Duality: Criminals and Crusaders

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by Ender-Zero, Nov 17, 2008.

  1. Ender-Zero

    Ender-Zero Ruff Mercenary

    Jul 28, 2004
    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Moon School
    +82 / 0 / -0
    Duality: Criminals and Crusaders is a project that is written by both I. R. Shogun and myself, Ender - Milloway. It is told in two parts: The Criminals written by myself, and the Crusaders written by I. R. Shogun. This is a joint project by the two of us, weve put a lot of time and thought into it, and we hope you enjoy it, after all that's why we write, in hopes that you'll read it and like it enough to come back and read each update eagerly. I'm not sure how often we'll update, but I can garuntee it won't be daily, it may not even be weekly, but it will be at least bi-weekly. This is a story of heroes and villains with a dab of average life on the side to even it out.
  2. Ender-Zero

    Ender-Zero Ruff Mercenary

    Jul 28, 2004
    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Moon School
    +82 / 0 / -0
    Villains 1:

    Golden streams of sunlight filtered through the maze of skyscrapers found David as he sat on the park bench at noon on Friday. There he sat, peace and quiet filtered through the cacophony of cars, angry vendors and business men shouting at their earpieces, the sounds of Platinum City. A rogue drop of mustard fled to the earth as he bit deep into his hot dog. David crammed the remaining chunk of hot dog into his mouth then leaned back on the bench with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

    It was not often that Platinum City felt so calm, so totally at peace. Today was a rare day, a day of escape from the constant screech of sirens, a day free from explosions, a day where he could walk the street and not fear for his life. Platinum City had a problem, it was diseased, a living blight consumed it more and more each day, that blight being the super-freaks that roamed Platinum City’s streets. There seemed to be more of the super-powered freaks arriving daily, with their strange and bizarre powers, cliché names and their ridiculous costumes. They thought they owned the city, but it was regular people like David who lived in fear that made the city what it was, without him and every other working man in woman who went to work each day at the risk of being eaten by a swarm of living bees or mind-raped by some pervert Platinum City would be but a slum.

    David opened his eyes, sat up, and let his gaze wander to the other denizens of Platinum who roamed through the park this fine day. Men is suits, women is skirts, a bum here and there, a gang of kids skipping out on school, a news vendor, these people were Platinum City, these were David’s people, each and every one of them, no matter their religion, ethnicity, orientation, or beliefs, they all had one thing in common, they were the forgotten ones, the powerless ones, the ones without the ability to stop the chaos that threatened to engulf Platinum, they were all trapped with no escape.

    The sound of the watch alarm David had set broke his concentration and marked the end of his lunch break, now he would have to leave the beauty of the day and return to the tedium of work. Rising and grabbing his suit jacket David turned and began to make his way back to work. He noticed a new mustard stain on his shirt so he wiped the mustard of with his finger and licked it, sour and sweet, the way mustard should be although he would need to bleach his shirt when he got home.

    David walked from the park and down the streets of Platinum City, no more did the filtered sunlight caress his skin, and louder were the noises of the city when he roamed the streets than they had been in the park, yet still they were sounds of average days, no sirens, no explosions, just the city life. The four story building that was the courthouse was now within sight, so David slowed his pace; he did not want to return to work just yet. He was a lawyer and he had been working on a particularly hard case in which his client, a Japanese fishmonger, had had all his fish stolen by a man riding a wave of water calling himself Johnny Tsunami. As the particulars of the case began rushing back to David his concentration was again broken, but this time by an all too familiar sound, the sound of explosions and with them soon would come the sound of sirens, and the stream of super-freaks to ruin his peaceful day. David lifted his head and was surprised to see the courthouse in flames, the explosions had come from his work, and right now, he didn’t even care, instead to the park, he ran.


    Alarms blaring, thick smoke clogging lungs and furious flames engulfing all that stood in their way, a sight of true beauty if Serotonin had ever seen one. Serotonin set a gasmask over his face and drew forth his emotion ray, a tool that in the right hands could cause mass chaos and destruction, and those hands were his hands. The ray was no weapon to Serotonin, merely a tool to acquire weapons, for people were his weapons, their emotions at his beck and call, manipulation was his game, and no one was better at that game than he was.

    A woman in a red skirt and jacket ran past him, a moving target, fear. The woman began to scream and quake in absolute terror, Serotonin walked past her, he did not enjoy doing such things to those who did not deserve it, but he had a real target here, and he would not let anyone get in his way, he took no chances. Through the flames he ran, pulling his cloak tight about him, then left down the hallway, right up the stairs, fear, fear, fear, everyone he encountered, fear, he had not time to waste.

    Serotonin pushed open the door and arrived on the fourth floor, left out of the door, straight down the hall, right at the elevator, straight ahead to the double doors, Judge Martin’s study lay through those doors, his target. Serotonin opened the doors and quickly sprayed a ray on fear across the entire room, paralyzing Judge Martin with fear. Martin had been gathering all his important files that he could not risk to lose in the fire when Serotonin entered the room. Serotonin closed the doors behind him and pulled over two chairs which he propped against them to slow down anyone who might try and enter from the hallway.

    “What are you doing here, get out or I’ll call the authorities!” yelped the Judge between gulps of terror.

    A smile crossed Serotonin’s face, invisible under his gasmask and ink blot mask. “Are you afraid Judge Martin Patrick Pollack, age fifty-three, husband of Teresa May McDonald-Pollack age fifty-one, father of Sarah Gina Pollack age twenty-seven? Are you scared Sarah will ruin your reputation with her drug-abusing ways? Or are you scared Teresa has been sleeping with your colleague Judge Andrew Gordon Hutchins age forty-five? The sweat dropping down your temples tells me neither concerns you at this moment, but they would otherwise. Your threats mean nothing to me, I set the explosives, I called the fire department, the ambulances, the police, I did all of that, and I’m here to do so much more.” Serotonin’s voice was a void of emotion, hollow and hard, deep and consuming.

    “What do you want?”

    Serotonin laughed a laugh of pure delight, “What do I want?” There was humour in his hollow voice now. “A 1994 Ford Mustang, a job that earns me two-hundred-thousand a year and a woman who loves me.”

    “What?” The judge had retreated to the corner of his study while Serotonin walked slowly towards him, sprang forward, lifted Martin up and held him against the wall.

    “I want justice!” Serotonin threw Martin to the ground and leapt on top of him, he had put his emotion ray away and now brandished a knife, “Two weeks ago you were the Judge at the trial of Jacob Anders age thirty-two, the man who murdered his three children, Daniel Marcus Anders age five, Mary Jane Anders age seven and Peter Thomas Anders age twelve. You set him free in the world because of “insufficient evidence” despite the overwhelming amount of evidence the police had supplied; the knife used in the murder with his finger prints on it, the wife Tara Gayle Anders as witness, and Jacob’s alibi did not hold up. Need I go on? The blood that matched that of his children which stained his clothing, the claw marks on his arms from where Mary scratched him when he raped then killed her, the flesh under her nails that matched the DNA of Jacob. All this you ignored and let Jacob go into the world. Justice has been enacted upon Jacob, he has now paid for his sins, I made sure of that, but you have not. I am your judge, I am your jury, and I am your torturer. You will live every day of your life in fear, fear that what happened to Jacob’s family might happen to your family, fear that I may come for you when you are happiest, and take away your pride, fear that I will let the press know that of Sarah’s drug abuse and Teresa’s scandal with Andrew. I will take away everything you hold dear, and I will do it slowly, I will make you pay for taking Jacob’s money and letting him go free into the world.” Serotonin cut a lock of Martin’s thin white hair out with his knife, “This is for you my friend, this is so never forget me,” Serotonin took the hair and placed it in the judge’s chest pocket, “and so is this.” Serotonin held Martin down and carved an ‘S’ into his left cheek.

    The judge howled out in pain, but it was cut short by a sharp blow to his stomach and repeated hard blows to his head as Serotonin unleashed his rage on the older man, knocking him unconscious. As Serotonin stood up the world went deaf for a moment then the office windows shattered, he quickly pulled out his pistol and emotion ray, aiming the pistol at the unconscious judge and his ray at the windows. A moment later a red and black blur flew through the shattered window and landed fifteen feet from Serotonin, things would get interesting now Serotonin thought.

    “Drop the gun and the emotion ray Serotonin, or I’ll have to do this the hard way, and all day I’ve wanted to hit someone, so please, give me an excuse.” Said the caped crusader as she stood, arms propped against her sides in a stereotypical super-hero pose.

    “Aegis. My old friend, I hope you don’t expect me to take you seriously, you see, I know how much you value human life, and you know as well as I do that by the time you fly over here to disarm me I can pull the trigger and send the ‘good’ judge here straight to hell where he belongs, and you’re not willing to take that chance. Although I suppose you could use your laser vision on me, but are you willing to take the chance that you’d kill me? If you did, that would make you like me, and we both know how much you despise me. So it seems to me you’re in no position to make demands, I have a gun to Judge Martin’s head that prevents you from coming near me and you won’t take the chance that you’ll become like me either. So what are you to do?” Self-loathing. “Do you want me to kill the judge, and then you can take out all your pain and sorrow and rage on me and be left with more survivors’ guilt than you already have. Would you like that, more blood on your hands? If I kill this poor man it’s on you Aegis, not me. I was going to let him live before you showed up, but now I’m not so sure I will. Would you like that? His death on your conscious? You’re pathetic Aegis, a weak woman who hides behind a mask and fights crime in an attempt to clear her own conscious, not out of any real belief in justice. Why do you wear a mask like us criminals, if you’re as righteous and pure as you try to seem then what have you to hide? Why not let the world know who you are? I know why, because you’re weak, because you’re a bad person, you’re guilt won’t let you show your face. You disgust me.”

    Aegis fell to her knees with her hands over her ears, “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” her scream was a sonic boom that knocked Serotonin back, he pulled the trigger, Judge Martin’s head became a mess of red goo.

    “Now look what you did you stupid cow, you can’t even control your own powers, and because of such you’ve killed this man! Your sonic scream pushed my finger against the trigger, and now Judge Martin is dead, his brains scattered across the rug, his family without a father, his wife without a husband, his life ended and multiple other lives ruined, all because of you. How you live with yourself I do not know, but here, let me end the pain for you, let me set you free.”

    “Please, no more death, please, let me die.” Aegis began to cry uncontrollably and did not struggle as Serotonin moved closer to her, gun raised, ready to end it. Serotonin walked up to Aegis and put the gun against her head.

    “Don’t worry my darling, it’ll be alright, you’re going to be free now, free from the blood, free from the guilt, I’ll send you to a place of bliss, go with God now.” And the world went white, there was no sound, no sight, only the void, and then pain.

    Serotonin was knocked back, the world was ringing and it slowly began to fade back into existence. He tried to stand up but was knocked down by a brutal blow to his stomach. “Don’t move.” Said an unfamiliar voice filled with emotion. As his sight returned, Serotonin saw the figure, a man dressed like a swat officer, but without the face guard on his helmet and no markings to depict his precinct. He had his back to Serotonin and was helping Aegis to her feet. Serotonin knew he could not beat the two of them, he had no experience with the man in the swat clothing, he didn’t know what emotions would make the man tick; it was time to flee.

    Quickly Serotonin launched himself upward, but was knocked down as the mysterious man spun around and kicked him in the face, following up with a sweeping kick that again knocked Serotonin onto his back. “I said don’t move.”

    The man took hold of Serotonin but received an unpleasant surprise as Serotonin head-butted him in the nose, “That’s why they make faceguards asshole.” Serotonin kicked the man down, grabbed his emotion ray and took the chairs that he had propped up against the door and threw them one at a time at the mysterious man, then turned and began to run down the hallway. As he approached the corner Serotonin was slammed into the wall as the man spear-headed him.

    With a grunt Serotonin elbowed the man and swung a right hook at him, only to have the blow caught and his forearm broken. Serotonin howled in pain and fell to his knees holding his broken arm. The man kicked him against the wall, “Stay down this time, asshole.” Mockery, something Serotonin understood very well, he liked this man, it’s too bad he had to do this. Using his one good arm Serotonin grabbed his knife and stabbed it into the man’s thigh and tackled him to the ground, no sound escaped the man as he was stabbed. Serotonin jabbed at the man’s head and made contact once before falling under a wild flurry of blows from his opponent. Serotonin held onto the man’s waist and felt his saviour, a grenade. Serotonin let the man wail on him until finally he was kicked off the man. “You just don’t give up do you?”

    Serotonin smiled wickedly under his masks, “Never.” He threw the grenade at the man and scrabbled to his feet. The man leapt back in shock as the grenade exploded, spewing forth smoke. A smoke grenade, not what he was hoping for, but Serotonin would take anything he could get right now. He ran down the hallway, retracing his original path as the smoke chased him. When he got to the stair case he leapt down to the bottom level and rolled, he still broke his left ankle. Allowing himself a moment to recover he held in his scream of agony and slowly made his way out of the building to the alleyway behind it and from there into the street and down the nearest manhole.
  3. Dalhar d Oloth

    Dalhar d Oloth New Member

    Nov 19, 2008
    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    +0 / 0 / -0

    Keep it coming Ender and I. R.

    A great melding of talents.
  4. I. R. Shogun

    I. R. Shogun Midnight Demon

    Jul 25, 2004
    Likes Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Within your hopes and dreams
    +362 / 1 / -0
    Heroes 1:

    David heaved a long sigh as he thumbed through the day’s newspaper. It seemed like the super-freaks were the only things that got any coverage anymore. The country was at war for God’s sake and all that they were reporting was the latest battle to ravage downtown or the most recent P.R. bullshit the mayor did with one of the so called ‘heroes.’ He guessed he couldn’t blame the papers for printing what was most likely to sell, with the city as a war zone every day it was hardly worth dedicating much page space to what was going on overseas in some country whose name changed three times a week.

    It was almost incredible to David to look back to the past, back when he was a boy, to the days when he’d always wanted to be a superhero. He’d gone with his mom to the drug store every week to pick up the new stories about these chiseled men in colorful outfits fighting against evil scientists and monsters, and when he got done reading that week’s adventures he’d tie a towel around his neck and pretend to fly around the house. He figured every kid did that; looking back on it as adults it must have been as embarrassing to everyone else as it was to him. Well, not quite everyone… Aegis, one of the superheroes these days wore a cape.

    Just that moment his office door opened up, he glanced over his paper, it was Maureen, “Slaving over those reports again I see.”

    “I’ll have them on Jack’s desk on time, don’t you worry,” David said with a smile, putting the paper down.

    “Me? Worry? When it comes to you it’s hard to worry, nothing ever seems to go wrong for you these days, not like back in school,” said Maureen as she leaned against his door frame.

    “The meek shall inherit the earth after all,” said David. “So what can I do for you?”

    “Jack told me to bring you this,” Maureen said as she set down a manila envelope on his desk. “Said it’s a really big account and he wants ‘our best guy’ on it.”

    David opened the envelope, his eyes went wide, “This is a military contract.”

    “That’s strange, I didn’t think we did military work,” said Maureen.

    “We don’t,” said David. “This Firm’s never handled anything but corporate cases.”


    Cecilia shifted uncomfortably in the large storeroom; this entire thing was making her uncomfortable. She’d been handed the invitation by Mack Dunbaker, a reporter who’d been covering superhero stories since the first Bolt appeared years ago, he said he’d been told to give one to all the meta-humans in the city. She’d thought about not going, but almost as soon as she did she remembered her last encounter with Serotonin at the courthouse, and how close she’d come to dying there on her knees before that guy had shown up. He was dressed like a swat officer, but he left a minute before the police had even showed up, and by the fact that he went toe to toe with Serotonin he wasn’t in the department anyway. He’d called himself Drei before he’d left; because of that incident she understood that she was going to need to start working with others if she was going to be able to keep doing this job.

    She’d been in the warehouse for twenty minutes already; she’d gotten there early in hopes of meeting some of the others, it was seven minutes past the scheduled time and so far she was the only one who’d showed up. Suddenly the door creaked open, and in stepped a man dressed as casually as she imagined he could, sweater and jeans, but the bow he used like a blind man’s cane immediately gave away who he was, he was the guy the papers called Dead Eye, the marksman. “Heh, here I thought I’d be the first to get here,” he said with a smile.

    “I was about to say the same thing,” came a voice from the other side of the room. Cecilia looked over to see a man in blue and black spandex that she was certain wasn’t there a moment ago. She knew who he was too, the son of the first superhero, the second Bolt. “So this is it huh? The joining of the super team and we got three of us?”

    “That’s not too bad, considering there are four of us in the city,” said Dead Eye.

    “Five, actually,” said Cecilia.

    “Another one popped up? When?” asked Dead Eye.

    “A few weeks ago, when Serotonin blew up the courthouse,” said Cecilia with a shiver.

    “Not like you to get nervous from what I’ve seen Aegis,” said Bolt who was suddenly sitting next to her. “You alright?”

    “I’m fine,” said Cecilia, visibly shaken by his sudden move. “Just, something that happened that day shook me up a little.”

    “Let me guess,” came a voice from up by the windows as a slender female figure entered. “The old creep got his fingers in your head and brought back something especially painful.”

    “Something like that Disciple,” said Aegis to the one other superhero that she’d met and worked with before. “It was worse this time than usual though.”

    “Don’t worry about it, you stopped him, that’s what matters,” said the Disciple as she straightened out her gi.

    “That’s the thing, I didn’t stop him,” said Cecilia. “I would have died but…”

    “That’s not the way I remember it,” came a voice like gravel crunching together as a man dressed in a costume like a modified swat uniform entered. “You took the bastard’s attention off the judge, then he played with your head, there’s no guarantee of what he would have done, but the fact of the matter is you saved a life. Don’t ever regret doing what people like us are supposed to.”

    “I take it that’s the new guy,” said Dead Eye.

    “You got that right,” said Bolt who was now right next to Drei. “Where do you get your gear? This stuff is sweet!”

    “Some of us aren’t legacies,” said Drei. “We have to find another way.”

    “So are you the one that called us all here?” asked the Disciple as she looked Drei up and down, already looking for weaknesses should they ever end up on opposite sides of an issue.

    “No,” said Drei. “Tell you the truth I wasn’t invited. But I saw Dead Eye get his slip and I figured this was worth checking out.”

    “You saw me get it?” said Dead Eye stunned, “How?”

    “You may have some sharp senses, but I’m damn good at keeping hidden when I want to,” said Drei. “As you all may or may not have noticed.”

    “I’m not sure I like him,” muttered the Disciple so low that she knew only Aegis could hear her, and even then only because of her mastery of sound.

    “He saved my life, he can’t be all bad,” Cecilia murmured back, making sure only the Disciple could hear her.

    “So if we all got invites, and you’re not the one who called all of us here, who did?” asked Bolt.

    “I’d assume Dunbaker,” said Drei. “Although considering we were all late, maybe the host is too.”

    “Why would they tell us to meet here at a certain time and then be late themselves?” asked the Disciple.

    “Well people do get side tracked you know,” said Bolt. “I mean hell, I only woke up two minutes ago.”

    At once another door opened, and in stepped a frail looking older man. “Ah you’re all here, glad to see you weren’t dissuaded by my tardiness.”

    “Who are you?” asked the Disciple.

    “Me? Well, my real name is Stanley, but for our purposes you can all call me… the Conductor!” said the old man with a smile as he stepped into the center of the room.

    “The what?” said the Disciple in disbelief.

    “Any sort of team in the real world needs someone who isn’t on the field to call the shots, make plans and arrangements, and basically to keep track of everyone, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll tell you where evil strikes and you can spring into action! Think of how many more crimes we’ll be able to stop if you all work together with me organizing you!” said the old man.

    “I’m curious when anyone said we were teaming up for sure,” said Dead Eye. “Just because we’re all fighting crime doesn’t mean we all want to fight it together.”

    “Agreed, I’ll do a team up if necessary, but why the hell would I want to join a group?” asked the Disciple.

    “Come on D, think of how much fun it’d be to get to hang out with me all the time!” said Bolt who was now next to her with his arm draped over her shoulders. In a blur of motion that surprised even Bolt the martial artists twisted and spun, ending with Bolt on his back.

    “Fun isn’t the first word I’d use to describe it,” said the Disciple.

    “Easy Disciple, why don’t we give this a try? It might not be that bad,” said Cecilia.

    “Thanks but no thanks, I don’t like taking orders,” said the Disciple.

    “Same, I’m my own man and my own crime fighter,” said Dead Eye.

    “Would you both prefer tripping over each other when you both show up to the same crime and risking another one goes down and gets missed completely?” Drei suddenly piped up.

    “Who the hell are you to tell us how to do our jobs?” hissed the Disciple.

    “Someone with a whole lot more experience than either one of you,” quipped Drei. “There may only be five of our type in this city, but that’s more than enough to make what we do difficult. Between possibly running into each other at crime scenes that only require one of us and not being able to find help to deal with the ones that need more. The old man isn’t asking to be our leader, he’s asking to be our eyes and ears, what the cops call a dispatcher.”

    “I don’t know where you’re getting your ‘experience’ from but I’ve been doing this hero thing for years now, so has everyone else here besides you, and we’ve never stepped on each other’s toes before. And we’ve never had trouble getting help when we needed it either,” said Dead Eye.

    “And how long did it take to find that help? How much trouble could you have prevented if you’d already known where each other were and how to get into contact with each other? How much easier would working together make all of this, and how many tragedies in the past could have been prevented if you’d already had a team?” said Drei.

    “I don’t need help,” said Dead Eye.

    “You may not want it, but in this line of work, from time to time you do need it,” said Drei.

    “Guys chill out!” said Cecilia. “The Conductor isn’t trying to make himself our boss, he’s just trying to help us be better heroes.”

    The Disciple and Dead Eye were both silent for a moment. “Fine,” they both said in unison after a moment.

    “But the second anyone tries to give me an order there’s going to be trouble,” said the Disciple.

    “Awesome! Our own little super squad, now what do we call ourselves?” asked Bolt.

    “What do you mean?” asked Dead Eye.

    “A super team needs a name, like the JLA or the Avengers!” said Bolt.

    “We can think of that later,” said Aegis. “Right now, I think we need to talk about getting more organized…”