“Can you tilt your head? Excellent!”
Stunning Girl looked up and to the left as the camera clicked. Later on this month she was going to be on the cover and featured in Illustrates Sport which is why she was standing around in virtually nothing as a dozen strangers took photos, barked orders and leered from the darkness.
“To the left.”
She flipped her hair and stared into the dark at nothing in particular. Seemed there was more and more of these, along with media junkets than actual crime fighting or disaster prevention. Not that she was really complaining, it was just a thought.
“Now a big pout.”
“No!” She stopped and stared straight at the photographer. “I don’t duckface.”
“What is this?” asked Captain Scorpian as he held up a neon green mask.
“Your new look!” Elian replied as he clapped his hands. “The colour can change but try it on.”
“I’m normally a domino mask,”
“And they are SO 90’s, which are back, but not for you,” Elian buzzed around him making notes on a sketch pad. “Did you ever see Gunship in the early 90’s?”
“Only in my universe…” Scorpian said quietly.
“Search the web, its amazing! He’s this big huge metal guy and he’s wearing a leather jacket! I mean throwing a jacket on is NOT a costume. But everyone was doing it. A jacket or trenchcoat, or a reversed baseball cap, blech! But you, you, will look amazing.”
Mallard Harvest walked out into the exercise yard of the Emil Sandberg Memorial SuperMax Prison. He’d just spent the last month in solitary confinement for attacking a prison guard with his powers which is why he was now burdened with a dampener device with was a special boot that pumped a concoction of drugs into the wearer to nullify access to their powers.
“Nice shoes,” mocked Tito Ruiz who walked past him. “Do they come in men’s?”
“You will reap what you sow,” Mallard warned.
“Whatever windbag,” Tito laughed and sat down with Vargas on the benches near the basketball court.
“Who is that?” asked Erik Schlagen aka Schlagen the Slayer who was doing pushups on his fingertips.
“Mallard Harvest,” Vargas replied as he rubbed his full belly. “Leader of Autumn something.”
“Hard Autumn,” Tito added. “Bunch of loco racist white boys, yeah I’m looking at you.”
Mallard stared at them intently from across the way. You could feel the tension brewing.
Gunship landed back on top of the mount to find the car thief in a state of delirium. His skin was pale, lips and fingertips on the black side of purple.
“I’m s-s-s-so s-s-sorry,” chattered the thief.
Gunship wrapped the man in a silver thermo blanket and flew him back to civilisation.
“Here. Here. Here. And here!” Wolfrazer tapped the map of Mexico spread across his dining table in his hacienda. Peregrine Sakar, better known to the world as Doctor Falcon, studied it carefully.
“We are here in Quitovac,” Peregrine sipped his tea. “The obvious choice would be Laguna Verde…”
“I shall send men there to…”
Peregrine slapped his hand on the table which made even the feared drug baron flinch. “It would be obvious! It is heavily guarded, probably with alerts to the Panopticons and what is the name of those god awful locals…”
"Los Guerreros Caballeros," growled Wolfrazer as he remembered the battles he'd fought against the Mexican super team.
Peregrine nodded and smiled. “The Warrior Knights. Well, let us see if we can kill several birds with but a few stones. You will send men to Laguna Verde, I shall give them a list of things they will attempt to steal. And while everyone is looking at the obvious…” He paused and winked at Wolfrazer, who followed the good doctor’s eye line to the machete that rested under his chin.
“We strike our real target,” whispered Wolfrazer.
“Correct!” Peregrine said as he spun the machete around and drove it deep into the map right through the dot of Zacatecas.
“It’s a travesty! It’s unconstitutional! It’s barbaric! You can’t keep my client sedated on an indefinite basis!” protested Joanie Cockrain to the throng of cameras on the steps of the New York Supreme Court. “Cruel and unusual punishment!”
“Ms Cockrain! Ms Cockrain!” the journalists jostled like a pack of eager dogs. She surveyed them before selecting on from the back.
“Fawn Deveraux, CBN. Your client, Wasteland, killed seven p…”
“Allegedly! Allegedly killed!” Joanie snapped. “Innocent until proven guilty! And you will refer to my client, Mr Telling, by his actual name and not the moniker you vultures tagged him with.”
“Is he dangerous?”
Joanie looked around for where the question came from. “No more dangerous than you or I.”
“You and I can’t shoot nuclear fire from our hands,”
Joanie spotted the asker hiding in the middle. “My client, Mr Telling, has a right to a fair trial and to be treated like a human being!”
“Is he? Is Wasteland a human being?”
Joanie stepped into the question. “Judging him by his skin are we? Well that’s just racist! And locking up people for the colour of their skin, or for the religion they practice is WRONG! It’s akin to Nazi Germany! It’s what the Civil Rights movement fought and bled for! This is not the 1960’s anymore! This in 1989!”
“Steve Field, British News Abroad. Are you worried that the prosecution is pressing for the death penalty?”
“I am worried that a civilised society such as the United States of America even HAS a death penalty!” Joanie replied. “Seems more and more we aren’t ready to enter a new decade when we keep clinging to racist and primitive practices!”
To be continued same time, if not sooner, next week.....see you there!