LessThanThree Comics Presents » SOLA

Shadows Over Los Angeles #007

Author — Sun, 25 Apr 2010 13:04:38 +0000

Wednesday, 7.27PM
Downtown LA
I was cramped in places I didn’t even know I had. My cramps had cramps, and every inch of me was as stiff as it could be. I had no idea how long I could hold it.
That morning, before sunrise, I had slipped into the building. The ground floor was swarming with Rock Steady Inc thugs, and there were lookouts posted on the second and third floors. So I had to get creative. Mitchell ran a tight ship.
The building was his father’s, but old Franklin had pretty much handed the keys over to Dean, letting him handle the day-to-day running of one of the biggest real estate developers in the United States. In the meantime, Dean’s eldest brother Phillip was overseeing the running of the company as a whole, while the second brother Robert ran the international interests. The youngest Mitchell, Verona, was a part-time model and full-time socialite heiress, and spent her days partying and spending all her father’s money.
So Dean Mitchell has deep-seated middle child syndromes. Fair enough. I was still going to bring him down.
Anyway, there I was, I knew where Mitchell’s big meeting was going to be. I knew what time. I knew it was going to be heavily guarded. I even knew which conference room it was going to be in. Unfortunately, there was no way in from the ground that didn’t involve a three storey vertical leap. So I improvised. Three storeys straight up was obviously out of the question, even for me. But twenty feet across, and a few storeys down? Piece of cake. There was a garden area on the tenth floor. Thank you Google Earth.
So I snuck into the building across the street, took the elevator up to the roof and peered over the edge. I was fifteen storeys straight up. I mean, I know I’m a fast healer, but can I heal from that?
I shook my head. I didn’t have time to think like that. So I backed up to the opposite side of the roof and took my run-up, before leaping headlong off the building. I sailed across the street and hit the garden right in the middle, on the concrete, naturally.
So I laid there for about a half hour, as my organs began regenerating, and my bones cracked back into place. I don’t think I’m going to try that again anytime soon.
As soon as my kidneys stop bleeding, I’m up again, limping around the garden, looking for a way in. It doesn’t take long for me to find an air vent, and I’m in the building within minutes. It’s not often my luck turns out this way, but I was in the elevator shaft about ten minutes later.
Of course, most people don’t consider having to climb a ladder twenty storeys to be lucky, but when I hit about the halfway point, the elevator started coming up below me, and I rode it all the way up to the twenty-eighth, and it was an easy climb from there.
So I found my way into the air vents again, and crawled around until I found the room I was looking for. Naturally, there was a security camera inside, so that was where I had to stop. If Mitchell knew I was here, the meeting would be off, and I’d likely be thrown out the window. So I waited. And waited. And waited. About half a dozen meetings and twelve hours later, the security camera shut off, the light on the side blinking off. Obviously Mitchell didn’t want anyone to know what was going on up there. So I took my chance, popped the air vent out, slid through the opening and onto the floor, before replacing the air vent as best I could.
It was at this point I thought to check my recording equipment. The mic was fine, as were the wires, battery and the transmitter. Thank god, otherwise I just wasted a day, and a huge opportunity, for nothing.
I searched the room for a hiding spot, before I realised that the gigantic conference table was mostly hollow. It looked like a solid slab of marble from the outside, but the underside revealed a huge space underneath. Perfect. I positioned myself inside the hollow and began my final wait. At 5.30.
So there I was, two hours later, my arms and legs half-outstretched, half-bent, as I struggled to keep myself hidden. Sweat was beading on my forehead, and the agony racked my whole body. Hopefully it wouldn’t take much longer.
A few minutes later, I heard a sound, so I clicked on my equipment, and I heard a voice in my ear. It was O’Hara, through the earpiece he had given me the night before, along with the recording equipment.
“It got passed through the DA’s office. My guy held it off until the last minute, and the guys we know Mitchell is paying off had gone home for the night. We’re home free.” O’Hara said.
I smiled. This was it. In one fell swoop, we were going to take down the entire LA underworld.
I heard them all walk in, the old-school gangsters like Bianchi and Savagilio were easy to spot, the accents gave them away, not to mention the Italian leather shoes that were sitting a few feet from my face. Giovanni Bianchi had access to the drug that gave the Rock Steady thugs their power, they were his own personal army, to be hired out at his whim. He was probably the most powerful man in the room. Roberto Savagilio was in his sixties by now, he was the last of the old guard of Los Angeles gangsters, but he still got respect from the others, probably because of the money he still had from the old days, not to mention the fact that he had dirt on all the other major players.
“Jimmy” O’Shaunessey was easy too, he was still in his overalls and boots. He ruled the docks, no matter what anyone says to the contrary. His union connections, his money and his muscle meant that anything going through the Port of Los Angeles was reported to him, before customs, or even the other gangsters got wind of it.
Of course, then there were the gang-bangers. None of them are really worth a mention, in fact, I’m not sure why they were invited. I guess Mitchell just wanted to drive the point home.
Then the man himself walked into the room, and everything went silent.
“Alright Mitchell, what do you want?” O’Shaunessey said, his thick Boston accent cutting the silence.
“Straight to the point, as always.” Mitchell said.
“We’ve got other things to attend to boy.” Savagilio barked.
“None more important than this, I assure you.” Mitchell said.
“Dean.” Bianchi warned.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll make it short and sweet boys. I’ve had my people make the projections. At this rate, I will own every pill, every leaf and every gram of powder from the Pacific to the Rockies within two years. I will own the drug trade. I’ve already got half the city covered. My dealers have been moving in on your territories, and they’re not stopping. I own the city.” Mithcell gloated.
“I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that Mitchell.” O’Shaunessey said. “I take it having half your boys wash up in the LA River wasn’t enough of a hint?”
“Is that a threat?” Mitchell asked.
“A threat?” O’Shaunessey laughed. “In Mr Savagilio’s day, that was a declaration of war.”
“You have a power for understatement James. In my day, calling a man into your house and throwing your defiance in his face is a declaration of war. I had that idiot Giuseppe Romano killed when he tried this crap. I know where this is leading, and I don’t like it boy.” Savagilio said.
“I have to agree with Mr Savagilio, Dean.” Bianchi said.
“I don’t care. The fact is, I own this city. If any of you want a cut of the pie, you’re going to answer to me. You’re all going to be working for me, whether you like it or not.” Mitchell said.
O’Shaunessey and half the gang-bangers were on their feet, all of them pulling guns from various hiding places.
“I see your security didn’t do a very good job downstairs Bianchi.” Mitchell said, calmly.
“I would reprimand them, but I don’t think you’re going to be causing me trouble for much longer.” Bianchi said.
“I wouldn’t be too sure. You see, right now, O’Shaunessey and all these other gun-toting idiots are having second thoughts. They don’t want to kill me anymore, do you?” Mitchell asked.
The men all switched their stances, as far as I could tell, they were pointing their guns at Bianchi instead.
“You think your powers can help you now Mitchell? You know they don’t work on me.” Bianchi said.
“They don’t have to. Kill him.” Mitchell ordered coldly.
I heard the guns fire, and Bianchi fell to the ground.
“That’s enough Shadow. We’re coming in.” O’Hara’s voice buzzed in my ear.
I grinned, they might be on their way, but not before Mitchell found out who was really behind it all. I dropped to the floor and rolled out from under the table, drawing my guns as I reached my feet.
I guess I snapped the gangbangers out of their trances, because they all started rushing for the door.
“I guess my reputation precedes me.” I said. “They understand that they need to fear me.” I looked to the three men who really controlled the criminal element, Mitchell, O’Shaunessey and Savagilio. “So why don’t you?” I looked them each in the eye, one by one. “What makes you think that I can’t touch you?”
“Because we’re untouchable.” Savagilio said.
“We rule this town. Never forget that.” O’Shaunessey said.
“Don’t banter with him. Just kill him!” Mitchell ordered.
It was at that point that the SWAT team crashed through the windows, filling the room in minutes.
“Wow Shadow. For me? You shouldn’t have.” Mitchell said.
“What are you…” Realisation dawned on me. “Nobody breathe!” I shouted, but it was too late.
At least two dozen SWAT officers levelled their guns on me.
“And that, Mr Shadow, is why I’m untouchable. Kill him.” Mitchell turned to leave the room, Savagilio and O’Shaunessey close behind.
The SWAT team opened fire, but I ducked back under the desk and chased the gangsters down the corridor. I was on Mitchell’s back in seconds, bringing him down and proceeding to punch him in the back of the head over and over again, ignoring the bullets tearing at my flesh from the SWAT team.
Eventually, O’Shaunessey pulled me off, but the damage was done. Mitchell was out cold, and within minutes the SWAT team had the three gangsters cuffed.
It was at that point that I decided to pass out.
Thursday, 10.37 PM
I woke up in unfamiliar surroundings, without my mask. I began looking around frantically.
“Don’t worry kid, no-one has any idea who you are.” O’Hara was sitting by the door.
“My mask… My costume… Where are they?” I asked.
“I had to get them off you. You know there’s a warrant out for your arrest, right? Don’t worry, none of us have ID’d you. Your costume is in that backpack over there. Your outfit is just stuff from the lost and found box. Don’t worry, you can keep it.”
“Thanks… I guess… Mitchell?”
“Is in an interrogation room. Our men have gasmasks on until the techs can come up with a better way to control him. O’Shaunessey and Savagilio are ours too, we’ve got search warrants for their homes and businesses, and our men are there as we speak. Too bad we couldn’t catch Bianchi though.”
“Bianchi is dead.”
“Well his body is gone. His blood is at the scene, but there’s no sign of him. Someone got him out of there. He could still be alive. Still, not bad for one night.”
“No. It’s not good enough. There’s still crime in this city. I still have a job to do.”

Shadows Over Los Angeles Issue #006

Author — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 09:44:12 +0000

Saturday 1.02 AM
LA Harbour
I yawned, as I stretched my leg out to avoid a cramp. I’d been sitting on top of the shipping container for two hours.
It hadn’t been too hard to find the container I was looking for; I just tailed the customs officer I knew was on Mitchell’s payroll. I watched him check inside at least a dozen containers, but when he came to this one, he read the serial number, and ticked it off on his clipboard.
He knew what was inside already. And that meant someone would be there to pick it up. Soon.
And then the truck rolled in, followed by two black cars. The cars unloaded first, I counted eight men, all huge. Almost certainly Rock Steady Inc. I was happy to see them. I had a lot of anger to work out.
I’d been fighting Dean Mitchell’s drug empire for months. Every time I took down a dealer, another two sprang up overnight. I ratted out corrupt cops and border guards, they were replaced. Mitchell had me at every turn, and his empire expanded from week to week.
But I had him now. I had no idea what was inside the container, but I knew it was from Indonesia, and I knew the ship it had come in on. If I could cut off his imports, I could stop him dead in his tracks.
A skinny guy got down from the passenger seat of the truck and started ordering the Rock Steady Inc. guys around.
As the thugs approached the container, I overheard them complaining. Apparently Mitchell had proclaimed himself the King of the LA Underworld, and the other crime bosses weren’t taking it too well. Even the head of Rock Steady Inc., a Mr Bianchi, who was closely aligned to Mitchell was starting to sow discord amongst his men. The general consensus seemed to be that Mitchell was getting a little too big for his boots, and that someone should put him back in his place.
Apparently the skinny guy from the truck overheard that part, because he came charging over, shouting about Mr Mitchell paying their salary, and that they had better do what he says or else.
That last part didn’t sit too well with the eight large men, who looked like they were about ready to tear him limb from limb. To his credit, the guy stood firm. He knew they wouldn’t touch him.
And that’s when he said something I had to hear.
“Now, pick up these weapons and put them in the truck. You think Mr Mitchell can protect all his allies at the summit next month without this firepower? You think Bianchi, Savagilio, O’Shaunessey and the others would even turn up to pay tribute to him if he couldn’t protect them?”
A summit of all the crime lords? In LA? I made a mental note to gatecrash that party, but right then, I had another party to crash.
I leapt from the top of the container and drop-kicked the first thug square in the chest. I felt his sternum breaking under my feet before I kicked off, sending him tumbling into the next guy, and buying me precious seconds to flip to my feet and draw my guns.
I opened fire, aiming for the head. I had wasted too much time and too many bullets on Rock Steady Inc. I couldn’t count the times I had unloaded entire clips into their chests, only to have them throw me across the room, or break my arm. It took me a long time to realise that even a shot to the head wouldn’t kill them. They were far too resilient for that. Whatever Bianchi had them taking was powerful.
It wouldn’t kill them, but it would stop them, nine times out of ten the shock of the bullet getting halfway through the skull was enough to concuss them. By the time the first two guys realised what was going on, their friends had joined them on the ground, out cold, and I had several shots left, not that I needed them, a swift kick to the temple kept the first guy down, and the second didn’t have time to react before I clubbed him over both ears at once, rupturing an ear drum and knocking him out.
Mitchell’s crony looked at the fallen guards in horror. I don’t think he’d ever seen anything like it. I had just taken down eight of Mitchell’s prize hired goons in the space of a minute. I looked at him and smiled. He ran for the truck.
I chased him, but I was stopped by a bullet to the shoulder. Too late, I noticed the barrel of a gun sticing out of the driver’s side window of the truck. Before he could squeeze out another shot, I was off and racing, ducking and weaving from side to side, to avoid getting hit again, and despite my running patterns, still catching up with the skinny guy. I reached the truck at the same time he did, tackling him straight into the hard steel step, and knocking him out straight away.
Wasting no momentum, I lifted myself into the air, scrambling up the side of the truck. As I reached the window, I saw the driver fumbling to reload his gun. I smashed his head into the steering wheel twice before he went out. I searched him and found a cell phone. I dialled O’Hara’s number.
As luck would have it, O’Hara was actually still at the station. Something about a serial killer. I told him to round up some trustworthy cops, and gave him the location of the shipping container. Then I told him about the summit, and the names that Mitchell’s guy had dropped. They were all known quantities, crime lords that had been active for years. If we could catch them together, planning something, saying something incriminating, doing anything, they’d be ours.
I told O’Hara to send his guys over soon, as I picked the Rock Steady guys over for ammo and cash. Being a stock boy didn’t pay well enough for me to be buying ammo, and money wasn’t going to do them any good where they were going.

Shadows Over Los Angeles Issue #005

Author — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 11:10:37 +0000

Friday, 11.32 PM
Downtown Los Angeles
I watched from my perch as the crowd thinned out below me. The Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra’s performance of Mozart’s 38th Symphony looked like it had been a success. The patrons leaving the Music Center all looked quite happy.
But I wasn’t interested in them. The rich. The art lovers. The posers. None of them was worth more than a passing glance.
Except one.
Dean Mitchell was one of the last people out of the door, flanked by two men in suits. Bodyguards, of course. What kind of person has bodyguards at the symphony? A person with enemies. And who has more enemies than a drug lord? Besides a superhero, of course.
I trailed him as he walked down the street, running along the rooftop. I saw him reach for his cellphone, calling his chauffer, no doubt. That meant I had a limited window.
I sprang from the roof, and tackled the closest guard to the ground, before clubbing him across the head, knocking him unconscious. I was back on my feet in a moment, sweeping the second bodyguard’s leg and driving his head into the concrete.
I grabbed Mitchell and dragged him behind the building. I grabbed him and pushed him up against the wall. He started laughing.
“I wondered when I’d run into you.” He said, still laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, shoving him harder.
“Let me guess, you think that you can stop me?” He asked. Cocky bastard. All of twenty-five years old, thinks that being born rich makes him better than everyone else.
“You won’t be the first drug dealer I’ve taken down.” I replied.
“I have an edge on all those street-level pushers.” Mitchell said. It was more than just arrogance now. It was confidence. I paused for a moment, felt the doubt seeping in. What was he talking about? Did he just mean his money? His influence? Or was it something else? What if he had powers? What if he was stronger than I am? What if I couldn’t fight him.
“You feel it, don’t you?” He asked. He must have seen it in my face. “You’re doubting yourself, aren’t you?”
I shook my head, but I knew he could still see it. I could feel it. The fear creeping in. I couldn’t beat him. There was no way. He was unstoppable.
“Now let go of me.” He commanded.
I bowed my head and took a step back, Mitchell sneered at me.
“Grab him. The Shadow is coming for a ride with us.” He said.
I felt two sets of hands grab me around the arms. Big hands. Of course. These were his real bodyguards. Rock Steady Inc. I should have known. I was doomed.
They tossed me into the back of a limousine, where I curled up on the floor. The sense of fear and doubt was gradually being replaced by despair. I was going to die here tonight.
“Now, as you’ve no doubt realised, I’m a super.” Mitchell gloated. “That feeling in the pit of your stomach? Your sense of impending doom that has replaced your bravado? That was me.”
I stared up at him in terror, and he laughed again. I was getting tired of that laugh.
“I was a little younger than you when I discovered it. I was in high school, and I had been rejected by a girl for the first time. But nobody rejects Dean Mitchell. It was like the universe was aligning for me. My superpowers manifested that day. I could control peoples’ emotions. My life was easy before, but it got a lot easier. Everything I wanted, everything I needed, it was all mine for the taking.”
It all came together then. Pheromone control. Ben had told me one of the Hire A Hero kids had a power like it. I understood, but there was nothing I could do. He still had a hold on me.
“But I got bored. One can only have everything handed to them for so long. I needed something new. So I talked to a friend, who knew a guy who sold half of Hollywood their cocaine. I bought him out. His clients, his supply, everything. Cost me half my stock portfolio. I made it back in a month.”
“Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.
“Because I want you to understand just how much trouble you’re in. I want you to understand who I am. I want you to know the man that will finally end you.” Mitchell kicked at me and I flinched. There was that laugh again. “The unbeatable Shadow. You’ve got half of my dealers scared to leave their houses, you know that? The scum of this city quiver at the mere mention of your name. And here you are, lying at my feet. Like a dog.”
I felt the anger surge through my body. He was going to pay for that. I was going to take him down. I wasn’t just going to mess him up, I couldn’t just scare him. I had to get him put into Alcatraz. I had to make sure he paid for what he had done. Not just to me, to this city.
And that was when I noticed it. The fear was gone. I wasn’t crippled by despair. I was free.
“You won’t get away with it. It will all catch up to you.” I said.
“And how will that happen? I’ve got half the LAPD on my payroll, there is no paper trail, I’ve got it all funnelled out into other interests, and even if some idiot cop caught me, I’ve got my powers to send him on his merry way. I am unstoppable.”
He started laughing again. That was it. I lunged at him, but the Rock Steady guys restrained me.
“Oh, you’ve got some fight left in you, do you?” Mitchell asked. “I guess you need a stronger dose.”
I could feel the emotions fighting for control. The sadness, the fear and the doubt. All of it came rushing back. But only for a moment. My healing powers were counteracting it. It was like a virus, or an allergy. Looks like Mitchell was beatable afterall.
Now it was my turn to laugh. I’ll never forget the look on his face. That moment of doubt. Fear. For a few seconds, he knew what he’d done to me. That was all I needed for now.
I slipped free from the grip of the guards, and dove through the window. I rolled across two lanes of traffic, sprang to my feet, and ran as fast as I could.
Saturday, 12.53 AM
Miracle Mile
I dialled O’Hara’s number. Got the machine. No shock there. I left him a message. I told him that Mitchell was behind the drugs market in Los Angeles. I told him about his powers, and everything else he had said. I told him that I was immune.
I didn’t know what good it would do, but I knew I needed someone else working on this. Someone on the right side of the law. I knew I couldn’t take him down alone.

Shadows Over Los Angeles #003

Author — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 13:13:30 +0000

Sunday, 4.38 AM
King Estates
It had been a long night. Another false lead had resulted in a dead end.
I had been tracing the source of drugs in the city, after that night in Glendora months ago. A drugs lab that size doesn’t spring up overnight. The security on that place alone meant money. Big money.
My solution was simple. Find the source of the money, and the drug trade stops. Simple.
Ok, I knew it wasn’t that simple. I’m not that naive. Stop one source, and another takes over. We took out that drug lab, and the dealers just brought their prices up to compensate. The drugs were still coming in.
I thought I’d found the source tonight. Little house in East LA somewhere. It was a set-up. About a dozen gang-bangers were waiting for me. An easy enough fight, or it would have been. Half an hour earlier, someone had seen guys with guns walking around the house, and called the cops. So about two minutes after the fight started, we heard sirens.
A pair of cops busted in, one of them was that cop from Glendora, O’Hara. The gangbangers opened fire on them, so I had to tackle them both down. I finished the fight, eventually. Worrying about three people is a lot harder than just worrying about yourself.
As soon as the fight was over, the second cop, I don’t remember his name, got up and pointed his gun at me. Told me I was under arrest. O’Hara told him he was a dumbass, and smacked him on the back of the head. I like O’Hara.
I got the hell out of there and headed home. I changed out of my costume, wrote in my notebook, and went to bed.
<><><>
Sunday, 10.30 AM
I hated my alarm. Hated it with every fibre of my being. It meant another day at that damn store. Working for that idiot. Wasting time I could be using productively. Every hour I spent there, I was off the streets. Every minute I swept that floor, there was an assault of some kind going on in the city. Every second I stocked those shelves, someone was committing a crime.
But I needed the money. We needed the money. Me and my mom, that is.
My dad left when I was about five. My older brother Ricky died when I was twelve. Since then, mom’s been the only family I’ve got.
She works too, of course. Cleaning at one of the motels downtown. Makes more money than I do, that’s for sure. But every dollar helps.
<><><>
My mother is the strongest person I know. Her husband leaves her; she just goes out and gets a job. Us boys were all she was worried about. Her eldest son gets involved in a street gang; she smacked him upside the head, and told him to stop running with them. Every day. Nothing was more important than her boys’ lives. Her eldest son gets gunned down in the street, by a rival gang; she makes sure her remaining son doesn’t make the same mistakes. She raised me right.
Ricky was the reason I learned kung fu down at the Y’. I didn’t want to become a victim. I wanted to be a fighter. I got older, and I decided I wanted to do more than survive. I was strong. I was capable. I had the responsibility to my fellow man. I had the ability to clean up the city. Make it a safer place for other kids’ older brothers. Make it a safe place for my mom.
So I dressed up in black, covered my face with a bandanna, and went out into the night. Got shot in the face by some punk holding up a convenience store. Woke up in a dumpster two days later, fully healed. I freaked out. I was a mutant. I should have been dead. But there I was, underneath someone’s garbage.
<><><>
Sunday, 12.28 PM
I pedalled like crazy. I was going to be late. Of course. Mr McGee was going to kill me.
Mr McGee hated me, just like he hated Ricky. Ricky had worked at the store for a few months before he dies, Mr McGee was convinced he was stealing. He probably was, knowing Ricky. So Mr McGee loves it when I make a mistake. Punishes me, because he couldn’t punish Ricky then.
I got to the store just in time. McGee told me off anyway. I flipped him off when he turned away.
<><><>
I crawled out of the dumpster. I was about a block away from the convenience store.
As I dusted myself off, I heard someone coming. I didn’t think, I just reacted. Jumped up, vaulted off the dumpster, kicked off the wall, and onto the fire exit. Just in time.
Two guys walked into the alleyway. I recognised them pretty quickly as the guys from the convenience store. The guy that had shot me started freaking out. The dumpster was open. What if someone had found the body. When he looked inside, and found I wasn’t in there, he flipped out completely.
His troubles were only beginning.
I leapt off the fire exit, and slammed the dumpster’s lid down on his head. His friend took one look at me, and stammered something about me being dead.
I said something about never dying, sounded pretty cool at the time. Can’t remember the details.
I pulled the other guy out of the dumpster. He was unconscious. Lucky for him. Told his buddy to drag him away, and if I ever caught them doing anything illegal, I was coming to get them. The message seemed to get through, as the guy ran as fast as he could, dragging his buddy along the ground behind him.
<><><>
Sunday, 8.21 PM
I walked into the house. My mom had been home for hours. We make small talk about work. The usual.
Things have been a little strained since I became ‘The Shadow’. She doesn’t know, of course. She thinks I’ve joined a gang. We tend to fight a lot about it. I deny it, of course. But when I don’t provide a reason I’m always sneaking out, and why I disappear for days at a time.
She’d probably flip out even worse if she found out what I was really doing though. Guess it’s better this way. I just wish she’d stop looking at me like that.
<><><>
Sunday, 11.53 PM
I pulled my mask over my face, and pulled on my gloves. Tonight was going to be a productive night, I could feel it. I had one last lead, and I was going to make this one count.

Shadows Over LA: Issue #002: Author’s Notes

Author — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 11:11:25 +0000

I enjoyed writing this one, which would explain how I got it done so much quicker than Brat Pack lately. Granted, it was late… And shorter than the last couple of BP issues, but it was much easier to write. Of course, I’ve had this issue planned out in my head for a while, whereas Brat Pack tends to be more on-the-fly.

Shadow will be primarily a solo guy, but if he ever works with anyone, it’ll be Pumpkin King… Partially because he’s so fun to write, but mostly it’s a character thing. Mosley has to prove himself as a hero, in any way possible. So he has two alter-egos, and gets twice as much work done.

Shadow will have at least one, most likely two, big story arcs, spaced out across the months here at <3C Presents. I’m not sure if the next issue will be SOLA as yet, but I’m finding it hard to think of anything else at the moment. We’ll see what comes around next month. There are a lot of heroes in the <3-Verse.

Not being from Los Angeles… Or even the US for that matter, I’ll be relying on Wikipedia for my research… King Estates is listed as a suburb in the area I wanted, and further Googling leads me to believe it’s a somewhat lower-class neighbourhood. The ‘Estates’ part threw me off initially too. Shadow’s definitely not of the Orange County mindset

It’s also been a while since I wrote in first person (except last issue, of course). Most likely, I’ll be saving that for Shadow… And possibly any other solo heroes. Well, except Thunderbolt. Something tells me his pure awesomeness would be best served by a third-person perspective. Because ‘Hmm, I flew down the street at 300 mph and took out a guy with my hammer’ doesn’t have the same ring as ‘Thunderbolt was a blur, as he tore along the street, swinging his hammer as he moved. Radon didn’t stand a chance. Mjolnir hit him in the side of the head, and sent him tumbling.’

Any requests for a particular character (or team) will be appreciated, but I make no promises.

Later Days,
The Author
<3 Comics

Shadows Over Los Angeles: Issue #002

Author — Mon, 23 Mar 2009 13:29:46 +0000

Friday, 3:39 AM
Glendora

It barely took an hour for me to find him. The only man in the city I really trust to have my back.

Pumpkin King. Perhaps better known as Firestorm. Or even Ben Mosley.

From then, it was simple. We rode out to Glendora on his motorcycle.

“You looked like you were just getting started back there.” I commented, as the wind whipped my face.

“Yeah, had to wait for the old man to pass out.” King replied over his shoulder.

“A little late by his standards, wasn’t it?” I asked. Something wasn’t right.

“You’re telling me. The past few weeks, he’s been going out during the day. He’s not drinking in the afternoon anymore. And when he does drink, he’s taking longer to get drunk. Like he’s in better condition now. Makes life a lot harder.” King said.

“Maybe he’s got a job.” I suggested, not wanting to say what I really thought. The ‘hero’ formerly known as Napalm could be making a comeback, or at least in training for it.

“Maybe.” King dismissed the topic. “Is that the place?” He pointed.

I looked up at the hill ahead. I could barely make out the lights of a large house at the top.

“I guess so. Let’s find somewhere to hide the bike and continue on foot. Don’t want to alert the guards just yet.” I said.

Lucky for us the house was far on the outskirts of the suburb, and was actually surrounded by sparse woodland. We easily found some bushes to dump the bike in, and headed up towards the house.

<><><>

I returned to our hiding spot.

“Eighteen guards. Six guard posts, each with two guys manning it. The other six walk between posts. Of course, that’s once you get over the wall.” I explained.

“And these guys are on steroids?” King asked.

“Of some description. They have super strength. Probably stronger than me.” I said.

“Guns?”

“Handguns. Still not a lot of fun, but at least they’re not automatics.”

“This should be fun. What’s the plan?”

“Try to sneak in, and find the boss before the guards find us.”

“You don’t think we can take these guys?”

“We might be able to… I don’t want to risk it.”

King grunted a reply. He was a little more hotheaded than I am. Always wants to be the badass.

“On three, we both run to that bush against the house. Keep your head down.” I said, keeping an eye on the two nearest guards.

“Got it.” King said simply.

I had to time it perfectly. The first guard turned and began walking the other way. “One.” I said. The second guard continued walking towards the bushes. “Two…” I continued. The guard turned and walked away. “Three.”

The two of us ran as fast as we could, with our heads down. We made it halfway, before the first guard tripped and fell. He turned as he climbed to his feet and spotted us.

“HEY!” He shouted.

“So much for that.” King said, his head and fists flaring up.

The second guard had his gun out and opened fire, as he ran towards us.

“I’ll go left.” I said.

“Guess I’ll go right.” King replied.

I sprinted at the second guard, taking a bullet to the chest for my troubles. I kept running, hoping to heal up before I reached him. He was huge, probably a side-effect of whatever drug he was on.

The bullet fell out of my chest, as I leapt into the air, hoping for a fly-kick. I connected with his face, but he just grabbed me in mid-air and slammed me onto the ground.

“It’ll take more than that to beat me, Shadow.” The guard said, as he began pounding away at my face and torso, cracking bones and busting me open.

I screamed in pain, the combination of the blows themselves, and the subsequent healing caused my body to be in constant agony.

As he hit me in the stomach with his right, I grabbed onto his hand, using his momentum to pull myself to my feet, before taking a few steps back, out of his reach.

As I caught my breath, and my injuries healed, I noticed three more guards coming up behind him, obviously drawn by gunfire.

“They’ve got reinforcements.” I said, as I saw King backing up to me out of the corner of my eye.

“I noticed.” King replied. I turned briefly to see more guards coming from his direction.

The two of us stood back to back. “Feeling up to some fireworks?” I asked.

“Looks like it might be my only option.” Pumpkin King replied.

“Well well well…” One of the guards said. “The Shadow and Pumpkin King decided they were going to take down the biggest producers on the West Coast… Big mistake.”

“I guess you didn’t know about us.” Another said.

“The finest private security firm in the world. Rock Steady Inc. We’ll work for anyone, assuming the pay is right. And the pay here is definitely right.” The first speaker said.

“Blah blah blah. Can we just fight?” King asked.

“Fight? Listen, I don’t care who you think you are… You can’t win. I’m going to give you both the chance to get the hell out of here. I’ll let you go home, and think about what you’ve tried here.”

“Your bosses are going down.” I said.

“Actually, no. You and your Tim Burton reject friend here are the ones going down.” The guard replied.

I looked around and noticed that all eighteen guards were now surrounding us.

“Do you guys know why I took the name Pumpkin King?” King asked.

“Because of your man-crush on Jack Skellington?” The guard asked.

“No. Because I’m your worst fucking nightmare.” King said, a burst of flame from his hands burning the speaker and a man on either side, all three dropping to the ground and writhing in agony.

I took that as my cue to roll to the side, un-holstering my guns and opening fire on my nearest adversaries, hamstringing one and shredding another’s shoulder.

As I emptied my clip into the crowd, taking down one more man, King was on top of another guard, pounding him in the face with his flaming fists, beating and burning him into unconsciousness.

There was no time to reload, I instead put my guns back in their holsters and decided to take them on hand-to-hand, because it worked so well before. This time, I knew I had to fight harder.

I met one guard face-to-face and grabbed his right wrist and elbow, reversing his elbow and breaking his arm, forcing him to drop his gun, which I snatched in midair and fired at another man, putting three in his chest, before turning the gun on my initial target and scoring the belly-wound.

I dropped both man and gun, before moving onto my next opponent. I ducked a wild swing at my head and went low, hitting an uppercut on the poor guy’s groin. He roared in agony, as he brought both fists down and hit me in the back of the head with a double-ax-handle. I saw stars, and almost lost consciousness, but my healing factor kicked in and I was fine, choosing to sweep the leg of the stunned man, before a punt to the head left him concussed.

I saw a man run past me on fire, screaming as the flames consumed his clothes and flesh. Pumpkin King was certainly enjoying himself.

“That’s my seventh!” King shouted. “What’s your score?”

“This isn’t a game.” I replied. I had of course, taken down only six, but taking the concussed man’s gun and firing two bursts of bullets at two approaching guards’ chests brought my count back past even.

Then I was grabbed from behind by one guard, as another began working the body. I laughed as he crushed my internal organs.

“What’s so funny?” He asked.

“By my count, all that’s left is you two, and one more guy.” I said. A flash of light, and a man tumbled into view. “Make that two of you. I suggest you get out now, before you make my friend and me very angry.”

The man punching me pulled out his gun. “Guess I’ll make this quick.” He said, firing six shots into my chest. At that range, they went straight through my body and into the man holding me. We both collapsed.

<><><>

I came to a few minutes later, the final guard was smoldering on the ground next to me.

“Guess we could take them.” I commented, before turning to the house.

“Think there’s more inside?” King asked.

“They’d have joined in. There should only be the guys making the drugs left inside.” I replied.

The garage door opened and a station wagon sped out, the passengers firing wildly at us. A stray bullet hit me in the shoulder.

“God damnit. That always hurts like a mother.” I cursed, as the bullet pushed out and the wound healed.

“Guess they didn’t want to play.” King sounded disappointed.

“Let’s just bust the place open.” I said, kicking the front door down.

The inside of the house looked like a factory. Pill presses, industrial labs, barrels of chemicals.

“Holy crap. Guess we should get to work.” Pumpkin King said, as he flared up and set a nearby table on fire.

“You idiot!” I shouted.

“What?” He asked. “I’m impervious to fire, you can just heal anything.”

“That crap is going to explode. You’re not impervious to shrapnel.” I said.

“Oh yeah…” King trailed off. “Run?”

“Run.” I agreed.

The two of us sprinted down the hallway, I pushed King in front of me. The fire was spreading. We made it halfway to the fence when the entire goddamned house exploded. I felt stabbing pain in at least a dozen places in my back, as shards of brick, wood and tiles embedded themselves in me. I could also feel chemicals burning on my back.

What confused me though, was the pain in my front. I looked down and saw a huge piece of wood, probably from the house’s framing, sticking out of my belly. And then I saw black.

<><><>

Friday, 10:12 AM
Glendora

The sun shining in my eyes woke me up. I sat up immediately, looking around and taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. I quickly realized I was in the spot we’d stashed King’s bike the night before.

I saw a huge piece of timber sitting on the ground next to me. It was at least four feet long. Judging by the fact it was still covered in my blood, King must have pulled it out. Thank god, that would have taken days to force out of my body.

I felt the wound… It was still scabbed over. This was going to take a while. I was probably filled with splinters. I was going to need to find somewhere to hide until nightfall, so I could head home.

I stood up to make a move, when I heard a sound.

I ducked back down and looked to the source of the noise.

I almost died of shock when I saw a cop walking towards me, obviously looking around.

“This is crap. Whoever took those guys out did us a favour.” He shouted.

A shout from my left revealed a second searching cop, out of my sight. He said something about assault and arson.

And that’s when the first cop looked me straight in the eyes.

I tensed, ready to sprint into the distance.

He didn’t take his eyes off me.

“Harry, we’re not going to find anything. Let’s just head back.” He shouted.

His partner said something in agreement.

He nodded at me. Before he turned away, I snuck a look at his badge. Jack O’Hara. Good to know I had some friends on the Force.

I waited until he was out of sight, before I ran deeper into the woods, in search of somewhere to rest.

<><><>

Friday,9.20PM

King Estates

I snuck into the house through the window, careful not to wake up my mom. She was going to kill me. I’d been gone for a whole day. I was going to need an excuse.

But first thing was first. I reached under my mattress and pulled out my notebook.

I wrote down two things.

’Finlay. Drug dealer. Manhattan Beach.’

’Rock Steady Inc. Security firm. Research.’

Satisfied with my notes, I stashed the notebook and collapsed on my bed, pulling the remains of my mask off and hiding it under my pillow.

Shadows Over LA: Issue #001: Author’s Notes

Author — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 13:08:54 +0000

Wow, that headline is looooong.

Anyway, thanks for the comment maedel, as always. I was going for a darker tone with Shadow, he fights low-level crime, the drug dealers, the muggers, the carjackers… He’s my attempt at the Iron Age. Kind of a cross between Batman, Wolverine and maybe a little bit of the original Shadow. I wanted a noir-ish feel, but I’m fairly sure I didn’t quite get it. Hopefully I improve.

Shadow is more mature than the Brats because, whilst they were raised in their perfect little Orange County lives (well, Mosley excluded), and they’re happy, average teenagers, Shadow has a past. I’ll get into that one of these days. The most important thing to know is, Shadow decided to fight crime before he knew he had powers. He didn’t wake up one day, accidentally cut himself and find out he spontaneously regenerates. He got injured on the job. He wanted to take down the crooks without superpowers. His healing factor is just a bonus.

He’s cocky because, let’s face it… He’s a teenager, who knows he can’t die. He has a cause, he thinks he’s above the crooks (well, he kind of is, but you know what I mean). He’s entitled to a little cockiness.

Anyway, I hope everyone sticks around for the second issue, which will be posted within a few weeks.

Later Days,
The Author
<3 Comics

Shadows Over Los Angeles #001

Author — Mon, 16 Feb 2009 12:39:29 +0000

Thursday, 9:27 PM
Watts, South Central LA

I was beginning to grow uncomfortable. I had been lying on the roof for over an hour, watching that street corner. I knew the bastard would show eventually. I just didn’t know when.

It’s bad enough these scum were still in my streets, still in my city. But selling drugs near a high school? That’s unforgiveable.

Then I saw him. He parked his car across the street and stepped out. He walked to his corner, and leaned against the fence, acting nonchalant. As nonchalant as a white guy in a $500 leather jacket can look in South Central in the middle of the night.

Within minutes, there were two teenagers talking to him. They couldn’t have been any older than me. Disgusting. They handed him some money, he handed them a bag of what looked to be pills. A quick look through my binoculars confirmed it.

I’d seen enough, it was time to strike.

In moments I was on my feet. I leapt to the nearby tree, touching down on a branch, only to springboard back into the air. I could feel my tendons break as I jumped as far as I could, but I felt them healing instantaneously, whole before I even hit the ground in front of the dealer.

“Shadow!” The dealer and his clients both shouted, as they scrambled. I let the kids go. They weren’t my target.

I sprinted after the dealer, as he tried to get into his car. It was a nice car, which made the next part a little bit harder.

I let the fool reach his car. He even got it started, before I landed on the hood and put both fists through the windshield, grabbing him by the collar and pulling his head through the shattered remnants of the glass.

“Dude! What do you want!?! I’ll stop dealing! Anything!” He sobbed.

“You’re damn right you will. Your sorry ass won’t even live in my city by the end of the week. Understand?” I say softly, as the glass being forced from the healing wounds on my hands fell to the ground, tinkling as they did so.

“Yes Shadow sir.” He looked like he was about to burst into real tears.

“Now you’re going to tell me who your supplier is.” I said.

“No way man. You can’t do any worse to me than he will when he finds out I told you!” The fool, honestly thinks there’s something scarier in this city than me?

“You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of.” I said, tossing him back into the driver’s seat.

Stupid move. He slammed on the gas and the car took off, I tumbled over the roof, hit the trunk and landed on the road hard. Cuts, bruises, maybe even a broken bone or two. I groaned. It wasn’t a good night. I heard the screeching of tyres, as the dealer turned his car around and began speeding towards me. Just what I needed, another stupid dealer who wants to make a name for himself.

My injuries had healed by the time he reached me. My reflexes were quick enough for me to jump as he tried to mow me down. I dove through the windshield, grabbing him around the face and blinding him long enough to drive the car straight into a pole, sending the two of us flying through what was left of the windshield, before landing in someone’s front yard.

Luckily for both of us, I broke the idiot’s fall. I felt bones cracking back into place. Always an unpleasant feeling. Of course, my friend didn’t have that luxury, and the bones he had broken remained that way.

I reached over and grabbed him by the collar again.

“You were saying?” I asked.

“Holy shit dude, you’re crazy!” He managed to speak pretty loudly for a guy who just flew twenty feet.

“And if you don’t want to do it again without the soft landing, you’ll tell me what I want to know.” I said matter-of-factly.

“Fine. He goes by the name of Finlay…” The dealer began to squeal.

<><><>

Friday, 1:35 AM
Manhattan Beach

The security guard crumpled like a cheap suit. A bad metaphor, but it fit.

I ran straight up the fence and dropped to the other side, before running clear across the yard in about ten seconds. Not bad considering I’d spent much of the last two hours hanging onto the back of a truck.

I did a quick lap of the house, finding no obvious way in. All the doors and windows were shut, the curtains all closed. The occupants were asleep.

I was considering busting a window, when I heard the phone ring. The light in the room I was standing outside of turned on, and I could hear a man with a faint Boston accent swearing as he picked up the phone.

“Johnny? Slow down. What? The Shadow? You told him where I live? You fuckin’ moron! Your ass is lucky my wife and kids are at her mother’s tonight. I’ll have your ass for this. I don’t care if you’re almost dead already.” The voice hung up.

I smiled. At least I wouldn’t be scarring any innocents tonight. I took a few steps back, before running headlong into the massive window of Finlay’s bedroom. A quick tuck and roll, and I regained my footing, standing ready.

Finlay already had the gun in his hand pointed at me.

“Sorry Shadow. Guess you were just a little too late.” Finlay said, before opening fire. I took two shots to the chest, before collapsing to the ground.

The darkness had almost taken me. I was bleeding pretty heavily, and my vision was blurred, but I could still hear his taunts.

“This is the mighty Shadow? You’re what has my dealers so worked up about working the suburbs? You’re nothing but a stupid kid. What are they so afraid of?” Finlay asked.

I smiled, before springing to my feet. The look on his face was priceless.

“Exactly what you’re afraid of now.” I said. I felt a lump in my throat, as the taste of metal entered my mouth.

“How… Why…?” Finlay spluttered.

I spat out the bullets. “You thought you were above the stories? You didn’t listen to your dealers, and your thugs, did you?”

“You’re a fuckin’ cape, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m worse. I’m the Shadow.”

The muzzle of his gun flashed four more times, as he emptied the magazine into my torso.

I stayed down a little longer this time, as the bullets forced themselves straight out of their entry wounds. I allowed myself to heal a little more, before drawing my own guns, unloading two shots from each into the man’s legs, dropping him down to the ground with me.

I took my time standing up. The wounds weren’t done healing yet. I walked over to Finlay, kicking the gun away from his reach, before standing over him.

“Where do you get the pills?” I asked, pointing the gun at his head.

“Fuck you!” He spat in my face.

“Wrong answer.” I shot him in the thigh.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll never get to him. His security makes Alcatraz look like my mansion.” Finlay laughed.

“I got in here. I’ll get in there.” I said simply. “Now tell me where to find him.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me again? Aren’t you above our tricks? You won’t kill me.”

“No, but do you know why it took your dealer so long to call you? I left him four hours ago. It took him that long to crawl back to his car and find his phone. He is a broken man. He crawled twenty feet in four hours. You will not have that luxury.”

I saw the true fear dawn in Finlay’s eyes, as he realized I was serious.

“Outside of Glendora… The place is guarded by dozens of guys, they’re on some kind of crazy new steroid. Makes them strong, like you capes. You’ve got no chance.”

“Give me the address.” I said.

He complied and I knocked him out cold with the butt of my pistol. I opened up his closet and found a pair of pants and a t-shirt. I changed into them, and stuffed my costume into a gym bag I found at the bottom of the closet. A quick search of the nightstand and I found his wallet and cellphone.

I was out of the complex and two blocks over within minutes, calling a cab to come pick me up. It was going to be a long night, and I was going to need some backup.

<><><>