Jun 26, 2015 2:23 PM: <p>test On a warm, humid June night in Fort Lee, New Jersey, Karl Clover and his childhood friend Neal walk through the lively downtown streets on their way to a movie. Karl subtly uses his powers to keep the air around them comfortably dry. The city is alive—cars inch through traffic, a police officer hands out tickets, vendors sell hot dogs and balloon animals, and the night sky glows reddish from the streetlights below. Their conversation is cut short by the sound of glass shattering nearby. Neal, ever the one pushing Karl to embrace the idea of being a hero, urges they check it out, despite Karl’s resistance to that role.</p>
DATE
Jun 26, 2015 2:23 PM
CLIME
wi-cloudy
TEMP
92 °
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SCENESET
AFTERNOON;
Late June in Fort Lee wrapped the city in its usual sticky warmth, the kind of night that clung to skin and turned sidewalks into slow-moving rivers of restless people. But the oppressive humidity didn’t touch the space around Neal and Carl. The air was noticeably drier, cooler—like an invisible breeze traveled with them, skimming along their path. It was subtle, but Neal recognized it for what it was: Carl working his quiet magic again.
He never made a show of it. That wasn’t Carl’s way.
The two of them walked side by side down Main Street, the neon glow of shop signs and flashing marquees coloring the pavement in flickers of violet, amber, and teal. The sidewalks were alive with chatter and movement—families out for late dinners, couples meandering hand-in-hand, and teens loitering near corner stores, all half-glazed from the heat. A street vendor barked orders over the hiss of his grill, handing out hot dogs like tickets to salvation. A few feet away, a balloon artist twisted latex into animals and swords for a crowd of giggling kids, their laughter floating up into the pinkish haze of the low clouds above.
The reddish tint of the sky—half-clouds lit by a thousand streetlamps—made it look like the whole city was under glass, glowing faintly from within. A cop a few cars down was writing parking tickets with the slow resolve of someone who didn’t want to be doing it but knew he’d be there all night. Cars crawled through the street like beetles under a heat lamp, headlights pooling over the crosswalks.
Neal kept pace with Carl, throwing him the occasional glance. The guy had always carried himself like he was bracing for something—shoulders just slightly tense, eyes a little too sharp for someone who claimed to want nothing to do with any kind of “hero” life. Neal knew the story: Carl was the kind of hard-luck kid who never had much handed to him, the kind who learned too early how to keep his head down and not ask for anything. Even now, with abilities most people would kill for, he treated them like a burden—something to manage, not use.
Still, Neal saw through that act. He’d known Carl too long to miss the way he quietly made things easier for people—dry air, cooled breeze, always just enough to make someone’s day better without them noticing. That was the kind of hero Carl didn’t think counted. But Neal did.
He was about to say something—probably another low-key nudge toward embracing that fact—when a loud crash split the air. The sound of glass shattering bounced off the buildings, sharp and unmistakable. Conversations faltered, a few people turned their heads, but no one moved to investigate.
Neal didn’t hesitate.
“You hear that?” he said, already adjusting his path toward the side street where the noise had come from. He didn’t wait for a reply. “We should check it out.”
He glanced back once, a half-smile tugging at his face—not cocky, just expectant.
It wasn’t the first time they’d stumbled across something that didn’t sit right. And every time, Carl dragged his feet. Said it wasn’t their business. Said someone else could handle it. But Neal never stopped hoping, never stopped believing his friend could be more than what life had tried to shape him into.
This time wouldn’t be any different… unless it was.
:: Neal’s sneakers padded softly against the concrete as he matched Karl’s stride, weaving past the pockets of people spilling out of shops and late-night cafes. The glow of Fort Lee’s nightlife painted everything in amber and neon, casting long shadows that danced across the pavement. He loved nights like this—city air buzzing with a little tension, a little magic. Even the clouds above looked electric, stained a dull reddish hue from the streetlights reflecting off the asphalt below.
He glanced sideways at his oldest friend. Karl always looked so calm in the middle of chaos, like he was built for it. Or maybe he was just too good at pretending. Neal tugged at the collar of his tee shirt, grateful for the unnatural cool around them. Karl never admitted it outright, but Neal knew he was manipulating the air again, pushing away the clingy heat in that low-key way of his.
A smile twitched on Neal’s face. “You know, for a guy who says he’s not a hero, you sure make it comfortable enough to play one.”
He was half-joking, but the conversation had drifted this way a hundred times before—and always hit the same wall.
Then came the sound of glass shattering. Sharp. Sudden. Real.
Neal stopped mid-step, his head snapping toward the alley just off the main street. A few other pedestrians flinched, their chatter pausing, but no one moved.
He looked back toward Karl. “You heard that, right?”
Of course he had. Neal didn’t wait for confirmation.
“C’mon,” he said, his voice low but firm as he nodded toward the side street. “We should check it out.”
He moved without hesitation, slipping past a line of parked cars. His tone was cool, but there was a pulse of urgency beneath it. He’d seen Karl do incredible things—things no one else could. And yet every time an opportunity like this came up, Karl hesitated. Always trying to stay in the background, trying to live like his powers didn’t matter.
Neal didn’t get it. Not really. But he also didn’t push—at least not directly.
Still, he couldn’t help the parting words he tossed over his shoulder as they neared the alley.
“You don’t have to save the world, man. Just maybe start with one block.”
Maelstrom:: Carl was mostly listening to Neil. However he was also concentrating on moving the water molecules in the air. He hated the humidity. In times like these, he preferred to be at the pool, or at the least naked on his bed in front of a few fans. Of course, he could dress for the weather properly but he wasn't going to leave his leather coat behind.
“I’m just a guy. Nothing that special.” He placed his hand casually in his pockets. Just because he had powers didn’t mean he was qualified to jump into emergency situations. He should leave that to people trained for it. That just made sense. “These heroes only care about the obstacle in front of them. The rest of the citizens are meant to dodge the collateral.” He sighed, “Sorry, I know you look up to them.” Carl didn’t want to fight right now. Yet he didn’t want to be the reason people were getting hurt either.
Carl did indeed hear the noise. Out of instinct, he grasped for Neil. Couldn’t let him run off into more danger. Surely, his heroic fantasies and everything will be fine attitude was going to get him killed one day. He was too late and Neil was already off running powerless into danger. Part of Carl admired that courage and willingness to help. Certainly, the powers should have manifested in Neal and not himself.
The noise got louder as he followed Neil down the alley, having hesitated only a moment. “Wait, you don’t have powers. Stop!” This was typical. Neil is constantly dragging him into trouble. Carl’s eyes flicked over the scene before him. Already some rubble and a few cries for help. The telltale signs of emergency sirens were nowhere to be heard. They would be here eventually. Carl bit at his lip. This had nothing to do with him. They weren't qualified they needed to leave. "Neil, lets go." His voice was quivered, he was pretty durable. His eyes kept scanning the environment around Neil worrying for his safety.. Carl coughed due to the nearby smoke. He stood there, not moving to help, instead trying to convince Neil to leave with him. After all, he owed strangers nothing.
:: Neal ducked low and slid out of the mouth of the alleyway, slipping behind a beat-up Corolla parked just off the curb. His breath came in shallow bursts as he squinted through the haze of ash and soot pouring from the shattered windows of the First National Bank of Fort Lee. The glass littered the sidewalk like jagged confetti, and the street was chaos—people running, some screaming, some frozen in place with their phones raised or their mouths open in horror.
“Shit…” he muttered, more to himself than anything, as he peeked over the hood of the car. It looked like the entire ground floor had been blown out from the inside. Thick plumes of black smoke curled upward, swallowing the light and swallowing sound. Somewhere in the distance, car alarms howled and a few distant sirens started wailing—but they’d be too late.
From within the dust cloud lumbered two shadows that quickly took shape—massive, scaled figures, their movements fluid and practiced. Neal's stomach dropped.
“Gila. And Komodo,” he whispered, the names sticking like dry cotton in his mouth.
They were huge. Bigger than he remembered from the news reports. Both were dragging sacks—literal sacks—of stolen cash, swinging them over their shoulders like gym bags. Their yellow-green skin glinted wet under the streetlights, each of them built like NFL linemen on a good day. No, a terrifying day.
And then… behind them… he saw him.
Texas.
The horned devil. The monster with those bleeding, weeping eyes.
He was barely visible through the smoke, but Neal could make out the scorched horned silhouette and the slow drip of acidic blood running from his eyes, sizzling against the pavement. He must’ve already used it on the safe. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had burned through steel and concrete like tissue paper.
They were heading toward a black van parked at the curb, its back doors already open and waiting. Behind the wheel was Iguana—small, wiry, and twitchy—and above, perched like some reptilian gargoyle, was Gecko, both hands gripping pistols as he scanned the crowd with cold precision. He was watching for anyone dumb enough to try and be a hero.
Neal’s heart hammered. His hands were slick with sweat, but he didn’t run. Not yet. He risked a glance behind him and hissed Carl’s name in a half-whisper, half-shout: “Carl! Carl, come on, man!”
He turned back to the street, chest tight. “There’s people out here! Families, kids—any one of those psychos could snap and start spraying acid or bullets, and no one’s stopping them!”
He didn’t look back this time. Just kept his eyes on the monsters moving toward the van.
“You don’t wanna be a hero? Fine. But you’re the only one out here who can do something. If you wait too long, someone’s gonna get hurt - someone might even die.”
His voice cracked at the end, and he hated that. But fear didn’t matter right now. Ego didn’t matter. He knew Carl didn’t think he owed anyone anything.
But Neal was hoping—begging—he might care anyway.
Maelstrom:: It was the crack in his voice that stung. Neil was like a brother to Carl. He may not have cared about people he didn’t know, but those close to him, he was willing to help. Carl ducked behind the Corolla with Neil. “Ok, what do you suggest? There are four of them. I go in and attack; that could set them off too. Wouldn’t it be better to wait and let them escape with the money?”
This group was vaguely scratching at his memory. Carl suspected he may have seen them at some point on the news. However, he wasn’t the type to sit in front of a TV on a regular basis. No, his spare time was spent swimming and was far more enjoyable.
“For fuck sakes,” An exasperated huff released from his core. His curse was just above a whisper to keep from drawing attention. “What do you plan to do while I make myself known?” Carl knew that telling Neil to stay behind the car or to leave the scene would be an order that would fall flat. “Those aren't bb shooters. Those are actual bullets. I haven’t exactly trained to do this shit.”
“Tell me what you know about these guys. We then need to come up with a plan. Rushing in there is a good way to collect casualties and start the bullets flying.” His eyes scanned the soon-to-be battlefield. Bystanders would be the main issue. Undoubtedly, there were those in the bank who were probably under debris or injured. Getting across the street without being seen before an attack is launched would be the first hurdle.
:: Neal pressed his back flat to the Corolla, jaw clenched as he peeked over the hood again. The chaos across the street had only gotten worse—people were scrambling, screaming, some still filming with their phones from behind nearby shop windows. The air stung his throat with the heavy scent of ash and scorched concrete.
He squinted through the haze just in time to catch Komodo Dragon hoist a sack over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. Monsieur Gila followed, one of the sacks tearing slightly—bundles of bills fluttered out and scattered in the soot, ignored. The two reptilian hulks moved in eerie sync, cutting through the smoke as if they owned the street.
Behind them, Texas emerged slowly, lumbering through the cloud with that unnerving calm. His twisted horns gleamed faintly under the streetlights. Blood leaked from beneath his eyes, sizzling as it hit the pavement. Whatever vault they hit, he’d already burned his way through it. Neal didn’t need to guess how. The guy was living acid.
And the getaway was already in motion. The Iguana, hunched behind the wheel of a souped-up van idling by the curb, tapped impatiently on the dash while Gecko stood on the roof, twin pistols drawn, scanning rooftops and alleyways. The Lizard League had this down to a science.
Neal pulled back down and looked at Carl sharply, voice low but urgent.
“Let them escape with the money? That sounds smart until Gecko spots a civvie moving wrong and lights 'em up. You think these guys care about casualties? Gila and Komodo aren’t subtle, man. I saw that thing Gila did in Newark—three broken spines and a bus stop turned to scrap.”
He ran a hand through his hair, nerves buzzing.
“I know I’m not the guy who throws punches, Carl. But I do know patterns. Tactics. I’ve seen how these freaks operate.” He nodded toward the chaos. “They’re all muscle and noise—except for Texas. He’s the real threat. You don’t even have to get close to him, and he can melt your face off.”
He paused, eyes sweeping the battlefield again.
“Here’s what I’m thinking: You do something subtle. Stir up the smoke more, mess with the temperature—confuse 'em, make it harder for Gecko to see. I’ll distract them, draw eyes toward me from the other side of the street. If they think someone’s about to play hero, maybe they tighten their grip… but they won’t expect you coming in from a different angle.”
His voice dropped into a whisper, deadly serious now.
“You don’t have to stop 'em all. Just slow 'em down. If we delay the van, if you knock one off-balance, even just make ‘em rethink the next step—that gives people time to get clear. That’s enough.”
He looked at Carl again, not pleading—trusting.
“You asked what I know? I know you’re not just some guy. And I know you’ll do something. Because you do care. Whether you admit it or not.”
Maelstrom:: Smoke wasn’t exactly something Carl was able to manipulate. Not directly. With trained percision there was a chance to create low density areas in the atmosphere to move it. However there was no time for that, “Well I can try something. It will slow their reaction time. However I don’t like the idea of you playing a distraction. He put his hand on Neal’s shoulder. “Fine, but if you get hurt, I am not going to be happy with you.”
Carl's brow furrowed with concentration. His body was inching closer to the crime scene. The oxygen levels in the area were decreasing. The area was bigger than he was used to. There was a difference between doing it around yourself or being in physical contact, vs the front of a bank. Drops of sweat was already forming with concentration.
Letting Neal head one way for the distraction, Carl tried to sneak up on the driver's side of the truck. Careful to keep a distance from the guy who apparently could melt people. Made sense to leave him to last and take out the goons, such as the driver. His heart was racing. One mistake and the casualties were his fault. One mistake and the robbery could be blamed on him. This was a dumb idea. However, one glance at Neal was enough to steel his nerves.
It felt like an eternity to get to the driver's seat. It was a miracle that Gecko was more focused on the crowd in front of the bank and not on Carl sneaking up. Maybe the lower oxygen was affecting his decision-making process. He didn’t know. Carl popped up and grabbed Iguanna in the seat. His hand over his mouth, and with the contact, ripped the oxygen from the lungs. If not careful, this could kill someone. He couldn’t lose concentration.
:: Neal ducked low and slid out of the mouth of the alleyway, slipping behind a beat-up Corolla parked just off the curb. His breath came in shallow bursts as he squinted through the haze of ash and soot pouring from the shattered windows of the First National Bank of Fort Lee. The glass littered the sidewalk like jagged confetti, and the street was chaos—people running, some screaming, others frozen with phones raised or mouths agape in horror.
“Shit…” he muttered, more to himself than anything, as he peeked over the hood of the car.
The whole front of the bank was blown out, like a monster had torn through it from the inside. Thick plumes of black smoke curled upward, swallowing both light and sound in a muffled, choking fog. In the distance, alarms wailed and sirens began to howl—but they were minutes too late.
Through the dust cloud, two massive figures emerged, lumbering forward with slow, deliberate force. Neal’s stomach lurched the moment he recognized them.
“Gila. And Komodo,” he whispered, the names sticking in his throat like dry cotton.
They were even bigger in person. Each reptilian brute carried a sagging duffel stuffed with stolen cash, swinging the weight easily over their shoulders. Their yellow-green skin shimmered wet under the streetlights, all muscle and menace. They moved like predators who’d done this before.
And behind them—half-concealed by smoke—another figure loomed.
Texas.
The horned monster. The one with bleeding, weeping eyes.
The silhouette was unmistakable. Even at this distance, Neal could see the acidic tears falling from its eye sockets, hitting the pavement with audible sizzles. The air around the creature shimmered faintly with heat distortion, like the devil had walked straight out of a furnace.
Neal ducked lower. His pulse thundered. His fingers itched toward his phone but stopped short. Calling for help might be too slow. Running might be too late. He needed eyes on everything—needed to understand the play before making a move.
A black van idled just ahead, engine rumbling, back doors yawning open. Neal caught a glimpse of Iguana behind the wheel—smaller, jittery, eyes darting. And perched on the roof, scanning the street like a crow waiting for a corpse—
“Frill,” Neal whispered.
This wasn’t just a heist. It was a damn parade of nightmares.
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