Queens…
Before…
Her shift had ended late, and now Evelyn was paying for it.
In a futile effort to keep the chill away, she pulled her coat on tighter about her shoulders, the click of her heels distracting as they echoed down across the empty streets. It was already dark when she left the diner, and now it was well and truly night, and the scant illumination provided by the lamp posts was doing little to keep the dark recesses of every corner at bay.
She was almost home, Evelyn reassured herself, quickening her pace as she could just about see her porch, ready to welcome her in from the imagined dangers. Resisting the urge to dart her eyes from both left and right, she exhaled a deep breath, hurrying her pace for the final yards.
With one look back over her shoulder, she reassured herself that there was no-one following and, as her hand reached into her pocket to find her keys, she would never make it to her front door…
Her body was never found.
Before…
Her shift had ended late, and now Evelyn was paying for it.
In a futile effort to keep the chill away, she pulled her coat on tighter about her shoulders, the click of her heels distracting as they echoed down across the empty streets. It was already dark when she left the diner, and now it was well and truly night, and the scant illumination provided by the lamp posts was doing little to keep the dark recesses of every corner at bay.
She was almost home, Evelyn reassured herself, quickening her pace as she could just about see her porch, ready to welcome her in from the imagined dangers. Resisting the urge to dart her eyes from both left and right, she exhaled a deep breath, hurrying her pace for the final yards.
With one look back over her shoulder, she reassured herself that there was no-one following and, as her hand reached into her pocket to find her keys, she would never make it to her front door…
Her body was never found.
ISSUE 1
"SHATTERED GLASS"
PART 1
BY
EMMA WOODS
"SHATTERED GLASS"
PART 1
BY
EMMA WOODS
Manhattan…
Now…
Time was of the essence, Johnny Gallo well aware that he had none to waste.
As Ricochet, he lived up to his namesake as she launched across the skyline of New York with both superhuman speed and grace, bounding from one building to another with feats of acrobatic daring do that were almost too fast for the average man to follow. He hurtled himself through the air, sprinting as he landed and leaping before he looked, often working out his trajectory whilst already on route, perilously navigating his high-rise dash across and between the mountainous rooftops with nary a second thought.
Momentarily distracted by a wailing siren, the silver haired, bounding boy pushed it to one side as he rebounded off a flag pole, fighting against his muscle memory and continued heading in the opposite direction. Time was of the essence, he reminded himself, a bag strapped across his back containing his cargo as Ricochet circumvented the cities packed streets by hurling himself above it faster than any other courier could ever hope to match in Manhattan.
When time was of the essence, no-one could deliver pizza faster than he could…
Now…
Time was of the essence, Johnny Gallo well aware that he had none to waste.
As Ricochet, he lived up to his namesake as she launched across the skyline of New York with both superhuman speed and grace, bounding from one building to another with feats of acrobatic daring do that were almost too fast for the average man to follow. He hurtled himself through the air, sprinting as he landed and leaping before he looked, often working out his trajectory whilst already on route, perilously navigating his high-rise dash across and between the mountainous rooftops with nary a second thought.
Momentarily distracted by a wailing siren, the silver haired, bounding boy pushed it to one side as he rebounded off a flag pole, fighting against his muscle memory and continued heading in the opposite direction. Time was of the essence, he reminded himself, a bag strapped across his back containing his cargo as Ricochet circumvented the cities packed streets by hurling himself above it faster than any other courier could ever hope to match in Manhattan.
When time was of the essence, no-one could deliver pizza faster than he could…
**********
“Not that I don’t love these little talks,” Johnny observed rather distractedly as he ferreted about the confines of his fridge, frowning at how sparse its contents truly were. He settled on a chicken leg, trying not to recall how long it might have been in there, and returned at least some of his attention back to his uninvited guest. “But, well, I’ve never enjoyed these little talks.”
In reply, Dwayne Tayler was not amused.
If he ever had been, Gallo wasn’t convinced that he had ever seen it.
“Fast food,” the well-tailored vigilante known as Night Thrasher observed, declining the offer of a seat and opting to remain standing, dispassionately tossing aside a crumpled flier back onto what passed as his hosts dining table. He looked distinctly out of place in the tiny apartment, an aberration in Johnny’s dishevelled living space. “You deliver fast food?”
“It’s a living,” the silver haired youth shrugged, biting into his choice of snack and searching in vain for a clean tissue with which to wipe his now greasy fingers.
“It’s a waste of time,” Dwayne dismissed Gallo’s lazy assessment, looking about the apartment with a critical expression.
“Harsh,” Johnny noted as he brushed aside a magazine and a few, discarded wrappers before sitting back on his couch, the furniture protesting with some alarming sounds before accepting his not exactly considerable weight.
“At best,” Dwayne ceased his passive critique of Gallo’s apartment with the smallest shake of his head. “It’s a means to an end.”
“The end being putting food on my table,” Johnny defended, putting his feet up on the table and failing to hide his growing irritation.
“And then?”
“And then, what?” Johnny shrugged, finishing the chicken leg and, with expert precision, launched the bone into the air to land squarely in bin on the opposite side of the room. That it sailed clean over his guest’s broad shoulder, narrowly missing his hairline, on the way there was entirely coincidental.
Dwayne was frustratingly unperturbed, “You’re satisfied by this, fulfilled?”
“Yes!” Johnny exhaled sharply, more than a little exasperated. With a shake of his head, he calmed down, trying his best to not fold his arms. “I guess, sort of,” he shrugged anew. “Look, if this is about the New Warriors, our New Warriors, we fizzled out, ok.
For the briefest moment, the vigilante Night Thrasher clenched his jaw. Fizzled out was not how he would have put it.
“We went our separate ways,” Johnny continued on unabated, “and I doubt there’s any chance of getting the band back together. Besides,” Gallo felt a momentary and powerful need to look anywhere other than at both his former leader and, in his mind, far too frequent critic. “I think the name is taken.”
With a curious expression, Dwayne shook his head before looking his former teammate in the eye, “I’m not here to recruit.”
“You’re not?” Johnny blinked, a little surprised and, perhaps, a little jilted. He pushed those thoughts aside, reminding himself that this was what he wanted.
Finally, Dwayne did take a seat, although he probably soon regretted it.
“You’re the only one,” he commented. “I kept tabs on you,” he revealed. “All of you, after the attack. I was angry that you all chose to leave, but I wasn’t about to let you fall.”
“You cared?” Johnny perked his brow, a little more flippant than he intended.
“Of course, I cared!” Dwayne snapped, his temper getting the best of him. He reigned it in, regretting the loss of control. “We were the New Warriors. That might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me. I never forget, not one of you, so, after what happened, I kept tabs on you.”
He paused, choosing his next words carefully, “You’re the only one who’s floundered.”
“Oh, come on…” Johnny held up his hands in protest.
“The only one,” Dwayne asserted, standing back up and straightening his jacket, his tone stern. “I kept tabs on you, I think, because I expected you to fail,” he confessed with a note of regret. “And that fault is mine. But they didn’t,” he looked back to Gallo, his eye critical. “The others, they grew stronger for the experience, they’ve reached higher than they did before, aspired to me more. They’re grown while you,” he stopped, picking up the flyer that he had earlier discarded and crumpled it into a ball.
“You deliver pizza.”
Johnny sat in silence, looking anywhere but at Dwayne. Eventually, he felt the need to defend himself.
“It’s a living.”
“Yes,” Dwayne nodded, looking about the cramp, dirty confines of what Johnny called home.
“I suppose it is.”
In reply, Dwayne Tayler was not amused.
If he ever had been, Gallo wasn’t convinced that he had ever seen it.
“Fast food,” the well-tailored vigilante known as Night Thrasher observed, declining the offer of a seat and opting to remain standing, dispassionately tossing aside a crumpled flier back onto what passed as his hosts dining table. He looked distinctly out of place in the tiny apartment, an aberration in Johnny’s dishevelled living space. “You deliver fast food?”
“It’s a living,” the silver haired youth shrugged, biting into his choice of snack and searching in vain for a clean tissue with which to wipe his now greasy fingers.
“It’s a waste of time,” Dwayne dismissed Gallo’s lazy assessment, looking about the apartment with a critical expression.
“Harsh,” Johnny noted as he brushed aside a magazine and a few, discarded wrappers before sitting back on his couch, the furniture protesting with some alarming sounds before accepting his not exactly considerable weight.
“At best,” Dwayne ceased his passive critique of Gallo’s apartment with the smallest shake of his head. “It’s a means to an end.”
“The end being putting food on my table,” Johnny defended, putting his feet up on the table and failing to hide his growing irritation.
“And then?”
“And then, what?” Johnny shrugged, finishing the chicken leg and, with expert precision, launched the bone into the air to land squarely in bin on the opposite side of the room. That it sailed clean over his guest’s broad shoulder, narrowly missing his hairline, on the way there was entirely coincidental.
Dwayne was frustratingly unperturbed, “You’re satisfied by this, fulfilled?”
“Yes!” Johnny exhaled sharply, more than a little exasperated. With a shake of his head, he calmed down, trying his best to not fold his arms. “I guess, sort of,” he shrugged anew. “Look, if this is about the New Warriors, our New Warriors, we fizzled out, ok.
For the briefest moment, the vigilante Night Thrasher clenched his jaw. Fizzled out was not how he would have put it.
“We went our separate ways,” Johnny continued on unabated, “and I doubt there’s any chance of getting the band back together. Besides,” Gallo felt a momentary and powerful need to look anywhere other than at both his former leader and, in his mind, far too frequent critic. “I think the name is taken.”
With a curious expression, Dwayne shook his head before looking his former teammate in the eye, “I’m not here to recruit.”
“You’re not?” Johnny blinked, a little surprised and, perhaps, a little jilted. He pushed those thoughts aside, reminding himself that this was what he wanted.
Finally, Dwayne did take a seat, although he probably soon regretted it.
“You’re the only one,” he commented. “I kept tabs on you,” he revealed. “All of you, after the attack. I was angry that you all chose to leave, but I wasn’t about to let you fall.”
“You cared?” Johnny perked his brow, a little more flippant than he intended.
“Of course, I cared!” Dwayne snapped, his temper getting the best of him. He reigned it in, regretting the loss of control. “We were the New Warriors. That might mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me. I never forget, not one of you, so, after what happened, I kept tabs on you.”
He paused, choosing his next words carefully, “You’re the only one who’s floundered.”
“Oh, come on…” Johnny held up his hands in protest.
“The only one,” Dwayne asserted, standing back up and straightening his jacket, his tone stern. “I kept tabs on you, I think, because I expected you to fail,” he confessed with a note of regret. “And that fault is mine. But they didn’t,” he looked back to Gallo, his eye critical. “The others, they grew stronger for the experience, they’ve reached higher than they did before, aspired to me more. They’re grown while you,” he stopped, picking up the flyer that he had earlier discarded and crumpled it into a ball.
“You deliver pizza.”
Johnny sat in silence, looking anywhere but at Dwayne. Eventually, he felt the need to defend himself.
“It’s a living.”
“Yes,” Dwayne nodded, looking about the cramp, dirty confines of what Johnny called home.
“I suppose it is.”
**********
Time was of the essence, and now Johnny Gallo most defiantly didn’t have any to waste.
The one-time Slinger and former New Warrior was in a less than jovial mood following the uninvited visitation from the Ghost of Heroing Past the day before, Night Thrashers remarks stinging deeper than he expected. Disgruntled from the moment he had woke up, he had spent most of the morning in a near daze and now, as he dashed and hurled himself across the mountainous skyline of New York, the fastest courier in town had missed his turn some two minutes back.
So distracted he had been, bounding from one daring leap to another, it had almost been too late before he realised his error but, if he could just find the right through line, he could still make the delivery on…
His body reacted before his brain had caught on, his sneakers grinding to a sharp, skidding stop as he hunkered low in an instinctual effort rapidly slow. Ricochet was still processing the scream even as he came to a stop, his shoulders tensed and thighs ready to pounce as he scanned his surroundings atop the roof of the tenement building.
He heard nothing out of the ordinary, not beyond the coo of startled pigeons and the ever-present rumble of packed traffic several floors below. He paused, Johnny half convincing himself that he had imagined it but, to his regret, he knew that it had been all too real.
Time was of the essence…
He had none to spare…
Johnny sighed, irritated with himself beyond words as he dashed on over to the roof edge, peering down over the side into the tight confines of the alleyway far below.
“This better be quick,” he told himself before vaulting himself over the edge, the superhumanly acrobatic youth bounding from one fire escape to the next with jaw dropping agility on his rapid descent to earth, landing at a crouch and scanning his surroundings.
There was no-one to be found, not a single soul in need…
…save a hastily discarded handbag and a trail of blood.
Somewhat tentatively he followed it deeper into the ally until he confirmed his fears, the fresh splashes of red ending at the entrance to the sewer, the manhole cover askew.
“Damn,” he muttered, fidgeting as he stood torn by indecision. “Damn, damn.”
The one-time Slinger and former New Warrior was in a less than jovial mood following the uninvited visitation from the Ghost of Heroing Past the day before, Night Thrashers remarks stinging deeper than he expected. Disgruntled from the moment he had woke up, he had spent most of the morning in a near daze and now, as he dashed and hurled himself across the mountainous skyline of New York, the fastest courier in town had missed his turn some two minutes back.
So distracted he had been, bounding from one daring leap to another, it had almost been too late before he realised his error but, if he could just find the right through line, he could still make the delivery on…
His body reacted before his brain had caught on, his sneakers grinding to a sharp, skidding stop as he hunkered low in an instinctual effort rapidly slow. Ricochet was still processing the scream even as he came to a stop, his shoulders tensed and thighs ready to pounce as he scanned his surroundings atop the roof of the tenement building.
He heard nothing out of the ordinary, not beyond the coo of startled pigeons and the ever-present rumble of packed traffic several floors below. He paused, Johnny half convincing himself that he had imagined it but, to his regret, he knew that it had been all too real.
Time was of the essence…
He had none to spare…
Johnny sighed, irritated with himself beyond words as he dashed on over to the roof edge, peering down over the side into the tight confines of the alleyway far below.
“This better be quick,” he told himself before vaulting himself over the edge, the superhumanly acrobatic youth bounding from one fire escape to the next with jaw dropping agility on his rapid descent to earth, landing at a crouch and scanning his surroundings.
There was no-one to be found, not a single soul in need…
…save a hastily discarded handbag and a trail of blood.
Somewhat tentatively he followed it deeper into the ally until he confirmed his fears, the fresh splashes of red ending at the entrance to the sewer, the manhole cover askew.
“Damn,” he muttered, fidgeting as he stood torn by indecision. “Damn, damn.”
**********
“Well,” Johnny grimaced in disconnect as he did his best to avoid wading through the sewage that rolled beneath the city streets, stealing himself against the rank odours of the poorly lit sewers. “This is just about the worst place for me to be.”
Navigating the unfamiliar territory as best he could, he all too quickly came upon a junction, finding no signs amongst the grime as to reveal which direction he should go in. Taking a moment to look both left and right down both of the equally uninviting tunnels, he almost resolved to turn back now before a fresh cry pierced the gloom of the far-off distance. It cut off quickly, the suddenness of its end forcing the young man’s hairs to stand on end.
He was sprinting before he knew it, running into the dark at speeds well beyond a normal mans, exceptional balance preventing him from tumbling as his heart began to beat several times faster. Instinctually he ground to a sudden stop, warnings screaming in his head as his heels dug into the concrete and he ducked behind a corner before peering discreetly around the side.
He was not alone, Ricochet almost gagging as his senses were assaulted, the bile of rotten and spoiled meat attacking his sense of smell. It took him a second, his eyes adjusting to the deeper darkness, that it was from corpses that the foul odour originated, heaps of bodies stacked here and there with large portions of them missing.
At the centre of the junction slouched a single figure, one that Johnny now watched intently as his own body tensed, the figure digging its fingers deep into a fresh kill as its jaws worked in wet, ripping motions, the legs of its victim still twitching.
Forcing down a fresh desire to empty his own stomach, Ricochets eyes opened in alarm as a brief, passing flash of light from up above revealed some startling details, a pattern of bold red and blues that the young man found alarming.
“Spider-Man?” he exhaled in disbelief and, all too quickly, he realised his error, the figure snapping its head about to face him with its ragged jaws slick with blood, its eyes far too large to be human. It dropped its meal and, as it stood u straight and released a piercing shriek, no less than six arms uncurled to reveal its truly inhumane shape.
It leapt, monstrously fast, and dived directly for Ricochet.
“Not F%£*ing Spider-Man!!”
Navigating the unfamiliar territory as best he could, he all too quickly came upon a junction, finding no signs amongst the grime as to reveal which direction he should go in. Taking a moment to look both left and right down both of the equally uninviting tunnels, he almost resolved to turn back now before a fresh cry pierced the gloom of the far-off distance. It cut off quickly, the suddenness of its end forcing the young man’s hairs to stand on end.
He was sprinting before he knew it, running into the dark at speeds well beyond a normal mans, exceptional balance preventing him from tumbling as his heart began to beat several times faster. Instinctually he ground to a sudden stop, warnings screaming in his head as his heels dug into the concrete and he ducked behind a corner before peering discreetly around the side.
He was not alone, Ricochet almost gagging as his senses were assaulted, the bile of rotten and spoiled meat attacking his sense of smell. It took him a second, his eyes adjusting to the deeper darkness, that it was from corpses that the foul odour originated, heaps of bodies stacked here and there with large portions of them missing.
At the centre of the junction slouched a single figure, one that Johnny now watched intently as his own body tensed, the figure digging its fingers deep into a fresh kill as its jaws worked in wet, ripping motions, the legs of its victim still twitching.
Forcing down a fresh desire to empty his own stomach, Ricochets eyes opened in alarm as a brief, passing flash of light from up above revealed some startling details, a pattern of bold red and blues that the young man found alarming.
“Spider-Man?” he exhaled in disbelief and, all too quickly, he realised his error, the figure snapping its head about to face him with its ragged jaws slick with blood, its eyes far too large to be human. It dropped its meal and, as it stood u straight and released a piercing shriek, no less than six arms uncurled to reveal its truly inhumane shape.
It leapt, monstrously fast, and dived directly for Ricochet.
“Not F%£*ing Spider-Man!!”
To Be Continued....