In the guise of a Hero: Malicai's story

Tryden · Sep 20, 2007

Officers from 51 Division struggled to cordon off the murder scene at the intersection of Richmond and John as onlookers poured out from nearby restaurants and bars.
   The coroner had just arrived in a black GMC Terrain, followed by a convoy of Toronto Police vans loaded with forensic experts. It was just shortly after 9 p.m. on a Friday. Half -drunk revelers loitered around the hastily-erected barricades. The early arrivals were already spilling what they'd seen.

"Two of them. Guy and a girl, I think. Looked like they were shot."

"Apparently someone heard screaming and then found two bodies in that alley"

"No one saw anything. No one. The guy who did it is still loose."

     Dean Horvitz, Detective with the Toronto Police Homicide Squad, pushed past the crowd. He stopped and turned to his superior, Staff Inspector Kurt Dyer.
     “I have someone that might have some useful footage for the investigation,” Horvitz said, his voice drowned out by the commotion.
     He glanced at an uneasy-looking Asian man standing behind him.
     Staff Inspector Dyer nodded without turning around to face the two. He watched as a pair of stretchers were hoisted up into a waiting ambulance across the street.
    
    "Who is it?" Dyer asked.

    Horvitz put out his cigerette. "He owns that store over there," he said, pointing directly ahead. "Says the whole thing was recorded on his close-circuit camera."

    That caught Dyer's attention.

    "You better let the coroner know about this."

    Horvitz nodded, flagging down a passing officer.

    Dyer turned to the store owner. "Show us what you have."

<div style="text-align: center;">*    *    *

</div>     Sa-ik Kim, the owner of Richmond General Convenience, led Detective Horvitz and Staff Inspector Dyer into the store's poorly-lit backroom. Produce boxes were stacked everywhere, leaning against walls stained with water marks. The floor crunched beneath them as Kim stopped in front of a small television set perched on top of a cabinet.
     “Around 8:30,” the store owner said, slipping a tape into an old VCR player. “Here!”
     He pointed at the screen. Dyer and Horvitz leaned in to watch.
     The grainy black and white video began playing. It showed the convenience store’s back entrance, which sat adjacent to a night club.
     “You see it?” Kim asked.
     A young man and woman stumbled out of the night club’s door. Though the sound was dull, a brief explosion of music followed the two before the door slammed shut behind them.
     “I don’t see anything,” Dyer replied.
     He watched as the pair backed up against a wall and drunkenly began kissing. They fumbled around with their heavy winter jackets.
     A few seconds passed. Then something caught Dyer’s eye.
     “Top right corner,” he said quickly.
     A long shadow was cast onto the ground from the other side of the alley. Someone was standing there.
     Horvitz pulled out a chair and sat down.
     The pair in the video stumbled over each other. For a few seconds nothing happened. Suddenly, the man in the video looked up. His gaze instantly turned toward the direction the shadow was being cast from.
     A dull mumble came over the crackling audio.
     “He said something to him,” Horvitz observed.
     Dyer nodded, and the two continued watching.

    The video flickered momentarily. Then the young man and woman began screaming.
     “Jesus Christ!” Horvitz exclaimed. “What the hell is that in his hand?”
     The pair tried to get up and run. From behind them a man appeared, sprinting, laughing wildly.

    Horvitz stared in disbelief. “You’ve gotta be shitting me…”
     Dyer reached over and paused the video. It captured the murderer clearly. Long, white hair. Wearing a tattered trench coat. Wielding a three-foot broadsword in his right hand.
     “It’s consistent with the injuries we found on the murdered couple,” Dyer explained, reading over the notes made by his forensics team. He turned to Kim and asked him to step out for a moment.
     Dyer and Horvitz were left alone.
     “Well now we know it wasn’t a god damned butcher’s knife, Staff Inspector,” Horvitz said.

    Dyer squinted.

    “He’s up to 38 now,” he said distantly, turning toward the door. “And we don’t have the slightest idea who the fuck this guy is.” 
 <div style="text-align: center;">*    *    *
</div> 
     Malicai, born Robert Dunswood, in Littlerock, Arkansas, looked up in awe at the towering statue of Atlas above him. He felt sympathy for that hero, who so courageously sacrificed his life for a greater good.
     The pain was still fresh and rippling through his body.
     Humbled, Malicai began to walk up the stairs before him. His massive broadsword made the walk painful and laborious.
     But he had reached Paragon City.
     They’ll welcome you with open arms, he lamented, smiling to himself. Stupid and self-righteous as they are, they’ll soon call you one of their own.

 <div style="text-align: center;">*    *    * </div>     “WE HAVE A SECURITY-” the Crey Field Agent was too late. The concussive blow severed his rib cage and smashed into his lungs, sending a wave of blood splattering over Malicai.
     Malicai’s eyes went wide and he laughed wildly.
     Somewhere far off an alarm sent out a deafening shriek.

    Malicai knew he didn’t have much time.

    According to the floor layout, Crey Power Tanks were stationed in the main research lab. Malicai’s broadsword would be useless if he were confronted by them.
     Determined, he broke out running and headed to the very end of the hall.

    The door was already opened.

    Malicai entered the lab and began searching each of the tables in the room. Most held a plethora of medical instruments and vials. Research notes were scattered everywhere.
     He knew what the vials he needed looked like. But not where they were.
     From the hallway outside, the mechanic sound of the Power Suits’ movement began to grow louder. There were at least a dozen of them.
     Time was running out.
     Desperate, Malicai reached into his pocket and pulled out a syringe. From the table in front of him, he grabbed a vial of black serum, withdrawing its contents into the syringe.
     He took a deep breath, injected himself, and closed his eyes.

 <div style="text-align: center;">*    *    * </div>     The crowd cheered on Statesman zealously. Heroes from every walk of life, every creed and colour, had gathered today to hear their icon speak of their destined greatness.
     “Do not be conceded by your acts of heroism, but be humbled,” Statesman boomed. “Know that everyday we face a monumental task, one which does not end when a mere life is saved or a villain vanquished. Our purpose is to continuously hold back the floodgates of evil and hatred that threaten to overwhelm us at any moment. We bear the weight of the world’s safety upon our shoulders. And that,” Statesman paused, scanning the crowd. “Is a task far more profound than any other.”
     Malicai raised his hands above his head and joined those around him in giving Statesman a thunderous applause.
     “I’d like to take the time now to give my sincerest thanks to one hero who has found a place in my heart,” Statesman said. “Those in Paragon City have been speaking his name often as of late. And for good reason. . .”
     A stage hand pointed to Malicai and told him to head toward the podium where Statesman stood.
     “Few names have held such promise when mentioned in the past. But this hero’s merit rests on his seemingly unrelenting resolve and insistence to do good.”
     Malicai began heading for the stage. He eyed Statesman, strengthening his grip on the handle of his broadsword.
     “I’m talking about Malicai, the Iron Hand of Paragon City!”
     The crowd erupted into cheering and clapping.
     Malicai jumped up onto the stage. He was now within striking distance of Statesman. His muscles tensed.
     “Make us proud!” someone from the crowd shouted.
     Malicai waved, grinning, while watching Statesman out of the corner of his eye. Ms Liberty was standing just behind him, and Positron at the far end of the stage.

    He let go of his broadsword and let it sink into its sheath.
     “Those like you give your fellow heroes a reason to keep on fighting,” Statesman said, looking over Malicai. “I thank you…..Paragon City thanks you.”
     He reached out to shake Malicai’s hand.
     Malicai reciprocated, and the two looked each other in the eye briefly.
     “I appreciate this….Statesman,” Malicai whispered, with a cunning smile across his face.
     Statesman seemed about to reply. But stuttered. His smile fell away and he seemed uneasy for a moment.
     Malicai nodded at him, still smiling.

    “Really, I appreciate this.”
     He turned around, and began to walk away.
     As the crowd continued to applaud euphorically, Statesman simply stood there, watching Malicai until he disappeared from view.

Solitary Drifter · Sep 20, 2007

good story and as for Malacai, it would have been a serious err of judgement on his part to attack statesman with oh say 1500 heroes there.

X_Stomp_X · Sep 20, 2007

Just for clarification, Malicai was MY TOON.  Tryden stole it.  Im not kidding in the least. 

Bastard

That is all.

Head-Shot · Sep 20, 2007

that's a damn awesome story bro

Tryden · Sep 21, 2007

Solitary Drifter said:

good story and as for Malacai, it would have been a serious err of judgement on his part to attack statesman with oh say 1500 heroes there.

Well, he's a sociopath. If you read my bio in game, you'll see he's completely insane. So attacking Statesman in front of a huge crowd of heroes would not be out of the question. Killing thrills him. And that kind of murder would be one hell of a thrill for Malicai, even if it meant pretty much sentencing himself to death in the process.

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In the guise of a Hero: Malicai's story

Tryden

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Solitary Drifter

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X_Stomp_X

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Head-Shot

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Tryden

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