Apocalypse Jones
And The Race Against Time
by
Al Bruno III
Epilogue
The Beginning Is The End
The citizens of River City rarely looked up in the sky anymore. If one of them had looked up they would have seen a flying man. They might have noticed the silver costume he wore and likened it to something the astronauts from 2001: a Space Odyssey had worn. Their eyes might have been drawn to the glowing bird-shaped insignia on his chest. They would have noted that he wore a helmet of metal and tinted glass that was deliberately avian in design. They might have gasped at wonder when they saw the rocket-mounted wings of metal strapped to his back. None of the citizens of River City noticed any of this because they had learned long ago that it was better to watch your back than to bother with the stars.
When the flying man was at street level he began careening through the alleyways and side streets until he came to the intersection of Miller and Fifth. That was where an armored car had been tipped over on its side. The doors had been torn off the vehicle and the guards were unconscious. There was a figure of monstrous proportions rooting around inside the armored car. The flying man recognized the villain known as Crazy-Face.
Crazy-Face’s body was grotesquely muscled and his head was a rounded cone of liquid that slowly bubbled and frothed. Inside that fluid parts of a face shifted this way and that, taking on one impossible arrangement after another. He grabbed two bags of cash from the armored car and turned just in time to see that flying man speeding towards him.
The villain threw one of the bags of cash at the flying man and knocked him out of the sky.
The flying man hit the pavement and skidded into the side of a parked car. Fifty dollar bills fluttered down around him.
“I don’t know who you are,” Crazy Face dropped the other sack of cash, “but you just made a big mistake.”
“I’m Peregrine,” the other man pulled himself to his feet. His helmet was dented on one side and the tinted glass had cracked. He fired a bolt of concussive force from his glowing chest insignia, “And I’m bringing you in.”
The blast knocked Crazy-Face backwards but he stayed on his feet.
Peregrine increased the force of the concussive force but the villain push towards him with all the ease of a normal man walking through a windy afternoon.
Wing rockets roared to life as Peregrine tried to reclaim the high ground. He felt the familiar force of areal acceleration begin.
Then it stopped and he hovered in place. Peregrine looked down to see Crazy-Face had grabbed hold of his leg.
The villain laughed and threw him into the underside the armored car.
A muffled crash filled the air but neither man noticed. Crazy-Face was too busy having fun. Peregrine was too busy trying to get back into the air.
The rocket wings roared to life again. They sputtered and coughed before tearing off the back of his costume and careening into the night.
Peregrine watched them go and mumbled, “Well fuck me.”
Then Crazy-Face had him, lifting him off like he was no more than a child in a dime store Halloween costume. He said, “I don’t know who you are but I’m going to crush your pelvis.”
“I told you! My name is Per-” Then would-be superhero began to screamed.
Click.
Click.
Boom!
At first Peregrine thought the sounds were just a figment of in his head but then the pain stopped and something warm and oily splashed over him.
The sounds began to make sense, the crash of gunfire and the dry crack of an empty barrel. Suddenly he was dropped to the ground. Sparks danced before Peregrine’s eyes and when they cleared he saw Crazy-Face lying beside him. The top of his lava lamp head had been shot away.
“Sidney!” a voice called, “Sidney?”
He sat up, too dazed with pain to panic at the thought of his secret identity being compromised already. There was a woman running towards him. His gaze went from the gold jumpsuit she wore to the revolvers she carried. She was wearing a crash helmet and goggles but there was no hiding the beauty of her dark, aristocratic features. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I think... I think so.”
The remains of Crazy-Face’s head fluid was running down the street to the storm drain, carrying the villain’s lips, nose and right ear along with it. Peregrine was too busy staring at his rescuer to even notice. Before today he would have said that love at first sight was a charming notion and a biological improbability. Now he knew better.
“Can you walk?” the woman in gold put Perigrine’s arm over her shoulder and gently lifted him, “By the way what year is it?”
“Uh...” His legs were wobbly, the woman in gold was almost carrying him, “March... 1971.”
She laughed as they made their way to a nearby alley.
“Did I say something funny?”
“I think the joke is on both of us Sidney,” there was a complicated-looking motorcycle parked near the alley wall. It was smoldering slightly.
Peregrine pulled away from her, wobbled for a moment and then steadied himself on a Dumpster, “How do you know my name?” he demanded, “Who are you?”
“They call me Apocalypse Jones,” her grin became mischievous, “and I think you and I are going to be seeing a lot more of each other in the future.”
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