Paragon Vanguard

lukeminherexx

New Beginnings




Michael Summers looked out at the leaves falling to the ground, from the sliding glass doors in the dining room. The trees on his 2 acre lot were blowing in the north wind, making a swishing noise from time to time, when the wind would pick up. No snow yet, but he felt it probably would not be long. He kind of liked the winter, and he and his wife always anxiously awaited Christmas, knowing that they could spend it together, watching the wonder in their daughter's eyes as she took in the lights, the sounds, and the good cheer.
Michael looked down to his blue fuzzy slippers, the ones his daughter bought him only last year. How she found any to fit him, he would never know. The morning sun was shining in, causing the fuzz to glitter, and warming the pajamas he wore.
Michael let out a big sigh. It was only a few months ago that he was in a major city on the east coast, a professor at the university. However, he was more than that. He was also Paragon Vanguard, guardian of the city, along with a host of others, in a city of heroes. He felt somewhat displaced now, as he looked to the new city that peeked over the trees in the distance. He was not sure if he would pull the cape and costume out again, not so soon anyway.
His daughter was gone. She was now in college, and chose to spend the holidays volunteering at a homeless shelter in New York, along with some of her new college friends. She was a good young lady, and she always thought of others. He just wished she was home.

"Can't stop wondering where your daughter has gone," Kathy Summers said, as she handed the big man a cup of hot chocolate. She leaned up against him, pulling her robe up tight at the neck to protect her from the chill.
"New York, I know where she is," he said, looking to her. She was in her forties now, and every bit as beautiful as she was when they met in high school. The gray began to show around her temples, only slightly. Michael on the otherhand had not aged a day since the accident that made him into Paragon Vanguard, ten years ago. It was as if, along with the super strength and near invulnerability, time froze for him.
"I meant, where that little girl went, that would sit and listen to you read a bed time story, the same one about the bears, every night. The one that would steal sips of your coffee when she thought you weren't looking. The one that would run to the door when she heard it open, anticipating you coming in. Sometimes she would run to that door just thinking she heard it, and become very disappointed when you weren't home yet."
Michael looked to his wife, a bit of frown on his face.
"Trying to make me feel better?" He asked, as a smile curved at the edge of his lips.
Kathy laughed.
"No. You are melancholy right now, and I know there isn't much I can say to make you feel better. All I can do is say you aren't alone," she kissed his cheek, and patted his massive chest. There was two meanings in that, and Michael knew it. He was not alone, because she was there. He was not alone in his missing their little girl.
"We all grow up honey," she added.
Michael watched her as she left the dining room, obviously going to get dressed and prepare for the day.
Michael would not apply to another school for now. His savings would see them through, even through retirement if he so wished. His published papers on alien geology brought him enough income that he did not have to teach anymore. However, it was something he still wanted to do.
With a sigh, the big man followed his wife towards their bedroom. Nothing was going to change his mood right now, his little girl was not going to be there for Christmas, in their new house, and their new city. No, he was not going to be happy.
This was the last sad thought of the moment to cross his mind, as he entered the bedroom, and found his wife having slipped from her robe, and not exactly trying to get dressed.

herodad1

cool. liked reading that!

lukeminherexx

Thanks!

lukeminherexx

The man, if indeed one would like to call him such, walked through the Little Italy part of town. The shops were all aglow, with the outside tables, normally packed and full of life and good food, deserted due to the winter snow. He was an odd figure, with a santa hat on, that jingled when the wind shook the tip. He wore a long overcoat, that was tattered to the bottom. He kept his hands tight to him, apparently from the cold. His pants were thick and tattered at the bottom, much like his coat. Everything about him said homeless.
Sasha watched him walk slowly toward where she was. She was homeless as well, but had been able to secure a good meal from one of the many resturaunts that lined this street. She was in the back alley, so she was not even sure which eatery she recieved the meal from. She was however grateful. Christmas was usually a good time of year for her. She was actually able to gain weight, and supply her habit. It was time, she felt, to give back.

"You 'ungry," she called to the passing figure.
Without looking up, he nodded, ""Matter of fact, I am very hungry. Haven't eaten' for days."
"Got more then I could ever eat here, it will go bad, ya know. You can have it," she said, and felt good about herself as the figure approached. She knew it could be hard on some this time of year, as they remember the loved ones that no longer thought of them. Her decision to take her first hit of crack cocaine was not the best decision she ever made. She was addicted, completely, from day one. Oh sure, she tried time and again to get off of it. She even succeeded a time or two. Life, being as it is, she always turned back to it when times got rough. Finally, she was so addicted to it, that it was all she wanted. She committed petty crimes, prostitution, and even sold for a bit to supply her habit. Now, well, she was used up, sickly, diseased, and found begging was her only way to supply her habit and her hunger.
However, this did not make her a bad person. Not really. She was still willing to share when she had more than enough. This was Christmas Eve, and it was time to show she still had some humanity left in her. Besides, sharing a box with another person could keep her warm tonight as well.
The man walked passed her, deeper into the alley. He wanted to eat in peace, no doubt.
"This snow don't look like it will be giving up anytime soon, ya know," Sasha called behind him. The alley blocked the harshness of the wind, and was a good place to retreat into. It dead ended, with the building on the other side of the block completely blocking the way, and best of all, the wind.
"Ifn' you want, we can hang together. Best to keepn' us warm, ya know," she offered.
The man only now turned about, the light catching his face. Scaly skin marked a great smile, a smile full of sharp teeth. His hands unfurled to show long scaly fingers, tipped with razer sharp nails.

Sasha screamed only briefly, the wind suddenly whistling through the alley, dampening the cry. A scaly hand covered her mouth, and dagger like teeth drew closer. He fed on the fear as much as the flesh.
He was so hungry since his departure from his own home. Kicked out was more like it. D'Lie was ruler of his own little hell, until another more dominant demon arrived, and gave him the boot. He was now stuck in the realm of mortals, but he planned on making the best of it. There was so much food here. He could not fathom why all of the underworld had not come here and made this home.

"So, Michael, how do you know so much about Little Italy?" Kathy asked, a smile on her lips. The shops were small, and not exactly fancy. Some were nothing but a hole in the wall. However, the smell of Italian spices filled the cold air. The wind could not drag away the scent of fresh breads and perfectly cooked meats.
"A local professor told me. You remember Joel and his wife from the convention in Dallas?"
"Yes, they were quite charming people. Is he still in town?" She asked.
"I think they went to Dallas for Christmas vacation, to get away from the cold," Michael chuckled. Michael looked every bit the professor, even though he was not associated with a college at this time. His brown dinner jacket covered his sweater, and he had a nice scarf wrapped about his neck. It wasnt like he needed to wear any of this. While his skin acknowledged pleasant temperatures and unpleasant ones, he was never in any danger from the weather. His skin was just not susceptible to the cold or heat. It would take very extreme conditions, and if those occurred, then normal life would be in dire straights.
Kathy on the otherhand did feel the weather. She was layered, with her knee high boots on. Her own expensive black overcoat covered her dinner dress. She was comfortable, and felt very comfortable against Michael's warm body as she layed her head on his shoulder while the two walked down the street.
The serenity was broke when Michael tilted his head.
"Did you hear that," he asked, as the wind picked up.
She did not, but it was not odd for him to hear something she didn't. His hearing was not super, but it was perfect, as was his eye sight. Age did not deminish his senses in the least. Nothing harmed them, and truth be told, if anything did, he would heal up completely.
His eyes flowed to her, and she knew what was about to happen.
"It was scream, and it sounded like someone was being murdered. I have to..." before he could finish she covered his lips with her hands. Of course he did.
"I will be in this resturaunt here, waiting on you," she pointed to a warm looking resturaunt, a few couples already inside. It looked welcoming.
Michael nodded, and was gone, the snow following him straight up. He would not return to ground level, a kind professor in a warm coat and scarf.

Paragon Vanguard landed in the alley, his cape swirling about his body as the wind kicked up, then died down. The figure before him moved, very inhuman, and turned and looked at him. Blood covered his lips, and he bared long teeth at him. Vanguard could not decide if the creature was smiling or sneering at him. With that face, lizard and leather like, it would all be the same.
One glance to the woman, and it was clear her scream was too late. She was dead, and her precious blood no longer poured from the gaping wound on her neck.

The creature stared at the figure in white and blue. He was a big human, almost distorted in musle. A big V was on his chest, and the creature wondered if it was a magic sign, or just a symbol for some unknown order. It really didn't matter. He knew he was being threatened, by a mortal of all things. And of all things, it was moving toward him at speeds close to sound. Luckily his demon eyes could keep up, though he was barely able to move out of the way of a mighty punch. In D'Lie's world, mortals were mere cattle, raised and bred for food. They were not fighters. This was a big bull, which was ready and able to protect his herd.

Vanguard swung a mighty fist at the creature. He knew it had to be demon. He had met them before, but all demons were different. A long battle with one could prove fatal. They did not tire, it seemed. Their magics could penetrate even his hide. They were very dangerous.
Unfortunately, his fist caught only air. He was able to stop on a dime, and he swung that same fist back. This time he connected, though with less velocity. The demon grunted, as his fist struck it in the side. In the same instance it raked long nails down his arm.
It would be wrong to describe the physical nails as penetrating the near invulnerable hide of Vanguard, instead it was the magic, that is the being, that penetrated, making the human's arm go numb, and leaving a magical wound.
Vanguard watched as the wound immediately festered as if it had been neglected for days, the skin around it puckering and wet. He did not have long to examine it, as the creature was now coming back toward him.
"Human cattle that fight, now this is odd," it said, with only a slight hiss in the voice. His eyes were red, and looked very unhealthy, though the creature as a whole appeared in great condition.
"It matters little, you will be my next meal. How does that make you feel," he laughed.
If D'Lie had intended on causing fear in the mortal before him, he was sadly mistaken. He was taken aback by this. In fact, a being that feeds on fear finds it very hard to stomach courage, and courage is exactly what this human bull showed. It was unheard of back home. They were all cowards. They were raised to be cowards. They were trained to be cowards. In fact, they were taught that cowering was their only means of survival. Of course it was not true. They were only being fattened up, so to speak. Not only did they give the creatures the fear they wanted, but it was spiced with outrage when they recognized the deceat.

Vanguard felt his strength returning in his arm. The creature was a demon of fear, and while he was gourged on the fear of the homeless lady he was feeding on, he was weakening in the presence of Vanguard.
Vanguard looked to his arm that was quickly healing up, and a smile crossed his own lips. The demon's eyes also looked, and for the first time in it's immortal life, it felt fear.
"I feel better, demon. In fact, I feel great," he said, and with near sonic speed planted the same arm square into the jaw of the demon. The jaw shattered, as did some of the teeth. Bits of tongue fell as the razor sharp shards cut it. A powerful hand enveloped the neck of the creature, and held it up, squeezing until muscle and chords gave. The very air it had been breathing was stopped. D'Lie could not believe it, as his eyes bulged from the lack of oxygen. He was not use to needing this. He did not take into account that he was in another realm, and the many things he took for granted no longer were true.
In fact, it was becoming completely obvious that he was mortal, even as blackness swirled about him, and completely engulfed him.

Vanguard tossed the retch to the side. It was unconscious, but he knew not for how long. Life, any life, was precious, and he would not kill it if he did not have to. He knew a sorcerer that would deal with the demon. In the meantime, he checked on the woman. He already knew, but he wanted to insure.
She was dead. The horror of her death etched forever on her face. She was homeless, and her face marred with scabs and disease. Vanguard closed her eyes. She lived a tragic life, that ended in a finality of horror.
Vanguard was pulled from the scene of the dead woman, and back to the demon, as it wheezed for air. It was not conscious, yet. However, demons, even on this mortal plane, were very sturdy. They could take alot of damage.
Vanguard pulled his cell phone from his belt, and called Kathy. He told her he would be a few moments, but he would meet her where he left her. They have done this before, and it was something both had come to accept. She was the wife of a true super hero, and he was the husband of a true super wife. Her understanding and patience with his need to help went beyond any would expect. Truth be told, she would only smile. This was why she loved him. He was caring, and loving, and a father to all that needed. It was why he was such a good husband, and father to their daughter.
He would be making the flight to New York the next day, for only a brief moment with their daughter. Kathy knew that, even while he still was not sure if he would.

True to his word, 20 minutes later, Michael Summers walked into the warm and welcoming resturaunt. His wife waved him over, a big smile on her face. He was not quite as happy as he was before he found the woman dead, but he was able to console his sorrow for her, in that he did what he could to help her. In the end, life and death was something he left behind with his alter ego. In this resturaunt, with his beautiful wife, he was only Michael Summers. It only took a few moments of her smiles, and conversation, to put the scene he left away, and the demon he left in the hands of Hughe, the sorcerer, into distant memory.
He was Paragon Vanguard, protectorant. Sometimes he failed.
He was Michael Summers, husband and father, at which, he never seemed to fail. Given the choice, this was where he wanted to be. Even while Kathy told him a story of their nephew in Kansas, Michael leans over and kisses her. She cups his face with both hands, and kisses him again, this time longer.

lukeminherexx

Samantha Summers was actually enjoying herself serving the homeless. She did not know what to expect. Her dad would not let her come to this part of the city until she was grown, which basically meant she would never have his permission. Christmas time was different. People seemed more tolerant, and more willing to offer a smile than a knife in the back. She knew her dad was simply being too much like a, well, like a dad.
The end of the day was a bit harder, as the lines of the homeless started to finally shorten. It was nine at night, and she had been at it for over 12 hours. Her feet hurt, her hands hurt, and she had a headache. However, she felt very good about what they did. Turkey and ham, black beans and rolls, someone had given roasts and deserts even. Samantha almost cried when a little old lady offered her a quarter and a blessing.
The clean up team came in, and they were now relieved.
"Oh thank goodness," Leana, her new friend from college declared. "I couldn't bare it any longer. My feet are killing me."
Of course they were, Leana decided to serve while wearing high heels. At least Samantha knew enough to wear her tennis shoes. She just laughed, at Leana's complaining. Her friend was dark skinned, dark eyed. She was tall, with much of her lower leg showing from beneath a skirt that would have gone near Samantha's ankles. Leana was beautiful, but she did not always think before she did things.
"It's over, and I thank you for joining me," Samantha said, considering she had to talk her well to do friend into it.
"You just cant tell pops, he would kill us both if he found out you put me in danger of being killed!" She laughed, and Samantha laughed with her. Samantha was almost a stark difference to her friend. She was light skinned, blonde haired like her dad, more average height. She did have wonderful blue eyes like her mother, and where Leana's legs usually caught someone's first attention, Samantha's eyes did.
Both of their parents were college professors, but while Samantha's dad was in semi retirement, and if her mom could talk him into it, would be in full retirement, Leana's dad was still teaching in an ivey league school in New York. The difference did not stop there, of course. Samantha's dad was also Paragon Vanguard, and she was pretty sure Leana's dad was not a super hero, though he was a super guy, and very loving dad. Her mother had died from cancer a few years ago, something Leana was not over.
The two chatted as they exited the back door, into the alley. Much of the other volunteer servers had already left while Leana was trying to wash the smell of food off of her, to no avail. Anything less than a full shower was not going to do.
As the two got to the road, Samantha stopped.
"My purse, I forgot my purse!" She exclaimed.
"Well, you go back and get it, I will get us a cab. It will be hard enough getting one with it being Christmas and all."
Samantha nodded, and headed back into the dim lit alley. As she reached for the door, her small white purse dangled in front of her, held by a large meaty hand.
"See, you do need your dad," the huge man said, as he stepped from the shadows.
Samantha did not even startle, though most would. She had lived with Paragon Vanguard her entire life. A smile simply crossed her face.
"Daddy!" She said, and offered a hug, that was gladly recieved.
From behind they both heard a noise, and Samantha looked back to see her friend, armed with a can of pepper spray, eyeing the two. It didn't matter to Michael Summers that the young lady saw them, he did not hide who he was.
"Leana, I told you about my dad," Samantha said, and motioned to him.
Leana looked at him, and blinked.
"Dad? This man cant be but maybe 30! What was he, 10 when you were born?"
"I do not age," was all Michael said, offering a big hand, and bit of an imbarassed smile.
Leana took his hand, very dainty like, as was her way, and smiled a beautiful smile.
"Please to meet you," she said.
"I have to go, but Merry Christmas," Michael kissed his daughters cheek. "And dont leave that purse lying about, with all the cash you have in it."
Samantha watched her dad take to the air, the snow swirling up and following him, and he was gone.
She looked to Leana and smiled, then back to her purse.
"I dont have any cash, I am flat.....Oh dad," she blew another kiss to the sky.
Samantha then looked to her friend, who was also looking up to the sky. She still had the pepper spray can in her hand.
"What exaclty were you going to do with that?" Samantha laughed, pointing to the can. "You dont even know how to use the thing, do you?"
"Oh dont you doubt I can use it, my dad showed me, in fact, I even accidently sprayed him so I know it works, besides......"

Paragon Vanguard watched as the two climbed into a cab, Samantha's new friend going on and on about her pepper spray abilities. He was pleased that she had a friend that would protect her. Still, he wanted to follow the cab anyway. Alas no, he had been there long enough. His wife was waiting at home. She would shake her head at his endeavors that night, and pick on him when Samantha was around, but truth be told, she as much wanted him to check on her as he wanted to check on her himself. As the cab blended in with other Holiday traffic, Paragon Vanguard made his way back to Michigan at near super sonic speed.

trojanborg

WOW!!! This is awesome. Please keep this going if you can. This is truly some of the best fiction the forums has to offer. I felt like a was reading a book that was found at the local bookstore. I'll be coming back for sure to see if you do continue.

lukeminherexx

Thank you, you are too kind. I have read some very good stories on here, which inspired me to write. My apologies for typo's/mispells, I just type it directly to here from my brain. Thank you for the kind words.

lukeminherexx

Captain Sanders backed the crowd of onlookers, who always seemed to want to cross the police barricade, no matter that it was there for their protection. He turned and eyed the building again, praying that his fellow brethren in blue were okay. A SWAT team was dispatched, unknown exactly the extent of the situation, but needless to say, there was danger downtown, in the high rise known to accomodate many of the more wealthier corporate heads.
"More dead," his ear piece sounded. Sanders was glad the crowd could not hear what he could.
"Which floor, we are on 5 and we have multiple victims here as well," another officer announced.
"8, we took alpha lead," the original stated.
Sanders sighed. Grim news indeed.
"These people were killed with a blade of sorts, some cut right in half, Lord help us," the second announced, and Sanders thought it sounded like Davis, an officer he went to the academy with 15 years ago.
"Same here, we will keep moving. No survivors so far," the Alpha leader announced.

It was a 20 story building, so he knew the 3 teams, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, would be spending some time in there. He went back to monitoring the crowd again. Why people would bring their children out to look at this was beyond him. The news vans were everywhere as well, getting as much of the chaos on film as possible, and letting more citizens know what was going on, which would only add to his problem of crowd control.
"It's a dirty supe doing this," a young man called out, and different members in the crowd began to murmer among themselves.
Sanders looked down the line again. His men and women were keeping the crowd in check at least. Friendly reminders to step back, backed up by the horses behind them. They would not be utilized unless a complete breakdown would occur.
"Hey, you cops are in bed with the supes, aint you," a purple clad gang member called out, and began to speak to some of the people around him, trying to garnish some support for the apparent dislike of super heroes. Not many bought into it, in fact many simply moved away. It didn't stop the gangster from trying to get more support though.

Michael Summers was pretty oblivious to the happenings downtown until he happened upon it. He saw the big crowd, and the police line. He was in his typical brown suit with a heavy overcoat on, and a warm hat on his head. He noticed officers continuing looking up to the windows of the building, many times holding their hand to the earpieces to capture what was being said. He also noted that the place was filled with news teams.
Then he spotted Julie Morgan, crime reporter for Channel 8 News, WCOC!
"Load up and let's get around to the other side. This view is blocked, and has enough cameras on it," she was shouting to her crew, as the big man approached.
"Back up, news business here," one of her camera men said, a big guy, but made to look small by the oversized professor.
"He's cool Jamar," Julie said, motioning the man she knew as Paragon Vanguard over.
Michael smiled kindly as Jamar got out of his way, and went back to loading up the van.
"How do you expect anyone to recognize you in that giddup," she frowned a bit, continuing to pick up equipment.
"What is going on," Michael asked.
"No one is sure, I would have thought you heroes all knew, but apparently not many are in the area. I heard there was an alien sigting south of the city so they may all be out there," she seemed to speak fast and move faster.
"Is SWAT inside?"
"Yes, that we do know, and we do know there are casualties, and we do know it is a slaughter, and we think we know that the perp is still inside. Other than that, I dont know." She hurriedly shut the rear door, her camera man still in the back and moved to the cab, apparently willing to drive it herself.
"Thanks," Michael offered as the door closed and Julie drove off, all at the same time. Michael knew she was not being rude, she was just doing her job. He actually considered her a friendly acquaintance, and knew that she would not have given that much time to most, considering she had a big story to cover.
His eyes went back to the building, then to his watch. He was suppose to be at a meeting at a local University soon, but he also knew that he needed to help. Anyone watching, if anyone had been, would have seen an oversized man in a suit standing there, then was gone in a blur. Overhead, way in the clouds, a caped figure began to descend back to earth.
Paragon Vanguard was coming to help.

lukeminherexx

"Dice and slice, it's my only vice," the insane man sung, as he seemed to dance about the room.
The secretary peeped at him from the closet she was able to hug herself into. So far he did not give it a bit of attention, his full attention being on her boss.

"So, a simple, very simple, minded PI thought he could venture into my business, and thought he would just be forgiven?" The man wore what appeared to be fluid body armor, covering his body from the neck down, no seam was visible, yet he could move with amazing agility. Attached to his arms were long blades that extended past his hands. His hair was dark and curley, his face mask of rage one moment, then amused the next.
Danny Daniels winced back as the blades came close to his neck. He watched what those blades could do as the villain slaughtered his client in the waiting room. Thankfully he monitored everything, and since his secretary was in the building with him, having finished their "lunching", he was able to slip her in the closet and draw the mad man's attention on him, on the other side of the room.
"I dont know who you are," the PI said, his voice a bit more of a squeek, it was normally gruff, especially since he smoked fat cigars all day.
The killer cut his fat tie, the sharp edge easily slicin through it as if it was air.
"You fat pig, you put your stinkin' nose into everyone's business, and do not even have the good sense to remember the lives you destroyed. We are real people, at least I use to be a real person."
"You are mad," Danny said, backing up to the window. He was wide, but not so tall. He was hoping that SWAT snipers could get a shot if he drew the mad man closer to the window. Being on the 16th floor, it was a shot in the dark. He all but chuckled as he thought of the pun.
No, it was not chuckling time, not at all.
"And you are a parasite on this nation's heel. You cling to the lowest extremeties of humanity, housing yourself in this high rise of businessmen, doing their pitiful dirty work. Am I mad? You bet I am! I am Madblade, and you are the focus of my anger management."

Danny began to recognize the face now. He was a two bit criminal that stole some hardware from one of his clients. He was able to track the man down, who at the time was actually employed as a computer tech with the his client. He was able to offer enough evidence to the police, and he was at the trial when the man was found guilty. It won him a contract with the company, to which it helped him to become quite comfortable. Comfortable enough to pay rent on this office, and have his own secretary, that was paid well enough not to tell his wife of their "luncheons".

Madblade stared at the focus of his hate. It had been a four years, seven months, three days and three hours since he was found guilty of grand theft. He spent two years in prison, and paroled on good behaviour. What good did that do him? His son had died of cancer already, his wife filed and won for divorce while he was locked up (they would find her and her boy toy quite dead, soon enough), and he had to resort to working for low lifes like Talos to scratch out a meager existance.
Until he volunteered. Until he offered his services as a very good tech to gene specialist Anthony Eavill. Until they were able to splice his DNA with an organic steel, almost industructable, and sharp enough to cut through just about anything short of Questionite.
Until now. Now, his revenge would be complete. Now he had the fat, unkept, greasy haired PI where he wanted him.
"I want to enjoy this," he said, a very disturbed grin on his face.

"Don't move, MCPD!" Captain Sanders heard through his ear piece. Apparently the team found the perp. He heard what sounded like mad laughter, and gun fire, and screaming. Then he heard what sounded like metal on metal, and the thump of something falling.
Apparently he was not alone in hearing it, as the officers all looked up as well.

Madblade stood covered in blood and gore, as a team of 5 MCPD SWAT members laid dead at his feet, sliced into parts. He looked back, hearing the sobs of his true target. However, it was not the PI"s sobs he heard, as the man's face was fixed and frozen on the scene of carnage in front of him.
Madblade's eyes flowed through the room, then settled on the closet. Small squeeky sobs was coming from it.
"Well well now, my fat greasy friend, what have we here," he asked, almost dancing over to the closet.

"N, nothing. Nothing at all, this is between you and me," the PI said standing up. It was true, he would take any client, and do anything within legal, and sometimes not quite so legal means to solve a case, but he was not a coward. He had some iron beneath his soft middle.
However, he could not help but let out a cry when Madblade drove his blades through the closet door. A scream from inside told of the closet's occupant.
"Secrets, between us, my fat jiggly friend? Secrets. I thought you and I were better acqauinted than that. Our lives intermingled. I made you wealthy, therefor, whatever is behind door one, is mine as well. You made me crazy, therefor whatever I do to this little trophy is your fault as well as mine."
To Danny's credit, he tried. He rushed the madman, not knowing what he could do to him. It wasnt that he had any true love for the secretary hiding in the closet, it was that she was his. What was Danny Daniel's was Danny Daniel's!
This truly was his thought as the flat of a blade smacked the side of his head, and a foot came up hard and fast between his legs. Then, his only thoughts was of whtie hot pain. He thought he was sure he was ruptured. He was sure that was a killing kick, because he was sure no pain could be that great without death following soon.

Madblade laughed as the fat man fell, crumpled and moaning.
"We are truly having fun now," he said, and pulled the door to the closet open. The woman, who was trying to hold the door knob so it would not be turned, came tumbling out. She was in a very mini, mini skirt, high heels, short hair, and tons of make up that was streaking down her face along with her tears. While she may be attractive on some kind of prostitute level, she was not exactly ready for the runway, Madblade considered. With that thought, and a quick move, he cut a slash across her face, from her right eyebrow down to her left jawline.
"Nosey people hiding in closets. Nosey like your boss, arent you," he cackled, but only for a moment, as he watched a new figure enter the room. The big man was in a cape, and he had a big "V" on his chest. His costume was yellow and blue.
This was why Mr. Eavill sent him, really. Why he was trained, then allowed to come out and do what he wanted to Danny Daniels. So he could accomplish and test what his boss wanted. So he could draw the ire of a super hero. So he could show what he was trained to actually do.
"Finally, a hero," the mad man grinned. "However, I am not quite finished with this piece of trash here, and his tramp. If you would like, take a number, I think you would be, one, two, three.....three! I warn you hero, people are losing their parts around here."

Paragon Vanguard summed up pretty quick the situation, and before the killer could finish his monologue, he had crossed the 20 feet between them, and was planting a meaty fist into the chest of the perp. A loud clang sounded, and Madblad crashed into the closet that the secretary had been hiding in. Another swift movement and the hero had the PI and the woman in arm, and flying out of the door. By the time Madblade recovered, he was alone in the room, but only for a moment.

Vanguard met the other SWAT team in the hall, and handed the two victims over to them.
"Take care of them, they need medical attention immediately. Your other team is down, no survivors. You cant help them, but you can these two."
"We will help you, sir," a young member called out, but Vanguard shook his head.
"You will do best to see to them, and any others. I will deal with this," and with that, he was headed back to the room.

Madblade watched as the hero with the V on his chest re-entered.
"You STOLE HIM!" Madblade proclaimed, his bladed arms swinging fast and wild, destroying plants, chairs and anything else they cut through.
"You are under arrest," Vanguard declared, but realized that since he left his old city, and his old team broke up, he no longer had that authority. "A citizens arrest," he corrected.
The mad man looked him in the eyes, a smile never leaving his lips, but anger and frustration clear on his face.
"Then I test first, and finish what I started second. Not the order I wanted, but this will be fun none the less!"
Madblade then rushed at Vanguard, his blades swinging very fast, and his body moving like fluid steel. Vanguard ducked the first swing on instinct, and raised his arm to block the second. Steel met flesh, and for once, it did not instantly cut through. Madblade withdrew his blade with astonishment. He fully expected to see the appendage on the floor.
However, Vanguard had his own surprise in store. Not only was his sleeve cut, it made of a very sturdy material that knives and bullets could not penetrate, but his arm was actually cut, and bleeding! It was superficial, but not something he was use to.
The two stopped for but a moment, both amazed at the situation it seemed. Neither realizing the other was just as amazed.
But only for a moment.
Madblade was simply more intent on killing the big man, and his blades began to swing again.
This time Vanguard backed up, not something he was use to, but as fast as the blades moved, it would only be moments before a superficial cut turned into a major wound. With his own swift movement, he stomped the floor beneath him, and fell through to the floor under.
Madblade walked over and looked down through the hole, to the between maintenance floor, ready to go after his quarry. Instead he saw no one.
Vanguard busted back up through the floor behind Madblade, and grabbing him by the arms, streaked out of the window and into the air. He had to have room, and to stay in the building would only bring more trouble to the citizens still left in there. A full fledge battle needed to be done away from the people.

Julie Morgan captured the exploding glass on video, and the streak of two very human like objects climbing fast into the air. She also heard the cries of alarm from the crowd, and the shouts of "two criminals getting away".

lukeminherexx

Vanguard followed Hwy 342 east out of town, until it was a much less populated area. In fact, there was just woods on each side as it climbed into hills.
Vanguard had the man by the arms, and was travelling through the air with him so fast, that Madblade could not do much except squirm a bit. Then, when he felt the area was remote enough, Vanguard made a sudden descent, planting the metal mad man into the ground.
Madblade was shaken as Vanguard stood over him, one boot on his chest.
"As I said, you are under arrest. Surrendor now, and I will turn you over to the Champions. Continue this and I cannot garuantee your safety."

Madblade could hardly believe this man was for real.
"I say cutting you to pieces will tickle me pink, and paint you red!"
With those words, Madblade kicked the point of his boot into the hero's thigh, causing him to let up enough pressure that Madblade could role away, and get to his feet. His blades were back in motion, as he went for the hero's head this time.

Vanguard was able to block the incoming attack by batting away the flat of the blade, the force causing the metal killer to spin, which he used to swing his other blade about, with Vanguard barely dodge it. Vanguard then planted a size 18 double wide boot into the man's chest, throwing him back into a tree. With Madblade stunned, Vanguard raced through the air toward him, planting both fists into his chest again, and again, and again......until the metal villain appeared completely unconscious.

The big man stood up over the murderer. Madblade would live, but he needed medical attention. Vanguard himself had a pretty deep cut on his arm, and a puncture wound on his right thigh. The wounds would heal up, and in a few days he would be no worse for the wear.
Vanguard figured to deposit the man at the Champion's headquarters. They should be able to deal with holding him.
With a sigh he looked to his watch.
He was sure he had missed his meeting at the school.
Not only that, his watch was completely broken.

lukeminherexx

Bob Smith kissed Mary Smith as he left the house that morning. His house looked like every other house on the block of this nice Michigan suburb. In fact, his nice small Toyota, and his nice big SUV looked pretty much like everyone else's vehicles in his nice normal neigborhood. Bob liked it like that. The truth of it all was that he, his wife and two kids moved here because he was garuanteed by the neigborhood committee that everything in the neigborhood was quite normal.
Bob liked normal.
His ride to work went fairly normal. Traffic was backed up in all the right places. He honked his horn at all the right times, in fact, his face became red, and he shook his head in anger at the usual bottlenecks that he always ran into. While it was irritating, Bob was happy enough that it was nothing new.

Then Bob began to become worried this morning. His normal exit was now behind him, as he travelled 15 minutes and 32 seconds further to the Millennium City exit, and then another 20 minutes to reach the city. Bob then travelled to the West Side. His nerves were all a bundle now.

This was not normal for Bob.

Bob Smith works for an accounting company based out of Mellinnium City, though he seldom ever travels to their down town office. Instead, he handles the more normal clients in their satelite office. This always pleased Bob. He did not want to handle the finances of the strange and bizarre that seemed to flock to the big new city. He especially did not want to be in the West Side, which Bob felt could hardly be considered civilized yet. The destruction of Detroit did not concern him very much, in fact, Bob felt like it was bound to happen. He was even pleased to hear that a shiney new city was being built over the destruction, and it was.
It was not the shining normal that Bob liked though. No, not normal at all. Heroes and villains flocked to the new city. Towering buildings that seemed to be built at angles that they should not have, and they dotted the skies all around.
"What is wrong with a simple square or rectangled building," Bob was once overheard asking Mary. It was a rhetorical question of course.

Bob found the client's office, a warehouse at the docks. He swallowed hard as two rough looking men in purple garb motioned him to drive on in to the warehouse, and then closed the doors behind him.
There were two other men with rifles in hand standing by an office. These two wore broad brimmed hats, a purple suit, white shirts and purple ties. Their loafers were shiney, and their frowns were evident. They motioned Bob to get out. Bob got out of his car, though he really did not wish to. All normality left him as he walked on the concrete flooring toward the wooden office. One of the ruffiens opened the door and motioned for Bob to enter.
Of course Bob entered. What else could he do?
Bob really did not like this, it really was not normal.
The rough looking man that sat behind the desk also wore a purple suit.
This much purple, in one place, was not normal. No, not in the least.
Bob was not happy.
"Ah, my new accountant. Come in, come in, have a seat," the man said, motioning to a chair as he took a puff of a big cigar. "Your office said they would send someone else. Ashamed what happened to Fred. I liked Fred," the man said with such a deep frown, eyeing Bob, who had no idea that anything had happened to Fred. In fact, Bob did not know who Fred was. He made it an effort not to socialize with too many of his fellow workers.
"F-Fred, what happened to Fred," Bob managed to squeek out, as his eyes began to blink a bit too rapid. It was a nervous twitch he developed anytime he found himself in such abnormalties.
"Friend of your's eh? Who wouldn't like Fred. The only thing about Fred was he liked to talk. Talk talk talk, it's all he ever did. Talking too much get's you in trouble. Get's you to meeting the fishies, if you know what I mean," the man laughed, which turned into coughs, which turned into fits of coughs as he slammed a huge meaty fist onto the desk several times.
Bob's eyes were really blinking now. He was pretty sure that he knew what meeting the fishies meant, as he looked behind him toward the river. He could not see it however, as he was completely concealed from the rest of the world in this warehouse.
"Sorry to see him go none the less," the man said, then offered a big meaty, nicotine stained hand. Bob shook his hand.
"They call me Vinny, but my real name is Slone. You can call me Vinny. I kinda earned the name, you know," he said, running his hand through his slicked back hair. 'Well, you know how people get names."
Bob was unsure how Slone turned into Vinny, but he did not bother to tell Slone, uhm, Vinny this. Instead, he just nodded his head.
"Anyway, you and me, we gots lots to do, so we best get to doing it. I pay you guys to make sure I pay the government less than I pay you guys," and this seemed to amuse Vinny very much, but Bob did not quite catch the joke. He just smiled, or at least attempted one, with his eyes blinking so rapidly.
"I am Bob Smith," Bob offered, and then suddenly thought that maybe he should have given a fake name. It was too late, he already gave his real name, and changing it at this point probably would not help.
Vinny just nodded.
"Good, Bob. Let's get to work on suckering the government shall we!"
Bob just nodded.

No no, this was not normal.

lukeminherexx

Vinny tweeked the brim of the large purple hat that now sat upon the head of Bob Smith, then he straightened Bob's tie, which was also now purple. His suit was still gray, and his shirt was still white, all normal like, like Bob likes.
"You lookin' good there, my friend," Vinny said, with a snap of his finger and a wink.
Bob just smiled. It took them only three weeks. Three weeks and Bob Smith was not feeling normal at all. He was not sure if he liked it or not. Oh, he liked the extra money he was getting, but he did not like having to explain it away as nothing to his wife.
It felt like lying.
Bob liked the attention he got from these rough, powerful men. He did not like how they treated others, though he kept his mouth shut.
It felt like he was just as responsible.
He liked to make Vinny happy when he "doctored" the books, but he did not like that much of it, if ever found out, would be criminal.
It felt dishonest.
"Th-thanks Mr. Vinny. Uhm, I have a good report for you, as always," Bob said, and it was not bragging. He always made sure he had a good report for Vinny. He was not sure what happened to the last accountant. He was not sure he wanted to know. He was sure he did not want to end up like the last accountant.
"You always have a good report Bob! Always! I like that Bob. My people like that Bob," he said, spreading his arms out to motion to the men all around the warehouse, who were not paying much attention to Bob anymore. "My boss likes that as well Bob!"
"That is, uhm, that is great. I just wanted to point out..." he began, but Vinny, as usual, wanted little to do with it.
"Put away all those papers. Put that briefcase in your car, Bob. We have worked enough today," though Bob was not sure what kind of work Vinny did today, he pretty much sat in his office while Bob worked on the numbers. "In but a moment a car is going to pull up Bob, and in that limo is going to be more ladies than we have men here," Vinny grinned.
Bob was pretty sure of what Vinny meant. He was also sure that he would not like this, no not one bit. Bob was normal, as he liked to point out to others, though not to Vinny. He was also certain however that his very normal wife would not exactly understand.
"I see your worry in your face, but I have something for you Bob. I have a wonderful year of brandy, and I tell you, it goes down smooth like water." Vinny slapped Bob on the back, and headed to his office to retrieve the drinks.
Bob just stood there. He was actually exploring the idea of making a run for it. Head to his car, and race off, never to look back.
That would not have been normal. It would have been such an odd thing for someone to do, he could not bring himself to do it. In moments, it no longer mattered, because Vinny showed back up with drinks.
"Here you go my friend. Drink up, and enjoy. Life is great."
What was Bob to do? Vinny gulped his own drink down, and then began yelling at one of his thugs to open the warehouse's giant door so the "gals" can come on in when they get here. The men all cheered.
Bob did not exactly gulp his down. In fact, it took quite a few sniffs, sips, and finger stirs before he actually took a real drink. He was only halfway done when Vinny returned with another for himself. He was only 2/3s done when the limo pulled in. In fact, the ladies, if you can call them such, were all popping open wine bottles and champagne by the time Bob finished his first drink.
People kept pouring different kinds of alcohol in his glass, but usually Vinny came along and dumped out whatever strange concoction he had in his glass.
"You and me aint like them, are we Bob. We are refined. We like the real stuff," he would proclaim as he poured from the Brandy bottle.
Bob did begin to loosen up, as his head began to spin. In fact, he was not such a fuddy duddy as to keep pushing these nice girls off of him. They were friendly, and did not deserve to be treated as such, as Vinny well pointed out.
"Okay. This is not normal", was one of the last thoughts that he would remember.

lukeminherexx

Ok, waking up in a shipping container is NOT normal, Bob thought. Sprawled across a woman who has apparently NOT woken up is NOT normal.
Bob was cold, he was very cold. Abnormally cold in fact. He was not use to being so cold because in his normal home the temperature was always set at 76 degrees. His normal home is where Bob was use to waking up. Not in a shipping container, and especially not sprawled across a prostitute. His head was spinning, and he was sure he would be sick soon.
Bob recognized the woman as one of the "ladies" the night before. She had short blonde hair and pretty green eyes. Her hair barely came to her shoulders, and Bob wondered what would possess her to crop it so short.

Bob staggered to the container entrance, that was still partially opened. He was not even sure how he got there. He smelled like booze and cheap perfume. He still had his purple hat on, and his purple tie. Other than that, he was sporting his plain white boxers and calf high black dress socks.
Bob winced as he looked out of the container. Obviously he was in the shipping yard, amist a bunch of other containers. He could hear muffled talking but it did not sound as if anyone was really all that close to him. With a quick glance around, he did not see his clothes anywhere. Worse still, he did not see any clothes for the woman laying on container floor either. He felt very uncomfortable, and it was not just the cold. Being in a container with an unconscious naked woman is very hard to explain.
Bob walked over and shook the woman, who groaned slightly and began to turn over to her back. Bob quickly stopped her, and insured that she did not further imbarass him by exposing him further to her being exposed.
"N-no ma'm, you just lay there. I will uhm, I will get us some clothes, and uhm, well, we can get out of here," he told the woman, who merely seemed to go back to sleep.
As cold as it was, they would both be dead if he did not get them out of there. It was definitely below freezing outside, and he was thankful that they probably had not been there that long.
Bob looked out of the container again, and saw some boxes. They weren't much, but surely he could pull them apart and place them on the woman to keep her somewhat warm while he found his way back to his client's warehouse. If anyone would know what to do it would be him.
Bob tenderly walked over the cold asphalt, and felt he would freeze if he did not get some clothes soon. He grabbed some of the cleaner looking boxes, and hurried back to the container. As he pulled them apart and placed them on the woman, she stirred again, halfway opened one eye, groaned, and went back to sleep.
Bob knew how she felt. His own head was killing him, and he felt he would lose his supper, if indeed he had any supper in him. He was not sure, he did not remember if he ate or not. The nausia would come and go though. Bob knew enough to know he had what others called a "hang over".
Bob did not like hang overs.
As Bob exited the box, the sun hit his eyes, having now poked out from the city skyline. A new wave of nausia hit, and he released what little he did have in his stomach on the side of the box. Once he got his barrings, he was able to determine which way the warehouse was.
Vinny would understand and Vinny would help him.

lukeminherexx

Vinny lead the way to the container. They were blocks away from the warehouse, and Bob walked all that way in his boxers. Bob was thankful Vinny had a pair of pants he could put on, and a shirt, though it was all very baggy on him. Unfortunately either Vinny did not have any extra shoes, or he simply was not letting Bob use them.
Bob looked around now, not completely sure which container it was. The morning sun was rising, and people were beginning to come out for work.
"You sure you left her out here," Vinny asked, and did not look amused at all. He also seemed to have a hangover.
"I-I am sure, sir," Bob said, and began to retrack his steps. Along the way back he was sure to mark where he had been, so he could find the box. Vinny was now following Bob, a long overcoat over his shoulder for the naked woman Bob told him about.
"I tell you Bob, I aint never seen someone change so much as you did, you were an animal man! I almost didn't want you to leave, but you said you had to go. Hah, I saw that look in your eye like I seen in many others, I know you gave someone a good time! I just assumed it would have been your wife!"
Bob didn't say anything. He was sure he did not give anyone a good time. He was pretty sure he didn't have a time, good or bad, with anyone.
Vinny was lead around to the right container, and they both peeped in. Bob saw the hand poking out from under the boxes, and recognized the red nail polish.
"You are one crazy son of a gun, Bob. I dont think I will be letting you drink so much next time though. Hah, you even had me worried about you for a while. However, I know these types of girls, and you aint nothing she couldn't handle," he went on, as he pulled the boxes back.
Bob decided to stand back and let Vinny handle this. He was not sure if he would throw up again, since he already had to stop two or three times on this trip.
"Bob, what did you do?" Vinny asked, and looked over very seriously at Bob.
Bob felt his face flush, because truth be told, he had no idea what he did. He was sure however it was nothing that Mrs. Smith would be happy about, no not at all.
"C-can we just hurry up, get her up and get out," Bob asked, and Vinny was still staring at him, a very concerned look on his face.
"Bob, she is dead," Vinny said.
Bob was sure he heard wrong. Surely Vinny said dead drunk, and he just did not hear the drunk part. Dead tired, and he did not hear the tired part. That would have made sense to his senses, but dead, with nothing added behind it, was too preposterous.
"Dead?" Bob had to ask. This was definitely something one must clarify if one is told this. Bob of course had to ask the normal question, that anyone in his unshoed feet would have asked.
"What do you mean dead?"
"Dead Bob," Vinny said, irritated now. "Dead as in dead. Dead as in she aint putting this coat on you made me drag over here for her, dead. Dead as in I do not need this problem, this should have been something you told me about so I could send someone else to get her, dead. DEAD BOB!"
Vinny was clearly irritated, but Bob could not think on that too much. Bob pushed past Vinny and looked over.
The woman was dead.
"Hypothermia?" He asked. "I tried to cover her up to keep her warm. I was not gone that long Vinny!"
"Hypo-what? Last I checked hypothermia doesnt cause deep bruises to the neck Bob, or scratches on their neck," Vinny stared at Bob now. "Bob, where did those scratches on your face come from."
Bob put his hand up to his face, and felt the scratches. He didn't notice them before, but of course his head was spinning, and he was all but naked in a box with a fully naked woman.
"Wait a moment," Vinny looked closer at the woman. "Bob, this aint one of my girls."
Bob walked over, and looked closer.
"Bob do you know who this woman is?"
Bob just looked. A part of his brain was thinking yes, he knew. Another part of his brain was saying impossible.
"Bob, this is Danny Stanford's wife. I met her several times at business lunchings." Vinny said, but Bob's mind was saying no way.
Bob's knees were saying I cant hold you up buddy as he collapsed against the container wall.
Stanford was Bob's boss. In fact, Stanford was one of the closest things he had to a friend at his job. Stanford was the only one that would seem to put up with his odd behaviours, as others called them. Stanford was young, cool, handsome, and actually considerd Bob a friend.
"I, I don't know...."
Vinny just stared at Bob for a moment, and for the first time Bob could see doubt, and maybe worry even, on Vinny's face.
"I don't think I want to get involved with this, Bob," Vinny said, shaking his head a bit.
"I didn't. I didn't," Bob said, his eyes going from Vinny to the naked Mrs. Stanford.
"Well, it sure don't look good for you buddy. I remember you made a phone call before you left," Vinny said. "I had no idea you would be calling Stanford's wife."
Bob looked to Vinny, then felt for his phone. He looked at it quickly, checking his calls. There was definitely a number on there he did not recognize, and he was willing to bet it would be her number.
"We need to call the police," Bob said, his face another shade of white now.
Vinny looked over, and shook his head.
"You givin' yourself up? Ifn' you are, you aint making me part of this, you hear!"

Bob tilted his head, as it was just now sinking in.

Bob was a murderer.

trojanborg

*Applause* Wish I could come up with something that good for my character. It's easy to imagine action scenes but putting drama inbetween is always challenging. I can't come up with anything. Part of it is that he's not human. Vanguard Paragon is an excellent classic superhero.

Based off of your style of writing I'd like to reccomend a novel called Ex-heroes by Peter Clines. If you haven't read it, try it out. It is basicly about a group of superheroes trying to salvate what remains after a zombie apocalypse. It's put out by Permuted Press. All traditional archtypes are there and there are two characters that remind me of Watchmen.

Again great stuff you are writing!!

lukeminherexx

trojanborg wrote: »

*Applause* Wish I could come up with something that good for my character. It's easy to imagine action scenes but putting drama inbetween is always challenging. I can't come up with anything.

"Ecclesiastes 1:9
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun."

While I do not copy any story I have ever read, or take directly from any comic book, I have to say that nothing I do, or any writer does for that matter, is "new". It is a mix of personality, SOME of which characters inherit from the writer, life experiences, and things read in the past.

If you can think of who your character is, then you can do the drama, I do not doubt it. I think writers try to make writing seem harder than what it is, as if you have to meet their sort of standard to be a writer. You do not. Write for you, and there will be others that will enjoy it.

"Tolkien wrote of being impressed as a boy by Samuel Rutherford Crockett's historical novel The Black Douglas and of basing the Necromancer Sauron on its villain, Gilles de Retz. Incidents in both The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are similar in narrative and style to the novel, and its overall style and imagery have been suggested as having had an influence on Tolkien."

Even Tolkien.

lukeminherexx

"I can't believe she is dead," he kept telling Michael, after having explained that his wife was found murdered at the dock in the Millennium City.
Michael felt a bit out of place, standing there with his W forms, his pay checks from the last year, his receipts, and everything he would need to have his taxes done. Tax time can be a bit of an emotional time for many, happy if you are getting back, a bit stressed if you are giving, and at ease if you find neither true for you.
Stanford just stood there at the door of the Summer's house, just on the edge of the big new Millennium City. It was indeed a suburb of the city, though the yards were large and flush, and the neigbors were not very close.
"Invite him in honey," Kathy said behind Michael, who apparently had no idea how to deal with a sobbing accountant that was suppose to be showing up to gather his tax information. Stanford always did come to the Summer's home, feeling it was a privilage to work with a super hero. Michael was a bit put off with this at first, but he soon warmed up to the idea, especially since Stanford was a no nonsense accountant. He never cut corners. He did not try to gain you a better tax cut by "fluffing the numbers", as one accountant promised Michael one year. No, he seemed to be very honest.
"Please come in," he said to the man, moving his huge frame out of the doorway, and allowing the accountant to enter. Stanford was normally well in control of things. He was handsome, blond wavy hair, and a pleasant smile that put everyone around him at ease. He was built like an athlete, with broad shoulders and a slim waiste.
Michael lead Stanford into their dining room, and the two sat at the table. Kathy went to get them some coffee, making motions to her husband to encourage the accountant to speak.
Michael Summers could not help but think that he was a teacher, not a psychologist. Alas, the man did need to talk, and Michael could not turn him away. Especially with Mrs. Summers expecting otherwise.
"I am so sorry, Mr. Summers. I do not usually bring my troubles to my clients, you do understand," Stanford said, a deep frown of sadness marring his face.
"No no, I understand. I just dont get why you are working. You said they just told you that your wife was dead only four days ago. Why are you even here. You should have sent someone else, or something...." Michael said.
"I must confess, I did not come to do your taxes. I do not think I could keep my mind on it well enough to even begin to do a good job," his head then flopped into his hands, and a few sobs began to shake his body.
Michael was not a man without a heart. He felt for Stanford. He was just not in the habit of comforting non-family members at such an intimate time. The death of a spouse, well, Michael could not imagine. However, when Kathy walked in, and he saw the gray streaks in her hair, and he watched as she opened and closed her hands after setting the coffee cups before them, he realized time was doing to him, what this killer did to his accountant.
"I need you to help," the man suddenly said, lifting his head from his hands, and grabbing the sleeve of Michael's green sweater.
"Help, what can I do?" Michael asked, which seems absurd to some, considering him being a super hero. However, this seemed like a case for a detective. While Michael Summers, more specifically Paragon Vanguard, was more than capable of meeting threats that even law enforcement could not, he was not a detective.
"You are a hero, and a very powerful one. Can't you help with this? I loved her very much. Synthia Stanford was my life, Mr. Summers. My life! We were even trying to have our first child," the man, normally handsome, was not looking so great with the tears drying on his face, the look of desperation causing creases on the corner of his eyes.
Synthia. Now she had a name. It was becoming harder and harder to excuse himself from the situation.
"I do not know even where to start, Mr. Stanford," Michael said, and felt the warm hand of his wife rest on his massive shoulder. He looked up to her, but she was simply looking at the accountant with sadness. "I am not a detective, and I do not even know Millennium City that well. I have only slim contacts with the police department. I helped Agent Cowens a bit with some gang stuff, but other than that," he just shrugged.
Agent Cowens is the very strong FBI agent known as Kodiak.
"I am sorry to put this on you, sir. I had no right to come in and ask you to do anything," Stanford nodded. His head dropped a bit, and he looked imbarassed.
"No no, my husband will do what he can son," Kathy spoke up quickly, a deep look of concern on her own face.
Michael looked to her pretty blue eyes, then back to Stanford.
"I will ask around a bit, see if I can find any leads. Other than that, I really don't know what else I can do," Michael offered.
Stanford looked up to him with new hope.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He said, and began sobbing again.

The Summers' watched as the accountant drove away.
"You are a good man, Michael Summers," Kathy said, a pretty smile crossing her lips.
"I don't know what all I can do, honey. I am not a detective. Show me the bad guy, then I can help."
"You will figure out what to do to help, you always do," she encouraged him.
"I noticed your hands are hurting again," Michael said, gently cupping her hands into his massive hands. The warmth of his hands indeed made her's feel better.
"It's nothing. The cold air is all. Nothing that no one else at our age doesn't experience," she laughed and then kissed his hands before laying her head into his chest.
"You are a great guy, Michael Summers."
This normally would bring a big grin to his face, but had she been looking she would have only seen worry, as he though that the cold effected most people at their age.
It had no effect on him. His age had no effect on him.

lukeminherexx

Poplar street.
He was very unsure why it was called that. It was not a normal street, no not at all. He watched the traffic out of his hotel room, thinking at any moment one of those cars could be the cops, or FBI, are whoever they sent after men who murdered their mistress and skipped town.
Never mind he did not murder anyone, and did not have a mistress.
He did however skip town. It was the only way Vinny would help him. He would set him up in Memphis for a bit, at least until things cooled down.
This was a week ago.
"Oh Bob, you should relax. It is our first vacation we have had in years!" Mrs. Smith called from the other room. This caused his lip to twitch a bit. A twitch was not normal. He liked his life with his normal wife, and normal kids. The kids, thank God, was at their aunts in Washington for now. He and his wife were enjoying their "second honeymoon", or so he told everyone.
They were in a popular, expensive hotel chain. Vinny had him sign up, but was paying the cost. In fact, the first two nights reciepts were shoved under his door, marked "paid in full", despite the fact that his wife ordered midnight snacks brought up to the room, all of the movies she could watch in a day, and additions to the wet bar. Sometimes she did not even watch the movies, she ordered them and left the room to do whatever she was doing, the cost fully paid, the movie going unwatched.
His life was spiraling completely out of control.
Of course he never told her that they were in a room paid for by a gangster, because it appeared that he killed his mistresss, which happened to be his boss' wife, while at a party full of hookers and alcohol.
No, one did not tell their wives this. Not normally, anyway. And if he was nothing else, he was normal.
"I will be there in a minute," he called back, barely loud enough for her to hear over the television that she was not watching.
Bob watched as the snow began to fall, ever so slightly.

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Michael Summers stood at the door of the house, as the Sheriff's detective went through the proper ettiquettes of a search warrant. Stanford kept looking to Michael for answers, Michael only shook his head and nodded toward the officers. Once they were done explaining it to him, they began to search the home.
"Why are they doing this Mr. Summers?" he asked. Michael had recieved a heads up that they were doing the search from Kodiak, that he called in some favors and Michael would be allowed to be present, as long as he stayed out of the way.
"They have to cover all bases, that is all." Michael assured him, but was not completely sure that was the case. He would not have been made privvy to any information concerning this case. He was neither a detective nor an officer. People misunderstood many heroes rolls in society, thinking all of them worked directly with the police departments. It simply was not true. Michael was, in fact, simply a retired professor, that happened to have super powers. Kodiak was only returning a favor, after Michael helped him with some gangs on the west side. He did not seem too pleased about that. Thankfully Kodiak worked well with heroes, even the ones that were not considered law enforcement.
"Do they think that I killed her," he asked, a look of fear on his face, mixed with the sadness of his situation. "I could never have."
Michael simply shook his head.
"What little I do know is that they have to cover all bases, which means they have to show that you did not do it."
This seemed to put Stanford a bit more at ease, and the two stood their silently for a bit until one of the detectives called Stanford over. Michael followed.
"Ever seen this before," the detective asked, showing Stanford a loose leaf paper with someting written on it. "Or these," he showed him some other opened envelopes with apparently more letters in them.
Stanford went to reach for them, but the detective pulled them back. "Just read, dont touch."
Stanford read over it, his face a mask of confusion.
"Bob?" He asked, and looked to the detective. The detective simply looked to him for answers.
"I didn't write that letter," he said.
Another detective looked over, as he was looking through the other letters.
"All signed, 'love Bob' ", he offered.
"Bob? She doesn't know a Bob. Could those be old letters or something?" he asked, but even as he was asking, it was obvious the paper on many of them was not that old.
"I never saw these, where did you find them?"
"They were in her wardrobe closet, in the drawer, under some magazines." The detective offered.
Michael suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as Stanford looked to him, then back to the officers.
"Bob Smith is the only Bob that we know," he offered, but shook his head even as he said it. "Bob Smith just is not the type, could never."
The first detective looked to the other, and both nodded at one another.
"Tell me about Bob Smith," he prompted.

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Okay, Bob thought. Okay, I can do this.

"Why are we leaving, we should be here for two weeks, you said Vinny said we could," Mrs. Smith complained, as Bob hurriedly packed his bags.
"We have other sights to see," he said, motioning her to hurry.
"So why the hurry Bob, why the hurry? I had planned for a good movie tonight, you know that one with that handsome curly haired guy I like," she fussed, but began packing.
"Bob, you are sweating. You never hardly ever sweat. Why are you sweating?"
"It's hot in here, and I am in my sweater, dear," he offered, hurriedly packing still.

Bob Smith's day was okay, considering he was on the run for a murder he did not commit, the victim a friend's wife he did not have an affair with, despite how it all looked. It was okay, that is, until he got the bill. The bill. Not the reciept. Not the paper showing that he paid in full. No no, the bill.
To many this would not mean time to panic, but to Bob, this was somewhere beyond panic time. It was more like sit down and have a panic attack, and hope to die, time. He tried hard to call Vinny, but only got his voice mail.
There was no way he could afford 4 days and nights in the Memphis Hilton Towers. It would completely drain his bank account, and then some. He would then be stuck on the streets of Memphis.
"Out of control, this is out of control," he said low, to himself.
"What did you say honey, I didnt hear you," Mrs. Smith asked, as she slowly, ever so slowly it seemed to Bob, packed her things.
"Nothing dear, just pack. Just pack that suitcase, and dont worry about nothing."
How could he tell her that they were on the run from the cops, that Vinny said had been snooping around. He said that he would deal with them, but it was a good idea to lay low none the less. He said all expenses would be paid. He said he would take care of Bob. He of course knew how to do that, in the line of work he did. The fact that he was obviously associated with the Purple Gang of the Westside of Mellinnium City meant he had plenty of connections. Bob on the other hand had no connections. He was not connected to anything but his wife and two kids. His two car garage, and his very normal life. No, no connections. Except for Vinny. Vinny, who, for some reason, has stopped paying for the Hotel Room.
All expenses paid has suddently turned into no expenses paid.
Call me anytime has turned into can't get in touch with you Vinny.
This may be normal for some people, but not for Bob Smith.
"Can we take the drinks," Mrs. Smith asked, looking to Bob with a grin.
"WOULD YOU JUST PACK", Bob shouted, and quickly covered his mouth.
Not normal at all.

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"Well, it seems then at least they have a lead," Michael told Stanford, and nodded as he did so. The man was very distraught, still. He was telling Michael how he had to see a psychologist now, and seemed very imbarassed about it.
"Yes, but nothing they do will bring my wife back," he put his head down.
What could Michael say to that? It was true. He was not really much of a help either. He was not a detective. Not all heroes were detectives, that was only in the comic books. This was real life. A real person was dead. He was not about to play detective. Instead, he offered as much help and comfort to his accountant as possible.
"I am so depressed," Stanford said, and lowered his head and cried.
Michael simply patted him on the shoulder, gentle even for a huge man with super strength.
Kathy came in with some cookies and placed the platter before the two, before sitting down as well. She looked to her husband who apparently looked at a loss for words. Kathy could not blame him, she had no idea what to tell Stanford either. A story of her mother passing away of old age? A distant cousin that she had a pen pal friendship with that died in a car wreck? No, none of those can compare to the loss of a spouse. Apparently a very beloved spouse.

There was few words between them, though Stanford did pull himself together as he headed for the door. He said that the police were looking into Bob Smith, an employee of his accounting firm. He was sure that Bob had nothing to do with it though, but the police insisted.
"Where are you going?" Kathy asked, as they walked him to the door.
"For a drive, I just need to be alone," he said, his head bowed some.
"You can stay here longer if you need," Michael assured him, but deep down he really was a bit relieved to see the man go.
"No no, I have taken up too much of your evening already. It is getting near 10," he assured them, and was soon in his car and driving off.

"I can't even imagine how he must feel," Michael said, looking to Kathy as they watched the tail lights of the car leave the drive.
"Me either, I kept trying to think of words, but came up blank."
"Guess there really isnt words that can help someone so depressed," Michael sighed, then noticed his wife's very worried look as she watched the car.
"What are you thinking?" He asked, following her gaize.
"He is very depressed. Do you think it would be best for you to maybe follow him a bit and make sure he does not harm himself?" She asked, looking to her husband.
Michael nodded, and grabbed for the keys to their car.
"Michael," she chuckled a bit looking to him, with one brow raised.
"Oh, yeah, I will get my suit," he said, with a grin on his own face. It would be much easier to follow him as Paragon Vanguard than as Michael Summers.

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Oddly, Stanford did not head to his home. He headed to the Westside. Not a particularly safe place for an accountant, and Paragon Vanguard wondered if the man even cared. He seemed very emotional, and who would not be, considering the trials the man went through.

Stanford's car rounded the docks, and stopped by a warehouse. It was a very unimposing warehouse, for that matter. It was not in the safest of areas, as this part of town was full of gang members, and this particular part filled with the Purple Gang.

The doors were opened however, and Stanford was motioned inside. It was really becoming odd. Odder still, Vanguard was pretty sure this was near where the man's wife was found murdered. Maybe Stanford was investigating the murder on his own, his mourning causing him to not think things through?
Paragon Vanguard would have to investigate further. Stanford, little to his own knowledge, was surely in great danger now.

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"They call us Mirror...." the one began.
".....Mirror" the other finished.

It mattered little to Vanguard, as both connected his jaw with a very powerful punch, sending him falling back.
Falling back, something Paragon Vanguard seldom did.

As fast as the two look alike thugs hit him, they were back on top of him, ready to pound some more. They wore purple suits, and were obvious gang members. However, by the chords leading from their arms to their backs, they were augmented in some way. To make things worse, they worked perfectly together.
Before the hero could get up, the two connected his ribs with a very powerful kick, one on each side, causing Vanguard to lose his breath completely.
Vanguard sent a back fist right into the face of one of the twins. He didn't hold back like he normally had to, these guys were tough, and surely a match for him.
As the one that was hit spun about and slid across the floor, the other also looked dazed, and but for a moment, stumbled backwards.
This gave Vanguard enough time to recover, and he was on the twin still standing. He covered the distance quickly, leading with his fist, right into the chest of his target, before he felt the other brother on his back, an arm snaking around his neck.
Once again though, both brothers grunted, and Vanguard began to wonder if he was really dealing with twins.

Vanguard had made his way into the warehouse, unnoticed as he entered through a sky window. What he saw shocked him. What he heard, shocked him even more.
"Where is that coward of a man," Stanford asked, then chuckled a bit.
"What are you doing here, Stanford. You really should not be here," Vinny said, a deep frown on his face. "If anyone saw you come in..."
"Relax. No one is watching me. I am the grieving husband that finds it hard to believe his employee, Bob Smith, would actually kill is wife in a lover's fit. Bob was perfect," Stanford laughed. "And now I done with the bimbo, and she can't touch a bit of money. I am free to party, like any rich man should, without the fear of paying alimony."
Vinny shook his head, and continued to frown.
"You are having too much fun, Stanford. For me, this is business."
"Good. Here is the money I said I would pay you, a fraction of what my wife would have gotten. We are done after this. No more contact. You will be done with my firm, not wanting the trouble. I will be a saddened millionaire, who's only consolable bright spot in this darkness is that the life insurance I took out on my wife will pay me a considerable amount."
"You are a hard man Stanford. However, if you get caught, it's all on you. You killed her, not me. I only helped you cook up this story of Bob Smith," Vinny said, taking the money.
It was at this time that Vanguard had heard enough. His anger had gotten the better of him. He should have simply called the police, and let them handle Stanford and Vinny. He just couldn't wait.
"You aren't going anywhere, either of you," Paragon called as he lighted to the floor. "The police will be notified and you two will be going to jail. You, Stanford, for the murder of your wife."
Stanford's eyes got big, he knew he was caught.
"Vinny, help," Stanford squeaked, and turned to run.
"Boys, take the trash out," Vinny called, backing away from Vanguard, as twins dressed in purple suits stood between Vanguard and the two conspirators.

Vanguard spun the one on his back around, and crashed directly into the other. With all of his strength he pushed them all through the side of the building, taking down metal beams and steel siding. The twins were ripped apart from him, as all three sprawled onto the cement outside.
One of the twins was bleeding pretty bad from a cut on his cheek, oddly enough, the other was holding the same cheek as if he felt the pain as well. They both looked to him, this time hate and murder were etched in their eyes. Paragon knew murder was not something knew to these guys.
"You die, hero, like other heroes before you," they both said together.
"No," Vanguard said, and with supersonic speed, raced to the one that had the injured cheek, both fists in front of him. At the last moment he drew back his right fist, and then drove it into the face of the gangster, a "superman punch" from a super man.
Bone and flesh gave, and the gangster fell with a thud. Vanguard looked back, and knew then that his theory was correct, as the other one buckled and fell to the ground. They were not twins. As their bodies melded back together, it was apparent they were really one person.
"Mirror Mirror," he said low, understanding the name now.
Vanguard looked up from them, to the building. This was not over.

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"Well done, Paragon Vanguard," Kodiak said, a big smile on his face as he motioned for the MPD officers to take the two criminals that were hanging helpless from the big hands of the hero.
"Not really, sir," Vanguard said, handing the two miscreants over to the officers. He had stood there, holding the two, who at first were kicking and trying to get away, for about 5 minutes. He endured the promises of plenty of cash if he just put them down and let them go.
"I actually followed that one," he said, pointing to Stanford," because I was worried he would kill himself over the loss of his wife. I was as fooled as everyone else."
Kodiak grinned and patted Vanguard on his massive shoulder.
"Luck is just as good as skill, my friend."

Michael Summers was up late looking out of his back sliding glass doors, the moon light showing in on him, when Kathy came up from behind and placed her hand on his back.
"You okay?" She asked, offering him a smile.
"Yeah, I am. Just beating myself up because I really believed Stanford. He had me convinced."
"So," she said, the smile still there.
Michael looked to her, his head tilted a bit, wondering where she was going with that.
"I believed him too," she went on. "Is Michael Summers then beyond being fooled by an apparent grieving man, even though his wife is not. Should I be beating myself up over it?"
"Of course not," he said, then let out a sigh. "I am doing it again, aren't I?"
"Yes you are. You think because God has gifted you with the power to protect people, that you must be perfect. Well you aren't, and no one expects you to be. We expect you to be a good man, and I would rather you concern yourself with 10 friends who need your support, and 1 turn out to be liar, than you to refuse to care."
Michael smiled, and was about to say something when his phone rang.
"You get that, I will get the hot chocolate, and you can meet me in the bed room, big boy," Kathy said, and headed to the kitchen.

Kathy sighed as she made the hot chocolate. Her husband tried to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. As massive as they were, they could not hold the weight of what the world was becoming. The water began to boil as Michael walked back in, a grin on his face.
"It seems Bob Smith and his wife were arrested by the Memphis Police Department. He was trying to skip out of the Hilton Towers without paying the bill. Kodiak is taking a plane to get him."
"Well thank God this is all over, he will be relieved for sure."


Memphis, Hours Later

Kodiak had the two brought to the airport via taxi. He was not putting them in his rental. He could still hear Mrs. Smith as the taxi screeched off. She was present when Kodiak explained everything that happened to the Memphis detectives, and assured them that the Hilton bill would be paid.

"......and further more, momma said I should have never married you, you were no good, you were two bit, and you had shifty eyes. I kind of liked your eyes Bob, but they are shifty sometimes. Momma said you weren't normal. You know what Bob, THIS IS NOT NORMAL!"

Bob sighed, and looked out at the Memphis buildings, as the taxi carried him to the airport. He could not help but wonder if normal was ever going to be normal again.


THE END