Chapter 1

Detective Bob sat on a bar stool asking the bartender questions that would help him with his case, before two pairs of hands grabbed him, and lifted him off the bar stool. Two more bouncers grabbed his legs to keep him from fighting free.

"Please say they are not going to throw me through the front window. I hate windows!" Bob says aside to me.

It your own fault Bob for forgetting rule number one. You should know better by now.

"Wait! Wait! Rule number one is never sell out a client or a friend. I haven't broken that rule." Bob points out in desperation.

Damn it, you're making this a lot harder than it needs to be. Fine! Let me think ... rule number two was always get half the money up front. Number three is don't turn your back on a crowd, unless you are sure no one will sneak up behind you.

"No one knows that for sure!" Bob argues.

Thus the reason for rule three. Now knock it off, because it looks like your just stalling for time. We have an important scene here and you're ruining it.

"Just cause I don't want to get thrown through a window? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to screw up your precious action sequence, but I kind of have an aversion to the whole pain side of the equation. You know being thrown into something completely solid, sharp shards, hitting the concrete on the other side. I can't think of one reason why I would want to avoid all that, can you?" Bob says.

No need to be a smartass about it. Look you are the main character and this part needs to happen so I'm getting on with it.

Carrying Bob through the now parting crowd they move towards the front window, with painted letters facing outside saying Macgregor's. As much as Bob kicks and twists, he can't seem to break free of the four burly men who are wearing white t-shirts with the letters Macgregor on them. One has black hair while the rest are short haired brunettes. Each are well-built and seem to know what they are doing.

"Look can't we come up with a compromise! I have an idea. How about they just throw me out the front door? You can even scratch me up a little, if that makes you feel better, just not the window. Come on man, be reasonable!" Bob says trying to find some way out of his inevitable fate.

I'll say this again Bob: this needs to happen. It's important for the reader, as it shows something important about your character that I feel they need to know.

The bouncers have made it to the window and are now preparing to throw Bob through. Winding up they...

"Wait! If you are going to do this, I believe I deserve to know why, you owe me that much." Bob says making a good point.

Fair enough. Alright, you know your 'other' special feature? The one you have had your entire life.

"You've got to be kidding me. Why can't you just tell them about that? I mean I would totally go along with that. Then you wouldn't have to do this." Bob says.

It's nothing personal Bob. People keep telling me I have to show, instead of tell. I'm actually trying to do that.

"At my expense? I mean, come on man. What did I ever do to you?" Bob says.

(Sigh) Nothing Bob. Like I said before: this isn't personal. This point needs to be brought up.

"Fine, then I'll bring it up. Hello ladies and gentlemen. My name's Bob Ziegler I'm single, a Scorpio, I can obviously hear the writer whenever he refers to me, oh and one other thing..." Bob starts to say.

What are you doing?

"I'm telling them about my other ability. This will be over in a sec." Bob says to me.

But then I'll totally have to change how the scene ends.

"It would only take you a few moments to fix anyways." Bob says, refusing to be sidetracked.

That's not the point. I'm the writer and narrator, not you. I say what happens.

"Well in this particular case, that's about to change. My other ability is..." Bob says.

Before Bob can utter those last few words, he is tossed through the plate glass window and hits hard on the concrete.

"(Groans) I ... hate ... you." Bob manages to utter as his body already begins to heal. In a matter of seconds, every bruise and cut disappears. Getting up Bob looks to the heavens.

"You really (bleep) suck." Bob says, pausing for a moment. Something suddenly occurs to him, and he decides to voice it.

"Did you just bleep me?" Bob says.

Yes I did Bob. If a kid decides to pick this book up, they are not going to learn a lot of colorful language from you.

"But you said (bleep) earlier. Doesn't that count?" Bob says hearing himself get censored again.

That's me Bob. I can deal getting in trouble for my own words, but you are a different story.

"Well you are the one who made me. Why didn't you just not including the whole 'cussing' thing when you first started to developing my character?" Bob asks.

I believe we have already established that you don't always follow directions, so that obviously was not in the cards. For all I know you could have developed that on your own. Now do you want to continue with the story or not?

"Do I get thrown through anymore windows?" Bob asks, brushing himself off and combing his hands through his hair.

Not for the foreseeable future.

"I'm not going to get anything better than that, am I?" Bob asks.

No, you aren't.

"Fine, let's get on with it." Bob says.

Right, now where was I? Oh yes, one of the bouncers comes outside.

"And Bob pulls a gun on him." Bob says doing exactly that. Drawing a pistol from its holster inside his coat, Bob points it at the lone bouncer.

"Face the wall and don't move." Bob says keeping his gun on the big man.

Watching the man put up his hand and face the wall Bob walk a step or two closer, still at a safe distance.

"Now let's try this again. Where is Sandy Mecchio? I don't think I need to remind you that after just getting thrown through a window, I am looking for an excuse to shoot one of you." Bob said looking at the back of the man's head.

"She is at 2237 Cruz Street, room 72 on the third floor. She went to get her fix from Pete." The bouncer replies, obviously nervous.

"Now wasn't that easy? Now spread your legs and keep your hands on the wall." Bob says.

"What?" The bouncer says, trying to turn his head to get a look at Bob.

Really Bob I don't think this is a good idea.

"Turn around and don't move!" Bob shouts

Bob please don't do what I think you are going to do.

The bouncer did as he was told, shaking visibly as Bob walks up behind him. Without warning Bob quickly winds up and kicks him in the balls. The man falls to the ground groaning as his hands cup his balls.

That was pretty messed up Bob.

"The bastard had it coming." Bob says.

Couldn't you have just let him off with a warning? I mean that's just mean.

"Let me ask you a question. If you were him would try to pull crap like that again?" Bob asked.

Back to the story I guess. Bob heads to the nearest parking lot where his old white Mach 1 Mustang in waiting. Pulling out of the parking lot, he turns right onto the street, merging with traffic. It takes about ten minutes to reach his destination. The apartment is up on his right, and is obviously not in a nice part of town. Crack heads and other drug users gathered on the sidewalk our front. Bob eyed a few of them as he parked his car, wondering if it would still be here when he came out. The buildings themselves were in ill repair. By the looks of thinks, the apartment structure he was going into was well on its way to being condemned, and that was just from looking on the outside. Rolling his windows up, Bob made sure both doors were locked and hoped no one decided to steal it or break into it. There was no buzzer to let him in, apparently anyone could walk in off the street without the residents having to know about it. Upon entering, Bob could smell the stale stench of decay and seen signs of rot on the walls and stain in the carpet. The hall was dark with lights flickering overhead. To his right halfway down the hall, an elevator was marked with a sign that said, "Out of order."

Venturing further he found a door that led to a flight of stairs again off to the right. Once inside the stairwell he saw one flight lead up while another door marked, "Maintenance" led to the basement. Without using the handrail Bob headed up. After two more flights, he was at the third floor and exited to find more stains and an even more sickening stench. Judging by the smell, this place was used by squatters, who also used it as a bathroom. A urine stain to his left confirmed this conclusion on Bob's part. One particular stain caught his attention as it looked very much like a blood stain that marked where someone had fallen. It was a pull of blood not a spatter, making it easy to notice. Pulling out his gun, Bob drew the hammer back and kept his eyes and ears peeled. Whoever lived up here, obviously didn't like unwelcome visitors. The hallway was long and straight for a good ten rooms, before it curved to his left. Pausing at the corner, he peeked around and spotted a sleeping guard in front of what looked like the room he was looking for. Sleeping in a chair the large man in a leather jacket looked like a heavy duty biker. Even though he was good distance down the hall, Bob could easily see the shotgun he held across his chest, with the barrel pointed down.

"Why does it have to be a shotgun?" Bob whispers.

It's a common weapon in the movies, plus you don't really have to know how to aim. It's the perfect gun for an amateur.

"That's the problem." Bob says.

I don't follow.

"They don't have to be that good, and to make matters worse it leaves an even bigger hole in me!" Bob voice strains.

Might I suggest sneaking up on him then.

"This is so not cool." Bob says sneaking around the corner.

Approaching the sleeping man he does his best to not make any noise. Only a few feet away from the guard and the door the detective entertains the hope that he might be able to sneak past, or at the very least be able to talk the gunman into handing the shotgun over with Bob holding a gun on him. The door to apartment 72 opens and a second biker wearing a shoulder holster with a handgun stuffed inside comes out. He turns and faces Bob who stares up at him from a crouch that he had used to creep over.

Reaching for his gun the newcomer says, "What the hell?"

The first biker wakes up as Bob fires on the second, the bullets striking the second men in the chest. Getting up quickly the man with the shotgun tries to aim as Bob dives inside. Rolling behind a couch near the door Bob tries to get out of the line of fire. The surviving biker pumps two shots into the couch while the detective hears a girl scream in the background. Both shots miss, but send stuffing flying as the blasts punch through only inches from his head. Rolling to his left Bob fires two more shots, the first clips his attacker's shoulder, and the second more carefully aimed takes him in the head. Taking a breath Bob rises to his feet before looking around. In the corner of the apartment by a bookshelf Sandy sit huddled in the corner. A small wood and glass coffee table stands between them. On the table lines of coke cover its surface.

"Sandy I'm here to take you home." Bob says stowing his gun in it holster.

Staring at him in her drugged stupor, it takes awhile before she recognizes him.

"Uncle Bob?" Sandy says, finally recognizing the man standing in front of her.

"That's right. Let me help you up." Bob says giving her a hand up.

"Is daddy mad at me?" Sandy asks worry showing clearly on her face, as she holds onto Bob for support.

Bob is relieved when he brings her out front and still finds his car where he left it, granted the radio has been ripped out, but things could be worse. Sighing in exasperation, he helps Sandy into the passenger seat. Getting in he drove off and headed back to her family's mansion. As he approached the gate, Bob pulled to a stop and keyed the intercom. A camera swiveled on one of the black metal gate post to look at the car.

"Who is it?" A familiar voice came over the com.

"It's Bob Will. I have Sandy with me." Bob said.

He heard a buzz over the intercom and the gates started opened to let his car in. Putting the car in gear Bob drove inside. In front of him was a fountain surrounded by a circular yellow brick paved road. Gardens covered the front of mansion on either side of the door. William Meechio a well dressed forty year old man hurried outside to hug his daughter followed by his wife Gwynn Meechio, a much younger woman. Bob knew she was William's second wife and twenty years younger than her new husband. He and Sandy's mother had divorced two years ago, but had agreed to be amicable for their daughter's sake. William had given her a nice settlement just to make sure on that point, making sure she would never have to work another day in her life, unless she needed to. The Gwynn and Sandy were very similar in build, while Sandy herself looked a lot like her father rather than her biological mother. William and Gwynn had tried hard to take care of Sandy's needs but William's former wife had spoiled her and Gwynn refused to because her good intentions. The three hugged and Gwynn led Sandy inside and upstairs to the girl's room where she could rest.

"She'll get the treatment she needs to get well. How did this happen?" William asks. The truth was William Meechio wasn't as legitimate as he wanted to be. Most of his fortune had been made by illegal means and had only tried to change his ways as he saw his daughter grow older.

"I don't want this life for her." William had once said to Bob in private, and Bob wasn't inclined to judge. The two of them had grown up together and had looked out for each other as far back as they could remember. Best friends for life they might have disagreed on some issues but William had never done anything that made Bob ashamed to know him. Drugs in particular were something Will stayed away from, which made his daughter's drug habit that much more unexpected. Everyone who had half a brain knew that Sandy Meechio or any other member of Will's family weren't to be touched; to do otherwise invited a war on the streets, as few fathers would sit idly by when it came to such things. Bob had done this mainly as a favor though Will had insisted on paying him after discussing the details. Bob understood Will's reasons for hiring his old friend, as it would not only keep the entire thing quiet for his daughter's sake, but also avoid elevating tensions.

"She'll be fine Will. In a couple weeks you'll go completely legit and this will all be behind you." Bob says.

"I can't thank you enough Bob. I owe you one." Will says with all sincerity on his front steps.

"Don't worry about it. You saved my hide plenty of times, but don't think I won't collect on one the other ones you owe me." Bob says with a smile.

"Anytime." Will says as he invited him in. Bob got a good meal and the money including a bonus to cover the loss of his car radio. When it was time to leave Bob drove off to head home. Bob's home was certainly not as nice as his friends. It was a pretty average apartment not far from his office. The rent was decent and the land lord friendly enough. Bob didn't have a lot to complain about. Opening up the fridge he pulled out a cold bottle of root beer and turned on the tube. In the middle of taking his second sip he felt nature call and headed to the bathroom. Standing there over the bowl...

"Really? You couldn't give me a little privacy here?" Bob asks in annoyance as he forced to stop peeing, as he can't talk and do both at the same time.

"Like you could." Bob says.

Why do you have to be so hostile Bob? It's not like this doesn't fit into the story line.

"How does peeing become an important detail? Why can't you give me a little time to myself? It's not like it isn't hard enough to get some sleep or do anything else for that matter with you constantly talking in the background." Bob explains.

Fine, it you want to it that way here it goes: instead of using Bob's "private time" to advance the story line and tell him an important event we'll just let him relax and maybe, just maybe he'll figure it out on his own. Go ahead Bob.

A concerned look comes over Bob's face as he says, "Perhaps I was a bit hasty."

No, no Bob, you're right. Enjoy your private time, you deserve it. I'll just make a few change and you'll...

"Look, will you please tell me the important event?" Bob asks with as much humility as he can muster.

Since the door is slightly cracked, an old habit Bob has formed since living alone for many years...

"Take your time why don't you." Bob says under his breath.

What was that?

"Nothing." Bob lies.

In the background Bob hears a news bulletin come up on the TV and he listens.

"In perhaps the most positive recent development in the city's history since its founding: Mason City will now be renamed Freedom City thanks to Captain Freedom and the super heroes league, who have decided to make this city the head of their operations..." The reporter on the television says. In an effort to hurry out of the bathroom, Bob nearly catches himself in his fly. Standing there in the hallway, his eyes are glued to the television.

"The city's mayor plans to give Captain Freedom and his comrades the key to the city tomorrow morning in what is hoped to be a glorious beginning to a new chapter in the city's history. Captain Freedom has already made a pledge to clean up the city's streets, and sends a notice to all criminals in the darkest corners of our fair city, "From the light of freedom no evil can hide." The Reporter finishes and signs off.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me! Superheroes? I hate superheroes! Bunch of costume wearing freaks. Are you trying to put me out of a job?" Bob asks.

Well look at it this way Bob: you probably not get shot at anymore.

"And then what? You think I'm an idiot? The people who hire me do so because they know I can't die. That means I'm unique, or at least I was until you brought the costume show to town. Did you ever think of the fact that this might make it at least a little harder for me to find work, and I have to pay rent?" Bob nearly shouts.

Calm down Bob. You're getting yourself worked up. Bob starts sputtering unintelligible nonsense in his frustration. Bob a little tired from the days events feels the strong desire to go to bed.

"No I don't." Bob replies with determination, fighting off the sleepiness.

Come on Bob.

"No!" Bob says.

Look tomorrows another day and you obviously can't do anything about it.

"I'm tired of you pushing me around. This is the last straw!" Bob yells at me.

Don't push me Bob!

"What can you possibly do to me?" Bob challenges.

Gee that looks like a nice window facing the street.

"What?" Bob says looking at the window suspiciously.

You sound like you are a little overcome with emotion. People do crazy things in times like that.

"You're thinking of doing what I think you are, are you?" Bob says a sudden look of fear coming over his face.

You are two stories up. It's not like it would kill you, even if you could die.

"You can't be serious!" Bob says trying to grab onto something in a desperate hope not to be forced out the window.

Your choice Bob, either you go to bed or I start convincing you that you made the wrong choice.

"Bed sounds awfully good right now." Bob declares nervously.

I knew you would see it my way. Have a good night Bob.

"You too." Bob says without the slightest hint that he means it.

The next morning Bob wakes groggily and takes a shower first thing, before changing clothes and sitting down to eat some breakfast. Pouring some cereal he gets up to get the milk out of the fridge.

"Where's the milk?" Bob asks.

It must be gone.

"Bull! I bought a gallon of milk two days ago." Bob says.

Maybe you used it all.

"What it I do: eat cereal for every meal? You know very well I usually eat on the go." Bob says.

And you're lucky you're not fat thanks to your metabolism.

"One of the benefits of having this body, but don't think I didn't notice you tried to change the subject. What is it you're trying to pull here?" Bob asks.

Why would I be trying to pull something?

"Do you really want me to dignify that with a response?" Bob asks

You mean like you technically just did.

Sighing in exasperation Bob says, "You are so annoying."

Trust me, the feeling is mutual.

"So I'm going to the store am I?" Bob asks.

That's where milk is, unless of course you want to travel to the nearest farm, which is hundreds of miles away.

"Alright I'll get my keys." Bob says and starts looking for them.

Driving down to the local convenience store Bob goes inside to buy another gallon of milk. Walking across the floor to the far aisle he grabbed it from its usual spot. The sound the electronic ding you hear when someone enters a convenience store caused him to turn around. Two men in wearing hooded sweat shirts and brown bandanas came in carrying Uzis.

"Not good." Bob mumbles as he quickly ducks out of view. Moving quickly as he notices that anyone who bothers to look from the clerk's point of view can see him in one of the little mirrors designed to look designed to look down that particular aisle. Managing to hide at the very end of one of the aisles, when one of the robbers checks the mirrors, Bob hopes things stay quiet so that the robbers leave and everyone lives through this.

"Stop evildoers!" A loud voice cries out. Peaking over the top of the aisle, Bob sees a man that looks remarkably like Captain Amazing.

"No freaking way!" Bob mumbles with a pained look on his face.

One of the gunmen turns his weapon on the super hero, while the other one grabbed the clerk while he was behind the counter and used him as a living shield.

"Back up super hero or we waste the nice little clerk." The robber said. The clerk was indeed small, standing at about 5'4 with a baby face he looked like he was right out of high school. Seeing what was about to happen all too clearly, Bob sighed putting down the milk. Pulling his gun, he stood up.

"Wait!" Bob says walking towards the counter he keeps his gun on the man holding the clerk hostage.

"Where the hell did he come from?" The robber behind the counter says.

"That doesn't matter. What does matter is this: you're in an awful fix right now. You have a choice: either you take me as a hostage, or I shoot you." Bob says.