I think I mentioned before that I sometimes think of comic concepts, probably like every other comic reader, and hell, I write them out occasionally. Mainly because if I don't, I'll continually rework it in my head over and over again. So, I'll post a story I was working on here (the beginning, at first) and make it a weekly thing. Doing it by week not only makes it seem like a feature, but gives me the time to actually write it, so it's win-win.
Disclaimer: Story was started around 2002 so no event in the last five years will be alluded to or in any way acknowledged.
With out further ado, here's:
It was quiet as usual. That was what Eddie liked most about this job. He had heard too many stories, read too many articles, about what happens when guys in his position have “exciting” days. But that was the risk you took when you signed up for A.I.M., the Advanced Idea Mechanics. Beatdowns from super-types and perpetual bad hair days.
“What does this thing do, exactly?” Eddie asked, turning the bulky device around in his hands. The main component was egg-shaped and the size of a small boom box with a lens in the front. An entwined series of wires and tubes connected the egg-box to the handle, which resembled that of a hairdryer. There were buttons and switches, and two gauges, spread out on the left side, as well as the standard trigger near the handle.
Eddie’s partner, a three-year veteran A.I.M. guard, held up his weapon, a longer version of Eddie’s own and shrugged. “You’ll find out if you ever need to use it. I thank God for every day I spend in ignorance.”
“Guess you’re right.”
The sky lit up like high noon, a brilliant glow of yellow and orange. Eddie and his partner stood and stared towards the light and instantly knew what they meant about the deer and headlights. It took the follow-up noises to snapped them into motion. The blaring of alarms, the yelling of orders on their headsets, and the firing of shots from very high-tech, unwieldy weapons.
‘Teams two and three, cut him off at the entrance. Teams eight and six, fortify the guard stations.’
‘He’s past us! He’s past us!’
“Jesus. Jesus. What do we do? What do we do?”
“Shut up, Eddie! Take the safety off - you hear that?”
“Off what!? Hear what?!”
“Shut up! Listen.” There was a sound, like a falling rock getting closer, and closer, and-
‘I got him! I think I got him!’
With a crash like thunder, a blue and yellow streak tore through the guard station, crumbling half the roof and the front wall. Eddie dove out the way barely missing being crushed by a support beam. He rose quickly, adrenaline pumping, fearing he would be trapped if he stayed still. His partner’s limp, still body went unnoticed as he ran through the new exit.
“Jesus. Jesus!” Eddie stared down at the human rocket that nearly killed him. The rocket stirred, then rose, shaking off debris like a wet dog. Three starbursts emblazoned on the intruder’s chest sparked recognition in Eddie’s confused mind. “I know you,” he blurted, more to himself than the intruder.
“Yeah? Know a doctor?” Eddie’s face recoiled like an apple hit with a hammer when the intruder clocked him with a quick jab. A roundhouse sent Eddie sprawling across the pavement. The intruder flew off, trailed by a dozen A.I.M. shock troops on anti-grav sleds.
“I-I do knuh-” Eddie croaked, spitting a wad of blood and teeth into the visor inside of his helmet. “I know-”
“Nova jus’ kicked muh asss-”