Marvel Superheroes - Heroes of Silverage City UPDATED 5/19

[Dr Midnight]

Arrgh! I had JUST updated the story after two months of nothing and within hours the whole thing crashed. I guess I'll start reposting... Maybe I'll take it slowly so I can get new listeners and let them enjoy the whole episodic thing.

This was a three session game of Marvel Superheroes (the classic FASERIP system). Instead of letting the players pick their powers, I had them choose what the characters were like before they GOT their powers. I chose the powers and generated the heroes... then the players discovered that they had superpowers as their characters did.

For a three session game, I went kinda nuts... the entire write-up is going to be around 35,000 words.

Starting soon...

 

[Dr Midnight]

Herbie Miller looked around the bus as it left the parking lot of Buscema High and hit the open road for the heart of Silverage city. Of course he was the last one on, again, and of course he’d now have to find a seat to share among a sea of people that hated him. Again. The 11th grade field trip to the Silverage Science Museum was underway.

Herbie was the scrawniest fifteen year-old in the state, he felt sure of it. His greasy hair clung to his forehead with a sheen and his thick-rimmed glasses turned with his head as he searched for a seat. His shoulders hunched in the posture of someone who doesn’t want to be seen. His voice was a nasal whine, and he didn’t use it to ask anyone for a seat. He just stood there until they told him the seat was taken, go away.

Moving toward the back, he saw Claire. Claire Anna Tibbits, the cute punk girl he’d had his eye on since seventh grade. Not that she’d ever noticed him. She liked to be known as Cat. She was gazing out the window, and Herbie took advantage of her distraction to run his eyes over her slender neck and cheekbones once again. Her hair was done up in two bright pink pigtails that pouted from the top of her head.

“Take a seat, Herbie,” Mr. Gola’s voice droned. Herbie returned to scanning the seats for an opening. Behind Cat he saw Donovan Maddox. The sullen, chunky youth was leaning his head against the window with his headphones on, locked away in his mind, somewhere, as it wandered. Beside him sat the inscrutable Latverian exchange student named Gustav Stammler. Stammler was looking at Maddox, apparently trying to puzzle out why the person in the seat next to them would wear a Slayer t-shirt and forego any attempts to be presentable. Not that Stammler was much more open to interpretation- he was a broad-shouldered, good-looking young man that no one here in the states could read. His face was plain and ever half-smirking, his demeanor distant and not quite cold.

Across the aisle sat Emerson, the son of two noted physicists. He was kind enough, but the seat beside him was filled. He scribbled notes in his pad concerning gluons and their relationships to other things Herbie didn’t care about. Emerson was a geek, like Herbie, but at least Emerson had his brain going for him. Herbie wasn’t especially smart, making life’s handouts an even washout where Herbie was concerned.

In front of Emerson sat an entire clique, spread across three seats- Mace Terryl, his horrid girlfriend Hammer, Dick Jacques, Glenn Bristol. At their head sat the two ringleaders of the group, Jeremy Mullen and Jacob Jones, known as JJ. Those two were star quarter-backers on the football game-team, or whatever their respective positions were called. Herbie didn’t know. In front of them sat Herbie’s last chance for a seat… Steven Piercey. Steven was an underdeveloped, bright-eyed AV club nerd that irritated everyone, even Herbie. His hair was a large mushroom cap of blonde, and his camera sat in his lap, waiting for an opportunity to snap a photo for the school paper.

Steven looked up at Herbie, smiled, and patted the seat. “Have a seat, Herbie!”

“Yeah, have a seat, gaywad,” JJ sniped.

Herbie sat, saying nothing. JJ reached back and slapped Emerson’s notebook out of his hands, laughed, then bounced his football off of Herbie’s head. “Nice catch, nerd,” Jeremy said. He seemed to decide he enjoyed picking on Herbie today. He leaned forward and said “Hey, excited for the field trip, Her-beee? Maybe you’ll get to hump one of the experiments.” Herbie’s brow knotted- he was used to unprovoked insults, but Jeremy was ruthless sometimes. Better to just ignore it and let it pass.

JJ said “Leave him alone. Dumb geek has enough to worry about, considering his mom’s a farm animal.”

Mr. Gola stood up. He looked like a pudgy Leonard Nimoy, which fit his role as enthusiastic science teacher. “Is there a problem, Jones?”

“No sir.”

“Well, good, we’re almost there. Around 11:30 we’re sitting in on the lightning rod exhibit- we’re going to see real lightning culled from the approaching storm cloud, right before our eyes. Is anyone else excited?”

“No,” Mullen laughed, believing it wit.

Emerson raised his hand. “I am!”

“You would be. Gaydo.”

Gola ignored that. “We’re starting with the Evolution of Man.”

JJ proudly said “It ended right here.”

Donovan, from his seat across the aisle, added “Yeah, it did.” JJ frowned, trying to puzzle out if he’d been insulted or not. Donovan was a large guy and one of the few people in school that was unafraid to tangle with the jocks.

Herbie sighed to himself. Life was an endless gauntlet of unhappy events and people that didn’t want to be around him. Today was one more day to slog through.

The bus crawled on to Silverage. The city’s skyline was dark under the approaching thunderhead, which was pregnant with lightning.

Next: The Exhibit

 

[sniffles]

I feel for you, Dr. Midnight! I lost several months of my story hours, but at least I didn't lose the whole thing! I hope the reposts catch some new readers. This has been a very enjoyable story hour.

 

[Dr Midnight]

The bus emptied onto the steps, and the field trip began in earnest. The first exhibit was indeed The Evolution of Man. Next was Magnetism and the Human Mind, followed by Why Fossil Fuel? Each exhibit was duller than the next, until 11:00, when they stepped into an exhibit everyone seemed to have some interest in.

The Science of the Superhuman was a lavish exhibit detailing how a number of superhuman powers work, and examples of how some heroes achieved their powers. The students walked into the exhibit, past a podium reading

~funded by Charles Xavier~
In hopes of spreading understanding in the face of the unfamiliar​

The first stop in the exhibit was a plaster statue of Captain America. A recorded voice piped up from hidden speakers as the group positioned themselves. “Captain America was an early volunteer in one of the US’s most popular scientific holy grail searches: the creation of the super-soldier. As an outstanding example of how science can create a superhuman, he volunteered to be transformed into the marvel we know him as today when he was still an anonymous citizen of the country he loved. There have been many failed examples of super-soldiers since, but Cap remains to show us that there’s no reason to quit trying.”

The group moved on to a cheerless statue of a dimly-lit, angry green monster. “The ‘Incredible Hulk’ is a more tragic example of what happens when science creates a superhuman. Radiologist Bruce Banner was bombarded with gamma radiation when he ran out onto a testing field. For reasons yet unknown to scientists, he was turned into a raging monster whenever Banner becomes angered. A cure for his unfortunate condition is still being sought.”

The next statue was a generic human form, with a series of chromosomes and symbols painted onto the chest. “Mutants are a hot topic in today’s newspapers, but despite what you may have heard, mutants are no more than genetic anomalies. Theory suggests that the human genome has begun to take several gigantic leaps forward with randomly born humans, giving them powers unlike anyone around them, making them unique… making them mutants.”

“Frickin’ museum’s full of mutie-lovers,” Jeremy muttered as they moved on to the next statue.

“Thor claims to be the actual god of classic Norse mythology. This remains unconfirmed, but no one can doubt that his ‘Uru hammer’, Mjolnir, gives him unbelievable powers and abilities. The science of Thor is one of our greatest mysteries: if he’s really a god, then what does that mean for what we know of science? If science and magic truly coexist in our reality, what can we really claim to know as scientists?”

The next portion of the exhibit was a series of four statues- one of a flaming man, one of a rock-man, one of a man with graying temples and elongated arms and legs, and one of a woman, formed from transparent glass. “The Fantastic Four are intrepid adventurers that frequently pit themselves against the likes of Dr. Doom and Galactus, but did you know that they were once scientists? Reed Richards and his crew were bombarded by cosmic radiation while on an exploratory mission at the fringe of earth’s orbit. They each developed their own remarkable yet unique powers. Richards has done countless studies on their powers and has made several discoveries, but what continues to puzzle him is this: how did four people, struck by the same circumstance, develop four very different kinds of abilities?”

The tour came to an end with a mural of a number of the more heroic heroes of the world, painted in elegant watercolors. “In closing, know that we only know so much about superheroes. Some are willing to come forward and make themselves available to science. Others are more secretive, keeping to the shadows and fighting for good or ill well away from the public eye. Rest assured of one thing- the nation’s top scientists will continue to toil to discover just what creates superheroes, and what can be done to reverse or provoke these conditions in the future. Imagine a world without a Magneto, a world where you can fly wherever you want, or a world wherein every police officer has a ‘danger sense.’ There are no limits for how high we can fly once science unlocks the key… to the superhuman.”

The group seemed satisfied, and left the exhibit having animated discussions of just what powers this person wanted, or what that person would fight for if he had powers. Nothing appeals to the escapist teenage mind, Mr. Gola thought, quite like the idea of super powers and what one would do with them. “Come on, it’s time for the lightning rod experiment,” he said.

“He said ‘rod,’” JJ chortled.

“When’s lunch?” Dick Jacques moaned. He was a huge, pudge-cheeked oaf, and it seemed lunch was all he ever cared about.

“12:15 sharp,” Gola replied.

“Soon enough, I guess. Let’s get this over with.”

The students filed into the main exhibit hall, an enormous auditorium with stadium seating surrounding a platform. A telescoping lightning rod was centered on the platform, pointing upwards to a skylight. The storm rumbled overhead and the sky seemed almost black with roiling clouds. Everyone took their seat and an excited-looking scientist began discussing the effects of lightning upon science through history, and what benefits could be wrung from capturing lightning’s energy in the future.

The skylight above cracked into six segments and began withdrawing into the ceiling, opening a hole for the rod, which began its telescopic climb into the stormy sky. The pole rose about fifty feet above ceiling level. “Now,” the scientist said, “we only needed to watch and wait for the fireworks to begin. “

The auditorium was silent, all heads craned upward. Three minutes passed. Someone coughed. Two more minutes passed. People began to shift uncomfortably and rub their aching necks. The scientist began wringing his hands. “Lightning can’t be predicted, really, in the strictest sense… perhaps a few more moments will tell.”

The grueling exhibit went on until JJ looked at his watch. “12:16. Lunchtime.” He and his friends got up.

Mr. Gola nodded sadly. “Looks like this one didn’t pan out. Let’s go to lunch, people.” The students began filing out. The other museumgoers followed, leaving a very sad looking scientist staring up to the rod and the storm beyond.

Back on the bus, Herbie walked toward his lunchbag. He was starving. When he picked it up, it was snatched out of his hands. “Thanks, dork,” JJ said.

“That’s mine,” Herbie protested meekly.

“Was. Now it’s mine.”

“Give it back, JJ,” someone said. It was Cat, suddenly standing at Herbie’s side. Someone was sticking up for him, and it was her. His face flushed.

Jeremy sneered. “Oooh, the dyke’s in love with the dork. What a friggin’ surprise.”

“What’s the problem here,” Mr. Gola said from the head of the bus, standing up. “JJ, did you take Herbie’s lunchbag?”

“No sir,” JJ said. “This is mine.”

Gola planted his hands on his hips and looked to Herbie. “Herbie? Is he telling the truth?”

Herbie hesitated and muttered “Yes, that’s his. I think I left mine back in one of the exhibit halls.” His shame was doubled as he felt Cat’s disgusted stare. He couldn’t face her.

“Better go get it then.”

Herbie stepped off the bus, beneath the thundering stormcloud. No rain had broken, and there hadn’t been any lightning yet. Herbie cursed himself and began walking to the museum with his head down. Behind him he heard “Ugh. Peanut butter and jelly?!” The sandwich Herbie’s mother had prepared for him landed outside of the school bus, where it was tossed from JJ’s window. Herbie looked at it, considered, and began to walk towards it. Maybe it was still good…

Someone stepped on the sandwich as they passed. Herbie stood staring down at his sandwich with a filthy footprint in the middle of it. Peanut butter and jelly oozed out of the sides into the cracks of the sidewalk. Herbie’s jaw locked as he ground his teeth, and his face was the deep red of humiliation. His hands, firmly planted in his pockets, were coiled into fists.

Next: Origin

 

[Mimic]

Looks like a good story, I will definately have to keep reading this one.

 

[Dr Midnight]

When lunch was over, everyone went to the next exhibit. This was in a newly constructed wing of the museum, and wasn’t even functioning yet. Here, an immense machine reached up almost to the top of the one hundred foot-tall ceiling. The storm continued to churn as seen through the glass dome arcing over the machine’s majesty.

“The Transatomic Superconductor,” Mr. Gola announced proudly from his place with students behind the dividing rope. Museum guests were only allowed to see this project, which was currently in construction, from the safety of the entryway. The unlit behemoth was a tower of plastic, glass, steel, unlit diodes, and thousands of pieces that looked like they moved. The tower was capped by a chrome sphere that was maybe twenty feet in diameter.

“This machine, when operational, may just change the course of science. It’s suggested that Transatomic Superconductivity will change the very air around its bulbous metal head at the atomic level. The implications’ full breadth are as yet unknown, but it’s believed that this could be the key to transmutation: shifting things from one base element to the next. The dream of alchemists of old.”

“Bo-ring,” Jeremy groaned.

Donovan said “Maybe this thing could change the air in your head to something useful, Mullen.”

Jeremy was about to reply to the burnout metalhead when he heard a snicker from the group. His head whirled and he saw Herbie cover his mouth. Herbie’s eyes went wide as he saw Jeremy’s gaze smolder over him. Jeremy mouthed dead at Herbie. Dead.

Mr. Gola said “The Superconductor won’t be operational until next year. We’ll have to make sure we come back and see it in action.”

The group filed out. Only Cat noticed as Herbie, walking behind her and slightly to her left, was suddenly gone. It almost looked like he’d been yanked back into the room as he was leaving. “Did anyone else see that?”

Back in the Transatomic Superconductor room, the doors closed and Herbie was slammed up against the wall. “You’ve got some nerve, dorkwad, laughing at me like that.” Jeremy’s eyes were wide and his teeth were bared.

JJ laughed. “C’mon, man, leave him alone. The worm’s nothing to get worked up about.”

Hammer said “Smash him, get him.” She was known for egging people into fights and watching with excitement as the fists flew. Mace, her disinterested rocker boyfriend, sneered smugly. Dick Jacques nodded agreement, pounding a fat fist into his hand. Beside him, Glenn Bristol giggled.

“Looks like waste makes paste,” Mullen said. He pulled his fist back.

“Let him go,” Cat said from the door as she walked in.

“Make me, feminazi.”

“I’ll make you,” said Donovan as he came in behind Cat. Behind him followed Emerson and Gustav.

Emerson said “We’ll make you,” without much confidence. Gustav, behind him, said nothing. The look on his face could have been amused curiosity.

The two groups stared each other down. Hammer’s eyes moved nervously from face to face. Glenn’s tongue flicked in and out of his mouth. Donovan held a firm, steady gaze with Jeremy. JJ crossed his arms and stared at Emerson until he blinked.

Finally, Jeremy broke. “You’re lucky today, nerd. As soon as your babysitters aren’t nearby, though… you’re done.” With done, he pushed Herbie back against the wall. The scrawny youth flailed and bashed against a wall of levers and buttons.

As he slumped to the ground, the buttons on the wall lit up. One of the levers had been switched. A humming noise filled the air. The sound of small mechanical cogs beginning to turn, then whir, then buzz. There was a faint sound that rose from a low drone to a strobe-squeal. The Transatomic Superconductor’s tower was working. The head began to glow, dimly, with a purplish light. The a peal of thunder filled the room, adding to the noise.

Both groups stared up at the Superconductor, having forgotten their squabble. Jeremy took a step back. The noise, and glow, was growing.

Herbie, with his mouth hanging open, asked “What’s happening?”

The lightning bolt smashed through the skylight dome, into the chrome head of the Superconductor. Glass showered the entire room, and bright purplish lightning shot from the chrome sphere, washing over and through everything.

For Herbie, there was only a crash, blinding light, then silence and darkness.

Next: Different

 

[Rybaer]

Great to hear that we'll get to see this story concluded. I thoroughly enjoyed reading everything up until the crash.

 

[Dr Midnight]

Emerson was being shaken. He opened his eyes, very slowly. Someone was standing over him. It was a man in a blue worksuit wearing large orange-tinted glasses. He had receding silvery hair and a white mustache. “Hey, hey kid, are you alright?”

Emerson blinked. “Who are you?”

The man pointed to his name-patch:

Stan​

“I’m the janitor. What happened here, are you guys okay?”

“I think so.” Emerson sat up, rubbing his head. What had happened? He was lying on the ground in the science museum. The others were awakening around him.

“Did we fall asleep,”Cat asked.

JJ muttered “Something about big… purple.” He looked around, and saw that his friends were gone. He was stuck here with the crusty geezer and the do-good squad.

Donovan stood up. “There was a flash, and I remember falling. Hey… what time is it?”

Stan looked at his watch. “Uhh… looks to be 2:55.”

Gustav said “The bus leaves at 3 pm sharp, if I recall.”

JJ pushed through the doors. “Crap. Let’s go.”

As they left, Donovan was last. He looked back to see the Transatomic Superconductor standing there. It was slightly misshapen, and some of the pieces seemed fused… it was melted together now, just a useless piece of slag. He put his headphones on and followed the others.

Stan watched them go, then turned and stared at all the broken glass littering the place. He sighed then got to work.

The kids joined their classmates on the bus, which was idling and waiting for them. “Where were you,” Mr. Gola asked. “Emerson, you missed the exhibit on thermoreactive polymers!”

“Yeah, sorry,” Emerson said, genuinely sorry to have missed that. He moved to the back and sat in his seat.

“You would be sorry,” JJ said as he flumped down into the seat.

Steven Piercey asked “Really, where did you go? You were away from the group for a long time.”

Cat, who wasn’t in the mood, said “We were all smoking a joint in the bathroom, got a problem with that?” Steven’s mouth hung open in response and he stared in shock.

Herbie sat down. “She’s kidding.”

JJ punched Jeremy’s arm. “Where’d you go, dickweeds? Left me all alone with the dice-rollers.”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. “Had to come back to the bus. Didn’t feel good.”

“Aww, need to change your pad?”

Jeremy glared at him. It was a look that said I’m not in the mood. Back off. JJ shrugged and put his feet up on the back of Herbie’s seat.

Herbie flinched back from the shoes that were six inches from his head, and as always, said nothing. He looked down at his hands, tucked safely away between his knees. Why was he such a scrawny nothing? He’d been pushed around and had to be saved by a group of other people that weren’t even his friends. In the end, he hadn’t even tried to begin to stick up for himself. Herbie thought about the failings of his life on the whole long ride back to Buscema High.

Back at the high school, the bus released the kids, who went about their respective means of getting home. Jeremy had called his dad and the red sports car pulled up to take him home.

“Dude,” JJ called. “Aren’t you going to practice?”

Jeremy shook his head without looking back at him. He got in the car and sped away. JJ looked around and saw that his other friends had taken off, too. Wusses. He tossed his football to himself and headed off to the locker rooms.

Cat stopped by Herbie. “Hey, are you alright?”

Herbie seemed to freeze, then forced himself to speak. “Yeah. Uh. Everything’s good. Everything’s… cool. How are you?”

There was a honking noise, and they both looked and saw Herbie’s dad was waving to him from the burgundy, wood-paneled family station wagon. Herbie seemed to deflate, and he put his head down and walked away from Cat, who turned and began walking in the other direction.

Claire Tibbits liked to keep a few things about herself more or less out of the public eye. Not that she was keeping secrets, but she felt her punk girl image might be threatened if anyone knew just how nice she really was. Today was Wednesday, and it was her day to volunteer down at the Silverage Animal Shelter. She walked, feeling the afternoon sun on her face and feeling fine. It looked like the storm had cleared away while she was unconscious. She hummed to herself as she walked, taking her time.

“Hi Cat,” Joanna the shelter manager said as Cat strode through the doors of the shelter.

“Hi, how’s everyone?”

“They miss you… go feed them. Start with the dogs.”

Claire went to the dog cages with a bag of food. She opened the cage and said “Hi, Whipple!” Whipple the malamute puppy stood there and stared at her with his head cocked slightly to the side. “Aren’t you well-behaved today.” She poured him some food, patted his head, and closed the door.

Joanna stared at her as she passed. Cat stopped. “What?”

Joanna pulled out a box of tissues from her drawer and offered her a sheet. Cat stared at the box, confused. Joanna said “Um. You’ve got… you could use a tissue.”

Cat took one, and Joanna went about her business. Cat looked at the tissue then touched her nose. Her fingers came away slimy. Feeling mostly embarrassed, Cat wiped her nose with the tissue, threw it away, and got to work on changing the litterboxes.

She got the bag of litter and began to change the litter in the trays under the kitten cages. Two Siamese kittens, about nine months old, looked at her from within.

Cat finished with the litter and brought the bag back to the supply room. She walked in, put the bag down, then looked around. Something was wrong. Something about the room was different. She looked around, trying to figure out what it was. She felt her vision dimming. She held her hand up in front of her face and watched in horror as everything grew dark. She felt her way along the cabinets to the door and touched the light switch. She’d never turned it on.

Joanna opened the door to find Cat clinging to the wall in the dark. “Are you… alright, Cat?”

“Yeah,” Cat replied anxiously. “I’m fine.”

Joanna nodded slowly, clearly not believing. “We got a new shipment of scratchy-things for the birds. Maybe bring give them a few… and take it easy for a while, okay?”

Cat got a box of the scratching logs for the birds, feeling stupid. What was going on? She didn’t feel sick. She went to the bird enclosure and looked at the dozens of pairs of black, beady eyes staring back at her from the cages. There was no chirping, no squawking, no noise. She began placing the little scratching sticks inside the ancient cages that hung all over the room.

She saved the hardest part for last- the highest cage was too far up for her to reach. Luckily, she kept a few boxes and items handy in the room, and she had devised a simple system of building a set of stairs up to that last cockatoo cage. She placed the boxes and climbed up to see the cockatoo looking at her. She gave it a scratching stick and looked down so that she might begin climbing back to the floor.

At the top of her makeshift stair was a scale that the shelter used for measuring the weights of dogs and heavy shipping crates. She blinked. The red needle in the scale was pointing squarely at sixty-five pounds.

Claire Tibbits was a very slender girl, but by no means was she sixty-five pounds. She hadn’t been sixty-five pounds since she was eleven, maybe twelve years old. As she looked, she watched the needle slowly ease on down to sixty-four, sixty-three… sixty-two…

“Cat, you’re trembling,” Joanna said from the door.

Cat nearly fell down, she was so startled. She realized that yes, her arms and legs were trembling. She climbed down slowly and said “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t feel very well after all.”

“Go home, get some rest,” Joanna said. “Besides being sick, you’re freaking the animals out.”

This surprised Cat almost as much as the scale. “I am? They’ve been nothing but quiet for me.”

“Yeah, when you’re in the room. As soon as you leave they start barking and meowing and making a ruckus.”

“Sorry. I’ll head home.”

Cat walked home, clutching her bookbag to her chest and keeping her eyes on the sidewalk as she went. She had absolutely no idea what was going on.

Next: Different (continued)

 

[Dr Midnight]

Across town, about an hour earlier, Donovan Maddox was walking home himself. Unlike Cat, he didn’t concern himself with the world around him as he went, and kept himself focused on his music as he went. Today it was an Iron Maiden mix disc he’d burned that spring.

He tuned out everything- playing children, bright green grass, sunshine. Only his basic motor functions were left on autopilot: walk, avoid obstacles. In his head, everything was either black, on fire, or made of gleaming steel as he bobbed his head to the galloping basslines.

He didn’t notice at all when a man in a car pulled up and unrolled his window. The man waved at him twice, then honked. That worked. Donovan pulled down his headphones.

“Sorry there young fellah, could you tell me the way to Yancy Street?”

Donovan nodded. “Yeah, you’re actually right there. It’s that street, there.” He pointed.

The man said “Um. That seems to be Acacia.”

“What?” Donovan looked.

Acacia Ave

“Oh. Uh. I guess I don’t know then.”

“Okay… thanks anyway.”

The man pulled away. Donovan had lived in this town all his life, he was sure this was Yancy. He put the headphones back on and kept walking.

He was a bit more distracted now than he was before, and the next sound to interrupt his world got his attention. It was a high-pitched drone, and it was getting louder. A plane flew overhead. Donovan looked up at it as he walked. Must have been an airshow nearby- it was a slick old WWII fighter, and in really good shape. The british Union Jack was painted on the underside of each wing. The plane flew off over the trees, and Donovan kept walking until he reached his house- a fairly large mansion on the good side of town that sprawled over what could be called an estate.

Inside, his dad greeted him. “Hi, Donny, how was school?”

“Fine,” Donovan grunted noncommittally, still walking on the way to his room. Donovan’s dad was once “Mad” Max Maddox, an unsuccessful street magician from the seventies. He’d only accumulated his fortune when someone dropped a lottery ticket as a tip into his top hat on one bright 1983 afternoon. Max, now fantastically wealthy, opened the Maddox Amusement & Thrill Park in 1985. It always did great business, and the money kept coming in. Max could provide anything for his family, and strove to always give two things to Donovan: fine private schooling and advice.
Donovan had not adapted well to the private schools- the other kids saw him as common street rabble and Donovan saw them as spoiled trust fund brats. There were a few fights, and Donovan was finally placed back into public schooling. As for Dad’s advice, Donovan didn’t really care because his father was a failure until he came upon found money- why take his guidance seriously? It seemed stupid to listen to someone who had followed their heart and failed, right?

“You had the field trip today, right?” Max asked. “How did it go?”

“Fine.” Donovan walked into his room and closed the door, then set the three locks he kept on it. Here in his room, he was in the only sanctuary that rivaled his headphones. He walked past posters of metal bands and a corkboard where he’d pinned up dozens of metal show ticket stubs.

He approached an enormous Marshall stack- a speaker head with gleaming knobs sitting atop a wicked 4x12 cabinet. He dropped his bookbag and slung a guitar over his shoulders, hit the power button and waited for the tubes to warm up in the guts of the machine. He was still in a Maiden mood and began to strike some notes from one of his favorites.

Now I am cold but a ghost lives in my veins
Silent the terror that reigned, marbled in stone
A shell of a man God preserved for a thousand ages
But open the gates of my hell, I will strike from the grave.

He was getting into the song so much that he only noticed something was different in the room when all the light had gone a sickly green. He stopped playing and felt wind rushing against the back of his neck. He turned, slowly, and saw that his room with the twenty-foot ceiling was filled with a one hundred foot tall graven sphinx. The sphinx’s head bore a distinctive face- a snarling zombie with glowing green eyes. It looked down on him and he screamed.

Just before he fainted dead away from terror, a thought went through his head: That looks just like what I think of when I play this song.

Not far away, in a slightly less upscale section of town, Emerson had gotten home and greeted his parents warmly. His family life was a good one- his mother and father were both scientists that encouraged him in his own scientific pursuits. They were all very close, and Emerson had never had anything to hide from them.

“Hi Mom.”

“Hi hon- dinner will be ready in an hour.”

Emerson went to his room and sat down at his lab table. Here, he was master of a small world of experiments- lately he’d be playing with some ideas on modular particle distribution. He sat down and got sucked into his work.

It seemed like only minutes before he was called to dinner. He stood up, stretched, and walked downstairs.

Mom gestured at him with an oven mitt. “Emerson, you know the rules- no lab goggles at the dinner table. Take ‘em off.”

Emerson reached up and took off his goggles. They didn’t come off with that familiar feeling, though- these were different. He pulled off a form-fitted U of plastic and glass that had been wrapped around his face and looked at them closely. These weren’t his goggles- they were his glasses. That didn’t make any sense, though. They were distorted and almost melted-looking. Whatever had happened, he hadn’t felt a thing.

He went and got his spare glasses from the bureau. When he came back, Mom said “Em, you look so tense. Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Really.” He considered telling her about the glasses, but didn’t know what he’d even say about them. He was baffled so far.

“Why don’t you take dinner in front of the TV for a change? You could stand to relax.”

He shook his head. “I’d rather take dinner back up in my lab… science is fun. TV is all crap.”

She handed him a plate. “All right, honey, whatever’s best for you. I just get worried sometimes that you push yourself too hard.”

Emerson took his plate of food up to his room, anxious to get right back to his findings. He sat down and began reading up on Neutronic Dependence Theory, eating as he did.

He put his fork down and reached to turn a page. The fork came with his hand and clunked against the book. Emerson, surprised, looked at his hand. The fork was stuck to it. Intrigued, he wondered if he’d formed some kind of basic seal against the metal with the folds of his hand, or if it was simple moisture cling. The fork wiggled and began to bend around his hand.

Emerson shrieked and flicked his hand. The fork hit the wall and fell down, then lay still. He stared at it until he felt something. A paper clip from the table was nudging his hand, moving towards it like an insect. He pushed back from the table and stood up.

The chair stood with him. His $75 OfficeMax chair was forming tight against him, and the arms were wrapping around his midsection like it was trying to hug him. Emerson began panicking and hitting the arms, feeling the synthetic leather backing creep up around his neck. The lamp on his table made a ftt noise and a violet spark shot from the wire as the lamp strained towards Emerson. The cord gave way and the lamp rushed towards Emerson, who even in his horror was trying to figure out how this all was working.

Next: Different, Part III

 

[Dr Midnight]

JJ strode onto the football like he owned it, because of course he did.

Jacob Jones was the star quarterback for the Buscema High Broncos and the most respected athlete in town. The cheerleaders all loved them and the other players tried to mimic his every move. He was the man and knew it.

“What up coach!”

“Jones, get up here. Warm up already.”

JJ ran through a few laps and waved to some of the girls that had shown up to watch the players sweat.

When he was done with his laps he took his place among the other players on the field. “Right,” Coach yelled. “Take positions, you’re going to stand and take a straight tackle as well as you can.” He split the group into two halves, the tacklers and the tacklees, and set them to work. JJ was among the tacklees, and he planted his back foot as Charlie O’Hearn ran toward him. JJ leaned forward and readied for the hit.

Charlie wasn’t the biggest guy on the team, and charged poorly. JJ barely rocked back from the tackle, and O’Hearn bounced back and slammed into the dirt. JJ gave the team his best smug grin.

Coach looked down at Charlie with disgust. “O’Hearn, go run at Penning for a while if you’re going to wear a tutu. Miller! Get up here and show Jones what a sack really is.” Charlie sulked off and Del Miller stepped into line. He was the biggest guy on the team. Not the most talented, fastest or smartest, but the guy could dole out a hit. JJ leaned forward and ground his foot into the dirt behind him as the six and a half foot Miller barreled down on him.

There was a jarring smash as the two collided. Miller’s head snapped back from the impact and he fell, slowly, back onto his butt. JJ had moved not an inch… he’d barely even been jostled.

“Outstanding, Jones! Now that is how you take a hit!” Coach always yelled his approval like he was telling you to get off his doorstep and stop ringing his bell, you damn kids.

JJ felt great. No one ever took a sack from Del Miller like that.

Del grimaced as he stood up. “Since you’re the star of the show today, Jones, why don’t you lead us in running the valley?”

Coach nodded. “Fine idea, Miller. Jones! Take position, you’re running the valley today.”

JJ’s grin withered. “The valley” was the valley of death, Coach’s special concept of a gauntlet. One player ran up the field, dodging tackles from the other players who were charging in from the sides. He swallowed hard and took position. The other kids all looked like they were eager to get a hit in on the glory hog. Let ‘em try, JJ thought. I’ll dance through them like Herbie through a field of tulips.

He started running. He got seven yards before someone flew at him from the left. JJ cut to the right, nimbly dodging the sack. Another tackle, from the right this time. JJ whipped around this one and kept going. He felt great- he was really in the red zone today. Three tackles, all in a line this time, one after another… he jerked out of reach of each of them. He kept going, whirling past several heaving slabs of athlete.

He made it to the end. Almost no one made it all the way through the valley of death. He spiked the ball, hard, and turned around with his trademark smarmy grin.

Everyone was where they’d fallen on the ground. Some were propped up on their elbows, some were up on their hands and knees. Every one of them was staring at JJ with a bewildered expression.

“What?” JJ blurted. “Never seen someone own a field of chumps before?”

Patterson took off his helmet. “Dude.” His face was serious. “Are you a mutie?”

JJ was stunned. “You’d better take that back, Patterson.”

“Hit the showers, Jones,” Coach said. He wasn’t yelling, which was the surest sign that something was very wrong.

“What’s the problem? I ran the valley, just like you said!”

“Showers, Jones. You’re done for the day. Out of my sight.”

“Whatever.” JJ turned and stalked away. What was the deal with that? Jealous idiots. If JJ had watched himself running from behind as everyone else did, he would have seen the way his waist bent as it angled away from the grasping arms of the tacklers. His entire body had warped away… just enough to notice that no human spine can move like that.

JJ got back to the locker room and threw his helmet at the wall. He ripped off his stuff and got into the showers. Good thing about getting kicked out of practice was getting to hog the water, he thought to himself as he turned three different showerheads toward him and turned on the heat. The water scalded away the drama of the day’s events and within a minute he was breathing easily. He closed his eyes and leaned on the shower wall, letting his head hang down, letting the hot water do its magic on his back. “Ahhhhhh.” He stood like that for at least four minutes.

And suddenly, he was falling.

His eyes snapped open and his arms reflexively flailed out to grab something. He was falling down a black cylinder. Water fell around him. He saw his hands reach up above, hands snapping at the air. The top of the cylinder he was falling through was capped by a dark cross, with a smaller concentric circle around the center. It looked exactly like the shape of the shower’s drain grate.

A few miles away, Gustav Stammler had arrived at the Ferguson house. This was the exchange family he was staying with. Their son, Chris, was off in Latveria, doubtless enjoying the comforts of the country. He didn’t especially identify with this family, and their conversations were very short. That was all right with Gustav… he’d really not intended to spend much of his time in the states talking to people anyway.

Gustav had had a good day. Almost every one of his days were good. He tended to keep to himself and watch people, and today was a terrific day to do just that. Mostly, he was curious about the incident that had occurred in the Transatomic Superconductor room. He kept turning that over in his head, examining it from different angles. Gustav was a very smart kid, even for the natural-born scholars of his homeland, and he liked looking at problems for a weak point and mysteries for a telling clue.

Gustav picked up one of the three local newspapers he had delivered to the house daily and gave it a terse read. It was about the electrical storm from today.

He put the paper down and headed downstairs, to the Ferguson family’s modest gym equipment. As he walked down the stairs he thought about the story and how it had mentioned that a bolt of lightning around 1 or so today had come from nowhere and struck some transformers around the town’s power station, damaging them and possibly bring on blackouts later in the evening. Gustav realized that he’d demonstrated amazing recall just now- he really hadn’t read the story for more than four seconds. He’d picked up the paper and given it only a scan. Now he realized he could remember each word. He’d always had an excellent memory but this was a new high watermark. He smiled to himself as he approached the machines.

Gustav draped his towel over one end of the bench and stared at the weights, thinking. He was a perfectly fit young man, and drew more than a few stares from the local girls. He didn’t do it for them; he liked keeping his body honed.

Something was occurring to Gustav. Currently, he bench-pressed maybe one hundred and seventy-five pounds. With a slight change to his approach, could he achieve more? He examined the bench’s layout for a moment, then placed a book under one end. He lay on the bench and angled his shoulders differently than he normally did, rolling them back against the bench before lifting. The weights lifted more easily than ever before. Success! Could he stack on more weight?

He slid thirty more pounds onto the bar, knowing it was unrealistic to hope for a thirty pound gain all at once, but feeling confident in his new approach. He lay down and lifted… and the bar came up. What was even more amazing was that he felt room for improvement.

This time he put on fifty more pounds and adjusted his grip on the bar, to maximize his biceps’ pull against the ligaments of his forearms and keep the yaw of his arms’ bone structures at a more vertical tilt than ever before. He breathed deeply, visualizing the air going the surface area of his mouth instead of down his windpipe. This allowed him to hyperoxygenate himself with a simple trick that resulted in him taking more air in a single breath, and faster.

His plan worked. The bar lifted, and without much straining. He pressed it once, twice, a third time against his chest and then set the bar back in its cradle. He sat up, amazed and quite pleased with himself over his discovery. It was-

Something happened, and all at once he knew three things: there was a slight drop in temperature on his left side, there was a shadow moving quickly against the north wall, and there was a noise like a spring being released within a plastic shell. These pieces of information quickly met and interfaced with each other in Gustav’s mind. Before he knew he had a solution, his body was reacting. His arm shot out to the left and caught the Nerf dart his foster brother had just shot at him. Gustav turned to look at the dart in his hand, marveling at what he’d just done. His mind had taken a problem and given him a means around it in the time it took a projectile to fly across the room.

His little foster brother was staring, open-mouthed, from the door at the gym’s other side. He dropped his Nerf gun, turned and ran. He had to tell everyone he knew about the coolest thing he’d ever seen.

Next: Discourse