The Tales of Sol 82 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 82
Black and Blue
As the first light of day broke over Philadelphia, I made my way to the airport to bid farewell to the Backstreet Boys and their entourage. With their tour set to continue across America, they were ready to board a flight to Orlando, Florida, the next city awaiting their electrifying performances. I watched as their plane took off, knowing their journey of music and connection would carry on.
Rather than returning to the quiet of my home, I felt compelled to visit the Lair--a place of solace and strategy. Upon disembarking from my private subway, I was warmly welcomed by Dave Matthews, my mentor and guiding force behind so many of my endeavors. His embrace was a testament to the camaraderie we shared. With words of commendation, he praised the efforts and bravery I had exhibited in Hawaii, from the daring sea rescues to the confrontations with the unleashed fury of the volcanoes.
Settling in at the Lair, Dave briefed me on the current status of recovery operations and provided detailed insights into our surveillance findings relating to the now-deceased former director. In turn, I shared with Dave the revelations of our shared dreams and presented to him the group photograph--a telling image that now featured the late Tag La'Tola, whose role we were only beginning to piece together in this complex narrative of past and present.
Despite my protests, Dave was steadfast in his decision to assign me to light, limited duties. He insisted I take the necessary time to fully recuperate from the taxing encounter with Clark and his mechanical minions. His concern was as much for my well-being as it was for the assurance that I would be at my best should another crisis arise.
Therefore, I found myself relegated to the comfort of the Lounge, poring over logs and reports that accumulated in my absence. Dave's cautionary measures were meant to keep me from overdoing it in my eagerness to get back into the thick of the action. Meanwhile, he and Jake busied themselves with the task of repairing my CH-53C helicopter, incorporating the suite of additional enhancements I had envisioned.
The modifications were more than aesthetic or functional improvements; they were a reflection of my growing need to be prepared, to ensure that both my equipment and I remained ever-ready for the challenges that might come our way. As I recovered, our machines were being fortified, and together, we would rise to defend once more.
During my time in Hawaii, Dave hadn't been idle. He had meticulously reviewed every blueprint and schematic I had drawn up, a task given new urgency with the fresh insights I had gained from Sol. My designs, once confined to the operation of the Lair, now held potential for broader applications.
Dave demonstrated particular enthusiasm for the hydroelectric turbines I had designed. These innovative turbines had provided the Lair with a steady stream of clean energy, all while preserving the tranquility of our adjoining lake and the life-giving stream that coursed into it. Now, he envisioned deploying them on a grander scale, harnessing their efficiency to revolutionize sustainable power generation.
BEATTI had proven indispensable, delivering tailored schematic designs that Dave could weave seamlessly into the architecture of the Geothermal Power Plant. The efficacy of these designs wasn't theoretical; we had already harnessed their potential within the Lair. Our geothermal pit, empowered by these very schematics, buzzed with additional energy, while the water from our new lake played a crucial role in the system's operation. In a fluid exchange of gratitude, we replenished the lake with water that was not only fresh but purified, a testament to sustainable engineering.
This self-sustaining ecosystem was a marvel of conservation and discreteness, offering our covert base the gift of power sans the telltale signs of thermal detection. The lack of a heat signature ensured our continued secrecy, nestled away from prying eyes.
Dave was captivated by the potential applications for his own facility. Eager to transplant these innovative designs, he anticipated that they would elevate the plant's energy efficiency and double its output. This leap forward came with a harmonious coexistence with nature, promising utility without ecological disruption--a harmony of invention and intention, of power and preservation.
These plans promised not just local impact but a potential paradigm shift in how we approach environmentally-conscious energy solutions on a larger, possibly even global, scale. The fruits of my labors and collaboration with Sol seemed ready to blossom, and together with Dave and BEATTI, we were poised to cultivate a greener future.
Jake readily assumed a more hands-on role, gladly alleviating some of the responsibilities that had been mine. His current undertaking was the meticulous restoration of the Sea Dragon. Additionally, thanks to a diligent shipmate, the Geocruiser and Ecocopter had been returned to operational status. These vehicles, integral to our operations, were given thorough attention by Jake while I attended to matters in Hawaii alongside Brian and the Backstreet Boys.
Gregg, too, had immersed himself in the flurry of activity, addressing the various enhancements and structural adjustments in the hangar and the newly integrated island section. The Lounge, now nestled in what could be likened to a ship's bridge on an aircraft carrier, occupied the westernmost point of the Lair. It overlooked the meadow, which now thrived once more, having fully recuperated from Count Mullock's destructive actions.
This Lounge had quickly become the preferred communal space within the Lair--a place for relaxation and camaraderie. Dave had thoughtfully commissioned an area dedicated to physical records, establishing an archive where printed documents could be accessed and perused by any member of our team.
With the stipulation of light duties temporarily shaping my contribution, I had been appointed to curate and update these records--ensuring that the Lounge's repository remained as current and comprehensive as the rest of our operations. It was a task that kept me connected, allowing a sense of productivity within the parameters of my recovery.
The encouraging news arrived via Alex's call -- the fox kit I had come to know was fully mended and ready for release into the wild. With the solitude and serenity of our grassy meadow, a location comfortably distant from human intrusion, it seemed the perfect haven for the little creature I had affectionately named Swift.
In this tranquil setting, with the watchful eyes of the woodlands' natural residents, Swift was warmly introduced to his new environment. It was up to him now, with the inherent support of the forest's network, to find his place among the rustling leaves and soft earth. I had to entrust him to the rhythm of nature, though I couldn't help but keep a watchful vigil on his acclimation from afar.
The thought of finding Swift a partner lingered at the back of my mind -- a task for the future that would ensure his lineage and the joy he brought to the meadow would endure. For the present moment, however, it was a simple pleasure to observe the youthful vibrancy of the fox pup as he explored, played, and made the meadow his own.
Perched comfortably within the Lounge, I found solace in the panoramic view it offered of the meadow, where my vigilant eyes could follow Swift's frolicsome cavorting. I had to reconcile my protective instincts with the necessity of allowing the natural order to take its course, as difficult as that might be.
However, when natural curiosity led Swift to a predicament in the lake, I didn't hesitate. A subtle gesture, a silent command to the elements, and the fox was delivered from peril. His safety was paramount to me, yet I knew such interventions must be rare, mere exceptions to an otherwise non-interfering stance.
Beyond the rescue, I was resigned to be a spectator: Swift, after all, had to learn the ways of the wild, and I was prepared to entrust him to the tutelage of the meadow. It was heartening to see that the local fauna, recognizing Swift's innocence and vulnerability, extended their own welcome, gently ushering the little fox into the fold of their community.
My watch over Swift had to be intermittently paused as I devoted time to staying abreast of the developments concerning the victims of the Pied Piper. It was heartening to learn that 100s of children had been reunited with their loved ones. Yet, my heart ached for the thousands still in the throes of bureaucratic processes, awaiting the moment they could return to their families. It became a personal commitment for me to remain vigilant and supportive until each and every child was accounted for and safely home.
Occasionally, I would lift my eyes from the reports, allowing myself a brief respite to observe the meadow's inhabitants engage in their carefree existence. Swift, the little fox, was often among them, his playful antics invariably coaxing a smile from me. Watching him, a realization crystallized within: "If I can extend a part of my heart to an orphaned fox, then I'm certainly called to channel my efforts into aiding these children. Their plight and their futures are just as deserving of compassion and action."
After ensuring that our records in the Lounge were thoroughly up-to-date, I reluctantly pulled myself away from the serene space. There were more practical concerns to which I needed to turn my attention -- the state of our supplies. It was essential to confirm that all provisions were within their usable dates and hadn't been compromised by prolonged exposure or use.
Dave has always been instrumental in the maintenance of the Lair's inventory. Though the details of his procurement methods remained a mystery to me, he has always managed to keep everything stocked and in prime condition. Whenever I encountered an issue, it was swiftly and efficiently rectified well before it became a significant problem.
His assurances that there would come a time when all would be revealed have kept my curiosity at bay. He hinted that the right moment would present itself for the full understanding of his processes. With implicit trust in his judgment and methods, I've accepted that patience must prevail until he deems it appropriate to unfold the secrets of the Lair's logistics.
Balancing the need for rest with my innate impulse to be persistently active, I grudgingly acknowledged the wisdom in being assigned light duty. It was a necessary evil, I supposed, one that ensured my full recovery and long-term contribution.
With the protocols for supplies squared away, my focus turned toward the machinery and tools that formed the backbone of the Lair's operational capabilities. Ensuring that every piece of equipment was in prime working condition was essential, and if any item required maintenance, it was tended to without delay.
I was fortunate--Jake, Gregg, and even Blaylock provided invaluable assistance. With their expertise, we systematically reviewed each device, upgrading components where possible to enhance our efficiency and effectiveness further. It was a collaborative task, one that not only fortified the Lair but also reiterated the strength of our team and our unwavering readiness to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
After completing the immediate tasks, I went to the Command Center, where the last few days' worth of probe records awaited my review. The room was dominated by two expansive monitors, each displaying streams of data critical to our vigilance.
On one screen, a record of recent vampire activity unfolded, thanks partly to information sourced by Dana and Blaylock in collaboration with the Watcher's Council. Their research indicated a troubling surge in vampire incidents, particularly in the wake of Elizar's recent machinations that had culminated in the train station's destruction.
Dana and Blaylock's liaison with the Watcher's Council had been instrumental, in shaping a clearer grasp of the supernatural landscape. The Council's expertise offered invaluable insights, allowing us to effectively anticipate and counter the undead's movements. It was a reminder that while our immediate threats had been quelled, the perpetual dance with darkness continued unabated--a dance we were all too prepared to engage.
Relations with the Watcher's Council remained strained on my end due to the discord sown during my last confrontation with Quentin Travers over the affair with Count Mullack. Despite the awkwardness, Dana and Blaylock maintained a necessary bridge of communication, serving as intermediaries in a situation complicated by past tensions.
The second monitor captured my immediate focus. It streamed live feeds from the Philadelphia Airport--an investigation of more personal concern. My intuition had warned me of prying eyes during the airport farewell, and now was the time to unearth the watcher in the shadows. The imperative to unravel the mysterious surveillance was twofold: to understand the nature of the interest in me and, critically, to discern any potential threat to the Backstreet Boys, who, I suspected, might unwittingly be entangled in this covert scrutiny.
Trust in my instincts had proven its worth in the past, notably when they guided me to save Brian from Devin's clutches. If honed and heeded, those same instincts could very well shield us from these unwelcome onlookers' hidden agendas. So with a resolute intent, I set out to decipher the clues laid out on the display, prepared to peel back the layers of secrecy shrouding the identity and intention of these unknown surveillants.
Engrossed in my examination of the Sentinel data, I hardly noticed Dana's approach, her conversation on the phone was reduced to a background murmur amidst my concentration.
The Command Center was a bastion of surveillance and strategy--the upper echelon of this converted hangar, the nerve center where our operation's heart beat strongest. Save for the large windows offering a gaze into the outdoors, the room brimmed with monitors and instruments vital to our cause. Above, atop the island, a mast replete with radar antennae and an array of cloaking technology stood sentinel, ensuring our activities remained cloistered from the unsuspecting world.
Our purpose was clear: to stand as vigilant protectors of Philadelphia, employing every advancement at our disposal to preempt threats, be they supernatural or man-made. My attention, however, was fixed on the probes and their multifaceted insights, my thoughts punctuated by the real-time loss of two such scouts. Their final moments painted a picture of collateral damage amidst a Sentinel onslaught against unknown mutants--a skirmish in which our probes, despite their sophisticated stealth, had been inadvertently ensnared.
Determined not just to catalog these losses, but to learn from them and enhance our capabilities in response, I turned my focus back to the monitors, intent on piecing together the puzzle and devising a countermeasure to such incidents. The Sentinels, formidable as they might be, would not outmatch our resolve.
"Galen, it will be so good to see you again," Dana smiled
Dana's smile was warm, tinged with genuine delight at the prospect of reuniting with someone named Galen. Meanwhile, Dave remained ever the stalwart leader at the Geothermal Plant, his CEO responsibilities necessitating his focus on the operational facets that demanded his attention.
Though I served as his assistant, my current state of convalescence wasn't a barrier to staying apprised of developments. BEATTI acted as my virtual informant, bridging my temporary absence with crucial updates from both the plant and NAS Willow Grove. There, another assignment awaited my expertise--the meticulous restoration of F-18 fighters--a task beckoning me back to service.
My abilities to juggle multiple tasks simultaneously had not waned despite the imposed limitations of light duties. I often found myself ensconced in a multi-monitor setup, simultaneously absorbing an array of data while developing a new paradigm of communication for my expanding ensemble of allies. Our wrist-mounted combadges were a robust start, but our growth warranted a more sophisticated system to ensure seamless coordination.
Amidst the technological brainstorming, a thought meandered its way through my mind, contemplative and amused: we had yet to determine a fitting moniker for our collective. The identity of our team was still a work in progress, a name to encapsulate the essence of our shared mission, which I fervently anticipated coalescing in due time.
"How much longer till you are done with your training?" She asked
"Oh, good, by the way, have you thought about joining our growing army of the night?" Dana said this on the phone.
"Oh, I am sure he would like to have you in his merry band," Dana smiled
Dana's conversation, intriguing yet fragmented, floated to my semi-attentive ears as I hunkered down over the nascent communication units sprawled before me. Her words were suggestive of new alliances forming, growing legions to combat the darkness--a proposition that piqued my interest despite my focus being elsewhere.
My collaboration with Professor Xavier and the invaluable exchange of information was a substantial diversion. Their cutting-edge communication device was now in my possession, and in gracious reciprocity, I had shared the advanced specifications of my Holo-Room--a haven for tactical simulations and training.
Tela's arrival punctuated the atmosphere as she closed the distance between us with quiet concern. "How are you holding up, Mike?" her tone bearing a motherly tint.
Intent on providing assurance, I replied, "Recovery is well underway, Tela. Those Sentinels can't keep me down for long."
Her murmured response betrayed her awareness of the true adversary. "I am not worried about the Sentinels. I heard it was Clark who posed the real threat to you," she confided, her voice barely above a whisper.
Acknowledging her insight with a nod, I confirmed the insidious nature of our human opponent. "Yes, like any hazardous substance, Clark's animosity towards mutants packed quite the punch," I admitted, acknowledging the potency of his malice that had coursed through the recent clash.
Jake's entry into the Command Center brought about an abrupt shift in the room's dynamic. Without hesitation, he gravitated towards Dana with the kind of purpose-driven stride seen in someone deeply smitten. Their kiss, a sweet interlude, and their embrace, a tight seal of their affection, made it clear for all to see that romance was in full bloom. Tela and I couldn't help but exchange knowing grins, reveling in the lightness their love brought to the room.
Observing Jake with Dana, emotions swelled within me. My little brother had indeed found a special connection, and their rapport seemed to grow stronger by the day. The ease and natural flow of their bond spoke volumes, bringing about a sense of joy that uplifted everyone present.
Despite the comfort their love story brought, my thoughts wandered, tinged with a pang of longing. Brian and the Backstreet Boys had made their departure for Orlando not long after their hospital visit, but the promise of their return that night was a solution to my yearning. My focus on Philadelphia's welfare had served as the perfect distraction for my awaiting heart.
Jake's attention snagged on the airport footage that still played out on one of the monitors. "What's the situation, Mike?" he inquired, attuned to my unrest.
Taking a moment from tinkering with the communication unit, I revealed my misgivings. "I've been sensing watchful eyes--most acutely at the airport, then again before the encounter at Buca di Beppo, and during the skirmish."
Dana, who had just concluded her call, joined in with a hint of intrigue. "Seen by whom?"
I delved into the peculiar and persistent gaze that had followed me. "I can't pinpoint who it was, but it was a palpable presence during those key moments," I disclosed the unsettling pattern I had detected.
Jake scrutinized the airport surveillance images, his focus narrowing. "You're certain it was you they were observing?" The screen displayed an everyday airport tableau--travelers deep in the routine hustle, some awaiting departures, others surrounded by greetings and farewells.
The recollection of a similar observation sharpened my conviction. "It's the same unnerving sensation I felt when Devin lurked around Brian," I said, affirming my intuition.
Jake took in the scene, his acceptance of my certainty evident. "So, someone amidst this multitude had eyes fixed on you."
I gave a firm nod, admitting, "The purpose behind their surveillance remains a mystery."
Dave's arrival at the Command Center was accompanied by a light reprimand, customary care etched into his expression. "Ease up, Mike," he gently admonished.
Diligently, I defended my actions to my mentor. "There's work to be done, Dave. Plus, there's an uneasy matter I needed to address," I reasoned.
I shared with Dave and Blaylock the unsettling hunch of a vigilant observer, watching vigilantly as I exerted my powers to save others. Blaylock's apprehension was palpable as he processed the implications. "You're saying there was a witness to your heroics? To the way you shielded the diners and rescued that child?"
"Yes, they saw everything--not just the Sentinel showdown, but my intervention at the airport," I noted.
Blaylock's hand met his chin, his thoughts churning. "While there's no question that your actions were necessary, the realization that an unknown party observed is indeed troubling," he conveyed with a concerned frown.
"And I'm not disputing your choices--you've more often been on the right side of these calls. The real conundrum is determining who could be privy to Guardian's true identity," Dave mused aloud, his thoughts aligning with ours in pursuit of an answer to this latest enigma.
The question hung in the air, punctuated by the low hum of computer systems processing around us. "Dave, you've engaged with various suppliers for the Lair's needs. Could any of them be responsible for this sensation of being watched?" I inquired, seeking to trace the potential source back to its origins.
Dave responded with assured clarity, his head shaking with confidence. "No, the people I've done business with--they're not the clandestine type. If they had any intention to reach out to you or Guardian, they wouldn't be lurking in the shadows."
Jake contributed his analysis, his attention still tethered to the data before us. "Whoever's watching might not even realize the full extent of the capabilities and awareness you possess," he speculated, assessing the prospect that the observer might be ignorant of the threat they themselves could pose.
Blaylock, mulling over Jake's point, found merit in it. "If that's the case, it could work to our advantage," he conceded, the situation presenting a strategic opportunity as much as a mystery.
So there we stood, an ensemble focused on the barrage of images before us. Each of us scoured the faces, the behaviors, and the minutiae for any hint of abnormality. We sought an anomaly, a telltale sign amidst the innocuous crowd that could lead us to the elusive onlooker--and, hopefully, bring clarity to their intentions. With Dave's reassurances and our shared scrutiny, the pieces of the puzzle began to edge closer, the image of our watcher just out of reach, but within the realm of discovery.
Several hours poured into our investigation with no definite answers, and then my phone rang, pulling me back into the realm of the everyday. It was Kevin on the line, his voice carrying a mix of excitement and urgency. They were returning to Philadelphia sooner than expected. Before I could delve into the reasons for their abrupt travel change, BEATTI, ever efficient, procured their flight information, and I knew precisely when they'd touch down -- just half an hour away.
With a thought and a subtle motion, I teleported to the airport terminal. Stationed by the flight information display, I scanned the digital board for the impending arrival of Brian and the others.
That familiar, unsettling sensation crept through me again, the feeling of being watched. A question nagged at me: How did these unknown observers anticipate my exact movements? It was plausible they had surmised my deep connection with the Backstreet Boys, predicting that I would be present to welcome them.
Surrounded by the hustle and buzz of travelers and the intermittent updates of arrivals and departures, I stood vigilant. My senses were alert, combing through the crowd for any sign of those who sought to scrutinize my every move. I was determined to protect not only myself but also the unsuspecting band from whatever intentions these watchers held.
As the monitor flashed with the update of their flight's arrival, anticipation surged within me, a tumultuous blend of hope and expectation swirling together as the ocean of emotions crested and receded. My desire was singular -- to witness their plane pierce the horizon, gracefully touch down upon the tarmac, and join the airport's beating heart via the extended jetway.
The flow of passengers began a human river streaming through the terminal's gates. My gaze was probing, impatient, until at last a familiar and vibrant hat emerged, heralding AJ's presence. The rest of the Backstreet Boys followed close behind, their attempts at incognito foiled by my intimate knowledge of their quirks and attire. My instinct was to break through the inertia of restraint, to envelop them in an exuberant reunion, but caution prevailed. Now wasn't the time for fanfare or commotion that could court undue spectacle.
The instant I spotted that one girl, on the edge of revealing it all with an ecstatic shriek, plans shifted. What began as a matter of privacy now morphed into an impromptu rescue operation. Swiftly, confidently, I closed the distance, raising my voice, "Doug, Chris, Mark, Eric, and Rob! It's terrific to see you guys!"
Their pseudonyms filled the air, a charade to nip potential hysteria in the bud. The fleeting look of surprise as I bestowed each of them a kiss on the cheek only served to sell our ruse further. This candid display of affection may have caught them off-guard, but it grounded us in a moment of shared friendship disguised cleverly as a mundane greeting. My move was calculated -- a maneuver to safeguard the band's tranquility, even when the world, in its curious momentum, seemed poised to shift beneath our feet.
With discretion as our shared friendship, I drew Kevin close under the pretense of an embrace, murmuring just loud enough for the group to overhear, "Be aware, one of the fans has seen through your clever get-up."
With measured subtlety, Kevin's gaze found the fan in question--her momentary excitement dissolving into a look of disappointment as she reconsidered the identities of those she so fervently followed. He acknowledged my prompt interception with a soft acknowledgment, "Good call," and reciprocated the affectionate gesture with a whisper.
Out of the public eye, my pretense of casual conversation masked our swift retreat from the terminal. "Wonderful to have you back. How was the journey?" I inquired, maintaining the facade as we navigated through the flow of travelers toward baggage claim.
Once safely at our intended destination, AJ/Doug playfully jabbed my shoulder, a brotherly show of gratitude. "Thanks, man. We're in your debt," he chimed.
With a chuckle, I replied, "I really wanted to spare you guys a frenzied welcome. Starting a commotion wasn't the plan."
Yet, Nick highlighted the irony with his infectious laugh. "You wanted to dodge the mayhem..."
Howie interjected with a chuckle of his own. "So you went ahead and stirred one up first."
I joined in the mirthful reflection. "Exactly," I giggled, our shared laughter a comforting soundtrack in the cavernous space of baggage claim. Together we stood, a band of friends cloaked in humorous relief, as we awaited the reappearance of their personal items on the carousel. My success in averting a scene offered a simple, yet profound reminder: sometimes the best way to avoid a splash is to cause a few ripples of our own.
The contrast didn't escape me--the sharpness with which I discerned a fan's keen eye, yet failed to identify the mysterious, observant presence trailing me. Such an uncharacteristic oversight nagged at me, a puzzle frustratingly incomplete.
However, my introspection was cut short as Brian drew my attention away from the enigma. His presence always had a way of centering me, pulling my focus from the vast labyrinth of my thoughts back to the moment at hand.
"What's been happening since we've left?" Brian inquired, drawing me back into the light conversation.
"Oh, just the usual. Dave's being overprotective as ever, slapped me with limited duty. But that doesn't mean I can't still drive him up the wall," I quipped with a playful laugh.
Howie chimed in, joining our lighthearted banter. "That's not a difficult task, really," he added, earning a round of chuckles from the group.
But mirth was cut short by a sudden alert from the Earth--a sensitive ping of warning. I spun around just in time to see a support beam beginning to fail. Reacting with instinctive haste, I shoved Nick out of harm's way and darted to the beam, securing it with my strength. The weight of an entire floor bore down, its precarious stability resting in my strained grip.
The tension in my muscles was mirrored by the urgency of the situation, but I held firm, providing a crucial barrier against potential disaster. Those beneath the beleaguered floor scrambled to safety, while those above evacuated the unstable area.
Just as the burden eased, indicating their successful escape, I let one hand draw power from the Earth itself. A command to the fundamental elements prompted granite to erupt forth, hastily fortifying the compromised column--a makeshift yet effective solution that bought precious time for a more permanent repair.
Satisfied with my intervention, I turned to assess the aftermath, only to find a mob closing in--men with hostility etched into their features, the FOH acronym emblazoned across their chests, marking them as emissaries of intolerance. One of them screamed "You! Mutant freak!"
Suppressing a weary sigh, I feigned nonchalance. "Oh, wonderful. The 'Friends of Humanity.'" My voice dripped with irony. "Not exactly the friendly encounter I was hoping for today," I remarked dryly, bracing myself for the unwanted confrontation that awaited.
Gazing at the advancing aggressors, I posed my query with composed incredulity, "What makes you think I'm a mutant?" The men drew nearer, armed with crude weapons that showcased their hostile intent.
"And is this really how you repay someone who just saved you from potential catastrophe?" I challenged them, the irony of the situation thinly veiled in my query.
One from the throng snarled in response, grip tightening around his bat, "No regular guy could support a concrete beam like you did, freak," unmasked disdain coloring his tone.
Internally, I reflected on their oversight; they hadn't seen my subtle solicitation of granite from the Earth. `Their observational skills are as wanting as their logic,' I thought to myself.
Addressing them, I aimed to clarify, "That's a flawed assumption. There are plenty of beings capable of such feats who are far from being mutants."
Their retort was as predictable as it was uninformed. "You mutants are all freaks!" one of them bellowed, defying reason and civility.
It was evident that the group surrounding me, brandishing their bats and knives, had little regard for facts or the nuances between power and identity.
"I just propped up an entire floor. Doesn't that imply considerable strength?" I reasoned aloud, maintaining a façade of calm as they attempted to encircle me.
Yet, my efforts to appeal to their better judgment were fruitless; they closed in, emboldened by their own ignorance. "If that's how you view strength, then your strategy to confront me is quite illogically flawed, wouldn't you agree?" I probed, though my questions were likely rhetorical to them.
Letting out a short breath, Alas, words and logic were unfortunately lost on these misguided buffoons. I readied myself for their reckless charge. "The Friends of Humanity certainly doesn't concern itself with the recruitment of intellectuals, they love to hire from the lower end of the gene pool" I remarked with a wry grin, preparing to meet the threat head-on, fully aware that my adversaries were more brute force than the brain.
The man to my left voiced his disdain without reserve, projecting his ignorance for all to hear. "You mutant freaks are the blight upon mankind," he spat vehemently.
In response, I sought to counteract their prejudice with a touch of science, hoping to spark a glimmer of insight amidst their narrow views. "Mutation is the cradle of evolution; it's what allowed humanity to thrive on this planet," I explained, hoping to appeal to some shred of reason as they loomed closer.
Their scorn was impenetrable. "Nice try, freak. We're gonna beat the mutation right out of you," the man to my right jeered maliciously, their intentions as clear as their misguided convictions.
"I take it all back you have not evolved past neanderthal," I sarcastically retorted.
As he lunged forward, swinging a bat. With practiced ease, I sidestepped the assault, then quickly seized another's bat, redirecting the butt of the bat back towards its owner. The momentum of the man's own force worked against him, sending him toppling backward to the ground clutching his bloody nose and yelping in pain. My actions were defensive, yet decisive--a demonstration of the very strength they so naively sought to challenge.
Concealed by the shadow of a sturdy pillar, a woman with an unmistakable punk aesthetic observed the unfolding brawl with keen interest. Adorned with wild black hair and dark lipstick, she remained vigilant, her eyes fixated on the scene before her. Her mission was clear: to monitor the target, whose prowess evidently aligned seamlessly with the objectives of her undisclosed cause.
The target demonstrated formidable abilities--effortlessly supporting the weight of an entire floor and summoning earthen pillars at will. These feats, however, were merely glimpses of a greater capacity lurking beneath the surface. Such remarkable displays of power were unrivaled, her observations confirming the immense potential that lay within him.
Beyond his physical capabilities, his quick wit and sharp intellect did not escape her scrutiny. The presence of the Backstreet Boys, with their magnetic appeal, inadvertently provided the perfect smokescreen, allowing her to maintain a discreet watch over the target from a comfortable remove. The current altercation with the bumbling Friends of Humanity operatives only added to the spectacle, giving her ample opportunity to study his combat skills and strategic acumen.
Her orders were to watch, assess, and compile a profile rich in detail. It was a task she carried out with a dutiful silence, the punk woman a silent shadow cataloging the hero's every move.
The Friends of Humanity continued their futile assault, displaying all the finesse of a lumbering bear. Two more of their number rushed at me, one ahead and the other sneaking behind, confident in their pitiful strategy. "Oh no, I'm surrounded," I theatrically groaned at their approach.
Their attempts at intimidation provided a perfect moment for theatricality -- with a roll of my eyes and a subtle shift, I dissolved into mist, an evasive maneuver I'd mastered over time. Their bodies crashed into one another in a comical display of misdirected aggression.
Reconstituting myself, I couldn't help but quip, "That little vanishing act never gets old, does it?"
The next wave yielded more of the same -- a barrage of swings from bats and pipes aiming to incapacitate. With a fluid motion, one bat splintered into harmless wooden slivers scattering across the terminal floor, while a metal pipe found itself neatly folded in half by my intervention. "Seriously now, if you intend to stop me, you'll have to up your game," I remarked, an edge of impatience tinging my words as I effortlessly repelled their advances with a mere gesture.
As yet another batch of attackers tried their luck, I felt the simmering frustration of a man wearied by repetition. My boredom with these antagonistic buffoons had peaked; there were more important places to be and people to see -- my friends were awaiting my return.
With a casual flick of my wrist, I dismissed the lackluster attempts at aggression and turned to rejoin my companions, leaving the defeated FOH goons in my wake.
My patience waned thin with each passing moment of their senseless aggression. "Perhaps what you all need is some downtime," I suggested, summoning my power with a snap of my fingers. In an instant, the aggressive mob found themselves teleported to a remote island, a temporary reprieve from their fruitless endeavors. Their expressions morphed from rage to bewilderment as they took in the unscheduled change in locale.
Hovering briefly above the makeshift timeout corner, I chastised them like unruly children. "Now, contemplate your behavior," I announced. "Think of this as a mandatory sabbatical."
With one final comment -- "This little escapade of yours has been nothing short of tiresome" -- I snapped my fingers once more and returned to the familiar setting of the airport.
Exiting baggage claim, I found solace in the sight of Brian and the Backstreet Boys, who were all gathered patiently by the limo. Their presence alone was a potent reminder of why I endured such nuisances--to safeguard the moments and people that truly mattered.
Nick's question had a playful edge to it. "What kept you?" he said, the tease obvious in his voice.
I casually dusted off my clothing, downplaying the recent altercation. "Let's just say I had a brief run-in with some enthusiasts from the Friends of Humanity," I responded, my tone light but tinged with a note of irritation at the inconvenience.
Nick's brow furrowed, his disdain palpable. "Those idiots," he muttered under his breath.
Kevin surveyed the area, a question in his eyes as he noticed the absence of any ensuing drama. "So, how'd you handle it? They're not being dragged away in handcuffs."
Smiling, I leaned into the shared camaraderie of the moment. "I thought they seemed overly stressed. A quick time-out on a secluded island seemed to fit the bill," I revealed, keeping the details sparse.
AJ joined in with his characteristic humor. "Hope you didn't send them off to Hawaii or something," he said with a smirk.
With a chuckle, I replied, "Nope. I wouldn't subject Honolulu to that. it is too boring for that rowdy bunch. They have an island paradise all to themselves."
Howie's amazement at my ability to whisk people away was evident as he remarked, "But Honolulu? It's hardly what you'd call boring."
"True," I agreed with a nod, "but I suspect they'd find a desert island without the amenities to be a bit more... humbling," I suggested, arching an eyebrow in playful speculation.
The mental image of the Friends of Humanity acclimating to their new, 'rustic' environment was enough to draw amusement from the group. Nick couldn't contain his laughter. "That's savage," he said, giggling at the thought of their hapless adversaries trying to navigate island life.
Howie's own laughter built off of Nick's. "You've convinced me," he managed between bursts of laughter, "I don't think anything in Honolulu could top the excitement they're in for."
Kevin joined the laughter, the humor of the situation clearly not lost on him. "Just picturing them trying to piece together an explanation for their impromptu vacation spot," he said, his cackle infectious. "That's one for the books."
Their laughter was a welcome sound after the tense moments earlier, and the shared mirth was a palpable reminder of why these battles were worth fighting.
"He is quite a hero isn't he," Howie felt the familiar and unwelcome intrusion in his thoughts -- the dark murmuring of Hades, always lurking at the fringes of his mind, ready to disrupt his peace. Over the years, Howie had learned to steel his mind against such disturbances, a skill that came in handy even as the god of the underworld continued his mental incursions.
Hades' voice persisted, unconcerned with Howie's silent resistance. "I know you can hear me, but let's keep it our little secret. No need to let every Tom, Dick, and nosy schmuck in on it," mocked the deity in a tone that was more an acknowledgment of their complex rapport than a true taunt.
With an internal growl of irritation, Howie's focus remained defiantly external, his eyes on Mike and Brian. In the face of celestial pesterings, it was the here and now that brought him solace. Mike's resourceful brilliance in diffusing a volatile confrontation with the FOH was a fresh point of pride. A chuckle escaped Howie at the thought of the bigots marooned by Mike's whimsy, a poetic justice for their malicious intents.
Despite his laughter, Howie's heart swelled with pride for his friend. Mike's actions exemplified true heroism--a blend of strength, compassion, and wit that transformed dire circumstances into tales of victory. In moments such as these, Howie treasured the bond they shared, a bright light against the dark whispers of Hades.
.
En route to the guys' hotel, the ride was filled with the familiar comfort of friends sharing stories and catching up. The Backstreet Boys recounted tales from their whirlwind tour--snippets of their lives on the road, packed with performances, travel, and the occasional misadventure that kept them on their toes. Laughter came easily as they detailed instances of Nick and AJ engaging in playful shenanigans with their fans, bringing humor into the mix of their relentless schedule.
Amidst the banter, Brian's concern shifted towards the whereabouts and status of Devin. His inquiries punctuated the conversation with a reminder of the ever-present threats lurking just outside our collected moments of joy. Each time, with reassurance in my voice, I confirmed that the mischief-maker remained securely confined within an Alaskan prison's cold embrace, a small but significant victory ensuring our safety and peace of mind.
The camaraderie within the vehicle was palpable--a testament to the shared history and bonds that no distance or danger could sever. With each shared laugh, update, and reminiscence, the fabric of our friendship grew tighter, interwoven with the affirmation of our collective experiences.
Kevin's mention of Tony Blake wanting to meet was another item to add to my expanding to-do list, intriguing as it was. Throughout the remainder of our ride, I couldn't help but notice Howie's unusual silence, its contrast to his typically more jovial disposition stirring a sense of concern. I decided to keep a mental note to check in with him later.
For now, I shared a simple moment with Brian, splitting a soda as a small gesture of normalcy amidst our anything-but-ordinary lives. "So what's on the agenda for tonight?" I inquired, leaning into the casual atmosphere.
Kevin outlined the immediate practicalities, "First, we check into our hotel. Then, a quick call to management to report our safe arrival."
It was Nick's sudden suggestion that threw me--a date night for Brian and me. The spontaneity of the idea took me by surprise. "You should use this chance while you're still in town," he pressed with a grin.
AJ concurred, lending enthusiasm to the motion, "Absolutely, you two need some downtime together."
Emotions flurried within me, a blend of gratitude and mild embarrassment silencing any immediate response. After a moment of collecting my thoughts, I responded with newfound conviction, "With such unanimous advocacy, how could I say no? Brian, let's plan something special. I'll scout out a couple of spots and get back to you."
Brian's smile was an encapsulation of his understanding and patience. "Perfect, Mike," he said, his eyes anchoring me with their warmth.
As the limo journey drew to a close, our exchanges steered away from the intimate and towards exchanges that catered to logistics and responsibilities--a harmonious balance between our private lives and the demands that came with their celebrity status.
From his domain shrouded in shadows, Hades observed the tender interplay between the two lovers through his mystical viewing globe. "A commendable pair, those two," he mused to the darkness, begrudging respect coloring his words. Though love was typically foreign to his interests, he saw the power within their unity, something that even he could not simply dismiss.
His focus drifted skyward, where celestial bodies continued their ancient dance across the cosmos. The planetary alignment, a cosmic event of monumental significance, was inching ever closer, each rotation bringing his nefarious aspirations closer to fruition. The stars were aligning in a manner that could spell a new era or, as Hades planned, a return to the old order--the age of the Titans' reign over Earth.
In this critical juncture of time, Hades recognized the necessity to incapacitate Sol, for the elemental guardian posed a significant threat to his machinations. Thoughts of deception and misdirection began to swirl in his cunning mind as he contemplated how best to neutralize Sol's inevitable interference. Strategies and tactics, an immortal's game of chess, played out in his head.
The deity's gaze lingered back to the surface of the blue planet, his eyes settling on an unsuspecting Howie. "You, my unwitting marionette, shall be instrumental in Sol's downfall," Hades whispered to himself, the seeds of treachery planted in the heart of his scheme.
Ensnaring Howie, a confidant and friend to Sol's mortal host, was to be his masterstroke--a ploy through which Hades could maneuver his chess pieces into place, undetected by those who would stand against the dark tide rising from the underworld.
To be continued
Hades's plan continues what Howie's connection to it and how will it effect his friendship Mike when it all comes down.
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