# 5
by Brian Campo (bcampo@hotmail.com)
This is a work of fan fiction. The Savage Dragon and all related characters are owned by Erik Larsen, and I do not contest
that ownership. This story is in no way official and it should not be taken as such. All characters in this story not owned by Mr.
Larsen are owned by me, though I would gladly loan them out if asked nicely.
Warning: This story may contain graphic violence, sexual situations and harsh language. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't.
Vist the Dragon 2200 homepage for back issues and covers (http://www.angelfire.com/or/icffa/dragonifshome.html)
South Chicago- The man in the the little booth looked like he might need a clean pair of shorts when the six patrol cars skidded up to the gate with their lights flashing. He was the security guard for "Abandoned Warehouses `R' US", a storage rental that attracted a lot of less than legal businesses. Some would say that it even catered to them. Most of the the time, his job didn't really require him to keep his eye out for trouble, instead it was preferred that he looked the other way if trouble showed up. If the law came around, it was his job to make it look like everything was peachy, keen, and well within legal boundaries. Putting on his best innocent look, he stepped out of the booth and walked toward the cop cars.
He watched while one of the cops got out of their car and walked toward him with a piece of paper extended in front of them. He took in the young woman's green skin and fish like fin, and realized that he was looking at the "Dragon" cop that the media had been making such a big deal about. She didn't look as big in person as she did on the HV (holovid). He'd lived in Chicago too long to let something like that fool him, though. When it came to Freaks, they did have to be very big to be able to cause a lot of damage.
"I'm Officer Chalmers. This is a warrant authorizing us to search the storage facility for the Spackler Paint Company." said the cop.
"Hmmm." he said, scratching the graying stubble on his chin. "That doesn't ring a bell. I don't think we have anybody named Spackler here."
"Warehouse number fourteen." she told him. "Take us there before I start using words like "aiding", "abetting", and "ten to twenty"." Maxine's smile was sweet with just a trace of cockiness. Inside, she was ready to start snapping necks. They had spent the morning serving warrants and tracking down the truck driver that they had pulled over the day before yesterday. The 32nd's jail cells were filling up from the people they had arrested, but they hadn't seen hide nor hair of the man who had tried to kill Maxine. It was hot, running upwards of ninety degrees, and Maxine was sick of being out in the heat. Her reservoirs of niceness were running low.
"Oh." said the guard, slapping himself in the forehead. "Sure, Spackler. Got ya. Let me get my car and you guys can follow me in." He went back into the booth and grabbed his keys from his desk. He glanced towards the door, made sure that none of the cops were watching, and then reached over to a panel on the wall. It was covered with numbered buttons counting from one to forty. He pressed in the one marked number fourteen and it began to blink on and off.. That would start an alarm over at the Spackler warehouse, and hopefully give them time to get anything hidden that they would rather the cops not see. He figured he could lead the cops for a little parade around the warehouses and maybe buy them a couple more minutes. He stepped back out of the booth and waved to the cops before going to his car.
"He's already warned them, you know." said Dan from the driver's seat as he watched the guard get in his car.
Maxine nodded. There wasn't anything that they could do. The warehouses covered about seven square miles and there was no way they could find the one they wanted unless the guard lead them to it. Ten minutes later, after taking the longest possible route, they arrived outside the warehouse they were after. Maxine and Dan parked out in front of the warehouse while the other cops sped away to surround the building. When the other officers radioed that they were in position, Max walked up to the warehouse's front door and pounded on it with the heel of her hand. She waited for ten seconds for an answer, and then she knocked again. There was still no answer. She looked at Dan, who nodded. Max raised her foot and kicked the door in. The steel door tore off of it's hinges and skidded off across the cement floor inside. The floor was covered with half dry brown paint, and the door left a wide trail in it as it slid. Dan and Max were through the door a second later with guns drawn and sweeping for target's.
That was when the odor hit them. Dan made a "gahwk!" sound and threw his arm in front of his nose and mouth, trying to block the smell. Max could feel herself getting a little greener around the gills*. The unmistakable scent of rotting flesh filled the whole building. They realized then that it wasn't brown paint that was covering the floor. What they were standing in was blood, thick and rank. It had coagulated in the heat and had the look and consistency of thin chocolate pudding. There were bodies everywhere, all of them men, all of them missing their heads. Guns littered the floor, as well as spent shells. The walls were pock marked with bullet holes. Someone very unfriendly had beaten them there. (*no, Max doesn't have gills. It's an expression)
Doors at the opposite end of the building were thrown open, and the other officers ran inside. One of them slipped in the blood and ended up on his ass in it. He scurried to his feet, swiping at the stuff covering his back, but only succeeding in spreading it.
"I'll call this in." Max told Dan. He nodded back at her, too amazed by the scene in front of him to form a verbal response.
Max turned and walked back to the door, pulling out her radio as she went. Once she was clear of the smell, she called in and told the captain what they had found. The captain was not happy. He told her to secure the scene and that he would be down there with the coroners office and some detectives in twenty minutes. She acknowledged and went to retrieve some parameter tape from the trunk of their car.
Dan came out of the building and took a nice deep breath of fresh air. When he saw Maxine getting out the tape, he helped her string it out. They walked around the building, cordoning off a fifty foot wide parameter.
"You think he was in there?" she asked him.
"I don't know." said Dan. "There's going to have to be a lot of matching up pieces before they can ID any of those guys."
"Have any idea who might have done this?"
"I'm not sure." Dan told her. "I've heard stories. Ghost stories mostly. Criminals being slaughtered by some ghoul. Having all their heads lopped off. Whoever it was, they left us a message. It's smeared in blood across the back wall. It's says, `I was not afraid.'"
"Well, that makes one of us." said Maxine.
It was less than twenty minutes before the captain and his team of investigators showed up. When they did, Maxine and Dan were told that they could leave, which they were more than happy to do. The day was getting hotter, and the stench of the crime scene was growing worse. They climbed in their car and headed away from it as fast as they could. For once, Dan wasn't suggesting that they go grab a bite to eat.
They headed back to the station. The warehouse had been their last lead in hunting down Paul Heston, the man who had tried to electrocute Maxine to death. Until they found out if he was amongst the dead, there was no point in continuing the search for him. Besides, it wasn't every day that you walked into a room filled with that kind of carnage. Maxine didn't mind admitting that she was a little shaken up by the situation. Who or what could have killed all of those men?
Dan and Max's investigation of the Spackler Paint company over the last two days had revealed that it was a cover for a group trafficking children to other countries for child prostitution. Had a deal gone bad? There was no way to tell until the detectives and medical examiners started putting together the pieces of what had happened in that warehouse.
At the station, Maxine stopped by the front desk to see if she'd had any messages come in for her while she was out.
"Yeah." said the desk sergeant. "You got a call from Janet Williams." He flipped through his message pad until he found the message, and then tore out a copy. "Here's her number."
"Hey, yeah." said Dan, suddenly remembering. "My mom said to ask you to call her."
"Nice of you to remember." Maxine told him as she took the slip of paper from the desk sergeant and thanked him. "Did she say what it was about?"
"Nope. I asked her but she told me that it wasn't any of my business. How do like that, huh? It's my mom, and my partner, but it's none of my business. I'm starting to think you two are plotting against me."
"You're just now starting to think that?" She started up the stairs to her desk.
"It's just seems like you are always snickering at me behind my back."
"That's not true. We snicker at you in front of you." She talked to Janet once or twice a week on the phone, and despite Dan's paranoia, it wasn't about him. She had even dropped by her house a couple of times to visit. Despite the differences in their age, she found that Janet was a fun woman to be around. She treated Max just like she would anyone else, not as a Freak, but as a friend. Max liked that.
Max went to her desk, picked up her phone and dialed up Janet's number. Dan was trying to hang close, but Max told him to beat it.
"William's residence, this is Janet speaking."
"Hi Janet, this is Maxine. I go a message that you had called."
"Hello, Maxine. Did the little shit forget to tell you?"
"I'm afraid so." said Maxine. "You know him. If it's not food related he can't keep his mind on it."
"This much is true." laughed Janet. "Well, there is something I wanted to talk to you about. Dan says that you still haven't been able to find a place to stay."
"No, ma'am, I haven't. You were right, people in this city really don't want to rent to a freak, especially one looking like I do." Max had called about apartment after apartment, but the landlords either refused to rent to her or quoted her an astronomical rental price.
"I wish it wasn't like that." Janet told her. "I have been thinking, though. Would you want to rent a bedroom from me? Since Jim died and all the kids left home I got more room then I know what to do with and I sure could use some extra cash coming in."
"Really?" said Max. "How much are you wanting?"
"How about four hundred a month and you pitch in on groceries and upkeep?"
Maxine's face broke out into a grin. "I think I could handle that." Most rooms went for twice that.
"Then it's a deal. Tell Dan to drive you here after work, and then we'll go get your things from the barracks. How does that sound?"
"It sounds great, Janet. Thank you. I was starting to think I was going to have to live on the street."
"You're welcome, Maxine. I'll see you tonight."
Maxine said her good-byes and hung up with a smile on her face. She felt like a twenty ton weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Dan, who had been hovering by the coffee machine on the other side of the room, saw her hang up the phone and quickly crossed over to her.
"Well?" he inquired.
"Well, what?" she said. He was so nosy that she loved to toy with him when she knew something that he didn't
"What did she want?"
"She told me that she would rent me a room."
"Really? That's cool. If it's my old room I can tell you where I hid a really good, slightly used porn collection."
"Please." said Maxine. She held up her hands, palms out. "This is not imagery that I want to introduce into my brain."
Paul Heston shuffled through Chicago's Ellis International Airport, avoiding eye contact with anybody and everybody. He looked at his reflection in a window as he passed it, and he couldn't help but smile. Any cops looking for him would be hard pressed to recognize him as the man who had to tried to kill the Freak cop. He had given himself a little makeover that morning in his motel room by shaving off his beard and dying his reddish blonde hair to a dark brown color. He had bought himself a cheap suit, a pair of cosmetic eyeglasses and a gray fedora to compliment this disguise, making himself look just a little respectable. "I look like a vacuum salesman." he thought to himself with a sly grin. If he had ran into himself on the street, looking like he did, he would have thought "chump" but not "cop killer". Hopefully any cops that saw him would think the same thing.
The cops were only half the problem, though, and that thought was what made the smile disappear from his face. Paul stared at himself in the window and wondered how far his disguise would get him with the thing that had shown up at warehouse # 14 the day before. A shiver ran down his spine when thought of those hollow eyes with the red hot flames inside, and the way that the thing had looked right at him. Right through him. Something in his gut told him that the best disguise in the world wouldn't fool that monster.
There was only one thing he could do for that situation, he thought, and that was exactly what he was doing. He was putting as much distance between him and the monster as possible, and hoping that it wouldn't follow him. In less than ten minutes he would be catching a plane headed south of the border into Texas. Hopefully that would be far enough to escape both the cops and... it.
Paul turned and continued on the way to the terminal, trying not to let his worry show on his face. "Think happy innocent thoughts." he told himself. "Try not to look like a killer of cops and a trafficker of children. Once you are on that plane and it's in the air, you're home free."
At the terminal, a stewardess accepted his tickets and told him to have a nice flight. He managed a smile for her, though he didn't think it looked too authentic. He made his way onto the plane and found his window seat near the back of coach section.
As the time for take off grew nearer, the seats around him began to fill up with other travelers. He ended up being surrounded by a large family who was headed to Texas for a vacation. An eight year old boy and a five year old girl were seated next to him and were given hand held video games to keep them occupied. He watched them for a few seconds, and without even realizing he was doing it, he began to estimate what he could have gotten for them on the asian market. It was a natural thing for him to do, to look at a child and size up their monetary worth the same way other people would do for cars, or antiques, or animals. He figured 14,000 for the boy, maybe as high as 20,000 for the girl.
He glanced up from the kids and noticed that an older woman sitting in the aisle across from him was watching him. Paul quickly turned and stared out of his window. That could have just as easily been one of the kid's parents, and he didn't think they would appreciate him staring at their children. He had to be more careful, now. One suspicious person is all it would take to get him questioned by a cop.
Twenty minutes later, the plane began to pull away from the loading zone and out onto the runway. He felt the tension in his shoulders start to drain away. Just a few more minutes and they would be in the air.
The plane's engines started to wind up and he could see heat exhaust expelling out of them from his window. A stewardess was making her way up and down the aisles making sure that every one had their seat belt on and was ready for take off. The plane lurched and then it headed down the runway. Paul leaned back in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes. There was a momentary touch of nausea when the jumbo jet took to the air, but that was gone a second later. A contented smile appeared on Paul's face.
His good mood lasted all of twenty seconds.
There was a gasp of fright towards the front of the cabin and someone screamed. Paul's eyes snapped open and the smile disappeared from his face. Everyone in the cabin was staring towards the center of the aisle where something was causing a disturbance in the air. There was a weak glow, and a spinning, shifting light that was reminiscent of the aurora borealis. A shape began to take form in the midst of the light. It grew, became more defined, solidified. It was starting to look more and more like a man on horseback.
Paul realized he was biting his lower lip so hard that blood was running down his chin. He had a death grip on the arm rests of his chair, and his knuckles were a bright white. It was here. The thing from the warehouse. Somehow it had gotten onto the plane. And that meant that it knew he was here.
The thing had to lean forward to fit inside the the cabin's low ceiling. It appeared to be a civil war officer, complete with revolver, saber, and uniform. He was bearded, and there was a distinct scar on each side of his face. Someone had branded a "C" on both cheeks. The thing's most noticeable feature, however, was it's eyes. Or it's lack thereof. It's eyes were black voids receding back into it's skull.
A stewardess stepped through the curtain that separated coach from first class. When she saw the apparition, she shrieked and threw herself back against a wall. The ghost turned it's head to look at her for a moment, and then it turned back toward the passengers. It had no eyes, but there was no doubt that it was looking them over. It was looking for Paul. It's gaze wandered up and down the rows of people, searching their faces. It was getting closer to Paul. He had his feet braced against the base of the seat in front of him, and his legs were so tensed that they hurt. It's eyes wandered past him, and he almost exhaled a sigh of relief. It's search stopped two rows ahead of him, and then it came back in his direction. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as it's gaze locked with his. Fire blossomed back within it's hollow eye sockets and belched out into the air. It knew.
It's hand reached down and grabbed the hilt of it's saber. It yanked it from it's sheath with a flourish, revealing the sword's broken blade. The sword had been broken half way down it's length but there was still more than enough of it left to make it deadly. It extended it's arm and pointed the jagged end of the sword right at Paul.
"Paul Heston!" It's voice sounded strange, like a scream played in reverse. It sounded like the words were being sucked in rather than spoken out. " I see you, and I see you for what you are! Know that I am not afraid of you!"
It stuck it's knees into it's horse's sides and started down the aisle towards him. Paul shoved with his legs, pushing himself up the back of his seat and over into the laps of the people sitting behind him. He turned, got his foot up on a footrest, and then launched himself back onto the next row. The passengers were screaming now, both at Paul and at the apparition that was advancing up the aisle. The ghost's horse was picking up speed now and the specter was holding it's sword back, ready to strike. Realizing that he was going much too slow to get away, Paul turned back toward his attacker. It filled his vision and he shrank back away from it. The sword arm stretched back, preparing for a slice that would take off Paul's head. Paul screamed and threw his hands up in front of him.
"If you look out your right side passenger window," the pilot's voice blurted from the intercom. "you will notice that we are leaving the city of Chicago. We will be landing in Dallas, Texas in a little over an hour and a half. Enjoy your flight and thank you for choosing Bendis Air."
The ghost swung it's sword, and Paul closed his eyes at the last instant. He could hear the wind being split by the blade as it streaked toward his neck. A mixture of memories and unfulfilled dreams flashed before his eyes as his body cringed in anticipation of the inevitable deathblow.
The blow never came.
He opened his eyes in time to see the last remnants of the specter fading away in the air. Wide eyed and with bated breath, he stared at the place where he had last seen the ghost. There was nothing there, no lights, no glowing, the thing had simply disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
"Hey, buddy. You mind?" he heard somebody close by say. Paul became aware of the fact that he was sitting in the lap of another man. In his flight from the ghost, he hadn't paid attention to where he had landed. He apologized and pushed himself to his feet.
The stewardess who had walked in earlier got up from where she had been cringing and quickly walked toward the front of the plane.
Everyone in coach was looking at him. It was very clear that the ghost had been there to get Paul, and they were all wondering why. "I see you for what you are." the ghost has said to him. They were all wondering just what it was that Paul was. He excused himself with a mumble and stepped out into the aisle. Their eyes followed his every move.
"I, um," He stumbled for words. "I gotta go to the bathroom." Paul headed back toward the back of the cabin, to the bathroom. He stepped into the little cubicle and turned the little dial to "occupied" before collapsing onto the toilet with a shudder. His legs were shivering uncontrollably, and it felt like he couldn't get a deep enough breath into his lungs. There was no doubt about it, he was experiencing the after effects of sheer terror. Effects so strong that they were bordering on shock. Paul remained in the bathroom for several more minutes, trying to get himself under control.
The pilot's voice crackled over the plane's intercom, "This is your Captain speaking. Due to an unforeseen emergency that might endanger the passengers of this plane, it has been decided that we will turn back and land in Chicago."
Paul's head snapped up, a look of horror on his face. "Oh, no." he said. "Oh, no, you're not. No way in hell are we going back there."
He reached out his arms and touched the bathroom's metal walls. The light bulb above his head began to dim.
Maxine and Dan were headed out at the end of the day when they were stopped by the sound of someone calling their names. They turned to see Brad Turner, one of the guys that worked in evidence and the lab, running toward them waving his arms in the air.
"Williams, Chalmers, hold up! I got something to show you." When he got to them he was breathing heavily, as he had run up the stairs in an effort to catch them before they left. Still panting, he held up two plastic baggies. He shook the one on his left. "These are the pills from the Biggs case. You know, where you wrestled the giant Pomeranian?" He shook the baggy on his right. "These are from the Orifice case. The Freak drug peddler you brought in the day before yesterday."
Maxine took a close look at the pills and smiled. They were identical. "Can I kiss you, Brad?"
"Me first." said Dan. He pursed his lips and took a step in Brad's direction, making the lab tech take a couple of steps back.
"It was nothing." said Brad, keeping one eye on Dan. "We were going through his stash of pills and these were stumping everybody. No one had seen them before. They looked familiar to me, though. I wracked my brain, and then I remembered the pills Dan had brought me from the Biggs case. And there you have it."
"Come on, Max." said Dan. "Let's go see if the good Doctor wants to talk to us."
"Go book 'em, Danno." said Turner. He didn't get to stand in the spotlight very often, and you could tell that this was a rare thrill for him.
Several minutes later, the desk sergeant down in Holding was telling them that Dr. Orifice was gone. He was being transported over to county with a truckload of other criminal Freaks. The county jail had better security and was designed for holding prisoners with superpowers.
"You missed him by about twenty minutes." the sergeant told them.
"I feel like pulling a little overtime." said Max.
"Works for me." said Dan. They headed out to their patrol car and started over toward the county jail.
Dr. Orifice was only one of eight prisoners in the back of the paddy wagon. Besides him, there were a couple of Semi-Norms*, a cyborg who was missing his arms, a man that had eyes in the back of his head, a woman who was dressed in rubber and had a mouth like a leech, a small white mouse with an unusually large cranium, and a skinny red colored person with the head, tail and feet of a cow. *Freak that appears to be normal, but does have superpowers, like Paul Heston
The Cow-Boy, as Orifice had dubbed him, was staring blankly forward and chewing his cud. Orifice had tried starting a conversation with him a couple of times but had only got a "moo" in reply both times. He was left wondering what kind of crime Cow-Boy could have committed to get himself put in here. He wasn't what you would call a criminal mastermind.
Cow-Boy swallowed what he was chewing on and looked around hungrily. Orifice watched him for a moment, and an idea began to form in his head. He leaned forward and said, "Are you hungry, Cow-Boy? You want something to eat?"
Cow-Boy's eyes swung over toward him, and he said, "moo."
"That's what I thought. Just hold on a second, I'll get you something." He leaned back on his seat and closed his eyes.
"Leave him alone." said the woman in rubber. "Can't you see that he isn't all there?"
Orifice ignored her and wrinkled his eyebrows in concentration. A gurgling sound came from his stomach. The rest of the prisoners turned to look at him.
"Hey, buddy." said the armless cyborg. "What are you doing over there?"
"I'm breaking out of here." said Orifice. His stomach made a wet belching sound, and then a sound like someone retching. He pulled up the front of his shirt, revealing the mystery opening he was named after. The rest of the prisoners shivered collectively at the site of it. He grunted like a man with constipation and something began to poke out of the dripping slit in his stomach.
"Oh, my god, he's giving birth." said one of the semi-norms. The man turned and buried his face in the corner of the truck's holding cell and wept.
With one last push, the thing fell from Orifice's orifice in a torrent of slime. He reached down and picked it up and the other prisoners saw that it was a condom that had been filled and tied shut.
"The pigs couldn't bring themselves to search me there." he told them. "It was all a little too Freudian for them to handle, I guess." He tore open the top of the rubber and fished out a small baggy containing five pills. He dropped the pills into his hand and held them out to Cow-Boy.
"Are ya' hungry, boy? Are ya'? Try these. They're really good!"
The Cow-Boy eyes him stupidly. "moo." he said. He leaned forward, stuck out his tongue, and licked the pills from Orifice's hand.
Dr. Orifice smiled, sat back, pulled down the front of his shirt, and waited for the shit to hit the fan.
~Fin-Fan-Fic-Fanatics~Letters and comments from readers. Do I rock or do I suck? Write me and tell me what you think. If you don't want your comments put in this letters column, or if you want them taken out, please let me know.
Hey, that threat to kill off the main character worked pretty good. I got responses coming out the wazoo!
Nice bit with the "Gun resuscitation" man, and Doctor Orifice seems someone straight out of the regular Dragon series.
Are you implying that Dragon and his kin is a pseudo-humanoid race? The Angelican looks promising. All in all a nine out of ten.
Oh yeah, don't kill Maxine,
Hilton
________________________
Hey, man!
Sorry about not emailing you last time. I didn't know you were looking for responses every month. I want you to know that I'm reading each issue as you put 'em out! You're a heck of a writer. And I like how you're kinda making up your own Dragon origin (at least, that's the kind of impression I get from how #4 ended!). Keep it up!
Michael "Big Mac" McKinley
__________________________
I put those two letters together because I confused some people with the ending to # 4. This is why I like to get feedback on my stories. It lets me know if people are getting what I am writing and gives me a chance to explain if people don't get it.
Without giving too much away, I can tell you this. To my knowledge, there have only been three green skinned, finned, super beings, (Maxine, Malcolm, and the original Dragon). The Dragon's last battle, which was referred to in # 3, was with the Angelican.
As for origins, the only one I am making up is Maxine's. That's why I set these stories in the future. I have read pretty much every appearance of the Savage Dragon, but I still don't feel comfortable writing in Erik's universe. By setting my stories two hundred years down the road I gave myself more room to move and less chances of screwing up. This way, you don't have to know the Dragon's origin to know Maxine's origin. Hope that cleared that up a little.
You could probably expect the Angelican to show up somewhere around issue # 12.
Subject: Note for the last person you'd thought to hear from...
... me. ;)
Well, I have to say, Dragon 2200 still rocks.. its a damn nice series,
and #3 was an enjoyable read. I just printed off four, so I'll let you
know what I think of that tonight.
Alex Cook
Thanks, Alex
That subject line could not have been more accurate. Alex works with the Future Shock fan fiction groups, which was where the Dragon 2200 originated. It was originally going to be a part of the Image Future Shock fan fiction group, but I don't play well with others, so I left the group and started self publishing. Well, we kissed and made up, so when Image Future Shock gets itself going they are going to release my Dragon stories along with the myriad of titles they have in the works. Just goes to show you, you never know how things will turn out around here.
10-12-99 The above message was written on 10-10-99. The last sentence is now the one which could not be more accurate. Well, I'm back out of IFS. The same people are there and they're up to thier same old games, which means I'm back to doing this on my own. Aw, well, less frustration, better stories.
Brian,
Just wanted to drop you a line to let you know that I am about
halfway through the third issue of Savage Dragon 2200, and all I can say is
WOW! Very nice. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of the stuff on the
list too.
Paul McNally
Paul made the mistake of asking me what fan fic I had written and now I'm holding him captive and forcing him to read every thing I've ever written. Thanks, Paul. Here's some Mighty Mouse fics I wrote in second grade when you're finished with all those. What do you mean "sleep"?! Get to readin', man! Just kidding, thanks for reading.
Excellent story, once again, Mr. Campo. And again, my only complaint is
that you don't seem to edit your stories, before posting them. Or was
the CPR scene supposed to be in two different places? Anyway, enough
nit-picking. I'm really enjoying this series of yours. 10 out of 10.
See you next issue.
C.L. Bishop AKA dragonflyonthewall
Heh, heh, I edit as much as I can. I spell check and proof read at least two times before I send it out. The CPR scene was indeed supposed to be in there twice. It's kind of an old storytelling device. Basically, you start off with a very unlikely scene, like The Fantastic Four's the Thing is the President of the United States (or Dan shooting Max). This is meant to hook in the reader and make them want to read the rest of the issue just so they can find out how this outlandish thing came to be. I tried to help it make a little more sense by sticking the time of day at the beginning of each scene. Sorry if it wasn't clear. Were there problems with the issue other than that? Thanks for writing, and please keep reading.
That goes for everybody. Thanks for writing. Feedback is what keeps us fan ficcers going. Without it we don't know if anyone is reading what we are writing and if no one is reading it, what's the point of writing it?
Instead of a big list of other people's fan fic, this time I'm going to post all the other fic I have floating around out there. Enjoy.
The Crow: A Sinister Tune
http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo/ARNY.html
The Crow: Dark Age
http://www.angelfire.com/or/crowffa/darkage.html
The Crow:Leaving the Game
http://www.angelfire.com/or/crowffa/leavingthegame.html
Sansker:2200
Sansker: A Change of Heart (incomplete at this time)
http://www.angelfire.com/or/icffa/2200.html
Sin City: Postcards from Maui
http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo/sincitypfm.html
Sin City: Friends
http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo/sin.html
Spawn: 1899
http://angelfire.com/or/bcampo/DORT.html
Sansker: Strike of Midnight (only one issue, incomplete)
http://www.angelfire.com/or/icffa/strikeofmidnight.html
