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by ViceVersus on Sun Jul 12, 2009 10:41 am
New York City had descended into madness since Jack had left it.
It's former hero, the Keeper, had been forced into an early retirement. A bullet had shattered his spine and left him paralyzed from the waist down. Since then, crime rates had been on the rise mostly thanks to the fact that NYC was now a breeding ground for the angsty freaks who called themselves 'heroes.'
Twenty-seven years ago, that breeding ground had brought forth Jack Calumet--the Ignitor.
He had gotten out, of course, and landed in with Los Angeles' glitzy Infinity Five. When not doing photo shoots or promotional ops, the team of 'heroes' just lazed around. Jack had never really found this to be satisfying. No--he had grown up under the shadow of the crime kingpin--Quiksilver. He knew what real crime was, what real pain was.
Still, that didn't explain Jack's sudden betrayal. Why the Infinity Five had turned on him and done their best to kill him, thinking they did the job and dumped him in the Pacific Ocean to drown.
Well, Jack was back in his hometown. He was a different man, too. What had previously been smile lines on his face were now accented with cuts and healing bruises. His last Extraction hadn't been so good. He got caught in the backdraft of his OWN explosion. This time, Jack was on a mission. He wanted answers, and he wanted revenge.
He had watched his own memorial service the night before last, on the television. THAT had been a weird feeling. The Infinity Five had rented out the Kodak Theater on NBC Universal's lot for the extravaganza which featured a lot of fake crying and false respects on the part of the brightly costumed superheroes. Millions of people across America were mourning the Ignitor, having no idea that he was still alive and among them...
Jack crossed the street of a sleepy Brooklyn, not bothering to look both ways. He had eyes only on his target--his first on a long list of people he would be visiting for answers. It was a quiet and quaint little bookstore, with only the front light still on.
He pulled the door open, ignoring the 'closed' sign.
"Hey!" The old doddering man restocking the dusty shelves wheeled around, a sneer on his gnarled features, "We're not open! Can't you read?"
"Lock your doors, then," Jack stepped inside. The bell sang above his head, "I've got a few questions that you're going to answer."
"Like hell I--" The Bookmanlooked up, and nearly fainted,"What the--"
"Hello Arthur." Jack said smoothly, catching himself in the light. The scars and the burns were still there from what must have been a nasty encounter. Jack knew he cut a frightful figure.
"J-Jack!" Arthur Remmington scrambled back behind his desk. His eyes were wide and white, "You're supposed to be dead!"
"I was never much of a details guy." The Ignitor raised his fingers, pressed together--
"NO!" The man shrieked, raising a magazine to cover his face, as though that would protect him, "Jacky--Jacky boy, come on now. No need for that. Don't do that now, put your hand down put it DOWN I say. What do you want?"
"What do you think I want?" Jack stepped forward, his arm still outstretched, "I was burned, Arthur. Blacklisted. They cut me out and they hung me up to dry. If that happened to--poor, pitiful, slobbering you--wouldn't you want answers too?"
The bookeeper was blubbering, turning the magazine in his hands so that the pages were shredding, "I don't know nothin', Jacky. I don't know nothin'!"
Jack was disgusted, "Quiksilver. Where can I find him?"
"Q-Quiksilver? He's everywhere! He's where you least expect him, he's where you don't want him to be. Don't ask me to get caught up with him again, Jacky. I just got out of that. He's not someone you want to mess with--"
"Do I look like someone you want to mess with?" Jack roared, "Stop giving me riddles, old man."
Arthur was beyond coherent explanations at this point. The sight of Jack's fingers ready to Ignite was just too much for him to handle, "J-Jacky, please. Don't do it. Let's just--let's just all calm down and...and lower our arms. Let's just take a breather. Do you want some Scotch? I've got the best damn Scotch--"
"I want you to tell me where...." Jack found what he was looking for. The gas line. His dark eyes flitted back to the Booksmith, and he shrugged, "...you know what? Never mind. I'll just leave my calling card."
Jack was halfway out the door before the bookeeper realized what he had meant.
"JACKY!"
The Ignitor turned back with a shadowed expression, "My Extractions aren't what they used to be since I was left to drown at the bottom of the ocean. I'd estimate you have about four seconds to get out of there alive."
Jack didn't give the man four seconds. Once he stepped out and was on the other side of the narrow boulevard, he turned back and cast a single pretty snap.
click
KAA-FOOM!
Mortar rained down, alarms screamed and shattered glass hit the pavement with a sickening thud. The leaping flames lit up a dark night, the sound and shockwaves made Jack feel like he was alive.
Which he was. Despite the best efforts of....someone.
The police would read the report as a gas leak gone bad. Jack had planned it that way. But Quiksilver...no. Quiksilver would know that Jack was back. Nothing said 'come and get me' more than this.
As sirens wailed from the firestation, Jack strolled away calmly. No one would recognize him because he had left his mask drifting lost in the Pacific Ocean.
I'm back, baby.
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