The Whitecoat: Networked: The Descendants Miniseries Collection, #2

By Landon Porter

From the pages of the superhero series, The Descendants.

New York has a reputation for being one of the angriest cities in the world, but when normal citizens start flying into violent rages for no reason, something is clearly wrong. It's up to Alan Roshard, New York's not-so-premier superhero The Whitecoat, to find out why and put a stop to it.

But with powerful enemies in his way, he's going to need to give up being a lone wolf and get a little help from his fellow heroes. He's going to have to get... Networked.

The Whitecoat: Networked is a miniseries spin-off of the series, The Descendants, taking place after The Descendants Special #2, which is collected in A Magitech Crisis (The Descendants Basic Collection, #4).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paradox-Omni Entertainment
• Release date: Jan 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507069448

Landon Porter

Landon Porter is a billionaire industrialist who fights crime with the aid of his magic sword and faithful companion, Distraction Lad whenever he's not dating supermodels or fighting evil robot bears from the future. On a completely unrelated note, he makes up fanciful stories for a living. An avid fan of superhero comics and roleplaying games, he blends tropes from both into his works along with themes of family, hope and redemption alongside a fervent rejection of cynicism and darkness.

Book preview

Chapter 1; In Which our Hero Relates a Perplexing Event.

[This story takes place between Descendants Special #2 and Descendants #23]

He stood like an Adonis of prelate-dom on atop his vanquished foe, resplendent in his red, padded shirt and darker breeches, encircled by a gold belt covered with compartments and pouches. His yellow cape billowed dramatically in the wind, showing off the infinity symbol emblazoned upon it in blue. The same symbol, contained within a yellow triangle sat proudly between his rippling pectorals. His dark, shoulder length hair was tied back in a ponytail that also caught the wind just perfectly.

On the ground below him, an unconscious man; who before being soundly dispatched had gone by the name Death Claw (obviously for the outsized, electricity conducting claw he’d grafted to his left arm) lay senseless. He’d been beaten before he’d even been aware that a high speed flying punch was coming his way.

But he wasn’t the focus of attention. Well, honestly, he had been; seeing as how he’d held the mayor hostage and all; but that was before the Champion of the Boroughs, the Defender of the Metropolis, New York’s Prelate: John Harding, AKA; Infinity had hit the scene. Now, Death Claw would be lucky if someone paid him enough attention to arrest him.

No need to thank me. No need to record my deeds for prosperity. The man of the hour said, looking directly into the nearest camera. He seemed to have the knack for finding and identifying local news provider cameras and reporters as part of his fabled powers. I’m just doing what this fine city has asked me to do, that’s all. And remember kids; you can be a hero too: by working hard and volunteering; not by illegally modifying yourself. The last part was accompanied by a pointed look at the camera.

Now if you’ll excuse me, He continued, floating upward. I have to get ready for my big appearance tomorrow at the Big Apple’s first Koshiki Megastore (noon ‘til six pm). With that, he turned and flew away.

***

If I have actually been there in person rather than watching it on TV from my girlfriend’s couch, I can only wonder if I could have restrained myself from booing loudly and throwing things. As it was, I merely gaped at the shear enormity of his ego; my jaw dropping so wide open that I think I hit my knee. I really, really hated that guy.

I really, really hate that guy. I said.

Lying on the couch beside me, legs across my lap, my girl, Janine Kazhdan, surreptitiously shifted her head to better cover up the Infinity symbol embroidered on the throw pillow it was resting on. It was one of many pieces of Official Infinity Merchandise (ten percent of all proceeds go to The World Children’s Charity) that littered the apartment she shared with her friend, Kirsten Troy. She’d been a big fan of not just him but prelates in general even before finding out that I was one of their ranks; the legendary, oft unappreciated Whitecoat.

Her collection of prelate themed items had only grown sense that revelation (heavily favoring Whitecoat merch, of course; which is not official, gives me no royalties, and is generally made on home 3d printers or by someone with an overly active knitting habit). At the moment, My own head was resting on a pillow with Sister Sacred emblazoned on it – which is odd in and of itself, sense I’m a something of a colleague of hers and I’ve never seen her, yet someone had dutifully knitted a caricature of her anyway.

It is the dimple again? Janine asked with a playful smile.

No. I replied. That was true; I’d learned to hate that damn dimple on Infinity’s chin as a separate entity entirely.

This only made her smile more. So is it the blatant pushing of City Hall’s anti-interfacer propaganda? For reasons I couldn’t fathom, Janine is a staunch supporter of the basic human right of a man to graft/implant/insert whatever cybernetic components into himself that he wanted. I just don’t care if being a spark jockey was illegal or not, though considering that my own powers stem in part from an accidental version of the same process, maybe I should.

Eh, I grunted, I always knew he was Mayor Raymond’s tool… okay, I just call him a tool a lot, but I’m still not surprised. Sarah Raymond, New