Friday, February 22, 2002

Yesteryear - http://www.digitallymystic.com/sites/fiction/yy/ Gotterdammerung 1 "Ready? take aim?" Five bolt action Lee Enfield rifles took aim at Sebastian's muscled chest. "Those rifles aren't loaded are they?" Colonel March considered the possibility that he could be held responsible for any accidents as he was technically the most senior officer present on the base that day. "Everything is under control, Colonel. Don't worry. We've done this many times before." "Fire!" barked the sergeant major. There were five loud cracks and five bullets struck Sebastian in the chest. He staggered but remained on his feet with his hands still clenched firmly behind his back. "At ease!" The men lowered their rifles. "Sebastian! Over here please?" The young man marched quickly towards Mr Price, his arms swinging in regulation military fashion. He stamped to attention before the Colonel and his aide. "Notice his chest, Sir." Donald Price pointed with a wooden stick at five swollen bruises on the man's naked chest. "The bullet injuries. Five .303 bullets - each one bruised but failed to break his skin." "Remarkable." Colonel March examined the marks closely. "Does it hurt, Sebastian?" asked Donald Price. "Yes Sir!" By Rob Nott A MAN NAMED KENT #11 "An early autumn even here in Indian Springs does spark a bit of nostalgia, doesn't it?" Startled and instinctively wary, he sprang to his feet, turning in mid air, forcing himself not to simply fly blindly at the strange voice and shake it out of his daydream. As tension settled in his ready fists, he cursed himself. For getting lost in what could never be recaptured. For wanting to stay there, almost enough to strike out at words. And most of all, for not understanding why he felt, as he had for over a month now, such unadulterated sorrow and rage. "My apologies, sir," the slender, older man stopped a few feet away, extending an open hand, "I didn't mean to give you a start." He waited until the broad chested, well-muscled man in glasses crossed to him and took his hand. "It is just so uncommon for us to have visitors that I've forgotten how to treat guests. Even those that we are expecting. I am Professor Daniel Hardin. And I presume you are Mister-" "Kent." He pulled his hand away slowly as he studied Hardin. He'd read quite a bit about him while still in school, his theories on human evolution and how the component of the 'superhuman' surely rested in the cell structure of some supposedly ordinary man or woman. That was why Kent sought him out now. Now, when he needed answers, even possibly wrong ones, to why he could outrun bullets and leap skyscrapers. "Just call me Kent." By Tommy Hancock Sand and Stage Mist #4 Dian put her arms around Wesley and held him close. "Mr Dodds, you know you and fire do not mix." Wesley fished his glasses from his pocket and carefully looped them over his ears as Dian held on. "I'd be more concerned about the Magician and his smoke, Miss Belmont." A still soot covered Mandrake blew a long smoke ring and smiled. "We should fish dear Foxy out of the trunk and ask him about this." His hand moved to reveal the cause of the trouble for the evening - the dagger. Dian slipped away as Wesley replaced his mask and the Sandman opened the trunk. Foxy cowered inside looking up desparately. "What do you want?" he stuttered. "The rest of the blade," Mandrake answered as the Sandman watched silently. By Mark Peyton "Last Train From Murania" "Get your damned hands off of me!" John Wayne knocked a soldier's arm back, flailing wildly with both hands while still on his knees. He raised his head, only to look into the barrel of one of the silver and black rodguns being held on them. Looking around quickly, Wayne saw that Greg Saunders and Leonard Slye were on their feet, guns encircling both of them. Calming a bit, he searched one last time for a way out, but his eyes could not get past Gene Autry. Standing beside the apparent leader of the nearly fifty men surrounding them, Autry's face was blank. Lifeless, pale, and empty. Not the man Wayne knew. Not anymore. "All right," Wayne said, the soldier trying to make him stand again, "I'll get up. But I'll do it on my own." "Do not trouble yourself, sun-worshipper." General Ordin stepped over to Wayne, Autry mechanically two steps behind him. Lifting his foot into the air, he said, "It does not matter if your blood spills here in the putrid above ground or if it soils my precious New Murania." Ordin kicked Wayne hard, sending him backwards in an agonizing somersault. "You and your comrades will die either way." "Then," Leonard Slye snapped, "Why are we still standing? If we're going to be killed-" "Leonard," Greg Saunders cautioned, moving nothing but his eyes, letting them settle heavy on Slye's angry expression, "Be quiet. Let this play out." By Tommy Hancock Slayer #0 'Oh my, how the fates have shined on me today.' he thought, a plan forming in his head. -+ +- And so it continued. The dance of good versus evil spun around and around, each concept dipping and swaying in time with the music of the jungle. Only the dancers changed, but never the moves. By Alex Cook posted by Jason Kenney Friday, February 22, 2002 - - Post a Comment Comments: