Agents of Light & Shade

By S. L. Pineda

Anton Gregory, aka “The Eclipser,” is a middle-age ex-villain. A lost boy who wound up with the wrong crowd, he is an “honorable” bad guy who followed the rules and etiquette of hero-villain encounters. On the other hand, Craig Smith, aka “Captain Splendor,” is a middle-age egotistical hero who thinks the world owes him a comfortable life because he spends his time fighting crime.

This bittersweet novel follows the lives of two superbeings struggling to come to terms with life’s grayness in a city that only celebrates black-and-white morality. One, an agent of Good desperately longing for a break that could save his life and sanity. The other, Evil’s progeny, seeks only to redeem himself from a past he was never fully comfortable with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. L. Pineda
• Release date: Nov 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466115712

S. L. Pineda

S. L. Pineda manages content by day and surfs the Web at night. Despite his busy schedule he somehow finds the time to write stories. Some of them can be categorized as fantasy, some science fiction, some are just straightforward stories about life. Regardless of the genre, he writes because he’s no good doing anything else. His book Agents of Light & Shade is available on amazon.com, smashwords.com, BN.com and other online retail stores.

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AGENTS OF LIGHT & SHADE

By S. L. Pineda

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Sherwin Pineda

AGENTS OF LIGHT & SHADE

Copyright: Sherwin L. Pineda

Published: 24th November 2011

Smashwords Edition

The right of Sherwin L. Pineda to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by him.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

In the Golden Age of Heroes, the gods came down from Heaven and showered us with wonders beyond our wildest fantasies…

In the Silver Age of Heroes, we discovered that the gods we worshipped and relied upon were in fact mere reflections of our humanity; they were exactly like us—flawed—having the same joys and the same sorrows…

In the Modern Age of Heroes, they showed their dark side; they acted cruel and antagonistic, vindictive and spiteful, addled with rage and madness…

They were our gods, our family, our friends, our lovers, our bitter enemies… What will they be tomorrow?

-- Sandy Sutter, Auda Star

CHAPTER #1

Out of prison and the world felt like it was coming to an end.

Anton Gregory was not the same man that was dragged kicking and screaming into Auda Maximum Security Prison fifteen years ago. For one thing, he had more wrinkles. He had certainly gotten heavier, especially around the waist. And a big chunk of his hair had turned silver. Still he didn’t care enough about that sort of thing to worry. It did however give him a jolt to look at himself in the mirror this morning. He hadn’t realized how much time he had wasted inside. No. Not wasted. Never think that way.

He thought about what the warden had said at his office yesterday afternoon. The warden, a large man who smelled like last week’s gym clothes, had given him a condescending glare. But that was okay because this was how he normally looked at prisoners. The warden was the kind of man who could do looking-his-nose-down-on in his sleep. If he were a pig eating beside another pig, he’d look his snout down at the other pig for getting the grubbier portion of the feed.

For good behavior you’re leaving early. Are you proud of yourself?

Anton didn’t answer. He knew from experience that such questions were loaded.He would say the wrong thing no matter what.

Don’t think just because you’re leaving you can act all high and mighty, the warden said.

No sir, Anton said, feeling uncomfortable being in the same room with the man the inmates nicknamed Sfarticus.

No matter what the committee says, you are a vicious criminal who should be kept in here until your great-great-grandchildren are six feet under. Am I clear on that?

Anton nodded. It was easier not to argue.

What’s that? I didn’t quite hear you, Sfarticus said, coming so close to Anton that he was afraid the warden was going to kiss him.

Yes sir, Anton responded.

Sfarticus eased up on him and went behind the desk, taking his seat and resting his feet on the table.

I will see you again, Sfarticus said matter-of-factly. Your kind always comes back home. And this is your home, isn’t it? Yes it is. You’re dismissed.

As Anton was led back to his cell, he wondered what that was all about and whether Sfarticus had ever heard of deodorant. That was yesterday. Today Sfarticus’s words carried more weight somehow. It was as if Sfarticus infected him like a virus that was causing havoc in his system. What was he doing? He must be insane to go back out there in the real world. What was he going to do out there?

He spent his morning on duty at the laundry room, tolerating the jeers and taunts of the other inmates about getting out of prison and finally getting some tail.

Of course, you might’ve been here too long and now prefer sausage over oysters, joked Stanton Erick, formerly known as Shredder, chuckling solo while others gave him an inquiring look. Shredder frowned when he saw that the others didn’t quite share his vulgar brand of humor.

At lunch, Anton found himself suddenly teary-eyed over the prison food he once heard got called something a dog may have regurgitated when he first arrived at Auda Maximum. He ate his food with earnest solemnity as if performing a sacred ritual for the last time.

After lunch, he returned the books he borrowed from the library. The librarian, who in his former life was the supervillain Librarian, gave him a resigned smile and told him that his presence would be sorely missed. Anton nodded, unsure how to respond.

He stayed in his cell for most of the afternoon. He lay on the cot that he had learned to love in the past fifteen years, read a magazine without any of it sinking in, and by three o’clock the guards came to escort him out. Without any preamble he stood up, fixed his bed—his bed—and went with the guards. It felt weird marching out like this. It was as if he was being led not to the world outside but to the gas chamber or the chair. His hands were cold and clammy. The other inmates watched from behind steel bars and he nodded at them, acknowledging that in the fifteen years he had spent with them, they—these crooks, criminals, murderers, thieves—had been his family. Some waved goodbye. Others sniggered.

***

Though Anton didn’t know it he had always been a hodophobe. Actually, he didn’t know he was one because he didn’t know what a hodophobe was. But had he known what it meant he would have been the first to admit that, yes, he was afraid of traveling. This was why he had lived all his life in Auda. He knew every street like the back of his hand—a skill he made use of as a supervillain until that fateful day he was captured and put away for fifteen years. Fifteen years. How had he let so much time go by without anything to show for it except a record and a far older body?

He told himself he should stop feeling sorry for himself. That way led to madness. With his knapsack on his back, he made his way to Richards Avenue in Downtown Auda where he would make a stopover before heading out to Kent on the other side of town.

Downtown hadn’t changed much in the years that Anton was absent. Perhaps the buildings looked older and the streets less clean but everything else was the same. The pungent scent of smog and Chinese food permeated the air. Richards Avenue was a busy street filled with pawnshops, second-hand electronics stores, barbershops, and newsstands. Anton stepped inside a nondescript pawnshop squeezed between two other nondescript pawnshops. Behind the counter a heavyset man who reminded Anton of Sfarticus nodded at him.

Dropping off or picking up? the man asked.

Anton slid his hand into the pocket of his coat and he noticed that the man took a deep breath as he conspicuously slid his hand under the counter. It didn’t take a Dr. Mindbender to know that the man was reaching for a firearm or the alarm in case Anton pulled out a gun. Anton carefully removed his hand from his pocket. Between his index finger and thumb was a piece of yellowish paper, which he handed over. The man examined the ticket and gave him a disapproving look.

Buddy, this is fifteen years old.

You can count.I’ll be sure to phone the press and let them know, Anton said.

You know how much compounded interest fifteen years make, pal? the man asked, Anton’s sarcasm sliding off him like water off a duck.

Obviously a whole lot of money or you wouldn’t be standing there with your mouth hanging open. Now, can I please have my item? I don’t know how much longer my skin can take being exposed to this stale air. I don’t know how you do it.

The man gave him a mean glare before disappearing into a room at the back of the shop.

Anton went to the display glass and looked. Because he was in prison at the start of the Internet revolution, he could only guess what the items on display were. There were gadgets of the kind he’d never seen before. Handy cams, mobile phones, portable computers… but which was which? These things came into existence while he was away. Prison was like a time machine that trapped you in an isolated time period. As such, he felt stupid and alone. He wished he could have stayed inside.

When the man finally came out he handed the ticket back to Anton.

Your stuff was bought a long time ago.It’s not here anymore.

What? Anton nearly screamed. What are you talking about?

Hey buddy, what can I tell you? Things like this happen all the time. Sorry, although judging by his sneer, clearly the man was not sympathetic at all.

Anton reached over the counter, took the man by the collar, pulled him so close that their noses were touching, and yelled, But… but… why would you sell it?It’s worthless! It’s absolutely worthless and it means the world to me!

Why would you pawn it if it was that important?

Anton let go of the stout man and tried to think. He had to get it back. Fifteen years he waited with nothing to keep him going except the thought of one day retrieving his precious treasure. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath. He turned to the man.

Would you happen to have the name and address of the person you sold my property to? Anton asked, forcing a smile.

Pal, even if I did I wouldn’t give it to you. You want me to get arrested for invasion of privacy?

You had no right to sell it! No right at all! Anton slammed his fist on the counter.

Take it easy. It’s been fifteen years. We’re lucky we even found a buyer for that… thing, the man responded. Look, you’re bothering the customers. If you’re not gonna be conducting anymore business here then I’ll thank you for dropping by and ask you to leave. Have a nice life, but not too nice.

Anton looked around to see what customers the dullard was talking about. Except for the two of them, the shop was as packed as a cemetery on New Year’s Eve.

Outside the shop Anton wondered how he could have lost it—the most precious thing in the world. How could this have happened? Why did he hock it to begin with? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Something blitzed overhead causing Anton to stop his musings for a second to look up.

It was like a dream. Dozens of heroes and villains fought in the air like angels and demons on Judgment Day. Bolts of lightning crackled from hands, lasers beamed out of eyes, breaths of fire and ice, brimstones and napalm… Dream? From the ground, it looked more like a nightmare. The world shook at the fury of the battle. Costumed warriors waged war on each other without regard for the people down below. Gods on the brink of entropy.

Anton yearned to feel a kinship to these strange beings that flew like bullets and fought with such fury and rage. He was after all one of them. Or at least was once. But as he watched them, his mouth agape, unable to determine which were heroes and which were not, he realized that he had nothing in common with these dark soldiers at all. He recognized no one. Everyone wore black leather. Gone were the bright colors that the hyper humans wore during his time. And the cussing—such words he’d never heard befo—but that wasn’t true, was it?

Don’t be a hypocrite, he scoffed at himself. They did cuss during his time. Yeah well… we cussed better then!

A brown man in black was thrown from fifty feet in the air to the pavement in front of Anton. Concrete sprayed. The man stood up, brushed dust off his shoulder and was about to fly off when he took notice of Anton. Anton stared into the eyes of man whose face was tattooed with runes. Ears, nostrils, and eyebrows indiscriminately sported all manners of piercing. But the worst thing about him, as far as Anton was concerned, was that he had no irises. Only white abyss stared at Anton.

He walked toward Anton. Anton looked around to see if there was anything other than him that might have caught the attention of the hero or villain, whichever. Stopping a foot’s distance from Anton, the man made the appearance of smelling him.

Hi? Anton waved awkwardly.

The man continued sniffing the air like a hyena might sniff the air for its prey. Then the tattooed man gave him a disappointed frown.

Your item cannot bring her back, the man said, his voice dripping with sorrow and pity.

Well I… Anton began but before he could say anything else the tattooed man rose up like a rocket, back into the fray.

Anton stayed there for another minute before wandering off.

***

Anton walked all the way to Kent. It was entirely possible that during the lengthy walk he thought of something positive or joyful. It was also entirely possible that if you cut a hundred sewer rats you’ll find enough diamonds to make the endeavor worth doing.

Anton had no idea that getting out of prison could be such a downer. Along the way, he saw more flying meta-humans with costumes that resembled rock star outfits. Dark leather and wraparound mirror glasses. He saw a billboard of a skimpily clad heroine, Barbie-doll looks and perfect teeth, showing off her armpit. Below, right next to a picture of a green roll-on deodorant was the billboard’s headline in script: SMELL SUPER. Perhaps that was the trend nowadays. He couldn’t say he was impressed. Where was the dignity? Where was the integrity? Back in the day, heroes stood for something. They didn’t market themselves off like basketball players.

He tried to remember how he got into the whole supervillain game to begin with.It was Mister Insanity, that’s how. That name. God, the name alone should have told him he was making the biggest mistake of his life. What substance was he abusing to trust someone with a name like Mister Insanity? But he was young. He didn’t know any better. He thought he was going to be rich beyond his wildest dreams. He thought he only had to do it one time—just the one time—and he’d be set for life.

Anton sighed as he turned onto Palmer Lane. Another city block and he’d be in Kent. Oh joy.

Come to think about it, it wasn’t the mad doctor that started him off the wrong path really. It was Kent.

Kent. He hadn’t been here in years. It used to be a quiet neighborhood ideal for raising a family. The streets were the kind in which you’d feel safe to let your kids play hopscotch and tag. As Anton walked down Banner Boulevard, memories suddenly came flooding back, drowning him with bitter nostalgia that he wasn’t prepared for.

As a kid, it was Banner Boulevard that he frequented on summer afternoons to watch movies and play Pac-man in the arcade. Now it looked shabby, dilapidated, filthy even. Sex shops and x-rated shows littered the once child-friendly street. The movie house he loved so much as a kid was now barricaded with planks of wood.

A woman young enough to be his daughter, or granddaughter if he had a child early enough, propositioned him in the corner of Grey and Frost. There was no mistaking what she was based on her clothes. Either a clown’s makeup artist or someone with shaky hands painted her face. She attempted a seductive smile but it reminded him of a dog mad with rabies. She looked like she was only thirteen.

Anton shook his head and walked off. The young girl called him something hateful and then apologized, on the verge of sobbing now. Anton stopped and turned around.

I… I can give you half price. For today only. And only because I really like you, she said, winking. It was a desperate sort of wink. Her eyes pleaded.

Anton pulled out a bunch of bills from his pocket.He looked at them for a while.There wasn’t much there. A fiver, a ten, two twenties, and several coins. He picked out the five and placed the rest back in his pocket. He walked up to the girl.

What’s your pleasure, stranger? she said, giving him a full-effort smile.

Anton placed the five-dollar bill on the girl’s right hand and curled up her tiny fingers around it. The girl looked at her hand, frowned, and turned back to Anton. Her brown eyes, glistening with tears, met Anton’s. He smiled and nodded.

The girl’s expression changed from soft to harsh in a flash. She took a step back and threw the crumpled bill on Anton’s face.

I’m not a beggar! I got a job, fuck you! the girl shouted, and ran up the street. About forty feet away she stopped and turned back so she could pick up the crumpled bill, glaring at him all the while. Then she fled. Anton stood speechless for a few seconds, unable to fully comprehend what just happened.

***

Xavier, the street where his old school was located, was in the same pathetic state of affairs as Banner Boulevard. Winos and nothingmen, sleeping or dead Anton couldn’t say for sure, littered the sidewalk. His old school, the Xavier Parochial School, was a shabby building with smashed windowpanes, graffiti covering the outer walls, this was not the school Anton remembered. The few kids he saw loitering on the school grounds gave him nasty looks as they smoked and drank from bottles concealed in brown paper bags.

This was where it had all started, he thought. Here. Where his power first showed up.

He remembered getting beat up by Big Bad Frankie Mills. He couldn’t quite remember why though. It could have been any number of reasons. He remembered the small group of kids who gathered around them and cheered Frankie on. This had come as a surprise to Anton as he always thought the kids liked him over Frankie. Hell, he thought they liked anyone else over Frankie.

Frankie was ruthless that one day, jamming his middle finger up Anton’s right nostril and pushed until his nostril bled. Anton wailed in agony. Thunderous laughter erupted all around him. Anton remembered feeling his body tremble with anger. Still on the ground, he grabbed Frankie in the crotch area. Or tried to.

Whoah…what’s this? Trying to grab my nuts, homo?He had picked Anton up by the hair as Anton yelped.

This is how we take care of fags, Frankie said and kicked him in the face.Anton collapsed, blood oozing down his face and into his mouth. The laughter roared on. He felt angry over the humiliation, which was worse than the pain. He could sense everyone judging him, looking down on him, seeing the pathetic, weeping worm that he was. He didn’t know what to do but he wanted the world to stop existing so he could escape the humiliation of that moment. He had wanted the world to go dark so no one could ever see him again. Yes, that was it. If it was dark they couldn’t judge what they couldn’t see.

Anton closed his eyes and wished as hard as he could. At first there was nothing but Frankie’s laughter. The kicks on his sides, accompanied by the horrible cheer of the crowd. Then a warm tingly sensation began to build and then ooze out of him like oil squeezed from a sponge. The release felt good so he let the energy pour out. The laughter changed to surprised silence, then to cries of shock. He heard the scurrying of feet around him and a jab on his back as someone ran into him and began screaming louder. He opened his eyes. Blinked. Blinked again. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. All he could see was darkness. Nothing but pure, deep, endless blackness. Anton panicked. He screamed. Frankie had blinded him!

What did you do?What did you do?

Anton stopped screaming. He listened. Above the tears and screams, Frankie kept repeating the question. He turned his head to the general direction of Frankie’s voice.

W-what?Anton reluctantly asked.

You blinded me! Frankie screamed. He heard footsteps coming towards him.Something big and heavy fell over him. It was Frankie. It must have been Frankie. In panic Anton kicked, hitting Frankie in what he could only assume was his head. Frankie cried out in pain.

You blinded me! Frankie repeated frantically. What the hell was he saying?Anton thought to himself as he crawled away in the darkness. Blinded him? Anton was the one who couldn’t see…

The dark blanket faded away as abruptly as it had appeared. Once the darkness had dissolved, Anton found himself in the same place. Everyone stopped and looked at him. Anton turned to Frankie who by then was standing up and regarding him with… well, it wasn’t contempt, not anymore. There was... what? Fear. Yes. Fear. Everyone looked at him with fear on their faces.

But— Anton tried to speak. No one said anything. The crowd dispersed hurriedly, as far away from him as possible. But why? He didn’t do anything! He did nothing wrong! It was all Frankie. All Frankie’s fault.

Frankie said nothing too. He ran off like the rest.

But I didn’t do anything, Anton said as he wept. It wasn’t me.

Anton shook the memories away.

He finally reached his street. His parents’ old house was like a dream when he came to it. It stood in the middle of Kord Street. Everything still looked the same as when he last visited, except perhaps that the lawn was a little less maintained and the paint was faded and peeling. The decrepit bungalow had seen better days.

He pressed the buzzer. A woman carrying a baby opened the door. At first glance, you could tell she was older by at least ten years. In a good light you could also tell that she was once beautiful, a long time ago, perhaps back in the Middle Ages. If you squinted hard enough, you could perhaps find an Uma Thurman buried somewhere beneath the rough exterior, but the deep brow lines and wrinkles around the eyes, like canals formed by geographical forces, hid any true comparison. He nodded at the woman and smiled at the baby.

Both mother and child