Chapter One
School is not something that most American teenagers really enjoy. But, for Bobby Church it was even harder. Each day at that old brick building, teeming with hundreds of his peers, with a hundred different dreams, was another harsh reminder of how far away he was from achieving his own goals. What he wanted for his life could never be taught to him in that place, and he was acutely aware of it.
Not that his father ever showed any intention of listening to what he wanted, and what he could do. No, for Ian Church, all that mattered is what his son couldn’t do. So, Bobby decided that he would have to take the bull by the horns, so to speak.
As he tucked his shaggy brown hair under a black leather mask, with double screening over his mouth so he could talk and breathe, and eye-holes cut so he wouldn’t be blinded. This is crazy... This can never work... he toyed with a bit of last-minute doubt, But if I don’t do this now, I may never have another chance... He squared his shoulders and pulled a silver short-sleeved shirt made of a special fabric that was designed to withstand shark bites and worse over his head. He slipped on some shiny leather gloves on his hands, and put on a matching pair of sleek black pants. Next came his belt that had a sheath for his long, thin titanium sword, a loop for a small dagger, and a pouch containing chemicals, intended for both building and diffusing explosives, among other things. Another belt was wrapped diagonally across his chest, holding his long sniper rifle, ammunition for this weapon, and several communication and tracking devices. To finish the ensemble, he stepped into big black redwing boots, and tied them tightly around his ankles.
He stood up and looked around the gray, dusty garage that served as his control center, laboratory, and dojo during the long months he painstakingly collected the resources he would need for the street. It had become a comforting, stable place, once he had gotten over the fact that it was bought using money carefully embezzled from donations that Glory received from well-wishers. In fact, all that he had now had been acquired in that fashion, and he justified it to himself a million ways, but in the end he really wished he could have found some other way to finance his endeavor.
So much hope, so much planning, so much sweat, blood, and tears, all to prepare him for this night. He shook his shoulders nervously, and cracked his knuckles. His eyes turned to his vehicle, a black Lincoln with tinted windows and nothing out of the ordinary about it, or rather, nothing visibly out of the ordinary about it. Of course, he had modified it greatly, and made sure that none of his work showed outwardly.
He took one last look around his little dark den, and a deep breathe. He strode to his car, slid in and opened the ancient garage door, and rolled out onto the empty street. At that moment Bobby Church was put on pause, and The Heir was born.
Anita Emerson ran down the city sidewalk. Even though dusk had fallen some time ago, the concrete jungle of New York City was still busy and crowded, and her way was often blocked. People stopped and stared when they saw her face, which only added to her problem. It was not everyday that their wonderings brought them across The Tempest, a member of the city’s beloved super-powered vigilante team, Glory.
“Please clear the sidewalk!” she projected her voice as her father had taught her to do in such situations. A deranged PEOA (Person with an Extra Ordinary Ability) had broken into a jewelry store, and when his heist had gone sour, had decided to take hostages. She had been shopping nearby, and as the closest member of Glory, she needed to get there and get there fast. The Police were helpful, but wholly unprepared to take on a super-human enemy of unknown strength and origin.
“Nita! We’ve got a witness on the scene who says the perp can generate concussive sound blasts and is nearly eight feet tall and as strong as an ox,” crackled her headset radio. “If he’s too much for you, just hang back and try to keep the site under control. We’re on our way.”
She reached up and pushed a little red button near her temple, “Okay, Mom, I’m almost there!”
She then rounded the corner and came upon the blocked up street under siege by a least half a dozen cop cars, and many curious on-lookers. She inwardly groaned, but didn’t slow down until she got to an officer who looked fairly competent and cooperative.
“Where’s the suspect?” she looked down on the short dark-haired man, who looked fairly startled to see the blonde teenage warrior who was on the news so often. She was used to this and simply ignored it.
“Uh.. we got a big guy.. he’s on the second floor now, with thirteen people at gun point. He’s assured us he doesn’t need the gun to kill them either.” The stunned man blinked a few times, like he still couldn’t believe these strange set of events.
She studied the structure before her, “Ok. I’m going in. Don’t let anyone follow me until my team gets here, alright?” She then took off, without waiting for a reply. She slipped in through a broken side window and crept up the stairs, trying to keep in the cover of shadows. After a few agonizing minutes, she made it to the door frame of the room where the criminal and his victims were holed up. To her great relief the door itself was wide open, and none of the lights were on.
The ox-man looked to be about the height indicated, had a shiny hairless head, and arm muscles thicker than Nita’s legs combined. He was indeed holding a very large sawed-off shot gun, and was standing by a window, yelling to the figures below. “If you want these people to come out alive, you’d better get me a helicopter, and a million dollars, and full immunity, and...”
Good, he’s distracted. She inwardly smiled, and waved her hand a little, to catch the eye of one of the captives. The man who saw her nodded knowingly and nudged a gray haired lady to crawl to the door. The obviously frightened woman, shuffled as best she could toward Nita, barely holding in tears. After a tense moment or two, the woman reached her, and she guided her down to the steps. Tempest then motioned for the next person to come. The man who first saw her then indicated to a thin Hispanic woman to begin her exodus. Just as the dark haired lady touched the blonde’s hand, a clicking sound echoed throughout the room. They both looked up to see the giant pointing his weapon straight at the slender hero. She jumped up, so if he did shoot he wouldn’t hit the hostage.
“Trying to ruin my party, are you little girl?” his voice was raspy and offensive, and he gritted his teeth.
Nita tensed as his finger tightened on its trigger, and wished dearly that she was bulletproof like her friend Kat. A shot rang out and she winced, forcing her eyes closed. All seemed to stop for a minute, until she realized that she felt no pain. Her eyelids flew open, and she was shocked to see the perp’s arm stained with blood. She turned in the direction the bullet must have come from and saw a form melt from the darkness. He was cloaked in black and grey and held a small ugly pistol in his right hand.
“You BASTARD! You shot me!” cried the huge PEOA. He raised his arms, most likely to exercise his power, but the interloper laughed.
“Not so fast, Bull-boy,” he smirked and leapt forward nimbly, drawing a long straight sword. It looked as though the black-clad warrior would attempt to slice the bald man through, but at the last second, he changed directions mid-air and smacked his enemy upside the head with the heavy metal. The larger man stumbled, dazed, as his attacker landed nearby. He stumbled forward, in a sloppy assault, but the swordsman jumped up again and threw his fist violently into the already bloody face. The criminal at last lost consciousness, and fell to the floor.
Nita then snapped out of her stupor, “Hey! Who are you?” she moved closer to the intruder and assumed a fighting stance.
“What, Windy-girl, can’t take a little competition?” came the reply. This new fighter’s face was completely obscured by a black mask, and she was surprised to realize, that while he was small compared to the brute he’d dispatched, he was really quite tall, over six feet at least. “I’m The Heir, with an ‘H,’ don’t forget me.”
She stood slack-jawed as he bowed swiftly, and jumped out the open window. She caught a glimpse of him catching a ledge, and them dropping to the ground, and speeding off into the night. Oh man, Church is not going to like this...
On to Chapter Two