A Scripta

Idaho knew better than to walk into the apartment with a "Honey, I'm home!" He knew she wouldn't be there, just like she wasn't for the past few weeks.

He sighed as he shut the door and locked it. It was partially his fault, not being around much anymore. He has his own abilities to work with now, using his fire abilities to heal instead of hurt. He knew that she had darkness about her, similar to Twisted Twilight, and he'd overlooked that, though it made him uncomfortable.

The apartment was four yawning rooms, too big for us now, he thought, now that we're never home. But it was good to have a place to come home to, not to sleep in the D, in one of the abandoned houses at King's Row or at the hostel in the southern end of Steel Canyon. He went into the kitchen area, to look in the probably empty refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat.

As he expected, it was empty except for two tubs of something with white fur and a half gallon of milk that he didn't dare open. He saw the glimpse of a bottle of beer in the way back, but he kept that there as a reminder of what he almost started to do. He almost spent most of his time at the D, almost became a permanent fixture there. That's why he went to Boston, to escape the alcohol and heroing. When he found that Masonry had let Ariel die again, he returned only once, and thought that heroing was no longer his place. So he stayed in Boston and grew addicted to ink instead of booze. It wasn't until Ariel returned to life, that she would hero again under a different guise, that he decided to also return once again and mimic her, by becoming what was known as a fire-user.

He closed the refrigerator, walking across to a cupboard. He thought he heard a noise from the bedroom.

Idaho tilted his head, wondering if he could hear it again. He went to the doorway of the bedroom.

Ariel lay there, tangled in the bedsheets, one stockinged foot sticking out from the bottom of the bed. He looked at her and smiled; she didn't even have time to get her clothes off before collapsing into the bed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to her light snoring, and he bent down to whisper, "Honey, I'm home."

Powerhouse Jack stared at the bottle before him. It would soon join the four or five bottles littering the floor next to him.

It was Friday night at the D, and no one else seemed to notice the man in the corner of the Tiki bar, where the mask floated over to him and unemotionally asked if he wanted another. Jack could only nod, knowing that if he got off the stool, he would fall down after his feet hit the floor.

It was also three days after Pen had died, and he couldn't get the weight of the man off his shoulders. Men had died in front of him before - while he was in Korea, he wouldn't forget the refugee who stood in line like the rest of them, then suddenly exploded as he approached. He got bits and pieces of the man - and the women and children next to him - landing all around him.

He didn't drink then.

He didn't drink when his wife of twenty years died after a bout with cancer in the 1980's, a wife that he no longer loved.

He didn't drink when he saw another hero friend get paralyzed from the waist down after fighting far too much with the Fifth Column.

Age.

He perked up his head, looking bleary-eyed at the Tiki mask that hovered before him. "What did you say?""Nothing."

He felt someone looking at him and turned around to face nothing. He felt someone very close to him, standing almost on top of him, and he looked in the mirror to see who it was.

His eyes glowed a fiery white, something that hadn't happened in a long, long, time.

"Lodestar," he whispered.

He was filled with a sense of someone hugging him. Jack sunk his head down onto the bar and let his forehead rest on his folded forearms. The sense of the hug slowly filled his entire body, bringing him on the brink of tears. Lodestar had done this a few times before, but never with this much intensity, this much...love.

Soon it ends: you know it, I know it.

"Yeah," Jack said, realizing what Pen had meant to him. An old adversary from an old war, the two had made peace with each other and fought crime together. Pen's death struck him because they were both old war horses, and their end time was getting near. Even though Jack knew his body was being kept alive and strong by his Kheldian bond-mate, he also knew that the body itself was getting old and his Kheldian would need to move on, to find another host soon.

"What will you do, Lodestar?" Jack asked gently.

Die with you.

Jack looked up, facing himself in the mirror, white eyes aflame. "What?"

We are both old.

"Die? We'll both die?" He looked away from the mirror, looking at the Tiki mask but not seeing it.

Age and die together.

He stared at the air. Die? He would die too, go into that final moment, when his life would slip away and...what would happen to him?

Suddenly sober, he raised the bottle and poured another shot. "I'm not ready to die yet," he said, and bolted it back. No, he had too much to do - and the first thing to do was finish this bottle.

"Well, look who's here! Frosty, ol' buddy!"

Frost turned at the voice and stifled a small groan. A black-skinned man, with fragile blue and red wings, stood just slightly behind him.

"What, no hug for me? I'm hurt."

Frost folded his arms across his chest and watched him advance. "Grim," he said quietly.

"Yes! That's my name, don't wear it out. How's it going? How's your boyfriend?"

Some people turned around to look at Frost, but he ignored the looks.

"I miss looking into his big, blue eyes, massaging his big shoulders, rustling his hair, petting his--"

"Did you come here to sell anything?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. But I'm so happy to see you." He walked over and put a comradely arm around Frost's shoulders. Frost immediately shrugged him off, irritated. Grim stepped back, a broad smile on his face. "Aw, Frosty, now I'm really hurt. We queers, we have to stick together, you know."

"I have some work to do," Frost replied, now angry.

"You admit it, Frosty, don't you - "

"My orientation is no one's business but my own," he almost snarled at Grim. Grim's grin grew wider, as he put his hand on Frost's arm.

"Is that your hand on my boyfriend?" came a deep, growling voice from behind Grim, just loud enough for the two men to hear. "Better take it off before I tear off your head."

Frost stepped away, turning to face Masonry who had come up behind them. "Don't, Mase, it's not worth it."

"It would be very worth it," Masonry growled again, his eyes never leaving the back of Grim's neck. "Touch him again and I swear I'll hurt you."

Grim smiled, poked Frost, and folded his arms across his chest. Masonry reached out and grabbed at Grim's neck, but Grim danced away. "Eh eh eh, heroes don't hit heroes at Wentworth's, even when one cheats another." He grinned again at Frost.

Frost bristled at the allegation, while Masonry took another step forward. This time Grim didn't move. "Go ahead, and they'll throw you out faster than when you got out of jail free with a Lodestar on your back."

Masonry stood, his hands clenched at his sides. He noticed one of the Wentworth's employees speak into his headset. He saw Frost's frown, and rocked back on his heels as if physically stopped.

Grim laughed. "He's got you pussy-whipped, doesn't he?"

"I think you'd better leave," Masonry said quietly.

"I got some work to do, first. Just a friendly conversation among friends, aren't we ol' buddy? After all, you did take me on Christmas. I was a sorry substitute for who you really wanted, wasn't I? Did you enjoy it, because I sure as hell didn't." Grim's face slowly lost its smile.

Masonry slowly raised his head, defiance in his eyes. "If you won't leave, then I will." He nodded to Frost and started to leave Wentworth's.

"That's right, walk out!" Grim yelled, attracting some attention. "Now that you got what you wanted, what am I to you, huh?"

Masonry stopped.

"Nothin', right?"

Masonry seemed to nod, and kept right on walking. Frost gazed for a moment at Grim, shook his head, and went back to the markets, leaving Grim standing in the center of Wentworth's, his own darkness oozing out around him.

Thanks to Keen for introducing this series to me. It's on YouTube, of course. It's about a secret organization that uses walking cellphones to fight cybercrime. See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K-tai_Investigator_7 Phone Braver 5, part 1

The door slid open at a touch. Arisha shoved back the hair from her eyes again, focusing on the small apartment's open foyer. She pulled out her cellphone and flipped it open, entering the four digits that would cause the phone to expand into its other form, a two-legged, two-armed, small man-like figure, with wide grey eyes and a perpetual smile along its screen.

Jack watched his friend, Penitency, as he let loose with another blast from his Nova form. Lodestar, his own Kheldian, had never changed forms, and, in fact, preferred that Jack didn't even discuss him. But Pen knew from a distance that there was a Kheldian in Jack, and so a bond formed, more than just mere heroes together for the sake of duty.

Penitency named himself such because he knew he wasn't long for this world. His Kheldian chose to keep himself alive, at the expense of his host, so his host aged naturally. Fifty years ago, the two men were on opposite sides of a war that had a clear ideological bent. Fifty years ago, Penitency was named Heinrich, and wore a black uniform with the flashing silver SS on the collar. He had long ago sworn off his National Socialist ways after being "de-Nazified" and moved to America.

He kept his heroism under wraps until the most recent Rikti invasion, and then struggled again to use his abilities. He had no short term memory, relying entirely on his Kheldian to feed him information. When Jack found him and began working with him, the two so-called Golden Age heroes hit it off well. Knowing from his own Kheldian to protect Pen, he went first against Void Slayers and Quantum gunners. This was the typical tactic.

The tactic they always used.

Except this once.

The Void Slayer had his back turned, and Pen had the element of surprise on his side. He fired once, but the Void deflected it. Pen looked behind him - but Jack wasn't there this time.

Jack had been easily overwhelmed by a group of Council, with an archon that tore his uniform and soul. He had limited defense against such attacks so hadn't disengaged - that is, beaten - the rest of them. He finally finished and plowed toward the room where Pen had gotten into, but before he could get there, something flew through the plywood wall, the glass of a nearby office, and landed with a thud into a credenza.

Jack turned around to see the Void Stalker step through the carnage of the wall, and, ignoring the form in the credenza, Jack charged at the Stalker. Knowing he was a Kheldian, he fired his weapon but missed; Jack planted a solid haymaker and knocked him out cold, then slapped a teleporter disk on him.

Council swarmed him immediately, as he fought them off one by one, figuring that Pen had already been teleported to the hospital. He finished with that group and turned toward the office where Pen...still lay.

Jack narrowed his eyes in confusion. The hospital teleporter should have taken him. He rushed to him, seeing the extent of his injuries. The area the teleporter had been implanted was gone - in fact, the left side of his neck and most of his left shoulder had been torn off. His arm hung by a bit of flesh connected to the side of his chest.

Jack looked at the blood, all the blood from both the host and the symbiote. The cut was clean, but the blood...

He knew from looking at the blood there was nothing left he could do, but pick up the body and carry it home.

On Agrinor, a planet in the Gelise system, creatures that are relatively humanoid in appearance have thrived there for about 30,000 Earth years. One section of the planet, the tribe of Riten, are considered the most advanced for this planet.

Riten have divided themselves into different castes that a child is born into. There are political castes, where the alleged "conquerers" are from. There are also magic-using castes, scientific castes, and many others. Some castes are based upon the looks of a child. WindRiders are such a caste.

Some children are born with wings, and these are considered "WindRiders". They are mostly used for carrying messages from place to place, and are considered inviolate by other tribes - unless the tribes are at war, then they are usually the first attacked. WindRiders are covered with a downy fur, have feathers for hair, and are lighter than their more humanoid (Walker) cousins. Many WindRiders are physically weaker than Walkers, but some have abilities that their cousins do not. Some can create ice around their bodies, but still be light enough to fly. Some have innate psychic abilities to rip others' minds apart. Still others have a special affinity with blades, plants, swords, or even are excellent brawlers in their own right.

One of these WindRiders was on a mission to deliver a message to a special mage. This mage thanked him by telling him he had learned a new spell that could "teleport" him directly back to the originator of the message. Unfortunately, something happened, and he was mistakenly teleported to a Circle of Thorns ceremony in Perez Park. Barely escaping with his life - he could not fly because the gravity on this planet was stronger than his own - he found his way to Atlas Park. There, he was able to meet up with a young man named Suicidal Wombat, who took him under his wing, so to speak, to teach him a little bit of the ways of Paragon City. Now with his ability with psychic fire, he has chosen to assist the heroes in their constant fight for justice and honor, values that he, as a visitor from a different planet, is beginning to learn. Meanwhile, Wombat has promised to find a way to get him back home.

June, 1995.

The man known as Powerhouse Jack sat in the air conditioned confines of Hero Corps, Mexico City. His Spanish was virtually non-existent, so he was lucky to be able to get here in the first place.

He waited for his interview for a job here. He had seen Luminary and, being that he was already a hero-for-hire with Freedom Incorporated, decided that the time of being stuck as the “big, dumb ox” was over. At Freedom Inc., he was a glorified strongman, going all across the world to end strikes or put the fear of God into some governments. His last stint in Yugoslavia, watching the dissolution of that state into smaller states, like Croatia and Bosnia, turned him away from heroing and more into rescuing. He did not want to find himself involved in that kind of a bloody conflict, where he didn’t know the sides.

“Good morning, Mr. Simon,” said a man coming up on his right side. He put down the magazine and looked up to see a man, who couldn’t have been older than late 20’s, standing at the door. “If you’ll come with me?”

Jack followed the young man quietly. If he was a hero, he thought, I think I’ll give up.

“Please be seated,” he said, letting him into a spacious office that overlooked the southern side of the city. No one sat at the desk, which was unusual to him. The young man left him without watching him sit down.

Jack sighed, went over to the window. He glanced at the desk, and stopped, seeing a folder with his name on it. It looked about half an inch thick. Jack was curious, but decided against looking at it. Instead he continued on to the window, looking outside. He heard the door open but didn’t turn around.

“Ah, Mr. Simon.”

Jack turned around to face a different man, this one with glasses and a beard, who smiled broadly and approached him.

He felt Lodestar’s presence strongly for a moment, and the man’s smile wavered just slightly. Now Jack smiled. “Get out of my head, mister,” he said quietly.

“Hm, you have a way to block me,” the man said. “That’s interesting and useful.”

“It’s also rude what you’re doing.”

“Nothing more than trying to put you at ease, Mr. Simon.”

Lodestar felt like a man leaning over him, his presence was that palatable. It did not feel very safe. “I was at ease until you tried invading my mind.”

“Please, I won’t do it again. Please, sit down.”

“What’s your name?” Jack demanded, moving to the seat across the desk.

“Jimmy McDaniel. I’m called Psylink.”

Jack only hmpfed at him as he sat down.

“We’ve looked over your resume, Mr. Simon. We can’t rightly tell if you’re a mutant or something else.”

“I am not a mutant, so I must be something else.”

“Something is keeping you young, because it says here you were with the Sand Kings, and we did find a Powerhouse Jack in that group.”

“You don’t believe I’m the same person?”

“Well,” laughed McDaniel, “It is rather hard to believe.”

“I see.” Jack got up from his chair. “You’re worse than the Phalanx. At least with Freedom Inc I don’t have to be interviewed by a sniveling, untrusting group of kids like you. I was at least given the respect I deserved.”

McDaniel said, “And you will.”

“Bullshit,” snapped Jack. “If you can’t trust me enough that you need to rifle through my mind, then I don’t need to be here.”

“Sir, wait!”

Jack had his hand on the door. Lodestar still sat on his shoulder like a cat. Jack crushed the handle of the door in his hand. “You’re too young to know,” he retorted, and yanked hard on the door. It came off its hinges, and Jack threw it into the room, where it landed on a spacious couch.