-------------------- "Hey Jim! Get Mon out of the Zone!! And...when do we get Condo back?"
From: Paragon City on patrol | Registered: Jul 2003
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posted
There are some totally fantastic peices in this gallery so far.
I'm sorry I haven't had time this month to figure out what to add but I'll get onto it this week for you all.
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
To quote Tony the Tiger: They'rrrreeeee Grrrreat! Cool assembly of submissions, I bet we're not done though, are we!?! Any juicy T-wolf slash fiction, digital paintings, scuptures, prose? We have to make the wing worth the price of admission
From: Alameda, CA | Registered: Dec 2003
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-------------------- "Hey Jim! Get Mon out of the Zone!! And...when do we get Condo back?"
From: Paragon City on patrol | Registered: Jul 2003
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He’d had enough of this place, he thought for the 10th time this hour.. Come to think of it – he’d had enough of this place 35 years ago, shortly after he’d arrived. After he and Mano had been sentenced to spend the rest of their lives here. Mano had managed to survive here without any problems, even without the all-powerful hand, which had been gnawed off, justifying his own sentence. Mano was mad enough in the first place, so this was more like coming home, rather than a punishment. Mano revelled in the anarchy, played the games and even had managed to obtain a certain amount of freedom after all this time. In fact Mano was the celebrity here, the maddest amongst the mad.
For him, however, this was like a lifetime of insanity every day. He may have been a bit of a loner, but to be chained to a wall like a beast was almost unbearable. To be caged like the wild beast that he had proven he was. But then it was no wonder that he had lost the plot. Still, thirty-five years and counting – longer than he’d been free.
He was glad that there wasn’t a mirror in the cell, because he dreaded the thought of how his boyish good looks had fared. No sunlight on his skin for such a long time, and not even a comb through what was left of his hair. He had always thought of himself as good-looking, bur he hadn’t had a complete nights sleep since he had been incarcerated all those many years ago. You learned to live with it though, cat-napping when the opportunity arose. The daytime was noisy enough, but the nighttime was even worse. Listening for every noise, squeak, creak, and groan outside his cell, knowing that certain elements wandered after lights out, trading “justice” for favours…..
Timberwolf wasn’t one for favours. He’d taken his share of beatings, and given his share in return. He was seen as the scum in this world of disease addled brains. He was the enemy even more so than the wardens. His was the scalp that they all wanted hanging on their belts……….And, hell; he had to admit that he was getting old. He wasn’t sure just how much more of this shit he could stand. That was why he was still chained. Caught once too often defending himself in his own cell, though he had a feeling he’d been set up nicely, though for what reason he wasn’t absolutely certain. But the whispers in the wind were that Mano had joined the darkness patrol now, and had a score to settle. His hand…His power…. His revenge.
Who would have thought that almost 1000 years after it had been destroyed that the Far Right Wing do-gooders had managed to re-build an Insane Asylum on the same spot. There must have been evil spirits at play when they even named it after the original Arkham…..And the very same spirits had stayed around to infuse every brick, every sheet of plexiglass, right down to the very foundations of the building.
It seemed to be the detention centre of choice for celebrity, due to its high profile nature. The trial of Timberwolf had certainly been high profile. Live on 40 channels every day. Not a sentence, not a facial tic, not a drop of sweat that didn’t go through analysis on each of the 40 channels.
Perhaps threatening to eat the judge’s entrails with Fava beans and a nice Chianti hadn’t been the smartest move after all. Live throughout the known galaxy. Not one of his finer moments. He might have been paroled by now if not for that. Perhaps it had been his calm demeanour, the fact that for once he hadn’t lost his cool that had freaked everyone. My, but how the press had a field day on that one. A frenzy, in fact. Trial by press – not the first and not the last. After that even the Mini Mouse Channel had a correspondent in court.
But how would they all have felt if they had seen their families, for that was how he had seen the Legion, destroyed, one by one by that bastards hand. The power diluted so that they went painfully slowly in some cases, blood vessels exploding individually in a wave, ripping up their bodies, their lives draining away amidst the screams. At least the women were killed quickly and almost mercifully compared to the men. Heads exploded one by one, like watermelons dropped on to concrete.
How Mordred and Mano had managed to capture most of the Legion had never been ascertained. The fact that they had, however, had been the death knell of the once proud band of heroes. At least Timberwolf had managed to kill Mordred with Manos dismembered hand. But had saving the world stood him in good stead during the trial? Had it hell! He was an animal, and the Legion had been renegade deathmongers who invited attempts at world domination so that they could prove their mettle. Simply by existing. Fucking lawyers.
Now the last remains, Jo and Zoe were away taming dragons somewhere. They’d only come to see him once, to bid their fond farewells. He wasn’t enough to keep them here, and their dropping past had been much appreciated. But the law is the law, and he understood that his pleas for a breakout had fallen on deaf ears. No offence taken. Upholders of the law were supposed to uphold the law after all.
Lights out had been three hours ago. The guards would be supping on their coffees in tha guard house, possibly even watching the Plaything Channel. They didn’t want to be around this building any more that anyone else after the lights went out.
Timberwolf could hear a swelling, a chant starting up, but he couldn’t quite distinguish what the chant was yet. He strained to listen. Strained every muscle in his body, but being manacled in an X to the wall didn’t actually help his cause any. All he could do was wait, and that wouldn’t be for long.
“Man-o, Man-o, Man-o, Man-o” the volume rose, making the chant distinguishable against the well-nigh constant background screams and cries.
Through the small barred window of his cell Timberwolf could see a slight lightening, casting shadows, getting brighter, drawing nearer as the chant grew louder. This didn’t look good.
“MAN-O! MAN-O! MAN-O!”
It sounded now as if everyone in the building was making their way to his landing. Tables were being thrown over. Broken into handy sized torches. The light was increasing as these were handed around the approaching crowd. There was blood-lust in the air – Timberwolf could smell it mingled in with the smell of burning.
“MAN-O! MAN-O! MAN-O!”
Timberwolf strained at his bondage, but the cell had been made especially to detain him and he didn’t stand much of a chance of breaking free.
“MAN-O! MAN-O! MAN-O!”
The chanting seemed to reach a crescendo, right outside his door and then went silent.
A torch came nearer to the window, but Timberwolf could not see through the flame to who was standing behind it. He had a fair idea who it might be, though.
He watched the door handle, trying to get his breathing in check.
A key turned in the lock – a throwback to the olden days, chosen because electronic signals could always be manipulated. And possibly because it had seemed “quaint” to the establishment. So, they must have had an insider on the staff. Well, that didn’t come as a surprise, it only took one bent screw to give the system a bad name.
He may be old and bound, but by Christ! his teeth were still sharp. A snarl started in the back of his throat as he strained forward, as ready as he could be for whatever entered his cell.
The doorhandle turned. The door started to open very slowly.
posted
Oooh very good Numf - Nicely leaves us hanging at the end there.... and B'll be happy with the J&Z comment too....
From: home sweet home... unless i'm posting from work | Registered: Jul 2003
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posted
Wow, cool build-up Numf. Who do you think would win Gary, your X-Men 'teammate' or the Legion lycanthrope?
From: Alameda, CA | Registered: Dec 2003
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Hyperpath: Email this page to someone!
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