RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block MBL [Resolution]

It has been a few weeks since the heroes of Earth left to fight impossible odds. A few weeks. The World hasn’t “poped” out of existence, so I guess that’s a good sign. No invasion either, I guess Zod and the Corps were able to handle it. I stayed behind, not because of how battered or bloody I was, which I was beaten up badly, but because I have finally given up. Over the last few years, things have just gotten worse and worse, up to a point where things don’t make sense, like some higher beings are just trying to fuck us over. The League is dead. TOMB is gone. Maybe, just maybe, it is better that way. I died along with the League.

Rain pours over where the once TIAMAT and HQ stands. Raiders and criminals have torn it piece from piece. Much like how they have raved what is left of Thunder City, which was officially classified as a ‘No man’s land’ and cut off from the United States. Shame, what was once a great idea, a school for the next generation, is now a hollowed out shell of a building.

I make my way back to New York City, my home before I joined the League. The sunshines over the skyline, a reddish/orange hue covers my face. I love coming out here, upon the roof of my new home. In a near distance, I can see the New York Museum, where Marisa worked, before she was taken from me. She loved history and the unknown. I still love her with all my heart. Yet, as fate had it, even with death we weren’t together. No, fate played me a wicked hand.

A shadowy figure appears. Just what I need, more troubles no thanks. I don’t need the X. But the figure moves into the light. It isn’t the X, instead, the figure of a man clad in an old fashion knight’s armor. He says one line before disappearing in thin air, no surprise there.

“Not all lose ends have been tied up.”

Maybe, but I am done. I have no reason left to fight. My “fight” is over. I open the door and take the steps back toward my apartment. As I enter, I flick on the light switch, illuminating the room, I hate the dark, always have. After making a cut of tea, I take a seat, a comfy brown recliner, which is a big relief after all of the metal and steal chairs of the old HQ. Pictures. No matter how hard the life had been, there were many good times. Friendships, that will remain in my heart forever. On a shelf, I keep an album with such memories. I don’t have much left from those times. Most of my possessions always seemed to get blown up with our HQs. A shame. I only have one picture of Marisa left. Another of Ry-Chard, the son we never had. Also on the wall, hanging high is a picture of Prometheus and me, taken at the party only a day before the “War.” It was known that he was my future self, but it seemed more as though he was the Father I never had. He is gone now, finally at piece I hope. Yet a feeling within tells me that he has probably been sucked into another cycle of events that will climax all in due time. Somehow, over the past few years, I was able to build a new family, only for that family to vanish much like my old one.

“What now,” I ask whom ever is behind me.

Placing my tea down, I get to my feet and turn, once again seeing the figure from earlier on.

“Your not gonna go away until I help you, no?”

The figure is silent, almost like he wants to talk, but is being blocked by some other force. Then it dawns on me, the Knight, one of the many men who gave their lives on that tragic day.

“You fought well.”

He is still silent.

“Look, I am sorry.”

I pause.

“I am NOT a hero.”

Finally he answer, “A friend in need…”

“Who are you? How do you want me to help you?”

He is gone. Now I am left with “tying” up loose ends, so to speak. Not that I want to, but he will not let me rest in peace until maybe I help him to do the same. A “friend,” who’s friend, one of mine or one of his. Great. This is just what I needed. At least I had a few weeks of rest.

I make my way to the Library, logging onto the Internet. I type in K-N-I-G-H-T and wait a few moments. Listings from everything from comic books to movies and book reviews flash over the screen. Way too broad of a search.

K-N-I-G-H-T space T-H-U-N-D-E-R space C-I-T-Y.

More listings of comics and movies, this time from Thunder City newswires. I should have expected such.

K-N-I-G-H-T space T-H-U-N-D-E-R space C-I-T-Y space D-E-A-T-H. Default setting, “no comic or entertainment related stories.”

Three highlighted stories appear. Two are in the not too distant past, while one is from a little over a year ago. Not what I expected, not at all. Witness descriptions confirm that this “Knight’s” appearance is very similar to my new “friend.” Not too long ago, he killed the murderous villain know as Hammer, shortly later, he did the same to Professor Seman. Last year, it seems that he killed a serial killer, one who was able to shape his body into weapons.

He wasn’t fully a bad guy, I mean in his own way he was helping the World. Ridding it of murders. But his style, two out of the three were being held in captivity, not exactly a danger to the World. This “Knight” was just as bad as they were in a sense.

Why do I feel as though this isn’t what he wants? There is something else I am missing here. Detective on the case, “Jennifer Blaze of the TCPD.” Jennifer Blaze, she might have more info on the case. That is if she was among the survivors.

J-E-N-N-I-F-E-R space B-L-A-Z-E space T-H-U-N-D-E-R space C-I-T-Y space W-A-R.

The search takes longer than suspected. There was so much death. So many lives. Then, the screen stops. Jennifer Blaze. Survivors list. One of the lucky ones, if you would call them that.

I track down her parents through the white pages. Hopefully, she is staying with them. Would be the best bet at least. And off to Jersey I am.

It takes a few hours, but finally I slow my Jeep to a stop. A small suburban home, cute yard, white picket fence. I make my way to the door, ringing the bell. An old lady answers “How can I help you son?”

“Is Jennifer home?” I say, a small laugh to myself after realizing how junior high I sound.

The old lady’s face lightens up with a smile, “Are you a friend of hers? From the City?”

“Sort-of…” I answer, not fully knowing what to say.

“Well come on in, I have just finished making some cookies…”

“Um,”
“No arguments, now come on in.”

I enter the home, pictures line the walls. The house has an old fashion feel… a very safe feel. I like it. She sits me at the table, “Jennifer is in the shower, she will be out in a few moments.” She brings out a plate full of cookies, sitting them in front of me.

“Go on, go on, don’t be shy young man.”

I smile and pick up one of the cookies. Soft and still warm, the chocolate chips partly melted. Delicious. Bibbo was a good cook, but nothing compared to this. “What was your name again?”

“Ritchie, Ritchie Stevens.”

“Well, I don’t remember her talking about you, but it is a pleasure to have you here. So many of her friends died. Oh, the horrors that she saw. So unfair.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“But God saved her, as he did you. Everything happens for a reason.”

Then she leaves the dining room, entering the kitchen, trusting me, a total stranger, alone in her home. I turn as I hear footsteps, and there she stands. Wearing Jeans and a black tee shirt. Her dark still-wet hair falls in front of her hazel eyes.

I stand, “Ms. Blaze?”

“Yeah? Do… I know you?”

“Not exactly… I…Um… My name is Ritchie Stevens, I’m from…”

“Stevens? Eh. The hero.”

“That was a much different time.”

“Yeah, it was. What can I help you with?”

Her voice, sweet, sincere.

“I, um, would you like to go get a cup of coffee or something?”

Did I just ask her out?

“Yeah, I would like that.”

Did she just say yes?

“Hold on one second, just let me get a coat.”

After a few moments she returns, and we make our way to a local Café. We get so engrossed in conversation that I forget what my original purpose for tracking her down was. We talk about the old city, the square and even joked around about the League’s old HQ. Hundreds of rooms and levels for about 6 or 7 people at any given time? I must admit, putting it that way makes it sound like a big waste of space.

We begin walking down an old brick path when she finally asks me, “Mr. Stevens, I know you didn’t come all this way to simply to ask a total stranger out for coffee. What is it that I can help you with?”

“Well,” I pause, not wanting to switch the conversation, “Your work with the Thunder City PD, shortly before…”

“Yeah.” Her voice gets softer.

“Your last case dealt with a murderer whom was killing other murderers.”

“The ‘dark’ Knight case as they joked around saying.”

“Yeah. I was wondering if you had found anything more out before the…”

“There was something, my partner and I…(she holds back strong emotion) had found a small clipping from the ‘knight’s’ suit at one of the scenes.”

“I’m sorry about your partner-“

“It’s ok, you did what you could. Him and his wife were both ‘lost.’ So sad. But about the small clipping.”

“Yeah.”

“I tracked it back down to New York, the New York Museum to be exact.”

New York Museum? I-

“It was weird. The history. As legend had it, the suit would grant he whom seeks vengeance the power to get vengeance. Only there was a catch. The host would lose control, a demon would take over, and the host had no say over whom the power was used against.”

“And the host’s vengeance would never be achieved.” I answer, things beginning to fall into place.

“Very poetic. Losing everything for something you believe in, only to never achieve one’s main goal. Sad.”

“Yeah, very tragic.”

I walk her home and say goodbye. The ride back into New York is quick, lucky that traffic wasn’t bad. Back to the library.

Who was in the suit?

I run a search of those missing/dead in Thunder City from the war. All a sudden, the computer begins to scroll by itself. It stops and a name flashes across the screen, Robert Brown.

Senator Robert Brown.

I look around but see no one, could it be true?

I cross-reference the Knight’s murders with the senator. After a few long moments, I get an old article. “Working Man Third to Die.” Robert Brown Sr. was one of ten, African American men, who was killed by a white racist with the power to shape his body into knifes, blades and other basic weapons. About a year ago, the same man was put to death by the Knight. Justice served?

Jennifer gave me the name of a book, where she was able to find a good amount of info on the suit of armor and her number in case I needed any help in my search. I locate the book and search through it.

Once again, I am helped in my search. The pages quickly turn them selves. A crystal was in the heart of the armor, it’s “power source.” Another catch to summoning the demon, even in death, the wearer’s soul would be held. Only to be freed when the crystal has been destroyed.

And now I am off to Promethean City, a small museum was built in tribute to the lost heroes. I make my way over to the chest plate, the only remaining piece of the armor the Knight wore. Putting my fingers in the huge crack across it, I rip it open, revealing a palm sized ruby crystal. I place it in my pocket. Finally taking outside into the sunlight. I place it on a brick path in the park. With a large stone, I crush it. For a few moments, nothing happens.

Then, I see a ghostly figure freed from the crystal, first it is of the Knight. But it slowly blends into Senator Brown. He mouths “Thank you friend” and smiles before he body slowly floats above and disappears. He was a good man. I don’t agree with everything he did, but he was a good man, with a huge heart.

“Goodbye, Robert”

I return home. Somewhat relieved. I empty my pockets and there it is, Jennifer’s number.

“Everything happens for a reason?” Indeed.

After a few moments that feel like an eternity, I pick up the phone and dial her number.

“Hello-“ She answers, her voice just as sweet as before. Music.

After a brief hesitation, I speak “Hey Jen, this is Ritchie… I was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner or something... sometime?”

“I would love to.”

<The End>