Tony handed a tissue to Greyscale who carefully wiped his eyes. Skycam 1 panned across the crowd, many glossy eyed, and a few teared up themselves, including a brunette soccer mom.
“Well,” said Tony, “it seems that your alleged wife has won over the audience. But the question still remains. Are your claims true? Is Pitfall your son, or can you truly not stand that your arch nemesis, Dr. Chromatic, used some of your DNA to accomplish an incredible feat of science?”
Cantrell turned to face the camera again. “We will find out who is telling the truth, right after the break.”
“And we are back. Dr. Chromatic claims to have created an imperfect clone of the hero Greyscale, but Greyscale claims if that is true, what will happen if this boy’s DNA matches with that of his wife?
“One person we have not heard from today is the boy himself. Please welcome to the show the young man in question.”
The crowd applauded as a young boy was escorted out from backstage. He wore a Misfits t-shirt, tattered jeans completed with a white lab coat and safety goggles. From his attire, he looked exactly like a protege of Dr. Chromatic, but beneath the attire, there was no denying his athletic build and jawline resembled Greyscale, even at his young age.
“Please take a seat,” said Tony, motioning to a seat conveniently placed in between Greyscale and Dr. Chromatic. “Please introduce yourself to the audience and our viewers at home.”
The boy looked to the crowd, then to the camera, then to Dr. Chromatic. When he opened his mouth to speak his voice was monotone. “My name is Tonedef. I was created by my father, Dr. Chromatic.”
Some of the crowd booed until Tony motioned for them to be quiet. “And this man here,” he motioned to Greyscale. “Who is this man to you?”
“He is my father’s enemy.”
“No, I AM your dad, son!” said Greyscale.
“I may share your DNA, but Dr. Chromatic made me, raised me. He is my father.”
Greyscale’s gloves stretched thin around his knuckles until the armrests of his chair splintered. “Those are implanted memories, son. Chromatic brainwashed you.”
“I’ve been made aware that you hate my father and that you have a biased opinion because of the feuds you and he held in the past, but I have been shown undeniable proof that you are not my biological father.”
Greyscale rose from his broken chair pointing his gloved finger at Dr. Chromatic. “You disgust me. To do this to my son, the mental damage…” Then he looked to Tonedef. “You want undeniable proof, son? Tony.”
On cue, Tony’s lovely high-heeled assistant brought forth a sealed manila envelope. “Well, we have the truth right here in this envelope. Do you want to know the truth?” The crowd erupted into applause. Slowly he unwound the red string that kept the envelope sealed and removed the paperwork from within. He took a breath. Silence hovered over the crowd like a dark cloud before the rain starts. “When it comes to this nine-year-old young man, the DNA test shows that he does have the same DNA as Greyscale.”
The crowd applauded.
“Of course he does,” agreed Dr. Chromatic.
“When we cross-examined the DNA of Greyscale’s wife with that of this boy, we found that… it matched! Greyscale, you are the father!”
The crowd jumped out of their chairs applauding.
Greyscale got out of his chair slowly, a scowl on his face. He picked up the armchair he had been sitting on and tore it in half throwing it across the stage, knocking Camera 3 off of its tripod which would have to be fixed in post. The crowd gasped. Greyscale did not see the crowd, he did not see Tony, he did not even see his son. His eyes were only on Dr. Chromatic. Now that he was vindicated he had only one agenda.
“You broke my wife’s heart.” He took a step. “You broke my son’s mind.” He stepped closer. “Now I’m going to break you.”
Tony raised his eyebrows. “I think we’re going to need some help.”
Immediately ushers and security men rushed in to tackle Greyscale, but it was too late. He flung them across the room like a child dismantling a block tower. One man collided with a Skycam 1 wiping out the top down wide angle. Another usher flew into the crowd and landed on several large women, none of whom were hurt—thanks to the extra cushion.
Dr. Chromatic did not try to run, did not even rise from his chair. Greyscale gripped him in his gloved hands, hoisted him up and levitated into the air. A quick-thinking stagehand powered up a large fan and aimed it at Greyscale so his majestic cape would billow.
Greyscale raised his right hand making a fist.
Dr. Chromatic erupted with maniacal laughter.
“This is going to hurt,” whispered Greyscale. He threw one punch, then another, and then many more. The crowd oohed, then grimaced, until finally, a man screamed, “Someone stop him!”
The more bloody Chromatic became, the harder the villain laughed. The crowd was out of control, and the cameras that still worked were rolling. Tony and several security officers were standing on the chairs trying to grab Greyscale by the ankle and pull him down. Someone brought a ladder.
Amidst the chaos and the beating, Tonedef screamed hysterically. “Let my father go. Stop hurting my father. You think you’re the hero? You’re the villain.”
Greyscale heard the words and inclined his head in his son’s direction.
“You see,” said Dr. Chromatic through busted lips, “You may have proved your point, but I still won. You may have outsmarted me, but your son’s mind is mine.”
“Fix him,” growled the hero.
“I can’t, he’s beyond repair.”
“Then I’m afraid you’re beyond repair.”
Before anyone could cheer or scream Greyscale flew through the roof dragging Dr. Chromatic with him.
“I’m Kevin Chittle with this afternoon’s breaking news. It appears that our beloved hero Greyscale has lost a mental battle with Dr. Chromatic. But while Greyscale may have lost his mind, it appears that Dr. Chromatic may have lost his life. Reporting for us live on the scene is Sasha Montoya.”
Sasha stood smiling dumbly for a few seconds until her audio caught up to Kevin’s live feed. “Thanks, Kevin. I’m here live, just outside of the studio where Tony Cantrell’s morning talk show is filmed. As most of us know, both Greyscale and Dr. Chromatic had called a truce to hash out a dispute they had over a young protege. Greyscale claimed the young boy was his new sidekick, his own son in fact, while Dr. Chromatic claimed he biochemically engineered the boy from Greyscale’s DNA. Apparently, there was some heated arguing on the set which led to a physical altercation that moved to the rooftop of the studio. Witnesses say this is where Greyscale allegedly threw Dr. Chromatic from the building. As you can see behind me, there are the remains of a splattered corpse, so the allegations are anything but…”
“I’d like to interject here to remind those at home that viewer discretion is advised as some of this footage coming to us live may be quite graphic and disturbing,” said Kevin.
“Thanks, Kevin,” said Sasha with a cheerful smile.
After going over the gruesome scene, Sasha turned the broadcast back over to Kevin who turned it over to a station break. When they came back, Kevin was sitting with psychologist and longtime Greyscale expert, Leo McKinsey.
“Leo, what do you think drove Greyscale over the edge today? Can he ever come back from something like this?”
“To answer your second question first, no. I do think we will look back on this day as a pivotal turning point in the life of our resident crimefighter Greyscale. In the fifteen years that he has served our city, twenty if you count his amateur days as Spectrum, we have never seen him cross the line, and that is what he did this morning. He went from fighting crime to dishing it out with his own hands. To answer your first question, witnesses from today’s scene repeated the chilling words of Dr. Chromatic, accusing Greyscale of mental illness, even schizophrenia. I think these are the aftereffects of Greyscale’s last defeat at the fists of Haymaker.”
> “Do you think he should be held responsible for the life of Dr. Chromatic, a man who has terrorized our city with numerous nefarious plots?”
“Yes,” said McKinsey. “While he took the life of a villain, he still took life. He should be held responsible and accountable for his actions.” Leo went on. “What is so devastating about this occurrence is that today marks a new chapter in Greyscale’s life story. While he may have satisfied some brief need for revenge, his son Pitfall is still brainwashed and continues to think that he is Tonedef.”
“Do you think that this will have a lasting effect on the family?”
“If you want my honest opinion, I think that Greyscale has created his most potent arch nemesis to date in his brainwashed son, Tonedef. Only time will tell.”
Kevin turned to the camera. “Thanks, Leo. Sobering words from the resident expert on all things supers related. We will all have to wait and see what comes of our fallen hero and his deranged son. Is Greyscale still out to protect us, or has he become a danger to us all? We’ll talk more after the break.”
A Word From Dean Floyd
Before humans chose their TV shows, they were at the mercy of locally scheduled broadcasting and good weather. I grew up during this time period, which also happened to be the golden era of superhero cartoons.
Every weekday afternoon I sat transfixed to a cubed-shaped television, watching Batman the Animated Series, Spider-man, Superman, and X-Men. Aside from outstanding vocal performances and catchy theme songs, they bolstered talented writers that churned out engaging tales. At least that’s what nostalgia tells me. Those shows gave me a love for superheroes and influenced me to be a storyteller.
Check out my story Tough Luck for free on Amazon. It’s Action Adventure Urban Fantasy with a dash of Celtic mythology. Enjoy!
DeanFloyd.com
Date Knight
By Gary Smith
As she glanced at her watch for what felt like the hundredth time since she’d taken her seat, Karen Reid resigned herself to the fact that the evening looked set to merit another entry in her ever-growing book of bad dates. Over the last few months, she’d been on disastrous dates with men who were all united by a common trait: in person, they never quite matched what was promised beforehand. Take the self-described successful businessman who turned out to play online poker in his mom’s basement. And who could forget the romantic looking for love who was still in the process of removing his wedding ring as he walked into view?
Still, she reflected. As boring, weird, and downright obnoxious as some of these men had been, at least they had shown up in the first place. She had been sitting in the restaurant for over twenty minutes now, and the butterflies in her stomach were long gone, replaced with growing pangs of hunger. A small mercy was that the surrounding couples were too immersed in each other to notice her isolation, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the glances of the waiters as they scurried back and forth. Some seemed amused by her isolation while others could barely conceal their impatience, obviously wishing she would relinquish her seat to a paying customer.
What was especially frustrating was that she’d been sure her date wasn’t the type to stand someone up; part of the reason his profile had first caught her eye was for its very normality. There had been no outlandish claims or boasting about past exploits, just a matter-of-fact-listing of key points. His photo had depicted a man with unstyled, dark hair, glasses that veered on just the right side of dorky, and clothes that suggested minimal interest in the finer points of fashion. Even his name, James Black, had hinted at a steadfast down to earth guy—exactly what she needed.
Except that he'd never showed.
Taking yet another look at her watch, Karen sighed as she registered the time. Half past seven, long past the tipping point where "running late" became "never left the house in the first place.” She briefly toyed with the notion of dining alone before deciding against it. She’d had enough humiliation for one night without having to admit that her table for two had become dinner for one.
Thinking very unkind thoughts that would have horrified her mother, Karen reached under the table for her handbag. When she brought it back up, she was surprised to find that she was no longer alone. James Black was standing beside her chair, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
Before she had the chance to say anything, he began to blurt out his apologies, the words tripping over each other in his haste to explain.
“Karen, I'm so sorry. I thought that I’d get the bus, but it broke down midway. Then I tried to hail a cab but no-one would stop, and I couldn’t let you know because I couldn’t find my phone.”
He paused for breath, and his forehead wrinkled with concentration.
“Actually, now that I think about it, I hope I haven’t left my phone on the bus.”
Despite her earlier frustration, as Karen listened to the ongoing catalog of mishaps, she found it hard to keep the smile from her lips. Unlike so many others, James appeared to have no qualms about admitting to his mistakes, not even trying to maintain a veneer of sophistication. She liked that and appreciated the honesty.
“Sit down,” she laughed. “After all that, you must be starving!”
He gave her a grateful smile as he pulled out his seat, and Karen studied him with interest as he engaged in a pitched battle with the overhanging tablecloth. He was dressed much like his profile photo, with dark blue jeans and a checked shirt. But in person, he was bigger than she’d expected, although it was unclear how much of that was down to muscle. It actually looked as if he wore multiple layers of clothing, and she wondered how anyone could be cold on such a beautiful night.
“Have you ordered something to drink?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “What would you like?”
“I really don’t mind,” she replied. “Surprise me.”
She regretted the offer as soon as the words were out of her mouth—if his palate was as simple as his taste in clothes, then he’d probably order them both warm milk.
When the waiter came over, James ordered a medium-rare steak, and she opted for the chicken. When the waiter inquired about wine, James surprised her by scanning the wine list and picking a fruity Merlot, with the waiter enthusiastically complimenting him on his choice.
“You obviously know your wines,” she teased. “I really hadn’t taken you for much of a drinker.”
“I’m not really,” he smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “But I’ve traveled enough to pick up a few recommendations.”
“Oh really?” Karen enthused, her interest piqued. “I love to travel! Where have you been recently? Was it for business or pleasure?”
“Oh, a little of both,” he answered. “But I’ve jabbered on enough since I got here—I want to hear about you. Tell me a little about yourself.”
The abrupt change of subject was glaringly obvious, and warning signs began to flash in Karen’s head. She brushed the thought away. He was just being polite and letting her talk, wasn’t he?
Oh, God. Had he been on a trip with someone? A girlfriend? A wife?
James was still looking at her, an encouraging smile on his lips as he waited for her reply, and she mentally chided herself for assuming the worst. Just because she had suffered some unpleasant experiences with men didn’t mean that James was cut from the same cloth. Sometimes, things really were as good as they seemed.
“There’s not much to tell, really,” she began. “I’ve lived here for just over five years now, and I’ve grown to love it. I like the hustle and bustle of the big city and the fact that every day, there’s something new to see. Every Saturday I go for a run, and I swear every time there’s a new building under construction or a business that’s changed its name. There’s this one building on the corner of Hope Street. It’s been a diner, a Chinese restaurant, and as of last month, it’s now a pizza place. I’m guessing in six months it will probably be a burger joint, or maybe….”
Karen stopped, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
James was staring into the distance, the distracted expression on his face suggesting he didn’t share her interest in theoretical restaurant openings. She waited for him to register the silence between them, but his eyes still had that faraway look, as if he was mulling over some private thought. Irritated, she loudly cleared her throat.
It had the desired effect as James whipped his head around, his blue eyes no longer distant but suddenly hard and focused, his body poised as if ready for action. In a flash, the hard expression was replaced by embarrassment as he registered the look of displeasure on her face. The change was so drastic, so sudden, that Karen thought she’d perhaps imagined it.
“So, tell me,” she asked, trying to hide her irritation behind a jocular tone. “Was my story that boring or were you distracted by thoughts of the dessert menu?”
James gave a self-conscious laugh and spread his arms. “I’m really sorry about that. Your story wasn’t boring at all—it’s just that it’s sometimes hard to switch off from work stuff, that’s all.”
“Wow, if you’d rather think about your work than enjoy the meal then I definitely picked the wrong dress tonight.”
She expected—hoped—this would get some sort of reaction, but to her frustration, she saw that James was once again staring into the distance, apparently oblivious to what she had just said.
Before she could say anything, he stood up.
Oh God, she thought. He’s going to cut and run.
Instead, he turned to her, the words pouring from him as he extracted himself from behind the table. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not feeling too well, I think I need something to settle my stomach before we eat. I’ll just see if I can find a store to pick up some Pepto. I’ll call you if I’m held up.”
He was moving through the restaurant before she could even muster a reply, dodging past scurrying waiters with a grace that belied his stocky frame. “But you said you’d lost your phone,” she called after him, but by that point, he was gone, leaving her alone at the table once more.
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