Story Re-Write: Centurion Six (Opening Only)

Sketch in My Notebook

This is the "revised" opening for "Centurion Six," tentatively scheduled for part of the short story anthology I've been working on.  I feel like I've been struggling it, though.  I am therefore hanging it out to ask for a couple of opinions.

Centurion Six

In the near future, genetic mutation has become the weapon of choice in an increasingly chaotic world.  Easier to hide and cheaper by far to develop and control than the nuclear and chemical weapons programs of a previous era, soon every tin-pot dictator, cult-leader, and agenda-based non-state actor on the planet begins developing “ultra-human” capabilities.  Against the proliferation of politically violent “supermen”, mundane humans--so-called ”mundies”--can offer little defense.

Centurion Six Revisited

I updated the Sketch in My Notebook tab this morning to include the "Centurion Six" project, mostly so that newcomers to the blog can have some choices if they decide to try to dive into some of my crazy-assed short fiction.

I probably should've done this a while ago, but I was initially planning to include "Centurion Six" in the short story collection that has since become "War Stories from Wanderhaven", and with that in mind, I didn't want to make the story too easy to find on the blog.  I wanted to tease its existence, frustrate people with their inability to find all the pieces, and then entice them into buying my book when/if it ever comes out.  But "Wanderhaven" has become a whole different thing now, and if I ever do get around to putting out a print version of Dr. Necropolis/Centurion Six, it won't be for years.

Sketch in my Notebook (Part 6): The New Centurion

One of the tough parts of doing a story like this is that you can't go back and make changes as your ideas evolve.  That happened this week, but I couldn't go back and retroactively rename last week's piece, even though in retrospect, the title for this chapter obviously needed to be "The New Centurion" rather than "The Ice Queen."  I also feel like we've spent too much time in backstory here in the early-going, but what can you do?  When I do go back and finally edit this thing, some of this stuff may well get the axe.  In the meantime, though, you're stuck with the first cut.  Hopefully it's at least the best first cut I can put out.

With all of that said, I'm inordinately pleased with this week's piece.  That probably means that no one else is gonna like it at all, but I still think it came out well.  But my opinion only matters so much; you'll have to let me know what you think.

Finally, this is it.  This version of this particular project was only ever supposed to be a sketch, and as much as I think it's going well, I know that I badly need to stick it on the shelf for a while.  I'm trying to put out a book next year, and "The Return of Dr. Necropolis" isn't going to be a part of that book, so with that in mind, I need to focus on other stuff.  I'll talk about that a little more tomorrow, but for now, what you need to know is that the Doctor is going on hiatus, and he won't be back until late Spring at the very earliest.  So get your fix now, because after this, it's gonna be all Sneakatara Boatman, all the time for the next few months.

***

The Return of Dr. Necropolis

Chapter 5 (Cont): The New Centurion

Despite his mother’s warning, Blaine found himself in Special Agent Tiffany Trujillo's car the next morning, cruising up the Taconic Parkway towards Sing Sing and Dr. Necropolis.  Tiffany had worn a blue pants suit and a professionally-laundered shirt that morning, and for once, she looked more like an FBI agent than one of the world’s most famous former superheroes.  She was quiet to the point of being uncommunicative, however, and after twenty minutes or so, it started making Blaine nervous.

Eventually, Blaine tried to break the silence.  “I talked to my mother yesterday.  It seemed like Dr. Necropolis scared her.  You have any idea why?  I’d never seen her like that before.”

Sketch in My Notebook (Part 5): The Ice Queen

I didn't have much time to work on this during the week, so this week's piece is short.  What you see here is only half--maybe not even half--of Chapter 5, and I have a feeling that when I finally sit down to revise it and cut it all into a single work, this particular piece may well get some more work.  As it is, it's hard for me to tell if the scene itself works.

Anyway, your thoughts are welcome.  Love it?  Hate it?  I'd love to hear what you think.

Thanks.

***

The Return of Dr. Necropolis
Chapter 5: The Ice Queen

Blaine Winters rolled through the gates of his family’s Mount Kisco estate a little after sunrise.  As such things went, the place wasn’t large—a mere fifty acres or so, set apart from the road by a low stone fence and a long tree-lined cobblestoned drive—but it was home.  And for better or worse, home was the only place Blaine could think of to get any perspective on what he’d seen the night before.  The world had changed a lot since Blaine’s parents’ day, but they were still connected to the ultra-human community, still the best resource he had for understanding his place in the world.

Centurion Six #2: The Devil and the Agent from the FBI (Part 3)

Our Story So Far:

Last night, Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (EFD) were called out by the NYPD to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seemed like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes stumbled upon evidence that implicated a former teammate in the murders—ultra-human drug addict Jason King.  However, before Blaine and his team could begin to investigate, they were attacked by a killer cyborg robot-monkey mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.  In the ensuing firefight, a police officer was killed, the crime scene burned to the ground, and the cyborg robot-monkey escaped.

EFD commander Colonel Joachim “Aguilá” Rodriguez calls in the FBI to help with the investigation, and Special Agent Nora Mahoney is assigned to the case.  But Ms. Mahoney finds the EFD to be a strange and disconcerting assignment.

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below the post.

* * *

Blaine was sitting on a chair next to Jason’s bed when they came in.  He’d been expecting the Colonel all morning, of course, but there was a woman with him that Blaine didn’t know.  Somehow it was the woman’s presence that unnerved Blaine more than the Colonel’s, and this despite the fact that Blaine knew that the Colonel was bound to be pissed from last night’s mess.

Blaine got to his feet as they entered.  “Sir.”

“Blaine,” the Colonel said.  “Sit down.” 

If that was meant as a greeting, it was one that didn’t hold any warmth.  Blaine sat.

“This is Special Agent Nora Mahoney from the FBI.  She’s here to help with the investigation into last night’s events.”

Agent Mahoney stepped up and offered her hand.  She was pretty enough, Blaine thought, but it was a severe kind of pretty.  She stood maybe five-foot-five with straight brown hair, ice-blue eyes, and a decidedly athletic build.  It was the way she carried it that warned Blaine off.  Hair pulled back into something like a ballerina’s bun, dark grey pants-suit that made no concessions whatsoever to her figure, eyes flat but wary.  This was definitely the look of an arch-professional, hardened against unwanted familiarity.  Frankly, she looked like she’d already gone a round or two with the Colonel and come out with something like a draw.  That thought left Blaine a little unnerved.

Blaine stood up and shook her hand and then back down.  Suddenly he was aware of the fact that he was the only one sitting.  The Colonel and Agent Mahoney were both just standing there looking down at him like he was some kind of science experiment.

“Sir, I… uh… I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.”

“Look Blaine,” the Colonel said, “in light of last night’s events, I think we need to keep you focused on commanding your team in the field.  You got into that mess last night because…  Well, I hope it was because you so were focused on the situation with the police that you didn’t think about how to deploy your team before you entered that crime scene.  Because if that’s not what happened—“

“Sir,” Blaine began, “it was only s’pposed to be a routine consultation.  But then—“

The Colonel cut him off.  “As I was saying, Captain, if that’s not what happened, then the fact is that you showed gross incompetence last night.  You failed to assess the situation, and you failed to act as the leader of your unit.  And as a result—“

“That’s not fair, sir!” Blaine said.  He couldn’t help himself.  “One minute we’re standing there talking to the cops, and the next minute, we’re fighting for our lives.  Could we have fought better?  Could I have fought better?  Yes.  But once the shit hit the fan—“

“When the shit hits the fan, Captain, that’s when you are supposed to be in charge.  Not going off half-cocked like some schoolyard do-gooder trying to save his friend from the playground bully.  Madre de Dios,Blaine!  What the Hell is wrong with you?

“No, don’t answer that.  I’m tired of having you interrupt me.”  The Colonel reached into one of the pockets of his uniform blouse and grabbed a printout.  He unfolded it and got ready to read.  “You told Shelby, and I quote, ‘Shut it, lieutenant.  Just get your ass down here, time now.’”  The Colonel looked up.  “Hearing that—and the sound of a firefight in the background—Lieutenant Sexton raced down there at Mach 2 in her nightgown where she found you wrestling with… well, I guess we may never know what the Hell that thing was last night because without orders to the contrary, she blasted it all to Hell.  Why didn’t she have orders, Blaine?  Fact is, you didn’t give her jack shit besides a panicked phone call in the middle of the night, and she figured that meant that you were about to get your ass handed to you.

“Were you about to get your ass handed to you, Blaine?  Were you?”

Blaine looked down.  “No sir.”

“No you were not.  Why?  Because you are goddamned indestructible!  Look at you!  You go two rounds with god-alone knows what kind of crazy robotic assassination technology and come out with a couple of cuts and scrapes.  Then you go another three rounds with Jason fucking King, who is perhaps the most dangerous ultra-human ever to come through here, and yeah, he cut you up a little, but look, here you are, still standing strong the next morning.  Anybody else in the world is dead right now, but you, Blaine Winters…  A couple of stem-cell treatments, and the docs tell me you’ll be good as new by day after tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.”

“Dammit Blaine, we need more from you than this.  There’s a time for you to lead from the front, and there’s a time when you need to stop and think.  And you, Blaine, you are uniquely qualified to think in the midst of a fight.  That fire alarm call to Shelby last night, that is the kind of thing that we cannot have.  Not anymore.  You need to learn to lead your team, Blaine.  Leading from the front is fine, but getting so involved in the fight that you’re no longer in command is a mistake that I cannot allow from my New York City field team commander.

“And that’s why Ms. Mahoney is here.  She is here to free you up, so that you can focus on leading your team.”

“Yes sir.  I…”  Blaine nodded reluctantly.  “Thank you, sir.”

 “Good,” the Colonel replied.  He stood.  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.  The investigation briefing is in half an hour.  Make sure you’re friendly by then.”

“Yes sir,” Blaine responded.  He turned to the FBI agent.  “So… what can you do, Agent Mahoney?”

Centurion Six #2: The Devil and the Agent from the FBI (Part 2)

Our Story So Far:

Last night, Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (EFD) were called out by the NYPD to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seemed like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes stumbled upon evidence that implicated a former teammate in the murders—ultra-human drug addict Jason King.  However, before Blaine and his team could begin to investigate, they were attacked by a killer cyborg robot-monkey mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.  In the ensuing firefight, a police officer was killed, the crime scene burned to the ground, and the cyborg robot-monkey escaped.

EFD commander Colonel Joachim “Aguilá” Rodriguez calls in the FBI to help with the investigation, and Special Agent Nora Mahoney is assigned to the case.  But Ms. Mahoney finds the EFD to be a strange and disconcerting assignment.

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below the post.

* * *

 “Ma’am,” the devil said.  He nodded and walked past.

Nora watched him go.

“You’re starring, Ms. Mahoney,” the Colonel said. 

A beat passed, but Nora couldn’t tear her eyes away from Satan, who was walking away like it was a normal, everyday occurrence. 

“Agent Mahoney!”

“Huh?  Oh!  I’m sorry Colonel.  It’s just—“

The Colonel did not look happy.  “Lieutenant Delaney is a good you officer, Ms. Mahoney.  He doesn’t deserve to have you starring at him like he’s some carnival freak.”

“Yeah.  Uh, sorry about that.”

Colonel Rodriguez leaned in close.  “Look Ms. Mahoney, you said you could handle this assignment.  That you wanted to get some experience working with ultra-humans.  If that’s not the case, let me know now, and I’ll have you replaced.  Otherwise you need to get it together and keep it that way.  I can’t have you gawking at my officers and making them feel uncomfortable.  It’s gonna be hard enough having a mundie involved with the team.  Got it?”

“Yeah.  Like I said, I’m sorry, it’s just—“

The Colonel cut her off.  “No excuses.  I need to know we’re clear, Agent Mahoney.”

Nora nodded.  “Yes sir.  We’re clear.”

“Thank you.”  The Colonel turned and started back down the hallway.  “Now, I need to introduce you to my New York field team leader, Captain Blaine Winters.  Callsign: Centurion Six.”

“Blaine Winters?” Nora said.  “Wait.  I read about this.  He’s the son of—“

The Colonel cut her off again.  “Blaine’s not here because of anything his father did, Ms. Mahoney.  Trust me, he’s his own man.”

“Of course,” Nora said.  “But still, the papers made a big deal about it when he signed up.  I remember; it was on TV.  Having the son of the Ice Queen and the original Centurion agree to join the EFD was quite a coup, no?”

The Colonel shook his head.  “Despite what the papers might have you believe, Ms. Mahoney, the real truth is that Blaine’s father, Macon Winters—the so-called original Centurion—was nothing more than a hyper-violent vigilante sociopath.  He had no respect for the law or for the value of teamwork, and he left several men crippled who were later proven to be innocent when the so-called ‘evidence’ of their crimes was examined using actual forensics.  I would never allow someone like that into the EFD.  However, as I said Blaine is his own man.  He is respectful, reasonably intelligent, and far more… circumspect… in the use of his abilities than was his father.

“Now, if you’ll come this way, please.”

As Nora followed Colonel Rodriguez down the hall, she remembered—belatedly—that El Aguilá and the original Centurion had had something of a history back in the day.  Sure, they’d teamed up that time against the Super-Socialists’ Society, but before that there had been something else.  Something different.  After the Radical Robot Rampage, Aguilá had tried to arrest The Ice Queen for her part in it.  The details hadn’t made the papers, but there had been plenty of coverage of the event itself, and all the pictures showed the Ice Queen right there in the middle, riding a giant robot gunship next to Doctor Destructo himself.  Having now met Joachim Rodriguez, Nora felt sure that whatever else had happened that day, Aguilá had been right about the Ice Queen.  But for whatever reason, the original Centurion hadn’t seen it that way.  In fact, he andAguilá had thrown down about it, right there in the middle of 125^th Street, amidst all the rubble and the smoking hulks of Doctor Destructo’s smashed robot tanks. 

Nora almost shook her head as she remembered watching it as a kid.  Aguilá famously had little in the way of ultra-human abilities—just slightly enhanced reflexes or something like that—but he was a soldier and a trained fighter, and he knew how to get everything there was to be had out of whatever abilities God had given him.  But the Centurion—the original Centurion—that dude had been a badass in the biblical sense.  He’d beaten Joachim Rodriguez to within an inch of his life right there on national TV and then dared the police to do something about it. 

In the end, no one had even tried.  Centurion had just walked away with the Ice Queen in tow, and six months later they’d married.  The Post had covered it like it was a society wedding, and the government had played along.  What else could they do?  Nora could only imagine the sighs of relief in City Hall when the Ice Queen changed her costume and started fighting crime alongside her new husband.  Had things gone the other way, there would have been literally no one who could have stopped them.

And now I’m supposed to meet their son, Nora thought, whom they named Blaine for some crazy reason, and we’re supposed to work together to find the guy who sold a Chinese battle drug to another would-be costumed lunatic—a guy who’s half alligator and half grizzly bear.  And oh by the way, that dude kicked Blaine’s ass up between his ears last night.  Blaine, who is the son of the original freaking Centurion—and practically indestructible. 

“So… Blaine,” Nora said, “does he know I’m coming?”

“No.  He’s been in medical all morning getting stem cell injections.  Like I told you when we came in, he got pretty torn up last night.  Why?”

“Just wondering how he’s gonna take the news that the FBI is taking over his case.  Some guys can get a little touchy about that sort of thing.”

They reached the door at the end of the hall, and the Colonel turned.  “Blaine’s a soldier.  He’ll do what he’s told.  It would be better if you were an ultra, but—“

“No excuses, Colonel.  Isn’t that what you said?”  Nora eyed him, and the last of the hero worship from her childhood memories finally fell away.  The Colonel was a professional soldier and a talented leader, but Nora could see that in his own way, he was as nervous about her meeting Blaine as she was.  “Look, I can handle it, sir.  I promise you that.  But I do need to know what I’m walking into.”

The Colonel sighed.  “The truth is, Ms. Mahoney, that’s why we need your help.  Countering ultra-human threats?  That we can handle.  But investigating a multiple murder?  Busting a drug ring?  That’s a little outside our comfort zone.  Still…  the answer to your question is ‘no.’  I doubt strongly that Blaine will appreciate your coming in run this investigation.”

“Fine,” Nora said.  She smiled.  “Now let’s get this over with.”

Centurion Six #2: The Devil and the Agent from the FBI (Part 1)

Our Story So Far:

Last night, Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (E.F.D.) were called out by the NYPD to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seemed like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes stumbled upon evidence that implicated a former teammate in the murders—ultra-human drug addict Jason King.  However, before Blaine and his team could begin to investigate, they were attacked by a killer cyborg robot-monkey mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.  In the ensuing firefight, a police officer was killed, the crime scene burned to the ground, and the cyborg robot-monkey got away.

Fortunately, Blaine managed to subdue Jason King with the help of teenaged ultra-human club girl Rebecca Rodriguez, daughter of Colonel Joachim “El Aguilá” Rodriguez, following a brutal fight just outside of Central Park.

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below the post.

* * *

Danny Delaney sat next to the bed where Jason King lay unconscious.  He’d brought one of his textbooks with him, but Jason was in bad shape, and it was tough to concentrate.  Jason had gone up against Blaine Winters and Rebecca Rodriguez both—a monumentally stupid move.  He’d come out of the fight with a skull fracture and three fractured cervical vertebrae, and on top of that, the E.F.D.’s docs thought that he might be going through the initial phases of withdrawal now that they’d leached the last traces of Amphetamine Methyl-Phencyclidine, also known as AMP, out of his system.  Why he’d been using a dangerous and highly addictive battle drug like AMP in the first place—apparently with some consistency for the better part of a week—was just one more mystery in a night that was already chock full of them.  Unfortunately, Jason was in no position to give anyone any answers.  What with the fight and the skull fracture, the E.F.D.’s docs had decided to put Jason into an induced coma. 

Compared to that, Corporate Contract Law wasn’t holding Danny’s attention very well.

Danny sighed, stared at his friend’s face, and knew himself to be the only person in the building who didn’t see Jason as a monster.  Even here.  Even in the E.F.D.’s very own headquarters.  Jason had a reptile’s skin, elongated facial features, and feral fangs and claws.  It was a decidedly non-human look.  Not so much ultra-human as anti-human.

Danny knew the feeling.

“You can’t go up against guys like Blaine and Rebecca, Jason,” Danny said.  “You knew that.  Hell, you’re the one that taught that to me.”  Danny shook his head.  “What the Hell were you thinking?”

Danny looked down to where his hand held the rail on Jason’s bed.  His own claws weren’t functional like Jason’s were.  Jason’s would rip through bone like it was paper-mache; Danny’s were basically just decorative—sharpened fingertips to match his red skin and devil’s horns.  Had God not also given Danny bat-wings and the gift of flight, Danny wondered if he might not have put a gun in his own mouth back when he was in high school.  Flying and having friendships with other extreme ultra-humans like Jason were the only things that had kept Danny going during the really bad times.  Danny shuddered to think of what it would have been like to meet normal-looking guys like Blaine Winters without having had others like himself—like Jason King—around to keep him grounded.

“He’s gonna be alright, y’know.”

Danny looked up, saw Blaine standing there.  He hadn’t heard the door open.

Wonderful.  Cue Mr. Perfect to spin me some bullshit. 

Danny packed the thought away, let military bearing drop down around him like a mask, and stood up.  “I know, sir.”

“The docs say that his regenerative processes have already kicked into overdrive.  He ought to be awake by the end of the week at the very latest.  And then we’ll find out what’s going on.  We’ll—“

 “I know all that, sir.  It doesn’t stop me worrying, but… Look, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I just stopped by to see how he was doing.  But I’ve got some real work to do, too.”

Blaine nodded.  “Right.  Well, don’t forget the briefing, Danny.  It’s at ten-hundred hours, and the Colonel’s expecting all of us to be there.  Don’t be late.  He’s been in a mood, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yessir,” Danny replied.  Privately, he couldn’t help hoping that Blaine would catch Hell for the way that things had gone down last night.  He knew it wouldn’t change anything, but that didn’t change how he felt.  He kept that packed inside, however.  All he said was, “I won’t be late, sir.  I promise.”

* * *

FBI Agent Nora Mahoney followed El Aguilá through the halls of the E.F.D.’s medical wing trying hard to fight down a feeling of unreality. 

No, she reminded herself, that’s not his name.  His name is Rodriguez, Colonel Joachim Rodriguez.  And you can’t forget that because it’s practically the first thing that he told you. “Please, call me ‘Colonel,’” he said.  “I hate it when people who know call me El Aguila.  It makes me feel like they’d rather know the legend than the man.  I’d like to think I’m more than just a bunch of stories you saw on TV one time.”

  Still, it was bizarre.  Nora had admired El Aguilá ever since she was a kid.  Everyone had.  He’d become a national hero way back in the Seventies, during the Great New York Riots.  And then there was that time he took on Doctor Destructo and The Ice Queen—the Radical Robot Rampage through Harlem.  That’d been back in Eighty-Six.  Nora had skipped school to watch it, hadn’t turned the TV off for three whole days.  And then there was that time when the Super-Socialist Society had attacked Wall Street…

Damn it, Nor thought.  That’s not what he wants.  And it’s not what you need for your career. 

The Colonel was a man, an officer in the U.S. Army, and a professional.  Moreover, Nora was herself a full agent of the FBI and not some stupid, starry-eyed kid.  Not anymore.  And the fact was, the Colonel had treated Nora with the utmost courtesy and respect from the get-go.  The least she could do in return was to try to see him as he really was and not as some stupid symbol of American freedom or whatever.  All that symbolic stuff obviously drove the man crazy.

And yet… El Aguilá! 

The one and only Eagle.  And no one called him that.  Apparently all those old, goofy nicknames were just for the press or for when the team was talking to each other on the radio anymore.  Nora had no idea what to make of that.

“… so we brought the suspect in last night,” the Colonel was saying, “on a backboard, as I’m sure you can imagine.  But that still leaves the problem of where the AMP came from.  And then, too, there’re the murders in the Bronx—the initial cause of the investigation.  My people aren’t trained to deal with any of that.  That’s why we need you.”

“Of course, Colonel,” Nora said automatically.  She’d been working homicide for three years, and this case represented a big opportunity.  “I’ll be more than happy to help out in any way I…” 

Nora’s voice trailed off when the door in front of them opened, and Satan himself stepped out into the hallway.

“Good morning, Danny,” the Colonel said.  “How’s Jason?”

The devil didn’t answer.  Instead, he starred at Nora, and despite herself, Nora starred right back.  A beat passed, and she felt her feet take a tiny step backwards.  Oh dear God, she thought, what have I gotten myself into?

Centurion Six: Issue 1, Finale!

Our Story So Far:

Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (EFD) are called out to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seems like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes stumble upon evidence that potentially implicates a former teammate—ultra-human ne’er-do-well Jason King.  However, before Blaine and his team can begin to investigate, they are attacked by some kind of killer cyborg robot-monkey-thing mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.

Meanwhile, teenaged ultra-human club girl Rebecca Rodriguez uses her Telekinesis to sneak out for a night on the town in Upper West Side Manhattan.  She meets up with her friends, uses her Empathy to talk their way into Pacha, and then parties like there’s no tomorrow. Then, having lost control of her powers, she then wanders drunkenly out into the streets at three in the morning.  There she meets Jason King…

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below the post.

* * *

“You couldn’t take me on your best day, Blaine,” Jason said, “and from the looks of things, today ain’t nearly your best—not by a long shot.”  He stood slowly and set Rebecca’s head carefully down on the bench where they’d been sitting.  “But if you need a kickin’, who am I to argue?”

Jason smiled again, and it was an alligator’s smile—all razor-sharp teeth and bad intentions.  At some level Blaine knew that Jason was right.  Blaine was strong; Jason was stronger.  Blaine was tough; Jason’s claws would go through Blaine’s oak-like physique without even slowing.  And Blaine had no answer at all for Jason’s teeth.  Why God had decided to fuse the skin and jaws of an alligator with the strength and claws of a grisly bear and then give that incredibly lethal combination to a troubled kid from a Syracuse orphanage was one of life’s great mysteries.  Truth was, if it came down to just their powers, Blaine was outclassed, and he knew it.

Fortunately, it never came down to just their powers.

Jason came on in a rush—faster than humanly possible, with the claws of his right hand extended to rip off Blaine’s face.  But Blaine had seen it coming, and he sidestepped up and left.  His right knee exploded into Jason’s torso, and Jason folded like a blanket.  He stumbled, and Blaine pushed him down and then kicked him in the solar plexus with enough force to dent steel.

“You’re slow, Jason,” Blaine said.  “You think you can drink and smoke your life away and then come in here and be the badass again like you never missed a beat.  Spendin’ time with all those loser skrags in the Bronx has given you a false sense of security, my man.”  Blaine pulled out his handcuffs again.  “But don’t worry, Jay.  We’ll get you cleaned up.  That I promise.”

On the ground, Jason was in obvious pain.  He curled up and rolled away, seemingly delaying the inevitable.  His breath came out in a hiss.  “You’re such a pretty-boy, Blaine.  Always ready to take a bow before the play’s even half over.” 

He closed his eyes.  “Dammit.  I didn’t want to have to do this…”

Before Blaine could react, Jason’s left hand came up, jamming whatever it was he’d had in that hand up into his own neck.  Jason inhaled sharply, and his eyes went wide.  Blaine could only watch as Jason let go a tiny syringe.  It tumbled to the ground and landed with a tink. 

The AMP from the drug lab, Blaine realized.  Oh Hell…

Suddenly, he was scrambling, racing to get his cuffs onto Jason’s wrists before the world’s most potent battle-drug turned his former friend into an honest-to-God unstoppable monster.  Blaine came down with his weight on Jason’s back and slapped a cuff onto Jason’s left wrist, but then Jason slapped Blaine’s hands away and rolled, throwing Blaine off balance.  Blaine tumbled, and Jason raked him with a handful of claws, drawing a line of fire across Blaine’s face.  Both men rolled to their feet, but Blaine was a good half step behind coming up. 

Jason licked blood off of his right-hand index-claw.  Already his pupils were blown, his reactions enhanced by the power of the drug.  He snarled, and it came out words.  “Now I’m gonna rip your goddamned head off, pretty boy.”

Blaine attacked in a rush, frantic to end it before the drug really took hold and the fight got out of hand, but Jason blocked the first two strikes with ease and then side-stepped the next two as if Blaine was moving in slow motion.  After that, it was like trying to punch the wind.  Blaine couldn’t connect, couldn’t even get close.  Then he was stumbling, seeing stars, head wracked with pain, and he hadn’t even seen Jason throw the punch.  Another brute strike landed on Blaine’s ear, and the world spun.  He swooned, and claws ripped across his chest, opening his wounds again and leaving several new ones.  Another swipe, and Blaine’s chest was a mass of blood and exposed muscle. 

Blaine staggered back, trying to put some distance between himself and Jason, but it was already too late.  Jason pounced.  Blaine felt the weight hit, felt Jason dragging him to the ground.  Jason tore a chunk out of Blaine’s shoulder with his teeth; the pain of the wound exploded across Blaine’s mind like a rip-saw.  Blaine cried out.  Jason laughed and then threw Blaine away like a toy.  Blaine knew a moment of weightlessness, and then he crashed headlong into the park bench where Rebecca lay oblivious.  The bench splintered on impact, but Rebecca only stirred.  Blaine rolled away, tried to get to his feet. 

His legs were Jell-O.

“I’m gonna eat your goddamned heart, Blaine,” Jason said.  Even through the blackness in his vision and the agony in his shoulder and chest, Blaine could hear the madness of the drug in Jason’s voice.  “I mean it.  I am gonna eat your heart.”

“Come on then, you bastard,” Blaine said.  His voice was little better than a whisper.  He still couldn’t quite get to his feet.  “Do your worst…”

And then Jason was on him, ripping and snarling.  Blood flew.  Blaine couldn’t get his hands up, couldn’t do anything to keep Jason away.  He tried to roll, but Jason’s claws pinned Blaine’s shoulders to the ground.  Jaws snapped in front of Blaine’s face. 

It wouldn’t be long before Jason finished it.

But then something hit Jason like the hammer of God, and he flew, striking the stone wall of the Park incredibly hard.  The impact was a meaty thunk; it sounded like a steak being slapped onto a cutting board but on a massive scale.

For a moment, the whole City was quiet.

Blaine struggled to move.  To one side he heard Rebecca retching.  When she finished, he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Blaine…?”

Blaine struggled to sit, managed to roll onto his side.  Where Jason had hit the wall, the wall itself was cracked and visibly dented.  Beneath the crack Jason lay in a heap, though with all that AMP in his system, Blaine wondered if his former friend could possibly be unconscious.  More likely the impact had simply shattered Jason’s skull and upper spine, leaving him paralyzed. 

Blaine reached up, grabbed Rebecca’s hand.  “Hey Jailbait.  How you feeling?”

“My head is fucking killing me.  You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

“Jason?  Not a chance.  That’s one tough son of a bitch.”

“God…  my dad is gonna kill me.”

That made Blaine smile.  “Not just you.  Look, Rebecca, why don’t you call the team?   Tell Zulu where we are, get somebody to swing by here and pick us.  And maybe you should put on my jacket.  I don’t know what that is that you’re wearing, but it’s definitely not clothes.”

Centurion Six: Issue #1, Part 7

Our Story So Far:

Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (EFD) are called out to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seems like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes stumble upon evidence that potentially implicates a former teammate—ultra-human ne’er-do-well Jason King.  However, before Blaine and his team can begin to investigate, they are attacked by some kind of killer cyborg robot-monkey-thing mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.

Meanwhile, teenaged ultra-human club girl Rebecca Rodriguez uses her Telekinesis to sneak out for a night on the town in Upper West Side Manhattan.  She meets up with her friends, uses her Empathy to talk their way into Pacha, and then parties like there’s no tomorrow. Having lost control of her powers, she then wanders drunkenly out into the streets of Manhattan at three in the morning.  And then she meets Jason King…

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below.

* * *

Blaine was at Pacha a few minutes later.  He whipped out his phone, pulled the screen to enlarge it to full size, showed it to the guy at the door.  “You seen this girl?”

“What?  Her old man beat you up or something?”  The bouncer smiled.  It was a nasty thing; Blaine felt the butt of some joke he didn’t understand.  “Look at you, all protective and shit.  Heh.  Young girl like that, you prob’ly had it comin’.”

Blaine started to get off the bike.  “Yeah?  If you knew she was underage, then why’d you let her in?”

“Whoa!  It ain’t like that, chief.  She—“

“Do I need to get out my badge and make this official?” Blaine asked, “or are you gonna tell me where she went?”

“Look, she just left, alright?  How the Hell do I know where she went?  Frankly, I was happy to see her go.”

“She just walked away?  You let her just wander off?”

“What, am I her father?  ‘Course I let her go.  It was like ten minutes ago.  Head towards the Park, you can’t miss her.”

Blaine got back on his bike, kicked it back to life.  His chest hurt, and he was starting to feel sore all over from the night’s activities, but he managed not to snarl.  Still, he could feel the bouncer’s eyes on him as he drove away.  He sighed.  When the best he could hope for was that Rebecca had merely passed out in some relatively safe corner of Central Park, well…  It’d been a rough night already, and it didn’t look like it was nearly over yet.

A minute later Blaine was cruising up Central Park West, taking it slow and trying to keep an eye on the dark spaces underneath the brick wall that ran up along that side of the park.  Rebecca had obviously left her phone at Pacha—that was how Blaine knew that she’d been to the club in the first place—so there was no way now to track her using Mainframe.  Which meant that he was down to good old-fashioned eyeball-searching.  He knew he at least had the right neighborhood, but beyond that—

Blaine stopped suddenly.  His blood froze. 

There, sitting on a park bench by the side of the road was a hulking figure in a black hoodie with the hood pulled up.  Blaine couldn’t see the man’s face save for his smile, which was unnaturally large.  Even from ten feet away, though, there were obviously fangs in that mouth.  And lying with her head in the man’s lap was Rebecca, obviously passed out cold.

Blaine’s mind’s eye skipped back to earlier in the night, to the sight of dead men lying in a drug house back in the South Bronx.  Men who’d been ripped open and damned-near shredded.

Jason King had already killed at least four men that night.  Meeting him here was no coincidence.

“Evenin’ Blaine,” Jason said.  “I was just on my way to come see you when I stumbled across little Rebecca here.  Thought you might appreciate me keepin’ an eye on her for you.”  He pulled back his hood.  His smile was ghastly, as always.  His skin was a mottled gray-green that looked more like scales than human flesh.  “I had nothing to do with this, by the way.  She was already wasted when I found her.  But I figured, hey, sittin’ here like this has gotta be the best way to get to see you alone, so…”  Jason shrugged.  “And besides, she really was happy to see me.  But hey!  Like I said, she was a little drunk.”

Blaine shook his head, tried to come to terms with the situation.  “I’ve been to the South Bronx, Jason.  I already know what happened up there.”

“As it happens, that’s just what I was comin’ to talk to you about.”

“Fine,” Blaine said.  He shut down his bike, kicked the kickstand, and reached into his saddlebags for a pair of handcuffs.  “Then be smart, for once.  Let Rebecca go, and we can talk.”

“What?  With me in handcuffs?  Be serious, Blaine.  I’m not gonna hurt Rebecca, and I didn’t come here to fight.  I really need your help on this.”

Blaine tried to force himself to stay calm.  “And you can have it.  But I gotta bring you in, Jason.  You killed four men.  Butchered them.”  Despite himself, Blaine shivered.  “I saw the bodies.”

“You’re such a panty-waist, Blaine.  Y’know, your father would hear me out.  He’d have listened first and worried about law and order and all that crap later.  You know he would have.”

“You murdered four fucking people, Jason!  Ripped ‘em apart!”  Blaine shook his head.  “No way.  There is no way you just walk away from this, and I sit here and pretend like it never happened.  No way.  Not this time.  Put Rebecca down and come in with me, and then we can talk.  I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be.”

“You self-righteous prick.  You think you know so much?  Already know what I did and why?  ‘Cause I’m just some kind’a bad seed or something, and that’s as far as it goes?  Go fuck yourself, Blaine.  Seriously.  Fuck.  You.” 

Jason tensed then smiled.  He reached into his coat, came out with something small in his left hand.  His right hand was poised over Rebecca’s neck.  He stroked her throat with his claws.  His touch was gentle, but there was no missing the menace in his gesture. 

“I should’a known better’n to expect something from you, Blaine.  You’ve always been ready to see me rot for one thing or another.  Why should it be any different this time?  You’ve got everything, and I’ve got shit.  Story of our lives.”  Jason stroked Rebecca’s neck meaningfully, but she was out cold.  “Look, just gimme your bike, Blaine.  Gimme your bike, and you have my word that you’ll never see me again.”

Blaine climbed off his bike, rolled his shoulders.  Took off his jacket. 

“Fine.  You want my bike?  Come and take it, asshole.”

Centurion Six: Issue #1, Part 6

Our Story So Far:

Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (EFD) are called out to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seems like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes are attacked by some kind of killer cyborg robot-monkey mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.

Meanwhile, teenaged ultra-human club girl Rebecca Rodriguez uses her Telekinesis to sneak out for a night on the town in Upper West Side Manhattan.  She meets up with her friends, uses her Empathy to talk their way into Pacha, and then parties like there’s no tomorrow. Having lost control of her powers, she then wanders drunkenly out into the streets of Manhattan at three in the morning.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the short piece this week.  It's vacation, and I've taken a break from work of all kinds this week. 

As always, to read the story from the beginning click the Centurion Six keyword down below.

* * *

The streets of New York were empty at three in the morning, and Blaine made good time on his ride back to the Upper West Side.  He’d stopped at an Inwood convenience store to clean out the worst of his wounds, slap a compression bandage on the hole in his chest, and throw on a clean white tee shirt, but he knew he still looked like a mess.  The docs at the EFD had once measured his “invulnerability” and determined that his skin was about as tough as cured leather and that his underlying musculature had about the same consistency as oak.  As it happened, Blaine reflected, that was enough to save him from a few indirect explosions and some small caliber machine-pistol fire.  It was not, however, proof against a super-stealth robot-monkey-thing wielding very sharp tempered steel knives. 

Still, Blaine thought, his wounds could wait.  Ditto for why a super-stealth robot-monkey-thing was even involved in what had appeared to be a simple gangland homicide case.  The technology involved in that thing’s appearance was impressive—and more than a little scary—but perhaps not quite as scary as the fact that the evidence suggested that Blaine’s one-time friend Jason King might be involved in whatever-the-Hell was really going on back in the South Bronx.  If Jason was really involved, that was bad news.  Very bad news.  Especially if he’d started killing people.

But all of that could wait.  First Blaine had to find Rebecca—Jailbait—before she got into God knew what kind of trouble in some big city club at three in the morning.  And just as importantly, before Rebecca’s dad Colonel Joachim Rodriguez, callsign Águila—yes the Eagle, that Eagle—found out that Blaine’s team had again let his precious daughter sneak out while the Colonel himself was away on some super hush-hush high priority mission with the EFD’s foreign services branch.  Because after that happened, Rebecca’s dad was likely to kick Blaine’s ass up between his ears.  Add in the disaster with the South Bronx homicide case—one dead cop, two massive explosions resulting in the utter destruction of all evidence at the crime scene, and the fact that Blaine and his team had let the super-stealth robot-monkey-thing get away on top of everything else—and frankly Blaine wasn’t sure that his career would survive if in addition to all of that Rebecca also managed to get herself into some kind of trouble downtown, too.

Blaine gunned the throttle on his bike, and the lights of the City sped by.  He was almost to the club where Mainframe had said Rebecca had gone, but somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already too late.

The problem was that Rebecca, like most of Blaine’s friends, was an ultra-human.  She was, in fact, an incredibly powerful ultra-human, one whose gifts were so extreme that she often had trouble controlling them.  And she liked to party.  Hence her callsign, Jailbait.  It was hard enough keeping a girl like that out of trouble in the Mundie world.  Give that same girl a set of super-powers-on-overdrive that she could barely control, and suddenly keeping her out of trouble became a virtual impossibility.

Bottom line, Blaine needed to find her ASAP.  Where Jailbait was concerned, a lot could happen in a very short amount of time.

Centurion Six: Issue #1, Part 5

Our Story So Far:

Captains Blaine “Centurion Six” Winters and Jacob “Zulu” Mbeke of the New York State National Guard Enhanced Forces Division (EFD) are called out to consult on a multiple homicide in the south Bronx.  The case seems like routine “skrag” gang violence until our heroes are attacked by some kind of killer cyborg robot-monkey mounting a highly advanced stealth/security system and a small-caliber machine pistol.  There are several large explosions, and what looked like a routine case suddenly becomes an unholy debacle.

Meanwhile, teenaged ultra-human club girl Rebecca Rodriguez uses her Telekinesis to sneak out for a night on the town in Upper West Side Manhattan.  She meets up with her friends, uses her Empathy to talk their way into Pacha, and gets ready to party like there’s no tomorrow.

Note: To read the story from the beginning, click the Centurion Six keyword down below.

* * *

Shelby landed, looking like an angel—white diaphanous nightgown lit from beneath by the redirected photons she channeled to access her ultra-human gifts, long blond hair streaming in the breeze, regal presence hung about her like a cloak.  The cops starred, as well they might.  Somewhere a woman prayed.  Personally, Blaine thought that Shelby’s flight goggles ruined the image.  Or maybe it was her fuzzy slippers.

Blaine rolled over, checked the police sergeant’s heartbeat, let himself collapse a little when he realized that there was nothing there.  The man was dead.  He looked closer, saw at least a dozen shrapnel wounds amongst the blood and gore of the sergeant’s chest, neck, and face, and knew at once that the man had been killed in the initial ambush-explosion. 

Above Blaine, Zulu let go of his invisibility.  He showed up standing over Blaine with his pistol out, searching the wreckage of the ruined drug house.  “You okay, Chief?”

“I’m a little cut up.  Looks worse than it is—probably.”  Blaine pulled himself up to his hand and knees, looked around.  There was a piece of glass, shrapnel from the explosion, stuck in his upper arm and a good deal of blood on the ground—his, the cop’s, even the monkey-robot-thing’s.  He pulled the glass out and grimaced; more blood flowed down around his biceps and elbow.   “Any sign of that thing?”

“No.  Shelby whacked it pretty good.  There may be some pieces, but—“

“I got a piece right here,” Blaine said.  He held up the thing’s arm where he’d been holding it when his lieutenant—First Lieutenant Shelby “Sunburst” Sexton—hit it with a massive focused photon-laser pulse.  “But I don’t think that she killed it.  I felt it turn and jump after the explosion.  I doubt we’ll find anything now.”  Blaine threw the piece to Zulu.  “What d’you make of that?”

“No fucking clue.  Some kind of robot-thing with fur?  We’ll have to ask the Colonel, see what he says.”

“Yeah,” Blaine said.  He’d known that already, but wasn’t looking forward to the interview session and attendant After Action Review. 

On his feet now, Blaine saw cops approaching, guessed that they were ready to come out now that all the craziness was over.  One of the younger ones was the first on the scene—a blonde kid about Shelby’s age, early twenties, twenty-three at the most.  He was a well-muscled kid, but his eyes were wide, and he looked a little frantic.

“Sergeant Malloy!  Is he—?“

“I’m sorry, officer.  There was nothing else I could do.”

The kid looked confused, angry.  “But I thought…  I mean, you’re supposed to be—“ He cut himself off, made a visible effort to pull himself together.  “But aren’t you--?“

“Look, I’m sorry,” Blaine said, “If there’s anything else I can do…”

A second cop, an older man, came up and put his arm around the kid.  His voice was cold.  “You’ve done quite enough, Captain.  Us regular folk’ll take it from here.  Probably what we should’a done in the first place, you ask me.”  To the kid, he said, “Come on, Jimmy.”

A beat passed before Zulu grabbed Blaine’s arm.  “Come on, Blaine.  This ain’t part of the gig, man.”

Blaine let himself be led away from the scene, realized as he walked exactly how many times he’d been cut during the fight.  He had at least a dozen different wounds, most of which were still bleeding.  His uniform was in tatters.

“Any of that hurt?” Zulu asked.

Blaine shook his head.  “I can’t really feel it.  Except where that thing got me in the chest, that one hurts like Hell.  But I guess I’ll be alright with a couple of stitches.”

Zulu shook his head.  “Glad I’m not the team’s tank.”  He looked up, smiled at Shelby.  “Nice nightgown, LT.  But it’s the slippers with the goggles that make it pop.”

Shelby started to say something, but Blaine cut her off.  “Where the Hell is Danny, lieutenant?”

“Seriously?  You come over here all covered in blood, and the first thing you can say is, ‘Where’s Danny?’  What the Hell’s the matter with you, sir?  I flew here at Mach 2 in my freakin’ nightgown and, by the looks of it, that’s what saved your ass.”  Shelby took a breath.  “But don’t worry, I’m sure Danny will be along as soon as he can be.”

Blaine took a breath, blew it out.  He suddenly felt tired.  “You blew up our crime scene, Shelby.  Now we’ll be lucky if we ever figure out what happened here.  We—“  He shook his head, cut himself off.  “You know what?  Forget it.  I’ll do it.”  He walked over to his bike, grabbed a spare earbud out of his saddlebag, and clipped it to his ear. 

“Mainframe, you up?  Account for all team members, and dispatch Eagle One to do an orbital sweep of the area, wide area search.  Look for any anomalous energy readings and/or any readings that look like they might be associated with stealth technology.  Acknowledge.”

COMMAND ACKNOWLEDGED.

“Thank you.”  Blaine turned around.  “Shelby, you’re released.  Go home, start working on your report.  Zee, you go see if the cops need anything else, see if there’s anything they need us to do.”

“Will do, boss,” Zulu said.

“But—“

“But nothing, Shelby.  You get out of here now before the cops realize what really happened out here and start talking about property damage.  Or, God forbid, Reckless Endangerment.”

“What are you gonna do?” Zulu asked.

Blaine smiled.  “I’m gonna go see if I can find somebody to gimme some stitches.  Then I’m gonna go grab a shower.”

Mainframe interrupted.  TEAM REPORT READY.

“Go.”

CALLSIGNS ZULU AND SUNBURST ARE CO-LOCATED WITH CALLSIGN CENTURION SIX.  CALLSIGN CRIMSON ONI IS ENROUTE, APPROXIMATELY TWO-POINT-THREE MILES SOUTH-SOUTHWEST, CURRENTLY LOCATED 200 METERS ABOVE THE EAST RIVER.  CALLSIGN JAILBAIT IS CURRENTLY LOCATED AT THE ESTABLISHMENT PACHA, LOCATED AT FORTY-SEVEN WEST FORTY-SEVENTH STREET.  SHE IS APPROXIMATELY TEN FEET BELOW GROUND LEVEL.

Blaine stopped in his tracks.  “What?”

REPEAT: CALLSIGN JAILBAIT—ALSO KNOWN AS REBECCA RODRIGEUZ—IS CURRENTLY LOCATED AT PACHA, A BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENT LOCATED AT FORTY-SEVEN WEST FORTY-SEVENTH STREET.

“Damn it!” Blaine said.  He turned around and started walking back towards his bike.  “I thought you and Danny were watching her, Shelby.”

“Don’t hang this on me, Blaine.  She’s a big girl, and you know it.”

Blaine mounted his bike.  Zulu and Shelby both looked alarmed.  Zulu said, “Where the Hell you going, Blaine?  Don’t you need to get some stitches or something?”

“I’ll take care of it later.”  He kicked the bike to life, and the Ducati’s engine roared.  “You’re in charge, Zee.  Call me when you’ve got something to report.”

“Blaine wait!  This is crazy!  You’re still—”

Blaine shook his head and roared off into the night.

* * *

Rebecca managed to stumble out of the club before she was sick.  But that was it.  Her vomit came forth in a torrent just past the outside doors, splattering the gutters on the far side of the by now familiar velvet rope.  A small line of would-be club-goers stood just beyond the doors waiting to get in; old-looking frat-boys cheered when she hurled.  The cheers turned to catcalls when she stood up, but Rebecca’s head hurt too much for her to even consider turning.

Suddenly, the cute bouncer was standing next to her.  “Rough night, little girl?”  He shook his head.  “I tried to warn you.”

“Get fucked,” Rebecca replied. 

She stood straight, tried to muster as much dignity as she could.  Then she spread her arms, figuring that if she could use her powers to glide off into the night, at least these dumb fuckers would know she wasn’t some kind of loser Mundie like them.  But her head was killing her, and the world chose exactly that moment to take a drunken lurch.  Rebecca stumbled and almost fell, and this time even the bouncer joined in the derisive cheering. 

Mortified, Rebecca ran.

She made it maybe a block before her right heel caught in a cobblestone and snapped.  Rebecca stumbled again, and this time she went down.  It didn’t hurt, but the impact was jarring, and it set the world to spinning again.  Rebecca reached for her phone, figured fuck it, she’d just go ahead and call Blaine and take her lumps, but then she realized that she’d left her purse and practically everything she owned back withPacha’s coat-check girl.  She sighed and laid back, put her hands on her head and wished to Hell that her head would stop hurting.

“Can it be?  Is that the precious Jailbait I see before me—all grown up and lying in a gutter?”  A whistle sounded from the darkness, followed by a laugh.  “Does the Colonel know you’re out this late, little girl?”

“What?”  Rebecca said.  The voice sounded familiar, the sarcasm friendly.  “Blaine?” 

A figure emerged from the shadows.  He was tall, and he wore a pair of torn old blue jeans and a black hoodie with the hood pulled up.  Rebecca shuddered, but she felt amusement and a sense of relief radiating off of the man through her Empathy.  He pulled back the hood to reveal scaly grey skin, an unnaturally wide smile, and pointed shark-like teeth.  At his sides, his hands curled like claws.

“Nah, not Blaine, precious.  But I was hopin’ to find him, if you know where he is.”

Rebecca was thunderstruck.  “Jason?  Jason King?”

Centurion Six: Inspirations and Background

If you’re wondering, a lot of the Centurion Six story was inspired by the guys in my office and our many discussions on topics far and wide, especially those that have to do with international finance and the value of a person’s work in an age where anything and everything can be accomplished by robots.  Or, to put it another way, how will anyone afford to buy anything when all of society’s work is performed by robots that’re owned by the nation’s Capitalist classes?  What’s the future of a consumer-driven society whose members’ work is mostly irrelevant—and therefore worthless?  My friend Zahid, whom we call Zee, brought the idea up a few months ago, and we’ve been discussing it ever since as a kind of running thought experiment.  I threatened at the time to start writing a story about it, and now I have actually started… though not, perhaps, as it pertains to the core issues. 

So… how long will it be before we’re all replaced by hyper-intelligent robot-monkeys?  I don’t personally know, but given the relentless march of innovation over the past two decades, it seems somewhat inevitable.  What we’ll all do to earn money after the robots are doing all the work is anyone’s guess.

And then, too, I don’t think I’ve made much of a secret of the fact that a lot of this story was inspired by some recent stuff out of Marvel comics.  I was specifically inspired by the company’s Avengers vs. X-Men event, and then too, I spent some time reading some of the old Avengers tales from the 90s and early 00s in preparation for the opening of the Avengers movie.  After awhile, what I specifically started asking myself was this: What happens next?  Presumably Marvel’s going to wrap up AvX pretty soon and get down to the business of re-ordering its universe in preparation for the Next Big Event, which has already been announced as the Age of Ultron or some such thing.  So all the fictional folk who’re currently fighting will have to make peace and go back to being friends, and I started wondering how something like that might work in the Real World.  I mean, you just can’t turn that sort of thing off, can you?  In reality, wars end, and life goes on, but folks hold grudges.  Sometimes grudges become feuds, and the feuds carry over across generations. 

So in addition to worrying about the killer robot-monkeys of tomorrow, I also started to worry about how Captain America’s kid would relate to the inevitable—but as yet inconceivable—child of Scott Summers and Emma Frost.  Would they get along?  And if they did, what would their parents think?

For better or worse, these are the thoughts that keep me awake at night.  Ultimately, it’s these kinds of things that fire me up, that get me thinking and writing, dreaming at odd moments on the subway and whatnot. 

That probably makes me a geek, but that’s okay.  I can live with it.