There’s this thing he likes to do after every big meeting. Or conference. He does both now.
He comes up to us, me and his assistant, and turns away, eyes narrowing as he waits for his assistant to slip his overcoat on for him.
I don’t know what he looks at so intently during this transaction; but it’s definitely not the assistant. Poor thing, she should really look for a job elsewhere.
The first few times it happened, I thought it was just him being the rich entitled prick we all think he is.
All of a sudden he will walk away at a brisk space, and I will need to jog for a moment to catch up with him.
The assistant never hurries up because she’s quite tangibly sick of him, which I think he secretly enjoys.
Once I’m at his side, he’ll look at me finally and that stern exterior will crack open for a moment.
Every time, he’ll smile and roll his eyes.
Like Can you believe we’re actually doing this?
Continue reading “Why I Do It: Confessions from a Mercenary”
Coming out, very unfortunately, is everything. You don’t want it to be. But it is.
Because you are probably exposing someone to something that they don’t want to understand.
“I wouldn’t expect that,” isn’t hurtful on its own.
But unfortunately, it is a micro-aggression, whether they like it or not, and it says “This thing you are isn’t even on my radar for me to think about.”
It is crushing.
But even worse than that?
Continue reading “Come Out, I Love You”
It was the night Alyssa Liston humiliated Katrina Gawain in front of the whole cafeteria over her total “lessy crush” on her.
Not really a good night for crime fighting, but hey, you win some, you lose some, and then you end up recreating the iconic image of a vigilant crusader perched atop a gargoyle.
Cape softly fluttering in the wind with the perfect flair of drama, flapping almost too in tune with the popularized image of the watchful crusader.
Car horns and sirens overcame the soundscape below. Thousands of little yellow squares pasted on each building were a gateway to thousands of stories.
Yet the sting of Alyssa Liston hadn’t gone away quite yet.
Continue reading “Let’s Go Be True”
Rain pattered against the window to Katrina Gawain’s bedroom. Blue light from the computer illuminated her harassed face, dark rings under her eyes darting between a blank document and a Wikipedia article on Benedict Arnold.
“You know Wikipedia’s not a great source for — ”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m just using it for the bibliography at the end,” Katrina grunted while pasting a link into her Works Cited to later clean up.
Continue reading “Benedict Arnold”
Direct sequel to Binding but this makes sense as a standalone.
I knew I was doing the right thing.
I just wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.
It was strange, hidden in the heavy rain, body wound tight like a cat about to pounce, watching the mobsters and gangsters move across the oil platform. It was my first time I would be doing anything like this, yet my mind couldn’t escape the fact that I had hurt someone.
The Suit wasn’t made for me; it was made for the world. We, as a team, wanted to save the world, so we designed a suit that could protect anyone no matter the cost.
I stole it because he scared me. There was this look in Hector’s eyes that didn’t seem right. This greed, this insatiable thirst for something he was too scared to say out loud, and of course I understood that. I wanted things for the world too.
Continue reading “Baby”
“Hey uh, you okay?”
Eyelids finally fluttered open, a sharp pain shooting up her clamped jaw, dried blood chipping away with every breath, like bits of glass scattering against skin.
She failed yet again. How many more times would she wake up to that exciting revelation?
Continue reading “The Best at What She Does”
A small, dainty hand holding onto a hand laden in armor. Just as close as she would allow.
Hands made for destruction, for causing hurt to people who were out of control. Delivering pain and judgment, hands that came home battered and bruised. Wrapped up hands lying flat on a mattress, fingers clenched to the sheets.
Hands that did not touch.
Continue reading “Accept Me”
Straight ahead of her: A highly skilled mercenary with a kill count in the triple digits.
Above her: A nuclear missile about to annihilate many innocent lives.
All around her: A team of vigilantes fighting off against hordes of goons atop an oil platform.
Way, way above her: Victor Cauchmeer, a mad scientist bent on wreaking the most havoc he could wreak. His mission was to be on the cover of Villain’s Monthly in a flattering way at least twice.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Lydia Irving, famed mercenary, smirked, her body finally loosening after a drawn out brawl. “The bomb is going to nail your little city whether you beat me or not.”
Make that a kill count in the septuple digits.
Continue reading “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Defuse the Bomb”
Three months of unemployment doesn’t come cheap.
You lose everything that you are. Any life in you is drained away, lost to circumstance. Unwillingly laying in a bed all day, staring at your ceiling, waiting for a phone call that will never come.
Gone without a trace.
Continue reading “Your Greatest Strengths”
Ashes fell from above. Armageddon had its way and then moved on just as quickly to turn something else into ruins.
Continue reading “Binding”