Recap

Stupid Magus with his stupid hex on my gear.

Oh, finally working again.

So that was interesting.

The Magus took about five pounds of my posterior chewing me out, but gave me more than that back in questions (and beer-mostly beer).

My assumption about there being a new power-player seems to be accurate. Unfortunately, that seems to be all anyone knows.

And I didn’t get much more in the whole day my equipment was down.

I took off from the roof after finishing with the Magus (or, more accurately, he finished with me). I was heading back to Chez Unspeakable-Stain when the wind picked up unexpectedly.

That’s not usually a good sign.

A dark blur shot past me and stopped right in my flight path, causing me to throw my Diavel into emergency hover-mode.

He wore a storm-cloud gray bodysuit (and let me digress for just a moment and say Lycra is a privilege not a right) with a white tornado symbol on his chest. A blue cape billowed out behind him, even though there was no wind to speak of.

You know him as Aeromancer, an Innate with aerokinetic powers. For those not up on the technical jargon of the power trade, he can control air.

Which, when you think about how many bad ways you can die from air-related causes, is really terrifying.

Luckily, he’s not the type of guy that will rip all the air out of your lungs and let you die.

No, he seems to be a more slow suffocation type.

He held up an imperious hand. “Stop!”

“I’m already stopped.” That threw him off for a bit. His scowl deepend into his jowls.

He looked a bit like a pit bull. I almost wanted to pet him.

“Uh…um…”

I took pity on him. This guy was obviously not the sharpest knife in the barn, or however that expression goes.

“I’m Douzeper,” I said as I flipped out my official FBSA private investigators license. “I’m here on a missing child case.”

Most powers are licensed by the government to work. You have to go through an abbreviated academy where you learn the basics of forensics, criminology, civil rights and the judicial process.

Then we get our shiny card and off we go to fight crime. Why they don’t save time and money and just have us send in the required amount of cereal-box tops I’ m afraid I’ll never understand.

Aeromancer floated closer until he hovered right beside me. I resisted the urge to punch him.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

My resistance lowered, but held. I’m really not looking for the played out hero vs. hero fight then make-up.

“You’re flying around illegally, how do I know you didn’t take her. You look like a criminal. Maybe I should just make you confess and take you in.” He actually licked his lips.

I had heard rumors, but didn’t put much stock in them since it was mostly guys Aeromancer had helped convict.

You see, not every power is in it to help people. Just like in the military, police force, or any agency that holds authority over others, there are those who join the “hero” side because they enjoy the power their position affords them. It goes to their head. Some come to be disillusioned, others come to be cruel.

Unfortunately, great responsibility does not come with great power. Usually it comes with heaping helping of great ego and a side-order of God-complex. It stops being about using that great power for the greater good, and more about maintaining, or increasing, it.

I happen to believe that powers need to be more self-policing and take out the bad eggs in our group. Maybe it comes from being a former criminal myself.

I took out my blaster, flipped it to max stun and gave him a face-full of nuero-synaptic disruption.

He dropped like a stone.

I admit it: schadenfreude was in full effect.

He hit hard enough to create a small crater. I landed and waited for him to wake up. He stirred and I knelt by him.

In a perfect spot to beat the living smurf out of him.

Smurf? Oh, I’m going to kill Jules. I guess she likes my files PG (or at least PG-13).

Where was I?

Oh, yes.

Aeromancer’s eyes opened and I let them focus for a second before my fist crashed into his jaw.

“Listen, motherflitter.”

Punch.

“I’m going to say this once.”

Punch.

“Retire.”

Punch.

“Because if I see you again…”

Punch.

“I’m going to blow a hole through your flitting chest.”

Crack.

I broke his jaw. Oops.

I kicked him as hard as I could in a place where it will hopefully prevent this flit-faced moron from procreating.

The best time to kick a man is when he’s down since you don’t have to lift your leg so high.

More later.

Until next time,

Douzeper

 

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