Friday, January 8, 2010

Issue 0: Golden Till The End


From 1987 to 2002, Manhattan was under the ever-vigilant eye of The Victor. With his trademark grin, trickster mind, acrobatic skills, and his never-ending optimism, The Crimson Crusader faced gangs, disasters, supervillains, and the odd cat stuck in the tree. It would have stayed that way if I hadn’t stopped him.

I watch as he, in his trademark crimson bodysuit and half mask, reaches down from a tree and hands a kitten down to a little girl.

I watch as he waves goodbye to a pair of police officers and a tied up and very unhappy robber, and rides off on his crimson motorcycle. The robber is tied to a light pole and his would-be loot is sitting on his head.

I watch as he, covered in soot, hands a baby to their tearful mother. The firefighters work to contain the building he was just in.

I watch as he just stands in his iconic hands on hips pose, not even entering the dark alley, and sends the pair of thugs into a panic.

I watch as he stands on a float flashing his trademark grin and waving at his cheering fans.

The Victor was loved by children, praised by the police, adored by parents, feared by criminals and celebrated by all.

Well, maybe not all. In the corner of my eye I see a dark green skinned man with pointed ears and long snow-white hair wearing a black business suit glaring at the parade and its celebrated hero.

I see now that Emerald Elf, the Architect of Bedlam, isn’t alone. Behind him is his team The Spectrum of Evil.

The femme fatale with the short black hair in the blood red bodysuit is the much-feared Red Rouge, the Thorny Thief. Standing next to her is a pale frail looking woman in Victorian dress with striking white hair. She could only be Silver Sage, the Murderous Mystic. Towering beside her is a huge dark skinned man of muscles wearing Viking body armor. The Destructive Giant, Blue Barbarian, be he. And finally the militaristic looking man in the Nazi uniform can only be White Warrior, the Fist of Fascism.

I shake with fear, The Spectrum of Evil didn’t take lightly to the Cheerful Champion stopping their various scheming and acts of criminal intentions. From plugging up White Warrior’s plans to purify the city to catching Red Rogue during her latest medieval heist, The Victor was there to stop them. From outsmarting Blue Barbarian during one of his many destructive rampages to defeating one of Silver Sage’s rituals with a last minute save, The Victor was there. No matter where the Spectrum turned The Victor was always stood between them and success.

I watch as they attack the parade. White Warrior is holding the police at bay; Blue Barbarian is cutting down lamppost; Silver Sage is starting fires with her umbrella; Red Rouge is throwing daggers at the hot air balloons; and Emerald Elf is just leaning on his cane, enjoying the chaos. The only thing that got The Spectrum to work together was their complete hatred of the Agile Guardian.

Normally together The Spectrum of Evil wasn’t a match for him, but now they had the element of surprise. I watch helplessly as they corner against the very float he was ridding on moments ago. Each member The Spectrum has a weapon ready to give the killing blow. Emerald Elf has sparks coming off his cane; Red Rogue is twirling a pair of throwing knives; Silver Sage has spell on her lips; Blue Barbarian has his axe raised; and White Warrior is aiming his gun.

I wonder why The Victor is surprisingly calm and what exactly he is pointing at behind. I suddenly feel a ping of hope as The Spectrum looks in horror at the lighting, arrows, throwing knives, and a whip strike the ground at their feet. Of course, when The Victor couldn’t defeat them alone he would turn to his team, The New York Patrol. I see them now standing behind him.

Professor Nice, Student of the Occult, is the preppy looking man in the grey vest and tan khakis with the blank white stare. Light N. Blue, The Walking Battery, stands just left of him, her smooth skin sky blue skin in the bright white power suit giving her away, if not the electricity crackling from her hands would have. Quiver, The Arrow Queen, stands just off to the right from them wearing her dark purple bodysuit and bandanna mask, her namesake bag resting on her shoulder and aiming her bow with one of her many trick arrows. Just over her left shoulder, I can see a man in a light blue bodysuit holding a fistful of throwing knives. He’s wearing a cowl shaped like a bird’s beak, makes sense since he can only the Avian Guardian, Blue Beak. And if there was any doubt of who he was it would be destroyed by the appearance of the teenage girl in the light yellow bodysuit and squirrel mask, his young partner The Wiry Teen, Yellow Tail, twirling her whip. If The Victor needed help he didn’t need to look far.

I watch as The Spectrum is led into prison vans, with The New York Patrol looking on. At the end of the line I see Emerald Elf laughing. I begin the shake and sweat again. Despite all his talents and allies, The Victor wasn’t able to keep that Merchant of Mischief Emerald Elf behind bars for more than a minute.

In fact, of all The Victor’s enemies, Emerald Elf was the worst. I watch as he leaps backwards from the police van, laughing his maniacal laugh. In the van, I can see the charred remains of the two prison guards.

I watch he sells the small bags of the lush green meta-drug Ambrosia to a crowd of dope-eyed teenagers.

I watch as he walks grinningly away from an exploding police station.

I watch him laugh as shots a father of two dead, the new orphans holding each other and sobbing.

I watch as he stands at the head of a table surrounded by his men and divide up the city.

I watch as he grinningly kills one of his men just to shock the others into line.

He killed police by the hundreds, destroyed families, unified parts of the criminal underworld, and generally feared by those around him. Except of course by The Victor. I watch as The Cunning Caviler lands on the table and confront Emerald Elf, who has a look of delight, not fear, on his face.

I watch Emerald Elf and his men being led into a prison van. So the game continued, The Victor would capture that Wily Imp.

I watch as Emerald Elf walks away from a flaming prison van. And that Murderous Madman would escape to spread chaos for another day.

I watch as Emerald Elf converses with a group of cloaked figures. That is until Emerald Elf and his new found allies decided to change the rules.

The Victor, battered and bleeding, shoves me out of the way of the shotgun blast, screaming, “VIRGIL NO!!!” as he takes the bullets meant for me. I awake covered in sweat screaming the name of my beloved; my violent rising tosses the hammock from side to side, threatening to come off the doorway. I awaking screaming, “Queenie!!!”

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