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Three Cheers for sweet revenge
Chapter 3
Pay Back Time

Are you sure you wanna go with this boyo? IronHelm is a tough town, way tougher than Paragon.” Said Uncle pat as he packed our bags.

“I got to man. This is the only way I can catch this Bocor freak before he releases this Bocalou thing.”

Hal an hour earlier, I had met Scircoro of Arachnos who had given me some files on the man responsible for contracting the hit on my mother. Jacques Devon Bocor, A.K.A. the Infamous Mr. Bocor. Born sometime in 1965, Bocor lived in Haiti and joined a hoodoo(evil voodoo) cult called The Fist of Bocalou. Great, another crazy magic cult. Man I hate those groups. Circle of Thorns are like those evangelists on T.V. with powers. Anyways, Bocor had left Haiti when the Rogue Isles look like good realty and set up a network of crime in the isles and the mainland. As I read on, I had discovered that my mother had been investigating some shipments Bocor had made using the Skulls and Hellions to hide out the cargo before it was transported to some contact in IronHelm, NY. For anyone who doesn’t know, IronHelm is like the Gotham City to Paragons Metropolis. Apparently a week before her death, she had found out that Bocor was transporting a mystical weapon called “The Skull of Bocalou”, a weapon that can make a massive amount of people immune to death and age, at the expense of the loss of their soul. Mom had also received a call from Bocor the day she died saying “You will stay outta my business child...myself and The Ghuede Gang will not appreciate your interference”. She had died 9 hours later. My god, I can remember that call. Had no idea what it was about, I had to leave for my paper route and run into that ‘roid freak Cross-Bones.

We had found out that Bocor was holding a ceremony tonight, a ceremony that would activate the Skull and empower his enforcers, The Ghuede Gang, to do god knows what...all we knew was that we had to stop him, cause we knew he was gonna do something evil. After clearance from the Freedom Corps, we packed up and got ready to head out to the city. As he packed, I noticed Uncle Pat packing his revolver that only an hour ago he tried to kill himself with.

“Why are you packing that man?” I asked. “We’re not out for blood tonight”.

“Boyo”, he says while looking at me and tipping his fedora up “There was a phrase I heard that made a lot of sense to me. ‘Never give an Irishman a reason for revenge’. I heard it from an IRA bloke, James Kelly was his name, when I was doing some work in Dublin. Now, I’m not gonna take the law into me own hand...but I’m not above killin’ this guy if he tries to hurt me...he killed my sister and maybe wants to kill a hell of a lot more...and I don’t wanna make any deals with god that I know I might break”.

About 5 hours later, we were at the city limits of the infamous IronHelm, NY. From what the file told us, Bocor and his boys had control of a warehouse were they were gonna have the ceremony. I got into my costume and uncle Pat loaded up his gun as we pulled up in front of the abandoned Smithson Industries Warehouse. I watched around for civilians. I didn’t want anybody getting hurt tonight, especially since I was a guest in this city. We waited for another 20 minutes before we saw nobody else was coming around the street and we got out. Uncle Pat hid his gun in the back of his jeans all NARC style and we kicked in the door. Oh, Smithson Industries hadn’t used this place since 1948, so we weren’t about security alarms. The inside of the warehouse looked more exotic and mystical than the outside. Black and red lit candles, skulls(both human and animal), strange painting on the walls, ammo and guns laying around, and the heavy scent of gun oil.

“What a dump” Uncle Pat said as he drew his revolver. “You’d a thought a high and mighty gangster like this Bocor fella would have his place kept in better condition”.

“Monsieur Bocor likes his place how it looks, mon ami.” said a deadly sounding voice with a Cajun accent “Now why don’t you drop your cannon and turn around slowly.”

As I spun around, I saw a 7 foot tall black thug wearing a vest of bones, carrying a chain gun aiming his gun at us. I couldn’t outrun his gun fire, neither of us could. So, when flight is not possible, you must fight. I sent the guy flying into a stack of crates( how cliche’) with a thunderclap and knew the thugs in here must know we’re here. “Speak of the devil and the devil, he shall appear” I thought as 30 or so Ghuede thugs stormed into the room packing an immense amount of heat. Hell, it looked like they got their stuff at the same place Al Queada does. So, they swarm in and my Uncle Pat pulls out his revolver. But before he can squeeze off a shot, a cool Jamaican like accent cut thru the air.

“Mr. McClog, there is no need to open fire. I do not wish to have you killed yet. But should you seek violence, my boys will gladly provide.”

Out of nowhere, this 6 foot black gut in a white suit and duster hat walks forward, carrying a cane with a silver skull at the end. He wore green sunglasses( it’s January and he’s wearing sunglasses?) And his face was painted like a Halloween skull. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bocor has arrived.

“I thought those two Hellion morons, Kelvin and Modragar, would be able to take you out Sparks. Imagine my surprise when I discover you beat them in record time. No matter. The Skulls and Hellions did their job, even if they didn’t realize they were working together. They got the Skull of Bocalou into IronHelm, that’s all I needed of them. But tell me, where do you fit in all this drama? I realize Mr. McClog is here for revenge, and perhaps he’ll have it by the end of tonight, but why do you care so much? Was she your contact...or perhaps someone closer? I always here how heroes family and friends end up being contacts, so where did Delia Harkenson fit in?”

“Who knows Bocor.” I said “Maybe you’ll find out by the end of the night. But what ever you’re planning for tonight isn’t going down while I still breathe.”

“I realize that and intend to fix that tiny detail.” says Bocor in this flitty way. Heh, flitty is a funny word. “but have you considered I’m not your typical villain?”

“What do you mean?”

“I finished the ceremony of Bocalou half an hour ago. I empowered 140 of my boys and set them loose on the IronHelm City central Police Department. I intend to devastate this city and move on with my gang to avoid any scrutiny and to get to more fertile places of business...perhaps to Paragon. I hear it’s lovely in the spring. What do you think?”

By that time, I wasn’t thinking. Well, at least not on what he was saying. I don’t need to listen to some voodoo freak blabber on about criminal real estate. By this time, Uncle Pat and I had jumped into the fray, fighting our way to Bocor thru all his thugs. What I was thinking on was how to disarm this weapon if his. “Magical source of external power” I thought “that was on my magic did you stop that again? Oh ya, destroy it on the physical plane. Problem is...oh, of course.”

It was at this point I noticed Uncle Pat was firing his gun, but nobody was bleeding. “Rubber Bullets! Ha!” I though. After resisting the urge to call him a wuss, I saw Bocor throwing a fistful of shadow at me and I caught it square in the chest. You know, shadow magic really hurts, cause it’s all icy and it feels like it tears at your muscles. So I finally reach Bocor and a blast him with a bolt of lightning and he uses his cane to somehow block it. Cheater, he power plays. Anyways, I get to him and I fly at him, going at speeds I can’t even imagine. But I knew where I was going. And then I saw it. IronHelm P.D. being swarmed by what looked like and army of zombies. They had SWAT there, shooting at the thugs with no effect.

“I’ll kill you, you little whelp!” Bocor screams

“Hey, stop watching ‘Danny Phantom’ and stealing lines from Skulker” I said as I grab the skull on his cane and I crush it. The minute I do, every thug drops, wounded or dying. Kinda sad really. So Bocor see’s this and looks up at me in horror.
“But how did you...impossible” he stutters

“Hey guy” I said with a madcap grin “I’m a Paragon hero. I LIVE to do the impossible. So, say good night Susy!”

And with a punch to the face and a laugh, I had saved a city from chaos.

2 weeks later

“You’re lying”

“I am so not. And don’t pull a crack about me sounding like a blonde.”

I was just telling this story to my little cousin Stevie, but he didn’t believe me. Lil’ weasel. Lucky though, I’m not supposed to reveal me identity except to close family. So, lemme recap. Caught Bocor, saved city, Uncle Pat happy and not dead, Ghuede gang shut down for time being, and me happy. Stevie’s parents had told me to look after him while he was visiting Paragon in February and I took the chance. I liked the kid, he was shrewd.

“So, you gonna tell me another of your lame, impossible stories?”

“Hey kiddo” I say to him with a grin as we got up from the park bench “as I told someone earlier, I LIVE for the impossible”.

“You stole that line from The Flash, Kenny.”

“...shut up Stevie.”

The end...?

“I LIVE to do the Impossible!”

((Hey guys! Have a teen hero or villain on Virtue and you’re looking for a good ‘RP SG or VG? Then the Young Phalanx or Young Rogues is for you! Contact ‘@Spark’s’ thru global chat to find out more!!!))

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