I AM GARTH-FROM-SEATTLE!

GODDESS OF ELYSIA
by Gary A. (GARTH) Edwards

(Seattle Washington...downtown...Thursday...February 27th, 2008, 2a.m.)

It was not a magical night.

It had just rained. Low clouds obscured the stars and only a faint glow waxed and waned behind them indicating the presence of a full moon. The tops of the highest skyscrapers disappeared into the low gray clouds and the muffled roar of a distant jet echoed in the distance. Steel and brick buildings, some old...some new, stood darkened and lonely above the streetlights. Curtained windows, lit dimly from within, sported flickering blue television reflections and...now and then...human shadows.

The streets of Seattle were wet but not clean. Here and there a soaked alcoholic 'streetperson' shuffled in and out of a shadowed doorway or stumbled towards a neon lit nightclub that hadn't shut its doors yet. A taxi cab hissed by wet with raindrops and splashed a small puddle onto a sidewalk.

The city was alive but in a torpid half-sleep awaiting another gray Seattle morning and a bright new day of capitalist motion.
A light blue Seattle police car rolled slowly through Pioneer Square, spreading peace and quiet wherever it drifted.
Streetlights sparkled off wet car hoods. Errant sedans and SUV's whisked through the streets as their occupants called it a night and headed for home.

Then, above the night sounds, came a rythmic thumping of boots on asphalt.

It was a running man...running down the middle of the street.

He had a green sack in one hand and a fire-axe in the other. He was dressed in blue jeans and a black t-shirt. He had a short black beard and and black glasses. His dark brown hair looked greasy and wet. He looked somewhat like a coffee house beatnik...somewhat like a microsoft geek.

Here and there people stopped to stare. What was this man's hurry? Where was he off to? What was up with the axe? Was he running from the police?

A lone drunk yelled "HEY!" as the running man thumped by...but the running man kept his stride.

"What was the deal?" people wondered to themselves. But no one wanted to stop the running man. The axe kept people at bay.

The running man was sweating as he held his axe blade forward and his arms pumped up and down. He hissed deep breaths as he ran...and a determined look was on his face. His eyes were furtive, glancing here and there but fixated on a goal up ahead.

The running man increased his speed. His goal was in sight.

Just then a a Seattle police cruiser turned a corner; just in time to spot the running man. A second of assessment...then the cruiser's engine roared to life and the chase was on.

Too late. The running man had reached his goal.

'PIONEER SQUARE ANTIQUES' read the letters painted on the old front window. A second later and the window was shattered by the running man's axe. The running man leapt through the window and frantically chopped and kicked his way through the thin wood partition and into the dark antique store.

The police car rolled close to the front of the store and stopped at an angle, blocking off the street. Two burly Seattle police officers jumped out and pulled their service revolvers. One officer began to rattle off address information to the police dispatcher as he cautiously took a position at the side of the antique store. The other officer assumed a firing position on the hood of the cruiser and began to yell at the man in the shop.

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP NOW!" yelled the police officer.

"I HAVE A GUN!" came the reply from inside the store.

Two seconds sped by.

A loud report from a handgun broke the air. The closest officer backed away from the front of the antique store.

"Shots fired...officers need assistance!"

In the distance, sirens began to wail as more police patrols diverted to Pioneer Square.

People began to congregate closer until one of the officers yelled at them to 'GET BACK!'

Whatever was happening was now in full swing.

Quickly, the Seattle police began to cordon off a one block radius around the beseiged antique store. The alley behind the store was cordoned off as well. The police shone their spotlights down the alley and lit up the back exit door from the antique store. The crazy guy was not going to escape that way. And of course...S.W.A.T. was on its way.

KIRO7 and KING5 news vans were on their way as well. KOMO had the worse luck with only one van out and about near SEATAC airport. They would miss the action entirely.

Police diligently shooed away any gawkers who got too close. There was no real rush now. Just secure the area and wait for negotiators and S.W.A.T. to earn their pay. This incident should take them well into the morning. The police officers kept vigil behind their cruisers parked up and down the block. A Seattle Fire department medical aid unit stood off to the side...just in case. T.V competing newscrews began to pick their way through the gawkers and find the best positions to set up their video camcorders.

Here we go again.

Another crazy perp with personal issues holing up in a building and...

and...?!

"HUUU-AAAAAH-hhhhhh..."

(silence...all stop)

What in the world was that!?...

It was if nature itself had just groaned aloud.

An eerie silence had suddenly descended on Pioneer Square.

People stared at each other for a few seconds...then, on perfect cue...everyone began to turn and stare at the front of the antique store with the broken window and the perp hiding inside.

Something...had just...went...wrong.

Something very, very big and very, very wrong was starting to happen. It was as if an electric pulse of power had shot through everyone within a certain radius of the antique store. No cars could be heard...nor planes...nor radios...nor talking.
Just...DEAD SILENCE.

Everyone felt the hair rising on their arms and necks. People began to instinctively back away from the scene. The police looked at each other fearfully.
What was going on here?
Everything was so still....and so fearfully quiet.

Then suddenly...(!?)...they heard it.
The police...the gawkers...the newscrews...S.W.A.T. and the fire department...the 'streetpersons'...
Everyone began to hear...'the music'.

It was like nothing you'd ever heard before. It was music...strange music...pagan and otherworldly...yet...just music....and somehow...somehow...it drew you in. it was a 'summoning' music of some kind...yes...summoning music. It wanted you...you could tell that...but not you in particular...not right now...just...someone else...someone else who was very unlucky and was being called by 'it'...to come to it.

Whatever 'IT' was...it was scaring the crap out of everyone within earshot. You couldn't speak...you couldn't scream...even though you wanted to...you couldn't run! There was nothing you could do...except listen.

It was beautiful in its own way...full of deadly promise...deadly 'changes'...and though not strictly music...and not strictly singing either...it was something inbetween. Something old...ancient...and yes...scary beyond belief.

Just then, a warm wind began to rise...flowing mystically...towards the store.
The music started to lilt higher into a scary 'crescendo'...a beautiful greenish light began to emanate and pulsate out of the antique store.
Then there was a quick 'flash' of some sort...
...and mercifully...
...the music...
...just...
...stopped.

There was a momentary collective sigh from all who'd heard. That was it. Done. Over with. But it left you feeling 'empty'...and sad..at not knowing the music better.

It was the lead S.W.A.T. officer that spoke first.

"What the hell was that?!" he shouted. "What the F--- just happened? Did all of you hear that...that music?!"
"I heard it all right!"
"Me too!"
"GOD!...That was creepy wasn't it?"

A shaken news reporter turned to his camera man.
"Tell me you got that on video."

The camera man shook his head affirmatively. He had.
"I'll be damned though if I'll be the one to replay it!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

DURA.

CHAPTER ONE.

"Which of you dies?" she asked.

Instantly the women of the town began to cross themselves and the men of the town slowed their advance upon the hapless family.

Dura stood defiantly facing the townspeople...her fists at her sides. The gypsy girl showed no fear whatsoever.

"Your wicked ways are known to all of us Dura. You and your family shall all pay!" shouted Voltan the wine maker.

The townsfolk roared agreement and shook their fists at the gypsy family. Axes and makeshift spears were raised in anger and someone yelled "Burn the witches!" The mob started to advance slowly on the family until the family's fat matriarch, Mother Tisha, threw up her hands dramatically and pointed a wavering finger at a peasant man.

"It took you six times visiting our hut at night before you learned you had no skill at lots Voltan" shouted Mother Tisha,"..and once to learn I had no interest in your affections!"

The townspeople stopped and gaped at Voltan who looked quickly around and saw the doubt in his neighbors eyes.

"The witch lies!" yelled Voltan derisively, "You know her false tongue would burn to speak the truth!".

Mother Tisha held a wooden staff aloft and was heard to mumble latin curses under her breath. Whatever fighting skills the family did or didn't have, one thing was certain...fat, thundering Mother Tisha was a definite threat with her staff, for she practiced aplenty upon the backs and heads of Dolfo and Enrigo and the family dogs. She practically sold tickets to folks to watch her demonstrate her thumping skills on her witless son and layabout husband. Some of the townspeople decided the matter in their own minds though and started to inch forward menacingly.

Dura reached inside her cloak then and brought forth a silver weapon. It flashed brilliantly in the noonday sun and brought a quick gasp from the crowd. Dura waved her 'spindle sword' in the air, testing it before their eyes. It was like nothing the townsfolk had seen before. Long, thin and deadly, it whistled and whispered in the air like an evil spirit. The townsfolk mumbled at her threatening movements and stopped their advance. Of all the family members, it was Dura they both feared and respected...but they had had their fill of her wicked family. The women of the town continued to cross themselves and mumble prayers for their menfolk.

"Which one of you chooses to die first?" Dura asked again, pointing her spindle sword at the nearest man.

Dura's dull-witted brother Dolfo whimpered and quavered behind Dura with a small hand-axe held in front of him. His breeches were wet in the crotch from fear. He mumbled incoherently and stayed fearfully behind Dura wherever she moved. Dura's father Enrigo had drawn his rusty sword 'Scallibar' (taken from the grave of an old Hun horse soldier) and stood to the right of Dura. He looked at the townsfolk scornfully and drew little circles with Scallibar at them. It was just for show as his skills with a sword were considered an empty threat...but then again...one never quite knew.

"Bring forth MISHA!" someone yelled exasperated.

"He is here!" came a booming voice.

The townsfolk parted their ranks to let through their peasant leader...Misha Linzt, a giant of a man who commanded the entire territory around the town. Misha was near fifty summers old...and wise in the ways of the world. He had been to war several times in the service of King Stephen I and had only recently returned from a merchant trip to Rome. Though aged...he was a force to be reckoned with on any level. He towered over Dura who seemed like a child in comparison.

"No nearer old man" warned Dura. She softened her tone...but held her weapon steady.

It was Misha who had decided to let the gypsy family inhabit the burned fields of old Toulouse after he passed away. A mistake he knowingly made at the time...because of Dura.

Misha shook his gray head. "Dura, Dura..." spoke Misha sadly, "I told you to keep your family far from the town until I returned did I not?"

Dura eyed Misha but said nothing...made no excuses.

"Kill them all Misha! They have the evil eye!" shouted a drunk peasant farmer.

"Silence!" shouted Misha as he watched Dura's movements carefully...sizing up her fighting ability.

Misha was in awe of Dura, though he would not admit it. She was only sixteen, but her beauty and brains were a devasting combination. Her thin sword was a wonder (why had he not seen it before this?) and he saw she had all the skill and the will needed to use it on Misha's stupid neighbors if they got too close. They crowd waved their pitchforks and staves at the family menacingly...but none advanced. All eyes were on Misha, awaiting his decision in the matter.

Misha sighed.

Ordinarily the traveling folk (as the gypsy caravans were called) were either run out of the province immediately or robbed and killed outright by the rough fellows of the town. Little thought was given to them other than that. Their women were all prostitutes and their men simply daylight bandits or night-time musicians. The old women were heretical witches who hid the 'evil eye' under their hoods. Their cattle and horses were diseased and ill-smelling...their wagons were gaudy circus cast-offs that always conveniently 'broke down' wherever they had a mind to stay. They were the garbage of the world.

But this family was different. This family had Dura.

Misha shook his head resignedly. Misha had felt compassion for Dura and her family when they had first entered the town. Dura's family were all misfits that needed protection from the world...and somehow Dura provided it. How they had survived until Dura had matured Misha could not guess. Yet here they were...somehow...making a living (probably poaching) and about to be hanged and burned by an angry peasant community.

Misha stroked his beard while he watched Dura. There was something about her that forced one to stop and stare in wonderment. For over a year he had let the family stay within the town's limits. Secretly he had found excuses to visit the family, chat mindlessly with Enrigo...and stare for hours at Dura. She was utterly fascinating...every move...every word...old as he was, he could not help himself. He had to just...look at her. It was not from lust or love that he had stared...it was just an old man's fascination with 'real beauty' gracing the landscape of his world. She was a bright contrast in the dark age he lived in. He had wanted his community to be a part of a great story that he knew was forming in the life of Dura. He was entertained and elated at the thought of her charm and grace finding root within his town. He had hoped she would find marraige with one of the young lads who snuck away from their chores to pay her a visit. But such was not to be. Always she was unavailable...and always her father took advantage and tricked the young men who visited into stupid trades or free labor of some sort.

Misha cursed himself for a fool and made his decision.

"Dura...you and your family must leave...now." Misha spoke with great sadness. "You were welcomed into our community...but your family has abused the charity it has been shown. I can do no more."

Dura's eyes held firmly as she said "Very well."

The townfolk lit up with surprise at Misha's decision. "What?!...How can you say that?!...How can you just let them go?!"

Misha heard their cries of anger, disgust and disbelief.

Voltan approached Misha and pointed a finger at the family. "They owe me money! I was cheated over a dozen times at their games of chance!"

"Are we sheep to be sheared by such as they?!" yelled a drunk.

"They're witches! We must burn them all! It is the Pope's command..."

"MENTION NOT HIS HOLINESS HERE!" shouted Misha angrily. "You are a drunken mob that would turn to dust before the holy father with your whining!"

The mob quieted down at this and Misha continued. "I have made my decision! If any challenge me...I shall stand with Dura and run you through!"

"Aww...you just like Dura, that's all..."

Misha stormed through the crowd, found the throat of the speaker and held him aloft.

"GAHHH!..."

"You would do well to till your untended soil and speak nothing to your betters young whelp!" raged Misha.

The crowd gaped...and started to settle down then. Misha had showed his strength once again...and that was all that was needed. Gradually the peasants dispersed and each went his own way, mumbling and whining.

"At least we'll be rid of them. That's something I guess..."

"That damn family...I'm out a sack of silver..."

"That Dura would have run you through I'll bet..."

"Misha is too kind to strangers! No more of that I say!"

An uneasy peace finally descended upon the scene.

Dura hid her spindle sword beneath her cloak once again and turned to speak to her family.

"We're leaving. Harness the horses Father. Mother...clean up Dolfo and gather water and firewood onto the back of the wagon."

Mother Tisha wanted to protest...but thought better of it. Misha still stood there...and Dura was in no mood for arguing. Usually Dura let her mother pretend to be in charge...but not today it seemed. They had their orders.

Dura turned and looked into Misha's sad eyes. She answered the question in his mind.

"Yes...the baby was Dolfo's...and it was my father's idea to get the girl drunk while I was away helping the Bogossi family. Their mother needed someone to..."

"I heard about it Dura. You made her last days less painful...and the family is grateful...but that is the past."

The two just stood silently and stared at each other for a few moments. Each knew the other's thoughts. Misha had limited control over the townsfolk while traveling. Dura had limited control over her family when she left them to help others. Each of them shouldered the responsibility for the welfare of others...and it divided them against their will.

"Would you have run me through girl?" asked Misha. He was genuinely curious to know.

"Would you have burned me at the stake?" Dura asked the old man.

Misha nodded. "Only if forced to do so."

Mished sighed. He had his answer. "I'm going to miss you...but not your family."

"I'm going to miss the land here...but not the people. You're all right I know...but you stare too much."

"An old man's God-given right..."

Dura rolled her eyes. "I would argue the point...but I think that when my supposed beauty has faded with age...I'll probably miss it all."

Misha smiled then and made a sign of peace between them and turned to go.

"Do not return..." warned Misha, "I shall die soon and there will be none to help you hereabouts."

CHAPTER TWO.

Dura watched the old man go. He was right of course. Very wise was Misha Lintz...but weighted down with life as was she. He was as trapped in his own way as Dura was in hers. Guardians of the foolish.

Dura followed her family through the trees to the burned farm where they had lived. It was green now...and much of the scorched areas were bright with flowers and berry bushes. She casually picked a few berries as she passed and fingered her spindle sword. She was almost sure she was going to have to use it today. She still might have to...now that she thought about it. Better keep a close eye out the rest of the day. Some there were who might defy Misha's decision and try to kill her and her family anyway.

She heard her idiot brother crying in the distance. "I told you I didn't want to! I told you!"

"Shut thy crying hole oaf!" yelled her devious father. "You would never become a man were it not for me setting things before you to accomplish!"

Dura groaned. That poor peasant girl. Saddled with an idiot son...all because of her irresponsible father's bad judgement and wicked tricks.

Dura strode disgusted past the two men who were now pushing at each other angrily. When she had caught up to her mother, she demanded the family's funds.

"Wha-aat!" shouted Mother Tisha. Dura had never challenged her mother about handling the money. "I take care of our needs young la-"

"I am giving money to the girl's family to support your new grandson." stated Dura flatly. "They will endure more shame and grief than we can ever pay for and you know it!"

Mother Tisha grimaced. Dura was right, but they were being thrown into the wilderness yet again. What was Dura thinking? They needed that money more!

Dura held out her hand...and her cold stare meant business.

"Cursed am I with an ungrateful, wretched..." mumbled the old woman, "...daughter!" she said as she dug under her skirts and drew out five pounds of gold hidden in a sack.

Dura counted out twenty gold coins and pocketed it. That left forty gold coins and some silver.

Mother Tisha shreiked at the amount Dura took. Dura ignored her and sadly started down the path to the girl's family farm.

No one was at the farm when Dura arrived. A crude but effective wooden lock stayed the door firmly.

Dura looked around for somewhere to hide the money. She finally decided on the butter churn. There was still remnants of old butter at the bottom, so she pushed the coins into the butter and smoothed it over and then wrote 'FROM DURA' into the creamy surface. Satisfied, Dura left the farm and re-entered the woods.

It was getting darker now, as sunset descended. It would be totally dark when she reached the wagon...and then they would be traveling all night.

Dura sighed and resigned herself to her fate...just as a twig snapped behind her.

Dura whirled and found herself facing three of the 'rough men' of the town who were brazenly approaching her with evil smiles.

"Damn this town!" thought Dura, gritting her teeth. "They won't rest until blood is spilt!"

Dura whipped out her spindle sword and readied herself. The men were drunk and had their minds set on accosting her body before she and her family left the territory. None were war veterans...cowards probably...but they all had swords. One even had a club at the ready in his other hand.

"Someone's got to pay girl!" drawled the drunken leader. She had seen him occasionally but never learned his name. He wasn't worth remembering.

Dura smiled at the men.

"You'd better leave!...I have a hundred ways of killing all three of you!" she warned.

The three drunk men paid no attention whatsoever. They starting to swing their swords and grab at her alternately. Dura backed away slowly...letting the fight move to a brushy area with small trees.

The slowest drunk got the spindle first...right in the left eye before he could lay a hand on Dura. He stood stunned for a second then started to back away dumbfounded that he'd been hurt.

"I'm...I'm...hurt..." he said quizzically, "I'm...bleeding my blood on my hands...from my eye!" the drunken attacker started to stagger away then...his voice starting to rise...hissing into a scream of pain.

Dura circled warily behind a tree and dodged several sword cuts from the other two that sent bark flying in all directions.

"WITCH!" yelled the second drunk, "You'll pay for that too!...with your life!"

The next drunk was the biggest and Dura could tell he relied on his bulk to get his way in life. Dura surreptuously drew a sharpened gypsy throwing dart from her hair and flipped it towards the man's face. It stuck in his cheek and he yelled out in surprise more than pain. He had hesitated only a split second but that was all it took for Dura's spindle sword to find it's way into his right eye.

"GAHHH!!!" he screamed, "She got my eye too! KILL HER GRISTLE-BONE!"

As the second drunk backed away 'Gristle-Bone' made his move. This third attacker was not nearly as drunk as his fellows. In fact he seemed quite sober...and his sword slashed at Dura savagely, ripping through her cloak and drawing blood on the underside of her left arm while the club in his other hand hammered at her sword.

"You're to be mine tonight girl!" grinned the vile man named Gristle-Bone. Dura had seen the man eyeing her many times whenever she ventured into town. His leers were the worst. It came as no surprise to her that he was here...leading his drunken friends into a bad fight...and soberly intent upon his sadistic plan. His friends were just cannon fodder to distract her while he snuck up close to her. The others would just lose their eyes Dura decided...but this man...he was going to be very dead in a minute.

Dura leveled her spindle-sword for a throat gouge this time.

"Guess what I have planned for you wench" the man gushed as he struck at her savagely with his club and sword. He was forcing her to back away further into a large bush grove trying to pin her down.

"It's what I've been waiting a year for! You...and me..."

"Save your rancid thoughts for your rat-confession at rat-church!" shouted Dura defiantly, "You missed me with your sword just now...so prepare yourself for hell! It will be your new home for eternity!"

Dura levelled her spindle-sword for the death-stroke.

Gristle-Bone laughed evilly. "That just makes it all the more..."

A swift 'thump' sounded.

The man called Gristle-Bone had started to speak...but then suddenly stopped. He looked down at his chest. An arrow-tip jutted out of his greasy brown jerkin. He stared in wonder at it...then turned to face his unseen attacker.

Surprisingly, it was a small boy of around twelve who stood calmly near a tree notching another arrow. And just as calmy, the boy shot that next arrow directly into the chest of Gristle-Bone who howled in disbelief, then fell to his knees. he tried to grab the arrow and pull it out...but stopped and mumbled..."No."

Dura wasted no time. She jumped up and drove her spindle-sword deep into the neck of gristle-Bone...downward...and to the left...straight to the heart.

Gristle-Bone fell over dead instantly. His evil days were done.

The other two attackers, eyes bleeding down their faces, yelled out in fear after seeing their corrupt friend dispatched. They turned then and quickly ran into the woods.

"TELL THEM ALL YOU SWINE!" she yelled after them...but she remembered the arrow-wielder...and ducked behind a tree.

Dura watched the drunk men run...but kept one eye on the boy who shot the arrows. She looked him over closer now, with her sword at the ready...held up high as a warning.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" she demanded to know.

Dura watched the young boy pull up a blade of long grass and put it in his mouth. He was a lean, blonde-haired, freckle-faced youth. She had never seen him before. A totally strange boy...dressed in forest green...who kills impassionately with his bow and arrows.

"What's your name boy?" she demanded again.

The young boy tipped his forestal hat towards Dura...sending her a quaint good-bye.

"See you." was all he said...and he turned and left.

THE WHITE CENTER DRAGON

(A Graphic Novel outline)

PAGE ONE:

A young man gets out of a cab and walks up to several men waiting in front of an older building in White Center (Seattle).

Dave: "It's about time"

Cory: "Hey...traffic. Deal with it. Who are your friends?"

Dave: "This is Buddy, John, and Walter. They've been in to see the dragon."

"Hi."

"Hey."

"Ditto."

Cory: "Nice to meet you. Look, Dave...I've been thinkin' about this, uhhh, dragon stuff..."

Dave: "Don't be thinking of backin' out, Cory! I set you up with Delores and you owe me. You promised to go through with it!"

Cory: "I know...but I was drunk then, and now I'm sober and this is all very silly."

BUDDY: "The dragon is real, pal, take my word for it!"

"I don't know you, 'PAL', so your word doesn't mean doowah to me. Frankly, I think I'm just being set up for a prank."

JOHN: "That's what we all thought at first."

PAGE TWO:

DAVE: "I know it seems goofy, but that's part of his plan! Don't you see? He counts on people refusing to believe in him!"

CORY: "You're starting to sound like a fanatic, Dave. I'm leaving before the cab takes off."

DAVE: "You leave...and I'll get you busted!"

CORY: "Huh? Busted? For what?"

DAVE: "I'm not screwing around here. I got a video of you with the paint ball gun!"

CORY: "Why you...sorry son of a..."

DAVE: "I mean it! I want you to see the dragon, Cory...that's all!"

CORY: "Stop it!...please! Whatever the joke is, I'm not falling for it! Now you can stop the play-acting. There's no such thing as 'dragons' and I don't believe you'd turn me in to the dean over this crap."

WALTER: "The dragon's been here for three months now."

CORY: "You stay out of this!"

BUDDY: "He has an attendant. We've tried to get him to talk, but he won't. He's scared spitless."

JOHN: "The first guy to go in was a business-type from Redmond. He went in on a dare. He's been in therapy ever since. Since then, about fifteen others have went in. They all come out changed. One lady went into hysterics right here on the street. They hauled her away and nobody knows where she is."

CORY: "Oh...feed me some more baloney, sir."

BUDDY: "Speaking of food, once a week, they back up a meat truck into the alley. They unload about fourteen beef carcasses. That makes two a day that he eats. There's an incinerator in the basement. We figure the attendant burns the droppings down there."

CORY: "Why me, Dave?"

DAVE: "Cory...you're the smartest guy I know. If anybody can figure out what to do about this situation, it's you. It has to be you!"

PAGE THREE:

CORY: "Flattery will get you nowhere. Neither will blackmail."

DAVE: "All right...I'm sorry about that. It's just that you're the only guy who's quick enough mentally to take the dragon on."

BUDDY: "He's really tricky. You get three questions for the first gold piece, then for every other question, it's another gold coin. Most people wind up wasting their gold right away on stupid questions."

DAVE: "That's right! That's why we've pooled some money together to get you these!"

Dave gives Cory a leather bag. Cory opens it to look in, then gasps.

CORY: "Good grief! There must be ten thousand dollars in gold Krugerrands in here!"

WALTER: "We decided to give you the best shot that we could afford. There's fifteen gold coins in there. That's eighteen questions you can ask the dragon."

CORY: "Ohhh...so now it's a 'talking' dragon. This just gets better and better..."

DAVE: "Please, Cory...we've been friends a long time. I had no one else to turn to for help with this."

CORY: "Okaaay. Let's just slow down a little and take stock. If this is a gag, it's a bad one. Now either there is or there isn't a dragon in there. If there isn't a dragon and I get jumped or a prank gets pulled on me, we are through as friends, got it? I mean, even if it's a surprise party in my honor or something, understand? Finito."

DAVE: "Understood."

CORY: "If there really is a dragon in there, then my life will be in danger and it will be your fault because you're sending me in there to face it, right? So either way, we won't be friends anymore... right?"

DAVE: "I think...that when you meet the dragon...and see it with your own eyes, you'll understand why I had to do this."

CORY: "Why should I trust in anything you say? From the choices I've given you, it's already evident that we're no longer friends and that whatever you've got cooked up in there is only going to be bad for me. I might go crazy and get hauled away as well, right?"

WALTER: "One thing I can say in Dave's defense is that he was right about you. From your reasoning just now, it's evident that you have the kind of logical mind that we need to solve this problem. I suggest that you view the situation like this; whatever is in there, it has all of us fooled into thinking it's a real dragon. And I think I speak for everyone when I say that Dave was right in suggesting that we send for you."

CORY: "More flattery...but it does make some sense...except for one thing; Why doesn't one of you go in there? Why is it so important to send me in?"

BUDDY: "Because we've already been in there!"

CORY: "SO?"

BUDDY: "So he doesn't let you go in twice!"

CORY: "Oh how conveeeenient!"

JOHN: "This is going nowhere. Let him go, Dave...we'll find someone else."

DAVE: "NO! Cory can do it! I know he can! We'd just be wasting our money with someone else!"

WALTER: "I believe you, Dave...Cory's smart enough, but the trade-off of being so smart is that it makes him unable to be brought in to deal with something paranormal. It wouldn't be 'logical'. Right, Cory?"

PAGE FOUR:

Cory thought for a minute before answering.

CORY: "You're right. I can't be persuaded into foolishness. But my curiosity is aroused. Give me more information, something I can sink my teeth into, then I'll decide."

WALTER: "There's a curtain in front of the dragon when you first go in. Don't ask if you can see behind it because that's a question and he'll charge you for it. I made that mistake. Just say something like 'I can't see you well behind the curtain' and he'll open it for you."

BUDDY: "Yeah...that's what we mean by tricky. He gets your money for stupid questions, then you're out. If what he says doesn't make sense, just comment that he's not being clear."

CORY: "Speaking of not being clear...why hasn't anyone gotten the authorities over here to check this out? If all this is for real and all..."

WALTER: "Buddy here already tried that two weeks ago. The cops just laughed it off. They said they'd already had some groundless complaints from 'mentally disturbed' people."

BUDDY: "Yeah, and when I pressed them on it, they threatened to have me taken in for 'an evaluation'."

WALTER: "Right, but I did manage to talk an officer into going in on his own time last week. I'd known him for a few years. He did it as a favor."

CORY: "So what happened?"

WALTER: "The guy came out and didn't say a word. Just left. I found out later that he'd quit his job and moved. The rest of the local cops are avoiding this place like the plague now."

JOHN: "Yeah...we figure the unofficial word is out. Nobody with anything to lose wants to deal with it. They can't take any official stand because they'd appear loony to the public."

DAVE: "No one wants to risk having their mind blown either. The people here are scared! Somebody's got to figure out what to do before it gets so big that..."

CORY: "Big? What do you mean big?"

PAGE FIVE:

Walter, John, and Buddy stared at Dave like he'd just spilled the beans. Dave caught himself and stared back sheepishly.

CORY: "All right. What's going on?"

WALTER: "Wellll...we're not sure about this. It's just an assumption. We weren't going to say anything to you about it."

Walter stared at Dave like a disapproving father.

CORY: "Spill it."

BUDDY: "Okay...look...we decided to compare notes on what we saw; just to be sure we were all seeing the same thing. We all drew pictures as well. The only thing we didn't agree on was the size. Walter's drawing had it at about twenty feet long. he saw it before the rest of us. Then came John, then me, then Dave. The size estimates keep getting bigger."

CORY: "How big did you make this dragon out to be, Dave?"

Dave pulled out some pictures from his car and showed them to Cory. It looked like standard dragon drawings, right out of some mythological books.

DAVE: "I make it to be about sixty feet long, tail to snout. Here's the other pictures."

Cory studied the drawings one by one for a few minutes. The dragon did seem to progress in size.

CORY: "And you're going to send me in to deal with that?!? Thanks, PAL!"

DAVE: "So you believe us now?"

CORY: "No...but the building here is real enough...the pictures are real...the gold is very real...and the fear on your faces certainly seems real. Just one more thing...there's five drawings here and only four of you. Did someone draw an extra one?"

WALTER: "No. This one here..."

Walter tugged one of the drawings out and showed it to Cory.

WALTER: "...belongs to a guy named Jim Schuman. He was an older guy, level-headed, been around the block a few times. He went in on a bet three weeks ago. We met him right here when he was coming out. He seemed okay at first. He was part of our group until after the off-duty cop went in. Now he's in some kind of...denial about the whole thing. Won't speak to any of us. Just scared, I guess. I guess he expected the cop to do something official."

CORY: "Do you have his number?"

PAGE SIX:

Walter and the others stared at each other.

BUDDY: "I got it here on my cell phone. Here...press five."

Cory hit the button and wandered off a ways, phone at the ear.

CORY: "The call's been blocked."

BUDDY: "Oh, that's right...I forgot. He's got us all on call-blocking. There's a pay phone across the street."

Cory walked across the street to the phone and punched in the number he'd seen come up on Buddy's auto dialer.

CORY: "Hello. Is Jim Schuman there? My name is Harriman, I'm with the King County police. I'm investigating an incident here in town. Okay, I'll wait..."

Cory stood looking sideways at the men as he waited for Schuman to come to the phone. Their serious demeanor remained unchanged.

CORY: "Yes, Mr. Schuman? My name's Harriman. I'm with the King County police. We're investigating a criminal prank that's being pulled on people over in White Center. We'd heard you were somehow involved and we'd like to...yes, that's right. We need to find out more about the...uhhh...prank...and the pranksters involved. Could you fill me in? Unh-huh...unh-huh...and those mens' names please? Unh-huh...seemed real to you, did it?..."

Cory listened for about five minutes to the rapidly-speaking man before thanking him and assuring him that the matter was being dealt with officially. He then walked back to the four men who stood waiting expectantly. Dave stubbed out a cigarette he'd been smoking on the ground.

PAGE SEVEN:

DAVE: "Well?"

CORY: "Tell me what you know about the attendant."

DAVE: "Then you'll do it?"

CORY: "Tell me about the attendant."

JOHN: "I checked him out. He's a rich guy. Been all over the world. That's all I know."

CORY: "What's his name?"

JOHN: "Robert Thursden."

CORY: "Did you have a list of questions for me to ask?"

WALTER: "Yes...and here's the ones we've already asked."

Walter handed several sheets of paper to Cory. Cory scanned them as he began to punch some new numbers onto Buddy's cell phone. Dave was beaming. The others were smiling as well, except for Walter who stood inquisitively fingering his chin.

CORY: "Hey Delicious, it's me. I'm gonna be a little late today. Better cancel lunch. I'm over in White Center with Dave Federman. Unh-huh...yeah...the address is 1348 Ambaum. Write it down, will ya? Wellll...apparently there's this big monster inside this building here and he wants me to go in and deal with it...get it to go away. Unh-huh...I'll be sure to tell him. There's three other guys here. I need you to take down their names for me in case the monster eats me."

Cory covered the phone and whispered low.

CORY: gOkay, you three, driver's licenses. I want to know who to sue later.h

The three men looked at each other exasperated, then started to dig out their wallets.

CORY: gWalter...Hansen....H-a-n-s-e-n...Bud Martini, like it sounds...and John Dobson. D-o-b-s-o-n...Got it? Okay...if anything happens to me, babe, these are the guys who did it...along with Dave. No, I have no idea. That's why I'm giving you this information. Don't worry...I think it'll be all right...just some prank and I gotta cover myself...and Delores? Love you like you would not believe. Talk to you in a while, okay? Smackers. Bye.h

WALTER: gSmackers?h

CORY: gHey! Weren't you ever in love?h

WALTER: gNever had time for it. Now can I assume you're going in or not?h

Cory looked at Dave with a sour face.

CORY: gYes.h

DAVE: gALLLRIIIIIGHT!!!h

PAGE EIGHT:

CORY: hI'm only going in because I'm too curious now not to. Delores is my witness against you three in case anything perfidious goes on in there.h

WALTER: gFair enough. What do you think of the questions?h

Cory stared at the papers again.

CORY: gWho asked the dragon for Mickey Mouse's social security number?h

Walter, Buddy, and John all stared at Dave.

DAVE: gHEY! I was just trying out a trick question! That's all.h

Cory laughed.

CORY: gWell, this much is certain. No one could make up a boo-boo like that!h

BUDDY: gWhat about the other questions?h

CORY: gYou guys didn't get much out of this dragon. Who asked the dragon where it came from?h

WALTER: gThat was one of Schuman's questions.h

CORY: gWell, the question was simple but direct. The answer though seems a bit wobbly. Stijianid. Where's that?h

JOHN: gWe've tried to figure that one out. No luck. It's not on any map of the world. The spelling is probably wrong as well.h

CORY: gWell, what about this one: how old are you? Answer: time out of mind. I don't get it.h

WALTER: gSome things the dragon is vague on. The personal stuff mostly. Other things are clear as a bell.h

Cory scanned the rest of the questions that were asked.

PAGE NINE:

CORY: gHas the dragon ever refused a question?h

WALTER: gNot as far as we know. He'd have to return the gold in that event, I expect.h

CORY: gDo you think it can read minds?h

WALTER: gI don't know.h

Cory rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. Then he continued down the list.

CORY: gWhat are your plans: to exist. Are you going to eat me: it depends on if I get hungry and you're still here. Are there any other dragons: sometimes. Is there a god: if you worship one, there is.....YEEEESH!! Did anyone think to ask it what it's name was?h

WALTER: gIs that important?h

CORY: gWhat's in a name? Nevermind. I'll ask it.h

BUDDY: gWhat about our prepared list?h

CORY: gSome seem okay. 'How exactly can you be killed?' Of course he might try and demonstrate on me. A better way to phrase it might be 'could you explain exactly how men have killed dragons before?' There's less chance of the question backfiring then.h

One hour and many questions later...

CORY: gOkay. Let's get this thing done. How do I get in there?h

BUDDY: gJust walk through the front double doors here. There's another door made of bronze or something beyond it. There's a slot for the first gold coin in the center of the door. You put the coin in and the door opens automatically unless you've been in there before or there's already an interview session going on.h

CORY: gWhat happens in that case?h

BUDDY: gThere's a little tray below the slot. If the dragon rejects you, the coin just goes into the slot like a busted coke machine.h

CORY: gSimple, but effective. Is the attendant present during the sessions?h

WALTER: gNone of us has seen him if he was.h

DAVE: gWait 'til you see him, Cory. Your eyes will pop right outta your...h

PAGE TEN:

CORY: gWhat I think I'm gonna see is a very slick animatronic device made by a very rich man who's running a scam to collect gold...and that's all. When I'm through, I'm going to keep any leftover Krugerrands, understand? I expect to get paid for all this hoohah!h

WALTER: gIf you can solve this problem, you're welcome to it, Cory.h
CORY: gAll righty then...I'm off. But there's just one last thing though...h

JOHN: gWhat's that?h

CORY: gI want you all to separate from each other and pray.h

BUDDY: gHow's that again?h

CORY: gThere's a very remote chance that I'm going to come face to face with a real dragon. In that event, I want the Good Lord on my side and you four locked in your cars with the radios tuned all the way up in volume to a christian station...and praying like crazy for me to beat that dragon! Got it!?h

Walter: "Seems a little futile...wouldn't it be better if we went and got some rifles or some long wooden spears?"

Cory held up the last drawing of the dragon in front of Walter's face.

Cory: "PRAY!....loud and long...for at least the next three hours. Do not stop for anything. I REPEAT: DO NOT STOP PRAYING FOR ANYTHING! No matter what you hear! Understand? And most of all...BELIEVE...in your heart...that I can beat this dragon with the Lord's help! Believing...is...everything!

Walter fidgeted a bit, visibly conflicted.

Walter: "I had the idea we'd be doing something more...rational."

Cory: "Do...not...stop...praying...for...any...reason...whatsoever.....PERIOD! I want a firm promise from all of you that you'll do as I ask on this! No going for a Coke...no stopping for a cigarette!...NOTHING!"

Cory stared hard at Dave. Dave shook his head resignedly.

Dave: "No smoking...I promise...but what if I have to pee?"

Cory: "Do it now before I go in!"

DAVE: gYou got it, Cory! C'mon, guys!h

Dave, Walter, Buddy and John then head across the street to the gas station to relieve themselves.

BUDDY: gBut I'm an atheist man! God won't be listening to me!h

WALTER: gNevermind about that. Wars have been won on sheer faith before Buddy. There's no atheists in the foxholes.h

JOHN: gYeah...and after what we've seen....believing in miracles isn't so hard anymore.h

PAGE ELEVEN:

Cory watched ruefully as the men took turns in the restroom, then headed for their vehicles.

Walter kept casting doubtful looks at Cory but got into his beat-up, older model van and dutifully turned on his radio.

Dave got into his pickup truck and did likewise while John and Buddy entered their sedans.

Now they all stared at him expectantly from their vehicles.

He needed them separated and surrounded by locked steel for a reason...but he didn't dare tell them.

Cory sighed resignedly...and starting walking towards his fate.

He pushed his way through the double doors and into the main lobby. There was the bronze door. It was extremely ornate, covered with fancy hieroglyphs and star patterns.

He reached into the leather bag and drew out a coin. He fit it into the slot and held his breath. With a muffled 'clank', the door released itself and swung inwards. Nothing but blackness was inside. Despite his courageous front, his heart was beating like a trip hammer. He had a sinking feeling about what he was going to face. He hoped it wouldn't be true. If he was right, the danger would be very real.

He strode into the blackness.

PAGE TWELVE:

The door swung shut behind Cory as he entered. He turned and tried to open it back up. It wouldn't budge. He felt his anger begin to rise. He felt he had walked stupidly into a trap. He heard a noise from deep inside the room. It sounded like someone was sawing. He suddenly recognized it; breathing! Only on a much larger scale. Then it stopped.

DRAGON: Come forward.

GREEN LANTERN IS REAL?

(A Fan Fiction work)

By G. Arthur (GARTH) Edwards

Chapter One.

Poor Soupbone. He never watched the news or listened to it on the radio.

Sometimes they were actually talking all about him...or about the crimes he committed. But he never knew it. He didn't care much for T.V. or the radio. Too many sappy, happy people who reminded him of the people he often victimized. He didn't care about them. He never wanted to care about them. He didn't care about the things they cared about.

Soupbone didn't care about news or the war in Iraq or politics. He didn't care much for religion either. Nothing like that ever concerned Soupbone. Big issues like abortion and gay marraige didn't faze him. If fags wanted to pretend to get married or women wanted to get rid of their kids,...well too bad for them.

Soupbone was too busy cogitating on drugs, booze and dirty sex with cheap hookers. Sometimes he thought about good food too...but usually he just got a meal at Mcdonald's or Burger King. Of course all that stuff cost dough,...so Soupbone was forced to break into houses and beat up the people he found there until they gave up their stashes of money and jewels.

Soupbone thought about the cops a lot too. Mostly how to avoid them.

Soupbone pretty much didn't care about anything or anybody. His family kicked him outdoors at fifteen and the local street gang took him in for awhile...until even they couldn't stand him. So poor old Soupbone had to leave yet again. He'd been in and out of jail a lot. A couple of hardcases he'd shared his cell with had beat Soupbone up pretty good once and they'd had to take him to the hospital for quite awhile. When he got back to the jug he joined a tough prison gang so he could put a shiv into both of those hardcases and get away with it. But the state released him early so he never got the chance. This made Soupbone mad. He'd really wanted to punch holes into those guys.

Poor Soupbone.

Soupbone had been a career criminal since he was twelve. His father hung the name 'Soupbone' on him because he couldn't decide whether he had "soup for brains" or was just a "bonehead". Soupbone has been arrested thirty-eight times for various offenses. Too bad the state never caught him when he managed to kill people in their beds or force himself on helpless females to "spread the AIDS". The state suspected him in many of those cases...but they could never prove anything. Prison had taught him how to cover up any evidence.

Ol' Soupbone was a very non-descript sort of fellow with a forgettable kind of face. He'd never been picked out in a police 'line-up'. He just had one of those faces that no one ever noticed...and that was the one good thing he had going in his favor.

So Soupbone walked the streets of Seattle...looking for stupid people who don't lock their stuff up or carry a gun. Soupbone is only twenty-three years old.

There's just one problem though. Washington State has a 'three-strikes-you're out' law. If Soupbone gets arrested one more time,...the state will put Soupbone in the can for a long, long time. Soupbone knows this...so Soupbone is careful nowadays. Soupbone scopes his victims out real careful-like before he breaks in.

Take the old lady in the house across the street...he'd been hanging around watching her for days. He knew she was camped out in front of her T.V. right now watching game shows...so she would not hear him force open the back door. He'd sneak up behind her, rip off her 'LifeAlert' button and drop her with a right cross before she even knew it. If she gave him any trouble he'd pretend she was a hardcase and punch holes in her.

Soupbone checked the street up and down one last time for cops or neighborhood security patrols. He wiped his runny cocaine-nose on his sleeve and snorted in the mucus.

Nothing up thataway...and nothing down thataway...

Time to go then.

Soupbone casually strolled across the street.

He wondered if she had some real expensive jewelry. He wanted to get a pretty hooker next time...but they cost a lot. If he could just score some real expensive bling this time...

The door opened easy enough when he pried on it with his heavy-duty screwdriver. The chainlock came next. Pretty simple.

The house smelled of cooking and 'old people'. He peered around at the room first...looking for indicators that someone else might be in the home as well. Nothing but doilies and dusty knick-knacks and goofy family pictures.

Soupbone hated nice families.

Down the hallway he heard the old cow laugh at something. He didn't like her laugh. He decided to hit her in the mouth a couple of times first to make sure she couldn't laugh again for a lo-ong time.

Smiling evilly to himself, he reached her door and gripped his screwdriver tighter. He pushed the door in quietly and looked at the back of her graying head as she stared at the tube. He felt the giddy energy of anticipation build up inside him. He was tempted to stab her right then and there with the screwdriver...but no,...no...gotta get the broad's panic button first. He resisted the urge to snort his mucus and gripped the doorway tightly, readying himself for a quick, deadly lunge.

He started to lean backwards, poised for a slingshot attack...but something had caught onto his feet. He tried to kick away whatever it was but his feet were immobile for some reason. Frustrated, he shot a glaring look downwards...and then became very confused.

Why were his feet glowing?

He couldn't move his feet...and they were glowing with a weird greenish light.

What kind of a weird freaking deal was this?!

Soupbone blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear it.

Nope...that didn't work. His feet were stuck...and no matter how hard he tried...he couldn't take a step!

The old lady turned around then and saw him struggling in the doorway.

She screamed.

Damn!

She clutched at her heart and gasped for breath. It took her several seconds of staring at him before she had the presence of mind to fumble for her 'LifeAlert' button around her neck and click it.

Damn!...

What the hell was going on here?!

Damn-Damn! The cops were on their way here now. He needed to get out of this spook-house NOW!.

If he could just move his feet and get going...

Soupbone wiped his nose on his sleeve, then noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced to his left...down the hallway...and froze.

Then he saw him!

It was a guy!

A guy in a funny bathing suit! He was just standing there in the living room staring at him!

Where'd he come from?

Soupbone cursed and yelled at the guy in the funny suit...but the guy just stared at him...smiling.

Soupbone noticed something then...something really, really strange.

The guy had a ring pointed at him from waist-high. The ring was glowing green. A thin green laser light was coming from the ring and pointed at his feet!

The weird guy was doing it! The weird guy was trapping his legs with that crazy ring!

Soupbone snarled in anger at the man with the ring. He didn't know how the guy was doing it,...but now Soupbone was mad!

Soupbone thrashed around wildly trying to break free.

"Let me go you f---ing weirdo!" he screamed.

The man just smiled calmly and shook his head "no" very slowly.

Soupbone glared furiously at the strange man.

Soupbone then noticed that the man had some kind of a Zorro mask on his face.

Weird.

Just then the old woman screamed at him to "Get out!-Get out!-Get out!"...so Soupbone decided to throw his screwdriver at her to get her to shut up. He raised his arm to fling the screwdriver but it flew backwards out of his hand.

He glared at the weird guy again.

Sure enough,...

The screwdriver was floating away from him,...through the air...with a greenish glow around it. It stopped and dropped into the hand of the weird guy.

Now THAT...was REALLY weird.

Soupbone snorted in his mucus. He knew he was in trouble...but inwardly, he was glad when he saw the blue lights flashing through the window.

The weird guy backed away slowly...out the back door...and out of sight. Soupbone looked at his legs to see if the glow would disappear and he could run.

No such luck. He was still stuck...rooted to the spot.

The cops heard the onery old lady yelling at the cops about him. They kicked in the front door and aimed their guns at poor old Soupbone.

Damn-it-all!

Damn it - Damn it!

This was the third time!

The police officers tackled poor old Soupbone and cuffed him roughly. Soupbone started thinking of lies to tell the officers when he suddenly caught himself.

"Hey!" he yelled. "What about the other guy!"

"What other guy?" asked the lead officer seriously.

"The other dude..." cried Soupbone, "...with the ring and the bathing suit! He's in the backyard man!"

The lead officer strode out the back door and yelled at an officer who was already in the backyard.

"ZANE! YOU SEE ANYBODY BACK HERE?!"

"No" came the official reply.

"You check everywhere?"

"Yeah...why? What's he sayin?"

"Says there's a guy in a bathing suit back here."

"He's lying. No one here. He woulda had to fly out for me to miss him."

The lead officer cursed under his breath then strode back into the house.

"Offisah...I'm talkin' troof..."

"Shaddup jackass...you have the right to remain silent..."

Soupbone sat sullenly in the back seat of the patrol vehicle. He hawked and snorted a huge gob of brown mucus onto the forward safety screen. He tried to looosen the handcuffs a bit but it was no use. Eventually he was on his way to the local old lady followed them in her ratty car to press charges.

The detectives at the station quietly booked him into jail. They took his personal effects (and drugs) from him and made him wear the orange jumpsuit. Then they led him to the interrogation room and started to question him. He told them all about the green guy with the ring and they laughed in his face. They threw him in a holding cell and left him there alone for hours. He tried to sleep but he kept thinking about the weird guy with the green ring. There was something familiar about that guy...he just couldn't remember what it was.

It must have been two in the morning when the detention officers grabbed him again and escorted him back to the interrogation room. An older-looking, moderately overweight detective then entered the room. Soupbone recognized him from a previous arrest and interrogation, but couldn't remember his name. Soupbone knew that the fat old cop could never catch him in a running situation, but he was pretty smart. He'd nearly got a confession from him once or twice before.

"Mister Carleton"...he sighed. "We meet again."

Soupbone just snorted and wiped his runny nose with his cuffed hands and stared off into space.

"I'm Officer Bridgestone. You remember me right? I sent you to jail on your last B & E..."

Soupbone snorted long and loud, then stared at the wall.

The old detective put a tape into the cassette player on the table, but he didn't turn it on. He sat wearily down in the chair across the table from Soupbone and rested his chin on his folded hands.

"Should I call you Mister Carleton or do you prefer Soupbone?"

"Whatever".

"Mister Soupbone..." began the old detective, "You know as well as I do that you're a three-time loser, right?"

"Whatever".

"You also know as well as I do that the old lady you snuck up on is going to be a very good witness."

The old detective let that sink in.

Soupbone stared at the wall.

"Breaking and entering...armed robbery...I'll bet you were planning on leaving us with another body weren't you?"

"The door was already busted befo...

"SAVE IT!" shouted the detective, "Save...those...lies."

Soupbone was nonplussed. He'd been through all this stuff before.

"You don' wanna hear what I gotta say you kin leave...cop!"

The old detective stared at the criminal and weighed his options. Soupbone was a career criminal and a drug addict. He was insufferable street trash that should never have been released from prison once he was there...but the system had let the people down. Time and again the state had let Soupbone and his bland features wriggle through the net.

But now...finally...he had Soupbone...poor old raping-murdering-crack-snorting Soupbone...and had him perfectly! Dead to rights...with a perfect witness willing to testify. It was almost too good to be true. The only thing that stood in the way of the perfect prosecution of this reptile was the weird 'green guy' story. Old, canny detective Bridgestone did not want Soupbone wriggling off the hook with an insanity plea. He needed Soupbone to hang himself...and he thought he had an angle. He just needed a few little details on tape.

"Mister Soupbone" began the old detective, smiling,"...tell me about the 'green guy'...the one that supposedly trapped your feet with his ring".

"I ALREADY TOL' THOSE OTHER F---ING COPS!"

"I know, I know..." the old detective replied cooly. "Just humor me and describe the green guy one more time".

"You think I'm making the sh-- up!"

The detective breathed slowly a few times, then stood up and leaned over the table menacingly.

"Humor me."

Soupbone sighed, snorted, and began to describe the events of the previous evening. The old detective quietly clicked the tape player onto 'record' and rested his chin on his hands again. Soupbone wearily described the 'green guy' in some detail. White...forty-ish...brown hair...green Zorro mask...didn't speak at all...can I have a cigarette...no...f--- you...white gloves and boots...shiny green and black bathing suit...looked like a superhero or something...there was a big green spot in the center of his chest or something...

The old detective stopped Soupbone's narrative then. He reached around and pulled out a folded magazine from his back pocket. He unfolded the magazine in front of Soupbone and held it under his drippy nose for him to see.

"Is this the guy you saw Soupbone?" he asked.

Soupbone gave the detective a wondering look then stared at the magazine.

It was a comic book!

Soupbone's eyes lit up as he recognized the figure on the cover.

"Thass HIM! Thass HIM!" cried Soupbone. "Thass the man I saw in de house!"

Soupbone tried to read the comic book's title.

"What that say? Green lanner..."

"It's 'Green Lantern'" corrected the old detective,"ever heard of him?"

"Ye-ahhh...I think so...my little brudder had one a dese comics...dats where I remembah it!"

"I see." replied Bridgestone satisfied.

Officer Bridgestone sighed inwardly. Soupbone had told him what he wanted to hear. He stopped the tape and ejected it. He pulled the precious tape out and stuffed it into his shirt pocket for safe-keeping. When he'd played Soupbone's first taped deposition, he'd laughed along with the other detectives. Slowly though, it dawned on him about the insanity defense Soupbone was building. He played the tape three times before it hit him: Green Lantern! Soupbone was describing a DC comic book hero! He rushed home then and dug through his son's comic book collection until he'd found it. A Green Lantern comic! All he needed was for Soupbone to say he recognized it and WHAM! Permanent jail-time!

And so he fell into the trap. Detective Bridgestone folded the comic in two and jammed it in his back pocket. No escape for poor old Soupbone now. A drug-induced memory...that's all. Not a fictitious mental demon...just an old memory...capable of sending him straight to Walla-Walla penitentiary.

The old detective had just leaned back to savor his victory when officer Wollenberg burst in.

"Heads up George!"

"What?"

Before officer Bridgestone could do more than look up, a tall official-looking black man in a dark suit and horn-rimmed glasses brusquely entered the interrogation room. He had a Malcolm-X kinda look, a communication earpiece dangling from his collar and a no-nonsense attitude that reeked of ex-military.

"This interview is at an end" he said.

"Uh,...excuse me Mister?..."

"Agent Stillman...NSA." The man flipped open a black leather government I.D. and shoved it in directly in Bridgestone's face. At the same time he reached over and hit the eject button on the tape player and saw there was no tape.

"Detective Captain Bridgestone is it?" he didn't wait for the old detective to confirm the name. "Do you or do you not have a taped deposition from this suspect on your person?"

There was a hard edge tone to the man's voice that demanded an immediate response.

"Er...yes."

"May I have it please?"

Bridgestone hesistated.

"It's not really a request officer Bridgestone" intoned Agent Stillman with an ill-concealed rasp of menace.

Soupbone watched amazed at the governmental power struggle unfolding before him and began to smile at Bridgestone's obvious discomfort.

"Better give him de tape."

"Shut up Soupbone!" Bridgestone snarled...as he fished in his pocket for the tape. "I don't see what the government's interest is in..."

"What you see and don't see will be entirely up to me" ordered Agent Stillman. "For now you will hand over this prisoner and his personal effects to me along with all his fingerprint documents and arrest records. You will say nothing about this man or his case to anyone. Any further evidence regarding this incident will be referred directly to Agent Waters who will be arriving shortly. He will be our laison officer with this precinct and will be posted in a government van in the impound lot for the duration. You will give him everything he requires in order to finish his investigation of this...incident".

Agent Stillman's eyes bored directly into Bridgestone's.

"Are we clear detective Bridgestone?"

"Crystal" replied the old detective stiffly.

"Agent Brody!" shouted Stillman.

Suddenly a huge man dressed similarly in a dark government suit filled the doorway. He could have been a professional wrestler.

"Take Mister Carleton to the transport vehicle please".

Agent Brody reached out with massive hands and grabbed Soupbone by the shoulders and lifted him bodily out of the interrogation chair. Soupbone cried out in protest to no avail. He was hustled out in a blink by agent Brody as if he were a child being bum-rushed out of daycare. Agent Stillman then turned to face officer Wollenberg who was standing diffidently in the hallway.

"Arrest records...fingerprints...personal effects...all bits of evidence..." Agent Stillman reminded him sternly.

"Yes sir." replied Wollenberg as he waved a mock salute and strode off to gather the requested items.

Agent Stillman stood rigidly for a few moments with his back to detective Bridgestone. Without turning, he spoke succinctly to the old detective.

"What's your opinion of Mister Carleton's story detective?" asked the government agent.

Bridgestone cleared his throat and answered truthfully.

"It was a drug-induced memory of some sort. The guy's a known addict."

"Very good detective" commented Stillman. "Just keep believing that explanation. Have a nice day".

Agent Stillman marched out of the room and never looked back.

Bridgestone let out a sigh of relief...then he felt the comic book in his back pocket as he leaned backwards. He reached around behind and tugged it free. He unfolded it and set it down on the interrogation table and stared at it.

"It couldn't be...could it?"

Chapter Two

Agent Stillman watched rigidly as officer Wollenberg scrambled together all the files on Soupbone and his latest indiscretion...plus all his past files.

There were plenty. The stack was starting to tip over.

"Get a box officer..."

Wollenberg noted the stacking problem then nodded an assent. He began meandering towards the supply room.

The damage wasn't great here; the old woman was half-blind...Soupbone was a headcase...Bridgestone came up with his own explanations.

Not bad considering the nature of the event.

He'd have to keep an eye on Bridgestone though. A good cop from his files. It'd be a shame to have to dispose of him.

On cue, Bridgestone strode out of the interrogation room in a half-daze. He was holding a comic book...patting his thigh with it as he shook his head in confused thought.

He finally shrugged after a second or two and started to straighten Soupbone's tower of files.

Agent Stillman noted his resigned attitude and adjusted his earpiece volume control.

He listened bemusedly to agent Brody's noisy progress with Soupbone.

"MUH-FUH!"...(THUMP!)..."GAT-DAMMIT!"..."LEGGO MUH MUH-FUH HAIR!"...(CRASH!)..."UNGH!"...

He seethed inwardly.

He hated low-lifes like Soupbone. They reminded him of his own jail-issue father who had caved under societal pressure and abandoned him and his siblings when the going got rough. He had assumed control of his family at age 12 after his father's short trial. Then after a few useless trips with his mother to the state pen, he had decided his father was an embarrassing write-off. The safety of his family had depended on him after that...and he never let them down.

His friends in the neighborhood may have been fooled by the gangs and the drug dealers and the useless 'organizations' that offered feigned 'alternatives'.

But he knew better.

Follow the money...follow the power...

Out of necessity, he was a hardened man...inside and out.

First to protect his family...then to protect his country...then to protect the world...from that which clawed at the edges of everyone's comfortable reality...the 'unknown'.

Agent Stillman took of his glasses and wiped them stiffly.

Some, like his mother, thought he was too hard.

But he knew better.

The mind was the battlefield.

The mind was the weapon.

The mind was all that stood between man and oblivion.

Machine-like, his mind reviewed the problems...found the answers...followed through....no errors.

All the cases he had been handed by his government (yes...they still called them 'X-FILES' ) had been resolved without so much as a whimper in the news.

And the government was grateful...very grateful...

...and becoming more and more dependent on his skills and awareness.

Financially it was all good...but later...well...

...he'd see about later when it arrived.

For now, he needed to resolve this green man issue.

And he knew just how to do it. Watch the patterns...note the clues...heed the warnings...prepare the traps...

In his experience, everything was ultimately based in reality.

Everything.

There was no magic...no Gods...no supernatural phenomena...

It was a relatively straight-up world all-in-all...

Until now.

Now Agent Stillman's mind was churning furiously...like a hell-train...flames licking at the wheels of ironclad industrial reality...

...seeking answers....explanations...grounded truths...

His mind kept going over and over the events of the last few days...

Thursday: His inside man at the CIA had first sent him a warning text: 'ZEUS'.

'ZEUS'...all caps...meaning: 'New player...power unknown...'

That code had never been used before this.

He had his hacker squad bring him the data direct from the CIA and FBI mainframes.

It was not good.

Central intelligence and the FBI had noted a series of 'incidents' involving a 'green man'.

First incident: New York...10:54 PM...410 west 42nd st...outside Gotham Chamber Opera...theatre-goers...unlikely to lie...

"I'm sure I saw him. He just hovered there in mid-air...then just flew off."

"Yeah, like superman or something!"

"Dressed in a green bathing suit...or union suit or something..."

"He had a mask!...Don't forget the mask dude!"

"yeah, yeah...I saw the mask too...but I was way over by the pizza place next to the photo store...and I saw a big green flash!...and there he was just hangin' in the air!"

"Yeah...I saw that too!...Next thing you know...BAM! He up and flies off!"

Second incident: Chicago...12:45 PM...a row of houses by the tracks...six neighbors file a complaint about a 'scary green man'...

"I heard a scream...and I guess he like saved a girl who was being threatened in the tunnel."

"Yeah,...but she ran off scared, like right away...y'know?"

"And he was all, like, glowing green and just hovering in mid-air over the tracks...no wires or anything!"

"He had a Zorro mask...and green boots...and a bathing suit on..."

"He had a big green ring...just stared at it for the longest time...then BAM!...he was gone!"

"Yeah...didn't even see which way he went. Some kind of a magician or sumthin..."

"Can a man stand in mid-air like that without the power of God in him? I don't think so..."

"Well if ya ask me, I think it's some kind of government plot y'know?..."

"The kids just can't sleep now...stuff like this just pisses me off..."

Third Incident: Los Angeles...1:54 AM...410 W. 42nd st....a freeway overpass...

"Looky here offissar..I seen it...I ain't lying....I'm tellin' yuh...it was a guy in a green spandex whatever!...Just hovered over the freeway looking at me!"

"Did the green guy say anything to you?"

"Yeah...he tol' me to stop spitting on the cars!"

"And that's what you were doing?"

"Ummm...no-ooo...I was maybe just...y'know..."

"You were spitting on the cars...we've had complaints..."

"Shi....who cares bout dat?...Muh-fuh green Zorro guy flies up and makes me shit mahself! Thass the crime here troop!"

"So you think it was he who caused the accident?"

"Yeah! Muh-FUH freaked dem drivers out!"

"It wasn't your spit then?"

"HAY-YELL NO!"

"All the drivers under here are saying that all they saw was a green flash that saved them from going off the road."

"They right about the big flash. The green dude made it wit his hand or sumthin'."

"But the guy in Plymouth Voyager says it was a big gob of brown spit that landed on his windshield that almost caused a wreck under here."

"Awww...he fu----in' lying...you know..."

Agent Stillman's mental gears ground off sparks behind his eyes.

He flies.

he disappears in a flash.

He stops crime.

He aims a green lazer ring at his targets.

he can hover.

He can push cars out of harm's way.

He can freeze people into...motionlessness.

Is that even a word?...

(pauses...thinks)

...yes it is.

He keeps going to the same address in different cities.

Why?

Agent Stillman watched over his glasses as officer Wollenberg stuffed more of Soupbone's criminal files into a big cardboard box.

A bead of sweat trickled down Stillman's forehead.

He wiped it away casually.

His mind settled down and began to ponder the current problem...

...where to dispose of Soupbone's body?

The Deathman Affair

(A FanFiction work for the 'Mystery Men')

Champion City...

Seven years after the death of Captain Amazing...

Friday night...Ten p.m...

Waterfront District...

Old Western Avenue and Harbour Front Drive...

Moonlight and city lights rippled and played on the dark blue waters of Usher Harbour. The moon was low over the waves and only the sheerest wisps of clouds streaked across the horizon. Blinking radio towers reached upwards towards the twinkling stars and droning aeroplanes floated slowly over the brilliant skyscrapers of Champion City.

In the center of the city, facing east, stood the towering statue of Captain Amazing...now darkened and unlit for seven years in memory of the city's former great hero who had fallen in battle against the supervillain 'Casanova-Frankenstein'.

But Champion city was alive tonight.

Excitement bubbled throughout the futuristic metroplex of superheroes and supervillains. From the lost souls who scraped out an existence below the cobbled streets, to the rich and powerful who danced regally on the rooftop verandas...the night held a kind of...

...'action fever'.

It was the sterling anniversary of the first appearance of the new heroes of Champion City...The mighty 'MYSTERY MEN' who had defeated Casanova-Frankenstein and his deadly gangs just seven years ago and avenged the death of Captain Amazing.

And...for seven long embattled years...the Mystery Men had protected Champion City just as Captain Amazing had done.

Supervillains had left the shadows and bestrode the city openly once the news of Captain Amazing's death was announced. Every super criminal, new and old, tried to overrun the super-metropolis and overwhelm the new heroes with their superhuman powers and evil abilities.

But the Mystery Men had prevailed.

Yes...every villain had gone down into bitter defeat! The Locust Master! Baron Cocktail and the Happy Hour Bandits! Nerve Man! The Singe-er! Crux Windlestraw! (The Man of Antimatter!) Lady Jade and the Rhinestone Gang! The Sweeper! Fancy Dan the Danger man! The Man with the Golden Gimp!...None had prevailed against the Mystery Men!

And then...the scariest villain of all...the nameless one...the 'Harrowing Nightshade' himself!...had attacked...had failed...had fallen...

...and for one whole year...Champion City knew an 'amazing' peace once more.

...until today.

Now the city held it's collective breath...

For it was rumored that a new super villain had surfaced...

...one more dangerous than any that Champion City or the Mystery Men had ever faced before...

...one that was about to launch a wave of evil such as the world had never known...

...and that once again...the fabled 'Mystery Men'...were on the prowl for evildoers.

A trio of policeboats quietly patroled past the boats and barges moored along the old waterfront. The boats rocked peacefully in their splashy wakes and muted groans from tightening and slackening mooring ropes was momentarily heard above the distant honks of motorcars and the rumble of subterranean streetcars.

The ten o'clock patrol was on time.

Suddenly a spotlight shot out from the hindmost patrol boat and cut across the docks. It flashed all along the row of boathouses and sailboats at the end of the pier.

A dark figure took quiet note of the police boats passing by and drifted further into the shadows near an old, abandoned crane. A ship's horn was heard in the distance as the patrol boat's spotlight darted left and right...searching for evil.

Finding nothing, it winked out finally...and the ten o'clock patrol moved on.

The dark figure re-emerged from the shadows and watched the harbour patrol as they shrank back into the distant night. He pulled out a fuzzy wide-brimmed hat and a pair of glittering sunglasses. Putting them on, he stood and let his eyes adjust to the dark.

It was Adrian...The 'A' Man...last of the 'Disco Boys'.

Adrian felt better wearing the old hat and glasses. He felt that surge of 'Disco-Power' that he always used to feel back in the day. Yes...he was still a 'Disco Boy' after all...and he had a solemn responsibility to look the part...even out here on the docks. Even after all these years, Disco was still his inspiration...his rep,...his identity...his religion. Only he, the 'A' Man, was left...having eluded capture after the destruction of his whole gang at the hands of the 'Mystery Men'.

"HAAAWWWCK!...Pi-THoooo!"

Adrian spit as thought of those stupid wannabe heroes. He'd helped stomp three of them real good once...right along with Tony 'P' and Tony 'C' and the rest of the Disco Boys...and right on Casanova's front porch. Man that felt good. Tony 'P' had wanted to kill them but Casanova had just laughed and said:

"Let za vermin run home. Zey are not worze rizzking a poleeze invez-digay-shun."

Boy was that a mistake.

When the roof caved in and Casanova got thrown into his own death machine ( the 'psychofrakulator' ) he had run like hell and hid in the trunk of Casanova's ruined Corvette limosine and waited until the explosions died down.

Adrian chuckled.

Everybody else had died in the massive blast wave. Only he had had the 'Luck of the Duck' and walked away unscathed. Who'd a-thought those wimpy wannabes could mix it up like that! He'd scatted out afterwards with all of Casanova's secondary back-up computer files that were kept hidden in the limo's trunk.

Adrian patted the metallic file box of the late Casanova-Frankenstein which was stuffed under his fox-fur coat. For years he had tried to sell these files on the supervillain black market and make a final 'big score'. But no one had dared to touch them. They were all afraid of the wrath of the Mystery Men.

Tonight was different though. Tonight his fortune would be made and his oh-so-careful patience rewarded.

Someone had placed an ad in the new 'Hero classifieds' with the secret code-words he'd noised about: 'Ode to joy'. The number of this pier (sixty-six) and the name of this barge (the 'Argo') had followed along with a nifty little price code: '2001'

...which meant 200,000 dollars...and who knows?...maybe the money he would score tonight would be enough to bring back Disco! Anything was possible where Disco was concerned. Adrian recalled what Tony 'P' always used to say...

"Disco is not dead!...Disco is LIFE!"

'But', Adrian thought, he had to be ultra-careful tonight...tonight of all nights!' The 'A' Man had went to great lengths to make sure he wasn't being followed. He had back-tracked and hitched rides for hours until he was positive that nothing human or superhuman could have followed his weasely trail!

Adrian looked out towards the water again. The patrol boats were completely gone now...and nothing stirred...nothing at all.

Time to move...

Like a wary wharf rat, the 'A' Man hugged the sides of tin buildings and empty steel containers as he made his way towards the last wharf. He hugged his package close to him under his filthy fox-fur coat. Looking every which-way and ducking behind dumpsters, he slowly made his way towards a dark gray barge moored at the end of the pier.

When he got near the barge's gangplank, another dark figure, very tall and largely built, suddenly stepped out into the open to bar his way. The 'A' Man halted immediately and waited while the the tall man lit a cigarette. It was a longshoreman with an automatic weapon slung over one shoulder.

"Who da &# are you?" asked the dock guard lazily.

"It's me!" snorted the dark man in the furcoat, "Adrian...the 'A' man...man!"

The guard snorted.

"The 'A' Man huh?...Hey,...I wouldn't noise that around."

Adrian strode up to the big man.

"Ah gots bizness here fool."

"Yeah, yeah...we know." smiled the guard.

Suddenly three more guards appeared out of nowhere and surrounded Adrian.

"Whatcha got unner yer coat A-men?"

"Thass the 'A' MAN to you...and thass fo...fo me to know...ya know?"

"Izzit a gun?" asked one guard leveling his automatic weapon at Adrian.

Adrian whipped around to answer but too late...the guards were all over him.

While Adrian, the 'A' Man, cursed and tried to fend them off, the guards tore off his coat and hat and threw them onto the slimy dock. They laughed and flicked off his disco-specs and grabbed away his hidden 'package' and tried to open it. It refused to pry open and seemed crack-proof.

"This some kinda bomb 'A-men' ?"

Adrian just muttered "No...ain' no bomb fool!"

"Open it" drawled the guard, sticking his weapon under Adrian's nose.

It was not a request.

Adrian fearfully dug out a skeleton-shaped key from his polyester pants pocket and opened the metallic box with the engraved initials C.F. on the lid. Inside were glittering gold files with insane writing and technical drawings on them.

The guards flipped through the files one at a time until they were satisfied that there were no explosives in the box. They smirked at each other, then handed Adrian back his box.

"The boss is waiting down below A-men" said the first guard. "Move along...but quietly."

The guards retreated into the shadows again and Adrian, realizing that he wasn't going to get beat up (or worse) exhaled in relief. He walked up the gangplank with his box and quickly found a stairwell leading down into the main hold. It looked like an old barge on the inside for a few paces only...then it started to look like a scientist's bad dream.

Wires and techno-gear lined the walls. Puffing air hoses and bubbling tubes and glass balls were everywhere. Blinking lights and eerie noises wheezed and clicked all around him. Finally he came to large, metal bulkhead door with a huge vault wheel on it. He stopped and looked around for a door buzzer or something.

Suddenly a video camera on a robotic arm jammed itself in front of his face. Several antennas waved up and down on it and little lights blinked. He was being sniffed and scanned. Whoever he was going to meet was a very careful man...like himself. The scanning video camera purred as it sniffed him up and down, then satisfied, it retreated into a cubby hole to the right of the big door. The vault wheel in the center then started to turn and unscrew itself.

The door screeched opened and an ancient voice beckoned.

"Come in my young friend...come in. You've nothing to fear."

Adrian stepped inside the door and steeled himself for whatever or whoever.

"Come forward about three steps my friend!" said the ancient voice soothingly.

Adrian did as he was told. Then suddenly a bright light shone down from directly above his head and surrounded him where he stood.

"That's fine right there!" said another voice sternly.

Adrian began to feel his dinner twist in his guts. Raw fear had a tendency to do that.

"I brought the box" he said nervously.

"Tut, tut...I'm well aware of that" snapped the ancient voice from the dark."I'm more interested in how you came to have possession of the box."

Adrian, the 'A' Man, sighed and related everything from that fateful night seven years before. When he was done, the lights began to come on around the room.

Adrian found himself in a very large hold in the middle bottom of the barge which had been turned into some kind of laboratory. It was spacious and airy...and very clean inside...not like the outside areas...and it made Adrian feel somehow...'disheveled' (which he was). Overall, it looked almost alien inside. Compared to Casanova's castle, it was downright empty of decoration. But lights pulsed along the metal walls giving the room a sense of...'power'. Everything seemed to have a form designed around pure function. It was 'clinically' strange.

Finally an alcove at the far end of the hold began to brighten. There, sitting cross-legged in a heavy shadow and in a huge egg-shaped techno-chair, was the man with the ancient voice. On each side of his chair stood two huge guards (bigger and nastier looking than the ones outside) and each held a souped-up looking automatic weapon.

A careful kind of guy, thought Adrian.

"I am...convinced..." said the ancient voice.

"So we have a deal Man?" asked Adrian expectantly.

The old man in the chair wheezed cryptically...

"I'm afraid we have a deal whether you or I or the world likes it or not."

"So..." began Adrian, "I'll be gettin' mah moneys now right?"

The old man laughed.

"Yes...your moneys is right outside waiting for you my young Disco relic."

"Where bouts?" asked Adrian.

"Just go back to the deck and look for a medical box on the side of the wheelhouse. Open it and you'll find your...moneys."

Adrian set the precious metal box he had guarded for so long onto the floor and walked back towards the stairs. The steel door began to slowly close behind him. He allowed himself a stiff smile. Things were working out...sorta. As long as his money was there where the old man said it was, everything would be fine. If it wasn't...well...he could always send a note to the Mystery Men telling them where they could find the files.

Once he climbed the stairs and found the wheelhouse, Adrian the 'A' Man quickly spotted the medical box with it's big 'red cross' and quick-stepped over to it. He jiggled open the rusty latch and there...

...there it was!

Adrian practically fainted. A beautiful leather case with gold latches was inside the old box...just sitting as pretty as you please. He deftly clicked it open to see what was inside. He practically fainted again! It was stuffed with money...hard currency in tens, twenties and fifties! He'd done it!

Slowly, and with deliberate calm, the 'A' Man closed the medical box and turned towards the gangplank. He marched carefully down it about halfway and then stopped short.

Why,...Adrian asked himself,...are the dock guards laying down sleeping?

Suddenly, Adrian felt an intense heat on the back of his neck. He whirled around and came face to face with a fiery, crystal clear bowling ball with a skull in it!

THE MYSTERY MEN WERE HERE!

Chapter Two: The Mystery Men strike!

Champion City...

Seven years after the death of Captain Amazing....

Friday night...Ten p.m....

Waterfront District...

Armagezzmo's Barge.

The 'A' man back-peddled fearfully into the side of the wheel house.

“The Bowler's Daughter!” he gasped.

He'd been followed...but how?

The heat from the burning frightmare hovered directly in front of his face and kept him pinned against the wheelhouse. Adrian dropped the leather case full of money and began to plead for mercy.

“Don't kill me! Don't kill me!” he cried. “Take the money! It's yours...I don't want nuthin' wit it no more!”

Suddenly Adrian heard a slight whispering in his ear. It was a youngish voice but it had a hard-edge to it.

"Who did you give the file box to?" said the voice.

Adrian gulped hard. It had to be the 'Invisible Boy'. That was how he'd been followed...right to the barge.

"Iss just an old dude down there man! Don kill me pleeze! Don...jes don..you got the moneys an all..."

"Are there any traps down there...Disco Boy?" queried Invisible Boy calmly.

"No traps...jes scientific shid...and...and...there's two more guards with fancy hardware...and...and...dair-za door witta lock wheel or sumpin...look lak a bank vault door...wit a video camera dat looks you over first..."

The A-Man couldn't spill his guts any faster...but he tried.

"The old dude sits inna egg chair...he got the file box...there's weird lights and...and...pleeze don kill me!"

Adrian heard a third disembodied voice, nearly at his shoulder, say "Sounds truthful...what's his fate Sphinx?".

Adrian remembered that voice! That was the Shovelman! ( or 'The Shoveler') Oh God! Don't let the Shovelman remember Adrian's part in that stomping at Casanova's place years ago! Don't let him remember...don't let him remember...

Then he heard an older voice, close by...but also invisible, say "Checkerheads". It was probably the Sphinx thought Adrian.

That creepy invisible whisper was in his ear again.

"Turn yourself in to the police tonight...tell them you tried to sell stolen property...tell them the Mystery Men will call them later with the charges. Can you do that?"

"Yes...yes..." said Adrian releived. "I'll do dat...rights away now...rights away...no-ooo problem!"

The burning bowling ball backed off just enough for the A-man to quiver away from the bulkhead and stagger towards the gangplank.

"Get going!"

"Yezzir!...Turnin' mahsef in raht away! Yezzir!"

Adrian hurried down the gangplank and onto the wooden dock. He stepped over the lifeless guards and noticed that their automatic weapons were laying next to them...cut completely in half! A rush of memory stopped him cold...he remembered a time seven years ago. A time when this had happened to his own weapon in a dark alley. His 'Disco heat' had been cut in half along with the entire Disco Boy's arsenal...seemingly by magic!

He started to turn and run towards the dock gate when he felt himself grabbed from behind and lifted into the air by invisible hands!

"AAA-AAAH!" shreiked the A-Man, terrified to the core.

A deep voice rumbled then...a new but familiar voice...more a hissing growl than any human speech...now snarled at him!

"YOU!....DISCO-FR-rrrREAK!"

Adrian's heart beat like a trip hammer. He was being held aloft and shaken by ghostly, invisible hands and worst of all, he thought he could just make out red glowing eyes in front of his face, staring ferociously into his own...boring into his soul!

"PLEEZE DON' KILL ME! PLEEZE!" begged Adrian.

"I rrr-remember you! You were at Casanova's! You and your gang STOMPED us!"

It was Mr. Furious...invisible and enraged!...waving him in the air like a rag doll!

"Let him go Roy!" Adrian heard the Shoveler say. "We haven't got time for this!"

Adrian nearly fainted. He was a dead disco duck for sure.

"Hurrr-rrr....I don't believe he'll turn himself in. I think he needs to pay for his crimes right now!" snarled Mister Furious.

A nasally whine cut in just then. "Let him feel MY power!"

"Spleen! Down boy!" ordered the Shoveler."You too Roy! Our lawyers have enough on their hands right now. That squirrel is too scared to go anywhere except jail."

Adrian, the A-man, felt a strange warmth between his legs. He sighed dizzily as his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets.

Then he felt himself dropped to the dock in a heap.

"ArrGraaaH! HE WET HIMSELF!" snarled Furious.

"I say Furious...bad form!" commented a disembodied British accent (obviously the 'Blue Rajah'), "Let the poor devil make a sporting break for it!"

"Pleeze Sirs..." Adrian rasped, "Ah iz gon' turn mahsef in...don' you worry...turnin' mahsef in....don' need no mo' a dis...no moah...ah iz done...pure done!"

A female disembodied voice (probably the Bowler's Daughter) spoke up then. "I tend to belive him. I think that he'll follow through...if only to get some dry pants! "

"GET GOING!" roared Furious.

Adrian staggered to his feet and limped off in a dripping, bowlegged fashion.

The Mystery men watched him go, then turned their attention to the mysterious barge and it's owners.

"Now...let's see what's below!" said the Shovelor.

"Wait..." said the Sphinx, "...Daddy first!"

The Bowler's Daughter sent the fiery crystal ball levitating down the barge's stairway...searching for trouble.

"Okay everyone.." began the Shoveler, "Daddy will scout ahead as usual. Spleen!..."

"Yesh?" queried the Spleen.

"I want to see paint peeling all the way down. Invisible Boy?..."

"No problem here man..." replied Invisible Boy. "I can keep us all invisible for at least twenty minutes more."

"Good job son" replied the Shovelor. "You're up to a full hour now. Amazing."

"By the way everyone..." chimed the Blue Rajah, "Leave us NOT forget the suitcase with the cash! Hmmm? Our colorful charity work needs a green donation!"

"You grab it Jeff...just don't start counting it until we're outta here!" warned the Shovelor.

"Quiet everyone!" warned the Sphinx, "Let our mission continue without further interruptions! Our enemy awaits us...let's not give him any more time to prepare a welcome!"

"Righto!"

"Yesh...yesh...but can somebody pull my finger pleash?"

The Shovelor sighed. "I'll do it...but it's Roy's turn next time."

"Thanks Eddie...and I rrr-really mean that...I want you to know."

That's all for now!

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...ARTIST OF PARADOX!

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