((If you have any questions, please start with this post. After that, feel free to PM me!))
Come on, Lauren. Pull yourself together. It’s how you pick yourself up that’s important.
She stared at her computer screen, still unable to believe what she was seeing. No, that wasn’t right. She could believe it. She expected it, in fact. She was just hoping she was wrong. She was just hoping she hadn’t actually done something so monumentally stupid.
It would be hard to blame Mia for being a snitch after this.
She sliced sheets of paper into strips, and wrote on each of them a simple message. “Someone is listening. Trust no one. Talos pier. Tonight. 6 PM.” Throughout the following day, she slipped one to each person she could find that she knew had been involved in the investigation, whether she thought they would come or not.
Lauren was at the pier ten minutes early. The music she brought along could be heard blaring from her portable speakers halfway to the beach. There were few enough people. They complained of course, but when it became evident she was ignoring them, they left, some muttering under their breath things Lauren was certain she didn’t care to hear. She sat next to the radio, staring out at the waves, looking tired but determined.
“I’d suggest we check under the pier for listeners. Watch for anyone coming from the boardwalk or by water,” she offered to any early arrivals.
Once she allowed enough time for people to arrive, she turned toward those who had assembled. “Gather close. The music will provide cover.”
Lauren was intent on her audience. “Look, I’m not any good at this. After you hear what I have to say, you might not want my help anymore. If so, that’s fine.”
She delivered her speech earnestly. Now wasn’t the time for self-pity or further doubt. “We can’t talk on campus. Troy was listening in last night, even with the library doors closed. I didn’t realize he could hear that well. If we’re going to meet, it needs to be somewhere safer. Somewhere off campus.”
“We should set up a place online where we can collaborate. Make sure it’s something secure. If no one else wants to handle it, I can set it up. If anyone learns anything, post it there. That way, we can all stay informed. If we need to meet, suggest it there, so we can stay discreet.
“Remember, after last night, the people that we’re after will know everything that we now know.”
“I’m sorry for what I’m going to say next, but it needs to be said.” Lauren paused, as if steeling herself, knowing her next words could be viewed as a betrayal. “You all should know that Mia is the one who went to Herrera. Troy knows, so it’s going to get around. It’s better that we have it out here and now rather than be surprised by it later.”
“Don’t blame her, though. It was the right time to bring in someone with more experience. But from now on, if we’re going to do this, we should do this as a team. No one goes off alone to inform anyone outside the group without the group’s consent. And that includes me, since I’m just as guilty by bringing in Abramsen.”
“I’ve also been talking to that reporter from the Sentinel, Darcy Danton, in return for information. If anyone has a problem with that, say so, and I’ll sever ties with her. Like I said, it’s the group’s decision. I think I trust her, but you shouldn’t count that for much. I gave her what we have to date. It’s not like it matters at this point who has it.”
“I know things look bad right now, but we can use that.”
“My suggestion? While we’re on campus, talk about the case, but don’t talk about anything that we learn after this moment. Wonder. Toss ideas around. The more far-fetched and unlikely, the better. Argue about what Mia did. Blame her. It will be tough on her, but maybe we can make anyone listening think that we’re falling apart and losing our momentum.”
“Don’t let on that we know who all of our enemies are. Maybe we can feed them false information, lure them into a trap. Maybe we can play their game against them and go on the offensive.”
Lauren drew herself up to sit a little straighter. “And while you’re at it, blame me, too. Because I brought Abramsen in. Trust no one. Especially the PPD. I was wrong about Abramsen. Alyssa Ballian is her niece.”
A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
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Lauren Lombardi
- Member
- Posts:309
- Joined:Tue May 17, 2011 9:30 pm
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Wyatt Wyborn
- Member
- Posts:196
- Joined:Fri Apr 08, 2011 5:49 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
Wyatt listened to Lauren and found himself looking around at his friends. He was paranoid to be certain. Who in this group could he fully trust? And even if he trusted them with his life, did he trust them with the information he had? All it would take would be for the wrong person to get wind of what he'd been up to and all of his time in Boomtown would have been for nothing.
But then, more eyes, more feet, more hands... the more people they had looking into his information, the more likely they would be to get a lead.
Wyatt said, "I have something. A name. Don't ask me how I got it, but it's tied to Cork's death."
He paused, hesistating, wondering if this was the right thing to do. But he couldn't keep playing lone wolf.
"The name I got is Heraclea. Whoever it is, Cork died tryin' to impress her."
But then, more eyes, more feet, more hands... the more people they had looking into his information, the more likely they would be to get a lead.
Wyatt said, "I have something. A name. Don't ask me how I got it, but it's tied to Cork's death."
He paused, hesistating, wondering if this was the right thing to do. But he couldn't keep playing lone wolf.
"The name I got is Heraclea. Whoever it is, Cork died tryin' to impress her."
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Wyatt Wyborn
- Member
- Posts:196
- Joined:Fri Apr 08, 2011 5:49 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
Something that’ll fit in a back pack.
It took only a day for Heidi to come through for him. It was old. It was a prototype – a failed prototype – but it worked. The Crey Barrage Suit. Developed for emergency deployment, the suit was lightweight and powerful. It wasn’t armour, which was why it had wound up archived and never produced, but instead was more like wearing an energy cannon. It would give Wyatt more offense than just his fists or whatever large object he could find to use as a projectile – ranged offense at that. And as far as armour went – even though it didn’t really have any, it did emit a close range kinetic mitigation field. That, combined with his own invulnerability, Wyatt figured would be enough to stand up against almost anything. Wyatt had promised Mia he would bring backup when he came back into Boomtown, and this power suit was it.
Backup – in case he ran into a female Hercules. Heraclea. The name Cassie had gotten when she read Derrick Cork’s mediport badge.
Maybe it was just a name. Maybe the person calling herself that (and he assumed that it was a female person, if not, why not just call yourself “Hercules”?) wasn’t as tough as the name suggested. But the thought that she might be scared him. Not many things scared him. The power suit was in Wyatt’s backpack.
The Boomtown landscape was starting to feel comfortable. Wyatt wasn’t sure what that meant, but the realization made him uncomfortable. He knew almost every bit of the area now. He knew where to find the extreme skaters, fewer now since Cork’s murder. He knew where the Outcasts gathered to talk war and where they gathered to party. He knew where not to go to avoid those crazy fascists. He knew a secret place (one of many, actually) where one had only to move the hood of a dead Cadillac to access a tunnel that led into a cave that intersected with the sewers; no doubt used by the various factions to move in and out of the danger zone, bypassing the police guards at the gate. And he knew where the homeless people went to hide from all of them.
But he had to remind himself that he was the outsider here, even as he tried to blend in. People had begun to remember his face, too. One older man – younger than Wyatt’s dad, probably, but ancient by Outcast standards – had even offered him a curt nod when he saw Wyatt, which was as close as those in Boomtown ever came to giving greetings.
Wyatt shrugged it off. He did what he did here. He drifted from fire to fire and listened. Sometimes, if he thought it would get results, he prodded.
But Heraclea remained smoke. More than once he thought he heard the name, but, no. It was another word entirely. Misspoken, misheard. Wishful thinking. He moved on.
The homeless knew nothing. The Outcasts knew nothing. He began to wonder if Boomtown's well of information had run dry.
Then he’d caught the faint but unmistakable scent of Superdine – a Troll enclave, one of the few left in the entire district, located in one of the hidden tunnels. Trolls and Outcasts had been fighting a turf war here since the first Rikti invasion. So far, the Trolls were losing, their presence dwindling in a slow, grudging retreat, hiding in tunnels and husks of buildings. Wyatt looked to make sure no one was watching and ducked into the tunnel. If the dominant groups of the area weren’t helping him, maybe he would have to go even deeper.
One thing was certain – the camaraderie of a shared fire and an offered cigarette wouldn’t get him in with these guys. They were savage, brutal, barbaric. If you pissed them off, they would kill you. And it didn’t take much to piss them off.
The tunnel was full of the wreckage of a wrecked city. Piles of rubble. The steel corpses of automobiles. A city bus, twisted in the middle like Wyatt would twist a empty candy wrapper. Wyatt was glad for the cover these objects provided and moved from one to another, huddled behind them as eavesdropped.
As a rule, Trolls aren’t much for conversation. When they do speak, most of it is in the form of grunts and monosyllabic words. So when one of the Trolls said it, Wyatt had no trouble catching the name –
Heraclea.
He followed the sound of voices a little deeper into the tunnel where he found two Trolls eating... something... something that was dripping pink juices down their chins.
"Heraclea dumb name," one of them said.
"Dumb name, smart name. Who care? Heraclea hire Skulls," said the bigger of the two Trolls. "Pay good money. Easy job. Kings Row. Break apartment."
"Should have hired Trolls," grunted the other. "Trolls work better. Trolls break things better. Everybody know that."
The bigger Troll shrugged. "Maybe next time. Told Mr. Bones. He say maybe they farm work out next time."
Wyatt wanted to charge in and demand to know who Mr. Bones was, but Trolls could be neither intimidated, nor reasoned with. He might as well pound a rock for information.
Still... Mr. Bones. Another name. Another piece of the puzzle.
It took only a day for Heidi to come through for him. It was old. It was a prototype – a failed prototype – but it worked. The Crey Barrage Suit. Developed for emergency deployment, the suit was lightweight and powerful. It wasn’t armour, which was why it had wound up archived and never produced, but instead was more like wearing an energy cannon. It would give Wyatt more offense than just his fists or whatever large object he could find to use as a projectile – ranged offense at that. And as far as armour went – even though it didn’t really have any, it did emit a close range kinetic mitigation field. That, combined with his own invulnerability, Wyatt figured would be enough to stand up against almost anything. Wyatt had promised Mia he would bring backup when he came back into Boomtown, and this power suit was it.
Backup – in case he ran into a female Hercules. Heraclea. The name Cassie had gotten when she read Derrick Cork’s mediport badge.
Maybe it was just a name. Maybe the person calling herself that (and he assumed that it was a female person, if not, why not just call yourself “Hercules”?) wasn’t as tough as the name suggested. But the thought that she might be scared him. Not many things scared him. The power suit was in Wyatt’s backpack.
The Boomtown landscape was starting to feel comfortable. Wyatt wasn’t sure what that meant, but the realization made him uncomfortable. He knew almost every bit of the area now. He knew where to find the extreme skaters, fewer now since Cork’s murder. He knew where the Outcasts gathered to talk war and where they gathered to party. He knew where not to go to avoid those crazy fascists. He knew a secret place (one of many, actually) where one had only to move the hood of a dead Cadillac to access a tunnel that led into a cave that intersected with the sewers; no doubt used by the various factions to move in and out of the danger zone, bypassing the police guards at the gate. And he knew where the homeless people went to hide from all of them.
But he had to remind himself that he was the outsider here, even as he tried to blend in. People had begun to remember his face, too. One older man – younger than Wyatt’s dad, probably, but ancient by Outcast standards – had even offered him a curt nod when he saw Wyatt, which was as close as those in Boomtown ever came to giving greetings.
Wyatt shrugged it off. He did what he did here. He drifted from fire to fire and listened. Sometimes, if he thought it would get results, he prodded.
But Heraclea remained smoke. More than once he thought he heard the name, but, no. It was another word entirely. Misspoken, misheard. Wishful thinking. He moved on.
The homeless knew nothing. The Outcasts knew nothing. He began to wonder if Boomtown's well of information had run dry.
Then he’d caught the faint but unmistakable scent of Superdine – a Troll enclave, one of the few left in the entire district, located in one of the hidden tunnels. Trolls and Outcasts had been fighting a turf war here since the first Rikti invasion. So far, the Trolls were losing, their presence dwindling in a slow, grudging retreat, hiding in tunnels and husks of buildings. Wyatt looked to make sure no one was watching and ducked into the tunnel. If the dominant groups of the area weren’t helping him, maybe he would have to go even deeper.
One thing was certain – the camaraderie of a shared fire and an offered cigarette wouldn’t get him in with these guys. They were savage, brutal, barbaric. If you pissed them off, they would kill you. And it didn’t take much to piss them off.
The tunnel was full of the wreckage of a wrecked city. Piles of rubble. The steel corpses of automobiles. A city bus, twisted in the middle like Wyatt would twist a empty candy wrapper. Wyatt was glad for the cover these objects provided and moved from one to another, huddled behind them as eavesdropped.
As a rule, Trolls aren’t much for conversation. When they do speak, most of it is in the form of grunts and monosyllabic words. So when one of the Trolls said it, Wyatt had no trouble catching the name –
Heraclea.
He followed the sound of voices a little deeper into the tunnel where he found two Trolls eating... something... something that was dripping pink juices down their chins.
"Heraclea dumb name," one of them said.
"Dumb name, smart name. Who care? Heraclea hire Skulls," said the bigger of the two Trolls. "Pay good money. Easy job. Kings Row. Break apartment."
"Should have hired Trolls," grunted the other. "Trolls work better. Trolls break things better. Everybody know that."
The bigger Troll shrugged. "Maybe next time. Told Mr. Bones. He say maybe they farm work out next time."
Wyatt wanted to charge in and demand to know who Mr. Bones was, but Trolls could be neither intimidated, nor reasoned with. He might as well pound a rock for information.
Still... Mr. Bones. Another name. Another piece of the puzzle.
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Twitchcraft
- Former Member
- Posts:148
- Joined:Thu Aug 18, 2011 11:38 am
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
Teen Super Arrested in Baumton Death
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
An Etoile Islands teenager was charged last night in connection with the death of Derrick Nathan Cork.
Thomas Copeland, 18, holds Hero patrol status in Paragon City, and sources inside the police department allege that he attempted to use his registered psionic abilities to flee arresting officers. Reports that other teen supers were involved in an altercation with police during the arrest have yet to be verified.
"We're naturally appalled that those licensed to uphold the law should instead feel compelled to take it into their own hands," said PPD Spokesperson Naomi King. "Hopefully, this is the sort of thing the licensing review board will be taking a closer look at."
A spokesperson for the Westbrook Academy for Metahumans, where Copeland attends classes, had no formal comment on the matter, saying only that it was under review.
The death of Derrick Cork had originally been ruled an accident by authorities. But the emergence of further evidence convinced police to take a second look.
"We owe a debt of gratitude to some concerned individuals who worked very hard on this matter," said PPD Detective Lieutenant Heidi Abramsen. "Without their assistance, this arrest would not have been made."
Continued A7
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
An Etoile Islands teenager was charged last night in connection with the death of Derrick Nathan Cork.
Thomas Copeland, 18, holds Hero patrol status in Paragon City, and sources inside the police department allege that he attempted to use his registered psionic abilities to flee arresting officers. Reports that other teen supers were involved in an altercation with police during the arrest have yet to be verified.
"We're naturally appalled that those licensed to uphold the law should instead feel compelled to take it into their own hands," said PPD Spokesperson Naomi King. "Hopefully, this is the sort of thing the licensing review board will be taking a closer look at."
A spokesperson for the Westbrook Academy for Metahumans, where Copeland attends classes, had no formal comment on the matter, saying only that it was under review.
The death of Derrick Cork had originally been ruled an accident by authorities. But the emergence of further evidence convinced police to take a second look.
"We owe a debt of gratitude to some concerned individuals who worked very hard on this matter," said PPD Detective Lieutenant Heidi Abramsen. "Without their assistance, this arrest would not have been made."
Continued A7
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Wyatt Wyborn
- Member
- Posts:196
- Joined:Fri Apr 08, 2011 5:49 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
A pawn shop in King’s Row, the sixth one of the night...
“Where’d you get this?”
“Get what, kid?”
“This ring in the jewelry counter here. Where’d you get it?”
“With some other stuff. Why? You like it?”
“You know what it is?”
“It’s a ring.”
“Right. It’s a ring. It’s a class ring. Westbrook Academy.”
“Yeah? So?”
“You ain’t been readin’ the papers, have you, mister?”
“Look, kid, I don’t got time for this. If you just wanna harass somebody, go somewheres else.”
“I reckon if you’d been readin’ the papers, you’d know whose ring this was.”
“Look, I don’t care whose ring it was. It’s my ring now. For a hundred bucks, it can be your ring.”
“’Course, I reckon it didn’t concern you that this ring belonged to that dead boy, seein’ as how the police wasn’t lookin’ that hard for evidence as to who his true killer is.”
“Kid – I ain’t never killed nobody, but if you don’t get outta here, I’m gonna start with you.”
K-klick
“Well... I don’t really know my guns like I should, but that looks like one of them Desert Eagles. Like I said – I don’t know my guns like a good boy, born and raised in the South should, but I seen ‘em in movies. Pretty powerful. That is, if the movies got it right.”
“The movies got it right, kid. Now, you got to three to get out of my store.”
“I don’t know... I’m standin’ here lookin’ at this ring and I’m wonderin’, ‘Does this feller know how bad I want to know where he got this?”
“One.”
“You know... that gun? Countin’ to three? You’re a regular movie cliché.”
“Two.”
“And you know, in the movies, the man behind the counter at the Pawn Shop? It never ends well for him.”
BANG!
P-twee!
“Jesus!”
“Yeah, you really gotta watch out for them ricochets. That one almost creased your skull. You wouldn’t believe how much I worry when I’m in the middle of a fire-fight and there’s innocents around. I worry that one day, a bullet’ll bounce off of me and kill somebody else. That’s a hard thought to live with.”
“Y-you’re a cape...”
“Nah. I don’t much care for that word anymore. Kinda leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
“Look – take that ring! I don’t know nothin’! It’s yours! I don’t know nothin’!”
“Y’know, usually when somebody repeats like that, they either got a neurological disorder, or they’re tellin’ a lie. You got a neurological disorder, mister?”
“N-no... I—“
“Then you was lyin’ and you know somethin’, right? Could it be that you could tell me a little somethin’ about a... Mr. Bones?”
“Mr. Bones runs a sort of floating market for this stuff and dealers come to his locations to buy. B-but he changes up – different locations!”
“Oh. Well... that’s somethin’. But I think I want somethin’ more.”
Crrrrrrunch.
“Hope that didn’t hurt your hand. Don’t think that pistol’s gonna fire ever again though. See? I don’t much like guns anyway. And you gotta whole wall of ‘em there. Be a shame if all of ‘em got ruined.”
“I-I can tell you more, just... just stop, okay?”
“Looks to me like I have stopped. For now.”
“Listen – I don’t know for sure where his place is, but... but his locations... his meetin’ places... They’re always in the same vicinity. I-I been trying to figure out exactly where... you know... for my own purpose, y’know...”
“And you think you got it narrowed down.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, mister, I reckon I’ll take that information and this ring, and we’ll call it a deal.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“Get what, kid?”
“This ring in the jewelry counter here. Where’d you get it?”
“With some other stuff. Why? You like it?”
“You know what it is?”
“It’s a ring.”
“Right. It’s a ring. It’s a class ring. Westbrook Academy.”
“Yeah? So?”
“You ain’t been readin’ the papers, have you, mister?”
“Look, kid, I don’t got time for this. If you just wanna harass somebody, go somewheres else.”
“I reckon if you’d been readin’ the papers, you’d know whose ring this was.”
“Look, I don’t care whose ring it was. It’s my ring now. For a hundred bucks, it can be your ring.”
“’Course, I reckon it didn’t concern you that this ring belonged to that dead boy, seein’ as how the police wasn’t lookin’ that hard for evidence as to who his true killer is.”
“Kid – I ain’t never killed nobody, but if you don’t get outta here, I’m gonna start with you.”
K-klick
“Well... I don’t really know my guns like I should, but that looks like one of them Desert Eagles. Like I said – I don’t know my guns like a good boy, born and raised in the South should, but I seen ‘em in movies. Pretty powerful. That is, if the movies got it right.”
“The movies got it right, kid. Now, you got to three to get out of my store.”
“I don’t know... I’m standin’ here lookin’ at this ring and I’m wonderin’, ‘Does this feller know how bad I want to know where he got this?”
“One.”
“You know... that gun? Countin’ to three? You’re a regular movie cliché.”
“Two.”
“And you know, in the movies, the man behind the counter at the Pawn Shop? It never ends well for him.”
BANG!
P-twee!
“Jesus!”
“Yeah, you really gotta watch out for them ricochets. That one almost creased your skull. You wouldn’t believe how much I worry when I’m in the middle of a fire-fight and there’s innocents around. I worry that one day, a bullet’ll bounce off of me and kill somebody else. That’s a hard thought to live with.”
“Y-you’re a cape...”
“Nah. I don’t much care for that word anymore. Kinda leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
“Look – take that ring! I don’t know nothin’! It’s yours! I don’t know nothin’!”
“Y’know, usually when somebody repeats like that, they either got a neurological disorder, or they’re tellin’ a lie. You got a neurological disorder, mister?”
“N-no... I—“
“Then you was lyin’ and you know somethin’, right? Could it be that you could tell me a little somethin’ about a... Mr. Bones?”
“Mr. Bones runs a sort of floating market for this stuff and dealers come to his locations to buy. B-but he changes up – different locations!”
“Oh. Well... that’s somethin’. But I think I want somethin’ more.”
Crrrrrrunch.
“Hope that didn’t hurt your hand. Don’t think that pistol’s gonna fire ever again though. See? I don’t much like guns anyway. And you gotta whole wall of ‘em there. Be a shame if all of ‘em got ruined.”
“I-I can tell you more, just... just stop, okay?”
“Looks to me like I have stopped. For now.”
“Listen – I don’t know for sure where his place is, but... but his locations... his meetin’ places... They’re always in the same vicinity. I-I been trying to figure out exactly where... you know... for my own purpose, y’know...”
“And you think you got it narrowed down.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, mister, I reckon I’ll take that information and this ring, and we’ll call it a deal.”
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Lauren Lombardi
- Member
- Posts:309
- Joined:Tue May 17, 2011 9:30 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
Sometime Tuesday morning
“But you can’t let them do this! Roach had nothing to do with Derrick’s death!”
It was no use. There was no concrete proof Roach was innocent. There was no concrete proof that Abramsen was dirty. All Lauren had were the words of known friends of Roach, friends who would have his back, who might say anything to protect him. On the other hand she had Abramsen, respected member of the PPD and former hero, with several commendations and hardly a blemish on her record. But surely there was something, somebody could do?
No. Herrera was too busy dealing with the aftermath of the police visit from last night to spare her any time. As for everyone else? Useless. Utterly useless. They had no more clue what to do than Lauren or any of her friends. Weren’t they supposed to be in charge?
Lauren thought back to last trimester. The school had been attacked. Powers stolen or lost. Who swept the city? Who pounded the pavement, then? The students investigating were mostly on their own then, just like they were on their own now.
She thought back to Herrera’s words during the assembly last week. To his words to her after the assembly. The wink-wink, nudge-nudge undercurrent of their punishment.
Lauren wasn’t about to waste her morning waiting for someone to get around to her. She turned and stormed from the office, tossing her next words over her shoulder vehemently, without breaking stride and without waiting to hear what reaction, if any, they had. “You just want us to save your bacon. Again!”
“But you can’t let them do this! Roach had nothing to do with Derrick’s death!”
It was no use. There was no concrete proof Roach was innocent. There was no concrete proof that Abramsen was dirty. All Lauren had were the words of known friends of Roach, friends who would have his back, who might say anything to protect him. On the other hand she had Abramsen, respected member of the PPD and former hero, with several commendations and hardly a blemish on her record. But surely there was something, somebody could do?
No. Herrera was too busy dealing with the aftermath of the police visit from last night to spare her any time. As for everyone else? Useless. Utterly useless. They had no more clue what to do than Lauren or any of her friends. Weren’t they supposed to be in charge?
Lauren thought back to last trimester. The school had been attacked. Powers stolen or lost. Who swept the city? Who pounded the pavement, then? The students investigating were mostly on their own then, just like they were on their own now.
She thought back to Herrera’s words during the assembly last week. To his words to her after the assembly. The wink-wink, nudge-nudge undercurrent of their punishment.
Lauren wasn’t about to waste her morning waiting for someone to get around to her. She turned and stormed from the office, tossing her next words over her shoulder vehemently, without breaking stride and without waiting to hear what reaction, if any, they had. “You just want us to save your bacon. Again!”
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Wyatt Wyborn
- Member
- Posts:196
- Joined:Fri Apr 08, 2011 5:49 pm
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
The raid on Mr. Bones market had seemed to go pretty well at first. Wyatt and his friends split into pairs and small groups and managed to get past the guard and into the warehouse, inside of which was a veritable criminal’s flea market. They browsed, looked over tables of guns, drugs, jewellery, electronics, and any kind of illegal contraband you could imagine. They finally converged around a Skull who promised to have top-grade computers. They all hoped this guy would have Cork’s computer, and when they asked to see all his wares, he invited them to the basement where he said he kept more of his stuff. They should have realized it was going too easily.
Mr. Bones had tried to set them up and it was only through youthful determination and ignorance of the fact that they had no way of surviving that the Westbrook students defeated everything that was thrown at them and wound up catching up to Mr. Bones himself in the sewers beneath the warehouse. They threatened him with pain, with injury, and with death, and in the end they had Cork’s computer in their possession.
They also had gotten a promise from Mr. Bones that he would set up a meeting with the people responsible for Cork’s death, but that was another deception and Wyatt and his friends wound up spending wasted hours at the meeting place before they gave up and went home.
So now Wyatt was again walking among the ruins. Lauren had gotten info that the “capes are back” in Boomtown, looking for something. Something to do with Derrick Cork. Lauren had asked Wyatt to see what he could find out. He had promised Mia he wouldn’t come back without backup, and he knew that she meant her. But there was something about the business he was doing that made him hesitant to bring here. So to keep from breaking his promise, he had the Crey Barrage Suit he had borrowed from Heidi in his backpack.
By now, Wyatt figured, word would have spread about “the kids who raided Mr. Bones” so there was no use in pretending that he was anything but who and what he was. Even so, he had been around the Outcasts long enough now to know which ones of them he could reason with, bargain with. He found Schistface and Cold Shock standing with their crew near the landmark called the Boomtown Hilton.
“It’s the kid again,” Cold Shock said when he saw Wyatt approach. This Outcast was a head taller than Wyatt and electricity danced between his fingertips.
“I need to talk,” Wyatt said, looking past Cold Shock to Schistface.
“You want to talk to him you have to ask me real nice,” Cold Shock said and then insinuated himself between Wyatt and Schistface.
“I don’t ask for shit from shit,” Wyatt said.
The air around Wyatt grew suddenly cold and in less than a second he was coated in a thick crust of ice.
“Now ask me to let you live,” Cold Shock said.
With his mouth covered in ice, Wyatt couldn’t ask the Outcast anything.
Cold Shock pressed his face against the clear ice over Wyatt’s face and sneered, “Who’s shit now?”
Wyatt smiled and a crackling sound filled his ears. With a shrug he was free and standing in the middle of a pile of ice chunks. Cold Shock took a step back, his fists balled and raised in front of him, lightning crackling around each one.
Wyatt brushed a little bit of frost off of his sleeves and said, “You sure you wanna try that? Last guy tried to electrocute me I pulled the plug on ‘im. And he wasn’t some two-bit, low-level, useless shit like you.”
Cold Shock was livid and he crackled even more. Wyatt wasn’t sure if bluffing was the best strategy here, but without excusing himself while he put on the Barrage Suit, bluffing was all he had.
“Leave the kid alone,” Schistface said, his voice shaking the ground. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
The Outcasts obeyed.
Wyatt had his pitch prepared. Not word for word, but the content of it, what he wanted to say, what he thought would get him what he needed.
"I'm not here to mess with you guys. I'm just here to find out who betrayed Derrick Cork. And it's not revenge I'm after. I hated the sonofabitch, but there's some capes who're responsible for his death. The cops don't give a god damn and some of 'em are even coverin' for those capes. I don't give a fuck about revenge. I don't give a fuck about justice. But if the cops and the capes think they can do shit like this and get off scott free? Fuck that. Pisses me off. I wanna hurt somebody, but first, I gotta find 'em.”
Schistface shuffled closer and looked Wyatt up and down, sizing him up. Wyatt could tell the Outcast leader was figuring out if he would fare better against him than Cold Shock had.
Wyatt locked eyes with the leader Brick and said, “Those capes? I hear they’ve been back. I hear they’re lookin’ for a camcorder"
"Maybe we heard something," he finally rumbled. "Maybe it's something you need to know. But how much is it worth to you?"
“Tell me what you want? I mean, what is this? A fuckin’ auction?”
“Yeah. And the other guys are offering five hundred bucks cash money. What do you got?”
I could introduce you to some high school cheerleaders, Wyatt thought, although the meeting might not be as fun as the Outcasts would want it to be. The though amused him and he almost laughed, but he had to keep his poker face. He had to stay serious.
The price was out there and Wyatt knew he didn’t have it. Not here and now. He knew that if he left to hit an ATM they would be gone when he got back. And they would elude him if he went looking for them. He had to have payment now, either in goods or services.
“Okay. I got somethin’. I have with me a Crey power suit. Plasma blasts. Personal force field. That's gotta be worth more than $500."
He took off the backpack and opened it. What he pulled out looked like a full-body harness made out of duct tape and cables with small black boxes on the extremities and a large octagon-shaped box in the center of it all.
They wanted a demonstration. Wyatt put it on over his clothes and did a show of the plasma blasts. He activated the kinetic mitigation field and Schistface tried to knock him down, but the more force he applied, the stronger the field grew. One at a time, and then all at once they tried to budge him, but it was as if they weren’t even touching him.
“And it charges on common household current,” he said as he finished the demonstration.
A couple of the Outcasts asked him some questions about “scalar fields” and “nanocapacitors” that Wyatt didn’t know how to answer.
“Uh... it’s Crey,” was the best he could come up with.
The Outcasts seemed satisfied with that.
A deal was struck. Schistface gave Wyatt a look that said, “sucker!” but Wyatt didn’t care. He would settle things with Heidi later. For now he just stuffed the suit back into the backpack and offered it to the Outcast. Schistface handed it off to one of the others watched it disappear behind the remains of a block wall. He wondered if this deal would wind up being as bogus as the one they had made with Mr. Bones.
"It's like this, kid," said Schistface. "Any tech in Baumton, the Trolls scavenge for it. You wouldn't have guessed that, would you? Oh, it ain't like they're gonna use any of it -- no, those assholes just peddle it to the Freakshow." He shook his head. "Yeah, we ain't found shit in the last couple of weeks. So my guess is the Trolls already got it."
Schistface knelt and Wyatt knelt beside him while he drew a map in the dirt. "You go maybe a mile or so north of here, there's a warren. They pile all their crap up and once a month, some of the Freaks come around to buy. Might be comin' around any day now."
Wyatt took out his cellphone and snapped a picture of the map, then mumbled, “thanks.” He stood and turned to leave, but the Outcast leader caught his arm.
"You want some free advice? You go up there, you better take a goddamn army."
Mr. Bones had tried to set them up and it was only through youthful determination and ignorance of the fact that they had no way of surviving that the Westbrook students defeated everything that was thrown at them and wound up catching up to Mr. Bones himself in the sewers beneath the warehouse. They threatened him with pain, with injury, and with death, and in the end they had Cork’s computer in their possession.
They also had gotten a promise from Mr. Bones that he would set up a meeting with the people responsible for Cork’s death, but that was another deception and Wyatt and his friends wound up spending wasted hours at the meeting place before they gave up and went home.
So now Wyatt was again walking among the ruins. Lauren had gotten info that the “capes are back” in Boomtown, looking for something. Something to do with Derrick Cork. Lauren had asked Wyatt to see what he could find out. He had promised Mia he wouldn’t come back without backup, and he knew that she meant her. But there was something about the business he was doing that made him hesitant to bring here. So to keep from breaking his promise, he had the Crey Barrage Suit he had borrowed from Heidi in his backpack.
By now, Wyatt figured, word would have spread about “the kids who raided Mr. Bones” so there was no use in pretending that he was anything but who and what he was. Even so, he had been around the Outcasts long enough now to know which ones of them he could reason with, bargain with. He found Schistface and Cold Shock standing with their crew near the landmark called the Boomtown Hilton.
“It’s the kid again,” Cold Shock said when he saw Wyatt approach. This Outcast was a head taller than Wyatt and electricity danced between his fingertips.
“I need to talk,” Wyatt said, looking past Cold Shock to Schistface.
“You want to talk to him you have to ask me real nice,” Cold Shock said and then insinuated himself between Wyatt and Schistface.
“I don’t ask for shit from shit,” Wyatt said.
The air around Wyatt grew suddenly cold and in less than a second he was coated in a thick crust of ice.
“Now ask me to let you live,” Cold Shock said.
With his mouth covered in ice, Wyatt couldn’t ask the Outcast anything.
Cold Shock pressed his face against the clear ice over Wyatt’s face and sneered, “Who’s shit now?”
Wyatt smiled and a crackling sound filled his ears. With a shrug he was free and standing in the middle of a pile of ice chunks. Cold Shock took a step back, his fists balled and raised in front of him, lightning crackling around each one.
Wyatt brushed a little bit of frost off of his sleeves and said, “You sure you wanna try that? Last guy tried to electrocute me I pulled the plug on ‘im. And he wasn’t some two-bit, low-level, useless shit like you.”
Cold Shock was livid and he crackled even more. Wyatt wasn’t sure if bluffing was the best strategy here, but without excusing himself while he put on the Barrage Suit, bluffing was all he had.
“Leave the kid alone,” Schistface said, his voice shaking the ground. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”
The Outcasts obeyed.
Wyatt had his pitch prepared. Not word for word, but the content of it, what he wanted to say, what he thought would get him what he needed.
"I'm not here to mess with you guys. I'm just here to find out who betrayed Derrick Cork. And it's not revenge I'm after. I hated the sonofabitch, but there's some capes who're responsible for his death. The cops don't give a god damn and some of 'em are even coverin' for those capes. I don't give a fuck about revenge. I don't give a fuck about justice. But if the cops and the capes think they can do shit like this and get off scott free? Fuck that. Pisses me off. I wanna hurt somebody, but first, I gotta find 'em.”
Schistface shuffled closer and looked Wyatt up and down, sizing him up. Wyatt could tell the Outcast leader was figuring out if he would fare better against him than Cold Shock had.
Wyatt locked eyes with the leader Brick and said, “Those capes? I hear they’ve been back. I hear they’re lookin’ for a camcorder"
"Maybe we heard something," he finally rumbled. "Maybe it's something you need to know. But how much is it worth to you?"
“Tell me what you want? I mean, what is this? A fuckin’ auction?”
“Yeah. And the other guys are offering five hundred bucks cash money. What do you got?”
I could introduce you to some high school cheerleaders, Wyatt thought, although the meeting might not be as fun as the Outcasts would want it to be. The though amused him and he almost laughed, but he had to keep his poker face. He had to stay serious.
The price was out there and Wyatt knew he didn’t have it. Not here and now. He knew that if he left to hit an ATM they would be gone when he got back. And they would elude him if he went looking for them. He had to have payment now, either in goods or services.
“Okay. I got somethin’. I have with me a Crey power suit. Plasma blasts. Personal force field. That's gotta be worth more than $500."
He took off the backpack and opened it. What he pulled out looked like a full-body harness made out of duct tape and cables with small black boxes on the extremities and a large octagon-shaped box in the center of it all.
They wanted a demonstration. Wyatt put it on over his clothes and did a show of the plasma blasts. He activated the kinetic mitigation field and Schistface tried to knock him down, but the more force he applied, the stronger the field grew. One at a time, and then all at once they tried to budge him, but it was as if they weren’t even touching him.
“And it charges on common household current,” he said as he finished the demonstration.
A couple of the Outcasts asked him some questions about “scalar fields” and “nanocapacitors” that Wyatt didn’t know how to answer.
“Uh... it’s Crey,” was the best he could come up with.
The Outcasts seemed satisfied with that.
A deal was struck. Schistface gave Wyatt a look that said, “sucker!” but Wyatt didn’t care. He would settle things with Heidi later. For now he just stuffed the suit back into the backpack and offered it to the Outcast. Schistface handed it off to one of the others watched it disappear behind the remains of a block wall. He wondered if this deal would wind up being as bogus as the one they had made with Mr. Bones.
"It's like this, kid," said Schistface. "Any tech in Baumton, the Trolls scavenge for it. You wouldn't have guessed that, would you? Oh, it ain't like they're gonna use any of it -- no, those assholes just peddle it to the Freakshow." He shook his head. "Yeah, we ain't found shit in the last couple of weeks. So my guess is the Trolls already got it."
Schistface knelt and Wyatt knelt beside him while he drew a map in the dirt. "You go maybe a mile or so north of here, there's a warren. They pile all their crap up and once a month, some of the Freaks come around to buy. Might be comin' around any day now."
Wyatt took out his cellphone and snapped a picture of the map, then mumbled, “thanks.” He stood and turned to leave, but the Outcast leader caught his arm.
"You want some free advice? You go up there, you better take a goddamn army."
-
Twitchcraft
- Former Member
- Posts:148
- Joined:Thu Aug 18, 2011 11:38 am
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
Paragon City
Hero Licensing Review Board
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Subject: Teen Hero Licensing (Revisions, Restrictions, Limitations & Dissolution)
The board met, pursuant to call, at 10:03 a.m., in Room 241a, Paragon City Hall, Hon. Ronald Grayson [chairman of the board] presiding.
Present: Chairman Grayson, Ms. Del Reyes, Mr. Chase, Sgt. Matheson, SAC (FBSA) Bennett, Ms. Durham.
Staff Present: Sean McLaughlin, Chief of Staff, David Whitney, Counsel, Sarah Kish, Clerk
(minutes cont.)
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
I believe a recess is in order. We'll break for --
(doors open. visitor enters.)
L. HERRERA:
I'd like a moment of the board's time. If you wouldn't mind.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
Who let this man in here? This is a closed meeting, sir. We'll have to ask you to leave.
L. HERRERA:
As I said, this will only take a moment.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
Someone call security -- who are you?
L. HERRERA:
Louis Herrera. I'm the headmaster at the Westbrook Academy for Metahumans. So I'm sure you can understand why this meeting -- and the recommendations that will follow from it -- are of some interest to me.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON
Nonetheless, Mr. Herrera, there are proper channels --
L. HERRERA:
I have been through all of them, Mr. Chairman, I assure you. And been roundly ignored. I have submitted documents, offered expertise, arranged interviews and witnesses. To no avail. It would appear the board had made up its collective mind on the subject of Hero Licenses for minors long before it ever convened.
A meeting on Saturday morning is highly unusual, is it not? And with no formal advance notice? One would think that there might be an attempt at deception in such a choice.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
Mr. Herrera. I'm sure all your submissions were given their due weight. We're all concerned about the welfare of Paragon City's children, after all, superpowered or otherwise --
L. HERRERA:
I shall ask for five minutes, sir. And if you choose not to grant those five minutes, I shall step from these chambers and call a press conference.
MS. DURHAM:
To what effect, sir?
L. HERRERA:
To say that this board is antiquated, hidebound, and farcical. That it ignores evidence submitted, that it yields to a loud minority out of nothing more than political convenience.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
This is outrageous, sir! To come in here and --
L. HERRERA:
Do pray continue your outrage, Mr. Chairman. I'll make some calls while you talk, though, if you don't mind. Shall I begin with the Paragon Sentinel?
(board members confer.)
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
The clock is ticking, Mr. Herrera. Five minutes.
MR. CHASE:
I must say, if you're some sort of role model for these children --
L. HERRERA:
They are not children, sir.
MR. CHASE:
Well, that is, I meant --
L. HERRERA:
They are young and they need guidance on occasion. But they are not children. They are heroes, sir.
Even as we speak, arrests are being made, and a conspiracy of no small scope is being brought to light, thanks to the efforts of students I have the honor of teaching.
Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, my charges -- and others like them -- have made hard choices in this bright new year. They have looked deep within themselves, and they have found courage and honor above and beyond anything they thought themselves capable of. They have faced overwhelming odds with little support from us, and they have triumphed.
They deserve our respect and our admiration, and I intend to see that they receive both. If this board is unwilling or unable to offer that, then perhaps a change is in order.
The choice, ladies and gentlemen, is yours.
For now.
(visitor exits. board members confer.)
Hero Licensing Review Board
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Subject: Teen Hero Licensing (Revisions, Restrictions, Limitations & Dissolution)
The board met, pursuant to call, at 10:03 a.m., in Room 241a, Paragon City Hall, Hon. Ronald Grayson [chairman of the board] presiding.
Present: Chairman Grayson, Ms. Del Reyes, Mr. Chase, Sgt. Matheson, SAC (FBSA) Bennett, Ms. Durham.
Staff Present: Sean McLaughlin, Chief of Staff, David Whitney, Counsel, Sarah Kish, Clerk
(minutes cont.)
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
I believe a recess is in order. We'll break for --
(doors open. visitor enters.)
L. HERRERA:
I'd like a moment of the board's time. If you wouldn't mind.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
Who let this man in here? This is a closed meeting, sir. We'll have to ask you to leave.
L. HERRERA:
As I said, this will only take a moment.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
Someone call security -- who are you?
L. HERRERA:
Louis Herrera. I'm the headmaster at the Westbrook Academy for Metahumans. So I'm sure you can understand why this meeting -- and the recommendations that will follow from it -- are of some interest to me.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON
Nonetheless, Mr. Herrera, there are proper channels --
L. HERRERA:
I have been through all of them, Mr. Chairman, I assure you. And been roundly ignored. I have submitted documents, offered expertise, arranged interviews and witnesses. To no avail. It would appear the board had made up its collective mind on the subject of Hero Licenses for minors long before it ever convened.
A meeting on Saturday morning is highly unusual, is it not? And with no formal advance notice? One would think that there might be an attempt at deception in such a choice.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
Mr. Herrera. I'm sure all your submissions were given their due weight. We're all concerned about the welfare of Paragon City's children, after all, superpowered or otherwise --
L. HERRERA:
I shall ask for five minutes, sir. And if you choose not to grant those five minutes, I shall step from these chambers and call a press conference.
MS. DURHAM:
To what effect, sir?
L. HERRERA:
To say that this board is antiquated, hidebound, and farcical. That it ignores evidence submitted, that it yields to a loud minority out of nothing more than political convenience.
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
This is outrageous, sir! To come in here and --
L. HERRERA:
Do pray continue your outrage, Mr. Chairman. I'll make some calls while you talk, though, if you don't mind. Shall I begin with the Paragon Sentinel?
(board members confer.)
CHAIRMAN GRAYSON:
The clock is ticking, Mr. Herrera. Five minutes.
MR. CHASE:
I must say, if you're some sort of role model for these children --
L. HERRERA:
They are not children, sir.
MR. CHASE:
Well, that is, I meant --
L. HERRERA:
They are young and they need guidance on occasion. But they are not children. They are heroes, sir.
Even as we speak, arrests are being made, and a conspiracy of no small scope is being brought to light, thanks to the efforts of students I have the honor of teaching.
Make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen, my charges -- and others like them -- have made hard choices in this bright new year. They have looked deep within themselves, and they have found courage and honor above and beyond anything they thought themselves capable of. They have faced overwhelming odds with little support from us, and they have triumphed.
They deserve our respect and our admiration, and I intend to see that they receive both. If this board is unwilling or unable to offer that, then perhaps a change is in order.
The choice, ladies and gentlemen, is yours.
For now.
(visitor exits. board members confer.)
-
Twitchcraft
- Former Member
- Posts:148
- Joined:Thu Aug 18, 2011 11:38 am
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
(Imagine your favorite newspaper montage from film or television...)
Teen Supers Expose Secret Society
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
Students from the elite Westbrook Academy for Metahumans presented authorities with evidence late Friday evening that links recent events, including the death of teen super Derrick Cork, with the existence of a secret society for metahuman teens.
The so-called Order of Heracles apparently began life in the 1940s. Its public facade, the Heracles Adventurers Club, promoted itself as an organization dedicated to justice and exploration. Privately, though, many called the club nothing more than a gathering place for daredevils and thrillseekers who had little interest in the public good.
The club fell into disrepute during the 1950s, but the evidence presented by the Westbrook students indicates that it did not dissolve entirely, as was previously believed. Instead, club assets passed into the hands of a group of underage heroes and its operations were moved underground. It continued to thrive --
continued A8
Veteran Cop Leaves Force
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
Detective Lieutenant Heidi Abramsen, the PPD's metahuman liaison officer, has opted for work in the private sector. She'll take up a new position as a security consultant for Crey Corporation beginning in March.
Abramsen, an eight-year veteran of the PPD, cited the need to spend more time with her family as the motivation for her decision. She dismissed rumors that pending charges against her niece, Alyssa Ballian, in a criminal conspiracy case were a factor in her retirement from the PPD.
"We wish her every success in this new endeavor," said PPD Spokesperson Naomi King. "We're confident that she'll be right at home with Crey."
continued B9
Teen Super Vanishes From Custody
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
Thomas "Roach" Copeland, 18, of the Etoile Isles, fled police custody late Friday evening. Copeland had been charged in the death of teen super Derrick Nathan Cork.
While charges remain in place, evidence presented by a group of student heroes from the elite Westbrook Academy for Metahumans appears to exonerate Copeland. Sources inside the PPD had no formal comment on the evidence at presstime.
Also unclear is any involvement by other teen supers in Copeland's escape from authorities.
continued A6
Review Board: No Changes to Hero Licenses for Minors
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
In what insiders are calling a surprising turn, the city's Licensing Review Board has released a recommendations report advising that the status quo be maintained on Hero patrol licenses for minors.
"Upon review and careful consideration, the board feels that licensing standards for minors are more than adequate," said Board Chairman Robert J. Grayson. "These young people are the city's future. More than that, they're heroes, and they deserve our respect."
Political pundits and insiders had expected sweeping changes to licenses for minors, given a number of signs that the board was on the verge of adopting a more conservative stance --
Teen Supers Expose Secret Society
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
Students from the elite Westbrook Academy for Metahumans presented authorities with evidence late Friday evening that links recent events, including the death of teen super Derrick Cork, with the existence of a secret society for metahuman teens.
The so-called Order of Heracles apparently began life in the 1940s. Its public facade, the Heracles Adventurers Club, promoted itself as an organization dedicated to justice and exploration. Privately, though, many called the club nothing more than a gathering place for daredevils and thrillseekers who had little interest in the public good.
The club fell into disrepute during the 1950s, but the evidence presented by the Westbrook students indicates that it did not dissolve entirely, as was previously believed. Instead, club assets passed into the hands of a group of underage heroes and its operations were moved underground. It continued to thrive --
continued A8
Veteran Cop Leaves Force
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
Detective Lieutenant Heidi Abramsen, the PPD's metahuman liaison officer, has opted for work in the private sector. She'll take up a new position as a security consultant for Crey Corporation beginning in March.
Abramsen, an eight-year veteran of the PPD, cited the need to spend more time with her family as the motivation for her decision. She dismissed rumors that pending charges against her niece, Alyssa Ballian, in a criminal conspiracy case were a factor in her retirement from the PPD.
"We wish her every success in this new endeavor," said PPD Spokesperson Naomi King. "We're confident that she'll be right at home with Crey."
continued B9
Teen Super Vanishes From Custody
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
Thomas "Roach" Copeland, 18, of the Etoile Isles, fled police custody late Friday evening. Copeland had been charged in the death of teen super Derrick Nathan Cork.
While charges remain in place, evidence presented by a group of student heroes from the elite Westbrook Academy for Metahumans appears to exonerate Copeland. Sources inside the PPD had no formal comment on the evidence at presstime.
Also unclear is any involvement by other teen supers in Copeland's escape from authorities.
continued A6
Review Board: No Changes to Hero Licenses for Minors
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
In what insiders are calling a surprising turn, the city's Licensing Review Board has released a recommendations report advising that the status quo be maintained on Hero patrol licenses for minors.
"Upon review and careful consideration, the board feels that licensing standards for minors are more than adequate," said Board Chairman Robert J. Grayson. "These young people are the city's future. More than that, they're heroes, and they deserve our respect."
Political pundits and insiders had expected sweeping changes to licenses for minors, given a number of signs that the board was on the verge of adopting a more conservative stance --
-
Twitchcraft
- Former Member
- Posts:148
- Joined:Thu Aug 18, 2011 11:38 am
Re: A Dirge for Derrick Cork: Investigations & Miscellania
Teen Hero Remains Mystery, Even After Death Solved
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
"He was kind of an ass."
"He saved my life."
Two very different perspectives of the same young man. Derrick Nathan Cork, a teen hero who recently died in the restricted Baumton area of the city, was, like all of us, many things to many people.
"It's an interesting sort of double standard," said Dr. Paul Gerard, a professor of Metahuman Studies at the University of Rhode Island - Steel Canyon. "We expect our heroes to constantly rise above lesser traits, such as pettiness or envy. But it's an unrealistic expectation -- and should the slips that are bound to occur negate all the good work that a hero does?"
An examination of Cork's personal papers reveals no small amount of anger, disappointment, and even contempt for some of his fellow heroes. But, said Gerard, those feelings are natural and to be expected, especially for a teenager shouldering the burden of metahuman abilities.
"If Derrick Cork had been born without superpowers, the things he said or wrote wouldn't carry half as much weight," said Gerard. "And very likely the pressure on him wouldn't have been half so great. You can see the circle of cause and effect there, I believe. It doesn't excuse some of Mr. Cork's harsh words, but it does explain them to some extent."
Most of Cork's fellow students at the elite Westbrook Academy for Metahumans declined to comment about him on the record. In general terms, they say, he was regarded as a skilled patrol officer, but also a loner. Few came to know him well and fewer still called him a friend.
"He was -- you know, he was kind of a loudmouth," said Wyatt Wyborn, one of the Westbrook students willing to talk. "He talked trash, but I reckon he went and did the work an' all, when it came down to it."
Dozens of individuals across Paragon City would agree that Derrick Cork "did the work." In the days following his death, they contacted The Sentinel to share their stories about him.
"It was during one of those Rikti bombings," said Sara Meyer, 25, of Founders Falls. "I was caught out there in the square, and there must have been a dozen of them right on top of me. I thought for sure I was gonna die. But he just glided out of the sky and scooped me up."
"The Skulls set my entire shop on fire," recalled Alexander Pareve, 47, of Kings Row. "Shriller -- that is, Derrick Cork -- saved me and my wife. He stayed with us until the emergency services arrived. He went out of his way to reassure my wife she was safe. We owe him everything."
"I was gonna jump from Valor Bridge," said Renee Abernathy, 19, of Independence Port. "Simple as that. I wanted to die. But he came along, and he talked to me. He didn't call the cops, he didn't haul me off to my parents. He just listened to what I had to say. I don't know if another hero woulda done that."
It's a small sampling of stories. There are many others, all of them saying essentially the same thing -- that Derrick Cork touched people's lives in ways both large and small. And, said Dr. Gerard, that's more than worth a unkind notes set down in a private journal.
"We forgive our friends when they stumble," he noted. "Why not our heroes?"
Perhaps the final word on Derrick Cork goes to Lauren Lombardi, another Westbrook student willing to speak.
"Derrick was complicated," she said. "I don't think I could sum him up in a simple quote -- and that's probably just the way he'd like it."
by Darcy Danton
Sentinel Staff Writer
"He was kind of an ass."
"He saved my life."
Two very different perspectives of the same young man. Derrick Nathan Cork, a teen hero who recently died in the restricted Baumton area of the city, was, like all of us, many things to many people.
"It's an interesting sort of double standard," said Dr. Paul Gerard, a professor of Metahuman Studies at the University of Rhode Island - Steel Canyon. "We expect our heroes to constantly rise above lesser traits, such as pettiness or envy. But it's an unrealistic expectation -- and should the slips that are bound to occur negate all the good work that a hero does?"
An examination of Cork's personal papers reveals no small amount of anger, disappointment, and even contempt for some of his fellow heroes. But, said Gerard, those feelings are natural and to be expected, especially for a teenager shouldering the burden of metahuman abilities.
"If Derrick Cork had been born without superpowers, the things he said or wrote wouldn't carry half as much weight," said Gerard. "And very likely the pressure on him wouldn't have been half so great. You can see the circle of cause and effect there, I believe. It doesn't excuse some of Mr. Cork's harsh words, but it does explain them to some extent."
Most of Cork's fellow students at the elite Westbrook Academy for Metahumans declined to comment about him on the record. In general terms, they say, he was regarded as a skilled patrol officer, but also a loner. Few came to know him well and fewer still called him a friend.
"He was -- you know, he was kind of a loudmouth," said Wyatt Wyborn, one of the Westbrook students willing to talk. "He talked trash, but I reckon he went and did the work an' all, when it came down to it."
Dozens of individuals across Paragon City would agree that Derrick Cork "did the work." In the days following his death, they contacted The Sentinel to share their stories about him.
"It was during one of those Rikti bombings," said Sara Meyer, 25, of Founders Falls. "I was caught out there in the square, and there must have been a dozen of them right on top of me. I thought for sure I was gonna die. But he just glided out of the sky and scooped me up."
"The Skulls set my entire shop on fire," recalled Alexander Pareve, 47, of Kings Row. "Shriller -- that is, Derrick Cork -- saved me and my wife. He stayed with us until the emergency services arrived. He went out of his way to reassure my wife she was safe. We owe him everything."
"I was gonna jump from Valor Bridge," said Renee Abernathy, 19, of Independence Port. "Simple as that. I wanted to die. But he came along, and he talked to me. He didn't call the cops, he didn't haul me off to my parents. He just listened to what I had to say. I don't know if another hero woulda done that."
It's a small sampling of stories. There are many others, all of them saying essentially the same thing -- that Derrick Cork touched people's lives in ways both large and small. And, said Dr. Gerard, that's more than worth a unkind notes set down in a private journal.
"We forgive our friends when they stumble," he noted. "Why not our heroes?"
Perhaps the final word on Derrick Cork goes to Lauren Lombardi, another Westbrook student willing to speak.
"Derrick was complicated," she said. "I don't think I could sum him up in a simple quote -- and that's probably just the way he'd like it."
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