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Post by Lissilambe on Mar 13, 2008 22:31:18 GMT -5
Beck Memorial Hospital
Freddy Freeman shaded his eyes from the early morning sun as he walked up the marble stairs, gazing at the old Twenties-style Greek façade. He sighed and punched his hands deeper into his jacket pocket and shouldered into the lobby. He listened to his footsteps blend with the dozens of other people shuffling through the large room with its high-vaulted ceiling. He followed the familiar path down the hall, and up the stairs, and around the corner and past the nurses’ station. The routine had become…routine, and he sighed as he followed the…route.
Until the nurse stopped him.
“Mr. Freeman?” Kaylie said in a hushed, tentative voice. She stepped up to him. “I’m sorry. It happened during the night. He just gave out.” She spoke in soft tones and put a hand out to his. “I’m very sorry.”
Freddy stared at her, not really comprehending the words she spoke. He just stared, then looked down the hall to Kit’s room. He shoved past her and ran the rest of the way, fighting back the tears. He grabbed the door frame and swung into the empty room. The sheets were already changed, personal effects collected and taken away, the stark bare space hitting Freddy like a hammer to his gut. He clutched his stomach and staggered back until he bumped into the wall opposite the door, just staring and felt the sting of tears in his eyes.
Kaylie walked up slowly and put a hand on his shoulder and another on the small of his back, and guided Freddy back up the hall. “We have his things collected for you, sir,” she said. “And our service staff will do everything it can to help you through this.”
Freddy shook, trying to keep his emotions inside, but he couldn’t. He started to cry, and he balled up his fists and he just couldn’t focus on her words, walking in a daze. He shook and he stumbled along the corridor, all the while, Kaylie’s words bounced off his own churned up emotions and thoughts. She watched as he took the meager box of possessions and started to wander away. She stared at him and then turned back to the long counter of the nurses’ station. She looked underneath, to her purse, catching the corner of a fifty dollar bill just in sight. Her stomach lurched, and Kaylie ran down the hall to the restrooms with a sudden urge to throw up.
The Cobblestones
The street gangs moved through the oldest part of Fawcett City with a destination in mind. Named for the twisted roads of cobblestone that made up a large portion of the area, the Cobblestones (or ‘Stones for short) was cramped, and crowded, and built up with many mid-sized buildings. Averaging a dozen stories in height, this left the winding streets bounded by rows of rundown housing and tenements. Time-worn, the residents of the ‘Stones also refused to be seen as the poor cousins to the rest of the Fawcett, and worked hard to make their homes tidy, neat and welcoming.
Thus it was very disturbing to see the dozen young toughs moving through the pre-dawn light. They stormed into Raboy Square, where they met up with a van carrying a half-dozen men in their mid-thirties. The men pulled out a variety of firearms, and the young punks stared them in the eyes.
“Ready to do this, player?” asked the head of the street gang, a large looking black man in heavy fatigues, and pulling out a large, powerful looking hand cannon.
The driver of the van stepped up and gave the punk leader the once-over and nodded. “We’re set. You go in, rough ‘em up, flush ‘em out. We’ll put the rest down. Now get.”
“Don’t be thinkin’ you can push me around,” the gang leader snarled back. “We know our part, you just do yours.”
The gang moved carefully up to the front door of one of the older buildings, a seedy-looking boarding house. Some of the thugs ran into the alley and started up the fire escape, a couple moved to the rear door. As the dozen thugs crashed into the building, the other six, older gunmen took up positions around the building, waiting, listening to the sounds of gunfire, of crashing and smashing. No one retreated, no one came running out, and this started to make the men uncomfortable.
Soon, the gang leader hurtled out of the front door and slid across the street. Captain Marvel stepped out, wiping his hands and grinning. He waved to the six gunmen, and smiled. “Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry to say, but today’s mob war has been called on account of law and order.”
From nearby buildings and cars came numerous undercover police officers, quickly converging on the gunmen. Seeing the large, powerful hero, and the ring of cops, they dropped their weapons and put up their arms.
“Fine, fine, so you have us,” the head of the gunmen snapped. “Doesn’t matter! This is just the start! Sabbac, he’s going to wipe out Ibac, he runs the show now! You’re just making yourself a target, big man!” he shouted at Captain Marvel as he was led away.
“Detective, there are a couple of dozen gang members scattered around inside the building,” Marvel said to one cop in particular, directing the other men. “They should be out for a while, but you’ll want your men to be careful.”
“Of course, Captain. Name’s Detective Farley. Good to meet you,” he said as he put his hand out to shake the hero’s. “You did good work here. Thanks for tipping us off.”
”My pleasure. I’m sure not here to replace you guys. I just want to help,” the Captain answered as he shook hands. “I just wish I knew where to find Ibac or Sabbac. Those two need to be brought down, and soon.”
“Yeah. Well, one step at a time,” Farley answered. “Thanks again, Captain.”
Captain Marvel saluted and flew up into the air, before streaking off across the skies to the KWHZ building, and Billy Batson’s morning broadcast.
The Terrace
The gently sloping hills of Fawcett City housed the Terrace, rows of beautiful houses overlooking the lower portions of the city. Well-to-do people lived here, business people and professional people and those with money enough for the Terrace, but not enough for Upwater. Still, it was a quiet and pleasant group of neighborhoods, and it was on one such quiet and pleasant street that we found Susan Kent Barr departing for the day.
“Good-bye, dear,” Jim Barr called from the doorway as he watched his slim, brown-haired beauty of a wife get into her car and pull out. She drove off to her office and left him in his pajamas and robe, mug of coffee in his hand.
He closed the door, and gulped the hot liquid as he hurried into the workshop downstairs. He set the mug down and pulled the cloth away from the stand, revealing his creation. He looked excitedly on it, and ran his fingers over the smooth, metallic surface. He picked it up gingerly, and checked it over once more. It was a helmet with a tall crown. It was smooth, and from afar looked rounded, but up close, showed signs of a vague pyramid shape. It came to a point at the top, with a pair of red-tinted goggles and a strap for the chin.
He slowly slid it over his head, and let the world turn a deep red hue, and then hooked the strap in place. He could feel the interior of the helmet, various projections that pressed against his temples, and he felt giddy. He closed his eyes, and he concentrated now. He tried to focus his thoughts on the helmet, on its construction of orichalcum, the miracle metal of ancient Atlantis, on the pyramidal construction of the Egyptian wise men, on all the promise that it held.
And he was disappointed. Nothing happened. He sighed, and opened his eyes. He pulled out some scrap paper and started to doodle on it while waiting to see the results of his helmet, wondering what he’d missed. He was sure this would work, positive of it. Years of research, of crawling through dusty bookstores and moldier books of ridiculous theories, searches for the metal, searches for the old geometric theorems, searches for the few scraps of truth that leaked out over the decades from such magicians as Ibis and his ilk. And now it all led to a stupid helmet on his head, in his pajamas and robe.
He looked at the scrap of paper that he’d been doodling. The chemical formula seemed to make sense. Enhancing an amethyst with this formula, placed in the brow of the helmet, to increase a thousand-fold the focus of forces in the helmet, it all made perfect sense. He smiled and started to re-write the formula and the process into his notebook. Then he stopped. He stared again at his original doodles and stood up fast, sending the chair crashing to the side.
“It works!” he cried out as he realized that the helmet was focusing external energies, making his mind clearer. He jumped up into the air and shouted again. When he reached down to the precious paper, he couldn’t reach it. It was only then that he noticed he was floating. His smile hurt his face now, and his heart raced, but he focused on lowering himself the floor and then righted the chair.
“Oh yeah!” he said to himself, as he returned to his work. “I knew it would work! I knew it! Move over, world…” He paused, and thought for a few more moments then returned to his writing. “Well, I don’t know who I’ll be yet, but I’m coming for sure!”
WHZ Building
Billy Batson had finished his morning news broadcast and was heading out of the building in a hurry. He still needed to check in on Freddy, and then hurry to school.
“Billy,” Betty Sommersly said as he started to pass by her desk. “I have a message for you, from some woman who said her name was Minerva?” She handed him the folded slip of paper. “I never realized you were into older women, Billy,” she teased him with a wink. “Cissie will be so disappointed.”
A crimson color flushed his cheeks that matched the red sweater he wore as he took the note. He looked at the words and then curled a lip up in frustration. He looked back at Betty with a smile, and waved at her.
“Not true, she’s just an informant,” he said back. “I mean, she’s got some good dirt on stuff that’s going down. I have to go. Bye!” He darted out of the lobby and left Betty behind, chuckling and shaking her head.
Billy ran out of the building and looked around at the crowds that were beginning to build up. Mid-morning traffic was in full swing, and he took off for his newsstand, opening the door and stepping inside. He looked at the note again. Apparently, this Minerva woman had gotten dirt on a shipment of high-power weapons coming into Harbordown for Ibac. The ship would be offshore for the day, being unloaded slowly by smaller motorboats and snuck onto shore. He had no choice; he had to stop that ship. He thought about Freddy, and hoped he’d get a chance to check on him later in the day.
He opened the newsstand up, rolling the metal window cover up into the roof. He glanced around, and saw the people going about their business, but none looking his way. He hoped the Wizard was right about the magic and shouted the word of power.
“Shazam!” The brilliant explosion of lightning and the roar of thunder shook the plaza and left people looking in awe at the magnificent form of Captain Marvel. He smiled at them and waved, and leaped out of the small shack and onto the sidewalk. “Just checking the daily paper, people.” He held up the morning news and added, “Fawcett City Clarion. Can’t do without it.”
As crowds of people decided to believe him and slapped quarters onto the counter and snatched papers, Captain Marvel sheepishly stepped to the side and prepared to fly away.
“Billy?” The word caught the Captain in mid-bend and he turned to see Freddy staring at him from the door into the newsstand. “Was that really you, Billy?”
“Um, well, you see, Fred,” Captain Marvel stammered. “There’s a shipment of illegal guns headed into the Fawcett. I have to stop them, you understand? I’ll…we’ll…um. Holy Moly!”
“Right. Sure. You go.” Freddy just entered the newsstand and started to sweep the quarters into the register, more and more angrily with each coin.
“Freddy, I was going to talk to you about this, but with Kit and all, I never really had a good time,” Captain Marvel said to Freddy, as passersby stopped and stared at the odd pair.
“You’d better go, Cap,” Freddy said coldly. “Before people wonder. I have to go…take care of something.” He closed the register, and then started to close the stand back up. “I’ll reopen…later. Now go.” He struggled to contain his emotions. He refused to let himself fall apart a second time. Not in front of Captain Marvel.
“Right,” was all Captain Marvel’s vaunted wisdom could come up with, and then the man in scarlet lifted into the skies.
Office of the District Attorney
Susan Kent sat in her office, looking impeccably professional and still attractive in her tailored suit. She looked over the sheaf of papers on her desk, making notes in the margins, and longer notations on a nearby yellow pad. She finally picked up her phone and hit one button to connect her to a different office in the building.
“Tom? Susan here,” she said as she made a couple of more scratch marks on the papers. “Yeah, I just finished up the Sivana technical specs.” She paused, and listened to Tom reply. “I agree. Completely.” She listened to him again, and shook her head. “No, I’ll handle this motion myself. Judge Kleiner can be something of a hardcase, it will go better if I present this.” She paused once more, this time sipping from a cup of tea. “Right. Right. You take care of the Marvel warrant. I’ll pitch the A.I. motion. I’m talking to the science boys down at UCFC already, and they’re good to go. They can have a team up at Sivana’s warehouse inside of a day of the motion clearing, and we can take that computer apart. That should tell us all we need to know about the old man.” She sipped some more tea as she listened. “Good, good. Okay then, I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung the phone back up and returned to her papers, whistling.
Elsewhere in the Fawcett
Freddy Freeman was completely torn up inside. He was grief-stricken over Kit, and he was furious at Billy. He stomped into the building holding the home of his stepbrother Timothy Karnes, and he was prepared to unleash all that emotion on him. This time, Tim was going to listen, or else.
Freddy mumbled as he stormed towards the door. “You’d better get out, Tim!” he growled as he approached. His heart was pounding, and his palms were sweating as he rehearsed the words he was prepared to say. “I’m going to find a way to bring your boss down, so get out! I don’t want you hurt, but I can do it! I can stop him! I can get even for Kit! And if you don’t get out of the way…” He paused and shook his head. He pounded on his stepbrother’s front door, and then twisted the knob angrily.
“Tim! Tim, I’m coming in, and we need to talk!” He forced the door open and continued. “Kit’s dead, and I’m going to see that your boss goes…down…for…” He stopped and stared.
The word resonated across the large apartment, a word of power that caused an eruption of dark red flames and hideous, belching smoke and sulfurous smells. The fires burned away the brutish hulking form of the demonic mobster and cleared away to leave Tim Karnes behind. He stared at Freddy, and his forehead furrowed as the word slowly faded away.
“Sabbac!”
Freddy merely closed the door, and walked down the hallway, slow, unsteady steps taking him away from the sight. That horrible sight. Sabbac watched the door close, and for once, he was unsure what to do. Freddy was a danger. He had to die. But Tim had never had real family before Freddy. Instead, Sabbac just stood and watched the door and heard the footsteps fading away.
“Well ain’t that a kick in the head?” he muttered angrily.
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