Silence. That's what defined this room the best. The foyer was impressive, for sure. Marble floors, white walls, a silver chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, black, leather couches symmetrically placed against either wall, and a giant marble desk with a polished granite top, which sat the secretary whose mind was filled with these thoughts. She glanced around the room to check if anything had changed. It hadn't. It never does. Believe it or not, an electronics company office was not the place to be. And she had so much hope. She rolled her eyes after that thought. Even her own mind was starting to annoy her. The only break in the monotony of the day was when Mr. Spencer stopped by around lunch time to make sure everything was going alright and to get the mail. Even though he was the CEO, he always made time for his employees. His excuse was that he should know to whom his money is disappearing to, but she knew that he was far more caring than that. He simply liked people, which is why he got into electronics in the first place: to help people and make their lives easier. His son, David, though still a teenager, was being beginning to show similar personality traits of his father. He would make a great CEO one day.
The golden front doors burst open, causing the secretary to jump. In walked two men, both in pinstripe suits. The taller one was in a blue one, and looked very dignified in his short, slicked hair and pencil moustache. He looked completely in his element. Must be an investor or something like that. The other, however, did not look at all comfortable. He walked stiffly, his face set into a permanent frown. The suit was not tailored to his muscular body and bulged and wrinkled everywhere, making him look even more uncomfortable. They walked straight up to the desk of the secretary and the taller man leaned slightly forward.
"Good afternoon, miss. I was wondering if it would be at all possible to see Mr. Zimmerman today?"
His accent was curious. His voice was soaked in a 1950's upper class air, with just a tinge of Canadian for good measure, and made him incredibly charming. The secretary blushed slightly.
"Uh, let me just check his schedule here..." she quickly flipped through a pile of papers off to her side. "Yes, he is free at the moment. Does that work for you gentlemen?"
"That would be perfect, miss." The man smiled and tipped his head forward. "Thank you very much for your help. You have a wonderful day."
The two men turned and walked towards the large oak doors to their left, and she smiled as they left. That should keep her entertained for at least a few hours.
Captain Incredible pushed open the heavy wood doors and revealed the large, posh office. At the opposite end facing them was a big redwood desk with a pudgy mad crouched over some papers. As the doors opened, he looked up and was struck with a confused look.
"Hello? Do you have an appointment? I don't remember making any today...I'll have to talk to Susan..."
Zimmerman started to stand up from his work, but the Captain was closed the doors behind him.
"Jacob Zimmerman, we have a business proposition for you. Sorry we did not phone ahead, but we knew you would be interested."
Zimmerman's confusion was somewhat replaced with a look of interest and he slowly sat back down. Pointing to the black leather chairs in front of his desk, he nodded to the two heroes in disguise. The Captain looked over at the Gladiator, who pulled a piece of paper out of his coat and laid it on the desk.
"We have heard that you are suffering some nasty losses in personal involved in some...extra curricular business." He gave Zimmerman a quick wink, then continued. "We have a solution to that problem. They need training to be effective and we own the best training outfit in the Easter United States. Your excursions would become much more profitable."
Pointing to the paper on Zimmerman's desk, the Captain added, "This is our basic terms and conditions. Pretty run of the mill, no real surprises, but we do need you to sign on that pretty dotted line at the bottom there."
Zimmerman grabbed the paper and skimmed over it, his frown growing deeper with every passing line. After a minute of silence, he looked up.
"Your business doesn't exist."
Doing his best to looked shocked, the Captain exclaimed, "That is a fairly rash accusation when two of its founders are in the same room as you!"
The man behind the desk set the paper down on the many piles covering the beautiful redwood top. "Your story and paper has so many holes that I won't even bother to tell you of all of them. I have better uses of my time, like asking what brought Captain Incredible and the Gladiator to my office."
The Captain sunk slightly in his chair. He was certain that his fabrication was strong enough to last at least a few minutes. He glanced at the Gladiator to his right. His expression had not changed the entire meeting, staring coldly ahead with his face set in stone. The Captain could not get too dejected, though. This is why they came here. He straightened in his chair and stared at Zimmerman, who was matching the Gladiators cold features.
"I think you know very well why we're here. You're cheap labour gave you up when we apprehended them. Now we have to stop you."
Instead of anger, Zimmerman instead began to smile. It wasn't a comforting smile, either, but one that made you nervous of the next words that would exit his mouth.
"I knew you would come. I even knew my stupid minions would give me up. I have bigger plans. Did you figure that out, there, Captain?" Zimmerman sneered at the two heroes in the chairs in front of him and rose from his own. "In fact, I was hoping you'd come."
Suddenly, the Gladiator jumped out of his chair and punched Zimmerman right in the face. He stumbled backwards into the back wall, slightly stunned and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A streak of blood remained after Zimmerman dropped his hand, and soon a streak was dripping down the right side of his mouth into his goatee and onto his tailored suit. The smile immediately disappeared and his voice became a harsh growl.
"I know theres only two of you. You're old and washed up. You can't afford to have many enemies. But I'm about to make the most powerful one you've ever seen. I'll finally be rid of you, even if I have to be patient."
"But why get rid of us? We keep peace and justice, which usually isn't a bad thing," asked the Captain, who was beginning to be very worried. Zimmerman was brilliant, but also unpredictable and violent. Things were not going to be pretty.
"Because," burst Zimmerman, now holding a small pen with the clicker on his thumb, "we businessmen need to be free to make money. You're stopping us! You're cancer to the American economy and must be eradicated for everyone to be happy again!"
As the Gladiator took another step toward Zimmerman, he clicked his pen. One more punch crossed Zimmerman's face before a dull thud was heard from above, which shook the entire office, and was soon followed by people screaming and the sound of fire extinguishers. Captain Incredible turned wide eyed to the man sitting on the ground with blood in his facial hair and now a broken nose that was pouring blood. He was chuckling between spurting coughs.
"What have you done?" the Captain asked slowly and accusingly.
"You just killed the great Douglas Spencer."
The Gladiator stomped over to the pathetic mess of a man on the floor, grabbed his collar, lifted him up to his face, and screamed, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
He dropped Zimmerman back onto the floor. He groaned as he hit, but continued to chuckle. "I set off a bomb I had planted there for weeks. Along with it was an exact replica of your helmet, Gladiator, along with a chunk of the Captain's cape. I even rigged security footage to show you running from his office. When his son finds out, he's gonna want revenge. And he has powers of which I have never seen. He doesn't even know he has them!" The low chuckle now was a full out laugh. "I've killed both of you!"
Captain Incredible was beside himself. He had walked into the most perfectly formulated trap in his life. Ten years ago he would not have made this mistake. Now his image was ruined and he would have a formidable enemy in the future. He was infuriated and worried and confused and mortified. Drastic times, as the saying goes, call for similar measures.
"James, grab him. He cannot be allowed contact with the boy."
The Gladiator hoisted Zimmerman over his shoulder, much to Zimmerman's discomfort.
"What are you doing to me? I'm untouchable!"
The Captain bent down to his bloodied face, now pressed against the Gladiator's back. "In this country you are."
Horror filled every pore of his face. "No." He stuttered. "You wouldn't. You're supposed to be the good guys!"
The Captain turned and walked out of the room, ignoring Zimmerman's panicked pleas. The Gladiator was going to break out of the low window in the office and meet him at the van. He walked by the secretary, who smiled at him, but he failed to notice. He was deep in thoughts consumed in emotion. In America, Zimmerman was immune to all forms of justice. He had connections everywhere and he knew he was going to get off scot free. However, there were some places outside of the continent, say, for example, Siberia, that would love to take a prisoner and not ask any questions. That's what Zimmerman deserved, and he knew it, too.
There was one more thought on the Captain's mind. He had walked into a trap without having the slightest hint. It was shameful. If he was younger, he would have known. Therefore, there was only one logical conclusion. He was almost 50, had children and grandchildren, and after this story got out, his reputation would be toast. It was time to disappear. It was time to retire.
Saturday, 9 June 2012
Wednesday, 18 April 2012
The Golden Age - pt. 2
It's not that Jim and Edwin weren't close; in fact, it was entirely the opposite. Ever since the team had disbanded, Ed had made a significant effort to stay in touch with his old friend. He didn't agree with everything he did, especially when he drug him along for his "one final go" back in '95, but Ed knew he was the only one that Jim really had anymore. Maybe it was the Canadian in him, but Ed felt sorry for the guy.
No, it wasn't talking to Jim that bothered Ed. It was the fact that the law needed them again. Ed shook his head to himself and sighed as he walked back into the house. Jim had a hard enough time getting out of fighting crime. The Gladiator had carried on beating up criminals for 2 years after Captain Incredible retired for good. That resulted in one of the worst ulcer's he'd ever seen. Now, Jim had one of those 7 day pill cartridges that he hated with a passion because it made him look old. The thought of Jim ranting about his pills again made Ed chuckle, then sigh again to himself. Should he even tell Jim? Would it be good for him?
Edwin opened up the door, stepped inside, and was greeted with the wonderful smell of bacon sizzling on the stove. He turned the corner and saw his wonderful wife of 37 years. She looked up just as she cracked an egg into the pan full of bacon and smiled. "How was the morning paper, Ed?"
"Oh, it was good. Same old stuff. I got a letter from the CIA, though."
She froze. The only sound that could be heard was the sizzling and popping of bacon and egg.
"What did it say?" She asked, without a trace of emotion on her face.
"Sara," he took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm needed again."
Sara sighed. "Well, you know what you gotta do." Though she didn't say it, Ed knew right away, that she was worried. In her head, he knew she was dying to say, "You're too old for that kind of stuff." He knew that she knew that this could be a disaster and she would never see him again. Almost 40 years of marriage helps with that.
Ed looked at Sara. She was staring at the eggs, lost in a plethora of thoughts. He walked up behind her, embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Everything will be fine. Trust me." Even as he said the words, though, he didn't know how true they were. Memories of their last battle still flooded through his mind. It was then he knew he was too old for crime fighting. And now, 20 years later, he was going back at it.
Why didn't he think of that before?
Of course it would be Zimmerman. Every problem they had in the last few years was connected to him. He was a genius, once escaping so stealthily from prison that no one noticed his absence for 11 months. When they finally figured out he had escaped, the man had secured himself so perfectly that he was nearly untouchable by even the President. At one time he was a particle physicist, committed to discovering the secrets of the universe, but then he discovered there was more beneficial uses for profession than theoretical discovery. By understanding the smallest parts of the world, you could control the largest and most complex. His fellow scientists scoffed at this, though. Thought he had been working too hard and too long. When he didn't quit his research in this field, though, they banished his from the academy. That just made him incredibly bitter, but free to do whatever he wanted. He just needed the manpower.
However, Zimmerman was cheap. He never hired anyone more than street gangs to do his dirty work and he did so through intimidation rather than money. His biggest weakness, along with his cheapness, was his arrogance. He could outsmart any of his minions and most of his enemies without much effort, which led to a largely inflated head. Zimmerman was dangerous, but not unbeatable.
Though, maybe that's why he didn't think of Zimmerman. He could never let anyone have power over him. Yet these jobs...and the huge connections between them all...that was far bigger than Zimmerman was known for.
A car horn bared and Ed jerked the steering wheel to the right. He looked around quickly and suddenly realized that he had been zoned out for the last 10 minutes. The Captain looked over to his passenger in the golden armor. Jim's fingers were imbedded in the dashboard and his eyes stared out onto the road. Edwin smiled. "Oh, suck it up, you big baby. We didn't hit anything."
Jim glared at his friend in the blue cape, which was much more intimidating through his roman-style helmet. "Just drive" he growled.
The white van sped along the highway towards the Spencer Electronics headquarters, owned by Douglas Spencer and controlled by his son, David, where Harold Zimmerman was a researcher. Doug Spencer had revolutionized the electronics industry, making him a very rich man, but he could not have done it without the help of Zimmerman. Zimmerman never told Spencer of his deranged ideas of control, and Spencer, in need of a good engineer, didn't ask. He knew of his time in prison, but hey, people change, right? Now they were both millionaires. Spencer protected Zimmerman, and Zimmerman secretly ran his crime organization from this factory. He was a genius.
The two heroes drove in silence until the large building was in sight on the horizon. Then, the Gladiator broke the silence.
"What's the plan? Are we just gonna march in there and beat the snot out of people? Cause I can do that."
"No, we have to be a bit smarter than that. We're going to have to go undercover."
"I hate undercover."
Captain Incredible pulled the van over onto an off road entrance and then slipped into the back to remove his bright blue costume. He emerged moments later in a dark blue pinstripe suit that seemed to accentuate his pencil mustache. The Gladiator sniffed as if to say, "You're an idiot," but still slipped back into the depths of the van to change. He emerged with a similar suit in black. Edwin smiled at him as he slipped into the passenger seat, but only received a glare in return.
"You know I hate suits."
"You hate all undercover work."
Again, the Captain's comment received a glare from the Gladiator. He popped the van into drive, pulled out onto the busy highway and proceeded to drive towards to the large, silver building growing in the distance.
No, it wasn't talking to Jim that bothered Ed. It was the fact that the law needed them again. Ed shook his head to himself and sighed as he walked back into the house. Jim had a hard enough time getting out of fighting crime. The Gladiator had carried on beating up criminals for 2 years after Captain Incredible retired for good. That resulted in one of the worst ulcer's he'd ever seen. Now, Jim had one of those 7 day pill cartridges that he hated with a passion because it made him look old. The thought of Jim ranting about his pills again made Ed chuckle, then sigh again to himself. Should he even tell Jim? Would it be good for him?
Edwin opened up the door, stepped inside, and was greeted with the wonderful smell of bacon sizzling on the stove. He turned the corner and saw his wonderful wife of 37 years. She looked up just as she cracked an egg into the pan full of bacon and smiled. "How was the morning paper, Ed?"
"Oh, it was good. Same old stuff. I got a letter from the CIA, though."
She froze. The only sound that could be heard was the sizzling and popping of bacon and egg.
"What did it say?" She asked, without a trace of emotion on her face.
"Sara," he took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm needed again."
Sara sighed. "Well, you know what you gotta do." Though she didn't say it, Ed knew right away, that she was worried. In her head, he knew she was dying to say, "You're too old for that kind of stuff." He knew that she knew that this could be a disaster and she would never see him again. Almost 40 years of marriage helps with that.
Ed looked at Sara. She was staring at the eggs, lost in a plethora of thoughts. He walked up behind her, embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Everything will be fine. Trust me." Even as he said the words, though, he didn't know how true they were. Memories of their last battle still flooded through his mind. It was then he knew he was too old for crime fighting. And now, 20 years later, he was going back at it.
Why didn't he think of that before?
Of course it would be Zimmerman. Every problem they had in the last few years was connected to him. He was a genius, once escaping so stealthily from prison that no one noticed his absence for 11 months. When they finally figured out he had escaped, the man had secured himself so perfectly that he was nearly untouchable by even the President. At one time he was a particle physicist, committed to discovering the secrets of the universe, but then he discovered there was more beneficial uses for profession than theoretical discovery. By understanding the smallest parts of the world, you could control the largest and most complex. His fellow scientists scoffed at this, though. Thought he had been working too hard and too long. When he didn't quit his research in this field, though, they banished his from the academy. That just made him incredibly bitter, but free to do whatever he wanted. He just needed the manpower.
However, Zimmerman was cheap. He never hired anyone more than street gangs to do his dirty work and he did so through intimidation rather than money. His biggest weakness, along with his cheapness, was his arrogance. He could outsmart any of his minions and most of his enemies without much effort, which led to a largely inflated head. Zimmerman was dangerous, but not unbeatable.
Though, maybe that's why he didn't think of Zimmerman. He could never let anyone have power over him. Yet these jobs...and the huge connections between them all...that was far bigger than Zimmerman was known for.
A car horn bared and Ed jerked the steering wheel to the right. He looked around quickly and suddenly realized that he had been zoned out for the last 10 minutes. The Captain looked over to his passenger in the golden armor. Jim's fingers were imbedded in the dashboard and his eyes stared out onto the road. Edwin smiled. "Oh, suck it up, you big baby. We didn't hit anything."
Jim glared at his friend in the blue cape, which was much more intimidating through his roman-style helmet. "Just drive" he growled.
The white van sped along the highway towards the Spencer Electronics headquarters, owned by Douglas Spencer and controlled by his son, David, where Harold Zimmerman was a researcher. Doug Spencer had revolutionized the electronics industry, making him a very rich man, but he could not have done it without the help of Zimmerman. Zimmerman never told Spencer of his deranged ideas of control, and Spencer, in need of a good engineer, didn't ask. He knew of his time in prison, but hey, people change, right? Now they were both millionaires. Spencer protected Zimmerman, and Zimmerman secretly ran his crime organization from this factory. He was a genius.
The two heroes drove in silence until the large building was in sight on the horizon. Then, the Gladiator broke the silence.
"What's the plan? Are we just gonna march in there and beat the snot out of people? Cause I can do that."
"No, we have to be a bit smarter than that. We're going to have to go undercover."
"I hate undercover."
Captain Incredible pulled the van over onto an off road entrance and then slipped into the back to remove his bright blue costume. He emerged moments later in a dark blue pinstripe suit that seemed to accentuate his pencil mustache. The Gladiator sniffed as if to say, "You're an idiot," but still slipped back into the depths of the van to change. He emerged with a similar suit in black. Edwin smiled at him as he slipped into the passenger seat, but only received a glare in return.
"You know I hate suits."
"You hate all undercover work."
Again, the Captain's comment received a glare from the Gladiator. He popped the van into drive, pulled out onto the busy highway and proceeded to drive towards to the large, silver building growing in the distance.
Thursday, 22 March 2012
The Golden Age
Superheroes have intrigued guys (and girls) for more than 50 years. What started out with Superman and Wonder Woman grew to absolutely anything you could possibly imagine. Growing up, my favourites were the X-Men because of their variety, low repetition of powers (because of there was so many of them) and, well, they were awesome. Nightcrawler? Wolverine?? How can you go wrong? Nowadays I'm a fan of Deadpool because of his contrast to the regular comic book hero. Breaking the 4th wall, sarcasm, wittiness, insensitivity, and overall hilariousness. I never read comics because I never saw them for sale and therefore thought they weren't made anymore, but I googled TONS of facts. Yes, I'm a nerd. If you haven't figured that out already...you need some help. So with the Avengers movie coming out in the next few months, superheroes have crept into my mind again and merged with my creativeness. This is the result of that, and a long summer with me and my thoughts.
"I'm getting too old for this."
Bullets whistled through the air a foot above the man laying on the ground. Staying as flat possibly could, he quickly rolled over and aimed the palms of his hands at his attackers. Soon the air started to ripple and shimmer, causing the bullets to deflect and ricochet off the walls of the buildings lining the street. The man of the ground tensed his arms, twisted his wrists, and then gave a slight push. The wall of air shot forwards, pushing all four of the gunmen off their feet and onto the hot pavement under them. Disorientated and angry, the men scrambled to their feet, only to see the man in the blue costume's cape disappear around a corner. Without a question, the men ran after the masked marauder. They approached the corner at full tilt, then skidded to a halt. In their path stood a stocky man in golden roman armor. The giant 'G' on his belt confirmed their fears: they were facing the Gladiator.
Shock consumed them. Not one of them said a word. Eyes flicked back and forth in desperation, hoping someone would have an idea. The Gladiator stood there facing them, with a small smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. The extended silence only caused their fear to increase. Any sudden movement on either side would cause an outbreak of chaos, probably resulting in four concussions and four arrests. Suddenly, the man at the back of the group panicked and turned to run, only to run into an invisible wall, taking him by surprise and knocking him to his feat. Panic then engulfed the group, as each tried to test their line of escape. An invisible bubble encompassed them, trapping them in front of their fate. One of the criminals pulled out his gun and made as if to shoot their invisible prison, only to be greeted with screams of defiance and a barrage of fists.
"Are you ready to do this, or do I have to wait all day?"
The gruff Brooklyn accent froze the four men in their place. Slowly, four heads turned in unison towards the Gladiator, who was now accompanied by the man in the blue costume and black mask, also known as Captain Incredible. His hands were out in front of him, just as they looked before when the men had been hit by the mysterious wall of air. It was this power that again jeopardized their mission. Not one of them could muster enough courage to say anything.
"Listen." This time, Captain Incredible spoke. The voice was soaked in a 1950's upper class air, with just a tinge of Canadian for good measure. "This force field is the only thing holding Gladiator back from you. I drop my concentration, he drops your sorry hides on the ground. Not a very pleasant thought, I can assure you."
One of the trapped men began to sweat nervously and shake. Another closed his eyes and whispered something under his breath, as if to ask for salvation before death. Captain Incredible gave a sideways glance at Gladiator, who returned it with a wink.
"But," he continued, "there is another option. Other than the ambulance, that is." He chuckled at his own joke. The audience, however, only swallowed a huge glob of fear. "You can always let us know who had you store all those weapons in that warehouse." The four men all looked at each other. Captain Incredible sighed. They were all the same. No matter how afraid of the pair of heroes they were, they were always more afraid of their boss. The worst thing, though, was the last several incidents were all connected to the same guy. But who?
"Very well," the Captain said, trying to conceal his disappointment. He turned his wrist slightly, then slowly lowered his arms back to his side. As soon as his arms started to move, the four men dashed behind the corner, followed closely by the Gladiator. Captain Incredible rubbed his left arm where he felt a cramp starting. He had been fighting crime for twenty years, beginning in 1975. Now 47, the joints would hurt more and more every time he made a simple force field. Behind the building, he heard the screams of the criminals and the wild, maniacal laughter of the Gladiator. Instead of intervening, he decided to give Jim some more time with them, and leaned against the wall, still massaging his arm. Ever since they had met in New Jersey, Jim had a strange love of violence. Wasn't the typical hero supposed to refrain from beating the living tar out of their victims? Weren't they supposed to only help the law, not take it into their own hands? Probably. Was that how they did things? Not once in their twenty years. The Captain was the brains, the Gladiator was the brawn. Of course, they recruited several people over the years and formed a powerful team for quite some time, but they had all gone now. In fact, this crusade wasn't even supposed to happen. They were supposed to be in retirement from crime fighting, financially supported by their respective cities. But Jim needed one last mission, and there happened to be a crime boss that was easily evading the police. 47 isn't that old, right?
As the last of the screams and whines died down, the Captain decided it was time to see the damage the Gladiator had done. He strolled around the corner to see the roman guard standing over four unconscious bodies. Two of them had bloody noses, one of them with a nasty crook in it and blood all over his face, another had an unnatural bend in the middle of his right arm, and the last had a large black eye and a split lip. Other than that, though, there was minimal blood.
"This guy's gettin' lazy," Jim growled. "These punks weren't even trained. Straight from the streets." He wiped some blood that oozed from his nose with the back of his hand and growled something unintelligible. Captain Incredible looked over the carnage and shook his head.
"Did you really have to break his arm?"
"What? Oh, yeah, him. Well...he came at me. We were fighting. Stuff happens."
Captain Incredible shook his head. Jim was getting more careless in his fights. A broken arm here, a broken leg there, soon there would be a fatality, and there was no coming back from that. But they wouldn't have to if they could finish the job quick enough.
Both heroes stared over the bodies. The Captain folded his arms, looking upon the men with pity. The Gladiator hung his arms at his side and was slightly hunched over and panting, giving more the appearance of an animal, as he recovered from his rage. Suddenly, Jim looked up at Captain Incredible.
"Ed, I just remembered. Before I broke that guys nose, he started yellin' and fussin' about some Zimmerman. Said he's who we gotta find."
Ed nodded slowly. "Then I know exactly where to look." You don't fight crime for 20 years and not pick up a few names and locations.
Edwin Rothe walked out of his front door and sat on his porch chair. It was old, but what it lacked in style it made up with in comfort and familiarity. The sun was just peeking out from the Rocky Mountains, flooding the landscape in a warm, golden glow. This was his favourite time of day. Always had been. With a cup of coffee, the moment was perfect. It was utopia for all he cared. A rumble far off let him know of the incoming mail truck. As it pulled up to the drive way, Edwin slowly stood up, shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and walked over to greet the delivery man.
"Morning Gerald," he said slowly, with a 1950's upper class air with a tinge of a Canadian accent for good measure. "How's the week been?"
"Morning Ed," Gerald replied. "It's been another long one, but I'm getting by. And I'm sorry, but I can't stay and chat much today. Just came to give you your paper...and this." Gerald reached into the passenger seat, pulled out the weeks newspaper and a large envelope with bold red writing. Edwin took it, thanked the mailman and wished him well, and slowly walked back to his porch chair. Though the paper usually took most of his attention in the mornings, Edwin was completely focussed on the envelope. Staring at the writing, he fumbled for his glasses in his shirt pocket. They were a burden, but the eyes just didn't work as well as they used to and he liked the distinguished feel they gave him. Adjusting the glasses on his nose to get the proper focus (and feeling very much like an old man), he checked when the package was sent. July 23, 2015, from Winnipeg. That was only two days ago. Nothing came to Rocky Mountain House that quickly unless it was extremely important. In bright red letters on the front was the word CLASSIFIED. Edwin popped open the envelope and removed the single piece of paper within, mouthing the words to himself as he read them. The letter was short and in a formal, governmental font, which emphasized the importance even more than giant red letters. As he read, each word brought a new intensity to his face, one of concern, intrigue, and fear. They read:
Edwin folded the letter and put it in his pocket, rested his elbows on his knees, then placed his head in his hands. For half an hour he sat there, motionless. Eventually, he got up, stretched his back and walked back into the house. No matter how much he didn't like it, there was only one course of action.
"I have to talk to Jim."
"I'm getting too old for this."
Bullets whistled through the air a foot above the man laying on the ground. Staying as flat possibly could, he quickly rolled over and aimed the palms of his hands at his attackers. Soon the air started to ripple and shimmer, causing the bullets to deflect and ricochet off the walls of the buildings lining the street. The man of the ground tensed his arms, twisted his wrists, and then gave a slight push. The wall of air shot forwards, pushing all four of the gunmen off their feet and onto the hot pavement under them. Disorientated and angry, the men scrambled to their feet, only to see the man in the blue costume's cape disappear around a corner. Without a question, the men ran after the masked marauder. They approached the corner at full tilt, then skidded to a halt. In their path stood a stocky man in golden roman armor. The giant 'G' on his belt confirmed their fears: they were facing the Gladiator.
Shock consumed them. Not one of them said a word. Eyes flicked back and forth in desperation, hoping someone would have an idea. The Gladiator stood there facing them, with a small smirk playing on the corner of his mouth. The extended silence only caused their fear to increase. Any sudden movement on either side would cause an outbreak of chaos, probably resulting in four concussions and four arrests. Suddenly, the man at the back of the group panicked and turned to run, only to run into an invisible wall, taking him by surprise and knocking him to his feat. Panic then engulfed the group, as each tried to test their line of escape. An invisible bubble encompassed them, trapping them in front of their fate. One of the criminals pulled out his gun and made as if to shoot their invisible prison, only to be greeted with screams of defiance and a barrage of fists.
"Are you ready to do this, or do I have to wait all day?"
The gruff Brooklyn accent froze the four men in their place. Slowly, four heads turned in unison towards the Gladiator, who was now accompanied by the man in the blue costume and black mask, also known as Captain Incredible. His hands were out in front of him, just as they looked before when the men had been hit by the mysterious wall of air. It was this power that again jeopardized their mission. Not one of them could muster enough courage to say anything.
"Listen." This time, Captain Incredible spoke. The voice was soaked in a 1950's upper class air, with just a tinge of Canadian for good measure. "This force field is the only thing holding Gladiator back from you. I drop my concentration, he drops your sorry hides on the ground. Not a very pleasant thought, I can assure you."
One of the trapped men began to sweat nervously and shake. Another closed his eyes and whispered something under his breath, as if to ask for salvation before death. Captain Incredible gave a sideways glance at Gladiator, who returned it with a wink.
"But," he continued, "there is another option. Other than the ambulance, that is." He chuckled at his own joke. The audience, however, only swallowed a huge glob of fear. "You can always let us know who had you store all those weapons in that warehouse." The four men all looked at each other. Captain Incredible sighed. They were all the same. No matter how afraid of the pair of heroes they were, they were always more afraid of their boss. The worst thing, though, was the last several incidents were all connected to the same guy. But who?
"Very well," the Captain said, trying to conceal his disappointment. He turned his wrist slightly, then slowly lowered his arms back to his side. As soon as his arms started to move, the four men dashed behind the corner, followed closely by the Gladiator. Captain Incredible rubbed his left arm where he felt a cramp starting. He had been fighting crime for twenty years, beginning in 1975. Now 47, the joints would hurt more and more every time he made a simple force field. Behind the building, he heard the screams of the criminals and the wild, maniacal laughter of the Gladiator. Instead of intervening, he decided to give Jim some more time with them, and leaned against the wall, still massaging his arm. Ever since they had met in New Jersey, Jim had a strange love of violence. Wasn't the typical hero supposed to refrain from beating the living tar out of their victims? Weren't they supposed to only help the law, not take it into their own hands? Probably. Was that how they did things? Not once in their twenty years. The Captain was the brains, the Gladiator was the brawn. Of course, they recruited several people over the years and formed a powerful team for quite some time, but they had all gone now. In fact, this crusade wasn't even supposed to happen. They were supposed to be in retirement from crime fighting, financially supported by their respective cities. But Jim needed one last mission, and there happened to be a crime boss that was easily evading the police. 47 isn't that old, right?
As the last of the screams and whines died down, the Captain decided it was time to see the damage the Gladiator had done. He strolled around the corner to see the roman guard standing over four unconscious bodies. Two of them had bloody noses, one of them with a nasty crook in it and blood all over his face, another had an unnatural bend in the middle of his right arm, and the last had a large black eye and a split lip. Other than that, though, there was minimal blood.
"This guy's gettin' lazy," Jim growled. "These punks weren't even trained. Straight from the streets." He wiped some blood that oozed from his nose with the back of his hand and growled something unintelligible. Captain Incredible looked over the carnage and shook his head.
"Did you really have to break his arm?"
"What? Oh, yeah, him. Well...he came at me. We were fighting. Stuff happens."
Captain Incredible shook his head. Jim was getting more careless in his fights. A broken arm here, a broken leg there, soon there would be a fatality, and there was no coming back from that. But they wouldn't have to if they could finish the job quick enough.
Both heroes stared over the bodies. The Captain folded his arms, looking upon the men with pity. The Gladiator hung his arms at his side and was slightly hunched over and panting, giving more the appearance of an animal, as he recovered from his rage. Suddenly, Jim looked up at Captain Incredible.
"Ed, I just remembered. Before I broke that guys nose, he started yellin' and fussin' about some Zimmerman. Said he's who we gotta find."
Ed nodded slowly. "Then I know exactly where to look." You don't fight crime for 20 years and not pick up a few names and locations.
Edwin Rothe walked out of his front door and sat on his porch chair. It was old, but what it lacked in style it made up with in comfort and familiarity. The sun was just peeking out from the Rocky Mountains, flooding the landscape in a warm, golden glow. This was his favourite time of day. Always had been. With a cup of coffee, the moment was perfect. It was utopia for all he cared. A rumble far off let him know of the incoming mail truck. As it pulled up to the drive way, Edwin slowly stood up, shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and walked over to greet the delivery man.
"Morning Gerald," he said slowly, with a 1950's upper class air with a tinge of a Canadian accent for good measure. "How's the week been?"
"Morning Ed," Gerald replied. "It's been another long one, but I'm getting by. And I'm sorry, but I can't stay and chat much today. Just came to give you your paper...and this." Gerald reached into the passenger seat, pulled out the weeks newspaper and a large envelope with bold red writing. Edwin took it, thanked the mailman and wished him well, and slowly walked back to his porch chair. Though the paper usually took most of his attention in the mornings, Edwin was completely focussed on the envelope. Staring at the writing, he fumbled for his glasses in his shirt pocket. They were a burden, but the eyes just didn't work as well as they used to and he liked the distinguished feel they gave him. Adjusting the glasses on his nose to get the proper focus (and feeling very much like an old man), he checked when the package was sent. July 23, 2015, from Winnipeg. That was only two days ago. Nothing came to Rocky Mountain House that quickly unless it was extremely important. In bright red letters on the front was the word CLASSIFIED. Edwin popped open the envelope and removed the single piece of paper within, mouthing the words to himself as he read them. The letter was short and in a formal, governmental font, which emphasized the importance even more than giant red letters. As he read, each word brought a new intensity to his face, one of concern, intrigue, and fear. They read:
To Mr. Edwin Rothe, aka Captain Incredible,
Evil is upon us, Edwin. Our intelligence agency and its operatives cannot handle what is going to come. We have, however, kept it from the public eye. This problem is something none of us have ever dealt with, but we know you have. We need your experience, Captain Incredible. It is a great thing to ask, I know, but we are out of options. Lives will be in jeopardy. If you choose not to help, then all of ours will be as well.
Burn this letter after opening it.
Jack Allen, CIA
"I have to talk to Jim."
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