The alarm sounded, guards raced to the armory to arm themselves in riot gear and automatic weapons to hold back the tide of human wrongdoing, desperate to feel the night air on their face. Unbeknownst to the hordes crying out for freedom, three men succeed where the common criminals fail.
The sewer grate grinds against the asphalt a kilometer away from the big house and rioting inmates. Figures draped in shadow emerge from the smell of rot and dirty water.
The first is Barghest, and he isn't a prisoner, as he is an informant keeping tabs on all the higher-ups within the system. It's unfortunate his old bosses found out and put out a hit on him, which was the whole reason for the escape to occur. All he wants is to start fresh away from his criminal past.
Dr. Edmond Lurcock, an expert in poisonous materials and untraceable compounds, scrambles to the surface gasping for air. "Darknoll is on his way up. Are you sure we can't leave him behind? I may be no saint, but that man is evil to the core."
"Once we get to the safehouse, we part ways. I owe Darknoll that much for making the escape possible. I don't plan to stick around for the fallout." Barghest hawked and spat, "Chances are the police will focus on him rather than us."
Gaunt hands gripped the ladder, and a face with a twisted grin peeked out, "So nice you brought me along to be the distraction," Darknoll chuckled. "I agree with Barghest. After the safehouse, we part ways and never meet again."
They race down an alley to avoid the busy streets. Victory is in sight until the sounds of sirens fill the air with alarm and panic, forcing them to take shelter in an abandoned building. Darknoll felt the slightest breeze on his neck and turned around, "Hey guys, you aren't going to believe this."
Lurcock and Barghest turn around and hold their mouths agape in wonder, "Well, this changes everything," Barghest grinned wickedly.
***
His name is Silverbolt. The first and only hero in Graygate city. The media doesn't view him as a hero, neither do the local authorities. Approval from the masses is low on the list of his priorities. He avoids areas where the police patrol regularly, preferring the low-income areas. As someone once said, you go to where the customers are. In Silverbolt's world, customers are the criminals preying on the weak, and business is good. He hopes to go out of business.
Silverbolt prowled the streets and rooftops looking for the escaped convicts. He wanted to respond the night before, but a fire broke out in a slumlord building, and Silverbolt spent most of the night pulling people from the hungry flames. He landed in a wide alley. Shadows clung to the cold red bricks and overflowing dumpsters. Nearby were two fridge boxes taped together.
"Is anyone there?" Silverbolt tapped gently on the softened cardboard.
"Go away, this is my box." a cantankerous female voice shouted from within the oversized shoebox.
"I have some questions," Silverbolt hoped the resident felt chatty.
"Do you have money?"
"Depends if you have the answers I'm looking for."
"I ain't leaving the house today," The female voice growled.
"Three Convicts escaped last night. You see anyone wearing bright orange?"
The heavy curtain moved aside long enough for the hero to see a bejeweled hand. Rings of gold and rare stones glittered. Silverbolt was mesmerized by the trinkets, so much so he almost missed the jumpsuit laying at his feet.
His armor creaked while he knelt to retrieve the article of clothing, "Where did you find this?"
"There's an old Motel called the Gateway. I bet you'll find your criminals there," The bejeweled hand waited, "Well?"
Silverbolt kept his eyes fixed on the jewelry, "Well, what?"
"Do I receive compensation for my discovery?" the female voice demanded. The hand made the pay-up sign.
Silverbolt pulled a fifty from the wallet and placed it in the woman's palm, or at least he assumed a woman dwelled in the makeshift shelter, "Thanks, take care of yourself."
"Pleasure doing business with you. I suggest you hurry they might still be there.
Silverbolt bolted through the alleys and narrow streets until he saw the old building. The hero supposedly knew the city better than the back of his hand. He'd never heard of or entered the Gateway hotel. Still, a lead was a lead, and he would follow it.
***
The gateway hotel looked out of place, next to the dirty sidewalks and peeling paint. The sweetest scent tickled Silverbolts nose. He stared at the near immaculate structure, "I don't trust this. I've come down here a thousand times over the years, and I don't remember this place at all."
The glass doors beckoned him inside to explore. He stared at the tempered glass and brass handles, "This is a trap..." Silverbolt's eyes caught movement in a heavily shadowed area, "I guess it's time to take the bait."
He gripped the handles on the doors and flung the doors open. He raced into the darkness, only to find himself outside again. He whipped around, and the door had vanished. A scent born of hell grappled with his nose hairs like an overzealous wrestler.
Silverbolt's eyes discovered the cobblestone streets and wooden trash bins, "What the hell?" He adjusted the blue metal ballistic mask with the lightning bolts down the middle. His hands rubbed the opaque lenses, "Graygate does not look like this."
Silverbolt carefully padded down the alley and took a peek at the world at large. People of all sizes and races went about their day. Horse-drawn carriages, wooden wheelbarrows, straw roofing, oil lamp street lights forced the hero back into the alley.
He paced back and forth while a hand twirled a collapsable baton, "I've finally lost it. The lady at the group home said it would happen one day. I hoped she was wrong."
Screams and shouts echoed across the primitive wooden dwellings, "Maybe this is a dream?" He mused, "The only way to end the dream is to finish it, I guess." He took to the rooftops, "The great thing about being a superhero is I can do it anywhere."
***
The dream city he now inhabited had Celtic influences. The streets had no rhyme or reason to their arrangement and resembled a maze more than a center of commerce and trade. He stopped, no screams. Was he too late? A shriek of terror came from his left, and the chase started anew.
He found a woman surrounded by four men dressed in chainmail. Their surcoats featured a boar on a black field. Silverbolt clenched his fists, "Looks like the day won't be a total waste." which strategy went with the situation? Given the attacker's proximity to the victim, a direct assault could prove fatal to her. "Ghost in the darkness it is."
Silverbolt dropped into an alley and drew a long chain with two brass weights at each end. He caressed the weapon and grinned, "It's been a while since I've used you. I know you won't fail me."
He crept up behind the armored bullies. The chain wrapped around his body and clinked against the blue steel armor plates. He raised a finger to his lips when the woman saw him.
"My mother, the queen, will see you swing by your necks from the gallows for this," She shrieked. She kept her eyes fixed on Silverbolt.
Her gaze awakened something within him, something his mind put back to sleep the moment it occurred. He dove behind a crate as one of the men turned around, "Maybe we should bring her to Lord Rexword. We've tarried too long in this place. I feel like the guards could descend on at any moment."
The grizzled-faced leader smacked him upside the head, "How often are we going to get a chance to pick a flower straight from the garden? Lord Rexword wanted her brought to him. Our benefactor didn't say we couldn't sample the wares."
His chubby companion nodded excitedly, "I agree with Sarge...whoah."
Silverbolt shot the chain out, catching the chubby soldier around a meaty leg, and yanked him behind a nearby wagon. A tactical glove gripped the metal helm and slammed the plump face against the wooden door. His companion raced to find him.
"Helman? Are you okay?" The rail-thin guard peered behind the wagon, "Helman?" The brass weight clanged against the steel helm. The guard clattered to the ground.
By this time, the remaining guards were shaking in their metal boots. The woman feigned innocence, "It appears you and your men have made an enemy this day."
Sarge smacked his pike against the ground in frustration, "Release the princess and find the other idiots. I'll keep her in place." The cold steel glinted in the sun and pressed against the princess's exposed throat.
Silverbolt watched from underneath the carriage and waited for the last menace clad in steel to move. He stared at Sarge and then back to the wagon, "I don't like it, Sarge. Do I have to?"
"You'll do as your commanding officer asks, or you forfeit your wages this week."
Patience is not one of Silverbolts greatest virtues. He rolled out from under the transport and shot the weight at Sarge's ankle. A sick crack and a squeal of pain. The hero rolled to his feet and fired the deadly projectile out again. It shattered the wooden pike handle in two and left the guard defenseless. Sarge turned in time to see a tactical glove strike him into unconsciousness.
The princess looked at the youngest guard. His face white with terror and fear, "Who are you?" his weapon dropped to the cobblestone. His knees knocked together, "I surrender. Please don't kill..."
The chain rattled and shook as it wrapped around the young guard's neck. His armor screeched across the stone. Silverbolt gripped him by the surcoat and raised him off the ground with one hand, "Tell your boss to fear the thunder and flash of Silverbolt."
The young guard found himself unceremoniously tossed to the ground. Silverbolt spun the meteor hammer lazily over his head. The young guard quivered in fear, "I'll deliver the message at once." the sound of rapid footsteps on stone followed his words. Satisfied the woman was out of danger, he stalked toward the fallen guards, "Now, you'll tell me what I want to know."
