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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 22, 2023 16:56:29 GMT
Prologue, 1987:
The past had come back to haunt Al Pratt in the form of a photo.
Grant Pratt, the teenage son of Al and Mary Pratt, sat on the floor of the living room, flipping through an old family album. His eyes widened when he stumbled upon a picture that didn't align with the stories he'd heard since he was adopted.
"This can't be right," Grant muttered to himself, his finger tracing the edges of the photo from 1972 that showed his parents Mary and Al on their wedding day. Confusion etched across his face, he entered Al's study and looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
"Hey, Dad," he began, his voice tinged with frustration. "Why does this photo show you and Mom getting married in 1972? You've always said you got married in 1952! (*) But you also have this other photo showing that you got married then, too! What's going on here?"
[(*) Editor's note: See Justice Society of America: Times Past, 1952: Mystery Squad.]
Al Pratt let out a sigh, knowing that this day would come, and that Grant deserved to know the truth. Al motioned for his son to sit beside him, and Grant did so, his intent eyes never leaving his father's. Taking the two wedding photos, one from 1952 and the other from 1972, he set them down upon the coffee table and regarded them both.
"Grant," began Al, his voice steady, "I guess it's time you heard the whole story. Our marriage wasn't always as solid as it is now. There was a time when your mother and I went through a... a rough patch."
Grant's brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. "A 'rough patch'? What happened?"
"It's a long story, but I'll try to keep it as short as possible," said Al. "It all started twenty years ago."
***
It was May of 1967, and the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over our cozy home in Calvin City. I was in what had once been my study, which was now adorned with pale blue paint and a crib in the corner. A room that had once been filled with textbooks and scientific journals was now being transformed into a nursery.
Whistling a tune, I dipped my brush into a can of paint, my broad shoulders making quick work of the task. The joy that had eluded Mary and me for so long was finally within our grasp, and my heart swelled with anticipation.
In the next room, the clinking of dishes accompanied my beautiful wife Mary as she stood by the sink. Her face, normally etched with concern, now bore a radiant smile. But beneath that smile, I could see a flicker of fear in her eyes. She glanced at the clock, her grip tightening on a plate.
As I finished painting, I couldn't help but notice the unease that had crept into Mary's expression. Setting down my brush, I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around her from behind. She leaned into my embrace, her body trembling slightly.
"Mary," I whispered, my voice gentle, "don't worry, honey. Everything will be all right. We've waited for this moment for so long. Our baby is going to be healthy and happy."
Mary sighed, her shoulders relaxing under my touch. "I know, Al. I just can't shake this fear. We've been down this road before."
I kissed her temple, my lips brushing against her blonde hair. "This time will be different. I promise."
***
One month later, the sterile, fluorescent-lit hospital room felt suffocating as I entered the room and stood by Mary's side, gripping her hand tightly. I had been waiting for hours in the waiting room outside, along with other new fathers much younger than I. Meanwhile, Mary had been through a painful ordeal in childbirth and had been put under anaesthetics for the pain and rushed to the surgery, where an emergency C-section had been performed while she was unconscious. Now anxiety gnawed at both of us as we awaited the doctor's assessment of our newborn, but our joyous anticipation turned into a heart-wrenching ordeal.
The doctor's voice, calm but laced with sorrow, broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Pratt. Your baby... well, that is to say, your baby was born stillborn."
Time seemed to stand still as those words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. Tears welled up in Mary's eyes, and I could no longer contain my own grief. We wept together, sharing the unbearable weight of our loss.
In that agonizing moment, I couldn't help but wonder if my exposure to heavy radiation as a young man, along with the ensuing genetic complications in my DNA, had played a role in this tragedy. The very source of my atomic punch had become a source of anguish, casting a shadow over our hopes and dreams.
***
Weeks turned into months as Mary slowly healed, and the once-harmonious symphony of our marriage had devolved into a cacophony of bitter arguments. Harsh words were exchanged, wounds were reopened, and the pain of our loss festered like an open wound.
One evening in September, amidst a particularly heated argument, I spoke words that cut to the core. "That's it," I said, feeling nothing but anger and sadness whenever I was home. "We were already godparents to little Albert, and that should've been enough for us. (*) But no, you insisted we keep trying to have a kid ourselves! I'm going to schedule that procedure this week, and put an end to this foolish dream once and for all!"
[(*) Editor's note: Albert Rothstein, the future Nuklon of Infinity Inc.]
Mary's eyes welled up with tears, but she met my gaze with a mixture of anger and sadness, reflecting my own emotions back at me. "Well, why shouldn't you? You were so careless in your youth, Al. Your heroics, your exposure to radiation -- that's what led to this in the first place!"
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Our shared grief had become a chasm between us, and I couldn't bridge the gap. I clenched my fists, the frustration and helplessness welling up within me, and left the house, slamming the door behind me.
***
Two months had passed since that fateful argument, and our once-happy home now felt like a battleground. The laughter had been replaced by icy silence, and every shared glance was laden with resentment.
Sitting side by side in a sterile courtroom, our lawyers argued over the terms of our separation. I stole a glance at Mary, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor, refusing to meet mine. Anger welled up inside me as usual; we were here to dissolve the bonds of our marriage for good, as far as I was concerned.
The judge's gavel fell with a finality that echoed in my heart. We were no longer husband and wife in spirit, and that would eventually become a legal fact as well. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the end of a chapter that we had once cherished.
***
Months passed, and the world outside my window continued to move at its relentless pace. By early 1968, my friends at Calvin College had wasted no time in trying to set me up on blind dates, believing it was the best way for me to move on. (*)
[(*) Editor's note: See "Duel Between the Dual Atoms," The Atom #36 (April-May, 1968).]
Putting on a brave front, I played along, portraying myself as footloose and fancy-free, even as I inwardly carried the weight of my shattered marriage every single day. I accepted those blind dates with a smile, pretending that the pain of my divorce was something I could push to the background.
But behind that facade, I couldn't escape the haunting memories of what had once been -- a love so deep, a loss so profound. The laughter and joy that had once filled our home were now distant echoes, fading further with each passing day. And I began to realize that my uncontrolled anger had been the instigator of many of the fights that had broken up that once-happy home.
And so, I soldiered on, burying the pain of my past beneath a veneer of false bravado, all while secretly nursing a heart that had been irreparably fractured. It remained that way, more or less, for the next three years.
To be continued...
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Post by lawrenceliberty on Sept 22, 2023 17:47:33 GMT
Very nice continuity fix.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 22, 2023 21:54:07 GMT
It was now 1971, and the lecture hall at Calvin College was buzzing with the eager energy of my students as I concluded another session on nuclear physics. With a warm smile, I watched them gather their belongings and file out, each one absorbed in their own world of equations and scientific curiosity. Teaching had become a sanctuary for me, a place where I could share my knowledge and hopefully inspire the next generation of thinkers.
As the last student exited, I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The world had moved on, but my love for science and learning had remained unwavering. It had been a few years since my divorce from Mary, and during that time, I had somewhat stepped back from the world of super-heroics, embracing a semi-retired life as the Atom. Dating had become a distant memory, and I had resigned myself to the idea of remaining single. As far as I was concerned, that was my fate.
The empty lecture hall echoed with the fading footsteps of the departing students. With a sigh, I gathered my notes and turned off the projector, the glow of the blank screen illuminating the room. As I made my way toward the exit, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was moments like these when I missed the camaraderie of the Justice Society's monthly meetings, the thrill of the heroic battles, and the sense of purpose they had given me. By this time in my life I typically only wore my Atom costume for JSA meetings, but I had also vowed that, whenever the usual calm of Calvin City was broken up by a strange situation that required the Atom's help, I would be there.
Outside the lecture hall, the campus bustled with life. Students hurried to their next classes, chatting and laughing, their dreams and ambitions stretched out before them like a vast horizon. Sure, the haircuts were longer, and the clothing looked shabbier to my eyes, but college students were essentially the same as they always were -- full of hopes and dreams for a better future. I watched them for a moment, my heart heavy with the weight of the past.
I had grown used to the solitude, but today, a subtle sense of longing tugged at the edges of my consciousness. The world had changed, and so had I. The days of battling crooks and saving the city seemed to be behind me for the most part, replaced by the quiet rhythms of academia.
As I stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, I knew that while I had embraced this new life, the echoes of the past would never truly fade, and even in the most unexpected moments, the shadows of our history could resurface. But for now, I was content to walk the path of a college professor, leaving the heroics to a younger generation, and finding solace in the world of science and discovery.
As I strode across the Calvin College campus, I caught sight of a flurry of activity at the Student Union Building. Curious, I decided to find out what was behind the commotion. Quickening my pace, I reached the building's entrance, where a live news report flickered on the television screen.
My heart raced as I absorbed the news. A nefarious figure, shrouded in a hooded robe and possibly wearing a Halloween mask, had targeted a local bank. The situation had also taken a dangerous turn as this criminal decided to take innocent hostages captive instead of trying to make his escape with the loot.
A reporter's voice reverberated through the room, narrating the unfolding crisis in downtown Calvin City. "Ladies and gentlemen, we stand outside the very bank where the unidentified bank robber has demanded the presence of his arch-enemy, the Atom! He has declared that, unless the Atom arrives, he won't release any of the hostages."
I gasped in shock, even as I wondered who this unidentified man could be who was demanding to see the Atom. It wasn't as if I had racked up a long list of super-villains during my career like my fellow Justice Society members. I tended to battle the garden variety type of crook, along with the occasional Axis spy. Most of the actual super-villains I'd faced, such as the Thinker, had been when I was fighting alongside the JSA or alongside other super-heroes. The gravity of the situation tugged at me, urging me to take action. I had a duty to make things right and to safeguard the innocent.
Without hesitation, I bolted away from the Student Union Building, my heart racing as countless possibilities raced through my mind. I needed a secluded location to transform into my heroic alter-ego, the Atom. But it was the middle of a weekday, and the campus was bustling with activity.
I sprinted towards the nearest hidden garden, my footsteps echoing through the deserted paths. This serene sanctuary full of spring blossoms held many memories for me, but for now it would be the perfect spot to change into my Atom outfit.
Within a concealed alcove amidst the foliage, I shed my outfit, revealing the iconic Atom costume I still had on underneath. Yes, I considered myself semi-retired, but I also liked to be prepared for emergencies, and I was grateful I'd thought to don it that morning beneath my stuffy college professor attire. The tight yellow bodysuit showed off my muscles, and the red belt highlighted my waist. When I pulled the blue masked cowl with its red fin over my head and unfurled my cape, I could feel the power they represented. Gone was Professor Pratt; I was now the Mighty Atom.
Energized by the transformation, I felt the usual surge of power coursing through my veins as I did when anticipating action. My buddy Ted Grant, alias Wildcat, had often mentioned having a similar feeling before every one of his prize fights. The time had come to confront this masked menace head on. With urgency in my heart and clarity in my mind, I ran towards my yellow convertible.
Leaping into the driver's seat of my specially built car at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, I pressed studs and turned knobs in a specific sequence that began the transformation. Within seconds, my yellow convertible transformed into a sleek-looking golden-orange model that proudly displayed my Atom symbol on its hood. After coming out of retirement a few years earlier, I'd figured I would need some quick transportation while on cases, so I wouldn't have to run around everywhere on foot like I had when back when I was a young college student. So, taking inspiration from the Batmobile and the Sandcar, I invented my own Atomobile. (*)
[(*) Editor's note: See "The Thinker's Earth-Shaking Robberies," The Atom #29 (February-March, 1967).]
Driving to downtown Calvin City, I navigated the streets with unrivaled speed in my Atomobile. The bustling city blurred past me as I pushed it to the limit, closing in on the scene of chaos and terror.
As I neared the bank, I spotted the police cars surrounding the building. Quickly parking the car, I closed the rest of the distance on foot. I knew I had to act swiftly to prevent further harm, the weight of my responsibility heavy on my heart.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 22, 2023 23:50:42 GMT
BTW, the Atomobile was actually from the comics, though my guess is that it only made a single appearance.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 22, 2023 23:51:08 GMT
Very nice continuity fix. Thanks! This was a fun one to write. |
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Post by dave on Sept 23, 2023 1:22:17 GMT
That's two fixes
Dave
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 23, 2023 3:40:01 GMT
The scene outside the First National Bank of Calvin City was tense, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. Police cars formed a perimeter around the building, their red and blue lights flashing, casting eerie shadows on the surrounding streets. Officers in tactical gear stood at the ready, weapons trained on the bank's entrance.
Patrolmen keeping the crowd away had let me in as soon as they recognized me in costume as the Atom, Calvin City's veteran super-hero, and I joined an old friend and ally on the Force, Captain O'Malley. Standing alongside the police, I watched the situation unfold with a mix of concern and determination. An apparent old enemy of mine had resurfaced after many years, and had done so with a cruel and calculated plan. I couldn't let innocent lives hang in the balance any longer.
From my vantage point I could see the costumed criminal holding a female hostage in his grip as his shield, her terrified eyes pleading for help. Getting a glimpse of the villain, I could see that he was old and wore a long, purple robe. I gasped as I finally recognized the man by the artificial tusks he wore at the edges of his mouth, which added an unsettling element to his already sinister appearance. It was the Tusk.
At first I had to wrack my brain to think back on that long ago case when I'd encountered the Tusk for the first and only time, and then they all came back to me in a flash, as if they'd happened yesterday.
It had been nearly thirty years since those peculiar events unfolded that day in 1942. John Brandt, an influential businessman in Calvin City, had until then stood out not just for his wealth but also for his remarkable technical prowess. Unknown to anyone at the time, he had also delved deep into the realms of physics and psychobiology, crafting intricate devices capable of manipulating the human mind.
Brandt's descent into infamy began with a strange incident -- a public outburst. He attacked a fellow citizen, bellowing the enigmatic phrase, "The Tusk!" It was a violent episode that left the city bewildered. Law enforcement stepped in, and Brandt was promptly subdued and returned to his wife, Sue Brandt. However, this bizarre pattern of behavior didn't end there. Two more businessmen exhibited similar erratic actions, one of them even targeting me while I was inspecting a bone-handled knife that I'd just bought.
As the situation escalated, Sue Brandt reported her husband's disappearance. The police launched an investigation, and that's when I decided to take a more personal interest in the case as the Atom.
During the police interview with Mrs. Brandt, I lurked in the shadows outside the Brandt home, observing her and John from a distance. What I witnessed was stranger than fiction. Brandt emerged from hiding, commending his wife on her acting skills and instructing her to keep up the act until he could "get them all." It was a bizarre scene, leaving me with more questions than answers. For one thing, John Brandt seemed to be as sane as I am, which means he had only been posing as a victim of this "Tusk" like the others.
Intrigued and determined to unravel this mystery, I snooped around Brandt's office, hoping to find clues that would shed light on his peculiar behavior. It was there that I stumbled upon a trove of incriminating files. They revealed that the other victims of temporary insanity were all business partners of Brandt, which only deepened the enigma surrounding him.
But my investigation took an unexpected turn when Brandt himself confronted me in his office. He attacked me, swiftly grabbing the incriminating files and making a daring escape. In the ensuing pursuit, something astonishing happened -- Brandt seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving me bewildered and amazed.
The following day, as Al Pratt, I returned to the park where Brandt had disappeared. There, I made a discovery that would change everything -- a hidden door concealed behind a waterfall. Changing into my Atom identity, I quickly found that it led to a secret hideout where Brandt had imprisoned one of his victims, Carson. Brandt had by now transformed into his identity of the Tusk, a man wearing a hooded red robe and tusk-like false teeth in his mouth, giving him a bizarre, savage appearance. He threatened to use a ray-machine on Carson, promising him what he considered "just desserts." It was a tense situation, and I had no choice but to intervene.
A fierce battle ensued between me and the Tusk. Despite the odds, I managed to overcome him, rescuing Carson and putting an end to Brandt's nefarious scheme. As we emerged from the hideout, we found the police searching for Al Pratt, as in my secret identity I had seemingly vanished during the confrontation. Brandt, now in custody, confessed to his vendetta, revealing that his victims were business partners who had wronged him in some way. He had penetrated their brains with a ray-machine of his own invention, then confronted each of them while wearing his bizarre getup, creating a psychological trigger that would cause them to act crazy whenever they encountered anything that resembled a tusk, such as my bone-handled knife. In order to throw suspicion off of him, he had pretended to be one of the victims.
After the dust settled, Brandt's reign of bizarre terror came to an end. But the memories of those extraordinary events remained with me, a reminder that even the most ordinary individuals can be driven to commit the most extraordinary acts. (*) Brandt had been sent to prison after this, and I couldn't imagine why he had resurrected his Tusk identity now, after so many years.
[(*) Editor's note: See "The Atom and the Tusk," All-American Comics #40 (July, 1942).]
Now, the Tusk's voice pierced the air, amplified by a bullhorn his female hostage held up for him to speak through. "I want the Atom!" he declared, his words dripping with malice. "Bring him to me, or these hostages will pay the price!"
As if to punctuate his threat, the Tusk unleashed a burst of gunfire from the machine gun he held in his free hand, the staccato of bullets tearing through the air. But his aim was selective; he aimed only at the police cars, ensuring that no lives were lost but leaving a chilling message of his intent.
I turned to face Captain O'Malley, whose face was etched with worry, and I could see the internal struggle as he weighed the risks.
"Atom," he began, his voice low and tense, "we can't just send you in there. It's too dangerous. We have snipers in position, and the SWAT team is ready to move."
I placed a hand on his shoulder, my expression resolute. "Tom, I appreciate the concern, but I can't stand by while innocent lives are in peril. The Tusk is old and driven by revenge. Maybe, just maybe, he'll release the hostages if he sees me. We have to try."
Captain O'Malley sighed, clearly torn between his duty as an officer and his friendship with me. "All right, Atom," he relented, "but be careful. We'll have snipers covering you every step of the way, and the SWAT team on standby. We're not losing you today."
With a nod of gratitude, I stepped forward, my resolve unwavering. As the Atom, I had faced countless dangers, but this time, the stakes were personal. The lives of those hostages depended on my ability to confront my old adversary and find a way to diffuse the situation.
I knew that the Tusk was a formidable foe, even in his advanced age, but I couldn't let fear paralyze me. With every step I took toward the bank, I steeled myself for the confrontation that lay ahead, hoping that my decision would lead to the safe release of the hostages and the end of the Tusk's reign of terror.
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Post by lee on Sept 24, 2023 18:04:40 GMT
I am loving the history lesson. You are blending past and "present" seamlessly, and I am really enjoying this. Looking forward to what you have in store.
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Post by lawrenceliberty on Sept 25, 2023 19:34:05 GMT
Good job at showing Atom's heroism. I hate stories that deconstruct heroes.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 27, 2023 21:17:42 GMT
The tension in the bank hung thick in the air, like a storm cloud on the brink of unleashing its fury. Captain O'Malley, standing at a safe distance, raised a bullhorn to his lips, his voice projected with a sense of authority.
"Listen up, Tusk!" he declared, his words echoing through the bank's shattered glass doors. "The Atom is coming in, just like you demanded. Don't do anything foolish."
With my arms raised above my head in a gesture of surrender, I walked slowly toward the entrance. The eyes of the hostages and police officers watched my every move with hope and trepidation. One of the hostages, a young man trembling with fear, was directed by the Tusk to open the door for me.
The bank's interior was dimly lit, with an eerie silence that contrasted sharply with the chaos outside. The Tusk stood there, a malevolent grin on his aged face, his artificial tusks glinting malevolently in the pale light.
"Well, well," he sneered, "the Atom himself, at my mercy. I've been waiting for this moment for a long time." Turning to the young man who had opened the door, he shouted, "You there! Take those chains out of my bag and tie our diminutive friend, here, to the iron bars."
The young man nodded and did what he was told, and I allowed myself to be tied up, resisting the urge to react to his taunts. Instead, I addressed him firmly, my voice laced with urgency. "Tusk, you got what you wanted. Now let the hostages go, just like you said you would."
The Tusk's laughter filled the room, a hollow sound that sent shivers down the spines of the captives. "Oh, Atom, it won't be that easy. But I'm a man of principle, as you'll soon see."
With a sinister glint in his eye, the Tusk pushed three of the female hostages to one side and said, "You three, over there!" The three women obeyed, quickly shuffling off to that side of the room.
Turning to the rest, he said, "You may go -- but get out of here quickly or I might change my mind!" To emphasize his point, he raised his machine gun slightly.
Relief washed over the faces of the other hostages as they were allowed to leave peacefully, leaving only the three women and me behind.
My heart sank as I recognized one of the hostages, though I almost didn't recognize her at first, because her hair color had changed. I did my best to conceal the shock that surged through me. It had been three long years since our divorce, and I hadn't seen her since then.
It was Mary Pratt, my ex-wife, and she was a natural brunette who had regularly bleached her hair blonde for almost the whole time I'd known her. Over the past three years she had let her natural dark hair color return, giving her a more mature look than she had back then. Her eyes met mine briefly, and in that fleeting moment, I knew that she was counting on me to get her out of here safely.
We had parted on less than amicable terms, our marriage unraveling under the weight of the loss of our child and my responsibilities as the Atom. Now, thrust together in this harrowing situation, we found ourselves bound by secrets and unspoken words.
The Tusk's gloating continued as he reveled in his perceived victory. But beneath my stoic facade, a storm of emotions raged within me. Mary's presence added an unexpected layer of complexity to an already dire situation, and as I stood there, chained to the iron bars of the vault, I couldn't help but wonder how this reunion might impact the fragile balance of our lives.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 27, 2023 21:39:00 GMT
At the back of the bank, next to the dimly lit vault, the Tusk's manic energy was palpable. He paced back and forth, a menacing figure clutching his machine gun with a trembling hand. His eyes darted wildly between me and the three female hostages, his mind consumed by the thirst for revenge.
"Did you ever wonder why I wanted to get even with you so bad, Atom?" The Tusk's voice was frenzied, the words spilling from his lips like venom. "Because of you, my life fell apart! You sent me to prison, and she left me! My Susan, always faithful and by my side, actually left me! It was ten years into my sentence, and I guess she'd had enough of waiting. Sh-she just wrote me a letter -- didn't even bother showing up in person to tell me to my face -- explaining th-that... that she'd met someone, and she w-was going to move on w-without me... S-Sue... my Susan... she left me, and ripped my life apart!"
As he ranted, I watched him closely, my expression concealed beneath the mask of the Atom. The Tusk's words hinted at a deeper pain, a personal agony that had fueled his descent into villainy. I took a glance at Mary and realized I needed to tread carefully. I couldn't let my own outrage over his threatening her life get to me. I had to control my anger and try to reason with him. The last thing I needed to do was say or do anything that might further agitate him.
My mouth opened, and before I even knew what I was saying, I started talking to him from the heart, like he was an old friend. "I... I know what it's like to lose someone you love," I said. "Life can be cruel, and sometimes, it seems like the world is against you."
The Tusk's eyes narrowed as he peered at me, suspicion etched across his face. "You think you understand? You, a hero, with all your powers and fame?"
I nodded, choosing my words carefully. "Power and fame don't shield us from heartache, John." I used his real name as a gentle reminder that I remembered who he'd once been -- an ordinary man named John Brandt who had become embittered decades ago after being betrayed by his business partners. "We all have our battles, our regrets. I've made choices that have cost me dearly, too."
His pacing slowed, and for a moment, the manic fervor in his eyes dimmed. The weight of his actions and the consequences of his vendetta seemed to hang heavy upon him.
"I've got nothing to lose now, you know," he mumbled, almost to himself. "No wife, no friends -- nothing left for me."
It was a pivotal moment, a glimmer of humanity beneath the rage that he'd shown until now. I needed to capitalize on it, to reach the man buried deep within the Tusk's layers of bitterness and anger.
"We've all been hurt, John," I continued, my voice gentle but firm. "But there's always a chance for redemption, a chance to rebuild. Let the hostages go, and we can work towards finding a way forward."
The Tusk's grip on his machine gun slackened, his gaze distant as he considered my words. For a brief moment, I dared to hope that reason might pierce the darkness that had consumed him. But I'd been a hero for too long to take anything for granted. Whatever the next move was in this high-stakes game would determine the fate of those trapped within the bank vault.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 27, 2023 23:59:48 GMT
The cold metal chains bit into my arms as I watched the Tusk's emotional breakdown. His menacing facade had already begun to crumble, and he pulled back his hood, revealing the spotted bald head of an elderly man in his sixties or seventies. He also removed the large-jawed mask with its artificial tusks that had been covering the lower part of his face. The need for the false identity seemed to be gone. Instead, John Brandt laid himself bare, and tears began to stream down his face. He wept openly, his sobs echoing through the vault, a stark contrast to the criminal who had been threatening us just moments before.
With his attention no longer focused on me, I saw an opportunity, something I would normally have taken as the Atom. I've always had a reputation for leaping first and thinking later. I knew I had the strength to break free from these chains without much trouble, and I knew I could easily overpower Brandt and end this confrontation with finality. But there was always the risk that I wasn't fast enough, and that the three hostages -- and Mary most importantly -- might be hurt. And as I gazed at the outward signs of the man's obvious despair, something inside me urged restraint.
"Listen, John," I said softly, my voice carrying through the tense silence. "I can see you're hurting, and I'm truly sorry for what you've been through."
John Brandt's eyes met mine, filled with anguish and confusion. He hadn't expected empathy from the hero he had sought revenge against for so long.
"I... I know what it's like to lose someone you love," I continued, my tone gentle. "Life can be incredibly unfair, and sometimes, it feels like we're all alone in the world."
As my words hung in the air, Brandt's grip on his machine gun slackened. He seemed to be wrestling with his emotions, torn between the anger that had consumed him and the unexpected compassion he was now facing.
"I wouldn't want anyone to be alone," I said, my heart heavy with sympathy. "I want to help you, John. We can find a way to make things right. You don't have to continue down this dark path."
The Tusk's emotional turmoil was palpable, and in that moment, he looked more vulnerable than dangerous. With a trembling hand, he tossed the machine gun aside and approached me, his expression a mix of defeat and acceptance.
"Unlock the chains," he muttered to Mary, his voice choked with tears.
Without hesitation, she extended her hand towards Brandt, who fumbled for the keys on his belt and gave them to her. She then unlocked the chains that bound me. The weight of the chains lifted, and I felt a sense of freedom and relief wash over me.
Placing a hand on the Tusk's shoulder, I offered a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be all right, John. Doing the right thing now may be hard, but it will pay off in the long run."
As I turned to Mary, my ex-wife, she smiled at me, a meaningful and impressed expression on her face. She had witnessed my compassion, seeing a side of me she might not have expected. I couldn't describe what I felt then, except deep gratitude, and at the time I wasn't sure why.
I turned back to John Brandt, now an emotional wreck, and assured him, "I'll make sure you get to the police safely. We'll get through this together, one step at a time."
With that promise, we walked out of the vault together, with John Brandt leaving behind a life of crime and vengeance, embracing the possibility of redemption and a brighter future.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 28, 2023 0:00:37 GMT
As I sat in my cozy townhouse in Calvin City that evening, surrounded by stacks of my students' term papers that I was in the middle of marking, a sudden knock on the door jolted me from my academic reverie. I rose from my desk, my heart racing at the unexpected interruption. When I opened the door, I found myself face to face with Mary.
A flurry of emotions rushed through me as I gazed upon her familiar face. Memories of our difficult breakup three years ago briefly flashed through my mind, but in that moment, all I could feel was hope for the future.
"M-Mary," I stammered, my voice catching in my throat. "What brings you here?"
She offered a warm smile, tinged with a hint of awkwardness. "Hi, Al. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by. Can we talk?"
I nodded, stepping aside to allow her entry. We exchanged pleasantries and engaged in the kind of small talk that often serves as a buffer for deeper conversations.
Finally, I gestured toward the kitchen. "Would you like some coffee?"
Mary accepted the offer, and as we sat across from each other, sipping our coffee, we began to talk about our lives. She revealed that she had tried dating for a while but hadn't found the connection she sought. The same held true for me; my attempts at dating other women had left me feeling unfulfilled, and I eventually gave up on it.
Mary's eyes lit up as she shared her recent career endeavors. She had spent the last few years helping delinquent youths find their way back to a better life. It was clear that this new path brought her a deep sense of fulfillment.
"I've been following your heroic exploits as the Atom," she said, her eyes filled with genuine admiration. "What you did today with John Brandt was incredible. Instead of succumbing to anger, you saw the humanity in his eyes and helped him find a way out of the darkness."
I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at her words. "It's what I do, Mary. Being a hero isn't just about stopping the bad guys; it's about giving them a chance at redemption."
Our conversation flowed easily, and the hours passed without either of us noticing. We talked about our dreams, our regrets, and the paths we had chosen. The connection between us, once strained and broken, now felt like a bridge to a future full of possibilities.
As the evening wore on, we made plans to see each other again soon. It was a surprising turn of events, a twist in our relationship's narrative that breathed new life into something I had thought was lost forever.
As Mary stood to leave, I walked her to the door. Our fingers brushed lightly, and in that fleeting touch, I felt the promise of a second chance at happiness.
"Until next time," I said, my heart brimming with hope.
Mary smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting the same sentiment. "Until next time, Al."
And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving me with a heart full of anticipation for the future.
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 28, 2023 0:37:02 GMT
Epilogue, 1987:
Grant Pratt had just heard the tale of how his mother had walked back into his father's life after a three-year separation.
"I never knew," Grant said quietly, his tone softened. "But I'm glad you worked things out."
Al Pratt placed a hand on his son's shoulder, grateful for his understanding. "We did, son. Sometimes, life throws challenges at us, but it's how we face them together that matters most."
As they both gazed at the two wedding photos side by side on the coffee table, Al could see the curiosity in his son's eyes. The first was the original black and white photo from Al and Mary's wedding in 1952, a testament to their love in their younger years. The second, in yellowed and faded color, captured the moment they had renewed their vows in 1972, renewing their commitment to each other, having gone through the painful loss of a child and reconciling as middle-aged adults.
Grant broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What happened with you and Mom then, Dad? And whatever happened to the Tusk?"
With a sad smile, Al began, "I'll answer the second question first. John Brandt went back to prison, of course. You can't take hostages and shoot at the police without serving time. But I took the time to visit him in prison as the Atom about twice a month for a while. He was a troubled man with a lot of demons haunting him, and the prison psychiatrist was of little help. I'd like to say that my friendship helped him, but sometimes you can't really tell. With his thirst for vengeance no longer driving him as it had for decades by then, he spent a few years trying to find his way again.
"Eventually, he started spending a lot of time with the prison chaplain, asking him endless questions about God, right and wrong, and what happens after you die. I recall our last visit in '74 vividly. John seemed happier than I'd ever seen him, as if he'd finally found peace within his troubled soul. He died a few days later, while still serving time in prison."
Al took a moment to reflect, his gaze shifting between the two photos that held so many memories. "As for your first question... Well, after your mom and I found each other again, we spent a lot of time together. In fact, it felt a lot like we were college kids again, never letting a day go by without talking on the phone or seeing each other in person. It didn't take long for us to realize that we needed each other more than ever. We decided to end our separation and renew our vows to each other. And, honestly, we've never regretted a single moment of it. I'd venture to say that I've never been happier being married to your mom than I am right now."
As if on cue, Mary walked into the room, holding two steaming cups of cocoa. Her eyes locked onto the photos, and she gasped softly, realizing that Al had shared the story of their separation and remarriage with their son. She cast a gentle smile at him, acknowledging that perhaps it was time for Grant to know.
Al Pratt cleared his throat, his expression becoming serious. "But there's something none of us know, something I've been wondering about for a long time. We did the genetic testing last year, Grant, so we know you're our son. (*) There's no question about that. But you're no more than sixteen or seventeen years old now, so you're about three or four years too young to have been born in 1967 even if our stillborn son had somehow survived. Yet at the time of your actual birth around 1970 or so, Mary and I would have still been separated. So that leaves us with a few big questions, Grant. Where did you come from, who was behind it all, and for what purpose?"
[(*) Editor's note: See Junior JSA: The Junior Injustice Society, Chapter 7: The Truth Hurts.]
The questions hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the unknown. Grant, Mary, and Al exchanged glances, their thoughts filled with the mysteries of the past.
Mary spoke softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of determination and apprehension. "It's time we find out the truth, Al."
Al nodded, his resolve firm. "We've waited long enough, Mary. We owe it to Grant and ourselves to uncover the secrets that have haunted our family for so long."
As the trio sipped their cocoa, united once more as a family, the journey to unravel the mysteries of the past began. The tale of the Atom's family was far from over, and a new chapter awaited them -- one that would delve into the shadows of their history, seeking answers, and ultimately justice.
The End
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Post by DocQuantum on Sept 28, 2023 0:39:17 GMT
So this story is done, but it leaves us with story possibilities to delve into Damage's secret origins a bit more.
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