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 Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 12:23 am
I have a lot of characters. I mean, a LOT a lot of characters. Most of them have super-powers. I like super-powers. They add a whole new dimension to a character.
My favorite characters are a team called Possesssed. I started making them when I was about eight, and they've grown and changed and evolved. It's amazing. They're a team of mutants (I have this fascination with mutants) who do incredible things.
Pyro
Omega
Stallion
Sissy
Earth
Stew
Storm
Sisters
Energy
DeLTA
It's a team of sixteen (wow!), and I love them to death. I'm gonna write a whole bunch of short stories about them here. If you want to review them, please start a discussion thread. Don't post here.
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Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 12:38 am
Pyro The city of Phoenix, Arizona was burned beyond salvation in February of 2009. The fires swept through the streets and blazed over buildings more quickly than any natural fire ever would. Thousands died in the first hour. Hundreds of thousands died overall. A population of nearly a million was removed from the area or left to die. All those homes and businesses were gone forever; nothing survived the wave of fire.
A lone building remained standing. On the roof of a tall apartment building, a lone figure breathed silently. He sat on the barrier on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the city street below. He stared down at it and closed his eyes. It had been almost a month since he'd destroyed the city.
It hadn't been entirely his fault, of course. But it was more than enough to make him guilty.
A few weeks before the incident, he had accepted the invitation. He joined the Underground, and took on the life of a criminal.
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Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 12:54 am
Charles grunted as another protester pushed her way by him. "God hates mutants!" She cried the slogan written on her sign. He glared at her as she walked away, and was suddenly tempted to melt her face, but he let the rage cool. As he counted to ten in his head slowly, he noticed he'd been clenching his fists. He relaxed them and a puff of steam rose from each palm.
It was a miracle no one had noticed, but then again, Phoenix was a busy place. He pulled at his shirt and jammed his hands into his pockets. He was a little underdressed for the weather. He had a black T-shirt on, but the sleeves were torn off, and the hem looked singed. His black jeans were clean, but torn all to hell, and they looked pretty burned, themselves.
January in Phoenix was uncomfortably warm, though, so no one paid it too much mind. He finally looked away from the protester as her sign disappeared behind the wave of busy people. He let himself grunt indignantly and continued his walk. He was nervous, of course. It was a new feeling for him. This was the first time he could remember actually trembling as he walked.
Of course, this was the first time he'd ever been asked to rob a bank.
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Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 1:17 am
The automatic doors made an odd noise as they shuddered open. He stepped inside slowly and tried to look nonchalant, but he knew he looked uncomfortable. That didn't matter too much. The cameras were out. He didn't waste the time checking. It might draw attention to him.
He took a deep breath and tried to walk across the room coolly. There was a pay phone in the corner by the security office. That was his destination. There wasn't a line for it, so he picked it up himself. There was no dial tone. He trembled again.
"Hello, good people." A modified voice echoed through the room, which fell deadly silent. "May I have your attention, please? This is a robbery. Please get down and lie still on the floor with your hands on your heads, and no one will be hurt."
The people looked confused, and no one actually got down. This was his first job. Charles lowered himself to the floor with a quick, smooth movement and placed his hands on his head, face pressed into the floor. His movement created a chain reaction through the bank as people realized that this wasn't a joke.
He silently praised a higher power. If no one acted up, no one would have to get hurt. If someone tried to be a hero... Well, that was his other job. The voice started to speak again. "Thank you." It stated simply. The voice was modified and unrecognizable, but he knew whose it was.
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Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 1:37 am
It was a good plan. Four mutants working together. It was pretty simple, too. Kind of.
Radio had the hardest job, but also the most useful power. He was the voice playing over the intercom. His power allowed him to modify various frequencies. He was doing most of the work. He had to make sure no transmissions got in or out. He was disabling every phone and alarm in the building, and also keeping the electronic door to the security office shut. Hopefully, that would keep the guards at bay.
Chameleon was next. He was disguised as an old woman, but he took on his favorite disguise once all of the civilians were down. In his new form, he stood at nearly seven feet tall, and his skin was a scaly green. Without the old lady disguise, he was carrying a duffel bag, which he brought to the front. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but if you wouldn't mind?" He asked politely, smiling at her with fangs bared. She started digging out money.
Hack was upstairs with Radio, somewhere. His job was the most important. He was on his laptop, digging through the bank's data. Come on... Charles thought impatiently. Be done, already!
As if he could hear Charles's thoughts, Radio's voice echoed once more. "Thank you for your cooperation. We apologize for the inconvenience. Please have a nice day." The signal. That meant Hack was done and Chameleon would be leaving. He would stay behind, of course. He was just another civilian.
It was unbelievable! Things were actually going off according to plan! Or so he thought. At that moment, the washroom door opened quietly. It was near enough the security station that Charles could tilt his head to see. A security guard stepped out, gun at the ready. He knelt down and took aim at the busy Chameleon's back.
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Posted: Thu Apr 02, 2009 1:58 am
Charles reached out with his power instinctively. He'd hoped that it wouldn't come to this, but at this point, it seemed inevitable. If the guard would chicken out or if the gun was out of ammo or...
He pulled the trigger. Charles watched in horror, and his stomach twisted sideways when he realized what he would have to do. The hammer seemed to move in slow motion. He focused all of his attention on the gun. This was a trick he had used before, in a different situation. And it frightened him to do it again.
As the hammer connected, it ignited a little spark within the barrel. Normally, that spark would ignite the gunpowder and fire the bullet from the chamber. It was now or never. Someone was going to die. Charles got to choose who.
He didn't hesitate. He didn't have the time. As the spark ignited, he pushed his consciousness into it, and changed the way it burned. The bullet backfired, and the back of the gun erupted in fire and shrapnel. The guard cried out in surprise and fear, but it was too late.
Charles couldn't suppress a laugh when he felt the fire give way to his thought. The rush he felt when he was in control of something so primal tore away at his logic. He felt the fire as it surged out of the gun, but it wasn't enough. That little flame wouldn't be lethal.
So he made it lethal. He willed the fire to be bigger. He forced it to burn hotter. The guard's cry became a scream as the inferno tore at his flesh. He fell back, still screaming and crying, and Charles knew he was dead.
And it made him feel alive.
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