1974.
Doctor Mute let out a little sigh as he finished pulling up his trousers. The scene of a fantastic evening surrounded him, by his feet lay scattered clothes... and behind him asleep atop a bed lay the most beautiful woman Mute had seen since... well... that wasn't really important.
Saving the universe from the Gods of Decay and Gluttony was tiresome work.
Silently the Magician Maximus snapped his fingers, causing the door to the bedroom to swing open, as if there was some sort of invisible doorman waiting on his every move.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Mute felt a shiver run down his spine as the woman he had bedded the previous evening glared at him from her incredibly comfortable bed.
"Out." The Doctor answered, a nervous flutter in his voice as he slowly edged towards the door. "Back to saving the fabric of reality or whatever I told you I do."
"Oh." The woman let out a little sigh... the hints of her native French accent on the edge of her voice. "I have to admit I'm a little disappointed."
The galaxy's master of magic seemed almost shocked by the woman's words. "With... me?" He asked. "Or my perfo-"
"Both."
Doctor Mute frowned slightly as he clipped on his cape and slammed the door shut, once more with a click of his fingers.
"Well... I'll be taking my leave then."
Without another word the Magician Maximus vanished into thin air, leaving behind a pile of black ash and the smell of cheap, red wine that had been bought from Amsterdam. The Doctor's companion from the previous evening shrugged before going back to bed, completely unsatisfied with the little escapade she'd embarked on.
Unfortunately for her... 9 months later her little 'escapade' turned out to be more troublesome then she expected.
_______________________________________
Note: The rest of this takes place from the Mime's POV.
Paris, December 23rd, 1999.
I've never been a fan of violence.
My name is Jacques DuFrey, masked, charming vigilante known simply as the Mime. A tribute to the life of my father... and a small joke considering I seem to be unable to stop talking. As I land several quick punches on a member of the French Secet Service I can't help but regret my decision to pay homage to a man that I actually knew nothing about... it appears I'm just a terrible judge of character.
I land a kick on the agent's skull, sending him tumbling down the dark, grimey alleyway I've chosen as the locale for my final stand. He slams into the ground... unconscious.
"Alright my friends..." I mutter in my native tongue, breathing heavily from the exertion of combat. "Who's next?"
KLICK KLICK KLICK KLICK!!!
In all honesty... being a superhero doesn't really fit with a pacifist's ideology. The sound of a dozen assault rifles clicking into action fills my ears, the sensation of my heavy heart pounding fills my chest. In the stench of a Paris alleyway, a swarm of heavily armoured Interpol agents surround me, all aiming their weapons at my torso and skull as they cover me from all sides.
Normally I'd go out of my way to avoid hurting any of these men...
But I've had a bad week. That's an understatement.
"MIME! YOU'RE SURROUNDED!" I grip my trademark billy club, a white, metal pole that's saved my life on a dozen occasions... my black beret is perched dramatically atop my head as adrenaline pumps through my blood. My spare billy club is holstered by my boot. "DROP YOUR WEAPON!"
A quick flick of my thumb clicks in a button on the side of my weapon, sending the top half of my billy club springing up into the air, the grapple device connects to a nearby rooftop... and before any of the Interpol agents can react... I whizz up into the air, bullets battering the walls and concrete mere inches by my feet.
Quickly I stumble onto the roof and begin running the second one of Interpol's snipers fires a shot towards my leg. It makes sense they'd spread out their forces... they know who they're dealing with. The chill of a cold, winter evening fills my senses as I leap between the buildings, effortlessly leaving my quarry behind in the dust. There's little time to waste... I need to get out of Paris... and even France as quickly as possible.
I've had a very emotional week... as I mentioned earlier... something I'm reminded of when I notice the bright red blood staining my black and white shirt. Events that changed my perception of life took place... and remembering them is quite painful. I halt on the edge of a rooftop overlooking a plaza below and quickly crouch down in order to catch my breath. Sounds of violence, anger and death echo from the crowd rioting below... all out of fear of the new Millenium and the horrors it may contain.
Normally I'd be down in the middle of it... quelling the chaos and saving lives... but I really don't have time for this sort of thing... for once I need to place my own needs above the re-
"Help! Somebody help me!"
Damn.
A woman, clearly not part of the riots is pinned against the side of a building, her assailant... a known sex offender I remember detaining several months ago holding a knife to her throat and completely ignoring the riot happening behind him. Letting out a little sigh at the foolishness I'm about to embark on I connect my billy club with the end of the spare kept in my boot, causing them to merge together into a pure, white, metal staff. In a matter of seconds I'm down in the plaza, gloves torn from having knocked the woman's attacker unconscious. Blood dripping from the gash in the back of his skull.
"Stay behind me." I instruct her before turning to face the fury of the crowd. For whatever reason, people like me... superheroes are being blamed for the new millenia... that's easily three dozen people coming after me. All violent... all angry... and all trying to kill each other.
Like I mentioned earlier... I'm no fan of violence... I used to be a pacifist... but as I proceed to start battering the rioters senseless with utter ease, skill and finesse I can't help but think that sometimes... violence has its perks.
Every blow I throw connects, every self taught move I make takes some poor ba$tard out... and not once do I shut up. I sweep my staff under someone's legs, land a perfect kick directly into a man's chin, catch a flaming molotov in mid air and cast it aside where nobody will find it... I land punches, kicks and every assault you could every imagine on every single figure in my vision, letting any innocent go free as I clean out the fear and scum that's gripping my City, knowing full well the entire time that Interpol are mere seconds away and simply waiting for me to finish my work.
If this has to be my final goodbye to the City I love... then so be it.
At one point someone lands a punch to my chest, I shoot my billy club's grapple directly into him, sending him flying... later a bottle cracks against the back of my skull, I shrug it off and effortlessly knock the attacker aside with a flick of my leg... and after what feels like hours of nothing but fighting I stand exhausted, surrounded by dozens if not hundreds of beaten, unconscious bodies. I take several deep breaths before holstering my weapon... the sounds of emergency vehicles echoing across the sky... accompanied by the distinct sound of an attack helecopter.
"DON'T MOVE OR WE'LL SHOOT!" The chopper's pilot tells as a minigun locks onto me. The gig's up... slowly I raise my hands over my head and let out a final breath of freedom.
"My days of running are over..." I mutter.
________________________________
25th December, 1999.
"Jacques DuFrey... you've got a visitor."
In all honesty I've never been a fan of the Panopticans... superheroes with power are already too godlike without forming together and waging their arsenals against crime... I've met them of course. During the crisis of '95... but I never really thought they cared about me...
I was proven wrong the second a man dressed in a tuxedo and sunglasses stepped into my cell.
"Mister DuFrey?" He asked, a smile on his face as I stand up to greet him. "I'm Agent DeSanta. Representative for the Panopticans." I grip his hand firmly, happy to just have somebody to talk to. "I've arranged a deal with the French Government that I'm sure will leave us all very happy."
"I'm a little surprised..." I admit, staring at the embodiment of the most powerful collective of beings on the planet. "I always thought I was beneath your notice."
DeSanta places his hand on my shoulder, his eyes hidden behind the black frames of his glasses. "That's the thing about the Panopticans, Jacques... nothing is beneath our notice."
____________________________________
January 1st, 2000. New York City.
I stand in the dawn of a new Milennia, the ashes of my old life washing away like some foul disease as I gain the chance to begin again. In the distance I see a multitude of costumed individuals going about their daily patrols... and as I stand in my new home, heart pounding in my chest... I slowly begin to realize... this is where I belong.
A call for help from a nearby alley gains my attention, instinctively I equip my signature billy club and leap from the roof... completely aware that I'm finally where I should be...
I am Jacques DuFrey... the Mime... and I... am a superhero.
Log in to comment