Shamus pulled up to the demolished storefront. He grunted some surprise at the sight of the mess. “Haven’t seen a hole put in a wall like that in months, lad! Funny, how quick you get used to a normal life.”
Agent Slate looked gloomily at the cracked and shattered brick, littering the sidewalk and street alongside the thousands of shards of glass that had once been a rather nice storefront window. “This is always how it starts Shamus. A little hint that the clear skies you’ve been walking under might be a bit more turbulent that you thought. Just about enough time for a smart man to grab his umbrella before the shitstorm hits.”
Section 9 eventually assembled in Central City, their membership dividing into two groups: Day Crew, consisting of Agent Slate, The Tempest and Max Powers – the public face of Section 9 – and Night Crew, consisting of the Ghost Diver, Midnight Man, and Shade – the nightly crime-fighting muscle.
Over the next month, Agent Slate set up the offices of what would become Central Headquarters, while Tempest put in some face time at her new job at W-Tec Industries. Max Power…well, all right, he just went boozing and womanizing when he wasn’t on call to beat criminals into submission, living the expense account lifestyle that he had signed up for.
The moon had been out and shining over New York City, but soon after leaving the perimeter of the metropolis, Ghost Diver became lost amoung the clouds and the darkness of the night.
He had no need to waste time gathering belongings, seeking out and informing family members, or all the other concerns, trials and tribulations that accompanied moving from one city to another. Such tedium was for the living. No, he departed immediately, and at great speed. Encased in his bubble, the spectre could fly at hundreds of kilometers an hour. Night had not yet passed before he had followed the eastern seaboard to Central City.
“I swear to God, Slate. If this one is anything like the Ghost Diver, you can find yourself another Tempest.”
Ariel was again dressed as a civilian, though she had been requested to ‘doll up for this one’. Men. Honestly.
The offending Agent Slate was seated next to her, and they were both getting chauffeured by Agent McGuinty, whose own comment on her appearance had earned him a quick slap to the face. The Irishman had simply chuckled in response. They were rolling down a glitzy drag in Illinois, looking for a nightclub which had recently advertized a night of boxing and entertainment for its patrons. Continue reading →
“You can’t go in there, Steven.”
Agent Slate turned. Shamus had a pistol leveled at him.
“You can’t go in there anymore. The power’s gone, Steven. She’s gone. You go in there, and it’s a paradox. No-one knows what will happen. You said it yourself. Step away.”
Slate turned back. He was staring at the green door. He had to have passed three layers of security to get here. How did he do that? Continue reading →
Shamus turned down another suburban road. The rows upon rows of identical housing, interspersed with development projects to create yet more identical housing were loathsomely boring, and the Irishman was quick to take note of this. His breath smelled of the whiskey that he occasionally weaned from his flask as he allowed the long tank of a car to slowly glide down the streets.
“I’m telling you, lad. Were I this Tempest lass, I’d knock down a tree or two just to give this place some semblance of excitement. Can you imagine living out here? The silence would drive me to the bottle.” He took another sip of his beverage. Continue reading →
It was a mild summer’s day in Washington as Agent Slate pulled into S.P.L.I.C.E. (Society for Persons Licensed to Investigate and Contain Extra-humans) with his partner, Shamus McGraidy. The top level organization was a relatively recent creation, but had proven to be an utterly necessary arm of the Pentagon. They dealt with the superhuman problem so that the average patriotic American could sleep at night. Continue reading →