Johnny Wagner, 3/16/09 1:38 PM

The bell jingles as the door swings shut after Christian’s departure. I grin in smug satisfaction secure in the knowledge that he won’t be coming back. I lean back in my chair folding my hands behind my head.

The one thing that bugs me though is how he knew I was playing minesweeper. I ponder over it for a second and swing in my chair a little bit. Maybe he saw a reflection or something? I spin in my chair to see if there is anything behind me that would cause such a phenomenon, but there isn’t. I shrug and slowly start to turn back towards the screen.

I pause halfway and almost fall out of my chair when I notice the stout Mexican staring me down, his eyes narrowed and his normally cheery grin folded down into a scowling frown.

“What?!” I ask incredulously.

He sighs and shakes his head, “ I know you’re an asshole, but did you really have to insult him one last time before he left? That dude wasn’t so bad!”

“What the hell? He called me a bastard! Didn’t you hear him?! I heard it clear as day!” I shout back defensively, Max has known me long enough to know I don’t take insults from anyone! “Pretty boy just got a taste of his own medicine, and probably wasn’t expecting it from a ‘geek’ like me.”

Max stairs blankly at me and blinks once. “He didn’t call you a bastard, and even if he had you would have deserved it.”

I’m not sure how to react, he did insult me first… didn’t he? If it had been any one but Max I probably wouldn’t have cared what they thought, but Max is probably the closest thing I could have to a friend that isn’t a chat window. I can tell he is disappointed.

He pulls the books out of his box and sets them on the counter, “I’m gunna pay for these and head out for now. I’ll catch ya later.”

I ring him up in silence and we exchange money, when I’m handing him his change I pause for second.

“Look I really did hear him call me a bastard, maybe it was my craziness acting up, but I know what I heard. “ Max smirks a bit and takes his change stuffing it into his pocket.

“Yeah well maybe you take too many of those pills man, maybe they are making you more crazy than you are. If he comes back in you should try an be nicer, maybe even apologize. It’s makes you feel good ya know… being nice.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you say,” I pause for a second bagging his books. “So, do I get a rematch against you in halo tonight?”

His cheesy smile returns, “Pshh if you want me to kick your gringo ass again just knock on my door when you get home…”

Christian Sinclair, 3/16/09 1:02 PM

Information is the best way to get on someone’s good side. Luckily for me I am constantly… connected? No, that’s not quite right, connected would imply I’m accessing information like a computer does. It’s different from that, I move through the information and data as if it we’re a memory or a thought, it’s more like I’m a part of what they sometimes refer to as the information super highway. Thanks to the plethora of data available to me at a whim I am able to easily make it seem like I am an expert, or at least knowledgeable on nearly any and all subjects.

Now, I used to read comic books when I was a kid, and I do remember enjoying the Age of Apocalypse books, but there is no way I would have been able to recall the minutia required to impress an elitists like Johnny Wagner if it weren't for a quick check on Wikipedia.

Normally the way this works is I impress someone by knowing things about the things they like, and they in turn start to like me. I use my ability to establish common ground with my subject; small talk works wonders with making good impressions.

Unfortunately, however, it seems to be having the opposite effect on Wagner. He scowls at me after the initial shock wears off and lets out a long and drawn out sigh.

“Age of Apocalypse eh?,” he says this with a certain inflection to his voice that lets me know he isn’t buying it. “You can rummage through our back issues, but I seriously doubt we have any of the actual books since they were printed in 1995, You’d have a better chance finding the 2005 one shot 10th anniversary issue, but it’s still not likely, You’re best bet is probably a Con or eBay. I bet we do have some Exiles though if you are interested in a few of the characters from the universe, namely fan favorite Blink, and the AoA Sabertooth.”

He recites the information as if he didn’t even have to think about it, and in all honesty he probably didn’t. He turns back to his computer when he is finished, acting like it’s no big deal, but I catch him raising his eyebrow in my direction after a moment waiting to see if his knowledge impressed me.

I decided to try a new tactic and stroke his ego rather than try and impress him, “There was a 10th anniversary?” I ask feigning shock, I’d already pulled up the info to further the conversation if need be, but this might work better.

“Yup,” he doesn’t even look up from the screen, damn, “The old books are in the boxes in the back.” He motions with one hand towards the back of the store where there are lines of long white boxes, which I can only assume are full of back issues.

This isn’t going well, he’s already blowing me off. I should have planned for this better. Based on his psychiatric reports he isn't a people person. He’s quite the opposite actually.

Max, who had began reading one the comics he pulled out of a box with his name on it decides to cut in, “What about trades dude, Might not be able to get the actual book, but I bet the Age of Apocalypse has some trades out.”

Johnny shifts and turns, his eyes like daggers pointed at max, who is once again oblivious as he goes back to reading his book.

“Yeah… I wouldn’t mind trades,” I throw in, hoping to maybe get somewhere.

He reluctantly closes his lap top and sighs, “I can see about ordering them for you.”

“Sure, that would be great.” I smile my award winning smile which makes him scowl, I must admit I am gaining some small satisfaction out of his misery, although it’s not getting me anywhere closer to finding out if Wagner truly does have an ability…

“Ok, I’ll look. “ He turns to the other computer now and hits a few keys and clicks the mouse a few times, I turn inward for a moment and start talking to the computer, asking it to show me what it’s doing. It’s not too difficult a task, it’s an out dated PC and it’s firewall doesn’t put up a fight… He’s playing Mine Sweeper. I tell the computer to make him loose. And he does. 4 times in a row on the first click. After the fifth time I make all the button's look like comedian pins. I hear him mumble something and he restarts the application. I leave it alone after that.

“Ok,” he says after another minute and 47 seconds, “Christian was it?” He writes my name down on a sheet of paper along with the words AoA trades, and continues, “Come back in about a month and you’re stuff should be here provided it doesn’t get lost or anything.” He flashes me a quick smile then turns back to his computer.

I’m just wasting time here, not going to learn anything from Wagner at this point, it will probably take more than one visit to get him to warm up to me, and quite frankly I’m not sure he is worth the effort with the lack of strong leads and conflicting reports I have.

“Thanks I guess..” I turn to the short man beside me, “It was nice meeting you Max, thanks for trying to help.”

Max looks up from his book and grins broadly, "Sure dude! I'll see you around!"

I grab one of the shop’s business cards and turn towards the door. Enjoy your minesweeper, you Bastard, waste of my time. I suddenly feel a strange chill run down my spine; it makes me physically shiver, and is very similar to a chill I felt earlier.

“Fuck you too preppy, have a nice day!” Wagner shouts after me with unmasked sarcasm.

I pause and think for a second. He responded almost as though he had heard my bastard comment… interesting. The chill. After I felt it the first time Wagner freaked out and looked for his meds, his records indicate he is being treated for hearing voices… maybe, just maybe he isn’t so much crazy as it is him inadvertently hearing other people’s thoughts! Telepathy! Could it be? Maybe the second time he just thought I insulted him vocally… interesting I wonder why it would send a shiver down my spine? Could his nosebleed have been related? Perhaps his meds are affecting his abilities and causing some sort of backlash? I have so many questions. I smile a bit more hopeful and continue out the door with out responding or looking back.

When I’m outside I access the 3G wireless networks and dump some notes on the encounter along with a few theories and questions I have into my private data storage. Maybe I will continue this observation after all...

Johnny Wagner, 3/16/09 12:39 PM

Ugh Max… Why do you have to talk to people? Why can’t you just let them buy their shit an get out!

The door Jingles again, great more customers, just what I wanted! I look up and notice a beautiful young woman has just entered the store. She is about 5'5", blonde hair past her shoulder, killer body, she gives new meaning to the term hour glass figure, eyes bluer than the sky, and one of those cute button noses. Everyone in the shop is staring at her, me, the kid at the counter; even the banter between Christian and Max stops for a minute. I manage to regain control of my jaw and shut it as she rushes past everyone ignoring all of us going strait for some books in the back. She quickly picks one and brings it to the counter. I don't say a word. I hardly even make eye contact.

This must be why women don't come into comic shops too often, our universe seems to break down around them. I don't even think to look at what kind of book she picked up. She's gone almost as quickly as she came, however, the kid turns back to the cards counter, and I hear Max and Christian resume their banter.

I try and turn back to my computer and do my best to ignore the ongoing conversation. I know any minute now he’s going to bring that guy over here and he is going to bore the hell out of me by telling me how “sick” the new Watchmen movie was, and how hot the chick is who plays Silk Spectre. I know she’s fuckin’ hot! I don’t need to be told this, a blind monkey could probably tell how hot she is with those knee high boots on and nothing else.

That’s not the worst part though.

The worst part is that the whole time he’ll be thinking about how much better he is than this place, and me. Fuckin’ preppy ass hole, "lowering" him self to mingle with us little people for a while, see how the other half lives.

I reach under the counter and pour two Prozac’s into the palm of my hand; I pop them in my mouth and chew on them like pez. They crunch loudly and their bitter flavor floods my mouth and throat. Assholes are always judging me. I fold my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes; I try and burn holes into the back of his well-groomed head.

Suddenly a voice not my own floods my thoughts, It’s 11:41 and 23 seconds, making good contact here, nice in with the… The rest of the words are covered up by a sudden high-pitched squeal that fill my mind and deafens my thoughts. A sharp throbbing pain, like the worst headache I've ever had, accompanies the sound; I squeeze my eyes shut and grab my forehead fighting back the urge to scream.

After a few excruciating moments, where I think my entire head is going to explode, the pain and noise subsides. I lean back in my chair for a second trying to figure out what just happened, and decided its time for more meds. I duck under the counter and start looking through my prescriptions and grab a bottle of Zyprexia and shake it hoping for a tell tale rattle. I curse quietly to myself when it remains silent. Franticly I shift several bottle around causing a few of them to spill and clatter against the tiled floor of the shop.

“Hey dude,” I bang my head on the top of the counter at the sudden sound of Max’s voice. I swear loudly as I pull myself up into view rubbing the back of my head.

“Shit Max, What the Fu…” I stop myself when I notice the trendy guy is with him. “Ohh…” I add staring blankly at the pair, my unwarranted loathing for this new comer starts to slowly creep back into my head.

“Oh yeah!,” Max slaps on his cheesiest grin and nod’s towards his new friend, “this is…” His smile suddenly fades and he holds a hand up to his nose. “Whoh, Johnny, dude, you ok man?” A hint of concern creeps in with his Spanish accent.

I become suddenly aware of the warm wet feeling beneath my nose, I reach up and touch a finger to my upper lip and hold it up to the light. The crimson gleam of my own blood almost sparkles on my fingertips.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I shake the thought away as I grab a tissue and clean my nose and lips. “No I’m fine, just a nose bleed, had ‘em since I was a kid, it’ll stop in a second.”

I glance over at the trendy guy and back to Max, then back to the trendy guy again, he smiles at me, a smile most would probably consider charming or something… To me it’s just sickening; I must have made a face because his look quickly fades to a slight and thoughtful frown. That’s more like it.

“Oh ok, well as I was saying, this is Chirstian, he needs help finding something…” says Max as he plasters his signature smile back on.

Christian extends his hand so that I can shake, and open’s his mouth to speak, but I cut him off before he can.

“Watchman trades are on display in the rack by the door, we have plenty of action figures, t-shirts and even a few official blood stained comedian buttons, great for your back packs, or in your case,” I pause my dry monotonous and well rehearsed speech to eye him up and down before continuing, “I would guess a hip messenger bag.”

For a moment Christian stands a little stunned, he drops his hands to his side and I smirk turning towards my mac book pro clicking on the safari icon in my dock. I watch slightly amused and pleased with myself as the icon bounces once and the web browser pops up opening default to my e-mail, no new messages except for some spam from WoW Vault… Ya buy gold once and you can’t get rid of the fuckers!

I’m slightly surprised when I hear Christian’s voice, not only because most of time when I do that the preps are so annoyed they just turn and huff out the store, but also because his voice sounds a lot like the one I just heard in my head a few minutes ago… Did I read his mind?

“Actually I was looking for some Age of Apocalypse books… ya know the alternate marvel universe timeline in which Legion, a powerful psionic mutant on Earth and son of Professor Charles Xavier, travels back in time with the intention of killing Magneto. Ya see, he believes Magneto's death will allow Xavier to achieve his dream of human/mutant equality," His tone is slighly condescending, not enough to accuse him of it, but just enough to know it's there. He continues with, "But Legion travelled to a time when Magneto and Xavier were still friends. So Xavier dies trying to protect Magneto. Legion vanishes, and a new timeline is created. The only person aware of how history has changed is Bishop. Because of Xavier's sacrifice, Magneto comes to believe in his late friend's dream of peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants. Apocalypse, an immortal mutant villain, was monitoring the fight. He chooses this moment as the perfect time to begin his world conquest, which didn't happen in the regular Marvel Universe for another ten years. Magneto assembles the X-Men just as Apocalypse begins his war. Despite the X-Men's struggles, Apocalypse conquers all of North America, and initiates a worldwide genocidal campaign of "cullings" that kill millions of non-mutant humans." When he finishes a look of smug satisfaction is on his face.

What the hell? I'm once again a little stunned, but this time by the accuracy and knowledge this guy has on an obscure but cult followed little event that happened in the marvel universe in the mid 90's. There is no way this guy is a collector, he must have rehearsed this with Max, they are playing some kind of Joke on me. Wonderful, it's fuck with the paranoid guy day again!

I glance over the top of my computer, the shock registered clearly on my face. My mood sours worse when I notice the bemused grin he now sports. Ok, you’ve earned a few bonus points there, but I’m in no mood to be one upped by some pompous little prep. Who the fuck is this guy anyways??...

Byron O'Dell, 3/16/09 12:37 PM

My head throbs; the taste of booze in the back of my throat makes my uneasy stomach rumble in protest. Ya know it’s funny, I can throw myself, a 250 some odd pound beast of pure muscle as fast and as hard as I can at another fully armored 250 some odd pound beast of pure muscle, slam him to the grass and hop up in time to bump helmets and scream at my team mate with out feeling a thing. But, one long hard night of drinking I feel like death when I drag my ass out of bed the next afternoon. Luckily for me, the cancer is also the cure.

I pull open the fridge door, it glows an amber color as the light reflects through all the bottles of Shiner filling every nook and cranny available. I can’t help but think of how glorious a sight this is despite the throbbing pain in my skull. I grab a bottle and pop the cap off with my thumb. It clangs to the floor as I start downing the bottle. I drink the first one quickly, choking it down despite my stomach’s protest. I let it settle for a moment and then belch loudly.

“Ahh, much better,” I grab another beer, the remaining bottles clank together as I slam the fridge door shut and turn towards the couch. I scoop my phone up on the way, a few missed calls… Why do people try and call me before noon? One from Erik at 4 am, I bet he hadn’t even gone to sleep yet, probably wanted to know how things went with Vanessa, I glance into the bed room as I pass by, she’s still passed out naked in my sheets. Cheerleaders, a few Bacardi mixers in ‘em and they open up like a 7-11.

I smirk and continue into the living room where I plop down on the couch. I turn on the TV and tune into ESPN for a few highlights as I continue to check my phone. I’ve missed two other calls, these from unknown numbers, probably solicitors. I hear they can do that on cell phones now… bastards. I check my voicemail next; the message from Erik is almost unintelligible he was so wasted. I catch the name Vanessa and a few choice expletives followed by several woos and shouts.

The next message is from some guy named Christian, says he wants to talk to me about some football interview with the school paper. I save the message; I’ll call him after spring break. I don’t want to think about anything this week that can’t get me fucked up or get fucked by me. I’ll have to remember that one for when I’m hanging with the guys later.

The next message almost makes me spit out the swig of beer I’d just taken. I replay it once more to make sure I heard right.

“Mr. O’Dell, my name is Jason Peters, I’m a reporter for the Sun, I have some very interesting photo’s of you I’d like to discuss, If you could call me back at (281) 555 -9795 that would be much appreciated. Oh and don’t try and ignore me I think you will really enjoy these photos, I know I do,” the message ends with a beep and I’m prompted by a woman’s voice if I want to save or delete the message, I close my phone instead.

“Shit,” it’s all I can think to say as my mind floods with panic. Mexico, someone knows about Mexico, and worse they have pictures! This is the kind of shit that gets you kicked from the team! I stand up and pace back and forth between the couch and coffee table for a second not sure what I should do, part of me says to just ignore it, it’s some ass hole playing a prank, but another part of me says I need to take this guy seriously, none of my friends are this clever, and besides, Erik is the only one who really knows what happened in Mexico, and he definitely isn’t that clever.

Okay, I calm myself and pick up the phone. Time to call this Peters asshole and figure out what the hell is up. I punch the numbers into the keypad and hit send. The phone rings a few times, seems like a million to me, but finally someone answers.

“Hello Mr. O’Dell, I’ve been expecting your call,” the tone of his voice tells me he is loving every second of this.

“Yeah, Mr. Peters? Mind telling me what the fuck this is all about?” I ask more than a little annoyed.

“Tsk tsk, Mr. O’Dell, if you are going to make it as a football player you are going to have to learn to deal with the press, and that sort of language simply won’t do. Remember, the pen is mightier than the sword, and I hold the pen, but I very much doubt you even have a sword.”

I don’t even know what this guy looks like and I can still almost see the shit eating grin on his face, oh how I’d love to just knock him cold right now, I catch myself almost growling into the phone. I calm myself a bit before I speak. “Yeah, but could you please get to the point and tell me about the photos?”

He chuckles a bit and continues,” Very well, but only because you asked so nicely. The photos I have are very interesting and I’m just wondering if you could meet me to explain them to me. It’s something I’m sure a rising young star on the University Football team like your self would want to make sure the full truth of what’s going on is included with the photos so no one gets confused or jumps to conclusions.”

I sit in stunned silence for a moment; it’s got to be Mexico.

“Mr. O’Dell, are you there?” the impatient bastard asks breaking my train of thought.

“Yeah I’m here, what’s in the photos?” my frustration evident in my tone.

He chuckles again, “Oh no, no, no, I want to discuss this in person”

“Ok, I’ll let you buy me lunch or something if you really want to,” I grin at the thought of possibly getting a meal out of this but it’s cut short by his sudden laugher.

“Oh Mr. O’Dell, once you see the photos it might be you who will want to buy me dinner. I can’t meet you today, so instead come to the Star Bucks just off campus, the one you usually go to. Meet me there, tomorrow, noon.” The phone clicks as he cuts the call short on his end before I can protest.

“Fuck,” I bang the phone against the table a few times then pick it up and call Erick. He doesn’t answer; asshole is still passed out. I try again, and again a third and forth time. He finally answers on my sixth try.

“Dude what’s up? My head is throbbin’ bro, you get my message?” Erick slurs still half asleep. “How did things go with Vanes…”

I cut him off, “Yeah bro, but listen I think I’m into so serious shit. Some asshole called and says he has photos of me. I think it’s Mexico man,”

There is a long pause followed by a, “Huh? What? Slow down man I just woke up let me grab a beer.” I hear a large bang and a slight rustle.

“Erik? Did you drop the phone?” I wait a few moments. “You fucker you did drop it.”

I wait impatiently for almost 5 minutes until the phone rustles again and he finally says something, “Okay, much better. What’s going on?”

I growl a bit,” Some asshole reporter has pictures of me! I think it’s Mexico dude. I might need your help in this! Can I count on you?”

“Whoh, Mexico? Damn, sounds like some heavy shit, sure I’ll help, how did he get photos?”

“I don’t know, I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow. I’m going to head over and we’ll talk more,” I can’t help but throw in this last part despite my predicament, “I just gotta kick Vanessa out first so give me about an hour or so.”

Erik’s reply is instant, “Daaaammmmmnnnnnn Byron you fuckin’ stud, I knew it!...”

Timothy Arkett, aka "Sniffles", aka "Bloodhound", 3/16/09 12:32 PM

Sniffles?,..Sniffles? What the fuck, those assholes, fuck’em. I’ll get mine soon enough. This place is like a bad stereotype, bunch of nerds hangin out but this time the supers are real. Like bein’ in some kind of B rated movie. Ok that’s enough, I got all I need to know and even more. Bonus time for me, found another one, weird one though. I’ll have to tell Beckie about this one, maybe she can figure it out. I toss the comic I was hidin’ behind on a rack and slump toward the door. Just as I reach it the door opens and one of those preppy pretty boys is standing in my way, but the smell. It’s like copper and rubber, and burned plastic. Another one, shit is this some kind of meeting place? Have they got some kind of little club, man a real fuckin clique. I pause for a moment glancing over my shoulder to take a good look at him. Gotta’ tell Abe we need to tag this place for surveillance.

I turn back around and begin walkin’ back around behind the building to get out of line of sight so I can “go home”, when another smell hits me. This time it’s sweet, like spice and apple cider, mmm. I turn toward it and see a girl, blond, trim, real looker, not that kind of cheerleader ditsy good looks, but the girl next door kind you know, real beauty. Man that’s a great smell. I’ll have to make sure I remember that one especially well. I watch her enter the comic store and think that’s kind of odd, a cute girl in a comic nerd central, ha. I shrug, guess it takes all types. I turn and walk around the building, light a Camel, take a deep drag, and step behind the dumpster and I realize she looks familiar. Where have I seen her from? That’s “right” I remember…Ha, I just made a pun.

Max Vasquez, 3/16/09 12:03 PM

I hope the comic dude is in a good mood today. I skid to a stop outside the small shop and hop off my bike. I wave at Johnny through the door and flash my cheesiest smile. He gives me a half smirk and nod. Not too bad for him. Hopefully he still isn’t mad that I kicked his ass at Halo last night. The thought makes me chuckle while I chain my bike to the rack.

A bell chimes as I walk through the shop door. A stand with some new comic’s on display catches my attention for a moment… mostly marvel stuff. I shrug and continue my trek towards the counter.

“Hey Max, I think some of your books came in, I’ll check your box in a sec,” Johnny says barely looking up from his computer. Probably playing some game.

“Ok dude, cool. Any plans for the break?”

“Naw I’m just gunna be working here every day, Skvanskie dumped every shift on me so he could take his fat ass to the beach or something.” He rolls his eyes and smirks then swears as he turns back to the screen, “Ah shit! Fuckin’ Rogues!”

I chuckle and walk around the side of the counter so I can get a better look at the screen. I watch amused as he maneuvers his pixilated character with a skill and knowledge one can only gain through many wasted hours behind the screen. He takes out the rogue, and then another loosing only about half of his health.

“Not bad for a squishy frost mage,” I comment.

“Eh, you’re just jealous, is your account still live?” he raises an eyebrow in my direction, but quickly looses interest and turns back to his game.

I answer anyways, “Nah I had to cancel it, don’t have the fundage or the time, my grades were starting to slip.” It’s true I did end up spending a little too much time in the damn thing; I don’t know how he manages to keep up his studies and play as much as he does.

“Well I’ll grab you your books as soon as I port. Should just be a couple more minutes, got two more furs to skin.” He goes back to mindlessly clicking the mouse and hitting several buttons on the keyboard. I watch for a moment to see if the Rogues come back, but when they don’t I start to walk around the store.

There are two other guys in here, one is young, probably a high schooler, looking at some of the rare cards in the display case, I’ve seen him a few times before. The second guy though I’ve never seen. He is short and wiry, his arms and legs bone thin. His face is long and skinny with a mop of greesy hair on his head. He is dressed mostly in black like one of those “goth” kids. Strange American’s and their clothing styles. His most distinctive feature, however, is his nose. He has the biggest nose I’ve ever seen. He looks almost like a rat, a human rat.

He is standing by the DC rack, holding a trade in his hands, but he isn’t looking at it. He is looking at Johnny, and he must have some kind of cold because he keeps sniffing the air.

He takes in a large sniff then turns towards me as I come up beside him. I smile broadly at him and wave, but he simply scowls and looks down at the book in his hand. So many rude people in this country, it almost makes me miss Mexico. Almost.

I make my way back to the counter and nudge Johnny then lean in close to whisper.

“What’s with that dude?” I ask motioning towards the rat-faced man, who has once again started looking in our direction.

Johnny looks up from his game for a second then quickly turns back, “Sniffles? I don’t know he came in shortly after I opened and has been standing there looking at that book and sniffing I keep catching him staring at me… I offered him a tissue but he didn’t say anything. I’m close to kicking him out actually…” He clicks a button to teleport his character out and stands up from his seat to look over the monitor at the sniffing man. He is staring at us again.

“Hey sniffles! You need help or something?” delivered with Johnny’s usual sense of tact. I can’t help but snicker a little. Sniffles on the other hand scowls and puts the book back on the shelf then starts towards the door.

“Weird.” I say, watching the strange little man. Johnny disappears for a moment behind the counter then pops back up with a box he slaps down in front of me, Max is scrawled across the front of it in sharpie, along with a crude cartoon figure of myself.

The bell on the door jingles and another man steps through just as sniffles reaches the door. The new comer holds the door open so that the exiting man can pass through. Sniffles pauses in the frame and smells the air then looks over his shoulder at this new man. The new guy looks at him confused and after a moment sniffles finally looks away and walks out the door and out of view of the store.

The new guy shrugs and lets the door shut and starts to make his way through the store. I notice Johnny eyeing the new comer up and down. He looks way too preppy to be in a place like this. He is wearing a black collared shirt, un-tucked with a pair of khaki slacks. His hair is on the longer side, but is neatly combed and parted. His black goatee is trimmed and shaved almost to perfection and seems to give his naturally round face a little bit of length. His eyes, which seem to have a slight slant to them are a deep shade of blue. I start to wonder if he is lost.

Johnny is pretty suspicious of new people. I try and be friendly myself, I figure it helps balance things out. I’ll go see if I can help him. I hear Johnny mutter something under his breath when he realizes my intention as I move towards the well-dressed stranger.

I walk up to the new guy as he eyes a rack of paperback trades, “Hey I’m Max, the grumpy guy behind the counter is Johnny. Ya need help finding something? I don’t work here but it’s almost a second home.”

He seems a bit surprised at my strait forwardness, most people around here are, but he finally puts on a smile I can only describe as charming and says, “Thanks Max, I’m Christian, and maybe you guys can help me, I’m looking for something that might be a little rare…”

Timothy Arkett, aka “Bloodhound”, 3/16/09 11:25 AM

You gotta’ be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.

I take another cursory glance at the address written down on the slip of paper in my hand. Yup, this is the place. How much of a cliche can this be? A muttie,..er I mean, an “evolved” (dammit I work for an ultra secret government organization that fuckin’ kidnaps people and we’re still worried about bein’ PC), works at a comic book store. What kind of loser is this? Ha, he must be thinkin’ this is his living dream. Bet he already has some kind of stupid superhero name or maybe even a costume; this will be fun. Well let’s get this chicken shit job done.

I slick back my black hair, straighten my black shirt, and stick my hands back into my long black over coat and slouch across the parking lot. I take a brief glance around me at the Java Jett shop and the little preppy tiny boppers and their dim witted jock golden boys and snort to myself. Ah if they only knew, a gruesome scene of them lost in my own personal pocket world floats in front of my vision for a moment. There that makes me feel better, for a moment at least,…I hate my life.

I approach the front of the comic store, glossy slick posters of comic characters are plastered to the front windows. Iron man and Wolverine, some I don’t know, block my line of sight into the store’s interior. A blue and red neon open sign glows and hums, flickering into life at my left. Good they just opened. I brace myself for the stink ahead and open the door and slink inside.

I hate places like this. Line after line and row after row of comics and kiddy card games and little plastic figures fill every nook and corner of the place, like some kids closet exploded and everything was swept into the corners along the walls, dust everywhere. Man this guy must be a slob. Then the smell hits me, not what I expected.

The file that I was given by Abe read that my target: one Johnny Wagner, was a confirmed k-tech, or telekinetic, and possibly a brain talker, or telepath. We first received information from police reports after the Ike hurricane in ’08, after some kind of incident in the Huntsville high school gym left several injured with the target at the center of the commotion. After that Abe had Beckie run a background check through the police files and Henry got the kids medical records. Whoa boy, let me tell you, this one is one fucked up kid, a walkin’ pharmacy, like eatin’ skittles. All kinds of therapy and pill popin’, he makes my problems look slight. Good I'm glad he’s probably a psycho case. After that Abe made some contacts with some people he knows at one of the kids listed hospitals and retrieved a blood sample, and that’s all we need after that. Bam! Confirmed! Beckie is a genius, a crazy, psychotic, anger issues, fine ass, smoking hot (literally) genius. All that was left after that was to track him down and tag and bag, that’s my job, well the finding is. I don’t tag and bag shit, to messy, that’s for Pebbles to do.

Popcorn, that’s all that fills my nose, is popcorn with lots of butter and salt, strong smell. Well looks like this Johnny might be interesting after all. I take a few more sniffs and meander around for awhile. I can see the target behind the counter pluggin’ in his laptop and mumbling some song to himself from his ipod in his ear. I shrug my way past a row of book shelves and comic racks and look around. I can see a back entrance behind the counter, no sign of any cameras, no attic door visible, just a bunch of junk
“Hey man, what’s up, can I help you with something?’” the target finally takes notice of me. I just shrug and grimace at him, the smell is everywhere, god I hate popcorn. I snatch the nearest comic from a rack, The Dark Knight: Batman, the comic in my hand reads. What a joke, I could so take this guy, and make a half ass attempt to read it, and stroll over to the wall by the bathroom door, too bad I cant smell that, it might at least lessen his smell. He just shrugs and goes back to his laptop.

Several minutes pass. Some other kid enters and pokes around, a nobody, not of interest to me. The target tries one more time to talk to me, asks if I need a tissue, ..what, ..why? I don’t have a fuckin’ cold, asshole. I just shake my head and duck back behind the comic. Wagner ignores me after that, completely engrossed in whatever is on his laptop, probably some kind of freaky porn, most brain mutties cases are like that. I occasionally steal a glance up at him and duck behind the comic in my hands when he feels me lookin at him. Hmm, I wonder if he can hear my thoughts,…..hope so,.. you dick. He looks up from his laptop and glances to the window where a small patch of the glass is not covered by poster and nods at something, and then the door chime rings as someone else enters. Holy shit, that’s new, what is that smell? I take a few more sniffs of this new comer, some goofy, apparently happy go lucky Mexican. Max is his name, must remember that. I haven’t smelled anything like him before. It’s earthy, and has a sorta’ musty smell like wet dog, or old moldy jeans, and something I can’t place, it drives me nuts. I hate dogs. I take another sniff.