“FUBAR” – Part 5

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Walter Franke sat in the small interrogation room, comfortable in the way of a man who’d been in this situation a thousand times before. It didn’t matter that he’d never stepped foot into this particular room before today, or that he’d never met the supervillain handcuffed to the table across from him. Everything about this was familiar, up to and including the tangled knot of anxiety his guts had twisted themselves into.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“That’s not my problem,” said the supervillain.

He called himself Dr. Blood. He wasn’t a doctor. He hadn’t even made it through a full semester of college. The local agents had found him at home, thankfully, so Walter wasn’t subjected to whatever disastrous eyesore he called a costume. He wore a black T-shirt with some kind of pentagram-type thing on the front, and his dark hair was drowning in gel. The small strip of facial hair going from his lower lip to the tip of his chin might have technically been a goatee, but it didn’t deserve the designation. In short, everything about him made Walter want to punch him in the face.

“It’s most definitely your problem,” Walter said. “If you want to walk out of this room, you need to make yourself useful.” Continue reading “FUBAR” – Part 5

“Dave and Val Watch Soap Operas” – Part 1

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Moreen let the silence stretch. Silence made people nervous. It made them babble in an attempt to fill it, and that babbling often gave her the exact information she needed.

Mitchell Andrews, aka Lightblade, wasn’t bothered by the silence. He stared vacantly at his lap and looked as if he hadn’t even noticed she’d sat down. The stubble that had been on his face when she’d met him earlier that same day seemed longer and scruffier now, standing out starkly against his sallow skin.

The interrogation room was small and plain: a table in between them, two chairs to sit on, a locked door, and a two-way mirror. Moreen had been in dozens of rooms like this, and so had Lightblade, though he’d probably never been the one handcuffed to the table before.

“So,” she said. “Why’d you do it?”

It seemed to take him a great effort to focus his eyes on her. After a long moment, he asked, “Does it matter?”

“I’ll let you know after you tell me.”

His pause extended into a long, solid silence. When his eyes started to lose focus again, Moreen spoke.

“You know you have the right to a lawyer.”

He shook his head.

“Then why not talk?” she asked. “Help me understand.” Continue reading “Dave and Val Watch Soap Operas” – Part 1