RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block The Subway Prophecies

Promethan City

The screams that filled the station had silenced long before Kenneth Shaw stepped down from the 13th street entrance and into Promethan City’s muck filled Subway system. His freshly polished boots stopped as if controlled by another force a moment before they would have landed in a thick puddle of another man’s life fluid. Shaw bent down to check the body that was face down in its own blood. No pulse. Ken stepped back, leaning against the cold wall of the steps and unholstered his hand gun and talkie.

“One male victim as reported. Dead before I got here. The Subway is clear though, no sign of said meta, send back up, I’m searching the tunnels.”

The fuzz from his talkie died down and Ken carefully leaned the body over, revealing a caved in chest and mutilated face. A beast was lurking under the city, his city, and Ken would stop at nothing to stop its rampage. Stepping over the body, Ken advanced forward, jumping the turn style and entering the platform. Empty tracks are one thing, but being deserted in the middle of rush hour is simply spooky. Ken began stepping to the right side when a screeching caught his attention. He whipped his body around, gun drawn but saw nothing. A single drop of water fell from the ceiling. Ken’s eyes tracked it as it fell and splashed in mid air.

“What the-“


Suddenly, he could hear the scratching again, and the residue from the leaky ceiling slowly moved towards him. Shrugging and unsure, Ken aimed his gun forward and took a shot of faith. The bullet ripped through the air at lighting speed-

ARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH

A painful screech echoed throughout the tunnel and a dark green blood splattered from the invisible beast’s body. Ken, in semi shock and disbelief, kept his gun up and shot again and again. Another bullet connected while one misses and rockets off the far wall.

The piercing second shot drops the beast, who is now visible. The 8 foot beast has reptile like skin, chameleon if you will and long claws. Ken approaches it with his gun still drawn. The beast is down for the count, attempting to talk through a blood like substance that is engulfing his mouth. Ken leans to listen and hears what he interrupts as “…help…”

Ken is about to question the beast when he hears the scratching sound again, louder and from multiple places. Surrounding him.

Ken Shaw has never been in such a predicament. Granted, he'd killed metahuman offenders before. Ever since the inception of MAW, he'd been trained by FBI agents to be a member of a specialized metahuman task force in the city. The screeching was intense, almost as though the gates of hell themselves were opening.

Kneeling beside the chameleon-like creature beside him, Ken tried to stop some of the blood... or what he thought was blood. To no avail. He had no knowledge of the creatures anatomy and the wailing sounds coming from his surroundings weren't doing wonders for his concentration.

As the lizard-man's life waned before him, he swore, pounding the chest of the creature, realizing the futility of the measure. Then, as suddenly as they had begun... the noises stopped.

"...the hell?" Shaw asked, rising slowly.

Then, Shaw heard them... footsteps.

He took a sniff of the air as a tinge of body odor, sweat, and mildew entered his nostrils. Aiming his gun toward the direction of the footsteps, he yelled in a loud voice: "Freeze! PCPD! Don't move!"

The footsteps stopped. Slowly, Shaw began to make his way over to the direction he'd heard the walking.

As his eyes adjusted to the shadows the man was walking in, Shaw began to see the man before him - he was old, seventy at best, with dirty blue jeans, worn out Chuck Taylor tennis shoes that had to be at least twenty years old, and a tattered white t-shirt. His hair and beard were both unforgivably long and a rag was wrapped around his eyes, almost like a blindfold. His thin, malnourished arms were held over his head as though he knew he had a gun trained upon him.

"Y-you're blind?" Shaw asked to no one in particular as he saw the man's blindfold.

"I am, Detective Shaw," the man said. "But I am not the one you seek."

"What the...?" Shaw was taken aback. How did this old-timer could possibly know his name? It was very disconcerting. Uncertain of what to do next, Ken pointed his relaxed gun back at the blind man before him. "Who are you and how do you know that information?"

"My name is Terry," the man said in a deep baritone voice. "And I, like you, am a metahuman."

"Look, sir," Ken said, his voice wavering slightly, "I don't know where you got your information, but I am not a metahuman!"

The blind man smiled. "Just because you are unaware of the truth does not make it any less true." His features became stern once again. "But, we have no time for this. We must be off. They are coming."

"'They'?" Ken asked. "Who are 'they'? And who are you for that matter?"

"My name is Terry," he said with a slight smirk. "As for 'they'... well, we can get into that as we go..."

What’s the best idea when fleeing lizard like chameleon creatures infesting a subway system? Getting on the A train of course. Could this night get any worse?

Ken has this way about him. Since high school he has excelled in every physical activity he has participated in. Always winning first place, shattering records… and making enemies. Sure, he was popular, but popular in the sense that everyone wished that they were him, but didn’t spend the time getting to know him or becoming his friend. So he began talking to himself in his head.

“We’re all lonely boy,” Terry blurts out, caching Ken’s attention.

Ken could swear that the old man was looking at him dead in the eyes through his blindfold. As if death itself was next to him, piercing into his soul.

“Stop. You said you would explain what the hell was going on, now start spilling. It’s bad enough that that thing killed one innocent already…”

Terry shook his head and signed. This would be a long night indeed.

“It is funny you see.” Terry mumbled, “Most people with vision can’t see what is right in front of their eyes.”

Ken starred at Terry and thought back to the scene. The victim. The beast.

“Looks, deceiving they can be.”

Ken looked forward, into the empty seat across the train car.

“The reptile thing, it had no blood on it.” Ken whispered to no one in particular.

“MAW has this way about them, you see. Teach how to shoot and kill, but not how to see, how to decipher.”

“That thing was going to attack me. I had no choice.”

“What you can’t see will not hurt you. What you choice not to see will be your fault. Our faults lead to others deaths. In case it has, the city might just be doomed. Doomed to a fault.”

“Stop talking in riddles. If you know something that might save lives, anything, than you better start speaking in English.”

“Hold on.”

“What?”

Terry gripped his cane and the pole next to his seat as the subway car came to a screeching halt. Ken, taken by surprise, is jolted out of his seat and smashes into the divider, his arms flying forward and making first contact. He settles and looks up, noticing that his hands have dented the metal in front of him. He is speechless.

“You wanted to know what that thing was? As luck would have it, his family has come to tell you themselves…”

Ken looks at Terry and then at the far door. Invisible nails slice through the glass casing. Ken turns and the opposite door opens and screeching sounds echo through out the subway car.

“Oh and Ken, m’boy, you are not the hero yet.”

"Hero?" Ken asked, absolutely dumbfounded. "What the hell do you mean 'hero'?"

Terry smiled. "I know what you're thinking, Ken. You can't fool me."

"Look," Ken said, pulling out his gun again, "I was thinking nothing of the sort, so..."

"Not on the surface, no," Terry explained, smiling. "It was all..." the blind man tapped the back of his head, "...back here."

"You haven't told me what these things are yet, Terry!" Ken said, as the screeching sounds approached with deafening thuds echoing throughout the car.

"There is no need," Terry said, shaking his head, his hair and beard shaking with it. "As I said before... they will tell you."

A force struck Ken's arm at the moment, sending his arm upwards and firing a random shot into the roof of the ceiling of the car. The gun then was wrenched from the officer's hands and crushed before his eyes.

"Sit down," a commanding, disembodied voice hissed from the air somewhere above above Ken's head. Without his gun to arm him, Ken felt compelled to sit... at least for now.

As he sat, Terry patted him on the arm reassuringly. He looked over at Terry, who turned his head to face the young man, as though looking at him through his blindfold.

A thought entered Ken's head just then. It'll all be alright, it said... but not in Ken's voice.

"You have killed one of our own," the commanding voice from above said. "We, however, are not unreasonable or unrelenting. We are not complete animals. We killed one of yours. Blood must be repaid."

"Look, that's not why I did what I did," Ken began, trying to explain.

"We understand your justice system," another voice said. "We, however, are not interested in it."

"We seek out our own justice," the first voice said. "Things are different below the ground. The old man can tell you."

Terry nodded once, sagely, in response to his being 'called out'.

"We do, however, feel compelled to warn you, hew-man," the voice continued. "Get out while you can. Our vendetta is not against you... and it needn't be."

"I -- I don't understand," Ken said, genuinely confused by this.

"Your understanding is of no import," the second voice said. "We take our leave of you now. Heed our warning... or we will be forced to kill you."

The screeching began again, this time retreating from the spot where Ken sat. The two men sat alone in the car for a long time until the sounds of the chameleon creatures had effectively subsided.

Ken turned to Terry. "Alright, buddy, start talking!" he said, grabbing the bum by the arm and standing him up on his feet.

"Certainly," Ken said with a wry smile. "What do you wish to talk about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, old man," Ken said in frustration. "You can get inside my head... so I know you know what I'm talking about!"

"No," Terry answered.

"'No' what?"

"I am not in league with these creatures," Terry said simply. "I know that's what you are thinking. It is untrue."

"Then what were they talking about?" Ken asked. "When they said, 'The old man can tell you'? What were they talking about?"

"I am a bum in a subway," Terry replied. "I have lived my life here. I know the ins and outs... the comings and goings. Life is different down here than up there. That is merely a fact of the matter."

Ken looked frustrated, looking around the car angrily, but always landing his gaze on Terry.

"Alright, you're coming with me," Ken said, grabbing the elderly man by the arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Downtown," Ken said. "You've just become my key witness."

"You mean, you will not heed their warning?" Terry asked. "You will continue to investigate?"

"Of course," Ken answered, leading the man out of the car. "It's my responsibility to the city."

Terry said nothing as a small smile crept across his lips.

Promethan City Police Department

A single spotlight hangs from the ceiling, its rays illuminating a circular pattern in the petite interrogation room. In the center of the circle of light is Terry, his fragile body glowing as if he were a kind homeless man at the gates of heaven, awaiting his true fortune in the afterlife. Terry’s still blind folded eyes stayed at a level equal to the ground, never peering up towards the mirror that spanned the entirety of the wall in front of him.

On the other side of the looking glass stood a tall and well built African-American man in his early forties, this is Jon Henry Sr, Lieutenant Henry to most. Ken Shaw paces behind Jon, his eyes fixated on Terry.

“Ok. Let me get the facts straight before I rip into you. This elder bum, that lives in our decrepit Subway system, is the key witness in a murder case. A case where you gunned down the suspected murderer, a chameleon-like creature that’s species inhibits the Subway system. More of these, chameleon-like creatures, showed up and you fled into the A train. From there they stopped the whole train dead in its tracks, rendering the only other passenger, the conductor, unconscious. And warned you to stay away. Oh, and this bum, who is blind, is the only witness?”

Shaw stops and thinks for a moment, shrugs, “That pretty much sums it up.”

Jon turns towards Ken and smirks, “Witness to what?” Jon steps closer, in Ken’s face, “You gunned down the suspected killer, who was a meta. Case closed.”

“What about the others? They could be building an army or worse.”

Jon’s brow arcs downward as his nostrils flair, “An army of chameleon-like creatures is trying to take over the city?”

“We should at least take them in for questioning…”

“An army of chameleon-like creatures?”

“Not the whole army.”

“So, these creature, they spoke English?”

“Yeah, well, they had a bit of an accent-”

“Enough Rookie. Get out” Jon points through the glass at Terry, “and take that with you. The case is closed. Let the Feds handle any monsters lurking below the surface.”

Ken doesn't even try to fight, he just lowers his head and exits. His footsteps heavier then when he entered, leaving small dents in the oak floor.

So much for serving and protecting.

"Why are we here?" Terry asked, looking around as if he could see his surroundings. These surroundings, as luck would have it, were the local Waffle House, where Ken Shaw would often retreat after work for a waffle, a steak, and a cup of coffee.

Ken looked up, his face having formerly been buried in his hands. "I'm trying to sort my thoughts," Ken said. "There was something going on down there... and I want to try to figure out what it was."

"They were right about that, you know," Terry said.

"What do you mean?" Ken asked.

"The creatures," Terry answered. "They said that your understanding wasn't important. They were right."

"How can you say that?" Ken asked, aghast. "Something is happening down there! People are dying! And I need to find out why!"

"Why do you ask 'why'?" Terry asked. "You would do better to ask the other questions first."

Ken was about fed up. "What?!"

"For starters," Terry said, smiling. "But also 'how', 'who', 'when', and 'where'..."

"The answer to just about all of those questions is 'giant friggin' lizards,'" Ken answered begrudgingly, taking a final swig of his coffee and motioning to the waitress for a refill.

"I do not mean asking them about the case," Terry said, his beard gently wagging as he shook his head slightly. "I mean to ask them of yourself."

Terry paused as he took a bite of his steak and a drink from his coffee mug. "You are better than you credit yourself."

"I'm... not sure I follow," Ken answered as the waitress filled his mug. Ken flashed her a brief smile and said, "Thank you" as he reached for cream and sugar. Turning back to Terry, he asked: "What do you mean?"

"Ask yourself questions. Start with what."

"...what," Ken replied, obviously lost.

"What did you feel when the creatures entered the subway car?" Terry prompted.

"I felt... scared," Ken answered simply. "I felt like I was going to die."

"No, no..." Terry shook his head a bit. "I mean to ask... what did you... sense?"

"As in a gut reaction?" Ken asked.

"As in the five senses," Terry responded.

"Oh," Ken said, furrowing his brow in thought. "I saw... well, nothing really. They were disguised. I could hear them, though... their terrible shreiking cries. Almost ghastly."

"You... heard them?" Terry asked.

"Yeah," Ken answered, sipping his coffee and looking up at his new companion. "Why? Didn't you?"

"I did not hear what you heard," Terry answered. "I only heard an incredibly high-pitched whine... similar to a dog whistle. Had I not been blind and my other senses mildly increased as a result, I doubt I would have heard anything at all."

"Wait, wait, wait..." Ken said, holding up his hand. "You mean to tell me... that what I was hearing was some kind of high-pitched whine?"

Terry simply shrugged.

"What would that mean, though?" Ken asked, pushing himself back from the table slightly. "How could I have heard that? What's going on?"

Terry smiled. "You see?" he said with a mild chuckle in his voice. "One good question always opens the door for several more. There are a lot of questions on the way to 'why'. To start at 'why' is to get lost in the shuffle."

Terry snapped his fingers as the waitress came back over to their table. Terry turned his face toward hers. "My dear, could we possibly get a full carafe of coffee to share between us? My friend and I have much to discuss..."

“In junior high. It started in junior high,” Ken Shaw blurred out, not directly to Terry, but for Terry. “I was different back than. Ok, that’s an understatement. I wasn’t me. No, I was, just-” Ken’s voice swelled and he took another swig from his coffee mug, “You see; I was skinny, lanky, short… Everything to be the perfect target. Bullies and the like. Out of fear I did what ever they asked. I had no shame, or confidence. I was nothing.”

“We’re all something.” Terry’s reassuring voice cut through Ken’s sudden flashback.

“Yeah, but tell that to a kid getting his ass handed to him on a regular basis. Then one day I had enough. I-” Ken shook his head, “I took all my anger and tunneled it through my fist, a single punch… from a skinny wimp. It should have never done the damage it did. I shattered-”

“-his skull-”

“-and put him in a coma.”

Ken sat back, his visible expression cold, unmoving.

“And it felt good. It felt good to wreck this bully’s life.”

“Continue.”

“He stayed in the coma for two years. After finally awaking, something was off. His brain, it was too damaged from the long sleep.” Ken’s voice begins speaking faster, getting into the story, “The bully, he wouldn’t push anyone else around ever again. He could barely live, function. Six years after the incident, as I graduated from high school, he blew out his own brain. Still, that punch, it felt good. That feeling, the contact, the power. Afterwards, I was relieved. Like I did a justice for the world.”

“The power?”

“That incident drove me to working out. To playing sports. I had a taste of what I saw others having; strength. I have no idea how I got such a surge of it, but it was there, in me and I let it out.”

“And you excelled in sports.”

“Smashed the records to bits.”

“But it was never enough.”

“The thirst lived on, to feel that power again. I dropped out of college, joined the force.”

“Once again, first in your class.”

“First in my class.”

Ken leans forward over the table, looking directly into where Terry’s eyes would be.

“With taking down criminals, metas, I can let that power out.”

Terry looks back into Ken’s eyes and hesitates at first, but than slowly unties the blindfold covering his eyes.

The eyes that stared back at Ken were vacant and cold, looking as though they were behind a thin transluscent film.

"We all have our scars, Ken," Terry said softly. "Yours are internal. Mine are external."

"How'd it happen?" Ken asked, sipping at his coffee.

"Birth defect," Terry answered knowingly, reaching to put the blindfold back on his face. "I've grown up never seeing the world through my own eyes."

"But...?" Ken probed, sensing something more.

"As a young man, I noticed a strange happening," Terry began. "I could see things now and then, flashes. Like visions. For some reason, I recognized the people I saw, though I don't know how, having never seen a day in my life. I could see their deaths. Accidents they would have. Their entire lives would unfold in front of me."

Ken leaned forward, perplexed.

"Then what?"

"I was never wealthy. My parents died when I was young, so I spent much of my life begging. As soon as the precognition set in, I took to prophesying. Fortune-telling. Desperately begging people to try to avoid the mistakes that would take them down the path of my choosing.

"But it was no use," Terry sighed, cradling his mug in his hands. "Who wants to trust a stranger who cannot see? What could he possibly know about life? I feel like a walking Greek tragedy that God breathed life into and placed here in Promethan City."

There was a long pause. The waitress came, filled the coffee mugs one more time (she never did bring a carafe), and went about her business. The men continued to sit in silence for a long time.

"The power..." Terry asked. "The power you get to let out from taking down those meta-criminals. Is it ever enough?"

Ken shook his head, then, realizing his companion couldn't see, vocalized his gesture. "No, it never is." Ken sighed deeply. "Sometimes, I think it never will be."

Another conversational lull.

"You know... I trust you," Ken said, looking up at Terry.

Terry smiled a bit, looking up at Ken sadly. "No, you don't. You think you do, but... I can see through you. There is fear in you yet."

Ken bit his upper lip and covered his face in his hands. "There's always been fear. Ever since that first punch... there's always been fear."

"That's why you joined the police force," Terry said knowingly. "A chance to escape it, perhaps?"

"Or face it," Ken answered. "I don't know." Slowly, Ken lifted his eyes toward Terry. "What do you see in my future? How do I die?"

"You would not believe me if I told you," Terry said. "So, why spoil the surprise?"

Ken took a swallow of his coffee and finished the rest of his meal in silence.

Shaw sat back in his seat, unsure of his next move, while Terry sat back and smiled.

“So.” Ken let out.

“Yes?” Terry asked in return, knowing very well the dead end that his young friend has reached.

“We should investigate. Yeah. We should definitely investigate.”

Ken’s eyes bounced around the room before falling back onto Terry for approval.

“No.”

“No?”

“Do you always jump right into things with out planning and resting?”

“Good point.”

“And aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh god, Julie.”

Terry shook his head a bit.

“I should call her…”

“You should.”

Ken jumps up from his seat and paces to and fro as he fumbles with his phone. The ringing tone feels never ending as he waits to apologize for his actions, or lack of action. Finally, he hears her voice, well, a recording at least.

“Jules, I’m so sorry I missed our plans. A huge case feel into my lap, crazy shit. Look, I’ll call you later, ok? Bye.”

Ken hangs up the phone and turns back toward the table, only Terry is gone.

As the sun rose and the morning rush hour began anew, Terry sat in the subways, in his usual spot, a cardboard sign reading "The End is Near" resting in his hands. As he sat, the multitudes of busy commuters rushed by, throwing loose change his way in the event they noticed him.

Being blind, Terry had become quite accustomed to listening. And, as the crowds rushed by, too busy to notice a small, frail blind man in the corner... Terry noticed them.

"No, honey... No, I'll probably be home late tonight. ... Yeah, well, you know Strauss. Ever the hardass..."

"I told you, man! This guy just died in the subway over on Thirteenth last night! Read all about it in the paper! From now on, I ain't goin' anywhere without my piece!"

"...lazy fucking bums. Get some damn work, willya?"

"No, it's out. I told the proctologist that I fell..."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury... no, no, that's not it. Ahem... ladies and gentlemen of the jury... no, no..."

And, as the people of Promethan City wafted idly by, Terry stood slowly to his feet, still clutching his cardboard sign in his hands. And, in a loud voice, he began to prophesy...

"REPENT! THE END IS NEAR! TURN FROM YOUR WICKEDNESS AND CLING TO THAT WHICH IS GOOD! MAKE STRAIGHT YOUR CROOKED PATHS AND ABANDON YOUR PETTY DIFFERENCES!"

And, as usual, the people of the City scurried along, paying the old man no mind. He knew it would happen, of course... but he also knew that he had to do it. He had to. It was his compulsion. His need.

His destiny.

Terry shook his heavy head, then sank back onto the ground. In three hours, he would see Ken Shaw again. Until then, he would do what he knew he must do.