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Blued Blood

Wesley Glacier is an agent of the Angels, an international super police, and he’s always busy. When super villains kidnap Midas, a civilian super who can transmute metal to gold; Wesley is assigned to the case. It’s not his average case however: He must take on the identity of a villain an go undercover. Ayn Randal is the leader of a small team of villains but is growing in power. So much so that the larger teams see her and her friends as weeds encroaching on their schemes. Schemes that could change the already poverty stricken world for the worst and force Wesley and Ayn Randal to work together for their own survival. *** Set in the same universe as my other book: The Stigma. (It’s on my other profile.) The world is in a near future second Great Depression. Super minded inventions have made gauss weapon and cold fusion prototypes a foreseeable reality but poverty breeds crime and thus more poverty.

xWandererx · ไซไฟ
เรตติ้งไม่พอ
1 Chs

Introduction

Opulence.

That's all I've ever known since my power came to fruition. It wasn't a powerful ability for combat really but it was powerful in other ways. I can buy anything with just the favor of a touch. Seal a lifelong contract with a gold seal.

Gold.

Gold.

I would have more gold if the world let me.

Now I make more money from national scientists who want a drop of my blood than I do my gold sales. They want to know what else I can make and honestly I haven't tried. Why make tin and zinc for car batteries and phones when I can make GOLD?

Forget the fact that tin and zinc mines undermine the "greenness" of electric cars to the point of near pointlessness. Tear up the land for all I care. Find someone else to create worldwide utopia. Why turn stones to bread? Or water to wine?

I sat in my easy chair, the threads gold as I took out my gold contacts. My Isabella Islay in a chilled tub next me, I took my shot glass and poured out the six million dollar whiskey little by little. The room dimly lit by the fire behind me as I beheld as the gold and opulence of my room.

Then the pager began to whir next to me. With a groan I turned it onto speaker and asked,

"Is it another strike of beggars?"

The guard's voice was ominously taut as he replied, "There are some people here to see you."

It was the middle of the night and my security detail would know what to do with civilians. Unless it was government officials or scientists who came in an emergency I don't know else would visit. I replied,

"Is it a government? What do they look like?"

Just then something flitted past the fire behind me. The second of darkness caused me to turn and look but nothing was there. I could hear the guard gulp before he answered,

"Serious."

There was a gunshot and I dropped the phone, so spooked I accidentally knocked over my whiskey. Half drunk I half-crawled-half-slipped to my night stand next to my bed big enough to sleep an entire orgy in and collected my gold plated Colt 45, a 1911. I hit the slide release, and meant to chamber a round but noticed how light it was. Tilting the gun, I realized too late that the magazine was removed.

Seeing something in my peripheral vision to my left, I whirled and looked at the two reflections in the mirror. Horrified, I turned to my right to see a hideous, tall and slender woman in a black suit. So tall her head almost touched the ceiling. She had no eyebrows or nose, just a nose hole and scars along her mouth as if she had someone sew her cheeks back together from cuts. No, something about them made me think they were reoccurring because her cheeks had quite a bit of scar tissue built up. The thing's elongated hand held the magazine I was looking for and one by one plopped the bullets onto the floor with a thumbnail that looked to be six inches long.

"Who-who are you?!"

The woman tried to smile but every time she did she'd grimace in pain. It sounded like a mix between an animalistic huff and grimace of restraint.

"What are you?!"

To my right again another voice broke the silence, "Ms. Expressionless, you're scaring the poor guy." There was a watery sound like a raw steak being bitten into, "Mmm, here snack on this lady's hand."

I turned to the red headed woman seated in my chair just as she tossed my butler's hand to the taller brunette. As the giant licked at the blood the red head licked her lips and said, "Don't pay attention to her. It could literally kill you."

They're-they're eating or already ATE my BUTLER.

"This has to be a nightmare." I murmured, before screaming, "You can't be real!"

As if on cue the doors to my room opened and an eccentric man in a dark purple suit declared, "I fear so ole chap!"

He entered with a Caucasian man who resembled a boy with a pistol in hand and a fashion vest and slacks. As they approached me I noticed how the boyish man didn't block the flames of the fireplace. He didn't have a shadow. The read head bounced up with a smile. She pressed a strand of her hair back and skipped to the young man.

"Hey Peter try this! Stick your tongue out!"

He did so and she sucked it before draping her arms around his neck and Frenching him passionately. This can't be real. This is too wild to be real! This has to be a dream!

I started sweating and growing weak in my legs. I started leaning heavily upon the nightstand and the eccentric man laughed as he walked past the fire. The eccentric man tsked at me, "I haven't even used any chloroform yet."

"I-I'll pay!"

He smiled in reply, "Yes, yes you will."