Skye p1

Esai Skye crouched quietly on the roof of the building, watching. The Tank was attacking viciously. He lifted cars and tossed them. He uprooted streetlights and flung them. Bullet danced around his attacks skillfully and adeptly, but he wasn’t fighting back. He was stalling, waiting to find the Tank’s weak-spot before making a move.

Bullet has to wedge in a hit either on the Tank’s palm or the side of his waist. The only two areas not over-calloused with brick-like skin. But you couldn’t tell in this darkness.

Esai focused all of his energy and stared hard at the Bullet. He pounded onto the Bullet’s consciousness as though he were knocking down a door. As soon as the distraction was noticed, Esai slipped in the hint. Palm or side under ribs, aim for spleen.

The Bullet’s arms morphed into iron tubes. He flew at the Tank with a speed and ferocity that couldn’t be seen by the naked eye. His right arm went right into the Tanks side, disappearing. They both froze for a moment, and a fountain of bullet casings blasted out of the tanks skull and showered down.

Esai stood and walked away before the Bullet could perform his touch down dance. He didn’t particularly like the Bullet. Actually, he refused take sides in this game. He helped the Bullet because the Tank had destroyed his ’73 Beemer in one of his rampages. He was far too destructive.

There were as many heroes and villains as there were football players. And it had become just that, a sport. But a bloody sport that cost lives and thousands of dollars in damages. Insurance premiums skyrocketed, they were the only real profiteers in this game.

Esai walked into his apartment and flicked on the lights, which sputtered and blew out almost immediately. He pulled out his cell phone and browsed through his contacts. S, s, s, Sexikitten22. Perfect.

“What,” was the first response.
“Hey, it happened again.”
“It’s a sign, Esai, you need to get out more.”
“Dierdre,” he began, interrupting her.
“Moreover, you need to move out of that shithole. What the hell are you hording all that money for? If you wont use it, give it to me!”
“No thanks, your publicist will just suck it right out from under you.”
“Fuck off!” she exclaimed, and hung up.

Esai dialed again.

“Please, Dierdre, just jump start the generator and I wont bug you.”
“You owe me, Skye.”

Before a moment had past, the lights flickered back on. A bright light appeared at the window. Esai tugged the paint sealed window but it wouldn’t budge. He tugged harder and the window shattered.

“Nice job,” she said, floating outside the 5th floor.

“Thanks for the jump,” he said, “how’d you get here so quickly.”
“I was in the area.”
“Right.”
“I was.”
“Right. You shorted my generator, didn’t you.”
“No!”
Esai stared at her. She stared back.
“Yes,” she admitted.

Esai would have liked to slam the window on her. But there was no window to slam.

“Please reconsider, Esai.”
“No. Go away. Good bye.”
Dierdre floated in and followed him around as he paced around his living room. “The League needs you! We need someone with your skills. Please, Esai.”

Esai ignored her, and resumed his evening as though she weren’t there. He lit a cigarette, turned on the television and sat down on his couch.

Suddenly all the electricity went out again

“Diedre!”

“Don’t call me Dierdre.”

Esai huffed, exasperated.

“Sexikitten22, please turn the electricity back on.”

“Join the League.”

“That is unfair, Dierdre.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Sexikitten22 was her hero name. She had to add the number 22 because Sexikitten was already taken by a wily 87 year old who had the power to seduce any man by transforming herself into an 18 year old model. Sexikitten was killed by the pet pitbull of a wealthy man she was trying to rob. Dierdre insists she came up with the name first, but amended the name because of the official hero name registry.

“Fine, I’ll join,” conceded Esai.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, hugging him. He would not join. But he wanted her to leave. Esai had no qualms about lying.

“So come to the meeting we’re having tomorrow at the Unitarian Church at 7pm, ok? We’re meeting John the Baptist, he’s gonna tell us how he destroyed The Queen of Hearts during the Battle of Faiths.”

“Ok, yea just call me tomorrow ok?”

“ok!” she was giddy. She tried leaving maybe 3 or 4 times, always coming back with a new comment, thought, or announcement. By the she was gone, Esai had decided to leave town for good. Seattle would be good. Completely the opposite side of the country.