***Attention, this is a story I do not plan to finish, but need feedback on for assignment purposes. This prologue is designed to draw the reader in and make him/her want more, a practice publishing technique if you will. I would love feedback, 'cause it nothing beats free advice, so have at it. Thanks, -Bird***
A damp and windy street had the same character a haggard old war veteran might have had. Bricks and pavement were cracked from ivy and old age, and the iron railings had long since turned to rust.
A solitary spirit walked the street, giving no heed to the begging men who lined it.
“Quit your whining,” He muttered to them, “Get a job, beg on better streets, before you wind up like me.”
The homeless, confused at the stranger drew back from him like he was a leper. A presence came with the man, a haunting aura that bespoke of danger and power, a here-ness that could not be ignored by the wise.
The man continued on, his shoulders hunched and collar popped up. His walk was quick and gliding, as if he wanted to move fast but not draw attention to himself.
He left the street of the homeless and turned into an alley, a safe place of shadows and hiding places. He would rest here tonight, and then take off for Georgia in the morning, he decided. He watched in the darkness for the glinting of puddles, so he wouldn’t sit in any wetness.
A lowly dumpster harbored a dry but hidden place, and he started to lean up against the wall.
A quick figure and a knife pressed at his throat.
“I want all yo money. Right now, son.” The voice held no hope for a joke or misunderstanding.
The spirit listened carefully, then relaxed, “Put the knife away Little J.” His voice was calming. It tugged on the assaulter’s senses, making him think twice.
There was nearly no Power in his voice left, but just enough for Little J to lower the knife nervously and chuckle.
“De Vega. What da hell are you doin’ here? Boys all thought you was dead.”
“Close, but no cigar,” growled De Vega. Instinctively his hand shot to the back of his neck.
“Heard you got Stripped. Is it as bad as everyone says? ‘jew nearly die?” Laughter rippled through the voice.
The man called De Vega wanted to whisper to the man, to make him choke on his own breath, but he was in no circumstance to do that. His Power was gone, and his street reputation was already crumbling since his capture and Stripping. No, it was best just to lie low, and find another place to sleep.
“How’d they Strip you?” teased Little J, “’D they inject serums into you? Or hold you down and operate on ya for twenty-four hours strait? D’ they give you drugs that made you so afraid you pissed yo’self?” Little J pressed, “Huh, huh, what’d they do?”
De Vega was being overwhelmed, memories of harsh metal tables and long syringes made him cringe at Little J. “Enough,” He said softly, and tried to walk on.
Little J rounded on him, “You better clear out Valentine, or yo’ Company is gunna cum after you. That, o’ the hundred others you brought down.”
Valentine knew better than to say anything. As a Stripped Power, he had no status on the street anymore. He was but a ghost, little better than the druggies that draped themselves over trashcans in early dawn hours.
“My Company has forgotten about me.” He said, but even so he was not so sure. That was why he was running to Georgia. It was a safe place, a place for ghosts to hide and not be bothered by other complex things.
“Ha, I doubt it. You got sloppy Valentine, you messed-up.” Little J shook his hand at him. “Now by the end of this month you’ll’ve got the enti-yuh North Wolves Company on yo tail, and yo’ sweet talkin’ bu’hind.”
De Vega turned and looked back to Little J, whom never would have dared cross Valentine De Vega back when they were his own streets; a small street thief he wouldn’t ever see again if fate had any sense of mercy. But with all the things fate had seen him do, Valentine rather doubted it.
“You think yo’can run from dis?” Little J called as De Vega blended into the shadows. He left, quickly, not leaving behind a footprint or a sound. “You’ll need a Hero to become human again Mummer!”
But Valentine was already gone.
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