Legends of Firestorm #11

[Glippernip]

(Where is the moment you needed the most?)

Ronnie Raymond knew he was having too much fun with this. As Firestorm, he had been attacked by The Weasel, a self-named super-villain, if you wanted to call him super. Firestorm had some difficulties the first time they met, but only because Weasel knew the place they met. Here, Firestorm humored the guy.

The Weasel looked atrocious. He wore furry sleeves and leggings, an orange spandex one-piece over his torso, and obviously fake full-head mask that looked more like a rat than a weasel. The man did have some acrobatic skill and clawed gloves, but he was way out of his league.

>>Ronald, quit playing,<< Professor Stein told his partner, >>We both have places to be.<<

“Sorry, Prof,” Firestorm chuckled, “but this guy would be nothing but laughable if he didn’t just slash several people in the bank he tried to rob.”

Weasel stood near the edge of a roof ten stories in the air. “You fly well, Firestorm, but I dare you to come closer to my razor-sharp claws. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”

“Whatever you say, Hamster-Man,” Firestorm quipped, flying at Weasel head on. Weasel leapt forward slashing his right claw down at Firestorm, but his hand passed through the Nuclear Man. Expecting some resistance and now completely unbalanced, Weasel toppled over the edge of the building.

>>Ronald,<< Stein silently shouted.

“Relax. I’ve got this,” Firestorm said, circling and following the Weasel down. With short, rapid-fire ‘FZAM!s’, he changed the Weasel’s sleeves into wrist cuffs, his leggings into ankle cuffs, and attached both restraints to a parachute. He left the gloves alone, knowing that they were evidence. Weasel landed roughly on the sidewalk, and police quickly took him into custody. They pulled the mask off, revealing a thirty-year-old, black-haired gymnast once an Olympic hopeful.

“Why, Terrance,” Firestorm asked seriously, “After that first time, you might not even have received jail time. All you did then was challenge me. Now you have three injured victims, and if one of them dies, you’ll be up for murder.”

“Beating you would have given my name the immortality that my old injury denied me from the Olympics.”

“But if it weren’t for those meddling kids, I know.” With a wave and a round of scattered applause, Firestorm flew away.

***********************

[Glippernip]

(You kick up the leaves and the magic is lost.)

Martin Stein was late for his usual check-in time but still 37 minutes ahead of what the company would consider officially late. Today there were some maintenance tests and Martin wanted to be there at The Hudson Nuclear Facility. As he strolled up to the gate to the Facility, he was met by a large man with short, wiry black hair and bushy moustache and a dark green business suit. The usual security guard remained unseen.

“State your name and let me see your badge,” the big man demanded.

Confused, Martin produced his Concordance ID. “I’m Martin Stein,” he said, “What’s all this about?”

“Stein,” the man said sharply, “You’re one of those we’re looking for particularly. My name is Derek Hastings, with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission. In a joint decision with our department, Homeland Security, and the DEO, we’re shutting this plant down until further notice.”

“What...” was all Stein could muster.

“The government has to make sure this thing won’t produce more metahumans. We’re looking for the bomb-maker, as well, to find out what his devices were made of. Meanwhile, Stein, you will not be allowed on the property, and plan on staying in New York. I’m not saying you can’t drive to Niagara or something for the weekend, but if you disappear, you’ll be a hunted man. You will also hand over all material concerning the reactor that you possess.

Martin Stein’s brain wouldn’t work. Agent Hastings softened.

“I’m sorry for the sudden nature of this, Mr. Stein. We’ll work with STAR Labs and try to end the investigation quickly. If the reactor checks out, you’ll have one of the quickest government endorsement of a new, non-military technology in American history. You should go to Concordance. A liason will meet you to discuss details.”

Stunned, Martin Stein walked back to his car.

****************************

[Glippernip]

(You tell me your blue skies fade to grey)

Lunch period, and Ron Raymond found himself in Principal Hapgood’s office, with his English teacher Mr. Taubman and Coach Mason in attendance.

“You know, you’re all scaring me,” Ron said.

“You should be scared, Raymond,” Coach said, “This is pretty serious.”

“Let me handle this, please,” Principal Hapgood stated. They made an unusual group. Hapgood was a small, good looking man whose brown hair, moustache, and mutton-chops came straight out of the 1970's, with thick glasses to add a bit of distinguished nerdism. Mason had short cropped tan hair and five o’clock shadow, and Mr Taubman was 51 years old but only looked 70. Hapgood leaned forward and handed Ron a piece of paper.

Ron scrutinized the document and recognized it immediately- last week’s English test. Alarms rang in his head when he noticed his name on the top. “It’s not the test I turned in,” Ron offered.

“All evidence points to the contrary,” Hapgood replied, handing over three other test sheets. The first sheet was very similar to his penmanship. He examined them carefully.

“The two answers that are wrong on your sheet are the same that are wrong on Clifford Carmichael’s test, and the essay question is virtually the same answer, just worded a bit different,” Taubman added.

“We take these things very seriously at Malloy,” Hapgood stated sternly.

“Look at this,” Ron said, “Whoever did this worked really hard, but they overlooked the ‘z’s. I print my ‘z’s, even when writing cursive, along with my capitol ‘Q’s and ‘G’s. I don’t like those letters in cursive. These ‘z’s are handwritten, not printed.”

Mr. Taubman made a comparison and said, “You could have planted that error.”

“Look, I didn’t cheat. I know this material. I can retake that test right now to show I know the answers.”

“We certainly need to look in to the matter further,” Principal Hapgood explained, “Be back here at 1 O’clock Thursday, preferably with your father, and we will decide on the issue. Until then, you are suspended.”

Ron’s heart shriveled and his stomach physically flexed, like it dropped into his feet. His mouth suddenly dried out. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten lunch yet. “The game...” he began.

“Not your concern,” Coach Mason answered, “The suspension includes practice and games. After your disappearing act during our last game, I’m not sure about your reliability right now, either way.
”
For a moment, anger almost got the better of him, but Ron breathed deeply and calmly left the office.

Doreen met him as he shut his locker and prepared to leave. “Did I hear right,” she asked, “Have you been suspended?”

“Wow, news really does travel fast, even if your name isn’t Britney or Lindsay,” he quipped, trying to smile and almost succeeding, “Yeah. They think I copied Cliff’s test. Can you believe it?”

“Did you?”

Ron glared at her in anger. “Thanks for your confidence.”

“I didn’t mean...I’m sorry,” she sighed, “How could this happen?”

“Someone switched my test, someone who wants me to suffer.”

They walked to the nearest stairway and descended. As they neared the front door, Cliff’s voice rang out as he leaned against the far wall.

“How’d you do on the test, Raymond?” he said with a smirk.

Ronnie’s actions took Cliff completely by surprise. Ron crossed the distance in about two seconds, grabbed Cliff’s shirt in both hands, and shoved him violently against the wall, shouting directly into his face.

“You think all of this is funny?!” Ron roared into Cliff’s face, “What in hell is wrong with you, man?”

“You see, Doreen,” Cliff squealed, fear in his eyes, “He’s just a thug, just another jock.”

“Ronnie,” she began.

“A jock like that would have knocked you around months ago,” Ron bellowed, still in Cliff’s face, “I ignored your little pranks for months, Cliff. I’m the one that was trying to act like an adult. You stepped over the line, Clifford. This isn’t just some joke, you’ve effected my school standing. If you don’t get off my...”

“That’s quite enough, Raymond,” a strong male voice rang out, sounding over Ron’s shouting. Everyone, including the dozen or so onlookers drawn by the commotion, turned as John Ravenhair arrived. Ravenhair, history teacher, stood 6' 4" tall with jet black hair and recognizable Native American features. He finished, “You don’t want to do that.”

Ron grudgingly let Cliff go.

“Yeah, Ronnie,” Cliff angrily spat, “you don’t want to piss me off.”

“And you, Clifford,” Mr Ravenhair said sternly, “should learn when enough is enough. Do I make myself clear?”

“...Yes, Mr. Ravenhair.”

“Now, Ron, you head out the door, and Cliff, you head down the stairway.”

“But my class...” Cliff started.

“You have plenty of time, Carmichael,” Mr. Ravenhair interjected.

Worried, Doreen watched Ron leave Malloy High, noting the dark clouds that were coming in off the coast.

**********************

[Glippernip]

(You tell me your passion’s gone away.)

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Quayle?” Martin asked, weariness apparent on his face. He had just finished handing over his research, his hard drive, and his notes to the government liason. At least he possessed back-up copies of most of his research.

“Stein, there is no good way to tell you this,” Quentin Quayle, Director of Concordance Research, told Martin, “Because of complications in recent months, your contract will not be renewed. You have four months of your contract remaining, Martin. If you wish, I can keep you busy, but I am also authorized to keep paying you until the end of your contract without you coming to work.”

A strange noise came out of Stein’s throat.

He’s going to have a heart attack right here, Quayle thought to himself. Even though Martin was not one of his favorite people, Quayle did not like doing this. Not for these reasons, not under these circumstances. Stein had become a liability to the company, and Quayle’s bosses had spoken. He softened.

“You don’t have to empty your office immediately,” he said with empathy, “Go ahead and take the rest of the day off.”

Martin nodded stiffly and walked away, feeling numb. He wanted to cry.

Outside, Stein looked at the storm clouds moving toward Manhattan from the ocean. Strange, it isn’t supposed to rain today, was all he could think despite the days events. Then he sighed. What am I going to do? He saw the brightly lit sign for DeLancey’s Pub down the street and asked himself, Why not?

***********************

[Glippernip]

(And I don’t need no carryin’ on...)

Ron busied himself in the kitchen preparing some dinner for himself and his father. Simple dish: Hamburger, elbow mac, tomatoes, onion, kidney beans, with seasoning salt, pepper, and a little cayenne to kick it up another notch, so to speak. He turned it off as he heard his father enter the house. When he looked at his dad, he was taken aback by the expression he wore.

“Received an interesting call from your school today,” Ed Raymond, who looked very much like Ron only older, began, “What is this I hear about you cheating on tests?”

“I didn’t cheat, Dad,” Ron answered, “Someone switched papers.”

“Do you think I‘m really that stupid,” Ed asked in a low voice.
Ron’s eyes widened.

“I know a pattern of behavior when I see one,” Ed continued, his voice raising. “Disappearing from school several times, once during a game. You’ve come home late more than once with no explanation about where you’ve been. I called your boss, Stein, at one point when you had disappeared, but he was out on a ship, so you couldn’t be with him. One night you went to bed early, but when I checked in on you to see if you were sick or something, you were gone. All classic signs. So what kind of dope are you using, Ron?”

Ron found it suddenly hard to breath. Did he really just say that? My Dad thinks I’m using? The teenager’s stomach churned. “Dad, you’re jumping to conclusions,” he said softly, “Instead of yelling at me, maybe we should talk about it and try to find a solution.”

“I know the solution. You stay home and don’t go anywhere until your grades improve.”

Ronnie’s eyes narrowed, and this time he couldn’t swallow his anger. This was his father, not a teacher. He hissed through his teeth, “Are you even paying attention, Dad? Its just one test. My grades are better now at Malloy than they’ve ever been.”

Ed was yelling at this point. “So, you see this as ‘just one test? You lack a sense of responsibility.”

Ron snarled. “If you had any idea of the responsibilities I’ve shouldered...but you come home before dinner only about half the time and apparently don’t bother to pay attention to anything good I do at school! You haven’t been to one game! My girlfriend has been to all but one of my games, and she really doesn’t even like basketball much!” Disgusted, Ron walked to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going,” Ed demanded.

“To my pusher,” Ron shot back, “I need a fix. By the way, dinner is done. It still should be hot.” Ron stomped out the back door as the sound of rain began to sound on the roof.

That was brilliant, Ed thought, instantly regretting the spat. I know I’m tired, but I haven’t flown off the handle like that in years. And he’s right. He has been doing well in school. Ed sighed and went after his son.

He was surprised to find Ron already out of sight by the time he opened the door.

*****************************

[Glippernip]

(Well, you need a blue sky Holiday,)

After stepping out the back door where he was reasonably out of sight, Ron transformed into Firestorm even as the rain began to fall.

>>Ronald, what is the meaning of this<<, Martin snapped, >>You are supposed to warn me if possible. Is there an emergency?<<

“Wow, you’re in as good a mood as I am,” Firestorm replied, “Sorry, Professor, but I just need some time away.” He launched into the air.

Martin paused, then communicated, >>In that, I concur. Lets find a place to talk.<<

They flew toward Manhattan as thunder boomed in the distance.

***************************

[Glippernip]

(The point is they laugh at what you say,)

Firestorm sat high up on a skyscraper in an alcove that gave him some protection. “Wow, Professor,” he stated, “Between the two of us, we’ve had a rough day, and even Mother Nature wants to take her shot at us!”

>>Agreed. At least yours are rather short term.<<

Firestorm felt the mobile phone vibrate in its hidden pouch. Unusual that someone was contacting him, he hesitantly answered, “Hello?”

“Firestorm, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“This is Tornado Champion. Is he there yet?”

“Who?”

There was a pause, then the Champion asked, “Is there a storm in Manhattan?”

“Yeah, its raining pretty hard right now.”

“Then he is there. You need to keep him busy. I’ll be there to help shortly.”

“Tornado Tyrant?” Firestorm asked.
“No,” came the answer, “The other one. The blue humanoid. He calls himself Typhoon.”

“All right, I’ll check it out,” Firestorm replied, disconnecting the call. Rocketing over the New York skyline, he flew down into Times Square to view the giant screen, verifying that the storm was a small one centered over Manhattan. Another camera shot revealed the blue skinned man floating in the sky, a whirlwind spinning around his waist.

>>Dear Lord. David Drake<<, Stein thought. (see LOF #5)

Using the camera shot as a guide, Firestorm blazed through the prematurely dark, raining sky. As he flew, the events of the day weighed heavily on both their minds, and Firestorm felt a bit fatigued. When Firestorm finally saw Typhoon, a lot of pent-up anger rose to the surface.



“You’re causing quite a bit of damage,” Firestorm shouted, “This isn’t the way to clean up Manhattan. If you don’t stop, someone could die.”

The now muscular, blue skinned man, naked but his bottom half obscured by the tornado that allowed him to fly, regarded Firestorm. “I am of the wind and the storm,” his voice rang out, much louder than it should for a human voice, “I am Typhoon. The storm cares not for the lives of men.”

“Why New York?”

“I...remember this city,” Typhoon said, thinking. Then his eyes narrowed. “I remember you! You are the flaming haired monster that caused me pain along with the living vortex. You must be destroyed!”

The thunderclap that rolled across the sky deafened Firestorm momentarily. “I tried the diplomatic approach,” Firestorm growled, “Now its on!”

The faster flyer of the two, Firestorm circled Typhoon, trying to change large quantities of air into denser gasses to break up the cloud. Typhoon roared, an inhuman sound, and the winds he called reversed Firestorm’s work. Firestorm said, “I can’t blast him directly. How about something new?”

Irritated, Firestorm created hard strips across his gloves, then he flew right into Typhoon, punching his opponent several times. Typhoon didn’t seem to know how to respond, so Firestorm, imagining a certain Cliff Carmichael, did a loop and flying punched Typhoon again. Typhoon created a gale force wind, hoping to blow Firestorm away, but the Nuclear Man phased out, waiting for the winds to subside.

When he phased back in, however, with the rain and his sudden solidity, Firestorm inadvertently completed a circuit. A lightning bolt hit him, crackled through him, and continued on its way. Firestorm fell from the sky.

“Fool,” Typhoon howled, “Your own ignorance of the storm has beaten you. Now, I rule the skies.”

*********************

[Glippernip]

(And I don’t need no carryin’ on, ‘cause you had a bad day!)

Almost unconscious, Firestorm barely created a huge airbag to soften the impact as he fell into Central Park. No one walked the nearby paths with the hard rain falling. Firestorm passed out for about three minutes, then awoke with a start.

“Whoa,” he said, “I feel totally fried.”

>>We were fried, Ronald<<, Stein helpfully responded, >>We can’t stop Typhoon if we don’t think about our actions.<<

“Yeah, OK. I won’t rush in so quickly this time. I guess I’m still worked up. So, you’re the scientist. How do we fight a storm?”

Martin never had a chance to answer as a red humanoid figure in a sweeping cape charged toward him. Firestorm tried to rise but stumbled, his legs weak. The crimson figure pummeled the hero with half a dozen punches from rock hard fists. This time, Firestorm remained unconscious for much longer.

BAD DAY

LEGENDS OF FIRESTORM #11

Written and edited by Joel A Sawyer