Dead Boy #3, quickly written for New Villain Week


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Nats
Wed Jul 09, 2003 at 06:54:44 pm EST
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I hussled this out in two days! So you should be proud of me for that, even if it isn't my best-written material. Dead Boy #4 will hopefully follow shortly.


Dead Boy #3
Dim Lights, Dark City

The west coast metropolis of ArachKnight City was free from the usual super-powered mania that infested its east coast counterparts, such as Parodiopolis and Gothametropolis York. There was that one incident a few years back, but it was short and quickly forgotten. The people of ArachKnight City lived there lives without a constant threat of doom amongst them, and without being caught in traffic jams caused by some super-character knocking over a building.

ArachKnight City, being the third in the west coast triumvirate that made up the major Californian megalopolis in the United States, was a major business and commerce center, as well as an industrial area. Large clouds of black smoke could be seen floating over the ocean, carried by wind currents from the seaside factories. Sometime seagulls could be seen dropping out of the sky every once in a while.

The city had a modern gothic look to it. It was dark, and sleek, much like the interesting stranger on a motorcycle who was coming off the turnpike. He wore a dark bodysuit that was mainly black and navy, with a leather jacket to cover him. His helmet concealed his face.

The stranger pulled up at a gas station on the edge of town. The place looked a bit run down but still fully operational. It was full service, so a man with a tag on his chest that said “Hi! My name’s… Ed” sauntered out of the small mini-mart and walked up to the stranger.

“Fill ‘er up,” the helmeted man told him. “Regular.”

“Comin’ righ’ up,” Ed replied, grinning. It was night, so the yellow luminescence of the lights perched onto the roof gave the place a gritty atmosphere. “New in town?”

“Yeah,” the stranger answered, removing his helmet. His skin was pale, and his hair dark and stringy.

“Business or pleasure?” Ed asked.

“Business,” the stranger said. “I’m only in town for maybe the weekend, tops.”

“Well, enjoy your stay, pal,” Ed responded. He then turned and got a good look at the stranger. “ That’ll be sixteen even. Oh…”

The stranger took a sip from his water bottle. “Hmm?”

“Oh, it’s…” Ed began. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but…you look like death.”

“Yeah,” the stranger replied, putting his helmet back on. He handed Ed a twenty. “I get that a lot.”

Then Dead Boy took off on his motorcycle and left Ed wondering.

***

“I’m getting impatient,” said a man. He leaned on a crate at he looked over the edge of the boat he stood on. It was nearing the harbor at ArachKnight City. He spoke in a thick English accent and folded a piece of paper as he talked.

“Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it?” snapped another man, bearing an even thicker English accent. He wore a long coat and a skullcap, which covered his messy brown hair.

The first man looked at him for a moment, his eyes narrowed in anger, his temper flaring. Then he resumed his previous mood, a tense calm, and continued folding his paper. This man was wearing a brown shirt and black leather pants. He had a frayed and sleeveless denim jacket on as well, which was open. The vest had pockets in quite a few places.

“Not sure why they brought you along anyway,” continued the second man. “All it is is a right simple delivery job. A border collie could manage it.”

“I do what I’m paid to do,” the first man replied. “Same as you.” He finished folding the paper, and admired it. It was a folded origami duckling. He pulled on its ends, which made the paper animal flap its wings.

“Righ’,” the other man grinned. “We’re just a couple a’ blokes on a job, is all?” Behind him, a seagull fluttered down and landed on the boat’s rail.

“It’s only a job,” the first man told him. “I don’t tend to look too deeply into these kinds of things. I do what I’m good at.” He eyed the seagull.

“Do you even know what we’re supposed to be delivering?” the second man asked him. “Those guys that hired us seemed a bit spooky, din’t they?”

“The only thing I ask about is my paycheck,” the first man said. “Makes things less messy.” He held the origami duck between two fingers.

“But all we’re doin’ is playin’ bodyguard for a bleedin’ box,” the other one complained. “Waste o’ our talents, if you ask me.”

“Waste of *my* talents, you mean,” the first one responded. “You’re just my comic foil. But you do get on my nerves.” He looked up from his origami creation and then rubbed his peach-fuzzy head.

The other man gulped. “Er, you know I din’t mean nothing about it…old pal. Uh…you’re not plannin’ to do anythin’ with that, there, are ya?”

The first man smiled. The second man’s eyes widened and then he squeaked. The first man threw the origami duckling in his direction with amazing swiftness. The second man was frozen to the spot as he watched the folded paper zip straight past him and cleave off the seagull’s head.

The second man let out a held breath. “For a second there I thought you were gonna--”

“For a second there, I thought I was gonna too,” the first man grinned maliciously. “Now, c’mon. We’re ‘ere.”

***

Dead Boy was in position as soon as he saw the boat coming. He had been given the mission a few days earlier, back at his employers’ headquarters in Parodiopolis. He still wasn’t entirely certain they were involved with the government, but they paid him well and provided the serum that kept his moving corpse from rotting.

He had been told to intercept a package, which contained an experimental weapon that the government obviously didn’t want getting out into criminal hands. He had been told to expect guards. He assumed the guards would be heavily armed. He was wrong.

Two of them, he thought, surveying the incoming boat with his night-vision binoculars. No guns? Well, that’ll make things considerably easier. He moved to check out the docks themselves. Only one guy? Something seems oddly wrong. I expected a crowd of thugs…Well, at least this makes things easier.

He put his binoculars away and then checked to make sure his gun was loaded. He didn’t want to have to use it; stealth was his main weapon. If he could sneak up on the man on the docks before the boat arrived, he could take the deliverymen by surprise.

Right, he told himself. Get to it.

***

Ten minutes later, the boat arrived. The man wearing the long coat and skullcap hitched the boat to the dock without anchoring. The other man, with the denim jacket and buzz cut, moved inside the boat and came back out with a small wooden box, the length of a person’s arm.

Dead Boy was waiting for them, wearing the coat of the man he had jumped, tied up, and hid in the shadows. If he was lucky, they’d give him the box and leave. If he was unlucky, they’d ask for money before going. Money was something he didn’t have.

“Well,” said the man with the buzz cut, “It’s ‘ere. Now kindly pay us the second half of our wages, and we’ll be off.”

“Are you okay?” the other man asked. “You look a little pale.”

Dead Boy looked at him. “Well, I don’t get out much.” He curled his fingers around his concealed gun.

“So are you gonna be paying us for your little toy here?” buzz cut said testily.

“No,” Dead Boy told him. “No, I think I’ll just be taking it.” He brought his gun out and pointed it at the two men. “That’ll be government property.”

“Blimey,” the tall one with the long coat muttered.

“Oh, so you’re a bleedin’ fed, are you?” buzz cut laughed. “Oh, that’s flippin’ brilliant. Piss off, wanker.”

“I’ll use this,” Dead Boy said, referring to his gun.

“I dare you,” buzz cut smiled. Before Dead Boy could react, the man had smashed him in the face with the box and knocked his gun away.

“Dammit,” Dead Boy winced. His nose appeared to be broken. He quickly doffed his coat and got to his feet. The buzz cut had kicked his gun over the dock and into the water.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” buzz cut grinned. “The name’s Paper Cut, atcher service. Mercenary for hire.”

“And you?” Dead Boy grimaced, speaking to the tall one.

“Me? Oh, I’m…uh…” he stammered. Dead Boy didn’t wait, choosing to spring into action and land a kick to the man’s midsection, knocking the wind of him. Then he leap-frogged over him and headed towards Paper Cut.

Paper Cut was waiting for him, though, and in his hand was what appeared to be a paper airplane. “I guess this is what I was warned about,” he wagered, throwing the airplane at Dead Boy. It sliced his arm open.

“Gyahh!” Dead Boy gasped, slapping his hand over the wound, which left plenty of opportunity for Paper Cut to kick him in the head.

“I can turn any piece of paper into a deadly weapon,” Paper Cut explained. “Of course, you don’t necessarily look so…living, yourself. How many times can I kill you without you still coming at me?”

Dead Boy coughed and attempted a boot to Paper Cut’s crotch, but the mercenary caught his ankle and twisted it.

“I never leave a job unfinished,” Paper Cut stated. “I always do what I’m paid for. And you’re in the way. This is not a good thing for you.”

“Hands in the air!” a voice out of nowhere boomed suddenly.

“Wha?” Paper Cut looked all around. There were quite a few people with heavy weaponry, all of which were pointed at him and Dead Boy.

“We’ll be taking the package,” said a Japanese man brandishing a shotgun. “Akiko Masamune has need of it.”

The Yakuza had arrived.

To be continued…







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