Category Archives: DarkLight Redemption

DarkLight Redemption – Chapter Four

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Celebrate Friday with chapter four of DarkLight Redemption!

And don’t miss out on getting The Alpha for $0.99 – only two days left on this KDP Countdown Deal.

FOUR

 

 

I try to have dinner with the family at least once a week.

Sure, I catch plenty of grief for my questionable life choices, but I know I’m lucky to have them. I’ve run into too many super-powered nutjobs who have a traumatic upbringing to blame for their issues to bemoan my own situation.

My folks still live out in the ‘burbs, and I’ve got an apartment in the city, so it’s a bit of a trek to see them. I don’t have a car, so I usually just fly over there. Since they don’t know about my abilities, I naturally have to lie to them, and I touch down at the train station nearest the house.

It’s only about a mile away, and I always tell them that I’d be happy to walk over and get some air, but they insist on picking me up at the station. Truth is, it’d be quicker to just land closer by, but I’ve got appearances to keep up.

So I fly to the wooded area just behind the train station and walk out to the tracks. Pretty sure everyone who sees me thinks I’ve just finished taking a leak in the woods. The crooked looks and head-shakes confirm as much. From there, I walk to the parking lot just in time for Dad to pull up.

We make typical small talk on the short jaunt to the house. How have you been? Anything new? Did you catch the games on Sunday? The usual. We pull up to the house, and I can smell the pot roast in the oven as soon as I walk in.

My mom always makes pot roast when I come by. Or prime rib. I suppose she feels like she wants to make something nice, but I’d just as soon sit down and have some meatloaf or mac and cheese.

Maggie’s not here. My mom tells me that she’s out with her girlfriends. She’s rarely around when I come over — at least that’s how it’s been the last few years. At first, I figured it was the standard pouty teenage girl thing. But she’s out of her teens now, so maybe there’s something more to it.

I’ve already decided that this would be the night I finally come clean with my parents. Since I’m leaving the whole superhero/supervillain game to people less jaded and more interested, I might as well let the people closest to me in on my secret.

Some Posties claim that they keep their secret identities hidden from their loved ones to protect them. I guess I sort of understand that, but my reasons were a bit different. My parents have always been the worrying sort, so I mainly kept my work as LightBlast and DarkLight to myself to keep them from having a monthly nervous breakdown.

At least that’s why I kept my life as LightBlast secret. I really kept the whole DarkLight thing to myself out of shame. It would also raise questions about why I switched allegiances that I didn’t want to answer.

We stick to small talk through dinner, but once the coffee comes out, I decide that it’s now or never.

“So there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you guys about for a while now,” I begin.

“What’s on your mind, son?” asks Dad. “The bar’s not in trouble, is it?”

“No, I’m doing fine with the bar,”

“Is there a special lady that you want to tell us about?” asks Mom. “It’s been too long since you brought someone over for us to meet.”

“No, it’s not that either,” I reply.

“Have you finally given more thought to going back to school?” Dad jumps in, and I ignore what I recognize as a light jab.

“What I want to tell you is that…” I pause for one last second to make sure I want to go through with this. “I’m a Post-Human.”

They look to each other curiously for a moment before turning back to me.

“Oh, honey, we know that,” my mom says with a shrug.

“You do?” I ask as the shock I was expecting backfires on me.

“Of course,” Dad adds. “Have for quite a while now.”

“How?”

“If you can’t recognize your eldest child when he’s flying around shooting lasers out of his hands, then you’re not a very attentive parent,” Mom explains.

“You know, they’re not exactly lasers, per se,” I start.

“But that’s still no excuse to not get a college education,” Dad says, ignoring my last comment.

“People go to college to get better career opportunities,” I say. I end up going on the defensive about a completely different matter than I’d expected.

“I’m already a successful small business owner. What would be the point?”

“Because knowledge gives you real power,” Dad says. This is a line that I’m sure he’s rehearsed numerous times before.

“The alien warlord Grytlepletarch The Indomitable has real power,” I counter. “And I’ve used my powers to help stop him from conquering the Earth on more than one occasion.”

“Don’t be so literal, sweetheart,” my mom gently insults me. “Your father and I just want you to understand more about the world.”

“I’ve been all over the world,” I insist.

“Having super-powered fistfights in the Roman Colosseum or over Tokyo don’t count as knowledge-gathering trips,” Dad states.

“I read!” I exclaim. “I watch plenty of History and Discovery Channel. Hell, I’m probably more prepared to win on Jeopardy! than any college graduate.”

“That sounds more like an excuse than a reason,” Dad says in a very Dad-ish fashion.

“So you’ve known about me for a while.” I scurry to get the conversation back on point. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“We respected your privacy,” Mom says. “And we figured that if you wanted us to know, then you’d tell us yourself.”

“Wait, you said you’ve known for a while.” I dread the answer to the question I’m about to ask. “Does Maggie know?”

“Of course she does,” Mom replied. “She’s a very bright girl.”

“College graduate,” Dad adds as an aside.

“Does she know why I…” I search for the proper phrasing. “Went bad?”

“No,” Dad says flatly.

“But we do,” Mom preemptively answers my next question. “We’re well aware of how difficult it would have been to get her into one of those treatment studies. God knows we tried our best.”

“And we wish to hell that you weren’t the one who had to make that compromise,” Dad adds with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“I know you do,” I say. “So why does she think I started committing crimes?”

Mom looks over at Dad again before replying.

“For the money.”

“Then let’s leave it that way,” I say. “I don’t want her feeling guilty or somehow responsible for my actions.”

“We agree with you on that,” Dad mutters, still with some shame.

It breaks my heart to see my dad — who was always such a strong, proud and noble man — wrestle with a horrible time in our lives that he simply had no control over.

“I suppose that explains why she’s not usually here when I come by,” I say with a sad smirk.

My parents both struggle with how to reply to that. Dad finally decides to get the discussion moving forward again.

“Why have you decided to tell us about your secret identity now?”

“Because I’m finished with it,” I say with some pride of my own.

“All of it. I repaid my debt, and I’m walking away.”

“I’ll be honest with you, son.” Dad looks to Mom again, this time with a smile. “We’re very relieved to hear that.”

“Well, I’m relieved to say it,” I reply, even as the whisper of a doubt creeps into my thoughts.

“You know,” Dad begins, sitting up straight and taking a satisfied sip of coffee. “Since your full attention will now be on your business, perhaps you should consider getting an MBA?”

DarkLight Redemption – Chapter Three

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It’s Monday, which is usually a terrible thing, but on this Monday you get to enjoy Chapter Three of DarkLight Redemption!

THREE

 

 

I know what you must be thinking: Hey, I thought this was just a guy in over his head. But here he is, taking briefcases full of cash from criminal masterminds. What gives?

So allow me to offer some context. Post-Humans (often referred to by the public at large as Posties, though I can never tell if that’s meant as a slur) first appeared a little less than twenty years ago, which means that I’ve never really known a world where super beings didn’t exist.

No one really know the why or how. Maybe the stars were properly aligned. Maybe the mad scientists of the world unleashed something. Or maybe it was just time for the world to change.

It was strange because people who had been ordinary their entire lives suddenly began exhibiting these powers. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it — it just happened.

There are two theories that I think hold some validity. The first is that Earth had its first encounter with extraterrestrial beings at around that time. And the second is that Charles Porter made a breakthrough in his work with dimensional barriers.

I can’t prove a connection to either event, and I wouldn’t even know how to start explaining Charles’ work since he’s a world-renowned physicist, and I never even finished my second semester of community college.

Instead I’ll focus on my personal history. It was all pretty boring. My dad’s worked in construction for thirty years, and my mom’s a veterinarian. My sister, Maggie, just graduated college with a degree in sociology, which I have no doubt my parents will use to try and guilt-trip me into going back to school.

When I was a kid, I loved reading all about the superheroes. Half the comic books on the shelves were non-fiction, if you can imagine that. All the action seemed to be in the major cities, so growing up in the quiet suburbs, I always longed to visit a big city and see a super fight in person.

When I got old enough to travel to Manhattan myself, I would take the train in every weekend just hoping to come across a Post-Human showdown. It was stupid and morbid and dangerous, but if you can’t do dangerously stupid morbidity when you’re fifteen, then when can you?

One day, I got my wish — and it nearly killed me.

I was in midtown when the wall of a bank evaporated. It didn’t explode; it just sort of went away. A Postie named Moleculon was robbing it. He has the power to manipulate any physical matter that he’s touching. And yes, that’s as terrifying as it sounds.

In this case, he touched the wall and transformed it into a gaseous state. Again, not a physicist, so I have no idea how one turns brick into gas. But Moleculon did it nonetheless. He was making a break for it when MasterBlaster arrived on the scene.

MB and The Paradigm became the faces of the superhero movement about fifteen years ago when they were both in their early thirties. Not P.H.A.T.E.’s government-sponsored version of the movement, mind you, but the real one.

The Paradigm was your classic all-star quarterback type: all brawn and media-friendly smiles. MB came across as more of a thinking man’s hero. His insightful brown eyes expressed a great intelligence, but his square jutting chin showed that he could take a punch. MB is a pretty big guy in his own right, so you know he can throw a punch as well.

Seeing him in person was just as awesome as I’d imagined it would be. MB flew down from the sky, glowing blue and wearing the red and gray costume that I’d seen in photos and drawings for years. Here was the heroic masked man swooping in to save the day! Classic.

Moleculon turned some cars to gas, blew them toward MB and then resolidified them. MB took a pounding, but his force field deflected most of the impact. The whole fight only lasted a few minutes, but it felt like an hour while I was watching it.

But losing track of time was less of a problem than losing track of where I was. And so I ended up too close to the action, and Moleculon grabbed me.

He held me in front of him like a human shield as MasterBlaster set down on the ground. There was yelling back and forth — I don’t really remember details, but it was your typical chest-beating stuff.

What I do remember is that my entire body began to feel lighter. I felt like I was disappearing — and in fact, I was. Moleculon was threatening to turn me into smoke if MB didn’t let him escape.

Not surprisingly, I was getting the sense that would happen anyway. Moleculon had killed before, and I didn’t doubt he would again. MasterBlaster must’ve felt the same way since he quick-drew a narrow energy blast, which shot through Moleculon’s shoulder.

At the same moment that he fell, my body seemed to come alight, and I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was in a laboratory. MB was unmasked and running some tests on a machine. He introduced himself as Charles Porter and told me that I’d been changed on a cellular level.

When Moleculon had a hold on every atom in my body and Charles blasted him, my cells became infused with the same kind of power that Charles’s had.

I, of course, thought that was awesome. But Charles warned me of the dangers of carrying that sort of power without any understanding or training. I agreed on the spot to join up as his sidekick, LightBlast. I came up with the name myself.

I say “agreed” to become his sidekick, when “forced myself into the job” might be more accurate. Either way, Charles took me under his wing, and we got our superhero on together. For five years, I partnered with Charles, even starting my own superteam with other teenaged Post-Humans.

There was no adult hero equivalent, as most team-ups ended up being temporary. Egos and such always end up getting in the way. But my team, Varsity Squad, stuck together. I came up with that name as well, and I’m not sure if I’m more embarrassed by that one or LightBlast.

At any rate, I was living the dream. Beating up bad guys, fighting off alien invasions, and just enjoying all that comes with having superpowers. I felt invincible, like nothing could touch me. And then Maggie got sick.

She got hit with something new, rare and nasty. Fast, too — in fact, most cases ran their course from first symptoms to death in less than a month. I had no options and little time to find some.

There was no widely known treatment at the time, and to get Maggie enrolled in the experimental testing would have required pulling a number of strings that my family simply did not have access to.

I went to Charles first, hoping that he might know something I didn’t. He called his friends, mostly other Post-Humans, but nothing came of it.

That’s when I had to make a hard choice. There was one person I knew of that had the sort of resources I needed to save my sister. So I went to Drake Weston and made a deal with the devil.

As it turned out, he had the inside track on a treatment for the disease. He’d run a few tests of his own, and each one was a success. The only reason he hadn’t cashed it in yet with the world medical community was because he was still waiting to see if the cure would last.

I didn’t have time to wait and see whether the treatment would kill Maggie, as the sickness would take her long before then. So I agreed to work for Weston, and he agreed to get my sister enrolled in his own private treatment study.

Five years later, my sister is alive, and I’m finally done paying off my debt to Weston. It took betraying all my friends and most of my principles, but I would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Maggie’s heart beating.

But what about the money? you may still be asking.

Well, Weston could have had me doing his bidding for free if he wanted. But, always one to take preemptive action to avoid future complications, Weston made sure that all his employees were well-compensated.

I did try to refuse the first few payments, but I eventually caved and accepted. Say what you will about my wobbly moral compass, but the money helped me buy my pub. And having that will allow me to walk away from LightBlast, DarkLight and my whole messy past once and for all.

DarkLight Redemption – Chapter Two

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Enjoy Chapter Two of DarkLight Redemption. And, if you like what you read, please spread the word.

I’ll be back on Monday!

TWO

 

 

Secret identities are a surprisingly rare commodity these days, but I’ve managed to keep mine intact. My choice of costume helps since my mask offers nearly complete facial coverage.

It’s constructed of a spandexy space-age material that covers the top of my head to my nose. It extends down my neck as well, just leaving my mouth and jaw exposed. I haven’t shaved for a couple days, so I’ve got a decent amount of scruffiness happening. But that’s hardly a distinctly identifiable feature.

The eye holes are pretty wide, but lots of people have blue eyes. I’d once considered an open-topped mask so I could work the whole hair-dramatically- blowing-in-the-wind thing. But dirty blond hair coupled with a strongish jawline, six-foot-tall athletic build and blue eyes does form a decent Wanted poster.

Since you asked, my costume is two pieces: top and bottom, long sleeves and pants. I wear gloves, too, because if you can’t keep your fingerprints to yourself, then you can’t keep a secret identity.

Color scheme is charcoal gray with midnight blue trimming. The mask and the symbol on my chest are both blue. The symbol is an eight-pronged crystalline compass. I’ll be honest: It doesn’t really mean anything — I just thought it looked cooler than a stylized DL. Get it? For DarkLight?

Yeah, I thought it was lame, too, which is why I went with the other thing. Anyway, no cape for me, though I was tempted by the thoughts of it billowing badassedly in the wind. But it really wouldn’t serve any purpose besides getting in the way.

Unlike many other Post-Humans, my costume is neither spandex nor leather. It’s not skintight because, while I’m in pretty good shape, I’ve hardly got what you’d call a herculean physique.

Truth is, I did try a full costume made out of the same material my mask is made out of. But I sweat through it in ten minutes, and it bunched up in all sort of uncomfortable crevices.

So I go with a nylon/canvas hybrid. It looks good on me, and I’ve got a full range of motions, so I’m happy with it. That being said, I fold it up and drop it in my duffle bag before making my way to Weston Tower.

I put on a suit because I’d look just a suspicious going to a meeting with Drake Weston wearing a t-shirt and jeans as I would wearing my costume. He does have several subterranean entrances to the building, but they’re generally saved for emergencies.

After signing in at the lobby desk, I’m escorted to Weston’s private elevator and sent up. They don’t bother sending security up with me since I’ve been here plenty of times before.

Weston has some contingency plans in place in this building since — while he may be the most powerful man in the world — he’s still just a man. This is why every light in the building emits an energy signature that interrupts the powers of any Post-Human under them.

He sold the technology to the government a few years back for a couple billion dollars. It’s mostly used by P.H.A.T.E. for imprisoning captured supervillains.

One thing you have to hand to Drake Weston is that he knows how to play all the angles. I’d respect the man even more if he weren’t a power-hungry megalomaniac.

When the elevator doors slide open, I’m met by a pair of the most beautiful big green eyes I’ve ever seen. Once I get past them, I take in a view of short red hair, pale skin and tall, lean gorgeousness.

She smiles at me, and we nearly bump heads as I’m leaving the elevator and she’s getting in. Pretty smile, too. This is the kind of girl that could get me in trouble, especially if she’s got business with Weston.

I manage to grunt out half of a couple of words. Think I was going for either “Pardon me,” “Excuse me,” “I’m sorry” or “My bad.” Naturally what came out sounded like “Perdexmesorrbad.”

She gives me a sweet, smokey chuckle and replies, “S’noprobkay.”

Seems she’s as bad at this as I am. We exchange friendly smiles and swap spots. The elevator doors slide closed, and I find myself in Drake Weston’s office.

A woman with a different sort of beauty walks over to me. Elizabeth Stokes, AKA Whisper, greets me. She’s got a sharp aristocratic nose, chin and cheekbones, long, wavy black hair and eyes to match. Black eyes, I mean, not wavy. I’m not even sure what wavy eyes would entail.

She always seems to have a slight smirk, which I always notice because I never look her in the eyes. See, Elizabeth can take control of a person’s mind for twenty-four hours if she looks them in the eyes. Even though her powers are nullified here, just like everyone else’s, it’s a force of habit.

It’s a really hard habit to break since I once found myself in a thirty-foot-wide crater in Paris with no memory of the previous day after the first time we met. News reports filled me in about missing works of art afterward. That was before I got into the villain business so it was all quite embarrassing.

I would have ended up in one of the Post-Human prisons myself if my mentor, Charles Porter, hadn’t found the artworks and returned them. Never could pin it on Whisper, though.

Charles Porter, AKA MasterBlaster, is one of the first and greatest superheroes in the world. He’s also one of the main reasons that I hate myself every time I walk into this building.

“We heard that you ran into a little trouble, Thomas,” Elizabeth tells me in her vaguely Eastern European accent, and I regain my train of thought.

“I wasn’t expecting BioBorg to be with the convoy,” I reply.

“And we were not expecting you to waste escape time playing with exploding cars,” Elizabeth retorts, her smirk stretching a bit wider.

“Now, now, Ms. Stokes,” Drake Weston says in his baritone voice as he walks out from behind his desk. “Our young man accomplished his mission. That’s all we ask for in the end.”

“Yes, Mr. Weston,” Elizabeth says, and I smirk a little when hers shrinks.

“It’s always good to see you, Tom.” Weston offers a handshake, which I reluctantly accept.

His brown hair is perfectly sculpted and parted to the side. The suit he’s wearing costs more than the gross national product of some small countries. His calculating eyes and strong chiseled chin always make me feel like I’m a dumb teen sidekick again.

Weston is not yet fifty years old, and he’s owned a chunk of the world for nearly half that. Last year he was named both Forbes‘s Most Eligible Bachelor and Fortune’s Most Powerful Man. It wasn’t his first time topping either list.

I owe the man a great debt, but I never stopped wishing I could find a way to get him locked up. He’s just too damn good, though, and no one has ever been able to put together a strong enough case against him. An army of lawyers and a ledger filled with all the right names will do that for you.

“How is your family?” Weston asks in a way that is friendly and menacing at the same time.

“They’re well,” I say through a forced smile.

“And the bar?” he asks. “How’s business these days?”

“People always need a drink,” I say as he finally releases my hand.

Only three people in the world know my secret identity: Charles Porter, Elizabeth Stokes and Drake Weston. The only one of them who isn’t a morally impaired evildoer is the man whose trust and faith I betrayed.

Weston only mentioned my family and the bar I own to remind me that, even though I’m finished working for him, he still holds all the cards. This is the one man who could destroy the strongest of Post-Humans just by picking up the phone.

I follow him to his desk. He walks behind it and gestures to the chair across from him.

“Please, have a seat.”

“I’d rather stand, if that’s alright.”

“As you wish.” Weston remains standing as well.

He crosses his arms across his chest and looks out his seventy-fifth-story window. He views New York City the same way he views the rest of the world: as a chessboard. And he is the grand champion.

“You’ve done some great work for us, Tom,” he says without looking at me.

“Not sure that’s the way I’d put it, Mr. Weston.”

“No, I’m certain that it is not.” He finally turns to look at me. “I realize that you find the jobs I asked you to do rather repugnant, but at least I spared you from the worst of it.”

It’s true — I’ve been involved in numerous heists, but there were lines he’d never asked me to cross. That was for his benefit as well as mine since even I’m not sure how I’d respond to such a request. While I’m sure he’d considered it, it was not a headache he wanted to deal with.

My lack of response is response enough for him.

“What will you do now?” he asks. “Will you go back to thwarting the nefarious plots of Post-Human criminals?”

“Honestly, I’m tired of the whole scene,” I reply. “I’d just as soon toss my costume in the trash and spend the rest of my life tending bar.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” Weston says. “MasterBlaster has filled your old position anyway.”

“I’m too old to be a sidekick,” I say like the over-the-hill twenty-five-year-old that I am.

“Indeed,” Weston replies. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the new LightBlast, would you?”

“No,” I reply in regards to the young man wearing the title that I used to carry. “Just that he’s been active for a bit over a year. Which means that I’m shocked you don’t already have a three-inch-thick file on him.”

“I will eventually,” Weston nods. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in staying on with us, would you?”

“No, sir, I would not.”

“I thought as much,” he says. “If I may ask: What did you think of our new girl?”

“Dominatrix?”

“Yes.”

“She did her job.”

“She did,” Weston agrees. “We have high hopes for that one. She’s the first second-generation Post-Human to become active.”

“Is that so?” I ask, trying to hide what interest I do have in her.

“We see enormous potential in her,” Weston finishes and walks out from behind his desk. “I’ve always seen great potential in you as well, Tom. It’s just a shame that this is the end of the line for us.”

My pulse quickens for a moment, as I’m not sure whether or not I should take that as a threat. I hear Elizabeth walking up behind me, and I realize that I could be in trouble.

I turn so I have them both in my line of sight, just as she holds up a briefcase.

It’s a familiar case. I’ve collected about thirty of them under these same circumstances. Elizabeth opens it up to show me the cash within, and she closes it after I’ve seen it. Once it’s snapped shut, she hands it to me.

I look back to Weston, who extends his hand once again and says, “I wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors, Tom.”

I accept the handshake and then make my way back to the elevator. I step inside and turn to face the office once more. Elizabeth stands next to Weston, and they’re both watching me.

“If you change your mind about my offer, you know where to find me,” Weston calls as the doors close in front of me.

DarkLight: Redemption – Post-Human Universe – Book One – Chapter One

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Hello Readers!

I’m trying something a bit different with my new novel, and that something is giving it away for free – one chapter at a time.

Since DarkLight: Redemption is a superhero story, and most superhero stories are told one monthly issue at a time, I’m releasing this in a similarly serialized manner.

Fret not, though, because I won’t just release one chapter a month. I’ll be rolling it out twice a week to completion. I’ll try to keep them regularly rolling out every Monday and Friday.

And so, without further adieu, here is the first chapter in the first book of what I’m calling the Post-Human Universe.

Enjoy!

ONE

 

 

What is the difference between a hero and a villain? Continue reading →