City of IF

[Thunderbird]

WARNING! GRAPHIC ADULT CONTENT! NO HOLDS BARRED ON THIS CHAPTER! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Heavy Metal
Chapter 7
The Making of a Monster


Thomas landed with a jolt to the ribs as he crumpled over a boulder lying in the middle of the barren desert wastes. A sharp crunching noise accompanied the impact, and he groaned in agony, gulping for air, coughing up flecks of blood.

In the distance, back at the road, the ebony giant who had delivered such a savage punt to Thomas’s gut was tenderly returning the old truck to the road from its lofted position over the goliath’s head. Finding a moment of solace in the Tainted’s delay, Thomas grasped at the cross around his neck, whispering a fervent and desperate prayer.

In response, a gentle glow filled the haggard priest, who moaned in pain as the comforting energies set to work straightening his ribs with audible snaps, and flushing his many bruises and cuts, forcing skin to stitch together and flesh to mend. He stood, flexing his spine back into its rightful position, thrown asunder by previous blows to the skull and a fractured shoulder.

“Thank you, Lord,” he whispered into the still desert air as his body pieced itself back to health, “yet I am left without armaments to continue this crusade.” Ruefully, he glanced towards his scattered weaponry tossed like dice across the ruined street.

A flash of inspiration was his response, and Thomas cocked his head, a wry smile curling up his lips. “Not all of them of course, oh Lord. There shall forever be the Spear of Faith.”

No sooner had Thomas made up his mind on a plan of attack, the brute leapt at him from the roadside, its silhouette framed against the flames smoldering into the asphalt of the Highway. This Tainted was strong, no doubt about that. Its leap carried the beast easily as far as Thomas had flown when booted off into the night.

The Bouncer roared into a soaring kick towards Thomas, who, garbed in the blue of a police uniform, appeared as little more than a faint black smudge on an empty terrain. But just before the Bouncer’s meaty leg could strike out with viperous force, Thomas’s eyes once more spilled forth illumination with holy vengeance.

Howling in irritation, the Bouncer staggered for a moment, Thomas backing away as his light flayed the skin of his enemy. But such bursts were momentary at best, just enough to dazzle and buy some time.

As the light dwindled, and the pain ebbed, the Bouncer snarled in rage and lashed out violently at his foe. Being dazed as the ogre was, Thomas easily ducked, dodged, weaved, and leapt as the strikes came at him with a flurry of skill reserved for heavyweight boxing champions.

“Your ass is mine, little man!” the giant roared as he battled on. “I’m gonna crush you like a cockroach!”

“So far as I’ve seen,” Thomas dodged as he replied, “There is no cure for such arrogance as yours, aside from, perhaps,” he paused to duck another swing, “a very long look in a mirror.”

Thomas suddenly lunged forward, grabbing the big man by the ears. As he did so, his eyes began to glow once more, clearly illuminating the Bouncer’s scowling visage. Their eyes met; their gaze locked. The priest’s eyes spilled forth like the light of the stars, piercing deep into the Bouncer’s soul.

“Perhaps the gaze of St. Peter can humble you,” Thomas cried as he continued to pour God’s gracefull radiance into the Bouncer’s gaze, feeling the giant lose control of his muscles, bending to a knee, then finally releasing as the big man collapsed into a twitching heap on the desert floor.

“There is no such thing as an ‘unsinkable’ ship,” Thomas mused openly as he turned back to face the road.

“GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!” shouted a visibly shaken policeman as he shined his own light in Thomas’s now dimmed eyes, leveling a quivering pistol at the Pastor’s head. Blue and red lights flashed cyclically from the roadway beyond.

“GET ‘EM UP!” he reiterated with a stern, adrenalin augmented sense of authority.

~

As though in a fog, Tyrone Myer, the man known as the Bouncer, scanned backwards through the pages of his life.

“DADDY NO!” he cried as the monster of his past mercilessly beat his mother to a bloody pulp with a baseball bat.

He heard each thickening thud as the wooden shaft pulverized her elbow, snapping her arm so that it now appeared to bend in the wrong direction, another swing shattering her jaw and forcing bloodied teeth to clatter into the kitchen sink.

His father had given that bat to him for Christmas… yes… he remembered now… this WAS Christmas day! A festive tree was leaning into the corner of the living room, the angel that had been on its peak now chipped and cast askew; silver and gold decorative balls lay in shattered fragments across the carpet.

Tyrone’s mother, Melinda, had suggested, ever so timidly, that Christmas morning was no time to start drinking Vodka and just maybe he should wait till the presents could be opened. His father hadn’t taken this complaint lightly.

The beatings had grown worse over the years, culminating in this moment, this horribly savage moment of brutality that Tyrone had hoped he could someday forget, but knew he never would. It had awoken him from recurrent nightmares for most of his life, this scene.

“PLEASE!” the little Tyrone of just 7 years old cried in terror, tears flowing like a river down his cheeks, terror woven throughout his skin as he dared, for the first time, to plead for his father to stop the mindless rage.

Turning to face the child, Jerome, the father snarled like a wolf on the hunt, his eyes seeming to visibly flash with a crimson glow. “YOU QUESTION MY AUTHORITY, BOY?!?”

Tyrone felt his knees go weak and urine dribble down the inside of his pajamas as he turned tail to sprint behind the couch, screaming like a siren the whole way.

But within the span of two mere steps, his father had cleared the gap and brought down the wooden club; it could hardly be called a bat anymore, as coated in scarlet as it had become.

With a violent swing, the wood snapped across Tyrone’s knee, eliciting a high-pitched scream to accompany a crunching sound, not unlike the felling of a tree.

Tyrone couldn’t see through his tears, neither then, nor now, as he witnessed the scene as some sort of incorporeal onlooker. As the child Tyrone lie there, a bleeding, blubbering mess, his father mercilessly took a knee to the carpet, pummeling the boy across the spine, across the head. Shoulders and ribs dislocated and cracked, the elder Tyrone remembering clearly how it felt to be so near to death he could be certain it would arrive soon.

Surrendering to the pain, the young Tyrone choked on his tears and went silent, focusing only on his next breath.

This sign of ultimate submission seemed to momentarily pacify his father, who stood to his feet, spit on the boy, and derisively exclaimed, “You need to grow up and learn how to take it like a man if you’re gonna try standing up like one.”

Even the rumble of his father’s voice vibrated painfully through the boy’s frame.

Turning from the child, apparently in disgust, Jerome was lit into onto the warpath once more by the choking sobs echoing from the kitchen. All Tyrone remembered was his father storming off, and all he could see in his hazy visual memory now was his father rounding the corner. Moments later, he heard, as he remembered every day of his life, his father’s roar, and his mother’s gasps for air, her choking sobs turning into choking gasps of desperation.

The little Tyrone whispered a fevered plea, “God, save my momma…”

And then, at this juncture, during his childhood experience, he recalled passing out from the pain and terror, awakening later in a hospital bed, surrounded by policemen.

And once again, his memories took him there.

As the child awoke, there were formalities of course. How are you? Does this hurt? Of course it fuckin’ hurt you bastard! the now adult Tyrone lashed out in his thoughts, while the young Tyrone merely nodded as they poked and prodded all the bumps, bruises, broken bones. His kneecap had been shattered, as had his femur. Doctors had later promised he’d walk again, which he did, but never with the gate of a healthy child. His shoulder never fully repaired itself, leaving him awkward and incapable of many physical activities… like defending himself in the years to come.

But none of these physical ailments compared to the excruciating misery of being told, by the Hospital Pastor, “Son, your mother… she’s gone to live with God. In heaven.”

“And my Dad?” the boy asked through lurching sobs.

“He’s been put somewhere where he can never hurt you again.”

“You mean… he’s in jail?” the boy looked hopeful, but Tyrone recalled feeling even more frightened of the prospect of having lost his entire family.

“Yes, Son. He won’t be hurting you again.”

My ASS! the adult onlooker Tyrone screamed in his mind. NONE of you FOOLS could protect me! You had NO idea who you were FUCKING WITH!

But the little boy nodded, the terror ebbing slightly in his tiny, shattered frame. By now, casts covered most of his bodice, casts which would itch terribly for weeks to come, Tyrone recalled.

He DESERVED what he got in the end though… Tyrone growled. So much for God’s promises…

The visions proceeded, replaying all the beatings he received from the kids at school who called him a freak, the ‘Black Hunchback of Notre Dame’ they called him, scoured him with insults, threw darts at him, de-pantsed him so many times he couldn’t count, pummeled him to the ground and forced him to eat mud, broke more bones in the name of being the popular kid who hated the freak with more fervor than the last. Throughout his childhood it had been like this, no matter which foster home he happened to be in.

And those foster homes, so many of them, each replaying themselves in his cloudy worldview. Abuses took place there as well, pinching, slappings, spankings, beatings within an inch of his life, curses, name-calling, degrading sneers, demoralizing comments, fondlings, gropings, rapings in the night. Too many abuses to count, all blurring together like brushstrokes on a masterpiece that had become the twisted portrait of a teen that could hardly wake up in the morning without a sense of dread and terror welcoming in the new day.

His father had taken a plea deal, burdened by the knowledge that Tyrone had witnessed all. As a result, his sentence had been lessened greatly, and just before Tyrone had seen his sixteenth Christmas, a day the youth had forever-after denied the existence of, Jerome was free again, walking the streets with a vengeance.

Of course, Tyrone had heard warning of this fact before the fated encounter took place. His asshole foster parents had not the decency to share it with him, but the rumor mill at his school had let it slip through the lips of taunting peers.

“Your Father’s coming to get you now, freak!” This said, after spitting out a tooth from having his head slammed into the sharp corner of a brick wall.

Continuing to press their torment, the teen throng held him to the ground and dislocated his shoulder, the one his father had devastated half his life-time before. He’d learned to surrender to the abuse by now, and before long, the bullies had tired of their efforts to squeeze tears and screeches from Tyrone, who, despite the pain, could silently consider nothing but his father’s return, and the terror that gripped him in what little soul he had left.

The elder Tyrone growled in murderous anger towards the children, tempted to leave the boundaries of his vision to stalk them home and slay them each, one by one, and let their families die as well for good measure.

But the younger, simply sat up, dusted himself off, allowed his shoulder to go limp, waiting for it to eventually heal yet again. The child backed up against the wall that had cost him his incisor and closed his eyes, firming his lips against the pain.

Turning back to watch his younger self once more, the adult Tyrone cocked his head, wondering… why is this moment, this scene, so important that it continues to unveil? Was this when…

As if in answer to his curiosities, the wounded child finally allowed a tear to slip down his cheeks to mingle with the blood spilling from the corner of his swollen lip. “God won’t protect me. He didn’t protect my mama,” he sniffled. “So if there is anyone… anything… any hope at all out there… please…” he sobbed, “HEAR ME!”

For a moment, the boy’s shoulders simply heaved as tears fell to the snow that was melting into the greasy Chicago streets.

As he watched the scene, Tyrone fully recalled how terrified he felt at that moment, how desperate. He had often thought he had experienced what was to follow, but had never really known for sure until many years later. At the time, he recalled everything happening in nothing more than his mind’s eye, but now, witnessing it again, he realized that the boot steps that crunched through the snow, approaching his child-self, had been very real.

A dark silhouette emerged from the falling snow, stepping outward from the back of the soiled alley, emerging like a wraith in the mist. His face was terribly handsome, dark, and mysterious, with eyes of such intensity that even the adult Tyrone could not face them directly. In fact, the eyes fled from his sight, as if his very existence spurred every cell in the body to deny his reality.

The elder Tyrone could hardly maintain his gaze on the figure, despite desperately wishing he could lock on to the man’s features, if you could even call him a man. Watching, instead, his younger self’s reaction to the newcomer, he noted that even then, he could not, but briefly, look up to witness the being.

Crouching like an assassin over a dead mark, the silhouette leaned in towards the boy, whispering into the teen’s ear. Even in a whisper, the being’s voice was liquid handsome, as if its very quality defined seduction itself, for any gender to receive.

“Ask and ye shall receive, Tyrone Myer,” it declared. After a pause, during which Tyrone witnessed himself shuddering with a chill that reached deeper than mere cold, the entity added, “But for all transactions, great and small, there is always… a price.”

“Anything is worth it,” the young Tyrone bravely offered, a glimmer of hope shining through the dark presence.

“Anything? Come now, child, while I would love to take everything you have to offer, surely you would retain some dignity? Hold on to some of your chips for the bargaining?” The silhouette spoke openly now, his voice laden with rosebuds and honey.

“What do you want from me?” asked the wounded boy. He wants it all, the adult apparition of Tyrone mused as he watched on in fascination. He just don’t wanna take it all at once…

“I want to help you, Tyrone Myer. You scratch my back, I scratch yours… a business transaction that I think you’ll be happy to fulfill.”

“I know who you are,” sniffed the younger as he wiped a scarlet dribble from his chin, his nostrils flaring.

“I suspect you should,” the handsome visage intoned.

“Why should I trust you?” the boy inquired honestly.

“Because unlike other divine forces,” the being let in a long pause for dramatic effect, “I am true to my word.”

“Alright…” Tyrone hesitated, but nodded, nevertheless.

“Good,” the creature rubbed his long fingers together in glee, “Very good.”

“So what do I have to do for you?” the boy asked.

“A few things,” the creature replied. “First, I want you to search that dumpster back there.”

“The sign says I shouldn’t play in that thing,” the boy stated simply.

“I’m not asking you to play, Tyrone Myer.”

Glancing over at the dark figure apprehensively, Tyrone stood, groaning against the aching injuries, and nodded in tenuous acquiescence.

A chill breeze wafted through the boy’s soul as he stumbled over and threw the lid up, gagging desperately as a terrible stench struck him in the face like a wrecking ball.

A torrent of flies swarmed throughout the dumpster like a vile cloud of inky blackness, buzzing and humming like drums at an ancient ceremonial burial ritual. The stench that filled the air could only be that of death itself.

Looking back over his shoulder, the boy gave a pleading look at the dark form now blending into the falling snow. The figure merely nodded and motioned for the boy to press on with a wave of his slender fingers.

Gulping, Tyrone climbed into the putrid dumpster, all too aware that he ventured, self-aware, into the jaws of a deathtrap. Closing his eyes, he felt around among the squelching bags, his hands exploring through gurgling, viscous liquids from some foul source until… finally his fingers closed around something cold, solid, metallic, lying atop one of the uncommonly slime-free bags.

Following his instincts, the boy gripped the object and climbed free from the refuse. As he landed on his feet at the back of the alley, he dared to open his eyes once again. The dark silhouette had disappeared, yet in his hand lay a shining, gleaming, instrument of destruction… and revenge.

Tyrone had never held a gun before. The feeling of power rippled through his muscles, awakening a hope within that welled upwards into his throat.

Though he’d never seen anyone use such an instrument of death, Tyrone seemed to instinctively register to make sure a bullet was readied in the chamber. Numerous violent television sequences played through his mind, guiding him to check the ‘safety’ switch. Within moments he verified that there were easily eight rounds locked and loaded, ready to inflict the fury of his anger at any who dared to threaten him again.

While the alleyway appeared devoid of life aside from himself and the flies attracted to the corpse rot in the dumpster behind him, the snow itself seemed to hum with the being’s dark, seductive tones.

“Kill him,” the billowing snowfall whispered.

“That’s all I ask,” it continued its seduction on the wind. “In return, I shall heal you of your ails and ensure you shall never be made a victim again.”

The identity of ‘him’ was never a question on Tyrone’s mind as the boy strode from the alleyway, concealing the weapon under his shirt with a proud smirk.

The vision is to be continued…

But for now, the DP is Thomas’s. He’s dressed like a police officer. He’s stolen a police vehicle that lays in a wrecked heap on the highway. He’s got a murderous psycho killer at his feet that when he awakens is quite likely to be VERY angry. And he’s being held up at gun-point by a police officer. His powers are irrelevant at this stage as they mostly have no effect on mere mortals. What should he do?

We’ll return to Walt’s flight next chapter. Sorry for the delay but I realized this is the best point in the story to address this loose thread. And it made for an appropriate ‘Christmas Special’.

[Shady Stoat]

I don't think he can go along quietly. If he does, they'll take the Bouncer too, and the police station will turn into something like a scene from Terminator.

Neither will he want to go overboard on violence with officers of the law. He's an agent of God (at least in his belief system), not a man of chaos.

I think the best action would be to buy himself some time and space. Shout out that he's a fellow cop and tell them he's reaching into his pocket for his ID. Obviously there's no ID in his pocket, but he can say it's fallen on the floor or something. As long as there's doubt, it's very unlikely the cop will do anything more than scream at him or threaten - and even if he does, Thomas has God on his side. The power of prayer will heal him if he sticks to his faith (and if the bullet isn't immediately fatal).

Once he's down on the desert floor, he can grab a handful of sand and throw it in the officer's eyes (assuming the cop isn't a massive distance away, it wasn't clear from the text). After that, it will be an achievable goal to knock the cop out and deal with the Bouncer at his leisure.

[Crunchyfrog]

The cop's reaction and trembling gun suggests that he's witnessed the last few throws of this fight, seen that Thomas can regenerate his body from what would otherwise be fatal injuries, and seen what Thomas could do with his glowy eyes to this seemingly unstoppable man.

The glowy eyes may not have any physical effect on mortals, and Thomas might not be as successful at calling on divine intervention to heal a bullet through the heart, but what the cop has witnessed must be enough for Thomas to use as threats against him. In fact, Thomas is in a very good position to call the shots, and only needs to back up his demands by letting the cop see the light from his eyes.


He needs to explain that this is not the cops battle, and get the cop on his side. He'll need to think quickly, before the Bouncer wakes up - and that in itself should be a strong enough threat to convince the cop to do anything he asks.

Good to see the Bouncer's backstory too - evens things up a bit. :grin:

[Tikanni Corazon]

Really great chapter Thunderbird! :D

I pretty much agree with Stoaty. Knock out the cop, then deal with The Bouncer! There is no way that he can risk him getting away, or hurting someone else. This guy has made a deal with the devil (well, I'm pretty sure he has anyway!), and is full of resentment and anger towards everyone. There would be no reasoning with him. So he must be dealt with. Even if it meant sacrificing the cop, which is the only part which I disagree with Stoaty on. The Bible, is full of people being sacrificed for the greater good, including Jesus Christ. As innocent as the cop is, which is worse? That he dies? Or The Bouncer escapes, and kills who knows how many more innocents?
If it came to that, and Thomas had no other choice but to kill the cop, I think he should.

[Phang]

Just wanna get this out there quick.

Thunderbird wrote: “DADDY NO!”

While the great plentitude of what comes afterwards is likely more than enough to squish any semblance of humour, that line is a bit 'Narm' - or in other words, a phrase which for any of a few reasons is somewhat unintentionally comedic.


Hennyway...while Frog has some points, a panicking cop might not take well to Thomas' threats, and may in fact freak out and fling a bullet. He should probably talk nice for now - maybe not explain himself, ho-ho, but get that cop out of harm's way - harm to himself and capable of harming Toma. Kukuku.

[Thunderbird]

PHANG! :D

Welcome aboard!

Ok, suggestions noted and thank you all for reading.

I wanted to add a few points for consideration that I thought about later:

1: The Bouncer is pretty heavy... quite possibly Thomas would at best be able to drag the guy along the desert floor, but even that would be quite an effort.

2: Keep in mind what we know about the police arriving from the previous chapter, which was a simultaneously overlapping scene. This time, its not just one car that has arrived on scene (though this is probably the first, more are coming right on his heels)

3: There ARE some powers Thomas has that might be worthy of consideration:

* Yes, as has been noted, his illuminating gaze could at least validate him some.

* He has his Shield of Faith, noted during the first chapter he was in when he stole the police car in the first place (this is a bubble of deflective energy that can be erected for about 3-6 seconds at a time).

* He has his Healing Energy, which also works for about as long, healing quite effectively, but he needs to have some basic health factors remaining in order to activate it... aka, he can't be dead or injured in the brain and a shot through the heart or center of the chest might impede the flow of the energy.

* By focusing his illuminating gaze directly into the eyes of his opponent, he can use it as 'the Gaze of St. Peter', which we're witnessing the effects of on the Bouncer at the moment.

* He's a well-self trained martial artist, pretty fast and has a cool head.

* All of his light/energy powers are limited to 3-6 second bursts with an equivalent-twice as much amount of time needed to recover in between uses. And prolonged usage of his powers will drain him over time, causing the recovery times necessary to extend longer and longer until he gets some significant rest.

* Oh, and not to forget he has the power of Insight, which allows him to scan the quality of the soul inside a person he views.

* And there's a power he hasn't revealed yet, Foresight, which gives him the ability to close his eyes and see flashes of future events, the time frame of which is dependant on his choice. It takes a little time to work though and wouldn't be very applicable in determining a 'best course' of action unless he is given enough time to do so... a couple of minutes or so. (This was how he tracked down the fuel thieves.)


Whew... ok, so all that said... I'll take current suggestions into consideration but feel free to offer more based on expanded data.


@ Phang... hmmm... I see your point... would "Daddy Stop!" be any better? I'm struggling to think of a way around that that isn't just as bad...

[Phang]

Thunderbird wrote: PHANG! :D

Welcome aboard!

I was reading all along, you know.

Thunderbird wrote: @ Phang... hmmm... I see your point... would "Daddy Stop!" be any better? I'm struggling to think of a way around that that isn't just as bad...

Yeah, I reckon so. throw in a comma, too, Justin Case.

[Thunderbird]

Ah... YOU'VE been my Tome mystery vote! Sly thing you.

[Phang]

I don't recall...

[Crunchyfrog]

*confused*

Quote: His powers are irrelevant at this stage as they mostly have no effect on mere mortals.

Quote: There ARE some powers Thomas has that might be worthy of consideration:

* By focusing his illuminating gaze directly into the eyes of his opponent, he can use it as 'the Gaze of St. Peter', which we're witnessing the effects of on the Bouncer at the moment.

These seem to contradict one another. Why would this be worthy of consideration if we know that it is not going to work on the policeman? Except, perhaps to scare him?

It doesn't seem to me that any of these would be useful in this situation anyway, given the time it takes to summon them and the amount of time it takes for him to recover from each burst, especially as this policeman has back-up.

By the time he summons his power of foresight he they could be handcuffing him anyway.

He could, I suppose, disarm and floor the cop with his martial arts skills (assuming the cop doesn't have superior fighting skills) - then he could use his shield to deflect any resulting bullets from the back-up.

But he'd be gambling on their reaction of fear, because they only have to keep shooting until his shield comes down, before their bullets find him.

Or, I guess he could just play for time in this way until the Bouncer regains consciousness and adds to the confusion.

[Thunderbird]

The Gaze of St. Peter is useful against any mortal, just more effective against those with more regrets. I was meaning to retract my previous comment to some extent as I considered things later and realized his powers may well have some application here. Sorry for the confusion!

[Tikanni Corazon]

I was thinking pretty much the same thing as Crunchy.

Starting at Crunchys first suggestion, he could talk to him and try to explain. If that goes badly, and the officer shoots, he could then use his Shield of Faith to protect himself. Then disarm him and knock him out, as in her second suggestion.

The only thing I can't get around is the back-up cops. I get the feeling that there is not much chance that Thomas will be able to deal with The Bouncer at this time, because of them. So, mabye Thomas should just try to get away, and leave dealing with The Bouncer for another time. At least if he does that, he won't be locked up. However he chooses to handle the cops, The Bouncer is likely to get away.

Mabye you have more plans for the character in the story? ;)

[Thunderbird]

Why Tika, whatever gives you the idea I'd be planning to use my characters again in future situations? :lol:

[Tikanni Corazon]

Meaning, TB, that mabye trying to find a way of dealing with The Bouncer is not the path to take. Dealing with the cops is going to be hard enough. So mabye he should be allowed to get away, to be dealt with at a more convenient time.

Now if you will excuse me. Your dazzling wit has blinded me! :laf:

[Thunderbird]

Well, I'm not against some solution that may be presented that would somehow manage to get the Bouncer into some kind of Thomas Protective Custody. In fact, I wouldn't mind such a scenario at all. I'm just trying to think of how that would be done... and I'm not coming up with many answers of my own.

So what I'm trying to present to some of these suggestions is the difficulties those suggestions present, not to make them overwhelming. They are what they are. Where DPs are concerned, I try to look at things from a scenario bias, not a future planning one. What I mean by that is that where chances of success or failure of a particular decided course of action are concerned, rather than rolling a dice, as a SG author, I must decide on success or failure based on what is most rational to expect. Therefore, as the Suggestion Phase moderator here, I feel compelled to present the difficulties that are present if one were to attempt certain feats. This is more of an invitation to suggest ways around those challenges, rather than an attempt to shut down any suggestions on the basis of future plans.

And... sorry if I came off like a smart ass... just playin'! :P

[Tikanni Corazon]

Yeah, Thunderbird, I know you were! So was I! ;)
I didn't think you were being a smart-ass, so no need to apologise!

[Thunderbird]

Will poll soon. Any more comments or ideas for the poll?

[Smee]

I'll be catching up soon - hopefully today.

[Shady Stoat]

Would this quality of insight allow Thomas to gain insights into the character of the cop that's threatening him at the moment? For example, does he see the soul as varying shades of black to white, or does he actually see the manner of sins and accomplishments marking the soul?

If it's the latter, there's at least a chance Thomas could talk him down with a clever, personalised speech. Showing that he has supernatural abilities, while at the same time showing that spark of divinity that he has in his own being. Being able to see and forgive that one dark sin that the cop has never been able to forgive himself for, could be the thing that swings it.

If the cop is impressed enough, he might be persuaded to trust Thomas's judgement about the Bouncer, and let them both go for the time being.

Again, sorry about the not-posting-over-Christmas thing :)

[Smee]

Hmmm... I'm not sure where all this assumption the Bouncer is so evil has come from. He's had, as we've just seen, a rediculously horrible life - I can't blame him being a little out of sorts! And the only thing we know so far is that he's about to go attempt to kill his father, someone proven bad. Vigilante justice perhaps, but no more 'evil' than what Thomas believes he's doing for the 'greater good'.

We don't know that this deal/pact the Bouncer is making with the mysterious figure is with 'the devil'. For all we know it is merely another god from a pantheon involved in a civil war - it's only a handful of religions that insist there's only one god, plenty see there being more.

That said, the DP is from the point of view of Thomas, and right or wrong, he definitely sees the Bouncer as being 'evil'. What he does next though may depend on what is the expected outcome from the Gaze of St Peter... does he expect the Bouncer to awaken having had some kind of epiphany? Or is it simply supposed to disable him long enough to ordinarily restain the target?

If it's the former, then no need to worry about the Bouncer. Simply activate the shield, and run into the darkness... it shouldn't be hard to lose the cop in the wilderness.

The latter... hmmm, there's many dark souls in this world, and Thomas can't help/stop them locked up in gaol. He will meet the Bouncer again, and can sort him out another time. Again, activate his deflecting holy shield, and run off into the night.

Great chapter, TB... fantastic to get such an insight into the Bouncer and I look forward to the rest of his backstory.

Happy Writing :)

[Thunderbird]

Thanks Smee! And its no sweat y'all. I've just been taking a breather myself. Life's a bit... nuts right now.

Anyhow, I suppose I was vague about his 'Insight' power, and for good reason. It is a somewhat psychic application... the more he concentrates, the more he can see. I think that your suggestion, Stoat, is a valid one and would be fun to write. However, consider also that this sort of in-depth work with someone that Thomas is capable of might take more than a moment or two, possibly quite a conversation indeed.

Some good insights yourself there, Smee! Very good insights indeed. Evil is... relative to say the least. To answer your question, the Gaze of St.Peter creates a soul experience similar to that received at death, a life-review process. Some may come out of it totally changed. Others... possibly yet worse. It will take time to tell how it works on the Bouncer... he's gotten the full dose of it and will be receiving the 'total review' which includes a suggestion of where he's heading in the hereafter. At the minimum, it shall keep him out for a while, possibly days even, though completely unpredictable without the 'Foresight' power's application.

[Thunderbird]

Okay, after what has been far too long a delay, I am polling now. I may have some limited internet access where I'm headed (moving this week) but I shall continue nevertheless.

Keep in mind that the last chapter is still polling as well. If you'd like to influence which story thread to continue next, please make your request known! I'm not sure whether I should just carry on through the Bouncer's life-review process until finished or break it up with a return to Walt. You can make the call there... (I'll take each post as a vote.)

Thanks for reading and voting!

[Thunderbird]

Alright all, tomorrow begins my move! I'll return to the site asap but figured I'd make it clear that if there is any delay in so doing, that's why.

[Crunchyfrog]

Good luck, TB! :)

[Thunderbird]

Oooph... alright, so I know its been a very long time since I've posted anything, (or even visited), but I WILL get back to this eventually. I'm having some connection difficulties at the moment (and life is just sucking all time right out the window all for the cause of basic survival) so once all that has been fully sorted out, the story will rock on!

Sorry to all who's stories I was following... obviously, being a reader has fallen by the wayside along with everything else. But there, too, I'll be back, and hopefully soon.

Thanks for your patience.

[Smee]

Wooo - come back to us soon, TB :)

[Crunchyfrog]

Good to see you! *crosses fingers for some TB connectivity soon* :)

[Thunderbird]

Ok, so, I've returned. And as there does appear to be a definite winning option, I'll be writing the next chapter sometime this week (if all goes according to plan). Hopefully there remains some interest in seeing the story continue... :?

[Crunchyfrog]

Excellent! Good to see you back. :D