The Tales of Sol 80B 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 there is sex in this story. That is not its sole purpose and yes I do hope the sex sense makes you all hard and gets you off.
Sol is an adaptation from my childhood favorite show Captain Planet and the Planeteers. The cartoon showed us that the world can be a better place if we take 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. 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 80B
Guardian Unmasked
With no time to waste, I placed my hand on the door frame of Buca di Beppo, willing the entire establishment to metamorphose into unyielding titanium--walls, tables, chairs, all transfigured into the impervious metal. I upended the tables, positioning them as shields in the face of the oncoming threat.
Positioned at the doorway, I stood as the last line of defense between my friends and any potential assault. I prepared to protect them, no matter the cost, embodying the very essence of the oath I swore--to serve, to protect, to sacrifice.
The tables moved as if possessed of their own volition, and I shouted above the din, "Everyone, behind the tables!"
"Yeah, as if these wooden tables will do much against lasers," Howie retorted with characteristic skepticism.
But Nick, upon testing the surface, noticed something peculiar. "This doesn't feel like oak anymore," he remarked, perplexed.
Howie, ever the skeptic, insisted, "It's definitely oak," even as his own knock echoed back with a telltale metallic ring. Confusion and awe intermingled in his voice. "What in the world? I knew Mike had powers, but altering objects' composition? That's new."
AJ couldn't help laughing as he interjected, a note of admiration in his tone, "He's made trash cans out of Sentinels before."
"Converting them, sure," Howie pondered, now thoroughly intrigued by the possibilities. "But never wood to metal... Can he pull off some alchemy next? Lead into gold?"
Their defensive instincts took over, and they all dove behind their transformed shields. Brian, confidence shining through, quipped with a grin, "Watch as my man takes down hatred itself."
Nick shuffled closer to his bandmate, keeping his voice low, "Bri, just promise me one thing--you'll never get on Mike's bad side."
Brian's gaze remained fixed on the scene unfolding beyond the doorway. "This isn't mere anger, Nick. This is justice."
Howie weighed in, his serious expression reflecting his thoughts. "Mike's fury is not only appropriate--it's necessary."
AJ, despite his attempts at levity, grasped the gravity of the situation. "Those Sentinels are about to face a fate much like our frazzled waiter." There was genuine concern underlying his jest. In the face of imminent threat, they all silently acknowledged the truth: they stood on the cusp of survival thanks to the valor and might of one person. United in silent prayer, they all hoped that Mike, with his planetary prowess, would prove sufficient against the oncoming onslaught.
At a discreet distance, an inconspicuous man in dark shades maintained surveillance from his table. His mission: to shadow Mike Pennock, performing reconnaissance under the guise of an ordinary Backstreet Boys fan. The agent had tracked Mike for weeks, drawn in by the man's propensity for finding himself in the thick of danger and his unyielding dedication to justice.
The agent was poised to act when sudden mayhem flipped the script -- and the tables. The unexpected transformation of wood into titanium signaled a shift in his directives. As chaos loomed, he dove for safety behind the newly metallic barrier, narrowly avoiding the ensuing deadly onslaught.
This abrupt defensive overhaul led the agent to urgently contact his command for clarification. "What's the protocol here?" he queried, keeping his tone controlled amidst the panic.
The situation was dire, his superior briefed him. An assault was underway, carried out by the fervent supremacist Friends of Humanity, bolstered by the imposing presence of Sentinels. "Initiate an evacuation protocol. Ensure the target's safety," came the terse instruction, laden with gravity.
As the fray intensified before his eyes, the agent responded: "The target seems to be holding his own, and we haven't fully assessed the extent of his abilities."
From the other end of his earpiece, a stern order was issued: "Maintain your position and keep observation a priority. We're on standby. We can't risk inciting Mike's wrath by letting any harm befall those he values."
Affirming his understanding, the agent repositioned his earpiece, readied himself for action, and began anxiously scanning for the best evacuation route. He needed to garner Mike's trust, compelling him to follow. Questions were mounting, and he was far from the only one seeking answers.
Confronted with the imminent threat, I found myself in an all-too-familiar bind--the ordinary man, Mike Pennock, standing against a titanic menace, with the diners' safety weighing heavily on my shoulders. Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn't risk exposing my secret identities, Sol or Guardian, both of which could readily dispatch these mechanical behemoths.
The six Sentinels, a mix of Mark I, II, and III models, loomed large, their shadow cast deep and ominously across the restaurant. But in that looming shadow, I found a sliver of resolve. I had transmuted an entire building into impenetrable titanium--was that not proof of my abilities even without the Guardian's gear or Sol's cosmic arsenal?
A silent pep talk bolstered my spirit, "I've already wrought a transformation of scale; I possess ample strength to tackle these monstrosities." The challenge lay in executing that power discreetly--operating within the limitations of my untransformed state.
I clung to one crucial revelation: at this moment, to these people and the ominous Clark, I was 'just' another mutant, an anomalous human, shielding them with powers misunderstood and mislabeled. With that understanding, I prepared to act, cautious yet confident, ready to deploy the elements at my command in defense of all--unveiling only the facet of my abilities necessary to be deemed a mutant, keeping my planetary stewardship quietly concealed.
Often, when I faced such challenges, the stakes weren't quite as personal. 'No, Mike, remember that time in the stadium? You had a sea of spectators and the X-Men counting on you to neutralize these mechanical aberrations,' I recalled in a moment of introspection. Now, as the Sentinels readied their armaments, there were few options, and they all hinged on me--the lone guardian in the fray.
I confronted the towering machines, my hands outstretched towards these mechanical devils. Unleashing a surge of raw power, twin bolts of lightning arced from my palms, striking the front-line Sentinels with lethal precision, their circuits singed to a crisp.
Clark observed with a twisted satisfaction. "So you are a mutant, indeed," he sneered, reveling in his misperception of my abilities.
"Not every individual with abilities is a mutant; some of us are more... elemental," I replied, echoing a sentiment that resonated with the X-Men, though lost upon this man's ignorance. The subtlety was irrelevant; it served to maintain the ruse--let him believe I was an exceptionally potent mutant.
Undeterred, Clark boasted with misplaced confidence, "Your tricks won't suffice against these Sentinels." Yet as another bolt of lightning found its mark, a metallic behemoth crumbled before his eyes, evidence of the contrary plainly evident in the wreckage.
"Do you really believe your mechanical playthings can subdue me?" I taunted with a smirk.
"Absolutely," Clark asserted with misplaced assurance.
"Well, then, let's put that theory to the test," I chuckled, ready to dismantle his overconfidence.
In the manner of a clichéd adversary, Clark dramatically gestured towards me. "Seize him!" he commanded the Sentinels, his voice echoing the halls of villainy.
The Sentinels advanced, their movements cold and calculated. But I anticipated every step, "My stance against hate is unwavering. I am putting my foot down," I stated, planting my foot with such force that the buildings quivered, sending several of Clark's prized Sentinels into a mechanical heap. My eyes caught Clark as he stumbled and landed unceremoniously, his expression contorting into one of unmasked loathing.
"Cease and desist, mutant," the remaining Sentinel dictated.
"I think not," I retorted coolly. The resurgence of Sol's essence had amplified my capabilities, even in human guise--and this seemed the opportune moment to put them to the test. I deftly maneuvered around the barrage of laser fire from the Sentinels.
'Remember, Mike, you've bested Kilauea and quieted Mauna Loa's fury. These Sentinels are but a trifling challenge in comparison,' I reassured myself internally, ready to turn their calculated tactics into a mess of wires and scrap at a moment's notice.
With quick reflexes, I drew my Fighting Pike, pressing the release to spring it into action. Holding it ready, I mused aloud, "Note to self, when you're facing Sentinels, introspection won't shield the innocents behind your back." I aimed the tip of the Pike at a candle flickering in the window, preparing for the confrontation ahead.
Utilizing my Fighting Pike as a conduit, I harnessed the flame from the candle, channeling it into a formidable orb. With a flick of the weapon, I hurled the fireball at the furthest Sentinel on my right -- a Mark I model. This relic of Sentinel technology, with its distinctive purple and blue facade and humanoid visage, might have been armed to the teeth with energy blasts and rockets, yet it was hindered by its jerky movements and predictable tactics.
My research on these contraptions, aided by the comprehensive cataloging within my computer, had educated me on the various iterations the Friends of Humanity deployed. Each kind was filed away in my memory, allowing me to distinguish them on sight and strategize accordingly.
The fireball I conjured tore through the Sentinel's armor with ease, blazing a destructive path clean through and causing a burst of sparks to erupt from its damaged core. With a resounding crash, the metal giant tumbled, subtracting one more enemy from Clark's dwindling arsenal.
The remaining Sentinels continued their assault, relentless and unthinking. Yet, their firepower was no match for my agility. I danced between their attacks, each movement precise, as I deftly avoided being seared by their lethal intent.
Nimbly dodging the barrage of energy blasts, I moved with the graceful precision of a ballerina, one moment here, the next gliding there, my movements a carefully choreographed escape. My Pike became not just a weapon but a tool of acrobatics as I used it to vault into the air. Effortlessly, I sailed over a Sentinel, only for its trigger-happy comrade to miscalculate an eager shot, striking the robot beneath me. The victim was a Mark II model--sleeker and deadlier than its predecessor, with a coat of yellow and black and a sharp, angular countenance. Its armament was diverse: lasers, missiles, electric shocks, complemented by enhanced mobility and precision. These were hunters designed to detect and neutralize a myriad of mutant abilities.
One such Sentinel now sported a gaping wound care of its companion's misfire. Not one to miss the chance for a jest, I called out, "Nice shooting, sport," my voice rich with irony. "I couldn't have aimed any better myself."
The Mark II Sentinel fell with a thunderous crash, shaking the ground beneath my feet. Nearby, at a bus stop, chaos unraveled inside a bus filled with panicked passengers. With swift decision-making, I clipped the Pike back onto my belt and headed for the vehicle. "Pardon me, driver, but I really need this bus," I announced, prying open the door to let the terrified passengers escape.
"Sorry bus is out of order," The bus driver's condescending tone, strikingly ambivalent, was engrossed in his newspaper. Sentinels threatening to turn his ride to slag was secondary to football headlines about the Eagles. Under normal circumstances, I too would prefer to indulge in sports news, but the pressing matter of the bus at hand took priority.
The driver looked up, irritation knitting his brows. "Buzz off, I'm on a break," he spat dismissively.
With a trace of urgency, I insisted, "Your break will be rather permanent unless you vacate immediately." Demonstrating my intent, I lifted the bus effortlessly off the pavement tilting slightly so the driver rolled out of the bus, eliciting a yelp of alarm from the driver as he scrambled out onto the street.
Turning my attention to the Sentinels, I called out mockingly, "Hey, Clark, it seems one of your toys, have a bus to catch!" With that, I effortlessly launched the bus at an oncoming Mark III, the most advanced of the Standard Sentinels--a swift, robust behemoth built for hunting.
The airborne bus collided with the red and silver Sentinel and another lurking behind it. Both robots' heads detached upon impact, leaving the bus miraculously intact. Catching the bus in mid-flight, I gently set it back down, inspecting it with satisfaction. "A flawless finish didn't even mess up the paint job," I mused aloud, pleased the impromptu projectile had emerged unscathed.
My relief was short-lived as both damaged Sentinels began to explode. I hurried to the nearest metallic table, transforming it into a titanium bulwark to shield myself from the blast. As debris flew, I crouched protectively, escaping the brunt of the shrapnel. Once again, wit and quick thinking had turned the tide, leaving me unharmed amidst the chaos.
A reassuring pulse from the Earth signaled backup was en route, boosting my determination. I took flight, rocketing toward the next Sentinel. "Four down, two to go," I tallied the score with a grim satisfaction, ready to close the gap.
"I've got some issues to iron out," I proclaimed, transmuting my form into solid iron, and charged headlong through the Sentinel, emerging unscathed on the other side. This Mark III model was equipped with a flamethrower, unleashing blistering waves of fire that licked at my iron form. The scorching heat washed over me, yet it failed to hinder my momentum.
I soared upwards, confronting the Sentinel head-on. "Care to get a closer look at Earth's blue curve?" I taunted before my metal-plated fist connected with its chin in a powerhouse uppercut. The head detached from the chassis, sending the mechanical brute's head hurtling into the stratosphere, and its own unexpected journey to orbit began.
Landing back on terra firma, I flashed Clark a defiant smirk. "Still confident about your 'toys' standing up to me?" I taunted, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.
But the stare-down with Clark was unsettling. His eyes bore into mine with raw, unfiltered detestation for anything mutant. It was a venomous brew of animosity that threatened to leach away my strength, reminding me just how insidious such hatred could be.
The final Standoff with the last Mark III loomed--its novel armament a freeze ray, spitting icy projectiles my way. Despite the cold assault, I knew I could withstand the chilling attack. The Sentinel may have been formidable in appearance, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. With resolve, I prepared to put an end to this battle and shield the city from the icy grip of this mechanical menace.
As Clark's malevolent energy bore down on me, the Sentinel's icy assault became an unintentional boon--the frigid water acting as a partial barrier against the waves of hate. However, the respite was fleeting, the Sentinel's relentless attacks a stark reminder that I had to keep fighting.
Launching my Fighting Pike, I aimed for a decisive blow, but the machine evaded, striking me squarely in the chest with another freeze ray. Ice crept across my body, a temporary relief, reinforcing my powers even as I fought the drain from Clark's enmity.
When the Sentinel fired again, I was ready; my hand deflected its beam back towards the source, icing up its firearm. As I stumbled forward under the weight of Clark's relentless scorn, I narrowly avoided being crushed, my reflexes quick enough to evade the giant's looming foot.
In hand-to-hand combat now with the last remaining Mark III, sweat beaded across my forehead. It came at me yet again, this time with a laser beam aimed to kill me. I held up my Fighting Pike instinctively, my improvised shield absorbing the energy. A radiant red glow enveloped me as the Pike deflected the strike, my strength ebbing with each passing moment.
The Sentinel was unyielding in its assault, and I was resolute in my defense. But as the strain grew, I yearned for Sol's unbridled power. "Sol now would be a pretty good time to show up," I muttered through gritted teeth, standing my ground but acutely aware of the dire need for reinforcements.
Out of nowhere, a laser beam cut through the Sentinel's leg. I don't know what happened next as I blacked out from the power expenditure. I feared that the Sentinel was now firing on the Buca di Beppo, and killing everyone in there.
"I failed them," was the last thing going through my mind. "I failed again."
The man in the tuxedo had no intention of passively witnessing the outcome from within Buca di Beppo's walls. Intent on scrutinizing Mike Pennock's capabilities, he slipped out discreetly, a chameleon amidst the chaos, seeking a vantage point to observe undetected. Ensconced atop a nearby rooftop, the agent was a silent sentinel surveying the battlefield. He was awestruck by Mike's potency, dismantling five Sentinels solo, yet his surprise was piqued witnessing Mike's vulnerability to the final automaton. It seemed the indomitable hero had reached his limit.
The situation escalated when members of the X-Men arrived, jumping into the fray--rescuing the fallen hero. The agent tactically withdrew, aware his presence could be revealed. Ensuring his discretion, he contacted his command.
"He's the one," he confirmed into the earpiece, his words measured. "No, he hasn't detected me."
"Keep tracking him," came the directive. "Pinpoint his strengths, his affiliations. He's pivotal--a potential ally or adversary."
The agent questioned, "What of the Sentinels and Friends of Humanity? Their focus seems rooted on him."
The command was clear, "Let the conflict unfold. Observe, document--do not engage. Maintain your cover. He's unpredictable."
"But he's remarkable," the agent mused, suspecting there was more to Mike than met the eye.
"Correct," agreed his superior. "But remain vigilant. He's laden with secrets."
His final report pointed to Mike's X-Men connections, but the command was unbothered. "We know," came the acknowledgment, "they're expected allies--yet their presence complicates matters."
"Won't that risk exposing us?" the agent challenged.
"Adapt," instructed his superior. "Continue the observation, but with added caution. Mike's cooperation may be crucial. Let's not attract unwanted attention."
"Understood," the agent acquiesced, pocketing the device. From his perch, he observed as the X-Men and the Backstreet Boys converged around Mike's prone figure. The agent mentally marked Morgan Clark's retreat as the area cleared, making a mental note of the cowardice.
An ambulance arrived, whisking Mike Pennock to safety, while the agent ruminated on the enigma he'd been tasked to shadow. Who was Mike, with his extraordinary feats and selfless combats? The agent's curiosity was a mixture of professional scrutiny and personal intrigue; answers were necessary. The hope now was for Mike's swift recovery. Questions awaited--so did the agent.
To be continued
Guardian will face Morgan Clark again as he takes on the likes of the Friends of Humanity.
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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