Written by masterchev

Sunday, 6 March 2011

image for Spooferheroes: Chapter One: The Titan Explodes It Begins.

Ah, Masterchev, such a pleasant surprise," the voice in the darkness cooed.

"Not really. You only sent me thirty invites to come to this exact destination, then text me to make sure I'd come to the right place, and then took a picture of yourself milling around this dingy little club. By the way, couldn't you have arranged to meet at a Starbucks?" I replied, biting on a toothpick. Not because it made me look like John Wayne, more so to do with the fact that the dentist had recommended it.

"No matter. Annihilation is nigh!" the man yelled.

Fire erupted from every corner of the room. I watched, a helpless spectator as the man in my nightmares emerged into the lamplight. Sure enough, he was there. In the Medieval bird mask. And the scythe. He began to soar up, gathering a ball of energy in his hands as he did so.

"Goodbye Masterchev!" he cackled, then unleashed the energy bolt. It struck directly in my chest, sending me flying backwards through a window.

I lay there now, on the road, watching as shards of glass fell like rain onto the street. Cars swerved to avoid my damaged body, still glowing with the energy from the Nightmare Man's hands.

Against a blood red Sun was the silhouette of a man with bat-like wings.

"Must... warn...others..." I breathed, inhaling the exhaust fumes of New York City. I know what you're thinking. A Welshman, in New York? But don't let that affect the narrative.

My broken fingers reached for my Blackberry, and I loaded up the Home Page of the Internet. No sooner had I pressed send, that the energy left and the world faded out.
Text received: #~1._#. Sender Unknown

That was the text that changed my life. As I lay there, dying in the streets of New York, I was saved by a text messag sent from an anonymous figure. Like the sucker I was, I opened it.

The next thing I knew, a symbol which resembled a nuclear waste sign appeared on the phone, and a curious tingly sensation shot up my spine.

Then the paramedic came and snatched my phone. It lay abandoned near the wreckage of a New York warehouse. Did I know I'd just unleashed the Godmaker onto the Internet? Not at all.

The possibility that people would develop super powers, all because I'd confronted my fears, was a distant possibility.

But far away from my weary body, a phone in a drawer began to vibrate.

My name is Masterchev. This is the story of the Spooferheroes.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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