========================================================================= Date: Wed Mar 18 14:43:31 2009 From: kenpc at insightbb.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@lists.eyrie.org Subject: MW: Slate #1 S L A T E Issue #1 -- by Ken Cooney [This metaworld series is intended for a mature audience. This issue contains some violence and language.] "The more you try to erase me, The more, the more, The more that I appear." -- Thom Yorke "The Eraser" I'm sitting at the bus terminal. I have no idea why. I have no where to go, nowhere that I'm aware of anyway. Music plays in the overhead speakers; a mellow soundtrack filling the void. A boy with short black hair sits across from me, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes downward. Next to him sits his mother, a brown coat draped over her, covering a white blouse. "What are you thinking about?" she asks him. "Nothing." he says. That could have been my response. Nothing. I have nothing in mind right now. Absolutely nothing. I have no memory of my past or how I got here. It was a little unnerving as I woke up. That's the best way to put it, although I wasn't asleep. I only have memories of what has transpired an hour ago. * * * I was in a panic when I came to. I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my fists turned white as I clenched the arms of the chair. I felt my blood drain from my face and part of me wondered if I was about to pass out. Sweat started to come down by forehear as I let go my death grip on the arms and quickly looked for a tissue or handkerchief. I found one and patted my face. I looked around and found that I was in a public place. I needed to calm down. I checked my left pocket. A wallet. I quickly opened it up and frantically looked inside. A ten and two fives. No identification. No credit cards. No notes. I looked up. The boy was looking at me like I was a freak show. "Nice job playing it calm," I thought to myself as I put the wallet back in my pocket. I looked around and no one else noticed. I paused and tried to think. I couldn't remember anything of my past, but I knew what a credit card was. I knew what a driver's license was. Did I have a car? I paused for a moment. I'm right handed. At least I think I am. Wallet in the left. That's where right handed people usually put them, right? I checked my right pocket. I found a key but my heart sank when it didn't look like a car key. A car would have a registration and a registration would have my name. What the hell was my name? I tried to focus, tried to force my brain to remember. Nothing came, not even a nick name. I looked at the key again. It wasn't a house key either, not that it would have helped. I had no idea where I lived. I also had some change. I did an assessment of myself. I was wearing a long grey coat. I checked those pockets as well. A piece of paper with handwriting on it. Was it my handwriting? I looked at it but I couldn't tell. A-159. Maybe it was for a locker of some sort? Bus terminals have lockers. I looked around. I decided to get up and look around. There were maybe a few dozen people around. Most were sitting around, some walking by. I spied some rental lockers and walked to them. My eyes glanced over them, but they only went to 100. Someone wearing a uniform was walking by. "Excuse me, do you have any other lockers?" I asked. "No, that's it." he said, and continued walking. I paused and thought. Coffee. I need coffee. I head out the door and cold breeze hits me. I grit my teeth and looked around, spying a cart at the corner. He didn't have coffee, but he had soda. That'll do. Maybe some caffeine will jog my memory or wake me up. Realizing that I was hungry, I ordered a hot dog. "Are you coming or going?" the man asked. I paused, kind of taken back by the comment. Why was I at the bus station? "Neither," I replied. "That looks like a bus ticket in your shirt pocket." I put my hand on my shirt pocket and felt the ticket. "That's just a business trip." I mentioned, trying to recover. "Yeah, that doesn't count, does it?" he said with a smile. "Not really," I said as I tried to remember buying the ticket. "Mustard on your dog?" "Huh?" "Your hot dog. You want mustard on it?" Did I like mustard? "Yes." I replied. "Relish?" "Yes." He went off the list: onions, banana peppers, kraut. I said yes to them all, not having a clue if I liked any of it. I guess I'll scrape what I don't like. I'll just make sure I do that somewhere else. I don't want him giving me strange looks, maybe call the police thinking that I was high on something. He gave me the hot dog and soda. I gave him a five. He gave me some changed which I pocketed. I left and walked inside. I took a bite and decided that I didn't like the kraut. I did my best to swallow the bite as I headed for a garbage can and picked it off. I took a sip to wash out the taste and took another bite. Perfect. I took another sip and sat down. I pulled out the ticket. Cincinnati, Ohio. I looked at the date and time. I glanced up at the wall clock. I had two hours, assuming this ticket was for today. I finished the hot dog and soda. I looked around and spied a magazine store at the other end. I walked over and checked out one of the daily papers and saw the date. Yes, it's the same day. Did I buy this ticket? I grabbed the newspaper and looked around. I grab a souvenir pen. I'll have to remember to buy a pad to jot down notes. I'm not sure what if anything I'll remember tomorrow. I paid the man and headed back to my seat. Hopefully my answer is in Cincinnati or I'm taking a one way trip to nowhere. * * * That's the extent of my life experience, at least those that I'm aware of. I wrote it all down on a full page advertisement that was mostly blank; afraid that I might "wake up" again and forget it all. I felt that I couldn't write it all fast enough, writing in fragment sentences and pieces. The most relevant stuff first. The key. The ticket. The approximate time I woke up. Then more details. It was filling in the in between like filling in the white squares of a crossword puzzle, but not knowing what the clues were. I was now waiting for the clock to tick the minutes of my departure. Waiting for the unknown was a bit unnerving, so I decided to look through the newspaper. I recognized names and faces of various figures: actors, actresses, models. I don't know if I have seen them in a movie, on TV. How could I know these names, these faces, and not know my own? I needed a name. I glanced through the newspaper, looking at the by lines. Walter. Andy. John. I settled on Matt. Matthew? No, Matt. I looked for last names, feeling kind of stupid in doing so. I needed a starting point of my identity. Waters. Phillips. Hole. I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of that one and moved on. Douglass. That will do. I wrote it down in the newspaper. "I don't know my name, but I'm calling myself Matt Douglass." I paused and decided it was time to walk to the bus terminal. I folded the paper, rolled it up, and put it in my coat pocket. I walked to the terminal and found a half dozen people there. It was getting dark and there a slight breeze in the cold air. The bus arrived and the door opened. A few people exited the bus; only a few stayed on board. Another worker opened up the cargo door in the side of the bus and started taking bags. Of course, I didn't have any and stayed in line. I was fifth to enter and slowly walked towards the door. I walked up the steps and handed the driver my ticket. I picked a seat about five seats from the front and sat down. It was going to be a long drive, so I took off my coat, bunched it up, and placed it against the window, making it a makeshift pillow. I rested my head and slowly drifted to sleep. Hopefully I'll remember everything I wrote down and if I'm lucky, everything else * * * "Okay, we're taking this bus to Mexico!" I open my eyes a bit disoriented. A bus. Okay, I remember now. Well, I remember at least as far back as when I woke up at the terminal. I rub my eyes. There's a thin man with pale skin, wiry black hair, and black scruff around his chin. He's holding a gun to the driver. His attention is directed at the driver. What did he say? I pause as the whole thing sinks in. We're going to Mexico. Mexico? We can't do that. The only shot I have at figuring out who I am is in Cincinnati. I get up off the seat and move to the aisle. He turns around and directs his gun at me. "Good, sleepyhead is up. Get in the back of the bus with everyone else!" He waves his gun at me, directing me to go back. "I gotta go to Cincinnati." I tell him. "What are you stupid or deaf? I said get to the back of the bus! I ain't gonna say it again!" "You don't understand-" A large blast rings in the bus and all I can feel is a sharp burst of pain in my chest. Everything gets fuzzy and my legs get weak. I buckle over onto the floor. "Aw shit!" That voice must be the bus driver. "He had it coming!" the gunman explained. "He's going to bleed over the carpet walk way. I just got that carpet clean." The pain is immense. I tightly close my eyes, grit my teeth, trying to keep conscious. "Look, you gotta help me get him out of here if you wanna go to Mexico." I hear the bus stop and the two men lift me up. I feel pulled forward and then pushed off the bus. I roll over and land on my side. I slowly lift my head, trying to focus. The gunman is in the doorway, his gun pointed at me. "You go, too!" the bus driver exclaims as he pushes the gunman out. The gun man falls a few feet ahead of me. The bus quickly lurches forward, door still open. The gunman curses and shoots at the bus, hitting the side a few times. "Fuck!" he yells, storming around, kicking dirt up in the air. He turns his attention to me. "You're a dead man!" He aims the gun and pulls the trigger. Click. "Fuck!" He gives me two kicks to the stomach and storms off. Everything goes fuzzy again and I start hearing static in my ears. The last thing I hear through the static is his words: "You've gonna be dead, anyway." ====================================================================== SLATE Issue 1 "A Fresh Start" A Metaworld comic. Copyright 2009 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. ====================================================================== ========================================================================= Date: Fri Mar 20 16:23:23 2009 From: kenpc at insightbb.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@lists.eyrie.org Subject: MW: Slate #2 S L A T E Issue 2. by Ken Cooney [This metaworld series is intended for a mature audience. This issue contains some violence and language.] "Limb by limb and tooth by tooth It's tearing up inside of me. Every day, every hour Wish that I Was bulletproof." -- Radiohead "Bulletproof ... I Wish I Was" I'm in a dark room. Naked. I notice a bright light ahead of me and put up my right hand to shade my eyes. I can't see what's making that light. I hear a distant high pitched beep. I look down at my chest and don't see a scar. I look back to the light and start to feel warm. A very low whispering wind wraps around my face. The wind makes its way around my body in circles and wraps its way back up to my ear. In the distance there's another beep. I try to lift my legs to move toward the light but my legs won't obey. The wind turns into a soft whisper; a female voice. "Not now," she hushes. The light fades, the wind dies down, and I'm in darkness again. Beep. * * * My eyes slowly open and I try to adjust to the artificial light. I am in a bed with an IV in my arm. A nurse with her bad toward me is checking on my vital signs on the machine. She turns my way. "Looks like you're awake." She smiles. She has straight strawberry blond hair that rests on her shoulders, deep brown eyes, and some freckles on her nose. "We couldn't find any identification," she continued. "Matt Douglass," I replied, remembering my made up name. I felt a bad taste in my mouth as that lie rolled off my tongue. I wondered if she could sense it. "Matthew-" "Just Matt," I replied. "Matt," she said, writing it on the chart. "We found no ID, no credit cards. If you had them, someone stole them. Maybe the same person that kicked the heck out of you. The person didn't take the money, what little there was." she said. "You can use the hospital phone if you need to call credit card companies-" "I don't have any credit cards," I replied. She paused as if a bit frustrated that I broke her stream of thought but then a short smile washed over her face and the wrinkles on her brow disappeared. "Ok," she said, thinking. "Wish I didn't have credit cards. Worst things ever." She looked at the machine and wrote some more things down. "A stranger brought you in, saw you at the side of the road. He saw that your shirt had a tear across your chest and some blood." The gun shot. I remembered the sound and the searing pain. "The wound was very superficial. It looks like whatever it was just grazed across your chest. Some very minor superficial burns. It looks like whatever it was, it was a little warm. Just some minor scaring that should go away in a week." Minor? Did I hear that right? He shot at me point blank, from a distance of maybe fifteen feet . Are you telling me I got insanely lucky and the bullet grazed me? How could he? We were perpendicular from each other . I couldn't have been a clearer target . I felt a surge of panic rush over me and had to calm down . I looked back at the nurse; her attention was directed at the chart. "We did an X-Ray of your chest . Your ribs are fine . Just a little bit of bruising on the stomach, but no broken or bruised ribs . Must have not been much of a kicker." I clearly remember the hard kicks he gave me. "Anyway, I don't see a reason why you wouldn't be able to discharge yourself in the afternoon after the doctor's seen you." She paused and looked up from the chart. "Do you need to call someone?" "No," I replied . I guess I could have lied about that, but the truth came out of my mouth before I had time to stop it and think of a better answer. "You got somewhere to go?" "Cincinnati," I said, not knowing where I was and wondering how stupid that sounded. "I see," she said, looking back at the chart. Part of me was wondering what was going through her head . I hope she didn't think I escaped from an asylum or something . I had to get out of here before anything else happened . The last thing I need is to be taken away somewhere. She took off the device on my finger that was checking my vitals. "We don't need this anymore since you're up." She then walked to the door and put the chart on a hook . "I'll let the doctor know you're awake." The nurse left the room and closed the door behind her. I got up and walked barefoot to the closet . Why are hospital floors always so cold? I paused . I wondered how often I've been in hospitals and when the last time was . I looked inside the closet and saw my clothes clean and neatly folded . Shirt, pants, socks, shoes, and underware . No jacket . I paused for a moment . Yeah, the jacket was probably left on the bus . I checked my pants pocket . Wallet, money, keys . No pen or newspaper; those were left in the jacket . I still remember everything though, even the time I "woke up" . I'll visit the gift shop and buy a pad and another pen . I guess I'm out of luck in the jacket department. I quickly got dressed . I had to get out of here and try to piece together what happened and what all of this means . I was tying my shoes when the doctor came in . He was maybe in his mid 50s, a bit heavyset, with gray balding hair, round rimmed glasses, blue gray eyes. "Hi, I'm doctor Stevenson." He gave me a firm handshake. "It looks like you were in a light scuffle . I'm not sure what to make of the streak of superficial burn across your chest . Something hot and metallic . Maybe a sword . It's shallow, barely going below the surface . We gave you something to ease the pain . Just take four Advil in three hours and another two in six and you should be fine." The doctor looked through the chart, flipping a page and reviewing the notes . "Whatever ordeal you've been though, you're recovering well," he said and then looked up from the chart "I don't see a reason to keep you here any longer, though you may want to grab something to eat . Something light . You've been out for a few days." A few days? I tried to register that fact . I guess it didn't matter, at least I hope it didn't . I hope no one was waiting for me at the other bus terminal. "Oh, we found this lodged in your shoulder," he said, pulling something out of his pocket and handing it to me. "It's not a bullet. Too smooth to be shrapnel . I'm not sure what to make of it." It was ovular, about an inch long, smooth, black, metallic . I turned the object around with my fingers, trying to remember how it got there and coming up with nothing. "Well," the doctor replied, getting up, "if you don't have any questions, I'll be on my way." "No, I'm fine," I said. "Thanks." He left the room and I put the object in my pocket . Another piece of the puzzle . What the hell have I got into? I needed to eat something and think. I turned to leave when I saw another nurse at the door. "Hold on, we need to give you one more shot." "Excuse me?" I asked, kind of taken back. "It'll only take a second," she said as she walked forward and placed her hand on my shoulder. Two more doctors entered the room. "Wait a minute . I thought I was discharged." I backed up a bit, taking this all in . She was ignoring my comments, holding a small bottle in her hand, putting a needle into it and getting a dose of clear liquid it . The room got a little darker. I glance back to see one of the doctors closed the blinds . I felt a firm grip on my shoulder and turned to see the other doctor holding down my left arm. "Hold him down," she said, tapping the needle. "Wait a minute!" The other doctor pulled me back and grabbed me from behind. "What the hell?!" "Hurry," the man behind me ordered. I thrust my head back, hitting the doctor behind me in the nose. "Motherfucker!" I threw a punch with my now freed up right arm, clocking the other doctor in the chin . He lost his balance for a second, falling back up against the wall. I glanced back at the nurse, she was lunging at me, with a death grip on the needle . I quickly grabbed her arm and spun her around, twisting her arm upward, the needle up against her throat. "What's this all about!?" I moved up against her and turned us around so I could see what the other two were doing . One had his hands covering his nose, blood coming out . The other was reaching in his pocket. "No guns!" She said. I pushed the nurse at the doctor as he pulled out his gun . I then turned and ran out the door. * * * "Get off!" Bert pushed Alison off himself and looked out the door . Gone . He pulled his dress shirt sleeve up to his face . "The fox is out," he said, speaking into his cuff link. Alison looked up at him with a look of disgust on her face. "Don't just stay there, look for him!" he ordered. Alison got up and stormed toward the door . She quickly turned and glared back . Then she turned around, chucked the needle into the trash, and ran out the door. Bert turned his attention to Don, who was coming out of the bathroom, holding a face cloth against his face . "Jesus, Don." Don just sat down on the floor, feeling a bit light headed. "It's fuckin' amateur night," Bert replied as he headed out the door. ====================================================================== SLATE Issue 2 "Shots and Novocain" A Metaworld comic. Copyright 2009 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. ====================================================================== Superguy links Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=47273370926 Livejournal:http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list/profile Home page: http://www.eyrie.org/superguy/ ========================================================================= Date: Sat Apr 4 10:13:51 2009 From: kenpc at insightbb.com (Ken Cooney) To: superguy@lists.eyrie.org Subject: MW: Slate #3 S L A T E Issue 3. by Ken Cooney [This metaworld series is intended for a mature audience. This issue contains some violence and language.] "Can't believe the way you need to Run run run! Can't believe the way you bleed when you Run run run! Are you having fun? Run! Run! Run!" -- Concrete Blonde "Run Run Run" I had no time to think. Looking ahead I saw the stairs. It was almost like those horror movies where someone is running from the killer and there's no one around and you're asking yourself "Where the hell is everyone?!" In a way, I was glad no one was there. No one to stop me; tell me not to run in the halls. No one to explain that someone is trying to take me out, one way or another. I turned left toward the stairway door and glanced back. The brunette nurse was half way down the hall, running after me. I turned back, grabbed the door knob, opened the door and started rushing down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. I grabbed the handrail, jumped, and landed on the bottom of the stairs for this flight, turned and continued down the stairs. I saw a five on the wall. I grabbed the handrail, jumped again, and heard the door above me open. I glanced up and saw the woman look at me. She took out her gun; it looked like a silencer was on it. "Stay on the edge of the walls and keep moving," I told myself. I quickly headed around the bend and continued downward. I heard loud foot steps echoing in the stairwell. "He's in the northeast stairwell," she said. They got radios. Time to head out. I ran out the door and quickly glancing around, headed right. I moved briskly but didn't want to draw too much attention to myself. * * * "He's on four." Alison said into her shirt sleeve, as she continued running down the stairs. "We got men at all the entrances," * * * I started thinking as I quickly walked down the hall. They may have people at the entrances. They know what I look like, but I don't know who is looking for me. That's a major disadvantage. I glanced at another stairwell door and then something caught my eye. * * * "Stone. He may be headed your way, so keep a look out." "Understood," replied a man, sitting in a chair by the door. Stone had a clear view of the walkway. He pretended to look at the newspaper, keeping an eye out. Suddenly he heard a siren go off. "What the-?" "Fire alarm!" the receptionist shouted. "Everyone head out the front door in an orderly fashion." People started heading walking from the hallways. Stone stood up and looked into the crowd. "Everyone needs to head out the front door," the receptionist repeated. Stone turned his attention to the receptionist with a look of frustration in his eyes. He started walking to the door, raising his arm up toward his face. "Heading out." Stone walked across the street to the other side, glancing back and around, looking for the target. Even if he spotted him, walking through this crowd would take some time. "The other agents are near the doors. Keep an eye out." "Affirmative," Stone replied. He stood around, quickly glancing from person to person. There were a lot of patience, some walking and some in wheelchairs. He saw a few doctors and nurses, some pushing wheelchairs or helping those with those IV things. More people were heading out the door. None of the looked like a target. Fire engine sirens slowly rose above the noise. "Jax." "Negative." "DC." "Negative." "Angel." "Negative." One by one, each agent replied, saying the target wasn't spotted. "He wasn't still inside the building, was he?" though Stone, "Well, if he was, the fire fighters will find him and escort him out." "Stone." "Negative," he answered, looking around. Some people were headed toward the garage. Stone looked at those people but none seemed to fit the description. * * * I found a white jacket and put it on. I helped a few patients from their beds to their room door, much like the others who were dressed like me. I then walked to the nurses station and looked around. There had to be a lost and found box somewhere. Bingo. I searched through and found a pair of glasses and grabbed a comb. I combed my hair down and put the glasses on. My vision was a bit blurred but this would have to do. I stepped out of the station and headed down to the first floor exit. I saw a older woman maneuvering in a wheel chair. "Do you need any help, miss?" "Oh, that would be great!" she said with a smile. "It's been a while since I've had a nice young man like you take care of me." I chuckled a little. She smiled and continued, "I've been here for a month or so, and this is the most excitement. I've seen in a while. You know they never let me out?" "No," I said, keeping my head down and looking at the blurred crowd of people around me. "It'd be nice to get out. Smell the clean air." "Well, today is a perfect opportunity to do just that," I answered. Fifty feet from the door. "You single? I got a nice grand daughter. I think you'd like her. She's nice, cute, twenty-eight." I smiled, glancing around a bit but mostly keeping my head down. She glanced back to me. "Oh, how rude of me. You're probably thinking some old lady you just met is trying to hook you up." "It's alright, really." I smiled through the thick glasses. "I'm Annabelle. Annabelle Wilson." she said, extending out a hand. "Jack." I said, shaking it. "Jack Phillips." It surprised me how easy that came out. How easily I was able to switch personas. "How about we find a nice tree around here?" I added. "Oh, that'd be great. There's some nice ones by the parking lot." I was now just out the door. The group was migrating to the side parking lot, which was perfect. I just need to keep my head down and act normal. I heard some fire engine sirens in the distance. "They probably burnt something in the kitchen." Annabelle said with a smile. "They can't cook anything round here." I followed the group, moving toward the parking lot. "I can cook a great sweet potato pie." "I love sweet potato pie," I replied, keeping the conversation going. "Oh, you should stop by when I'm out of here," she mentioned, and then in a hushed voice said "Katie can cook, too. Katie's my grand daughter." I smiled and pushed her from the parking lot to a nice tall oak tree. Several other patients and a few nurses were here. "Would it be okay if I left, you know, so I can see if others need my help?" "Oh sure! I'll be just fine here," Annabelle said with a smile, "Be sure to stop by room 109 sometime. I'll show you some pictures." I smile, nodded, and headed back into crowd. Some of the people were heading to other parts of the parking lot. By the far end was a garage for faculty. I headed that way, walking down a flight of stairs to a lower level of the garage. I glanced back. No one was looking my way or following me. I took off my glasses, pocked them, and rubbed my eyes. When I opened my eyes again and my vision was sharper, I looked around again. No one around. I started walking down the rows of cars and spotted a car with the windows rolled down. I reached in, unlocked the door, and after a casual glance around, sat inside. I checked the glove compartment and getting lucky, found a flat head screw driver. I grabbed it, closed the glove compartment door, and slid myself over to the passenger side. I tinkered under the steering wheel, getting out the starter wires. It felt like I've done this before and wondered if I did this to steal cars sometime in my past. After a few sparks, the car started up. I said up, put the car in gear, and drove to the back exit. * * * "Does anyone have a sighting?" The channel went silent. "Shit," the voice responded. "Can we get a bead on him?" "We can't get any more precision," a woman's voice answered. "He is still in the vicinity of the hospital. I can't tell you any more than that." "Shit," the voice said again. There was a brief pause. "Fall back. He's not going far. We'll regroup and tag him later. Raven. You know what to do." "I'm on it sir." The channel went dead. Stone looked around one more time and shook his head. It'll take a while for this mess to clear itself up. He sat down on a bench and opened up his newspaper again. "Might as well read this thing while I wait," he said to himself. Sirens grew louder and fire fighters entered the hospital. The noise of the crowd was rather loud. Somewhere by the back exit of the hospital garage, a few cars left the hospital grounds. ====================================================================== SLATE Issue 3 "Targeted" A Metaworld comic. Copyright 2009 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved. ====================================================================== Superguy links Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=47273370926 Livejournal:http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list/profile Home page: http://www.eyrie.org/superguy/