JJ -Unlikely Heroes Pt 2

JJ sat at his kitchen table, twirling a sugar spoon in his fingers. The early morning sun poured through the parted curtains, warming his skin. Birds chirped outside in the bushes, the smell of the morning glories on the lattice work wafting through the open window. 

 

JJ's thoughts were turned inward, all of the beauty and grace of his backyard going unnoticed. It was moments like these— quiet, peaceful, not a soul around to break his thoughts— moments like these drew him from his new life, the life he had chosen, and sent him back to a time long ago, or far in the future, a time when the natural wonders of the world were no longer taken for granted. 

 

The tiny kitchen around him dissolved as his mind shot to his past, the earth's future. A time when humans had mastered space travel and set itself to conquering the universe as a whole. The earth was ravaged beyond repair, destroyed by millenia of misuse and abuse. Russia, once cowed by the all-powerful United States of America, waited for the democratic empire to cave in on itself before seizing opportunity. The frozen country set off the nuclear warheads the world had feared, wiping out more than half of the human race, rendering a third of the planet useless. The lower half of Asia was destroyed, along with the ragged remains of North America and much of Europe and Africa. South America remained untouched physically, protected from Russia's hatred as communism expanded rapidly southward. 

 

The utter destruction of the earth caused its few remaining occupants to turn to the powerful leaders of Russian society, ignoring their atrocious crimes in hopes that they would succeed in bringing peace to the world. They would be sorely disappointed. Russia ruled with an iron fist, offering only pain and death to those who did not bow before its will. Money was siphoned from the world's inhabitants to fund the space program, which flourished openly in the new government. Progress was rapid and space exploration doubled, even tripled. New planets were discovered and colonized as the Earth's ability to support humanity failed. 

 

JJ was born during the Earth's final death throes. His mother and father were citizens of Estonia, a small country that was sheltered from the destruction of Europe by the close ties it developed with Russia after the U.S. fell. Activists against the colonization of alien planets, his family fought the Russia government tooth and nail, risking everything to bring an end to its rule. Russia's tolerance for protesters ran thin, however, and they were slaughtered during a rally along the Russia border. 

 

JJ was taken to an overflowing orphanage, where he was taught the fine art of warfare. During his time there, his unique abilities came to the forefront and a Russian military commander insisted he be transferred to a special unit on the planet RF52. This unit was made up of a dozen “talented” youths, as the commander described them. The children were shaped and molded to use their gifts for the greater good of the federation. 

JJ developed his talents, shifting time to suit the needs of his squad. He was paired with Leela, a girl who was a year younger than him. Her ability to stop time completely paired with his ability to shift time made them a formidable duo. Together, they took on entire alien squadrons, molding time to allow their teammates the advantage, destroying entire races in mere days. 

Love bloomed in their close association and they rode their victory high as far as it would take them. JJ planned his entire future, bought a small ring to fit Leela's tiny, perfect hands. Then the little, happy world he had built for himself was destroyed. 

 

He and Leela were the spearheads of a massive assault on a very resilient race, leading their team against some of the most brutal opponents they had ever seen. The battle raged for hours, and he and Leela became separated. JJ, pinned in a corner far from his team, used a new trick he had been practicing to take out the large group of vile beings pressing in on him. With extreme concentration of will and a large consumption of energy, JJ bent time, wrinkled it, squishing it together to crush those advancing on him between the years. JJ watched as they folded, simply collapsing, crushed by the weight of decades of torment. 
 

JJ, spent, collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily, his vision swimming. He fell to his side and lay there for a long time, staring at the unmoving crumpled forms in front of him. Minutes passed, maybe hours. He lost all track of time. He chuckled inwardly at the irony of a time shifter losing time. Eventually, he regained strength and rose to his feet. Moving unsteadily, he worked his way between the mass of bodies toward where he hoped his compatriots would be. 

 

A flash of color brought his attention to his left. He squinted. There was a orange-red glimmer coming from amid the brown bodies. His stomach dropped as he moved toward the site. Bile crept into his mouth when he realized what he had done. There, among the fallen aliens, lay Leela, her bright red hair gleaming in the fading sunlight. Her body was broken, crumpled like the others in the press of time. Had she been on her way to save him? He would never know. 

 

Leaning down, he slipped the ring off her distorted finger. The metal was bent, mangled like the rest of her. Gripping it tightly, he glanced around him. For the first time, he noticed the beings they were fighting. Humanoid, like him. An alien nearby had a slip of metal on one of his three fingers. JJ's stomach twirled and he vomited near the corpse. He had been slaughtering these creatures for years. And not all of them had been soldiers on the battlefield. He had always thought of them as beasts, inhuman. Looking around him, his eyes were opened. They weren't creatures to be destroyed. They were living, breathing beings who had families, friends, lovers. And he had just taken someone's husband (or wife) forever. He had just taken dozens of children from their parents. He vomited once more, then turned to walk away from the carnage. 

 

By the time his strength was fully restored, he had a plan. He would transport himself back to the past, to a time before Russia ruled, before the United States had fallen. And he would stop the destruction. He would stop Leela's death. 

 

And so he found himself one day sitting on a park bench, Leela's ring in his hand. A nurse walked past him and smiled. She looked much like his mother and he smiled back. She sensed something in him, something special, and came to sit. They talked and he discovered that she was Maria Reddy, healer and transformer (or so she called it). She introduced him to her friends, helped him find the home he now lived in, and adopted him as the son she never had. She asked little of his past life and he did not offer more than was necessary. 

 

JJ raised his eyes to the window, taking in the beauty of his garden. His hand went unconsciously to the bent ring hanging around his neck from a golden chain. A cat twined itself around his legs and he bent down to pet it. 

 

“Hello Leela,” he greeted the feline before getting up to feed her.

Evolution of a Story

It starts as a single thought, maybe just one word. It could even be an image. It grabs your attention for one reason or another. Maybe it was suggested for a word war or writing dash. Maybe the color caught your eye. Maybe it's the way the word flows through your brain and off your tongue. Regardless of how it got there, the word, the idea, the notion takes hold. It sinks its claws deep into the creative part of your brain and refuses to release you until you satisfy its desire for expression.

So you sit at your computer or pull out a notepad and get to work. You often don't know where you will begin, but that's ok. You just start writing. The words flow, putting themselves to paper as your mind explodes in a flurry of activity. The thoughts come and flood across the screen without your knowledge. You have a faint idea of what is taking place, but the story often writes itself. You are merely a conduit, a pipeline. The words form themselves into coherent sentences without your active interference. Your fingers simply make them visible.

You write, the thoughts coming faster than your feeble body can manage to get them formed in ink. You write, the story pushing you on unceasingly, refusing to release its hold on you until you have given it its last breath. You write, not because you want to, but because you have to. The story demands it. It demands to be told. And you are the only one who can tell it. So you write.

When you reach the end, you read. You read what you have written. And as long as you let the creative side of your brain take over and didn't interfere in the process, you enjoy what you read. Masterpieces come when intuition and inventiveness are allowed free reign and distractions are limited. Masterpieces are created when you lose yourself in the story and just let it flow. Masterpieces are destroyed when we begin to analyze the work we have created, when we begin to “tweak” and “rewrite”. Masterpieces are felt, not built. 

**I ended up letting my critical mind take over as I was writing this, so the end is very rough compared to the beginning.**

Killing the Sacred Cows of Publishing

Here's a wonderful site that June Faramore from SL showed me. I absolutely love it. Proof that you do not need to follow the "rules" to get published!

My favorite part so far is Robert Heinlein's business rules:
1) You must write.
2) You must finish what you write.
3) You must not rewrite unless to editorial demand.
4) You must mail your work to someone who can buy it.
5) You must keep the work in the mail until someone buys it.

Surf's Up

The sun was just coming up. The top edge peeked over the horizon as the waves crashed along the shore. The young woman stood in the sand, barefoot with her jeans rolled up to her knees. She stared at the water, watching the orange and pink reflection shimmer on the surface. In her hand, she clutched a blue leash. Her dog, a black lab named Jack, chased a crab through the surf, darting in to snap at the red creature before barking and backing away.

The woman looked down the beach. Two boys in black body suits were running toward the waves, surfboards tucked under their arms. They were shouting at each other. She couldn't understand the words, but she knew they were thrilled that the waves were so perfect and the sky was clear. She watched as they both dove into the water, racing each other to get to the breakers.

The slamming of a car door brought her attention around to her right. An older couple was getting out of their car up on the boardwalk. She watched them as they made their way down the long, zig-zagging ramp to the beach.

With them came a small, white yappy dog. She didn't much care for those dogs, but Jack loved them. He abandoned his pursuit of the crab and raced to greet the newcomer. The two dogs frolicked along the sand, chasing each other in circles and getting covered in the fine dirt.

The man and his wife walked up to the young woman. "Good morning."

"Morning."

She nodded her head in their direction and they joined her in watching the brigthening sky. They stood there for more than half an hour, watching the sun come up as more surfers rushed to catch a couple waves before work. Eventually, the dogs tired and joined their masters.

Patting the lab's head, the man said, "You ready for breakfast, hon?"

"Sure, dad." The young woman snapped the leash onto Jack's collar before slipping her arm into her father's. Her mother picked up the yipping white dog and together they all walked along the beach toward the pier.

**Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 2-25-11 morning dash, using the prompt "surf."**

Black Hole

I lay on the couch, gazing at the ceiling. Idly wondering what time it is, I glance at the windows. It's dark outside. Shouldn't be. What time was he supposed to be here again? Oh, that's right. 3:30. I look at my watch. 7:15. Well, hell. Guess that's the end of that one.

My stomach starts to rumble so I stand up and go to the kitchen. It's still dark in there and I haven't turned on any lights. When I open the fridge, the small room is illuminated in a ghostly white light. Sighing, I lean on the door. Nothing. I never have anything I want in my fridge, though it always seems full. I don't feel like cooking, either, so I reach for a yogurt. Yoplait Light Red Velvet cake. Mmm... Before closing the door, I turn around and grab a spoon from the drawer, then head back into the living room.

I plop back on the couch, curling my legs beneath me, and reach for the remote. Turning on the TV, I flip to ABC. Might as well watch Wheel of Fortune, since it looks like I won't be going on that special evening I planned. I get to the station, but it's just news. No Pat and Vanna to be seen. Frowning, I flip to the other stations. More news. Growling in irritation, I decide to watch. I should probably know what's going on in the world, anyway.

I set the remote down and pay attention to the screen. There's a young woman in her mid-20s holding a microphone. She looks terrified, but she's not about to give up her big chance at a national network position. She's standing in front of some big crater. I narrow my eyes and look closer. Those buildings collapsing into the pit look awfully familiar. There is a red bar with white lettering scrolling across the top, so I read it.

"URGENT: THE CENTER OF OZVILLE IS CAVING IN. PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ENTER THE TOWN FOR ANY REASON."

Ozville? But that's my town. I look at the video closer. Yep. Sure as snow, I watch as the hardware store where I bought my newest toilet seat begins to crumble, toppling into the vast emptiness beneath it.

What the heck is going on??

The young woman turns back to the screen, her eyes wide. "We won't be here for much longer, but for those of you just joining us, a black hole has opened beneath the community square in Ozville. It has engulfed the entire square and is working its way out." She glances back as the hole continues to grow, moving toward her and her cameraman at a rapid pace. "To hell with this. I'm getting out of here."


She throws down the microphone and the cameraman films her as she races in the opposite direction of the growing maw. He pans back toward the black, then the camera falls to the ground, resting on its side. It stays there. I watch as the blackness creeps toward the camera, then the screen goes fuzzy.

I continue to munch my yogurt, curled up on the safety of my couch, wondering how long it would take for the black hole to reach me.


**Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 2-24-11 morning dash, using the prompt "couch."**

Writing Prompt: The innerworkings of the human mind

I saw this fun prompt today and wanted to share it with anyone who may actually be reading this blog. I'm going to use it later today and I'll post the results. Run with it and show me what you come up with!

Prompt: A group of aliens come to a writing conference to learn to write stories that humans will want to read.

Pants

"Keep your pants on!"

"But they're sticky!"

For a grown man, he sure whined a lot. I glanced at his pants. They really weren't THAT bad. Well, ok. Maybe they were. A big dark stain was starting to form all down the front. It looked sususpiciously like he'd had an accident of another sort. I shook my head. This was not going to be a good day.

Last night, after way too much to drink, this sexy hunk of a man standing in front of me with a look of horror on his face as he pulled the sticky mess away from his skin ended up in my bed. This morning, I decided to be hospitable in an effort to keep him around and made pancakes.

He had come downstairs, wearing nothing  but pajama pants I'd let him borrow. We couldn't find his pants. No idea where they got off to. I set the table while he got coffee and settled himself into a chair. 

"How are you?" I smiled my most winning smile as I set the pancakes and syrup on the table in front of him.

"I'm fine." He yawned, probably already bored with the conversation.

The pancakes made it safely to the surface, but as I was setting down the syrup, which I had so helpfully uncapped, it hit the edge of the plate and went over. I lost my grip and the whole bottle ended up in his lap, upside down.

And that brings us back to the awful mess we were in. I was horrified and this poor man was dancing around trying to keep the sticking syrup away from his junk without completely derobing in front of me for the second time in less than twelve hours.

I raced upstairs into the attic. When my grandparents passed, they left me the house, along with everything inside. There were trunks and dressers of clothes in the attic. I dug around and finally found a pair of pants my grandpa used to wear when he would garden. Not the most attractive, but they would have to do.

Back downstairs, I tossed the pants at the miserable, shirtless man. He caught them in midair and ran to the bathroom. I heard the shower running for awhile, then he came out smelling like peppermint, my bodywash. He smelled good. I looked at him, in his plaid grandpa pants, and bit my lip. I couldn't help it. I watched him carefully and his stern irritated face cracked into a grin. I doubled over with laughter and he joined me in the merriment.

"So, this was fun." I couldn't believe he was still talking to me.

"It was interesting, that's for sure," I replied, still giggling over his pants.

"What are you doing tonight? I'd like to take you to dinner... after I find some more, uh, suitable clothing, of course."

I grinned. "That would be wonderful. Maybe someday we'll find your pants."

**Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 2-22-11 morning dash, using the prompt "pants."**

The Travelers

The sun was sinking slowly beneath the horizon, less than half of the giant golden orb was visible above the trees to the west. It bathed the scene in an eerie orange light. The young man looked around at the spectacle in front of him.

He was standing on the edge of the field to the south, underneath a massive pine tree that would drop needles when the wind blew. His fingers toyed unconsciously with a stop watch at his side. Like his father before him, he had developed a habit of checking the time every ten minutes. His mind was like clockwork and he really had no need to check, but he did anyway.

He stared at the watch briefly until the second hand ticked once more to the 12, then stepped forward. Making his way up the stairs behind the curtain, he placed a hand on a young girl's shoulder. The girl was small, no more than thirteen. She was dressed in a tight pink leotard and a ballet skirt. She had the ballet shoes to top off the ensemble, but she wasn't a ballerina. Her face was painted white with big black triangles around her eyes and a bright red outline around her small lips.

At his nod, she slipped between the curtain, much to the applause of the crowd beyond. He made his way back down the stairs and stood to the side of the stage. The girl's parents had already been performing for ten minutes before she made her way out. They were a trio of clowns who put a special spin on their work. They incorporated forms of dance and awed the crowd as much as they made them laugh.

The young man watched, impressed, as the girl stepped lightly to the edge of the stage. Her father stood on the other side, effecting a statue pose, arms and one leg raised. The girl turned to the audience and gave them her signature smile and a bow. They cheered and she took off running, balancing lightly on her toes like a deer running through the woods. She did a twirl partway across the stage, then, as she came close to her father, she leapt through the air like a dolphin leaps from the water. She twisted in mid-air, performing a perfect spiral that brought gasps from the onlookers.

She landed on her father's hands on her side, facing the crowd. He spun her around, raising her high above his head and low to the ground. The girl's mother joined in the dance and together they created a complicated and dangerous sculpture. When their movement finally ceased, the father stood in a bridge, hands and feet on the ground while his torso pushed into the air. The mother's stomach pressed to his, her hands and feet clasped behind her head. Her body formed a nearly perfect circle. The young girl, balanced on the toes of one foot, spun lightly on the top of her mother's shins.

The crowd watched for many moments in awed silence until the girl grinned and dipped her head. Pausing for a moment to balance herself, she then leapt from her mother's form and, affecting a perfect loop in the middle or the air, landed like a cat on her feet and one hand. Her parents both dismounted and the crowd exploded in cheers.

The young man smiled in approval and went backstage to send on the next act before making his way back to the edge of the field.

**Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 2-21-11 morning dash, using the prompt "Field."**

Bonus points for anyone who knows what movie "the golden orb" is from!

Gone

A faint buzzing in my ears,
Time sinks into the mist.
I wonder briefly if I'll be found
Blood drips slowly from my wrist.

The briefest of thoughts come to mind
As I drift toward the end.
Will anyone truly notice I'm gone?
Will my family tell my friends?

It's not true, you know, that when you die
A light shines to show the way.
It's just pure darkness at the close
To mark the end of your stay.

Toxic

As I wait with bated breath
Beneath the darkened sky,
Your words ring softly in my ear;
Time quietly passes by.

Was it real, my heart cries out,
As I shiver in despair.
The love we knew was but child's play,
Disappearing into autumn air.

You walk away without a glance;
I stand rooted to the ground.
Stars shine above without a care,
My tears fall without a sound.

Never again shall my heart be free
To love without restraint.
You've made your mark upon my soul
In blood-red toxic paint.

Heartache

It's not my kind of thing. I don't enjoy getting dressed up or watching large crowds mill around in the small foyers. I hate filing into the stuffy room to take a seat at the back. The preachers are the worst. They drone on for ages, always repeating the same verses. Then they turn the pulpit over to the speakers, and they go on even longer, trying their hardest to make you laugh or cry. It's all supposed to be about remembering the person you lost, but I can't do it. I avoid funerals at all costs. Usually, anyway.

I can't this time. I have to go. I have to dig out that black dress I keep around only for occasions like this. I put on my make-up, do my hair, get into my car, and drive to the church. I go inside and find a safe place along the wall where I wait while the other mourners mill around and chat. For something that's supposed to be so somber, everyone sure does talk a lot. One of my friends comes over to stand beside me. After the initial hello, we don't say anything. We just stand along the wall, waiting.

Eventually the preacher beckons us all inside. I take my seat in the back, as far from the casket as possible. There's a big picture of the deceased sitting on an easel in front of it. I hate those things. They never do the dead person justice. They always seem fake. My friend sits beside me, along with her boyfriend. I notice they're holding hands. I hate that, too. It's a funeral. They shouldn't be holding hands.

I suffer through the preacher's incessant droning. It's cold in here. I can't feel my toes anymore. My fingers are turning blue. I suppress a yawn by clenching my teeth. I pick at my nails, peeling off the black paint. When I hear a woman's voice, I look up. She's an older woman, aged far beyond her years by the death of her son. She gives a very moving eulogy, but I refuse to cry. I won't cry. I will never cry.

Next comes his father. They were divorced. I heard that he cheated on her and she kicked him out. This was only months before. He had his mistress with him at the church. She was a big boobed blond bimbo dressed in a very inappropriate black mini skirt. Of course she would be. I don't hear his speech because I'm too busy glaring at her.

Eventually, the stupid thing ends and the people file out past the open casket to pay their respects. My friend sits beside me for a bit, then gets up to leave. I'm the last one left, aside from the preacher. He watches me, wanting me to leave so he can lock up the room and go mingle. I outlast him and he gives up and goes to mingle anyway, leaving me alone with the body.

I stand up and move slowly toward the front of the church. I know what I will see, but I don't want to see it. I have to, though. I have to do this. I get to the casket and look in. He's there, cold, lifeless, his eyes are closed. He looks awful. But I've seen him look worse. The day he died. That day, my life ended, too. I slip the ring off my finger and take his stiff hand.

"I love you," I whisper one last time. I slip the ring on his finger and walk away, my heart forever buried along with his, my body simply a cold, hollow shell.



**Origin of the story: There are 15-minute writing dashes at Milk Wood in Second Life every day at 5amSLT and 6:30pmSLT. This story is from the 2-17-11 evening dash, using the prompt "Heartache."**

Unlikely Heroes

The young man stood at the heavy metal door, his hand hovering over the handle. His mouth was set in a grim line and wrinkles formed at the corner of his eyes, which were squinted in thought. The wind whistled around the corner of the building, causing his dark hair to dance gently. Aaron Black was the leader of a bedraggled group of what many would refer to as superheroes. The term made his friends laugh. They were no heroes. The majority of them felt their innate powers were a curse, heaved at them with disdain, forcing them to step into roles they did not relish. Somehow, he had been unofficially elected the leader of this unlikely group of heroes. He surveyed the men and women arrayed around the door, poised and ready to assault the building on his command.

JJ held the left flank, machine gun in hand, his bespectacled eyes darting warily around the parking lot that adjoined the building. He was tall, muscular, and looked like he was ready to be the crap out of anyone who looked at him the wrong way. The others knew better. When he wasn't geared up for a fight, JJ was just a big softy. The rest of the group often referred to him as Martian, though the description wasn't necessarily correct. JJ hailed from a time far in the future when space travel had been concurred and the Earth was at war with alien races. Like a small portion of the human race, he had special abilities that others did not possess and he used this talent, the ability to manipulate time, to travel back to an era when the world was at relative peace. He joined up with the ragtag group of power-wielders, hoping to use his special skills to stop the chaos that destroyed his own world. His ability was difficult to use, however, and tired him quickly, so he learned to use the crude weapons of this new world to aid in his fight for peace.

Protecting the right flank was Davidson, the figurative brains of the group. His IQ far surpassed that of any human to have ever lived and he used his knowledge to his advantage. Learning came easily to him and he was a connoisseur of weaponry. Strapped to his back were a pair of Samurai swords, his weapon of choice, though he often stooped to carrying guns on certain excursions. Like JJ, he was well built and hoisted a machine gun as he surveyed the roadway in front of him. He wore black leather from head to toe and drove a motorcycle, earning him the nickname Davidson, despite his insistence that he drove a Yamaha. The right sleeve of his leather jacket had been destroyed in a previous battle and he had ripped off the left sleeve to match. His left arm was red and scarred, as was the left side of his face. Before joining the group, he had been head of a secret syndicate of scientists hired by the government to develop weapons powerful enough to level an opposing country's military with minimal damage. One of Davidson's experiments had gone horribly wrong and he had been burned beyond recognition. The government, afraid he would leak information of the syndicate to the public, attempted to remove all traces of Davidson's existence. Davidson fought back and enlisted the help of some of his friends, who set him up with the group.

Just behind Davidson, watching the backs of those by the door, stood Jeanne. She carried a short bow in her left hand and had a quiver of arrows strung across her back. On her left leg, she had strapped a short dagger to her thin, muscular thigh. Her ability to teleport allowed her to keep her distance in fights and she favored the bow over the dagger. She thoroughly relished her teleportation talent and made judicious use of it when the winds blew cold in New York, where the group was stationed most of the year. Jeanne owned small houses in the Florida Keys and Orlando, as well as the Bahamas and Hawaii. Her friends often wondered where she got the money to purchase so many houses in such optimal locations, but when asked, her responses were coy and noncommittal. Eventually the group gave up asking and resigned themselves to keeping their valuables locked in safes that were too small for Jeanne to fit inside.

Beside Jeanne stood Sizzlin' Suzie, the redhead with pale skin and a snarky personality. Her hands were already radiant with a passionate fire just bursting to escape. Suzie had been a rogue before joining the group, taking on mercenary contracts to pay the bills. She met the rest of the crew when they were pitted against each other in a villain's attempt to take her out. She had been hired to destroy a mob boss and the group had been contacted, anonymously, with a tip about her whereabouts and some fabricated evidence as to her wickedness. When she reached the location where the mob boss was supposed to be, she found only a trap, and the group of superheroes. Desperation overcame her and she nearly imploded, but the group managed to subdue her before she could destroy the entire city block. Aaron realized something was off about the situation and, after interrogating Suzie, they accepted her as one of their own. With much trial and error, they refined her skills and honed her ability to fire flames at her opponents in precise attacks. Upon the insistence of the men in the group, she also had an extra-sharp tomahawk strapped to her waist.

Rounding out the crew was Maria Reddy, a bubbly little thing whose ability often sent her comrades into fits of laughter. With proper concentration, Maria could turn a human being, or any animated object, into a fluffy baby bunny that would melt the heart of even the most vicious killer. The effect lasted approximately three hours and gave the group time enough to cage and neutralize their target. The main problem with Maria's talent was that it took her exactly twenty seconds to complete the transformation and it often backfired if she was the least bit startled during those precious moments. Aaron bit his lip as he recalled the fight where Maria successfully gave their target a massive rabbit's foot, which he then used to launch JJ through the wall into the street. Maria was also a nurse by trade and served as the group's all-important healer. She carried pistols on each hip, but avoided using them whenever possible.

Aaron's own ability was both difficult and dangerous to use. With intense concentration, he could force someone to age anywhere from a year to several decades. Depending on the person's initial age, this act could disable or even kill them. To accomplish this feat, Aaron needed several minutes of uninterrupted silence and he had to give over a small portion of his own life force. He had no indication of how much of his own life force was used each time he aged a target and that gave him incredible pause. As a result, he used his talent sparingly, relying on the guns and swords he carried with him.

Sensing Suzie's growing anticipation, Aaron put his hand on the door handle and gave the group a once over. As he met each gaze, he received a nod in return. Once they had all acknowledged him and had their attention on the door, he pulled it open. Maria stepped toward the back, pulling out her pistols to cover them. She would remain near the door until called. Suzie stepped through the door first, fists ablaze, lighting the interior. A pair of guards near the door cringed at the sudden light, attempting to shield their eyes as they fumbled for their weapons. They fell beneath Jeanne's arrows before they were able to loose the guns from their holsters.

Aaron moved in, followed by JJ and Davidson, pacing steadily forward toward the corner. Suzie took her place just behind him and Jeanne slipped in front of Davidson, having refused repeatedly to “bring up the rear” based on principle. Aaron stopped before the turn and peered around. He counted the guards, then held up three fingers. He looked to Suzie and JJ, who both nodded. At his silent count, all three of them moved around the corner, selecting their targets swiftly. Aaron's target was down with a hole in his chest before he knew he was dead. JJ's man followed close behind. Suzie scoped out her target, then raised her hand, forming a narrow blue fireball. She released it and it flew true, burning through the man's fleshy throat quickly. He raised his weapon, but it dropped from his hand. Off to his right, something barked and light flashed for a brief moment. Suzie, feeling pain rip through her shoulder, dropped to the ground.

Aaron fell to one knee, inspecting the wound. It bled profusely and blood pooled beneath her rapidly. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she began gasping for air.

“Shit. Jeanne, go get Maria.”

“No, wait. I got this.”

Aaron looked at JJ briefly, calculating the chances of Maria arriving in time and her ability as nurse with the bare essentials. He pursed his lips and nodded. JJ disappeared for several tense moments before the air grew fuzzy and began to shift, much like it does over hot desert sand. The breath was pulled from their lungs momentarily and then they found themselves back at the corner. Suzie felt her shoulder tentatively before accepting JJ's offered hand.

“Okay, take two,” said Aaron, taking stock of the situation once more. “JJ, Suzie, same targets. Davidson, you take the guy on the left.”

Aaron pulled a small grenade launcher from his back and loaded it. “So much for doing this quietly. On three. One... two...”

They all stepped around the corner in unison, zeroing in on their targets. JJ and Davidson's brought their targets down swiftly, followed closely by Suzie. The double thump of the grenade launcher came last and they all ducked behind the corner as two grenades clanked behind the boxes on their right. The consecutive explosions rocked the building, making the walls shudder and their ears ring. When the blasts were finished, they stood up to survey the damage. The boxes directly around the grenades were non-existent. Large splinters studded the metal walls and ceiling and chunks of melted material plastered every surface.

“So much for stealth. Did we get him?” Jeanne looked around at the destruction and frowned. “What a mess.”

Suzie held up a bloody finger and grinned. “Yeah, we got him.”

They continued on through the building, moving carefully. Upon reaching a set of stairs, Jeanne teleported back to the front to escort Maria to their location. The rest of them waited, fidgeting restlessly. They could hear movement up the staircase, heavy boots clunking on the floor, weapons being readied. JJ, Davidson, and Aaron all refilled, locked, and loaded their machine guns. After what seemed like a long wait, Jeanne finally returned with Maria in tow.

“Alright, Maria, you wait at the top until I call you. The rest of you, with me.”

They all followed Aaron up the stairs, Maria stopping once the reached the top. The rest continued on down the hall toward the loud racket. It turned and they turned with it. At the end of the hall, double doors stood wide open, leading to a large room. Half a dozen guards were waiting in the door, guns at the ready. The group ducked to the sides of the hall, avoiding the hail of bullets.

Suzie threw a ball of flame down the hall. It burst against one of the doors, throwing sparks over the men cowering below it. Screams echoed through the fire and she smiled with a brief satisfaction. Davidson fired his machine gun until the clip ran out, then pulled his samurai swords from their sheaths, throwing himself down the hall. JJ followed suit, pulling a set of pistols from his hips. As a group, the men advanced down the hall, fireballs and arrows whizzing past their heads. They attacked the guards at the door, tearing into them savagely. Those that did not fall beneath the superheroes attacks quailed in their valor and many turned tail and ran into the interior of the room.

With the fight waning, Suzie and Jeanne cut back on their attacks, afraid of causing friendly fire. They attempted to watch the battle, but Suzie's flames were licking up the walls and obscuring their view. Suddenly, a black figure leapt through the smoke, over their heads, racing toward the corner. Suzie took off after him while Jeanne fired arrows at other black shapes moving toward them. She rounded the corner and loosed a small fireball. It sizzled past the man, burning his robes. He yelped as the flames touched his skin and paused to put the fire out. Suzie saw Maria concentrating on the man, her lips moving. The air around the man sparked and he disappeared. Where he had stood sat a fuzzy, black bunny. It gazed up at Maria with big, curious eyes and she stooped down to pick it up. Suzie shook her head and left Maria standing by the stairs, stroking the rabbit's long ears.

Back at the doors, Jeanne and Suzie moved forward to join the men. They headed through the doors joined the men, who were in a stand-off with half a dozen sword-wielding guards. The guards were clad in black robes and surrounded a big, bulbous mass. The blob had no definable gender, as far as the group could tell, and was named Mayondo, or, less pleasantly, Mayo, as it was called by those who had seen the mayonnaise-like substance that it often hacked up.

“Put down your weapons, and move away.” Aaron's voice echoed through the silence.

He was answered by a hollow laugh from the center of the robed assassins. The laugh turned to a hacking cough and the group turned up their noses in disgust as the black-robed guards moved to intercept them. Davidson took out one man swiftly with his sword, then swung the weapon up to counter another incoming attacker. JJ's pistols barked and he took down two men before he was forced to retreat and reload. Aaron met one of the guards in hand-to-hand combat as Suzie's flames engulfed another man. Jeanne's arrows fired steadily and the last man fell to a fatal wound as Aaron's opponent crumpled with a broken neck.

“You're finished, Mayo.”

Aaron moved toward the blob, hands raised, eyes squinted in concentration. Mayo pulled a pistol from its folds of flab and took aim. Flames engulfed the hand. As its eyes grew wide, its mouth opened to scream, only to be blocked by a black cloth that Jeanne shoved into the gaping hole. Aaron took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The rest of the group held their breath as well, unconsciously waiting and silently praying. As they watched, the blob in front of them wrinkled noticeably and its mousy brown hair grew gray. It began gasping and clutching at its chest, then slumped over, already decaying rapidly.

Aaron fell to his knees, clutching his head. Suzie moved to his side and helped him stand, handing him a bottle of Ibuprofen. As a group, they left the room, leaving the ever-growing stench of death behind them. They picked up Maria on the way downstairs, still holding her bunny, and headed out into the sun.

“I think I need a beer.” Aaron turned to the rest of the group and they nodded. He smiled and turned away. “JJ's buying.”

“Wait, what? But I don't even drink!”  The group laughed as the big man's protests followed them all the way to their van.

**Origin of the story: I asked my friends on Facebook what superpower they would choose if they could choose anything. Some gave some very interesting answers, and I decided to run with it. This is the result. I'm in the process of working on some more in the series**