Chapter 1: THAT WHICH DEFINES US
The year is now 2020. The sun is beaming down upon the people working at a construction site. A large sign reads "Avalon Apartment Villa." As one of the largest trading hubs on the East Coast, Avalon City continued to maintain its status as one of the top skylines in the United States. Towering skyscrapers lined the busy streets, and nearly every other block, some new and innovative construction project was being erected, constantly attempting to improve upon previous projects. The Villa was sanctioned in order to attempt to relieve some of the massive overpopulation issues plaguing the city, removing the fierce juxtaposition between the middle and working classes. The bottom half of the building has its concrete base in place, along with a solid framework of steel girders. Along the beams, construction works crawl like ants across the hot metal, attempting to build the future homes for dozens of families. Heat is radiating off the metallic surface of the beams, and heavy machinery and tumbleweeds litter the area. The air is dry, and tastes of sawdust and iron. Men are working at their respective roles on the site, the sounds of grunts and blowtorch flares echoing down the steel skeleton.
A worker walks towards one of the building's joints along one of the platforms, making sure to secure his harness to one of the nearby beams. He sits down towards the edge of the building, flips his mask down, and begins to weld the two pieces of metal together into a v-joint. As he leans in to get a closer look, a wrench wedged in his toolbelt slides out of its holster. He grabs for it, but misses as the wrench hurdles towards the ground, straight at another worker's bright, yellow helmet on the ground.
"Watch out!" he cries out.
The wrench is pummeling towards the man's head. Residing on the man's chest, something small and silver glints off the sun. The hairs on his arms stand up, and his skin begins to tingle.
Move…
As if shoved by an invisible force, the man leaps forward, landing flat on his stomach as the wrench collides with the ground. Brushing off his dusty, worn jeans, he takes off his helmet, and looks up. The man is in his late 20's. His dark brown hair is miraculously still styled into tall spikes after wearing a helmet, due to both hair gel and sweat. Dense chest muscles press against his tight white T-shirt, though his slight gut remains hovering over a leather strap made of spent bullet casings, passing as a belt, hanging loosely off his hips. Dangling around his neck, a bright, silver bullet is strung through by a thick wire. The bullet has no imperfections, and has two tiers, built like a rifle round from the 40's. Lying in between his pectoral muscles, it resides next to a name tag reading "Vance". A seemingly carefree complexion, complete with a wide grin at his impressive dodge as he mentally compliments himself quickly fades as the reality of the situation sets in. Jet black eyes snap upwards, and a fierce and wild look about his face scans the sky, looking for the source of the dropped tool become projectile. He frowns.
"Fantastic, let's start the day with a concussion," mutters Vance. "Hey, watch it up there!" he shouts. "Man, some idiot is always droppin' somethin' and making my day a pain."
A nearby coworker jogs over, examining Van. He exhales in relief.
"Those are some reflexes, Van," he says. "Glad you're alright. You play ball or somethin'?"
"Na, I just generally try not to die," replies Van. "I dunno, I don't think about it much. I just felt like…like I had to move, you know? My body just senses it."
"Yeah, we all know thinking aint your thing."
"Hey!...Shut up! I still get double the work done you do, old man!"
A woman appears from the main office. Her dark, brown hair is in a tight bun, hidden underneath her hard hat. Dark, brown eyes are a combination of anger and amusement upon eyeing Vance. Her tucked in, plaid blue, button-down top is sharply juxtaposed with the orange construction vest. Black pants appear nearly spotless, indicating that her role on the site requires little to no manual labor. In the crook of her arm, a clipboard with blueprints clipped in flap in the fierce wind, and she struggles to keep the papers in order. Her fingernails don't show a drop of polish, unsurprising for a construction yard. The woman's nametag reads "Sarah – Construction Manager".
"Except when actually doing your job it seems" she teases.
"I'm doin' my job...er...at least I'm about to," Van hastily replies.
She groaned. "Uh huh. And I told you, take off that necklace, it's a work hazard! And that ridiculous belt. What if it snags on something and you fall off a girder!? Then I have to pay the insurance deductible."
Lying against Van's white shirt, a stark contrast from the orange construction vest, he plays with the bullet necklace, rolling it in between his thumb and index finger. It glints in the sun. The metal is strangely cool on the boiling 102°F day. Van chuckles.
"And I thought I was important to you. I like this belt, it makes me feel cool! And the necklace…not happening. It's my good luck charm, family heirloom. Besides..."
He palms the bullet. It sits perfectly in his left hand's lifeline. "…it's the little things that make us who we are...reminds me that sometimes, all we need is just one, clean shot..."
Sarah arched her eyebrow. "Good luck? Didn't you say your ancestor died immediately after shooting that thing?"
Van winced, then scratched behind his head and looked upwards. "Well, yeah...he was nuts. Wrote in some diary. Something about shooting someone, they didn't die, kept it to remember, blah blah blah. I thought it was cool looking, made it into a necklace to remember him by. You never know what could be a good luck charm."
"That makes no sen..."
"If you'll excuse me, I'm workin'...VERY HARD mind you...on the top story. I have to do that one...thing...yeah."
Sarah sighs, and thuds her head into her palm. "I'll go with you. Where I need you today is..." With a beep, the elevator door closes, and Van is already gone, taking the elevator up to the top story. Sarah groans. "Headstrong idiot. He never waits for anything."
Within the elevator, Van talks to himself. He rolls the bullet necklace between his fingers. The elevator rattles, causing Van to stumble and steady himself on the wall. "No one appreciates me, I swear. Tryin' to tell me how to do my job. I've done this for a whole two months! Pretty sure that's more than enough. I need a drink."
The bullet necklace hangs limply across his shirt, cold and ominous in the fluorescent lighting of the elevator. Van exits the elevator, immediately putting up his hand as a sun visor to protect from the sudden brightness of the top story. With the framework mostly finished, and flooring installed across most of the landing, the current state of the building appeared to be an unfinished roof, providing an eagle's view of the city. Small sections of the corners remain skeletal, but the rest of the level Van is standing upon seems solid. He looks up at the structure of the next story above, first being constructed. The bar's lock in the top floor, making the entire area appear as a gladiator pit. His necklace glints off of the sun as he passes other workers, greeting them as he carefully walks along the platform. The other men grunt or wave in response, sweating and breathing heavily from the overbearing heat. Van grabs a welding mask and a blowtorch, equips the mask, and sits down at an unoccupied joint. He clicks the metallic clasp together to ignite the flame, then begins to weld. Howling wind glides along the steel girder, causing the flame to continually flicker towards his hands.
"Wind is damn strong today," Van thinks to himself, "and I swear, if this damn thing burns my finger off…" He hears a loud creaking noise and looks up, noticing a swaying crane. "…and that thing is gonna kill someone. Ideally not me."
The crane operator pulls a lever, and the enormous machine groans against the wind, moving the arm towards a wall, slowly lowering a steel beam into place. Creaking from the platform indicates that the load is rocking back and forth. One of the men shouts to another.
"Ey, you sure this is safe? Ain't we not s'pose ta operate in these conditions?"
The other worker responds with a shrug. "You're welcome to explain why we're behind schedule. It'll be fine. Besides, Rick secured it last night, right?"
"He was supposed to. I'm sure he did, it's fine."
Van looks over the edge of the building, nearly 30 stories tall.
"For having a view like this…man, you would think I'd be a bit more excited," he says aloud.
"Well, I'm quite sorry for your lack of entertainment at work," grunts Sarah, walking hastily up to Van from behind, "but unfortunately, it has to get done. Thanks for holding the elevator for me by the way. Do you know how long it takes to go up and down 30 stories?"
Van swallows hard and takes a step back, stepping onto the power cord attached to the welding torch. "Uh. Is this a test question or should I answer it? I feel like regardless of my answer, it's probably wrong."
"Good guess."
The cable snags, ripping the tool from Van's fingers. It swings harmlessly in between a group of relaxing workers a floor below before clunking into a nearby support column. The workers on the floor below leap out of the way of the dangling tool, and angrily shout vulgarities while throwing miscellaneous objects at Van. He sheepishly scratches his helmet and shrugs at them, then sighs.
"I just get bored with life sometimes. It moves so slow. Nothing interesting ever happens. Sometimes, I just wish something...extraordinary would happen, ya know?"
Across the world, somewhere in New Delhi, India, the night seems quiet. Suddenly, a loud clanking rings out. A person in reflective, brown armor is running as fast as they can, breathing heavily. They look over their shoulder frantically, then continue running through the stone city.
Back at the construction site, Sarah approaches Van, aggressively. She crosses her arms, and leans on one leg. Van groans and rolls his eyes.
"You have got to slow down, Van" Sarah snaps, "you are going to get yourself into trouble if you keep diving headfirst into situations without thinking. Vance, you have no degree, and minimal certifications. You've switched jobs nearly every other month. When are you going to find a goal worth sticking around for? You need to find something to devote yourself to, or you will never be satisfied with your life." She picks up another torch and hands it to him. He grabs it aggressively. Sarah groans. Van sticks out his tongue at her. "Oh grow up. Take your time and focus, plan your next move. Don't just go off impulse all the time. You're going to kill someone."
Van's necklace flashes, almost defensively. Faint whispers breeze past Van's ear. His head snaps around, looking for the source, then shakes his head.
"Hey, it works for me!" Van says defensively. "Well, not the killing thing, that's messed up. But moving without thinking is how to keep…alive. Besides, that's why you can't stay away from me."
He remarks with a grin, then winks. She snickers, but her lips turn into a faint smirk.
Back in India, the metallic woman turns a corner at a skid, sparks erupting from her boots. She nearly tumbles over a raised root, when suddenly, flame erupts in front of her. She skids to a stop. The stone walls beside and behind her shift. She looks around, clearly terrified, and the walls elongate and move, closing her in a circular stone prison. Hundreds of dense, metallic cables arc into the air, closing off the sky above her. The woman says something in Hindi that sounds like a swear.
Meanwhile, back at the site, the crane looms overhead to drop off another load of beams. The worker standing on the top story is waving his arms frantically at the operator.
"Hey!" he yells into a walkie talkie. "Raise the boom, it's too low! You're tilting!"
Static cackles over the receiver.
"Hello?" asks the worker, "work you damn piece of shit!"
"I hate that thing," Sarah exclaims, "and the boom looks way too low..."
"Right!?" remarks Van. "Now THAT thing is totally gonna kill..."
The wind howls suddenly, a shrill banshee's cry rings out when it glides along the steel skeleton of the building, swinging the beams. The turntable rocks, causing the crane's arm to groan in protest, rocking downwards, despite the frantic pulling of the operator on the levers. Van's necklace flashes, and his skin begins to tingle. The entire arm of the crane begins to tilt uncontrollably in the wind. The wiring holding the beams in place twitches, and one by one, the beams begin to slide out of their holsters, colliding into the metallic framework of the structure with resounding, metallic blows. The powerful vibration rings out along the metallic frame of the building, causing all the workers to scream and hold their ears. The metal beams ricochet down the structure, nearly killing workers as it careens towards the ground. Workers dive out of the way as the beams crush into the pavement floor, shattering the concrete upon impact. A beam falls directly towards Sarah, who is looking down, covering her head. Van's eyes widen and he leaps towards her.
"Look out!" Van screamed.
He shoves Sarah off to the side, just as the beam collides in between them, separating them. The necklace flashes. A beam lands on Sarah's leg with a loud crunch. She screams in pain, and her pant leg is sticking out at an unusual angle.
"Van, help…me…!" Sarah says, weakly.
"Hang on, Sarah!"
The other workers are diving out of the way, desperately attempting to get down the collapsing and wobbling building via the elevator. The top four floors of the structure are collapsing, the beams toppling over like dominoes.
"This…is the opposite of good." Says Van to himself.
"VAN!" roars Sarah.
"Falling building, I know, I got it!"
Van leaps back to dodge another pillar, and rolls across the floor, narrowly evading a lashing cable. He hears the wind whistle as it rips through the air inches above his head, his hair swishing as the cable breezes narrowly by. Van runs over to Sarah on the other platform, leaping over wires and beams. His shoe snares on an errant wire, smashing him into the floor. He swears, then gets up, and takes a good look at her. She looks terrible. Her skin is paled from the damage, and she is sweating profusely, her hair plastered to her forehead. She winces in pain, uselessly clutching her leg, panting heavily.
"Hurry…" she pleads.
Her voice is getting weaker. She is turning pale, having lost a lot of blood.
"I'm almost there, hang on Sarah! I'll get this off you in no time!"
He grips the beam with both hands, shoulders, back, and arms straining, trying to lift it with all his might, but to no avail.
"Okay, maybe a little time.
"Oh no..."
"Damn…listen, I'm trying the best that I…"
Van suddenly notices Sarah's eyes, following her gaze, and looks to the right. Hurdling back towards them, the cargo rig from the crane is on a collision course with their position. In its weakened state, the remaining support beams begin to rattle, as if sensing the upcoming catastrophe. The bullet necklace begins to hum, and Van's skin tingles.
"Oh…that sucks."
"I...I..." Sarah desperately tries to speak, but is cut off. Hitting with the force of a car accident, the rig collides with the remains of the building's framework, shaking it as if an earthquake were beneath the structure. The remaining beams launch in all directions, including the one pinning Sarah, sending her flying through the sky. Soaring through the air, she looks up just in time to see Van leaping from his safe vantage point towards her.
"Are…are…ARE YOU AN IDIOT!?" She screams. "N…now you're g…gonna die too!"
"Oh shit, I hope not! Why the hell did I jump!?" he retorts. He grips her hand tightly.
"I guess we die together!"
Sarah, watery eyed, just stares at him.
"I'm sorry Van...I'm sorry."
Dark pavement below rapidly approaches the falling pair.
"I'm dead...I'm so dead...why did I jump!?" Van thinks frantically. "My body just...moved! I can't believe this...and Sarah, she just keeps staring at me...and all I can do is hold her hand..."
50 feet from the ground and closing, time seems to slow to a virtual halt. A voice like a whisper enters into Van's mind, seemingly from nowhere at all. The bullet necklace is glowing and humming, lashing violently in the wind. Emanating from the necklace itself, the voice whispers directly into Van's brain, almost as a thought.
Impulse...
"Uh...God?" Van asks, clearly a combination of curious and petrified.
Necklace...bullet...
"Yep, I lost it. Or I'm dead. Both downers."
You...impulse...host...combine...survive...
"Whatever you can do, dude, do it now!"
The bullet necklace drifts towards Van's chest and whispers one word. The phrase slams into Van's head, and he clutches at his head as if it were just struck.
Name...!
Van grabs the bullet so tightly his veins poke out of his hand.
"Man, I don't even know the name of half the chicks I sleep with, let alone your na..."
The amulet hums, and begins to slightly glow. A warmth resonates across Van's chest, and his eyes go wide. A whisper echoes across his ears, and the hair on his arms and neck stand up, crackling with static electricity.
"Just one, clean shot...Silver Bullet..."
Time returns to normal, and Van and Sarah continue their rapid descent. The bullet begins to glow brightly, Van's eyes go wide, and he screams. He rears back, and grabs his head, as if in extraordinary pain. His eyes and mouth burst with brilliant light, and lines of light streak down his face, torso, arms, and legs, glowing brightly. The same unnatural glow encases both him and Sarah. From the glowing lines, silver metal begins to creep across Van's skin. As they near the ground, people scream and back up, preparing for the impact. Many turn away, but most stare on in horror. Suddenly, out of the light, a flying suit of armor emerges, holding Sarah, swoops in and lands heavily on the floor. The armor is tinted a metallic silver, with a very aerodynamic design. Large airfoils jut out the back, with a sleek, swept back helmet to slice through the air. The Silver Bullet puts Sarah on the ground, the woman in a mixed state of shock and awe, and crawls backwards. Bullet stands up and stares at his hands in wonder.
"Hell. Yes."
Meanwhile, a nearby civilian wearing a bandanna talks into a cell phone.
"Sir! Avalon City! A new wielder just appeared!" screams the man into his phone.
Back in India, a bloody armor is lying on the floor, and a near shapeless armor is walking away from it. Light encases the armor on the floor to reveal a heavily damaged woman's body. Her limbs and bones are all pointed in unnatural angles, and she is not breathing.
"I see," says the armored man.
He lifts a bracelet up to his face, it has droplets of blood on it. The bracelet quickly flashes.
"I will be back tomorrow and investigate." He says authoritatively. "Find out anything you can on this new wielder. Every amulet could hold the information I seek. Let's hope this one is more...nonpartisan. You know I loathe violence."