The Tales of Sol 76 By Joe at3unit3@yahoo.com
This is a fictional story it is not intended to imply that any members of the Backstreet Boys, Nsync, or 98 Degrees are gay, or any of the other celebrities mentioned are homosexuals. If you are not old enough to read these stories do yourself a favor and don't get caught. The same goes for those people whose countries have these sites made illegal. And for everyone else enjoy
Captain Planet and related characters were created by R.E Turner and copyrighted by AOL Time Warner Company and Trademark by TBS Productions
Babylon 5 and all related characters and props were created by Michael Straczynski and copyrighted by Warner Bros.
Star Trek and all related characters created by Gene Roddenberry. Copyright Paramount
Transformers and all related characters, and props are trademarked by Hasbro Inc. Copyright Rhino Home Videos and AOL Time Warner Entertainment CO
He-Man, She-Ra, related characters, and props are trademarked by Filmation 1980s
Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and all related characters created by Joss Whedon. Copyright 20th Century Fox.
Batman, and all related characters created by Bob Kane. Copyright DC Comics and Warner Bros.
X-MEN and all related characters were created by Stan Lee. Copyright Marvel Comics and 20th Century Fox.
To those who've been reading Tales of Sol. I want you to know that while there is sex in this story. That is not is sole purpose and yes I do hope the sex sense makes you all hard and gets you off.
Sol is an adaption from my childhood favorite show Captain Planet and the Planeteers, The cartoon showed us that the world can be a better place if we took a few moments to care for it.
Tales of Sol is meant to express hope.
It also shows how music can have an impact in our lives. While I don't know if my favorite bands 98 Degrees, Backstreet Boys, or Nsync have ever read this. They saw me through some of the hardest moments of my life and offered in their own way hope. To them, I say thank you.
I dedicate the Tales of Sol to all of my brothers and sisters of the US Armed Service past, present, and future.
I like to thank my friends whom I had the privilege of showing these chapters with. They helped with editing and inspiration,
John Rivera, Albert-Russ Alan Rivera-Odum, Derbe.D. Hunte Yvette Ortiz Samuel Diaz Jr for all their help in Making The Tales of Sol an enjoyable story to write.
And I have a few other names starting with the beginner of this universe.
James is the author of Tales of a Real Dark Knight. I still hope to reconnect with you dear friend and all the rest of this series.
Blake the author of Tales of a New Phoenix
Jeremi author of the Tales of Young Mutants
I am adding a few more remarks. I have entered into the 21st century of AI editing, I have been using various AI programs to help with grammar checks, clarity, and improvements to my story.
This story was edited with the help of GPT Workspace, Grammarly, Microsoft Copilot, and Quillbot AI software.
AI Use Disclosure: I used GPT Workspace to generate some text for my story, Grammarly to check my grammar and spelling, Microsoft Copilot to write some code snippets, and Quillbot to paraphrase some sentences. I verified the accuracy and originality of the AI-generated content and cited the sources that I used for reference.
References:
GPT Workspace. (2024, January 9). Version 1.0. [AI tool]. GPT Workspace Inc. https://gptworkspace.com/
Grammarly. (2024, January 9). Version 5.6. [AI tool]. Grammarly Inc. https://www.grammarly.com/
Microsoft Copilot. (2024, January 9). Version 2.3. [AI tool]. Microsoft Corporation. https://copilot.github.com/
Quillbot. (2024, January 9). Version 4.2. [AI tool]. Quillbot Inc. https://quillbot.com/
The Tales of Sol 80A
The Dark Side of Humanity
Gazing out of the airplane window, my heart swelled with a sense of profound contentment. The journey had been a roller coaster of emotions, brimming with moments that would linger in my memory forever. It was a stark reminder that I could confront the wrath of two volcanoes but remain humbled by the complexities of the human heart. Beside me, Brian rested, his head on my shoulder, as we made the long journey back to Philadelphia.
As the iconic silhouettes of Liberty One and Two pierced the skyline, Brian stirred from his slumber. His eyes opened to the sight of the two towers reigning supreme, a sight that marked our arrival. "We're home," he said, his smile reflecting the city's grandeur that unfolded below--a magnificent tableau of Philadelphia from above, enriching the joy that already played across my face. Brian always cherished these glimpses of happiness etched into my being.
With a teasing tone, I reminded him, "Home? You're based in Orlando, Brian, if memory serves."
But Brian, with a look of affection, countered as he surveyed the cityscape beneath us, "Your home is my home, Mike. Philadelphia holds a piece of us both now."
Brian then mused tenderly, "I could never grow weary of this view, especially now that I have an even greater reason to treasure this city."
A fond smile tugged at my lips, "It's been an adventure--one that's imprinted itself on me with indelible recollections of thrill and friendship."
Rob Thomas had departed before us, en route to Los Angeles--a man on a different journey, yet unbeknownst to him, carrying a piece of our shared experience. In a subtle act of mischief, I had slipped one of my probes into his belongings as he boarded his flight.
Letting out a contented sigh, I reflected, "It's been memorable, my love," as I settled back, already looking forward to our next sexscapade.
"Don't grow too comfortable with sharing; you and I are the primary duo, and I won't always be willing to share you," Brian stated with gravity.
The casual acknowledgment left me reeling slightly. "Love, I never imagined we would venture down that road," I expressed, still processing the unexpected turn of events. "Honestly, the fact that all four of us managed to entangle ourselves in such a... situation, is beyond surprising," I added hastily.
Brian offered a sly grin, a hint of mischief in his voice. "What can I say? When my penis takes over, I'm just along for the ride."
I laughed at his candor, "Isn't that just like any man?"
His chuckle was a soft sound before he confided, "I must admit, reconnecting with Nick in that way was... exhilarating."
"I've missed him," he sighed, the nostalgia evident in his tone.
"I understand that sentiment," I concurred, my gaze drifting back to the cityscape unfurling below as the plane descended.
"Why not reach out to him? Let him know you're still there," Brian encouraged gently.
Hesitation clouded my voice. "But what would I even say? Knowing what's ahead for him..."
Brian held my gaze, firm yet kind. "Mike, you can't close off your heart. I owe him too--he played a part in bringing you into my life."
I smiled softly at his words. Looking down at the city below, I mused aloud, "Do you know what I've always cherished about this view?"
Brian played along, willing to indulge my deflection. "No, what is it?"
"Up here, the city's flaws melt away. You don't see the crime, the strife, or the heartbreak. From this vantage point, it's all about the beauty that Philadelphia unfolds," I admitted, appreciating the serene expanse stretching out before us.
"The inner beauty holds just as much weight as what is seen on the surface," Brian said with a knowing wink.
"Mike, I've seen the breadth of your heart--its finest stretches unwinding from Pearl Harbor to our standoff with Mauna Loa, and every bit throughout," Brian reflected earnestly. "The person I experienced by my side in Hawaii... that man doesn't just walk away from someone he loves. And a part of me knows, there's a piece of you that wishes the moments we had in Hawaii were shared with Jeff."
Gently, he guided my face away from the cityscape and back to his eyes. "Aside from our volcanic encounters, of course," he added with a playful giggle before growing more somber. "Fate may have been as unkind to you and Jeff as it has been to so many others," he said, his gaze warm with empathy and affection for the enduring emotions I harbored.
"I share that deep affection for Nick too, and I was willing to let you feel that connection alongside me," he continued.
His smile became sensual for a time. "And who knows... perhaps we'll find a way to weave Jeff into the tapestry of our love," he thought. Running his palm over his crotch, there was an undeniable growth. Brian took my hand and put it over his thick manhood.
On impulse, I began to rub my finger across the curve of his penis head, which was growing more prominent through his shorts. I even gave it a gentle pinch and gripped the entire shaft, eliciting a lovely gasp from my playful lover.
I squeezed him once more. "Down, boy," I said, chuckling at his antics.
In a deep whisper, Brian said, "I would love to see Jeff stick his fat dick up your ass Mike,"
which made me giggle and give his hardon a playful squeeze.
As the plane began its final descent we unfortunately had to stop our little fun.
"Mike, you stared down a volcano; you're incredible," Brian said, the awe in his voice a clear testament to his admiration. Our conversation paused as the plane's tires met the tarmac with a thud, grounding us back in Philadelphia. "It feels good to be back," I said, pride swelling in me.
"Welcome home, Mike," Brian echoed as we collected our things. Traveling first class with the Backstreet Boys meant we were the first to disembark--a perk that allowed me to lead the way, ensuring their safety from any overzealous fans.
As we made our exit, AJ and Nick bantered behind us, their competitive spirits debating who would reach baggage claim first--a lighthearted end to an epic journey.
As we stepped off the plane, we were greeted by a familiar face waiting at the ticket counter. "Frank!" Kevin exclaimed, his voice rich with affection.
"Welcome back, guys," Frank said, radiating warmth as he shook each of our hands. But a mere handshake wasn't enough to express our gratitude and relief at seeing him--each of us wrapped Frank in an embrace, a testament to the love and respect we held for our head of security, who had been injured in the line of duty, protecting us.
When it was my turn, Frank's handshake turned into a more intimate gesture as he drew me close. "I've heard our 'Shadow' has been taken care of," he murmured with a knowing look.
I used the opportunity to hold Frank tighter. His sacrifice didn't go unnoticed, nor would it ever be forgotten. He'd been hurt because he trusted my intuition about Hector being the mole who had leaked information to Devin, putting Brian's life in jeopardy. Frank, a man who had risked so much for us, deserved not only our gratitude but our enduring support and brotherhood.
The chill in my voice could have frozen the Alaskan tundra as I responded, "Alaska is indeed quite the destination, wouldn't you agree?"
Frank's lips curved into a sly smile. "And 'The Shadow' is still enjoying its hospitality," he added playfully.
With a melancholic shake of my head, I reflected, "What he makes of that experience is his decision to make."
Frank casually dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand, the serious undercurrent still present. "The important thing is, you stepped in and taught him a lesson about the price of crossing lines. I only regret not being there to see you take him down," he said, his eyes revealing a shared desire for justice.
As I firmly shook his hand, I passed a discreet probe to him--a silent promise of support. "Frank, you'll never face such dangers alone again. You have my word," I avowed with conviction.
A flush crept up Frank's cheeks, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "That was on me. Should've had backup. I never should've gone after Hector solo." The anguish of his own perceived failure echoed in his words.
"Frank, to blame yourself for this is like blaming me for letting that man get close," I consoled him, placing a hand on his shoulder for emphasis.
Together, we headed towards the baggage claim, but an uneasy sensation gripped me--the awareness of prying eyes. Safely linked to BEATTI once more, I didn't waste a moment. "BEATTI, keep tabs on my every step until further notice," I commanded into the badge.
Frank, quick to pick up on the shift in my demeanor, showed concern. "Is everything okay?"
Feeling the weight of unseen watchers, I leaned in closer to Frank and confided, "We've got company--I'm being followed."
Frank remained silent for a moment, processing the information with a seriousness that matched the situation. "Are the guys in danger?" he finally asked, keeping his voice low enough for only me to hear.
My response was firm and unwavering. "No, they're not the targets--I am," I clarified.
He prodded further, in an equally subdued tone, "How can you be sure?"
"I just know--call it a gut feeling. I'm the one under the microscope," I whispered back, my intuitive edge razor sharp. My lifetime navigating the seas hadn't just honed my physical senses; it amplified my supernatural awareness to a keen edge. Although my instincts screamed to act, for the moment, I needed to maintain the facade of ignorance.
Re-enlisting BEATTI's assistance, I instructed my combadge, "Keep an eye out for anything and keep the feed on me live. No detail is too small."
The familiar, almost comforting synthesized voice of Majel Roddenberry came from my combadge, affirming my command with a simple, "Yes, Sir."
Frank's concern was palpable as he pressed, "Are you sure it's you they're tailing?"
My senses didn't lie. The nature of the surveillance wasn't that of a starstruck fan--it was something else entirely. "The kind of attention I'm drawing isn't from those who chase after celebrities," I assured him, a furtive glance confirming my suspicion. They were after something, or someone, far from the world of pop stardom.
As we made our way closer to baggage claim, the vibrant hum of the bustling traffic from outside filtered through to us. The terminal's large bay windows framed a live canvas of vehicles zipping past in a choreographed dance of transit. It was at this moment that a familiar sensation--a Ping from the Earth--snapped my focus back from the distant view to the immediacy of my surroundings. This intuitive nudge momentarily diverted my attention from the pervasive feeling of surveillance.
My gaze shifted quickly to the airport's interior, every sense heightened, and the scene playing out before me struck an eerie chord of recognition. It was almost as if time had looped back on itself, replaying a moment Dave and I had witnessed on a previous outing.
There, in the flurry of the terminal, was a little girl, her skin the rich hue of the African continent, weaving through the crowd in innocent abandon, drifting further from her increasingly frantic parents. And there was the custodial attendant, a man of Hispanic heritage, lost in his own world, headphones ensconcing him in a melodic cocoon as he mopped the floor, oblivious to the little girl headed toward the slick surface he'd just cleaned.
"History," I muttered under my breath, "you do love repeating yourself." With no room for hesitation, I broke into a sprint before anyone could intervene--"Mike!"--their calls trailing after me. But the urgency of the moment propelled me forward, determined to alter the sequence of events that I knew all too well.
As I reached the top of the escalators, the anticipated collision between the janitor and the child occurred. The little girl was jostled over the railing's edge. Without missing a beat, I leaped towards a hanging banner, grasping it firmly to swing across the open space. The fabric strained and tore under my weight, but it held long enough.
With precision born from both instinct and superhuman ability, I caught the little girl mere moments after her tumble began, wrapping her safely within the shelter of my arms. We veered off course from the landing, opting for a more direct route to the lower level.
Calling upon the elemental power at my disposal, my left hand directed a gentle gust of wind downward, summoning a cushioning whirlwind that eased our descent. We landed with elegance and finesse I hadn't managed in previous rescues of this nature--me in a crouch, my left hand steadying our landing, and my right knee absorbing the impact to prevent any further drop.
Clutching the girl protectively against me as I stood, I recognized the gathering crowd surging towards us--her parents, security, and my friends, the Backstreet Boys, all wore expressions of concern that turned to relief upon seeing us unharmed.
The parents' grateful faces, security's professional relief, and my friends' unabashed pride filled the space as they closed in, each person eager to ensure the little girl's safety and to share in the joyous aftermath of a tragedy narrowly averted.
The mother's arms extended desperately as she surged forward, "Michelle!" Her scream was laced with raw panic.
Rising to my feet, I reassured her, "She's just fine." I handed little Michelle back into the frenzied grip of her mother, who enveloped her child in an embrace that was equal parts relief and admonishment.
"We've told you to always stay by our side," the mother's voice trembled with protective fervor.
The father grasped my hand, his firm shake with gratitude. "Thank you--how can we ever repay you?" he asked, his voice a mixture of awe and indebtedness.
"Our friend here has a knack for showing up when trouble starts," Brian interjected with a warm smile, his pride in my actions clear.
I caught Nick's eye and couldn't help but snicker. "Guess what--I win," I proclaimed, earning a perplexed look from him until his gaze followed mine.
Realization dawned on Nick, and he couldn't suppress a chuckle. "So you just had to be the first one to baggage claim," he remarked, glancing around the now-familiar setting. Nick's playful competitive bets that he had with AJ on the plane were now rendered trivial by the urgency of the rescue.
Soon after, airport security approached, and I found myself recounting the details of the rescue. When asked how I had known what would happen, I cited a similar experience, explaining that the patterns and symptoms had played out in a near-identical fashion, allowing me to anticipate and intervene just in time.
The security guard fumbled over his words in his effort to express his gratitude, "Sir, we've reviewed the footage and you were the only one who noticed the impending danger. That's remarkable and certainly praiseworthy."
Nodding, I recalled a memory that mirrored today's events. "On a shopping trip during my early days at the Philadelphia Geothermal Power Plant, I went through a very similar incident. History does have a penchant for repeating itself. Fortunately, this time I was ready," I shared with a smile.
After expressing their appreciation, security allowed me to rejoin my friends, where Brian had already collected my luggage. As Frank ushered us all towards the exit, the group bombarded me with questions regarding the incident. I shared the story of the shopping excursion with Dave and how it sparked the path to honing my sensitivity to the Earth's signals.
Brian showed concern and suggested we head back to the hotel, but I felt a pull towards home. "I need to swing by my place first," I said, already longing for the familiar comfort of my own space.
Understanding, Brian proposed, "Alright, but let's meet for dinner later. I know this Italian spot you're going to love."
"Just send someone from security to pick me up," I suggested as a precaution.
Kevin piped up with a refinement to the plan, glancing towards Frank. "Better idea--could Steve drive Mike home?"
Frank nodded in agreement. "Of course," he confirmed without hesitation.
When we arrived at the hotel, I stayed in the SUV, with Steve assuming the role of my chauffeur.
Back at my place, Steve patiently waited as I sorted through the routine of checking mail and messages--everyday tasks that follow a trip's end. But one task was far from mundane; I needed confirmation from BEATTI about the suspicious surveillance at the airport. "Sir, nothing concrete to report at this time," came the update from my computer.
Settling into the familiar comfort of my shower, I reassured myself, "I'll do my own sweep later, but I'm sure there were extra eyes on me back at the airport."
Dressed in crisp black khakis and a snug turtleneck, I was about to secure my Fighting Pike at my side when my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text. Nick, ever impatient, was already complaining about the delay.
Chuckling at his eagerness, I mused, "That boy is definitely ruled by his stomach," as I clipped my phone back onto my belt alongside the Pike. A dash of Old Spice, and I was ready to step out to where Steve and security awaited.
With the house now under BEATTI's vigilant eye, I stepped out into the SUV. The journey resumed, and the niggling feeling of eyes tracing our path solidified--I was under surveillance. Roughly twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of Buca di Beppo, nestled in the heart of downtown Philly. Steve departed to rejoin the rest of the group, leaving me in the capable hands of my friends within.
"They really do know my every move," I mused silently. Exiting the vehicle, I approached the restaurant's entrance with an air of casual confidence, ready for a night of camaraderie and good food.
After a frustrating fifteen-minute standoff, my irritation peaked to the brink of causing a scene. It was only when I glimpsed AJ's distinctive hairstyle that I managed to avert being ejected to the streets. I called out, "AJ!"
He grinned in recognition, much to the startled waiter's embarrassment. "I am so terribly sorry, sir. We've been dealing with fan imposters all evening," the waiter stammered out an apology.
With concern etched on his face, AJ approached. Curiosity got the best of me as I queried, "How long have you been waiting?"
"About fifteen minutes. Nick was on the verge of sending Steve to check on you," AJ apprised me of the situation.
The receptionist went pale when my gaze snapped back to him. AJ's cautionary grip landed on my shoulder as he attempted to defuse the tension. But I was seething--"Fifteen minutes! You left my friends hanging while you doubted my identity!" My rebuke came with the force of a naval officer, unimpressed by his defense or lack thereof.
AJ looked on, torn between sympathy for the intimidated receptionist and alarmed that we'd be asked to leave even before our meal had started.
The sharp scent of fear was unmistakable from the receptionist, who faltered under my gaze. "You knew they were here. Instead of wasting time arguing, you should've verified with my friends directly!" I hissed, my voice cutting through the room and drawing the crowd's attention.
An intervention came as the manager approached, questioning, "What seems to be the issue?"
I turned and incensed, "This petaQ!This incompetent staff member caused unnecessary delay due to his skepticism!"
AJ, ever the voice of reason, rested a hand on my shoulder and said, "Mike, take it easy. We don't want to cause a scene."
The manager sharply interjected, "Sir, please accompany your companion to your table. I assure you, I will handle the matter."
With AJ's persistent tugging, I relented, leaving the receptionist to the manager's discipline. Together, we made our way to our table, leaving behind the spectacle.
As soon as we came together with the group, Howie couldn't resist commenting with a mix of awe and humor, "Man, I've never seen anything like that. And here I thought Mauna Loa erupting was the scary part."
Kevin, who chimed in with a snicker, "You can say that again."
Now that I was with friends, my temper began to fade. "I despise getting angry," I muttered with a residual growl.
Nick laughed, his mirth diffusing the remaining tension. "Well, after that, I can't blame you. I hope I never get on your bad side."
Turning back to me, AJ's curiosity was piqued. "What was that you called the guy back there?"
"PetaQ. It's a word from Klingon," I explained.
Howie looked surprised. "You know Klingon?"
"Just a smattering of phrases," I admitted with a shrug.
Nick, ever driven by his appetites, shifted the conversation. "Have you cooled down enough to order? Because, as I may have mentioned, I'm hungry."
His playful whine drew a collective chuckle. "Well, 'Hungry,' I think I can manage that," I replied, the traces of my previous frustration now replaced by being a smartass.
Nick rolled his eyes, continuing the banter. "Oh, grow up," he said, his own chuckle softening the jest.
"Look who's telling others to mature," Brian lobbed back, turning the tables.
AJ jumped in, piling on the teasing. "He's the biggest kid among us," he said with a wink.
"I am not!" Nick defended, feigning indignation.
I stepped into my role of mediator with a chuckle. "Alright, kiddos, simmer down now, or it's straight to bedtime for everyone."
AJ flashed a challenging grin. "I'd like to see you try."
With a laugh, I shot back, "I think I could handle you, AJ, you yellow-haired goon." The table erupted in laughter as dinner began not just with a menu of Italian delicacies but with a hearty serving of jest and jibes.
"Make all the jokes you want, but my hair is off-limits," AJ retorted with a chuckle.
Before I could respond, a loud crack echoed through the restaurant. The entrance doors swung open with such force that the frame splintered. A tall, fair-skinned man with iron-gray hair strode in, the air around him practically crackling with arrogance. His military fatigues added to his imposing presence, but it was the air of conceitedness and unmitigated disdain he carried that truly painted a picture of danger.
With an authoritarian tone that had the timbre of the military but none of its discipline, he announced his crusade. "I am Morgan Clark, director of this city's Friends of Humanity. I am seeking mutant fugitives."
The guys exchanged concerned glances, uncertainty written on their faces over this unexpected interruption.
Outside, the grim reality loomed even larger. "Sentinels!" Howie whispered, and I immediately recognized the towering robotic enforcers I had seen all too often.
The faction this man represented, however, eluded me for a moment. "Who are these 'Friends of Humanity'?" I inquired.
Nick's explanation came with a blend of distaste and recognition. "They're a hate group dedicated to eradicating mutants from the world," he said with a scowl.
As his words settled, my memory sparked with recollection. "Right, I think they were the same fanatics who terrorized the Mutant Awareness Charity." I recalled the incident--the aggressors and that belligerent blowhard responsible for causing chaos among innocent lives.
A protective instinct flared within me at the presence of such malice in my city. 'Not in my neighborhood,' I thought resolutely, having tangled with these twisted machinations far too often.
Brian's voice was tinged with frustration. "Typical of them, harboring nothing but disdain for those who empathize with mutants," he muttered.
"And I've had more than my fair share of confrontations with those 'Robotic Rejects,'" I remarked, acknowledging the looming Sentinels outside.
AJ, with a knowing look in my direction, inquired, "Didn't you turn those clunkers into scrap metal last time?"
Keeping my voice low, I responded with a hint of confidence. "Those oversized tin soldiers are no match for me." Then, more seriously, I added, "It's that guy in the knockoff military gear that presents a real problem."
I longed to transform into the Guardian, or better yet, Sol. As Guardian, I could handle the crisis without putting Brian and the others at risk. Sol could effortlessly dispose of those mechanical behemoths. Yet, before I could act, chaos erupted. Three patrons made a desperate dash for the exit, only to be met with ruthless laser fire. Their gut-wrenching cries pierced the tense air, paralyzing the restaurant in fear.
The expressions of horror etched on the guys' faces mirrored the rage boiling within me. The sanctity of life, regardless of its form, was being violated. I was filled with a fury that screamed for action, yet I knew that revealing my identity amidst hatred-fueled adversaries would potentially escalate matters beyond my control. I had to find another way to resolve this without unveiling the powers that I held.
Determined to confront the bigotry before us, I stood resolutely. "It's time for a brave heart to challenge this hate," I declared, rising.
"Mike, get the hell back here!" Brian's voice rang out in panic, his hand reaching out to pull me back.
But Howie had faith, interrupting with a voice heavy with reason. "Brian, our buddy just took on an angry volcano. He's more than a match for this hatemonger."
Brian's response was a fervent murmur: "I know, Howie, I know. But I can't help worrying about Mike."
Approaching Clark, his smile was smug, with absolute arrogance emanating from him. "Can I help you?" His tone implied that he felt untouchable, but I was about to challenge that notion.
"You're a disgrace to that uniform," I shot back, my irritation palpable. His charade of military attire dishonored what the uniform stood for.
He scoffed. "And how would you know?"
Standing tall, my pride as a serviceman palpable, I countered, "Because I am a soldier--I am a proud member of the United States Navy."
His dismissive reply, "Good for you," only solidified his disdain and superiority complex. But I was unfazed, ready to stand ground against his false sense of hierarchy.
My resolve was ironclad. I was ready to debunk his beliefs systematically. "How dare you barge in here and terrorize these people?" I demanded, my voice a low growl.
His reply came tainted with the full veneer of his assumed authority. "I don't target the populace. I'm here to eradicate mutants," Clark proclaimed, sure of his corrupt cause.
Scorn filled me as I retorted, "Why? Merely because they differ from you?" I declared provocatively, "By that logic, I too am a mutant because I'm not as tall as you."
With each example, my arguments grew more poignant. "She is a mutant, then, for her skin color," I gestured to a woman sitting at a nearby table, who bore her individuality with grace. "He is one, too, because of his build," I said, indicating a robust man who carried his uniqueness with pride.
I pressed on, amplifying my point: "We all bear differences; it's the fabric of our humanity, a tapestry woven of countless strands."
With fervor, I continued. "We are the grains that come together to create the vastness of a shore, each of us uniquely shaped and essential."
"Those variances are not a cause for fear but a wealth to be celebrated," I challenged him directly, my voice rising in volume. "Who anointed you the arbiter of righteousness?"
Witnessing the palpable malice emitted from Clark clash with the dignified pride emanating from the rest of the patrons, I steeled myself against the injustice.
"So, what's your plan? Destroy an entire establishment over imagined threats in difference." I threw down the gauntlet, daring him to reveal the depth of his twisted mission.
Clark's response was defiant. "My aim isn't the death of innocents," he claimed, his temper flaring.
"You profane that uniform with every word that spills from your mouth to justify your hatred," I shot back with heat. "It's people like you who contort noble ideals into a weapon of prejudice, eliminating anyone who dares to deviate from your narrow vision," I declared, the crowd a silent witness to our growing confrontation.
"You represent the epitome of this century's bigotry, and like all hate groups before you, you're destined to collapse. People will wake up to the ignorance of hatred," I asserted. My proclamation met with sounds of support from the bystanders rallying behind me.
Clark's face contorted in fury as he brandished a handgun, leveling it directly at me. "Ten seconds to sit down!" he barked, his finger already tensing on the trigger.
Unfazed, I met his gaze, my powers covertly at work, rendering his weapon useless. "You might want to rethink that," I countered coolly. "You have five seconds to put that ineffective toy away."
With a sneer, he taunted, "And what would you do against this?"
Returning his arrogant smile with one laced with confidence, I replied, "I've served as a soldier for the United States, trained to handle far more than your weapon." Swiftly, I disarmed him, turning the gun in his direction, which caused him a moment of panic. "Experience in unarmed combat comes with the territory," I informed him, tossing the now harmless gun aside.
I stood before him, a physical embodiment of the retaliation against ignorance and hate, ready to protect those who needed it most.
Clark's rage was palpable as he raised his hand in a blind fury. "I'll show you, you mutant sympathizer!" His tirade fell on deaf ears as I effortlessly sidestepped his feeble attempt to intimidate.
Undeterred, he lunged for a punch, anger clouding his judgment. "You do realize that assaulting a member of the armed forces is a felony?" I coolly reminded him, deftly dodging the blow.
His growl was feral, "That doesn't apply if I'm also a soldier!"
A look of serene control settled on me. "You're no soldier," I stated with authority.
"Merely donning that uniform is a desecration," I shot back.
With speed and skills honed by military training, I intercepted his next attack, capturing his fist and twisting it behind his back.
Whispering directly into his ear, I delivered a stern reprimand. "Someone who has truly served would never stoop to brawling. Wear this again, and you'll regret it."
I concluded with a decisive kick to Clark's pompous ass and actual ass. Frankly, it didn't matter; I was still kicking a jackass.
My kick drove Clark crashing out the door and onto the trash-filled pavement. "That's the appropriate resting place for trash," I concluded, relieved that the restaurant and its clients were no longer beneath his malicious shadow.
Brian remained seated with the rest of the band, his emotions torn between concern and admiration for Mike. His commanding presence sent a shiver down Brian's spine, and the sentiment resonated with the rest of the group.
"Like I said, seeing him angry is something else," said Nick, finding a note of humor in the intensity of the situation.
"Mount Pennock really blew its top, but in the best way," AJ remarked, his words laced with affection and reverence for the man who had just cast out the embodiment of hate.
Then came a chilling command from Clark: "Torch the place!"
"He's insane!" Howie exclaimed, alarm clear in his voice.
"Mike!" Brian's mind raced with worry--a silent prayer for safety.
"He's just validated Mike's entire argument," Kevin observed with a sneer of contempt for Clark's actions.
I overheard Clark's destructive order and knew, despite my inability to summon Sol, I could not simply stand by. nor was there time for me to find any alleyway to change into Guardian. Doing one or the other exposes my secret, and leaves this restaurant at the mercy of Clark and his robo-hunting pack. I had to stand firm and inaction was not an option. My odds against the Sentinels were favorable. They were formidable but they were no match for the powers of nature that reside within me.
To be continued
Guardian is back home in Philadelphia and back to work in a very colossal way.
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I also recommend the following stories it was because of them I got into writing in the first place.
"Tales of a Real Dark Knight" by authorjames
"Marvel Knights" also by authorjames
"Tales of the New Phoenix" by Blake
"Tales of a Superhero Band" by Leo
"Tales of a Young Mutant" by Jeremi
"Tales of a Thunder God" by Tony Justiss