “What are you—”
“Back off!” Giant Man said as he charged forward. “Avengers assemble!”
Shocked and confused at what was transpiring, the other kids needed an extra moment to process what Giant Man had already comprehended. The bloody mess on the alley floor had managed to get to its feet as the creature sprung forward. The cloud blanketing the moon finally passed and what they had thought was smeared blood was actually a mix of shredded crimson costume and blood, with swaths of blue spread throughout.
It had been difficult to tell at first, but now there was no doubt that their friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man was fighting for his life before their very eyes.
The creature crashed into him, rapping him up in arms and teeth. Spider-Man managed to grip the creature’s wrists and keep from being trapped in a bear hug. Spittle covered his mask as the creature snapped its jaws at him, just out of reach from biting him.
“Let him go!” Giant Man shouted as he crashed into the creature’s legs.
“No!” Spider-Man shouted. “Kids, get out of here! Get somewhere safe!”
The creature reared back and kicked out a leg at Giant Man, but Captain America jammed his trash can lid in the way to block the assault. The strength of the creature was enough to force Captain America back into Giant Man and then both of them went flying back another ten feet, crashing into the other approaching heroes.
The incredible Hulk, his face paint long since gone from flop sweat, roared, “Hulk smash!” as he charged into the battle. He got within a few feet of the brawl before the creature lashed out at him as well, clawed toes thrashing even while his arms were held in place by the amazing Spider-Man.
To his credit, the Hulk avoided the first kick, but the second slashed a deep gash on his shoulder and he spun around to the alley wall. Once the scent of fresh blood hit the air, the creature found renewed strength and thrashed wildly in Spider-Man’s grip.
“Morbius!” the wallcrawler said. “Michael! Listen to me! He’s just a kid! You’re better than this, if you would just let me help you!”
The creature, Morbius, relaxed slightly. In reflex, Spider-Man loosened his own grip so he could better wrap his fingers around the creature’s wrists. But it was a feint. Morbius burst away as soon as he felt the grip shift, bringing his feet in tight to his chest and then slamming them into Spider-Man’s chest, breaking them apart.
Instead of collapsing to the alley floor, however, Morbius rose higher into the air. The moon loomed behind his dark shape as he ascended, quickly slipping over the rooftop and disappearing completely.
Spider-Man sunk back to the ground, exhausted. His mask was torn, but still hid his nose and eyes. His mouth was exposed, revealing a bloody and swollen upper lip. The rest of the costume was equally decimated, making him appear as if he had gone through a paper shredder.
Hawkeye helped the Hulk up to his feet, wiping away from of the blood from his shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked.
The Hulk nodded, and then said, “Is that really him?”
“I think so,” Hawkeye replied. “I mean, who else could it be, right?”
Giant Man crouched down in front of Spider-Man as the other heroes gathered behind him. He reached out a hand and said, “You need some help, Spidey?”
Between choked breaths, Spider-Man looked the ragtag crew over. He couldn’t help but smile. He said, “You guys look like the real deal. Thanks for the assist, Avengers, but I need to go track my friend down before he hurts someone else.”
Spider-Man took the offered hand and stood up, a little wobbly, but standing nonetheless. Giant Man stepped back, unsure if he should try to help steady the wallcrawler. It was then that he noticed the torn away costume at Spider-Man’s neck and a pair of bite marks near his jugular.
“You don’t look so good,” Giant Man said.
Spider-Man clamped a hand over his neck wound. “You should see the other guy. Ah…actually, I guess you did see the other guy. In fact, I owe you guys a big thank you. You saved my life.”
They looked around at each other, confusion spreading among them. “We did?” Thor asked.
“My friend Michael is a very sick man,” Spider-Man explained. “He has a sort of disease. I’m trying to help him, but as you can tell, he gets a little…resistant to help. He got the better of me tonight and would have finished me off, but you guys distracted him so I could rally myself. Seeing you in danger pushed me to shake it off.”
“Uh…you’re welcome,” Captain America said. “I guess.”
“Gotta fly, kids,” Spider-Man said. “I appreciate the assist tonight. Honestly. But it’s time for you to head home to your parents. Go count your candy and gorge yourselves. I think you’ve earned it. Stay out of trouble. Stay in school. Don’t do drugs. Eat all your vegetables. Look both ways before crossing the street. Never trust a bald barber.”
“Huh?” Iron Man said.
Spider-Man shrugged. “Just imparting some final wisdom.”
The wallcrawler raised his right arm, noticeably cringed at the effort, and positioned his fingers in an oddly specific way. The soft, silky noise they had heard just before Morbius had been plucked out of the air sounded again, and they watched a stringy line rocket out of Spider-Man’s wrist.
The webline latched onto the lip of the rooftop that Morbius had flew over, drawing taut. Spider-Man saluted the group, said, “Happy Halloween, Avengers!” and then spring up into the night.
As the Yancy Street Gang stepped back onto the sidewalk in front of the Lofts, they came to a collective halt and looked awkwardly among themselves. The brush with death and meeting an honest-to-God monster made their homemade costumes seem silly and childish now. The hunt for candy that they had been so enthusiastic about earlier seemed pointless.
“Now what do we do?” Thor asked, his rubber mallet hanging on his dad’s leather belt.
Giant Man took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at each of his friend’s faces in turn and smiled. “We do what the man said,” he replied. “Let’s head to my place to start trading candy.”
Their faces began to light up at the thought. “Dibs on circus peanuts!” the incredible Hulk said.
END
The US Agent
“White Noise”
Written by Emma Woods
“White Noise”
Written by Emma Woods
Before…
Sterile was but one of the handful of words appropriate to describe her surroundings, claustrophobic was another.
Safe?
Safe was not among them.
Not for the first time, the walls felt like they were closing in on her, stifling as they shifted in ever closer, confining and oppressive as the very air she breathed was growing thinner. It wasn’t true, she knew that, as much as she believed it to be otherwise, the spotless, white walls never shifted from their foundations, and the shadows didn’t move when she wasn’t looking at them.
“Abigail?” the man sat opposite her questioned, at ease and leant forwards, his hands clasped comfortably on the table between them. He was new, she noted. He didn’t know.
He seemed kind.
They all seemed kind.
“Abigail,” he prompted again, his brow furrowing at her inaction.
She didn’t respond, she didn’t dare, her palms pressed flat against table, pushing down so hard as if she were afraid of sinking, that the floor might give way at any moment.
“The voices, Abigail?” he tried again, changing tact as the clock on the wall behind his shoulder ticked by, marking time like the drumming of a bell. “How are the voices?”
She looked up; her pupils dilated.
“Loud,” she whispered, trying not to cry.
“They’re loud.”
**********
Now…
At last count the facility housed one hundred personal, and one inmate. Thus far, John Walker had found only blood.
As the US Agent marched through the abandoned halls, the heavy tread of his footfalls squelched through the pools of crimson, the erratic splatter coating floors, walls and somehow ceiling in equal measure. On guard at every pace, the super soldier’s keen senses adapted as best they could to the erratic lighting emitted from the damaged fixtures, the crackle of electric discharge ionizing the air and setting his hairs on end. He paused at every junction, tightening his grip about the leather strap of his circular shield, his jaw set squarely as he searched for any sign of life.
He only expected to find one.
With measured breathing, he continued on his course, dark eyes searching for signs of danger as the silence felt oppressive. Command had lost contact with the facility some twelve hours previous, Captain Walker was not the first asset that they had sent in to find out why.
He was expected to be the last.
Tilting his head to one side, John’s eyes narrowed slightly as he came to a full stop, clenching his jaw as he picked up on the slightest disturbance.
“Damn!” he cursed, critical of his own performance as he spun a rapid one eighty, bringing up his shield before him just in time to deflect the full-on charge on a man in a fit of madness. The impact was jarring, the US Agent taking a full step backwards as he absorbed the momentum of the impact, the ragged looking man before him wailing now that a living body was within arm’s reach.
“Damn it!” John cursed again, taking in the combat fatigues of the lunatic before him, battering him back with a solid shove that sent the stranger into a stumble. His blood mad assailant recovered quickly, drool hanging from lips in thick ropes of saliva as his snapped his jaws like a rapid dog, the blood vessels of his eyes bleeding crimson as he exhaled erratic breaths.
“Snap out of it, soldier!” the Captain warned, his whole body tensed as his counterpart straightened his posture before, with a blood laced scream, he scrambled back forwards, hands outstretched and fingers braced like talons.
“I said,” John sidestepped, far faster than any normal man should be able to and swung his shield up and around with enough, inhuman force to separate a man’s head from his torso in one, deceptively neat motion.
As if he didn’t know it, the marine that the US Agent had just beheaded stumbled forwards for a full three more steps before toppling over, his body swaying for a second before joining its skull of the blood slick concrete.
“Snap out of it,” John whispered, now only to himself, his jaw clenched as he closed his eyes for a few, vital moments. He listened, he waited, and then he opened them again, continuing on his way before the body of the man that he had just killed ceased twitching.
**********
Her room was still sterile, for all that had occurred outside of it, at least until the door opened.
Abigail remained staring at the table, her palms pressed down against it, her eyes wide and bloodshot as she heard the thump of a steady tread. She looked up then, watching as John Walker pulled out a seat, sitting opposite her at the table and slowly setting his shield down beside him before placing his pistol on the table between them.
He was not like the others.
He did not seem kind.
They sat in silence for a long time, or so that it appeared.
“Abigail,” he questioned, his gaze unflinching. “How are the voices?”
“Loud,” she whispered, the ten-year-old girl shaking. “Can you hear them?”
Slowly, after a thought, John Walker nodded, “Yes, I can hear them.”
Abigail shed a tear, “They’re loud.”
“Yes,” John nodded again, his certainty cracking. “They always are.”
He was not like the others.
He did not seem kind.
He picked up his gun and shot her.
The voices were no longer loud.
**********
“Immolation?” the man in the white suit questioned, sat languidly in his rigid chair as he flipped disinterestedly through a folder. He looked to John Walker sat opposite, some six hours after the US Agents retrieval. “You’re saying the subject spontaneously combusted?”
“Yes,” John answered curtly, shoulders rigid and hands clasped together on the table. He bore the scrutiny without flinching.
“After you shot her?” the man in the white suit questioned further, his tone incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Leaving,” the man in the white suit made play at looking back to the contents of his folder, pretending he didn’t know every word by heart. “Little to nothing of value in the remains for further study. That’s what happened, after you shot her?”
“Yes.”
The man in the white suit perked his brow, “Care to explain how that could have happened? Last time I checked, your firearm doesn’t, well, set people on fire?” He smiled, but it was false, and anyone could see through it.
For a moment, John turned a fraction of his gaze to the mirror that dominated one wall beside them.
He didn’t flinch.
“No,” he stated simply. “Not my field of expertise.”
“I suppose not,” the man in the white suit sighed, tossing the file aside on the table. “It’s an unfortunate outcome, but at least the subject was contained. You’re dismissed, Captain.”
John stood up and paced past his interrogator without another word, he did not salute on his way out.
The voices were too loud.
“Do we believe him?” the man in the white suit questioned, turning his attention to the mirror, a voice of feminine cant answering him across the com.
“No,” the stranger replied bluntly, barely strangling a sigh. “I don’t think we do.”
The End
Sterile was but one of the handful of words appropriate to describe her surroundings, claustrophobic was another.
Safe?
Safe was not among them.
Not for the first time, the walls felt like they were closing in on her, stifling as they shifted in ever closer, confining and oppressive as the very air she breathed was growing thinner. It wasn’t true, she knew that, as much as she believed it to be otherwise, the spotless, white walls never shifted from their foundations, and the shadows didn’t move when she wasn’t looking at them.
“Abigail?” the man sat opposite her questioned, at ease and leant forwards, his hands clasped comfortably on the table between them. He was new, she noted. He didn’t know.
He seemed kind.
They all seemed kind.
“Abigail,” he prompted again, his brow furrowing at her inaction.
She didn’t respond, she didn’t dare, her palms pressed flat against table, pushing down so hard as if she were afraid of sinking, that the floor might give way at any moment.
“The voices, Abigail?” he tried again, changing tact as the clock on the wall behind his shoulder ticked by, marking time like the drumming of a bell. “How are the voices?”
She looked up; her pupils dilated.
“Loud,” she whispered, trying not to cry.
“They’re loud.”
**********
Now…
At last count the facility housed one hundred personal, and one inmate. Thus far, John Walker had found only blood.
As the US Agent marched through the abandoned halls, the heavy tread of his footfalls squelched through the pools of crimson, the erratic splatter coating floors, walls and somehow ceiling in equal measure. On guard at every pace, the super soldier’s keen senses adapted as best they could to the erratic lighting emitted from the damaged fixtures, the crackle of electric discharge ionizing the air and setting his hairs on end. He paused at every junction, tightening his grip about the leather strap of his circular shield, his jaw set squarely as he searched for any sign of life.
He only expected to find one.
With measured breathing, he continued on his course, dark eyes searching for signs of danger as the silence felt oppressive. Command had lost contact with the facility some twelve hours previous, Captain Walker was not the first asset that they had sent in to find out why.
He was expected to be the last.
Tilting his head to one side, John’s eyes narrowed slightly as he came to a full stop, clenching his jaw as he picked up on the slightest disturbance.
“Damn!” he cursed, critical of his own performance as he spun a rapid one eighty, bringing up his shield before him just in time to deflect the full-on charge on a man in a fit of madness. The impact was jarring, the US Agent taking a full step backwards as he absorbed the momentum of the impact, the ragged looking man before him wailing now that a living body was within arm’s reach.
“Damn it!” John cursed again, taking in the combat fatigues of the lunatic before him, battering him back with a solid shove that sent the stranger into a stumble. His blood mad assailant recovered quickly, drool hanging from lips in thick ropes of saliva as his snapped his jaws like a rapid dog, the blood vessels of his eyes bleeding crimson as he exhaled erratic breaths.
“Snap out of it, soldier!” the Captain warned, his whole body tensed as his counterpart straightened his posture before, with a blood laced scream, he scrambled back forwards, hands outstretched and fingers braced like talons.
“I said,” John sidestepped, far faster than any normal man should be able to and swung his shield up and around with enough, inhuman force to separate a man’s head from his torso in one, deceptively neat motion.
As if he didn’t know it, the marine that the US Agent had just beheaded stumbled forwards for a full three more steps before toppling over, his body swaying for a second before joining its skull of the blood slick concrete.
“Snap out of it,” John whispered, now only to himself, his jaw clenched as he closed his eyes for a few, vital moments. He listened, he waited, and then he opened them again, continuing on his way before the body of the man that he had just killed ceased twitching.
**********
Her room was still sterile, for all that had occurred outside of it, at least until the door opened.
Abigail remained staring at the table, her palms pressed down against it, her eyes wide and bloodshot as she heard the thump of a steady tread. She looked up then, watching as John Walker pulled out a seat, sitting opposite her at the table and slowly setting his shield down beside him before placing his pistol on the table between them.
He was not like the others.
He did not seem kind.
They sat in silence for a long time, or so that it appeared.
“Abigail,” he questioned, his gaze unflinching. “How are the voices?”
“Loud,” she whispered, the ten-year-old girl shaking. “Can you hear them?”
Slowly, after a thought, John Walker nodded, “Yes, I can hear them.”
Abigail shed a tear, “They’re loud.”
“Yes,” John nodded again, his certainty cracking. “They always are.”
He was not like the others.
He did not seem kind.
He picked up his gun and shot her.
The voices were no longer loud.
**********
“Immolation?” the man in the white suit questioned, sat languidly in his rigid chair as he flipped disinterestedly through a folder. He looked to John Walker sat opposite, some six hours after the US Agents retrieval. “You’re saying the subject spontaneously combusted?”
“Yes,” John answered curtly, shoulders rigid and hands clasped together on the table. He bore the scrutiny without flinching.
“After you shot her?” the man in the white suit questioned further, his tone incredulous.
“Yes.”
“Leaving,” the man in the white suit made play at looking back to the contents of his folder, pretending he didn’t know every word by heart. “Little to nothing of value in the remains for further study. That’s what happened, after you shot her?”
“Yes.”
The man in the white suit perked his brow, “Care to explain how that could have happened? Last time I checked, your firearm doesn’t, well, set people on fire?” He smiled, but it was false, and anyone could see through it.
For a moment, John turned a fraction of his gaze to the mirror that dominated one wall beside them.
He didn’t flinch.
“No,” he stated simply. “Not my field of expertise.”
“I suppose not,” the man in the white suit sighed, tossing the file aside on the table. “It’s an unfortunate outcome, but at least the subject was contained. You’re dismissed, Captain.”
John stood up and paced past his interrogator without another word, he did not salute on his way out.
The voices were too loud.
“Do we believe him?” the man in the white suit questioned, turning his attention to the mirror, a voice of feminine cant answering him across the com.
“No,” the stranger replied bluntly, barely strangling a sigh. “I don’t think we do.”
The End
Guillotine
“A Tale of Many Names”
Written by John Cheese
“A Tale of Many Names”
Written by John Cheese
The neon lights on the façade of the Bar with No Name flickered as the rain came down, casting long shadows as the hooded man stood outside, silently contemplating his options. After a full minute, he pushed through into the premises, the metal detectors in the door going off as he walked into the nearly empty bar.
“No violence beyond this point.” A burly man dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt grunted as the hooded figure shucked his cloak to reveal tanned skin covered by golden armour, sandals, and a jackal mask. Glowering at the bouncer, the jackal-headed man stalked over to the bar, as per the instructions he had been emailed earlier that week.
“I’m here for the meeting.” The jackal-headed man stated as the red-haired bartender dressed in a black mini-dress removed a clipboard and slid it over to him.
“Sign in.” The bartender replied in a bored tone, as she rolled a pen over to the jackal-headed man, who signed with the alias ‘Anubis the Jackal King’. Pushing the clipboard back, Anubis watched as the bartender opened a door to the backroom, before turning back to the pints she was pulling. Walking into the room and heading down the stairs, Anubis saw two people already sitting at the table picking chips from a bowl.
“You’d be Anubis.” One of the figures, a man dressed in grey and green overalls and a gas mask respirator, a massive pickaxe sitting by his chair. “I’m Death Pick and the lady in blue is the Demoiselle.” He added as he gestured to the blue-haired woman in a blue unitard with armor plating and a wing pack on her back.
“Aren’t we meant to have a fourth member joining us?” Demoiselle asked as Anubis sat down at the table.
“Lamplighter, yeah he’s running late.” Death Pick snorted as he flicked open a cool box and handed Anubis a beer. “Let’s get started, we’re all here to talk about Guillotine, we’ve all fought her, all been scarred and scared stiff by her. So, let’s get started, who wants to go first?” He asked as he looked at the pair of villains sitting opposite to him.
Demoiselle raised her hand and cleared her throat.
“So, I was on a heist…”
“No violence beyond this point.” A burly man dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt grunted as the hooded figure shucked his cloak to reveal tanned skin covered by golden armour, sandals, and a jackal mask. Glowering at the bouncer, the jackal-headed man stalked over to the bar, as per the instructions he had been emailed earlier that week.
“I’m here for the meeting.” The jackal-headed man stated as the red-haired bartender dressed in a black mini-dress removed a clipboard and slid it over to him.
“Sign in.” The bartender replied in a bored tone, as she rolled a pen over to the jackal-headed man, who signed with the alias ‘Anubis the Jackal King’. Pushing the clipboard back, Anubis watched as the bartender opened a door to the backroom, before turning back to the pints she was pulling. Walking into the room and heading down the stairs, Anubis saw two people already sitting at the table picking chips from a bowl.
“You’d be Anubis.” One of the figures, a man dressed in grey and green overalls and a gas mask respirator, a massive pickaxe sitting by his chair. “I’m Death Pick and the lady in blue is the Demoiselle.” He added as he gestured to the blue-haired woman in a blue unitard with armor plating and a wing pack on her back.
“Aren’t we meant to have a fourth member joining us?” Demoiselle asked as Anubis sat down at the table.
“Lamplighter, yeah he’s running late.” Death Pick snorted as he flicked open a cool box and handed Anubis a beer. “Let’s get started, we’re all here to talk about Guillotine, we’ve all fought her, all been scarred and scared stiff by her. So, let’s get started, who wants to go first?” He asked as he looked at the pair of villains sitting opposite to him.
Demoiselle raised her hand and cleared her throat.
“So, I was on a heist…”
"There Will Be Blood"
Humming slightly to herself, Demoiselle powered up the portable laser cutter and melted a hole through the container with the tray of diamond rings inside. Removing the rings and placing them in a hard case mounted on her thigh, Demoiselle stepped over to the cash register and pulled open the tray before removing a handful of euro notes.
“Time to fly,” Demoiselle purred as she slid through the cut section of the shutter and walked through the mall to the hole in the sky light she’d cut through. Smiling, she turned to look back at the shop she had robbed, only to see a hooded figure standing eight foot tall holding a greatsword almost as tall as her silhouetted by the security lighting. “Guillotine?” Demoiselle whispered as she reached for the holstered machine pistol on her belt. Opening fire Demoiselle looked on in awe as the bullets struck Guillotine, only to bounce off her armor, sparks flying from the sword she was dragging behind her.
“Merde!” Demoiselle swore as she powered up the wingsuit on her back, the mylar wings beating as she got ready to take off. As she took off, Guillotine swung the sword at her, just missing her legs as she took off and jetted up towards the skylight. Looking down she saw two pools of red, that were Guillotine’s eyes starting up at her. Passing through the skylight Demoiselle breathed a sigh of relief, before checking the electrical power levels for her suit.
“Not enough to make it home, looks like I’m going to have to walk half the way there,” Demoiselle sighed as she flew over the River Seine towards the Arc de Triomphe before touching down on the top of the arch. Shucking her wing-pack off her shoulders and placing it on the ground, Demoiselle folded the wings into the pack before looking up to see Guillotine looming over her.
“How?!” Demoiselle gasped as Guillotine swung her massive blade towards her, the super thief ducking under the blade just in time to avoid losing her head. Removing her machine pistol once again Demoiselle emptied the remainder of her clip into Guillotine, wisps of burning smoke rising from her body where the rounds struck.
Continuing towards her, Demoiselle reached the edge of the Arc de Triomphe before stopping before she plummeted to the ground below.
“Please, please don’t!” Demoiselle pleaded as Guillotine loomed over, the blade swinging forward into a position ready to execute her, sparks showering her and burning her skin...
“Time to fly,” Demoiselle purred as she slid through the cut section of the shutter and walked through the mall to the hole in the sky light she’d cut through. Smiling, she turned to look back at the shop she had robbed, only to see a hooded figure standing eight foot tall holding a greatsword almost as tall as her silhouetted by the security lighting. “Guillotine?” Demoiselle whispered as she reached for the holstered machine pistol on her belt. Opening fire Demoiselle looked on in awe as the bullets struck Guillotine, only to bounce off her armor, sparks flying from the sword she was dragging behind her.
“Merde!” Demoiselle swore as she powered up the wingsuit on her back, the mylar wings beating as she got ready to take off. As she took off, Guillotine swung the sword at her, just missing her legs as she took off and jetted up towards the skylight. Looking down she saw two pools of red, that were Guillotine’s eyes starting up at her. Passing through the skylight Demoiselle breathed a sigh of relief, before checking the electrical power levels for her suit.
“Not enough to make it home, looks like I’m going to have to walk half the way there,” Demoiselle sighed as she flew over the River Seine towards the Arc de Triomphe before touching down on the top of the arch. Shucking her wing-pack off her shoulders and placing it on the ground, Demoiselle folded the wings into the pack before looking up to see Guillotine looming over her.
“How?!” Demoiselle gasped as Guillotine swung her massive blade towards her, the super thief ducking under the blade just in time to avoid losing her head. Removing her machine pistol once again Demoiselle emptied the remainder of her clip into Guillotine, wisps of burning smoke rising from her body where the rounds struck.
Continuing towards her, Demoiselle reached the edge of the Arc de Triomphe before stopping before she plummeted to the ground below.
“Please, please don’t!” Demoiselle pleaded as Guillotine loomed over, the blade swinging forward into a position ready to execute her, sparks showering her and burning her skin...
**********
“And then she brought the blade down and that’s when I jumped,” Demoiselle told Anubis and Death Pick before taking a sip from the vodka bottle in front of her. “I broke my legs and Guillotine followed me down ready to brand me…”
“Wait, wait…” Death Pick interrupted as he pushed a few chips under his mask. “I remember your arrest on the news, you were in a shopping mall. Did you even fight Guillotine?”
“Well…I…er well once, and she petrified me,” Demoiselle sighed as Anubis took a swig from his bottle of beer.
“Even my henchmen had more honor than you,” Anubis snorted before placing his beer bottle down and stretched. “And they were the first victims of the demoness Guillotine...”
“Wait, wait…” Death Pick interrupted as he pushed a few chips under his mask. “I remember your arrest on the news, you were in a shopping mall. Did you even fight Guillotine?”
“Well…I…er well once, and she petrified me,” Demoiselle sighed as Anubis took a swig from his bottle of beer.
“Even my henchmen had more honor than you,” Anubis snorted before placing his beer bottle down and stretched. “And they were the first victims of the demoness Guillotine...”
“The Devil’s Mark”
Repelling down the interior of the Louvre, the five men dressed in ancient Egyptian esque outfits with Kalashnikov rifles slung over their shoulder touched down in the museum. Following them down, Anubis landed between them as his bodyguards marched towards the atrium of the museum.
“Fan out, find the Scales of Apophis,” Anubis ordered as his mean fanned out around the museum as he walked over to the pyramid in the centre of the atrium and spat on the structure. “A mockery of everything the ancients built,” he added as he heard a scream radiating from deeper within the museum. Stalking towards the sound of the scream, Anubis saw two of his men rush past him into the darkness.
“What’s happening?” Anubis asked as he lit up the eyes of his mask, illuminating the corridor and the henchmen standing at the end of the corridor, a skull with flower petals and leaves on their faces.
The henchmen responded with an inhuman scream as they ran towards Anubis, lunging at him with claw-like fingers.
“I see,” Anubis sighed as he fired laser beams from his eyes, incinerating one of the henchmen as the others swarmed him and tackled their former master to the ground, and began to beat him. Snarling and spitting, Anubis fired another blast, the laser beams lancing through the skull of one of the henchmen even as others began to inhumanly rip off his armor.
“How unfortunate, I was fond of these henchmen,” Anubis groaned as he twisted the head of his staff, thick green smoke washing over the henchmen. Despite the toxic cyanide within the gas, the henchmen continued to attack until two of their number collapsed. Pushing the bodies off of him, Anubis got to his feet as the remaining henchman lunged at him, only to be repelled with a swift smack to the back of the head with his staff. “I assume you were the person responsible for this?” Anubis asked as he saw a figure clad in a red cloak, gauntlets over long claws, and an inhuman face with horns and glowing yellow eyes.
“You are destined for hell Ahmad Azis,” the demoness stated as she reached out, ripping blood from the dead henchmen to form an executioner’s blade. “And I am the Guillotine that will send you there,” she added as she took a few long steps toward Anubis, before bringing her blade down, cutting through the staff and releasing a toxic cloud that filled the corridor, the sword continuing down towards his chest...
“Fan out, find the Scales of Apophis,” Anubis ordered as his mean fanned out around the museum as he walked over to the pyramid in the centre of the atrium and spat on the structure. “A mockery of everything the ancients built,” he added as he heard a scream radiating from deeper within the museum. Stalking towards the sound of the scream, Anubis saw two of his men rush past him into the darkness.
“What’s happening?” Anubis asked as he lit up the eyes of his mask, illuminating the corridor and the henchmen standing at the end of the corridor, a skull with flower petals and leaves on their faces.
The henchmen responded with an inhuman scream as they ran towards Anubis, lunging at him with claw-like fingers.
“I see,” Anubis sighed as he fired laser beams from his eyes, incinerating one of the henchmen as the others swarmed him and tackled their former master to the ground, and began to beat him. Snarling and spitting, Anubis fired another blast, the laser beams lancing through the skull of one of the henchmen even as others began to inhumanly rip off his armor.
“How unfortunate, I was fond of these henchmen,” Anubis groaned as he twisted the head of his staff, thick green smoke washing over the henchmen. Despite the toxic cyanide within the gas, the henchmen continued to attack until two of their number collapsed. Pushing the bodies off of him, Anubis got to his feet as the remaining henchman lunged at him, only to be repelled with a swift smack to the back of the head with his staff. “I assume you were the person responsible for this?” Anubis asked as he saw a figure clad in a red cloak, gauntlets over long claws, and an inhuman face with horns and glowing yellow eyes.
“You are destined for hell Ahmad Azis,” the demoness stated as she reached out, ripping blood from the dead henchmen to form an executioner’s blade. “And I am the Guillotine that will send you there,” she added as she took a few long steps toward Anubis, before bringing her blade down, cutting through the staff and releasing a toxic cloud that filled the corridor, the sword continuing down towards his chest...
**********
“But you survived,” Demoiselle stated sarcastically as she opened another bag of tortilla chips. “And FYI, I’m sure you just went mad and killed all your goons.”
“Also, Guillotine isn’t a demon, she's just some tech-savvy billionaire’s daughter,” Death Pick added as he removed another bottle of beer from the cool box.
“That’s crazy, you’re both crazy,” Anubis stated as he stretched his arms out before lifting the mask so he could eat a handful of crisps. “And I know crazy, I fought Moonknight once.”
“Then listen up you two,” Death Pick replied as he placed his beer bottle down. “Let ole’ Death Pick spin you a crazy yarn...”
“Also, Guillotine isn’t a demon, she's just some tech-savvy billionaire’s daughter,” Death Pick added as he removed another bottle of beer from the cool box.
“That’s crazy, you’re both crazy,” Anubis stated as he stretched his arms out before lifting the mask so he could eat a handful of crisps. “And I know crazy, I fought Moonknight once.”
“Then listen up you two,” Death Pick replied as he placed his beer bottle down. “Let ole’ Death Pick spin you a crazy yarn...”
“The Cowled Crusader”
The massive pickaxe slammed through the reinforced steel door; metal cladding pulled away as Death Pick smashed his way into the panic room. Staggering inside he scanned the room, locking onto the dark-skinned man with thinning hair dressed in a business suit cowering in the corner of the room.
“Monsieur Alec Gallante, the Maggia wants a word with you,” Death Pick stated as he walked over to the cowering billionaire, lowering the pickaxe next to Gallante’s skull, blood dripping off the pick as the blade cut through the skin.
“The…the Maggia?” Gallante gulped as he felt the pressure growing on his skull. “But…but…but I don’t owe them…”
“You will, I’m taking your daughter Sophie, and then you’re going to pay us for a chance to get her back.” Death Pick snarled as his pick shuddered before being pulled over his shoulder by a prehensile red tendril. “Who the fuck dares?”
“Guillotine,” a figure dressed in a red cloak with a black domino mask over her face stated from the entrance of the panic room. “You may call me Guillotine,” she added as Death Pick charged her, only for the cloak’s tendrils to reach up and pull her out of the way of the would-be abductor. Grimacing, Death Pick ascended the stairs and started moving through Gallante Mansion looking for the person who dared impede his work.
“Come out, Guillotine,” Death Pick hissed as he swung his pickaxe at one of the suits of armor, smashing through it like it was nothing. “I have a vendetta to pick with you,” he sneered as something slithered along the wall past him which caused Death Pick to spin round and slam the blade down into where it had been.
“Over here,” a voice whispered causing Death Pick to swing round to see a cowled figure at the end of the stairs. Storming over to the figure, Death Pick swung his axe through the cowl fabric wrapping around the haft of the weapon before it was pulled away and flung into a pillar on the opposite side of the hall. “Behind you,” the voice whispered as Death Pick turned to see red glowing eyes glowering at him, fabric tentacles coiling around his arms and legs binding him in place.
“This will never hold me!” Death Pick sneered as he flexed his muscles only for the fabric to constrict even harder. “Who do you think you are?!”
“I’m…”
“Monsieur Alec Gallante, the Maggia wants a word with you,” Death Pick stated as he walked over to the cowering billionaire, lowering the pickaxe next to Gallante’s skull, blood dripping off the pick as the blade cut through the skin.
“The…the Maggia?” Gallante gulped as he felt the pressure growing on his skull. “But…but…but I don’t owe them…”
“You will, I’m taking your daughter Sophie, and then you’re going to pay us for a chance to get her back.” Death Pick snarled as his pick shuddered before being pulled over his shoulder by a prehensile red tendril. “Who the fuck dares?”
“Guillotine,” a figure dressed in a red cloak with a black domino mask over her face stated from the entrance of the panic room. “You may call me Guillotine,” she added as Death Pick charged her, only for the cloak’s tendrils to reach up and pull her out of the way of the would-be abductor. Grimacing, Death Pick ascended the stairs and started moving through Gallante Mansion looking for the person who dared impede his work.
“Come out, Guillotine,” Death Pick hissed as he swung his pickaxe at one of the suits of armor, smashing through it like it was nothing. “I have a vendetta to pick with you,” he sneered as something slithered along the wall past him which caused Death Pick to spin round and slam the blade down into where it had been.
“Over here,” a voice whispered causing Death Pick to swing round to see a cowled figure at the end of the stairs. Storming over to the figure, Death Pick swung his axe through the cowl fabric wrapping around the haft of the weapon before it was pulled away and flung into a pillar on the opposite side of the hall. “Behind you,” the voice whispered as Death Pick turned to see red glowing eyes glowering at him, fabric tentacles coiling around his arms and legs binding him in place.
“This will never hold me!” Death Pick sneered as he flexed his muscles only for the fabric to constrict even harder. “Who do you think you are?!”
“I’m…”
**********
“..the Crimson Cowl, that was not Guillotine you fought,” Anubis sighed as he placed his hands on the table. “How could you get those two mixed up?”
“So, where the hell is Lamp Lighter?” Death Pick asked as Demoiselle removed a pack of cigarettes and her laser cutter, lighting the former with the latter.
“No idea, but the whole Guillotine Anonymous thing was his idea,” Anubis replied as he coughed slightly as Demoiselle breathed smoke across the table. “What’s the point of this again?”
“How to quit being scared stiff by Guillotine?” Demoiselle stated as Death Pick closed the cool box. “At least that’s what I was told...”
“So, where the hell is Lamp Lighter?” Death Pick asked as Demoiselle removed a pack of cigarettes and her laser cutter, lighting the former with the latter.
“No idea, but the whole Guillotine Anonymous thing was his idea,” Anubis replied as he coughed slightly as Demoiselle breathed smoke across the table. “What’s the point of this again?”
“How to quit being scared stiff by Guillotine?” Demoiselle stated as Death Pick closed the cool box. “At least that’s what I was told...”
“The Thin Red Line"
Gustave Lux AKA the Lamp Lighter had been a so-called supervillain before he had been incarcerated, however since he’d been released, he’d changed his ways. Gustave had given up the robberies he had been known for, found a decent job that he could maintain, even checked in with his parole board whenever they wanted. The only things he imagined that could have warranted such attention was his possession of his ‘Lux Wand’ that allowed him to remotely turn lights on and off, and the meeting he was meant to be attending tonight.
But he didn’t deserve this, he mused as he looked over his shoulder to see the hooded form of Guillotine hot on his heels. How had she identified him, he was wearing civilian clothing, not that his costume had ever been that distinct. Removing his Lux Wand, Gustave pointed the device at a street light a good hundred meters away from him, the bulb flickering on. While the wand on its own was merely a curiosity, it helped Gustave make use of his true power, the ability to teleport from artificial light source to artificial light source. With a flash he teleported forward, Lux Wand already in hand ready to target light on a bridge crossing the Seine.
He wasn’t fast enough, as he began to teleport Guillotine’s sword, the dreaded Fleur de Mal was thrown at his legs, the steel ripping everything below the right knee away. With a blink Gustave slumped below the lamp he’d turned on, half a leg missing, only able to crawl, all while Guillotine made up the distance. He had one trick left, a long jump preferably into a group of people so somebody could call for an ambulance.
Locking onto a light about a mile away, Gustave concentrated on the journey and got ready to jump, only for cold steel to cut through his hands, slicing the Lux Wand open, rendering it useless and his concentration shattered.
“Please I didn’t do anything!” Gustave pleaded as he heard the sound of police sirens and gasps from the public, even as they filmed the events on their smartphones. “I wasn’t going to do anything!” He yammered hoping for anything, a shred of mercy, a single word, even one of Guillotine’s weird murmurings.
Guillotine was mute and in that second three thoughts ran through Gustave’s head.
Firstly, that this was the day he was going to die. Secondly that something terrible had happened, while Guillotine was cruel and bloodthirsty, she always talked, always protested as if someone else was there.
The final thought…that he wanted to be brave in his last moments despite the gnawing teeth of fear chewing his bowels. Grunting he turned himself over and looked up at the woman…no the monster standing over him, burning eyes and flaming locks of hair that matched the blood-soaked cowl his pursuer wore.
“Vous êtes un monster.” Gustave stammered as an armoured boot slammed down onto his back, the Fleur de Mal raised over his neck. The last things Gustave heard were screaming and crying from the crowd of onlookers and the sound of a steel blade stabbing into the concrete of the pavement he lay upon.
But he didn’t deserve this, he mused as he looked over his shoulder to see the hooded form of Guillotine hot on his heels. How had she identified him, he was wearing civilian clothing, not that his costume had ever been that distinct. Removing his Lux Wand, Gustave pointed the device at a street light a good hundred meters away from him, the bulb flickering on. While the wand on its own was merely a curiosity, it helped Gustave make use of his true power, the ability to teleport from artificial light source to artificial light source. With a flash he teleported forward, Lux Wand already in hand ready to target light on a bridge crossing the Seine.
He wasn’t fast enough, as he began to teleport Guillotine’s sword, the dreaded Fleur de Mal was thrown at his legs, the steel ripping everything below the right knee away. With a blink Gustave slumped below the lamp he’d turned on, half a leg missing, only able to crawl, all while Guillotine made up the distance. He had one trick left, a long jump preferably into a group of people so somebody could call for an ambulance.
Locking onto a light about a mile away, Gustave concentrated on the journey and got ready to jump, only for cold steel to cut through his hands, slicing the Lux Wand open, rendering it useless and his concentration shattered.
“Please I didn’t do anything!” Gustave pleaded as he heard the sound of police sirens and gasps from the public, even as they filmed the events on their smartphones. “I wasn’t going to do anything!” He yammered hoping for anything, a shred of mercy, a single word, even one of Guillotine’s weird murmurings.
Guillotine was mute and in that second three thoughts ran through Gustave’s head.
Firstly, that this was the day he was going to die. Secondly that something terrible had happened, while Guillotine was cruel and bloodthirsty, she always talked, always protested as if someone else was there.
The final thought…that he wanted to be brave in his last moments despite the gnawing teeth of fear chewing his bowels. Grunting he turned himself over and looked up at the woman…no the monster standing over him, burning eyes and flaming locks of hair that matched the blood-soaked cowl his pursuer wore.
“Vous êtes un monster.” Gustave stammered as an armoured boot slammed down onto his back, the Fleur de Mal raised over his neck. The last things Gustave heard were screaming and crying from the crowd of onlookers and the sound of a steel blade stabbing into the concrete of the pavement he lay upon.
**********
Anubis staggered to his feet, before flicking out his staff to steady himself as he headed for the door. Despite his reservations, Death Pick and Demoiselle had been good company, and regardless of where the Lamp Lighter had ended up the three of them had decided to meet up again, even if it was just for another round of drinks.
Behind him Death Pick, gently lifted Demoiselle over his shoulder, the young woman had long since passed out. With much trepidation the pair climbed the stairs and entered the main bar room, the place long since emptied save for the bouncer and the bartender.
“Where’s the party?!” Death Pick gurgled as Demoiselle coughed slightly.
“Getting ready, everything has changed tonight.” The bartender answered as she removed a remote control and unmuted the news footage playing on the TV. Turning to watch the story, Death Pick and Anubis saw images from a few blocks down from the Bar with No Name.
“I don’t understand,” Anubis stated as his eyes watered, trying to read the fast-moving text at the bottom of the screen.
“Guillotine snapped,” the bartender stated as Demoiselle groaned and stretched before clamping a hand over her mouth as the image of a body covered with a sheet was shown on screen. “She killed someone tonight, they're saying it's Gustave,” she added as the ruddy color in the three villains’ cheeks drained out, and they were hit by a powerful sobering thought.
The person who patrolled this city had become the monster they’d been discussing, and more than that she was the worst version of that monster she could be.
“They say there’s always someone in line for the Guillotine,” the bartender whispered as she gripped the hilt of a sword stashed under the bar. “So, who’s up next?” she asked, as her eyes flashed red in the half light of the bar. Turning to look at her, the villains could only see twisting red smoke, the image of a skull visible in the mist...
Behind him Death Pick, gently lifted Demoiselle over his shoulder, the young woman had long since passed out. With much trepidation the pair climbed the stairs and entered the main bar room, the place long since emptied save for the bouncer and the bartender.
“Where’s the party?!” Death Pick gurgled as Demoiselle coughed slightly.
“Getting ready, everything has changed tonight.” The bartender answered as she removed a remote control and unmuted the news footage playing on the TV. Turning to watch the story, Death Pick and Anubis saw images from a few blocks down from the Bar with No Name.
“I don’t understand,” Anubis stated as his eyes watered, trying to read the fast-moving text at the bottom of the screen.
“Guillotine snapped,” the bartender stated as Demoiselle groaned and stretched before clamping a hand over her mouth as the image of a body covered with a sheet was shown on screen. “She killed someone tonight, they're saying it's Gustave,” she added as the ruddy color in the three villains’ cheeks drained out, and they were hit by a powerful sobering thought.
The person who patrolled this city had become the monster they’d been discussing, and more than that she was the worst version of that monster she could be.
“They say there’s always someone in line for the Guillotine,” the bartender whispered as she gripped the hilt of a sword stashed under the bar. “So, who’s up next?” she asked, as her eyes flashed red in the half light of the bar. Turning to look at her, the villains could only see twisting red smoke, the image of a skull visible in the mist...