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Rated: 13+ · Serial · Supernatural · #1418608
In the near future, a teenaged boy with teleportation powers battles the forces of evil
In an attempt to honor the memory of his friend, the late Dr. Rheingold, sixteen year old Michael Pryce, with the help of entrepreneur, Anthony Fitch, endeavored to complete the doctor's last, unfinished invention, a teleportation device called Traveler.  The experiment ended in disaster as an explosion destroyed the machine and hurled Michael into a hellish dimension where the demonic inhabitants granted him super human abilities and named him the herald of their assault on the Earth.  In order to survive the coming months, Michael must now learn to control his new powers, come to grips with what he has seen, and search for a way to avert the coming invasion which draws nearer each day...

When Mike's best friend, Karen, discovered his secret, she convinced him to use his powers to fight crime in Kestrel City as the mysterious vigilante Specter.  In a matter of weeks Specter began gaining renown among the populace.  His peculiar style and mysterious manner endeared him to the citizens in a way Stallion, with his glad-handing and his broad, mass-produced smiles, seemed unable.  Having just apprehended several members of a terrorist cell, Specter felt that perhaps his life as a super hero was really starting to look up.  That is, until the Stallion arrived on the scene, drunk and jealous of Specter's sudden popularity.

Although somewhat worse for the wear, Specter defeats the rival hero, who runs off with his tail between his legs.  Specter uses a scrap of his living costume to track Stallion's progress.  He follows Stallion to main office of Stallion Enterprises, Inc., and sneaks into the building through the ventilation system.  He locates Stallion in the office of CEO Anne Goldman, who is apparently his aunt.  Goldman berates Stallion for his actions until Specter appears and arrests the celebrated vigilante.  Goldman offers Specter the position of Stallion's sidekick and a royalty check if the younger hero agrees not to take his predecessor to the police.  Specter refuses.

         "This is absolutely ridiculous," Brian said, shaking his newspaper as though this was all somehow its fault.
         "Mmm?  What is, hon?" Karen asks.  The two of them are enjoying a cup of coffee at Kightlinger's, one of the few local coffee chains not yet swallowed by Starbucks.
         "This!  Listen.  'Stallion in custody.  After his unprovoked rampage in the wake of the Kestrel Mall disaster, vigilante and corporate spokesman, the Stallion, was brought to justice yesterday thanks to the heroic efforts of crimefighting newcomer, Specter.'"  They make it sound like Stallion did something wrong."
         "Didn't he?  I heard he tried to kill Specter and almost killed some innocent bystanders."
         "I hear you saying 'try' and 'almost.'  He didn't do anything.  I can't believe Specter would pull a shitty-ass move like that.  I thought being a vigilante was about fighting crime, not one-upping other people."
         "Wow, Knight," says a voice from behind them, "I had no idea you had such a thing for men in spandex."
         Brian half stands, his upper lip raised in a snarl, but then a surprising thing happens.  He stops.  He still looks pissed as hell, but the aggression seems to melt right off his face.  He sits back down. 
         "Have a seat, Mike," Karen says, "Brian has something he wants to talk to you about."
         "Woman, what did I say about this?"  Brian asks.
         "Right, right, I hear you.  No helping from me.  I'll just sit here and think about baking and making babies blah blah blah.  You can have your little man talk now."
         Brian sighs and looks down at his hands.  "Look, man.  I wanna apologize for what I did to you.  I ain't comfortable with my girl hanging around with another guy, but that ain't no excuse for the beating I handed you at the mall.  Nothin can excuse that.  I don't think we're ever gonna be friends.  I think you're a condescending dick, and I guess you probably think I'm an ignorant thug.  I guess we both have pretty good reason for thinkin what we do.  I'm not tryin to be your friend, but I care a lot about Karen, and I think it'd be best if we just call a truce."
         Mike doesn't know how to respond to this.  On the one hand, he doesn't like Brian.  Anyone who'd use his fists on someone three years younger and a foot smaller than him wouldn't think twice about hurting anyone else.  On the other hand, Karen is obviously happy with this guy.  Correction:  she is happy with him as long as Mike stays out of the equation.  The only time Mike has ever seen Karen upset with Brian is when he, Mike, had intruded on their happiness.  It all comes down to Traveler.  Mike lost himself in his work for two months.  Now that he's back, there's no more room for him in his own life.  Mike stands up.
         "Your apology is accepted," Mike says to Brian.  Then, to Karen, "I still think you're making a mistake, but at least you've got your dog on a leash.  That's some consolation."  He leaves.
         "There," Brian says as Mike disappears around the corner.  "You happy now?  I told you it wouldn't make any difference."
         "I'm going to go after him," Karen says.
         "No," Brian says, grabbing her wrist.  "Kari, you told me this guy ignored you for weeks, didn't you?"
         "Well, yeah.  But his friend just died."
         "Screw his friend.  And now he's chewin you out for hanging with someone he doesn't like.  Don't you get it?  He's always going to have something better to think about than you." 
         "Brian, you don't know what you're talking about.  Mike has..."  Before she can finish, Specter appears atop a building and leaps off, gliding across the street.  Karen watches until the dark figure is lost from sight.  "You know what?" she says sadly, "I think you might be right."
         "Yeah.  Somehow I don't feel great about that."
         "I'm still gonna hang with him sometimes."
         "I know."
         "Look at you, being all mature about everything.  A couple days ago you tried to knock Mike's teeth out just for sitting near me.  What happened to you?"
         Brian smiles sheepishly.  "Well," he says, "You happened.  I grew up in in the projects.  Beating on people was just a way to express anger, like giving someone the finger.  What I did was a knee jerk reaction and I'm not proud of it.  I'm going to do my best to be better than that every day for you."
         "You are too sweet, you know that?"
         "Yeah."  Brian looks away, frowning, "Don't tell me that just yet.  There's something I need to say."

         "Hurry up."
         "Be quiet and let me work."
         "Hurry, Bull.  Stallion or somebody could show up any second."
         "No he won't.  Take a look at the big screen up there."  Rick, sometimes called "Bulldog Rick," or just "Bull" points up to the huge news ticker and television screen on the KTV media building.  A larger-than-life Stallion is on the screen, standing on a stage in Flanders Park.  In the top left corner, the word "LIVE" glows in lime green letters.  "See?  Stallion's miles away.  Getting another key to the city or some shit."
         "Lucky for us, sure, but there's still the police.  Get the damn car open and let's move."
         "Lucky?  You two don't know how unlucky you are."
         The two car thieves freeze in the act and twist their heads around to look into the shadowy alley behind them.  From the darkness, a black-and-white clad figure materializes.
         "You just happened to try a carjacking in sight of a very pissed crimefighter on the worst day of his life.  I'd call that pretty unlucky for you.  Now, as for me?"  He cracks his knuckles and chuckles menacingly, "It looks like this is my lucky day."  The two young men stare quizzically at the masked stranger.  They turn as one to look up at the big screen.  Bull looks back at Specter with a smirk and his buddy, Wess, who wears three watches on each wrist, bursts out laughing.
         "You wanna talk about bad luck, man?" Bull says, "How about dressin up like a super hero just in time for the real deal to be on live TV?  Now that's what I call bad luck."
         "What are you talking ab--?"  Specter looks up.  On the news ticker, it says "KESTREL CITY WELCOMES STALLION SIDEKICK."  On the screen, Anne Goldman and Stallion stand on a stage next to... Specter?  Whoever it is, he wears a similar black and white costume.  Similar build.  Similar emblem.  Wait.  It isn't exactly the same.  Instead of a yellow eye, the pseudo-Specter sports a yellow horseshoe turned sideways so it forms a "C".  As Specter gapes, the two car thieves bolt.

         "Ladies and gentlemen, Stallion would like to make a statement concerning certain rumors," says Goldman.
         Stallion steps up to the podium, a scrap of notebook paper held in his trembling hands.  Stallion's fall from grace has not been kind to him.  His costume now seems slightly ill-fitted, as though the man has lost some weight.  His cheeks are hollower, and his shaky gait is a far cry from his usual grace and muscular control.  Even his seemingly-insatiable appetite for the spotlight seems to be deserting him.  He makes his statement in the broken monotone of a sixth grader in his first school play. 
         "On behalf of myself and... and on behalf of Stallion Enterprises, which funds my life-long battle for justice, I would like to apologize to the good people of Kestrel City for the terrible incident a few days ago.  I... know how it must have seemed and I s-see why many of you must... must hate me now.  While I regret the damage cause to private property and any inju--uh--harm that may have come to innocent bystanders, I would like to take this time to announce that the man responsible for the disruption in the wa--wake of the Kestrel Mall bombings was not me." 
         There appeared to be some stage direction on Stallion's tattered note.  He read it closely and then paused, allowing the audience to gasp before he proceeded onward.  "It's true," he said, as though someone had challenged his assertion.  "My arch-nemesis, Dark Horse dressed in my costume and tried to discredit me.  I want... I want everyone to know that neither I nor Stallion Enterprises will submit to this tire-- uh-- terroristic character a...ssassin...ation.  I will continue to protect this city and all its people.  Thank you."
         The crowd erupts.  Most seem to have taken Stallion's poor acting skills as a display of sincere distress that his name had been so ill-used.  Goldman takes the stand again.
         "To that end, I'd like to introduce someone who many of you have come to know as Specter.  I'm pleased to announce that we at Stallion Enterprises have decided to bring this young hero on as the Stallion's first sidekick and trainee hero, Colt!  Give him a hand, folks."  The Specter impersonator backflips to the front of the stage and offers a big showy wave for the crowd, which collectively wets itself with excitement.  After the press conference, Stallion races off in a flurry of blowing newspapers and dust, while Goldman and "Colt" step into a red limousine and are whisked away.  Specter arrives on the scene too late to make any difference, but when he sees Goldman's car and the direction it's taking, he glides over a few rooftops and takes a shortcut to the Stallion Enterprises building. 

         "Is that what you call a public apology?"
         Anne Goldman jerks back from the dark doorway of her office with a tiny shriek.  She takes a few seconds to catch her breath before rallying herself and reaching around the doorframe  to the light switch.  The light flicks on and she sees Specter standing only a few inches inside, his alien yellow eyes staring into her. 
         "I thought I'd be seeing you soon," she says, allowing none of her surprise to show on her face.
         "Your intuition is astounding," Specter sneers.  "Who else would have guessed I'd show up after you publicly stole my likeness?"
         Goldman brushes past Specter into the apartment.  "Stole?  My boy you seem to be misinformed.  Specter, or rather, Colt, works for me now.  The patent is already being processed and soon Stallion Enterprises will be seeing millions in profits from Stallion and Colt lunchboxes, tee shirts, and action figures.  Now that he has a sidekick, we're even considering a movie deal.  You see, Mr. Specter, I didn't steal anything.  It is true that I legally have to pay a person to use their name or image, but you, conveniently, are not a person.  As long as you wear that mask, you are an idea, and as such you can be copyrighted, packaged, and slapped on a thermos and sold for twelve ninety five at gas stations and gift shops all over the city.  Specter has no citizenship, no rights, no drivers license, no social security number.  You are a non-person and therefore,  you do not own yourself.  So go ahead and sue me if that's what you want.  No court in this country will take you seriously as long as you're in the mask, and the minute you take it off, your cover is blown."
         Specter's yellow eyes blaze and little flickers of dark, bruised purple dance along their edges.  Tendrils sprout from his shoulders and writhe in a furious, impotent dance.  He teleports straight forward and reappears inches from her face. 
         "You already have a long list of vigilantism charges against you," she says, her face impassive, "Were you thinking of adding assault?"
         Specter tilt's his head and looks curiously at her.  The flickering, violet rage is fading, but the anger is still there, coating him in a layer of freezing iron.  "Don't push me," he says, as the flailing tendrils creep forward and caress her face and shoulders.  The tiny tentacles slither up her cheeks and stop just short of her eyes.  For a brief, screaming moment, Anne thinks he is going to try and tear them out, but before she can even begin to struggle, the tendrils withdraw back into the suit and Specter straightens up.  "Just remember:  if the law doesn't protect me from you, there's no way it'll save you from me."  He turns his back and walks toward the apartment door, his cape twirling behind him.  As he teleports away, he seems to explode like a gas grenade, filling he entire room with grey, alien smoke.  Although the smoke leaves a foul, dry feeling in her mouth, Anne breathes a sigh of relief.  Her hands shake as she opens the windows.  The fire alarm sounds and the sprinklers gush gallons of water onto her head.
For a while, Anne Goldman just stands there.

         Mike had stumbled across the cavern years ago while exploring Kestrel City's vast Shelman Park with Karen.  Apparently a bunch of hippies had hollowed the place out in the sixties and attempted to live there in "harmony with nature," but had abandoned it when they realized that living with nature didn't leave much money for LSD.  After a few decades, the cavern was forgotten.  Since rediscovering it, Mike and Karen had often sqeezed between the slate slabs at the edge of the lake to get away from life and escape their problems.  Tonight, Mike's problems follow him in.
         "I'll kill that bitch!" Mike yells, punching the earthen wall with all his strength.  "She thinks she can just... just... gaaaaah!"  He whirls around and fires off a tendril at an old table.  The inky tentacle wraps around the table's wooden frame and crushes it.  Mike stomps over to the bed on the other end of the room, intending to tear the pillow apart, but he stops.  The blanket heap on the mattress squirms.  Instantly on guard, Mike makes sure his shadow suit is withdrawn under his clothes before pulling the sheet off and revealing--
         "Karen?"  She is sleeping with a pair of half-dried tear tracks running down her face.  It was strange, seeing her like that.  She seemed frail somehow, and small.  For the last couple of years, he'd seen Karen primarily as a sexual being, but the kind of love he feels for her now is almost fatherly.  Weird, but that was the word that came to his mind.  He'd  felt so much older since his time in Ku's Over-Realm, he sometimes forgot that most teenagers hadn't stared down demons or matched wits with criminals in battle suits.  Mike slips his hand into hers and squeezes very gently, wishing with all his might that he could do that when she was awake. 
         "You really are beautiful," he whispers, his anger and frustration forgotten.
         One of Karen's eyes flicks open and she smirks.  "Aww," she says, "That's so sweet, I almost forgot you were staring at me in my sleep."
         "You're awake," Mike says.
         "Duh.  With all that noise you were making, what did you expect?  I was trying to pretend to be asleep until you left."
         "Because," she laughs as another pair of tears cascaded down her face, "I didn't want you to see me crying.  Isn't that pathetic?"
         "Karen, what's wrong?"
         "It's Brian," she says, taking a deep, shuddery breath.  "He dumped me."
         "What?  That makes no sense."
         "I know."
         "He just went through that whole thing for you this morning."
         "I know."
         "Did he say why?"
         "No.  I mean... he said some stuff about me being too young and how there were things he couldn't explain to me.  I don't know what happened, though.  At first it was wonderful.  He treated me like a partner, like an equal, you know?  Then, all of a sudden, he's going on about the age difference.  I thought that didn't matter to him.  Mike, I... what did I do wrong?  Why did things change."
         People say profound things most often when they've had a few weeks to compose, to edit, and to practice their delivery.  These nuggets are carefully processed, and designed with a specific effect in mind.  There are times, though, in high-tension situations, when the mind has no time to filter the words, and raw wisdom shines coldly, dazzlingly through.  This is true, even for seventeen-year-old boys.
         "This isn't your fault, Karen," Mike says.  He takes her hand without thinking.  "You're sixteen, but you and I both know you're a lot older up here."  He taps her head.  "It's understandable that you'd fall for an older guy and that you'd try to take on a more serious relationship than you were ready for.  You did the best you could for Brian, but when you come right down to it, he probably had needs and expectations you couldn't fulfill."
         "He said he didn't need sex right away.  He said he could wait for me."
         "And then he probably changed his mind.  People aren't like equations.  You can punch in the same set of numbers two days in a row and get completely different answers."
         Karen looks at him for a while, not saying anything.  "This morning, before he dumped me, Brian said I shouldn't trust you.  He said you were always going to have something better to think about than me.  Like it was his parting advice or something."
         "Brian needs to get his priorities straightened out.  I think he assumes that the only acceptable friends for you are the ones that put you at top priority all the time.  I mean, that'd be nice, but everybody has a life, right?  Everybody's got their own shit to take care of."  He looks down at his hands, which are coated with black silk.  "Some of us more so than others."
         Karen follows his gaze.  "That's what it made me think of, too.  I can't help but think that becoming Specter wasn't the best move for you."
         "Look, Karen, if it were up to me, I'd always pick you, but I have responsibilities."
         "But you don't!  Nobody asked you to do this.  Nobody's paying you.  Who says you have to be Specter?"
         "I say so.  I made the decision to do this."
         "I think that's a lie and I think we both know it.  You didn't choose this.  You're doing it because you think being Specter will make the guilt go away.  You think Rheingold's death was your fault, don't you?"
         "And there he is!" Mike cries.  He realizes abruptly that they are arguing yet again but he doesn't know how to stop.  "Why is it that whenever I tell you something you don't like to hear, it's Martin's fault?"
         "Because he took you away from me!!" Karen screams. 
         It gets very quiet after that.  The soft, soil-and-limestone walls of the cavern are physically incapable of making an echo, but the sound seems to reverberate anyway.  A few moments pass, and Mike still cannot think of anything to say. 
         "You were more than a friend to me, Mike.  You were my... my partner.  I always looked to you for help and you always listened to me.  Until you met Rhei-- Martin.  You two were inseparable.  It was obvious how much you loved him, but I hated him.  And I hated myself for hating him, because I knew how good he was for you.  Every day since you met him, you chose him over me.  Every single time.  When he died, I'm sorry but I was glad.  I thought I'd finally have you back.  But I was wrong.  Traveler took over your life.  Then that blows up in your face, and you come back and have the nerve to tell me who I should and shouldn't date.  Can you see how that might piss me off a little?
         "I suggested that you use your powers to help people first, but you didn't want anything to do with it until Rheingold told you to."  She fell back on the bed, tears falling silently from her eyes.  "I just hate that I'm not important to you anymore."
         They say the bridge between a woman's cerebral cortex, the conscious, thinking portion of her brain, and her emotional, or limbic system is the relative size of an eight-lane superhighway, while that same portion of a man's brain is akin to an underused hiking trail.  So, for Mike, this outburst is fairly difficult to digest right away.  He sits next to her, silent and very thoughtful, and puts an arm around his distraught friend.
         "Don't," she says, "Just don't."  She gets up and goes to the crevice leading to the outside, but Mike reaches out and stops her. 
         "I won't let you go," he says, "I screwed up.  I know that.  There's not exactly a LIVING A DOUBLE LIFE AS A VIGILANTE FOR DUMMIES I can read.  But at least I know the answer to this one."  He put his hands on her shoulders.  "I'm with you."  The costume creeps over his face.  "We both are."
         Karen's mouth twitches.  She smirks.  "Will I have to pay a rental fee to Stallion Enterprises?"
         "Gahh!!" Mike grabs his head and flails his legs in a mock tantrum.  Karen giggles uncontrollably.  Somehow everything's alright between them now.  Mike's identity is still stolen, Karen's boyfriend is still gone, and yet together they make a complete circle that pain and stress cannot penetrate.
         "I take it you've been watching the news."
         "Uh-huh.  Actually, I had an idea about that.  It's kind of a risk, 'cause we're gonna have to bluff our way through it, but if you want to try it..."
         "I'm up for it."
         "Then fetch me a manilla envelope, a disposable camera, and a sketch pad, slave-boy!  Mush!"

         "Uhh... Miss Goldman?" the secretary buzzes through the intercom, "Mr. Colt is here to see you."
         "Tell him to make an app-- wait.  Is he wearing his old suit or the new one?"
         "I'm sorry, ma'am.  He's instructed me to call him Specter.  He says you're going to make him an appointment."
         "I'll do no such thing.  Send him away."  The intercom is quiet for a moment.  When the secretary calls back, there is the distant, distorted sound of laughter. 
         "He doesn't seem to be taking you seriously, ma'am.  He says either you clear your schedule or he's going to clear it for you.  I'm getting really scared, Miss Goldman.  What should I do?"
         "You'll be fine, Peggy.  Tell him I'm ready for our appointment."  She has barely finished speaking when Specter teleports into the chair on the other side of her desk.  "Back so soon?" Goldman asks.
         "Apparently so," Specter says.  There is an edge of confidence in his voice that Goldman doesn't like.  She thinks she prefered it when he was desperate and half out of control.  "See, I've been thinking about our conversation yesterday.  The boss and I have decided to give you another chance to do the right thing."
         "The boss?"
         "Yessir.  We talked about it and decided that it isn't your fault you're a conniving, underhanded bitch.  You're a business executive, after all, and sometimes you gotta be tough if you wanna survive.  All we want is for your company to drop this whole "Colt" business and turn over the copyright to us."
         Goldman stares at Specter over the tops of her glasses.  "You can't be serious," she says.
         "Oh I am.  I didn't want to, but the boss insisted we give you the another chance to make things right before things get bad for you."
         The woman laughs.  "Wow.  If nothing else, I must admit you've got a yard of guts, kid.  Not many people would be brave enough-- or stupid enough-- to come in here and make empty threats when I'm holding all the cards."
         Specter falls back and lounges in the guest chair and props his feet up on Goldman's desk.  "Not all of 'em."
         The intercom buzzes again.  "Miss Goldman, there's a young lady here.  She says she has a card you misplaced?  What does that mean?"
         As Goldman reaches over to depress the speaker button, her eyes remain locked on Specter.  The blank, golden eyes betray nothing.  "Send her in please."  A few moments later, Karen walks in, wearing formal, grey business-wear.
         "This is your manager?" Goldman chuckles, "This little girl?"
         Ignoring this comment, Karen marches straight to Goldman and offers a hand to shake.  "Karen Moore, Miss Goldman."  Goldman shakes hands mostly out of habit.  "I understand you've taken something that doesn't belong to you."
         "I'll tell you exactly what I told your costumed friend.  That costume is now the exclusive property of Stallion Enterprises, as is the character he is impersonating."
         "IMPERSONATING?!" Specter bellows, but Karen holds up a hand to stop him jumping over the desk at Goldman.
         "Would you be willing to testify to that in court, Miss Goldman?"
         "Of course I would, but you can't tell me you're suing.  Young lady, you have no case and any judge in the city will tell you the same."
         "Would they now?" Karen asks smugly. "Would they still say that after they see these?"  She hands Goldman several sketches of Specter's costume with her name and the date from a few weeks earlier in the upper right hand corner.  "Or these?"  She offers a handful of photos in which Specter appears, exhibiting his different abilities.  Again her name and the date appear on the back.  Goldman reviews them for a brief moment.
         "These prove absolutely nothing," she says.
         "Oh of course they don't," Karen agrees happily.  "They're just copies, after all.  What you might want to be concerned about is the sealed envelope that has the originals it."
         Goldman's smile slides off her face like water off a freshly-waxed car.
         "This envelope has a postmark on it for this date," she points to the date--April fourth-- on the back of a photo.  "It also contains pictures of Specter with his mask off, a comprehensive list of his powers and the concept art for the symbol on his chest.  This part is a lie, but Karen assured Mike beforehand that Goldman would back down.  He crosses his fingers discretely and hopes she was right.
         "So... what?" Goldman says.  "Poor man's copyright?  That's all you've got?  Don't you think we could hire a lawyer that could chew through this envelope of yours?"
         "Yes, Specter and I understand that possibility, but we don't think you'll take it to court."
         "Why not?"
         "'Cause there's no way you can win.  Think about it.  If you win the lawsuit, how is that gonna make you look?  Will people understand that you're trying to protect your property?  I think not.  All they're gonna see is a big, bad corporation that got away with stealing ideas from a poor, defenseless little girl."  Color rises in Karen's cheeks as she really begins to get into her stride.  "It'll be front page news, I guarantee it.  There'll be boycotts of your products!  Protests in the streets!  Your whole company is going to go into a nose dive and you'll suddenly be the center of a whole lot of very negative attention.  And you wouldn't want that, would you?"  She is leaning across the desk, staring Goldman right in the eye with iron confidence. 
         Without changing her stony expression, Goldman says, "What do you want?"
         "These are our demands.  Number one:  when the copyright goes through, you will sign a legal bill of sale agreeing to sell all rights to Specter's name, emblem, and likeness to me for the low, low price of one dollar.  Number two:  you will release a statement to the press declaring that Specter has withdrawn from your corporation's payroll for personal reasons and is no longer affiliated with Stallion or the name Colt.  Do this and my envelope can stay safely tucked away in the bank and no one will have to know anything about this little misunderstanding.  Refuse, and I promise you we'll do everything we can to drag you and your company into the ground."
         Goldman looks from Karen to Specter and back again.  She stands up.  "Our lawyers can have the paper work drawn up by Tuesday."
         "That sounds--" Karen begins, but Specter puts a hand on her shoulder.
         "Actually, we have our own legal counsel that we'll have to consult with.  We'll be in touch."  He teleports them both out of the office and onto the roof of a distant building.
         "Whoa!" Karen gasps.  "Warn a girl next time you're going to--" But Mike has already pulled his mask off and is kissing her.  She freezes up, but then relaxes.  Feeling her muscles go fluid in his embrace is perhaps the best feeling Mike has ever experienced.  When he breaks the kiss, Karen is out of breath, but giggling from nerves and excitement.
         "I've wanted to do that for years," Mike says, "And you never deserved it more than you do today." 

         As they sit back on the parapet on the edge of the roof and watch the sun set, Karen asks:  "So who was that legal counsel we supposedly have?  Or was that a bunch of bull?"
         "Don't worry about that," Mike says.  "I have the perfect person in mind."
the end

Next Chapter:  Dark Horse; Dark Secrets

Addendum:  Well hello there!  Did you enjoy that little taste of Specter's adventures?  I sure did.  If you're wondering where and when issue # 9 will be appearing, sadly, I must admit that your dear old Blaine is plum outta fundage for a larger account here on writing.com, so I can only keep ten items up at a time.  If you're interested in continuing your adventures with everyone's favorite teleporting teenager, visit me at  http://zukoliexile.deviantart.com  for original artwork featuring Specter, or at the Specter homepage, http://www.kestrelcitycomics.com where these and other stories are being converted into a webcomic.  As of this writing, Issue#1 is published up to page 13.  We update every Monday and Friday, so stop by for such action packed sagas as Ku's invasion, the birth of Mike's second alter ego--Demian D'Arque, the destiny of Brian Knight, and the appearance of the daughter of the original Goshawk (pronounced Goss-hawk if anyone was still confused).  So, if you like what you've seen so far, stop on by.  If you don't feel like it, hey, that's cool too.  I hope you enjoyed Specter #1-8 and have a great one.

~B.Acsipter, writer and storyboarder
~N. Orsa, lines and color
© Copyright 2008 Blaine Acsipter (zukoliexile at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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