Monday, 19 September 2011


The clock on the wall shows midnight as the laden gurney is wheeled down the sterile white and grey corridors. The stark lighting drains what ever warmth these sickly halls may have once held. Screams echo down the passage way as the man strapped to the trolley struggles to break his bonds, his bandaged wrists pull against the leather straps. His level of desperation is conveyed with each new bone chilling cry he lets out. As blood starts to seep through the white cloth bound to his forearms, the largest of the orderlies pins the mans arms to his side, another places one large hand on the mans chest and forces his arching back down onto the padded cart. The mans already panicked face contorts further and he cries out 'No' at the top of his lungs as he is wheeled towards his new quarters.

Their not taking me again, Christ! Please. The lights in the ceiling above flash in my eyes and my mind races towards a sickening madness. A fever pitch. I cannot take this again, not again. I feel them coming every time. My skin feels like I have worms crawling beneath it when ever the time draws near. The lights above assault my mind like fists of cold ice. Each one piercing the mental barriers I place between myself and my unbearable memories, my terrifying reality. Images rise up before me, blinding lights, metallic sounds. But it is the feelings I remember most vividly, memories that plunge me into the depths of blood curdling lunacy. Feelings of cold metal in my mouth, chipping, carving. The pressure in my head is incomprehensible. Why will no one listen? I am screaming out for help but they don't hear me. I scream out 'no', I might as well be speaking another language as they fit the jacket and wheel me into my cell. The locks click and I am left to scream into the darkness. I scream because I know, the locks wont keep them out.

Saturday, 10 September 2011


Here is a small sample of what I am working on...
Jesus it's cold up here. Sorry, My names Nic by the way and I currently sit, perched, in what I think is an absolutely perfect gothic pose, on top of one of the tallest buildings in the city. The wind whips my hair into my eyes. I am pretty sure I look friggin' impressive right now, even if I can't see shit with my hair blockin' my view. Note to self, purchase hair tie or some thing like it. I know the wind is billowing, what is left of, my cape out behind me adding to the drama of the scene. Okay, so the cape is a bit much and so far has been a nightmare to deal with. There's not one corner of this building that the bloody thing didn't get caught on getting up here. Note, additional, scrape fuckin' cape.
So yes, obviously it's my first night on the job and it has not been easy. Let me tell you something, in those old comic book and hero movies of the 00's, you may have seen the hero hunched hauntingly on the side of skyscraper, looking like they owned that shit. But what they didn't show you was how the poor bastard climbed up there. Note, additional additional, purchase some kind of grappling gun. I'm stuffed.
Actually I am not exactly sure why I am up here. Nice view I guess. I always figured Batman would climb the buildings to spy out the crime in the streets below. However those 'good' people, nearly nine hundred metres below me, walking the night time streets, look like ants from this far up. Why the hell did I climb this high in the first place? And how the hell am I going to get back down when the shit hits the fan? Note, additional additional additional, find smaller buildings to climb and buy a bloody note pad.

I gotta say though, apart from the cape the costume I've put together looks pretty awesome. I have gone for a functional approach as I've had little training in combat. Okay so thats a lie, I have had no combat training but surely a guy can score some serious points for effort? However, I am not a complete tit and as I said my costume is functional. Using my credit chip I have purchased only the best in light weight flexible armour.
Let me tell you about some of the features on my sweet threads. First off, gloves, okay they might look like oversized black retro ovenmits but let me tell you, these things are the business! They are flexible, high grip underneath and in the fingers. Turn over and on the back of the hand, running almost all the way up to my elbows, the gloves house a high density ceramic plating. Should be great for back handing some H.Y.P.E scum bags. What's that buddy?... oh I broke your jaw? That's a shame, remember it next time you think about floggin' grannies purse. Sorry, off topic. Where was I? Oh yes the gloves are great and I have a similar deal going on with my boots. The high grip soles make climbing some what easier, thank christ! The rest of my costume is varying sorts of armor, patched together, coated in a snazzy red frictionless sealant and then sewn or glued onto a red wet suit.
Don't be fooled, I am prepared for this. I went through my old vintage comic collection looking for pointers. It seemed that a fair few heroes would wear symbols on there chests, where they had the most protection, to draw criminals gun fire. After three weeks I was shit out of ideas, no symbols rose up out of caves, crawled across my hand and bit me and I sure as hell was not going to wrap myself in a flag like some idiots. So I went straight to the heart of the matter and embossed a nice yellow target right on the center of my chest. Why stuff around?
So here I am ready for action. Why am I doing this you might ask? Well a few reasons. To make a difference? Hmm not so much. More the fact that in the real world, no one has ever tried and I cannot figure out why? We have people copying serial killers they watch on T.V. So why not heroes? Can it be done? Well I am about to find out. True I have no powers to speak of, as they don't exist in reality, but I have one hell of a can do attitude. Not to mention my Dad filling my bank account with more allowance then I no what to do with at the age of sixteen.