The Capt. Conduit Saga: Chapters 1-6 (repost)

[Raptor]

I've decided (upon urging from various folks) to repost my CoH fanfics based on my first character, Capt. Conduit since they were lost to the forum crash.  The original postings had footnotes explaining CoH terminology for the non-CoH'ers, but those have since been lost and I'm too lazy at the moment to re-footnote, though I will probably add those later.

[Raptor]

Tragic Hero:
The Origins of Capt. Conduit
by Brad Blanton

Cold rain pelted his face, but John didn't care. His faded blue jeans and thin blue T-shirt were completely soaked and stuck to his skin, but he didn't notice.  His face, along with most of the rest of his body, went numb an hour ago while he was lost in his own brooding thoughts. He got like this sometimes. Not often, but enough that it was beginning to frighten him. Normally, he was content with how his life turned out. But at times, he longed for all of it to be a nightmare he would wake up from one day and return to the life he once knew.

He had known true happiness once. John Sinclair grew up a small-town boy from the South. He didn't need much to be happy, just a roof over his head, a decent job and the love of a good woman. He'd had all of those. He was married to the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world, and loved her with every ounce of his being, and she loved him just as much. He also had a good, stable job with the Alabama prison system. He'd started working there when he was 21 as an entry-level guard, but after 15 years had worked his way up the ladder until he carried the rank of Captain and held the most respected position in the prison system. However, his position also held the most weight and responsibility. It was his job to throw the final switch on the state of Alabama's electric chair and take a human life. It was a job he treated with the utmost respect and gravity, but not for the benefit of the condemned.  He felt that they had earned their seat in the chair through their crimes.  They deserved no sympathy or mercy.  The reverence he observed when doing his job was for the benefit of the witnesses (the friends and family of the condemned) who were always in attendance to watch their loved-one be put to death.  It always seemed that no matter how evil or wicked the person was that got strapped into the chair, there was always someone in the witness box who loved them.  Even though the condemned had given up all rights as a person, even the right to life, their loved-ones deserved respect and sympathy, for they always wound up being the true victims. 

It was that job that led him here, sitting on a rain-swept rooftop in Pargon City.  The state of Alabama had sentenced Dick "the Ripper" McGee to death, and John and his crew were on duty to carry out his sentence. Once the preparations were made and McGee was secured into the chair, John was given the signal to throw the switch. As he had always done, John whispered one last message to the condemned man under his breath.

"Time to ride the lightnin', McGee."

As John moved the switch into the "On" position, white-hot pain seared throughout his body. Sparks washed out his vision as the full fury of the electric chair poured into him.  Instinctively, he tried to pull his hand away, but he couldn't. The current convulsed his muscles, locking him in place.  The electricity locked him into a living statue as it coursed through his body. Time slowed to a crawl, each agonizing moment became an eternity.  He heard someone screaming, probably one of the witnesses. Members of his crew rushed to the door of his booth, terror in their eyes. He saw them mouthing words, shouting, but whatever they were saying was lost in the crackle and the screams.

As the world faded towards darkness, he realized the screams had been his own.

He woke in  a  hospital bed with no idea how he got there, or how long he'd been there. More importantly, though, he wondered why he wasn't dead. He had been able to figure out what had happened to him. The mechanism on the chair had obviously malfunctioned and he had taken the shock instead of McGee, but it should have killed him. He had seen more than his share of death at the hands of the chair, and he knew he should be dead. The doctors proved to have a theory about that. They suggested he was a latent mutant, a parahuman as the press called them. They believed that his mutation must have been dormant until he took the charge from the chair.  His mutation allowed him to survive by absorbing the charge, altering him in the process.

Once he returned home from the hospital he discovered he could generate electrical energy on his own. These new "abilities" scared him, but not because of their dangerous potential.  The rest of the world may have accepted parahumans, but attitudes in rural southern towns did not change so quickly.  Sure, parahumans may have done a lot of good for the world, but in the areas around where he had grown up they weren't considered to be "normal".  And things that weren't normal were generally met with fear, loathing and large doses of prejudice.  If people there were parahumans, they kept it to themselves.  He wasn't sure exactly how his friends and family would react to him, but he was pretty certain they weren't going to throw him a parade.  When he broke the news to his wife, she was visibly shaken by the news.  She said that she would try to make it work, but he could tell she was very uneasy. Then, one evening while he was helping her with dinner, he accidentally blew up the microwave. His wife, the love of his life, his reason for living, recoiled from him in disgust and fear. She said she couldn't live like this, that she couldn't take it anymore.  Sitting here, now, in the rain, he could still remember the smell of her perfume as she walked out the door with her suitcase. Today would have been their anniversary.  He had heard that she remarried some time ago.  The fact that her new husband was once a friend of his just intensified the pain.

"Whoever said 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all' is a damn fool", John whispered. The rain answered by falling harder.

His doctor had told him about Paragon City. The city where super-powered people were welcomed with open arms. With nothing more to live for in Alabama, John bought a bus ticket. He'd come to Paragon City and eventually became a hero.  He had a flashy costume and called himself Capt. Conduit now.  He had even earned the right to wear a cape, just like the famous Hero 1. But all the great things he had done, all of the awards that he had earned, did little to heal the pain of losing everything he had ever known and loved. 

He hadn't asked for super powers.  In fact, there were times he thought of them as some kind of cancerous tumor that had ruined his life.  Sitting here, now, in the rain those dark thoughts boiled up unchecked.  He longed to be "normal" again so he could return to his home.  Paragon City had been good to him, but he yearned for the simple, small town life he once knew.

John's thoughts suddenly stopped. Pain wracked his body and his world lit up once more as his body absorbed the bolt of lightning that had struck the lightning rod he had been leaning against.   His world once more began to slowly slip into darkness, and he was finally freed from his own self-torturing thoughts. Some use alcohol to escape, others turn to drugs.  For John Sinclair, it is the searing touch of lightning.

[Raptor]

From the Mouths of Babes
The Origins of Capt. Conduit: Part II
by Brad Blanton

John Sinclair gazed out the window of his small, one-bedroom apartment in Atlas Park.  It was much smaller than the novated farmhouse he had owned in Alabama, but it was neat, efficient, and much easier to keep clean.  It had been six months since he had left his rural hometown (as well as everything and everyone he had known) to come to Paragon City, and he still wasn't quite accustomed to seeing the huge statue of Atlas that proudly towered in front of the City Hall building.  It was a reminder of all that the city, the world for that matter, had been through. Those things never really mattered to him in Alabama.  He was content with his life; his little piece of the world was perfect. 

Perfect, that is, until a circuitry malfunction with the state's electric chair (of which he was the operator) had electrocuted him instead of its intended victim.  The amount of current he had taken would kill any normal human, however, John was no normal human.  He didn't know it at the time, but he was a mutant.  Sure, he'd been tested, everyone had, but he'd always tested negative.  From the tests that were done after his accident, the doctors concluded that his mutation was inactive, dormant, and required some kind of catalyst to activate it.  The electrical current from the accident had activated his mutation.  Now he was able to generate electrical energy, but he didn't know how to really control it.  He also didn't want to learn.  He thought of his new "abilities" as a side effect of the accident.  An abnormality that he wanted to just hide away so he could go on leading a normal life.  Unfortunately, he couldn't do that in Alabama.  His wife had left him (after a small explosion involving their microwave oven) and everyone else in town, people he had known all of his life, was afraid of him.  He had to go somewhere to start over.  Somewhere nobody knew him or what he could do.  He figured Paragon City was the safest place for him.  With so many people here he would be able to blend in pretty well.  And with so many super powered people around, if he did accidentally zap something no one would think twice about it.

John was awakened from his thoughts by a knock on his door.  Startled, he blinked a couple of times, then took a deep breath and went over to the door and opened it. 

"Hey John!" the attractive redhead outside his door bubbled, flashing a bright smile.  She then put her hands on her hips and feigned a scolding tone,  "How many times have I told you, this isn't Georgia?  This is a rough neighborhood, you never open your door without finding out who it is first" she said as she shook a finger at him.

Mary lived in the apartment across the hall with her two children, Benji and Michelle.  She was a single mom who had to work a lot to make ends meet, but she'd always been really nice to him and she was really the only person he considered a friend here. 

"Hey Mary.  I know, I keep forgetting.  I'll try to keep that in mind.  And just for the record, its Alabama, not Georgia.  What can I do for you?"

Mary's expression turned to that of concern, "I just got a call from the diner.  One of the second shift girls called in sick and they need me to come in to cover for her, and the babysitter said she can't come over on such short notice.  Would you be able to watch the kids for me tonight?  It would only be until 10 and I'll pay you for your time."

John just smiled and held up a hand.  "I'd be glad to watch them, and I won't take your money, just keep me in mind the next time you make a batch of your lasagna."

Mary busted out laughing and said, "It's a deal!  I've got to go now, I'll tell the kids that you are going to watch them."

"No problem.  I'll be over in a couple of minutes" John said, then he thought for a moment and said "Oh, hey, I just remembered I have to run down to the market this afternoon to pick up a couple of things, do you mind if I take the kids?  I'll be sure to be back before it gets dark."

"That will be fine" chimed Mary.  "I think Benji wanted a couple of things from there anyway, and Michelle just loves to get outside any chance she can get."

"Ok, good.  Let me grab a couple of things and I'll be right over" John said before closing his door.  He really didn't mind watching Benji and Michelle.  He didn't have anything else pressing to do, and besides, he really liked them.  They were good kids and they made him smile.  Anything that made him smile these days was a good thing. 

He could tell that they liked him too.  They liked his southern accent.  Michelle giggled every time he said "y'all" so he made it a point to say it as often as he could.  She was just 6 years old and she made his heart melt every time she flashed those pretty blue eyes underneath all that curly blonde hair.  Benji was 10 going on 30.  His father had been killed in a car accident shortly after Michelle was born, and Benji was trying hard to be an adult for his mom.  He was a

smart kid too.  He might not have gotten all A's, but he was a lot smarter than John was at his age.  John looked forward to an evening of playing games with them.  He knew he would have fun.

After grabbing his keys, wallet and a book to read after the kids were in bed, John headed across the hall.  He knocked on the door and waited for Mary to open it.  She opened it almost immediately, and then fastened the last button on her uniform for the diner.  John winked mischievously at Mary and loudly said "Hey y'all!"

Michelle's infectious giggle instantly rang out and she came running to him.  "Mr. Sinclair!!" she yelled as she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a big hug.  Benji came around the corner too and greeted him with a very grown up handshake.   Mary just laughed and said "Well, it looks like you guys are in good hands.  Now you do everything Mr. Sinclair tells you to do and I'll be back tonight after you're in bed.  I'd better not find anyone still awake except Mr.

Sinclair when I get home, is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am" came the replies, even from John.

Mary gave them one last hug and a kiss each before heading out.  When she was gone John said "Guys, I have to go down to the market, do you want to go with me?"  As expected, both said yes and he told them to get their coats and shoes on.

They walked to the market 2 blocks away and John picked up some groceries for that week.  He also bought the children some hard candy and let Benji pickup the latest issue of the Statesman comic that he had wanted.

On the walk back to the apartment building John asked "Why do you read those comics anyway?  Isn't all of that stuff in the news?"   

Benji replied "Yeah, but the news makes it boring.  This has cool pictures in it of all the action and really tells the story.  The news never puts anything but some face picture that's 5 years old and uses words like "apprehended".

As John was thinking about that, a very rough looking man wearing an orange vest stepped out of the alley, blocking John's path and in a gruff voice said "Hand over the wallet pal and the little kiddies here won't have to see me spill your guts all over this here sidewalk!"  As he spoke he produced a very long, very shiny (and very sharp-looking) knife from behind his back.

John immediately stopped in his tracks and put his hands up.  His first thought was for the safety of the kids.  He had to make sure they got out of this ok.  In the calmest voice he could muster, he said "Children, please stand very still and don't make any sudden moves."

The mugger waved his long knife in John's face and yelled "I ain't got all day, pal.  The wallet, hand it over, or I'm gonna carve you up good!"

Just then Michelle screamed out "You leave Mr. Sinclair alone!  He didn't do anything to you!" and she charged at the mugger and began hitting him on the thigh with closed fists.

John started to yell at Michelle to stop, but before he could, the mugger shouted "Get off of me, you little brat!" and swung the hand he was holding the knife in down, catching her in the side of the face with the butt of the handle.

Pure, unadulterated rage exploded inside of John as he watched, in slow motion, her little head whip sideways, her long, blonde curly locks of hair whipping around her face as she fell to the ground.  He charged at the mugger, screaming at the top of his lungs "YOU LEAVE HER ALONE YOU SONOFABITCH!!" and swung an uppercut toward the mugger's jaw.  So blind was his fury, that John never heard Michelle's painful scream, nor did he notice that the hand he was swinging at the

mugger's jaw was completely surrounded by arcs of electrical current.

When his fist made contact, the explosion of electrical energy was so great that it sounded like a thunderclap.   John watched in amazement as the mugger was lifted into the air by the blast and thrown backwards, landing on his back with a thud, 20 feet from where he had been standing.  He also wasn't moving. 

John immediately went to Michelle who was crying.  He checked her face to see if there was any permanent damage, but it looked like she would just have a nasty bruise for a while.   He looked over at Benji, who had his hands over his ears and was just staring at him.  John recognized that stare.  It was the same stare he'd gotten back home.   John's heart sank.  "Benji, I'm...I'm sorry" he said weakly.

Benji just stared at him for a moment, then said, "That....that was so COOL!!  Did you see how far that guy went flying?? "

John was stunned.  Not only was Benji not afraid of him, he was inspired.  He'd have to think about that later, though.  Right now, he needed to get these kids back home.  He quickly picked up Michelle and the three of them rushed back to their apartment.  So quickly, that John didn't notice all the parked cars around with blown out windows.



"OW!! That hurts!!" cried Michelle as John applied some ice to her bruised cheek.  This was definitely going to be a shiner.  "I know sweetheart, but the ice will help keep it from swelling."

"Mr. Sinclair, how did you do that back there with the mugger?" asked Benji, who was sitting next to his sister.

"I honestly don't know, Benji.  I haven't really been able to control it" John replied. 

"Why not?  Weren't you born like that?" asked Benji.  "I'd think you would have learned to control it by now."

"No, I wasn't born this way.  There was an accident where I used to work and when I woke up in the hospital, I had these 'abilities'.  I just haven't learned to control them", John said.

"What kind of an accident?"  Michelle asked excitedly.

"I got electrocuted" John answered.

Michelle cocked her head to one side and said "Electro-whated??"

Benji helped his sister understand "Electrocuted.  It means he was shocked by electricity."  Benji then turned his attention back to John, "And now you can shock other things.  You are like some kind of electrical conduit.  My teacher was talking about them in class the other day.  It allows electricity to flow through.  I'll bet that's what you do."

"That's possible.  I've never really thought about it, " said John.
 
"Where did you used to work, Mr. Sinclair?" Benji inquired.

"I used to work for the police department in Alabama, in the state prison.  I was a Captain."

"Captain John Sinclair.  That sounds nice." Michelle stated.

John started to chuckle and said, "Yeah, I guess it does."

Benji thought for a moment, then asked "Mr. Sinclair, why aren't you out fighting crime like all those other guys in the news?  You have super powers, why not use them?"

John shook his head and said "No thank you.  My life is simple and easy right now, I don't need to make it more complicated.  That's why I came here in the first place."

"That's just being selfish!" Michelle stated matter-of-factly.

"Michelle! Don't say that" Benji scolded his little sister.

"No, its ok, Benji, let her finish.  How is it selfish, Michelle?"  She had piqued John's

curiosity.

Michelle stuck her tongue out at her brother and went on to explain what she meant, "Mommy says we are supposed to share with the fortunate".

"That's 'less fortunate'" Benji corrected.

Michelle didn't miss a beat, "Yeah.  Anyway, she says we should share what we have because other people might need it too.  If you have super powers, you should share them with everybody."

John started to protest, but just looked back and forth at the children looking up at him. 

Then Benji said, "There are a lot of people in the city that need help.  They could really use you."

Later that night, John lay awake in his bed.  He had explained the mugging attempt to Mary and ensured her that Michelle would be fine.  He had carefully omitted the parts about his 'abilities', though he was sure the kids would tell her.  But that wasn't what kept going through his mind.  What was stuck in his head, what was keeping him from getting any sleep, were the words of a very smart little 6-year old girl.

The next morning John found himself standing, rather sheepishly, in front of the neighborhood Hero Registration desk.  He didn't know why he was there, he just knew he should be there.  He stepped up to the clerk, an elderly lady wearing thick glasses, who looked up at him briefly before letting out a monotone "Can I help you?"

"Umm, yes'm.  I need to get registered." John stammered.  He hadn't been this nervous since he asked Cindy Burkhart to the senior prom.

"Name?" the clerk droned.

"John Sinclair, ma'am".

"No, your Hero name.  We don't put your real name on the form, for privacy issues," she answered.

John hadn't thought about that.  In thinking about everything else that being a Hero meant, he hadn't given much thought to a name.  But then, he remembered something from the night before, and a wry smile crept across his lips.

"Conduit, ma'am.  Capt. Conduit."

[Raptor]

Fall From Grace
The Capt. Conduit Saga
by Brad Blanton

The cool night air rushed across his face as John Sinclair flew silently over the filthy neighborhoods of King's Row. He called himself Capt. Conduit now, but he didn't feel like being much of a hero tonight. He wasn't even wearing his bright blue and white costume or cape that proclaimed him to be an avatar of justice. He wore a plain white T-shirt with a black lightning bolt painted on the front and a pair of black jeans. Justice was the last thing on his mind tonight.

He'd gotten a call from his friend, Barry in Talos Island. Barry had told him that Joey Marcone had just escaped from The Zigg, and the police needed his help in bringing Joey back in.

"What the hell do you mean he's escaped, Barry? I just put him away 2 months ago!" John yelled into the phone.

"Take it easy, CC, I need you to keep your head on this one," Barry advised. "This guy is dangerous. He killed 3 cops when he busted out and another one during the chase over to the King Garment factory."

"He did what?" John asked flatly.

"Yeah, he knifed a prison guard and took his revolver" Barry said gravely. "Then he shot two more guards on his way out. You ok, CC? You don't sound so hot."

John's mind raced. "I'm fine. King Garment Works, you said?"

"Yeah, he's holed up there now. It's a standoff. There's cops everywhere," Barry said.

John hung up the phone in a daze without another word. He thought about the prison guards that had been killed, and he remembered his life before he came to Paragon City. He had been a prison guard in Alabama. He'd been a Captain, no less. He remembered his friends and coworkers that he had grown up with in his rural southern hometown. Then he thought about the day of the accident that had given him super powers. He was the executioner, the person who operated the state's electric chair, and this time there was a malfunction. When he threw the switch, he took the shock instead of the condemned man. That's when he found out he was a mutant. The electricity had activated his mutation. He lived, but now he could create electrical charges right out of his hands. Everyone in his hometown, the same people he'd known all his life, looked at him as if he were a freak. Super powered people weren't so common in their neck of the woods, and they didn't know how to deal with him. His wife had even left him.

John had tried hard to never think about his past again. Whenever he did, he always wound up depressed for days. But this time, something happened that had never happened before. His pain, his frustration, his heartbreak all slowly began to take shape as anger. If it hadn't been for that damn accident, he wouldn't have these powers in the first place and he'd still be married living in Alabama. But it HAD happened, and now these cops needed him to use those same powers to re-catch someone they couldn't keep locked up to begin with. And that little slime-ball Joey had killed 4 cops while escaping. Well, they were going to get him back, John just didn't know what kind of shape Joey would be in when he delivered him to the police.

All of these thoughts echoed in John's mind as he threw together this makeshift costume and during his silent flight toward the factory.

John approached the factory from above and silently landed on the roof. He didn't want the cops to know he was there yet. He entered through a skylight and silently started looking for Joey. He found the gangster toward the back of the warehouse yapping on a phone in one of the offices.

"I'm tellin' ya, there's cops all over the place. Get me outta here now!" Joey yelled into the receiver. "Ok, just hurry it up will ya?"

After he watched Joey hang up the phone, John stood in the shadows and said "Give it up Joey! Its over."

"Well, well. Capt. Conduit. I shoulda known they'd send a cape," Joey looked around the room as he spoke, obviously trying to pinpoint where the voice had come from. "You got lucky last time, Sparky. I ain't goin' down so easy this time."

"That's what I'm counting on, Marcone" John said as he quickly dodged to the side. As he expected, bullets from Joey's pistol ricocheted off of the crates he had been standing behind. John worked his way closer to Joey, keeping in the darkness. He knew he could drop Joey from this distance with one of his lightning bolts, but he was in the mood to fight with his fists.

"Yer quick, Sparky, but Mr. Revolver here is quicker than you are. All I gotta do is get in one good shot and yer goin down" quipped Joey.

John had worked his way around beside Joey and was close enough to charge at him. He took a quick breath and charged the gangster. "You won't get that chance!" John's electrically charged punch caught Joey in the side of the face. John had pulled his punch, just like he'd been trained to do by the Freedom Corps trainers. The punch was still enough to knock Joey senseless. The revolver skidded across the floor and John kicked it under some debris laying on the floor.

Joey shook his head and regained his bearings, then realizing he no longer had the gun, turned around and ran out the back door. John smiled slightly and stalked out the door after him. Outside the sound of police bullhorns still squawked demands for Joey to give himself up. The flashing red and blue lights bouncing off of cargo containers showed Joey ducking between two stacks of containers. John followed, like an animal stalking its prey, through the twisting, turning corridor created by the rusting metal containers.

As he turned a corner, he found Joey trapped at the end of a long dead-end corridor. He slowly stalked towards the gangster, arcs of electricity dancing all around his body as his rage slowly began to build inside of him.

"Its over Joey. Give up" John demanded.

"Why should I, cape?" Joey asked petulantly. "So they can throw me back in The Zigg? I'll just bust out again. Maybe even off a few more of your cop buddies in the process, how would you like that?"

John knew he was right. Joey would just break out again. Even if he didn't, Paragon City wasn't like Alabama. They had no death penalty. Joey would be back on the streets some day, no matter how many times John put him away. His rage grew, deeper and stronger than ever.

"You're right. I should just let you go" John said in a low, cold voice.

"What?" Joey asked, genuinely surprised. "I mean, yeah, that's right. Hey, you're not such a bad guy after all, Sparky. I might just have to send ya a Christmas card, heh."

"I'd be running if I were you" John stated, even more coldly.

As he watched Joey run past, John's rage grew even more intense. Joey represented everything that had gone wrong with his life. All the pain and anger he'd been caused welled up inside of him and his hands and forearms began to crackle loudly with electrical energy. Something inside John snapped. Just as he used to do before he put someone to death in the electric chair, he whispered one last message to the condemned.

"Time to ride the lightnin', Joey"

John seemed to move in slow-motion as he whirled around. He watched as a blue-violet arc of pure electrical energy leapt from his outstretched arm and hit Joey squarely in the back. Joey was thrown forward 15 feet before his lifeless body lay twitching and smoldering in the dirt.

John slowly lowered his arm, took a deep breath and said "May God have mercy on your soul." He wasn't sure if he was talking to Joey, or himself

[Raptor]

Breaking Point
The Capt. Conduit Saga
by Brad Blanton

The worn-out cot springs shrieked loudly in protest as John Sinclair carefully sat on his bunk. He wasn't about to take for granted that they would hold his weight, but they did, just barely. He wondered how old those springs were. He imagined, as evidenced by the rusted spigot on his sink and the faded paint on the walls, that they'd been there quite a while. He remembered that prison cell luxuries such as new cot springs or fresh paint hadn't been on the top of any of the maintenance department's "To Do" lists while he was a prison guard in Alabama. Those things had rarely made the lists at all. Apparently the same was true here in Paragon City's Ziggurat prison.

Thinking of his past in Alabama made him think about how he came to be in this cell. He was a superhero now, able to generate and control electrical current. He had come to Paragon City a little over two years earlier seeking to start a new life for himself, but he had remained bitter and angry about having to give up what he had considered a perfect life in Alabama. He had registered with Freedom Corps and with their help he learned to control his powers, he had earned his official Super Hero license and became an active crime-fighter under the alias Capt. Conduit. Though reluctant at first, John liked fighting crime. Fighting crime had given him an outlet for his frustrations because he felt like he was really making a difference in the world by capturing criminals. That feeling disappeared the night Joey Marcone escaped from prison and John was called in to recapture him. John realized that, since Paragon City's courts did not believe in the death penalty, Joey Marcone would eventually be released from prison. So, instead of turning Joey over to the police, John had executed him. Since that night, John's anger and bitterness began to surface more often. Criminals tended to have quite a few more bruises on them when he handed them over to the police. He hadn't killed anymore, but he had made some wish they were dead.

The only time John wasn't angry or bitter were the times he spent around his neighbor Mary and her children. They made him smile and reminded him of happier times. They were the only people in the world that truly seemed to care about him, he thought of them as family, and as such he would willingly do anything for them. It was, in large part, because of this that he now called this cell his home.

It happened on a Saturday afternoon while John was lying back on his couch watching television. He heard a loud crash that had nothing to do with the two cowboys fist-fighting on his TV screen so he hit the "mute" button on his remote. Listening intently, he soon heard scuffling, then the sound of glass breaking. He quickly leapt to his feet and quickly donned his blue and white leather costume, including his flowing cape. He'd gained a good deal of notoriety as Capt. Conduit, especially in this neighborhood, and whenever common street thugs caught a glimpse of his costume they generally chose to run instead of fight. He hoped that would be the case now.

He slowly opened his apartment door and cautiously peered out into the hallway. That was when he felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach. He saw that Mary's door was cracked open, and he could hear unfamiliar voices coming from inside her apartment.

"Just give us what we want, lady, and nobody gets hurt, " said a rough male voice.

"But we don't HAVE anything!" came the panicked reply.

He immediately recognized Mary's voice and started toward her door when he heard her scream, "Benji, NO!!!"

John's mind raced as he heard a dull, metallic "thunk" and a deep male voice cry out in agony. His hand was almost on Mary's door when he heard the gunshot. John burst through the door just in time to see Benji, standing on the living room carpet, let an aluminum baseball bat slide from his hand onto the floor before he collapsed next to it. Beside Benji he saw another person laying on the floor, a young man wearing dirty jeans and an orange vest, rolling around and grimacing in pain as he held his kneecap, which Benji had, apparently, attempted to knock out of the ballpark. Mary immediately rushed to her son, tears streaming down her face, screaming in pure horror.

Another gunshot rang out and a bullet slammed into the wall next to John's head as his noisy entrance succeeded in turning the shooter's attention his way. As he dove for cover behind a kitchen countertop, two more gunshots rang out and bullets whizzed by, shattering glasses and plates that were sitting on the countertop to dry.

"Let's get the hell outta here, Bobby, that's Capt. Conduit!" one of the Hellions yelled over Mary's pleas for help, "BENJI! Oh my God, NO!! John help him!!"

Mary knew he was Capt. Conduit. Benji and Michelle had told her about his "abilities" the day after they first saw what he could do. She had explained to the children why it was important that no one knew about his powers and agreed to never tell anyone. Under the circumstances now, John would forgive her for calling him the wrong name.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Go ahead, I'll cover Mr. Hero here and be right behind ya" the shooter said.

John poked his head out from behind the counter just in time to see the shooter backing out of the window onto the fire escape. The Hellion noticed him and fired off another shot, forcing John back behind the countertop. John heard footsteps hurriedly running along the metal of the fire escape, so he leapt to his feet and rushed to the open window. The Hellions had stepped onto the vertical retractable ladder near the bottom of the fire escape and rode it quickly to the ground. John saw them rushing across the street into the alley.

"John! Help Benji, he's unconscious!!" Mary yelled frantically.

"He'll be ok, go call an ambulance, " John reassured her. When she didn't move he barked "Now Mary! Go call!"

He had never spoken harshly to her in all the time they had known each other. His harsh tone startled and frightened her, but she got up and hurried out of the room. When she was gone, he turned his attention to the crippled would-be burglar that was still writhing in pain on the floor. As the thief's eyes met his, John wordlessly raised his hand where the criminal could see it and clenched his fist. The helpless man stared at the fist, and his eyes widened as arcs of electricity began to crackle and dance around it. With a cold, inhumane sneer, John quickly extended his arm and released the built-up current. The Hellion's body, suddenly infused with so much current, convulsed and contorted unnaturally before laying motionless on the carpet.

John quickly turned, climbed out through the open window onto the fire escape and dove headfirst toward the asphalt six stories below. During his time as a hero, John had come to understand his electrical manipulation abilities and had taught himself how to do some pretty amazing things. One of the things he had learned was how to control the static electricity in the air around him, granting himself the ability of flight. Mastering this new ability hadn't been easy, in fact, he'd broken more than a couple of bones while practicing, but master it he had. Flying, now, was almost second nature to him. He stared intently at the quickly approaching asphalt, building more and more speed as he fell. At the last possible second he adjusted his trajectory to be parallel with the ground, no more than a foot above the asphalt. He quickly flashed across the street, nimbly dodging between, around and over cars, and into the alley the two Hellions had entered.

John spotted his prey, still running as fast as they could, some distance ahead. He gained enough altitude to speed past them without being noticed, and landed directly in front of them, causing them to come to a sudden, frightened stop in the alley. The shooter still had his pistol in his hand and raised it to fire. John quickly raised his arms and, taking a step forward, clapped his hands together with all his strength. The resulting thunderous explosion of air and electricity shattered nearby windows and blew the thugs to the ground leaving them stunned and holding their ears. John stepped toward them slowly.

Anger and disdain filled his voice as he snarled, "You maggots picked the wrong people to mess with this time!" As he spoke John became more and more furious.

"You made a BIG mistake going after friends of mine!"

Arcs of electricity began to crackle to life around his hands.

"It's not enough for you to mug people on the streets" John shouted, "now you have to break into people's homes?!"

Now living electrical current, seemingly feeding off of his rage, surrounded John's arms and shoulders.

"You terrorize helpless women," he screamed, "YOU SHOOT CHILDREN!"

Just then a bolt of electricity arced from John's shoulder to a nearby electrical transformer causing it to explode loudly in a shower of sparks. The two Hellions, still lying on their backs, shielded their faces from the sparks with their arms, but John didn't even seem to notice.

Now John stopped screaming. Instead he lowered his head and saw his clenched fists, surrounded by electricity and trembling in rage. Calmly, softly and in a voice that sent cold chills through the two criminals, he said, "It's time to ride the lightnin' boys."

John closed his eyes and concentrated on the energy building within. He could feel it growing stronger, much stronger than he'd ever let it before. His whole body trembled as he struggled to contain the power, until he could no longer hold it in.

John opened his eyes and screamed in feral rage as he released the pent-up electricity toward the condemned. His voice was unheard, however, as the bolt of lightning exploded from his hands with a thunderous blast that dwarfed his comparatively tiny vocal cords. And even though he was wearing his protective tinted goggles, the flash from the blast was enough to wash out his sight for several seconds afterward. John dropped to his knees in total exhaustion; sweat running down his face from the exertion. He'd put everything he had into that blast. When his sight returned, John could barely recognize the charred remains of his victims smoldering on the ground before him.

In his blind fury, John had failed to notice the police patrol sentry robot, that had been dispatched to investigate reports of explosions being heard in the area, hover up behind him. It caught his attention when its public address speaker barked out, "HERO DESIGNATED CAPT. CONDUIT, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST FOR MURDER. REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE, OR YOU WILL BE SUBDUED BY FORCE." Knowing that those patrol bots also carried a stun gun that could bring down just about anybody, John could do nothing but put his hands behind his head and surrender.

"CAPT. CONDUIT MURDERER?" the headlines had screamed. The authorities had arrested him under his superhero alias, and the media was having a field day. The Federal Bureau of Superhero Affairs protected the identities of heroes at all times, even when they were on trial for murder. He had even had to go to court in his costume. He'd been assigned a public defender that tried to argue that John didn't realize he'd put that much juice into his blast. But when the District Attorney showed the video taken by the patrol bot, he knew the jury would never believe it was an accident. Also, the fact that Benji had survived the shooting, ironically, actually made the DA's case even stronger. His defense lawyer said that if Benji had died, then he could have gotten more sympathy for John out of the jury.

At the end of the trial, when the jury returned a guilty verdict, John had already mentally prepared himself to accept his fate. When the judge banged his gavel to signify the trial was over, John had stood to return to his cell. That was when he felt a tug on his cape. He turned, expecting to have to face another reporter waiting to stick a microphone in his face, but what he saw instead nearly brought him to his knees.

The familiar 8 year old, curly blonde-haired girl looked up at him through red, puffy eyes with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her voice cracking as she tried to speak through the tears, Michelle asked him:

"Mr. Sinclair, why did you have to kill those men?"

Those beautiful blue eyes that had so often melted his heart now broke it as they were filled with the disappointment and pain that his actions had caused.

Sitting here now, in his cell, remembering that moment, John's own eyes welled up with tears. As the full weight of what he had done and where he was came crashing down upon him, he began uncontrollably sobbing into his hands. After a moment, he spoke aloud to no one in particular:

"My God, what have I become?"

[Raptor]

Revelations
The Capt. Conduit Saga, Part 5
by Brad Blanton

A loud, electronic buzzing, followed by a metallic click, awakened John Sinclair. Even half asleep as he was, he  instantly recognized the sound of his cell door being unlocked, a product of his many years having served as a prison guard.

"Wake up, Cap. Time for your session with Doc" a voice called, seemingly from miles away.

After a moment, John's mind actually processed what he had just heard. He awoke with a start and forced his eyes open.  Big mistake. The light of the afternoon sun coming in through his cell window blinded him instantly and John had to slam his eyes shut once more to fight back the tears as he sat upright in his bunk. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to appease them, and then remembered the voice he had heard.

"What?" he asked weakly. He forced his eyes open once more as he turned his head toward where he thought the voice came from.

"Come on Cap, get up. You are going to be late" the voice called out again, from the opposite direction John was looking.

He whirled his head in the right direction and blinked a couple times trying to force the blurry image in front of him come into focus. Then he recognized the voice of his prison guard.

"Oh, hey Greg" he said, his voice cracking as it tried to remember how to work.

Then John really heard what had been said and said "Oh! Jeez, is it 3 o'clock already? I must have dozed off while I  was reading. Ok, I'm up.  Give me a minute to get ready."

"'Dozed off'? Cap, you were sawing more wood than a lumberjack!" the guard quipped.

He stood up, ignoring the comment as well as the protests of the cot springs as he did so, and went over to his sink.  He removed the small mask that the prison had issued him as part of his clothing and splashed some water on his face.  He had been tried and convicted of murder as his superhero alias, Capt. Conduit, something that the city government officials admitted had never happened before. Still, the government was extremely serious about protecting the privacy rights of superheroes, and so he'd been processed into the criminal system as Capt. Conduit. To protect his identity, the prison warden had allowed him to wear a mask and for his own safety had given him a cell that was in a wing of the prison complex that was undergoing renovation away from the other prisoners.

The sentence he had received also illustrated just how unusual his case was. In addition to his criminal trial, the Federal Bureau of Superhero Affairs, the federal agency that issues and regulates official superhero licenses, had held their own inquiry and revoked his license for two years. The criminal trial that had followed seemed to take their cues from the FBSA's actions. The jury agreed that due to his prior contributions to the community as Capt. Conduit and the mitigating circumstances leading up to the double-murder, that lenience could be granted in his case. John was sentenced to 2 years in prison, which would be accompanied by mandatory counseling and anger-management sessions. In response to this, the FBSA had further ruled that only upon successful completion of the counseling and anger-management programs would they allow John's hero license to be reinstated.

So here he was, a former prison guard turned hero, and a former hero turned prisoner. He was now 18 months into his sentence and had gotten to know his guards fairly well. He treated them with respect and, in turn, they treated him with the same. Lieutenant Greg Faser was a little different, though. He was a young man in his mid-twenties who was eager and full of promise. He reminded John of himself at that age and he had formed a bit of a friendship with the young man. John only called him "Greg" when he was sure no one else was around, otherwise he knew the young man would get reprimanded.

John replaced his mask and turned to the prison guard waiting patiently outside his cell, "Ok Greg, let's go."

As he stepped into the doorway of his cell he dutifully held his wrists out and let the young guard shackle his wrists and ankles. When they were secured, Greg took him by the arm and began escorting him toward the medical wing for his weekly counseling session.

"Dr. Johannssen, I have your 3 o'clock here, " Greg spoke into the doctor's office when they had arrived.

"Ah, yes, Capt. Conduit! Good, good. Bring him right in lieutenant, I am ready for him just now" the familiar German-accented voice replied.

John was escorted into the psychologist's sparsely decorated office that he had been in hundreds of times before and was instantly greeted by  the small, white-haired doctor as though it had been years since their last meeting, and not last week.

"It is good to see you again, my friend. You are being treated well, I trust?" Dr. Johannssen asked, his standard
greeting.

John smiled and said, "Yeah, they take care of me."

Dr. Johannssen smiled, his eyes gleaming behind his wire-rimmed glasses as he said "Good, good." He then turned his attention to Greg and said, "That will be all lieutenant, thank you."

"Ok, Doc. If you need me, I'll be right outside the door here." Greg replied.

"Thank you Lieutenant Faser, " John called as Greg opened the door to leave. As he stepped through and closed the door behind him, he could have sworn he heard Greg let out a snort of laughter, making him fight to contain a snort of his own.

"A smile! This is good!" Dr. Johannssen said when he noticed John's grin. "When you first came to see me there were not so many of those.  Now I see them more and more. You make excellent progress, John. Please, have a seat."

Dr. Johannssen was the only man in the prison who knew his true identity. It had taken quite a while for John to open up to the elderly doctor, but he had come to trust Dr. Johannssen. Sometime later, he had realized that Dr. Johannssen was the first person he had truly trusted since his wife left him. Whereas he had resented being forced into these sessions at first, he had come to enjoy them now and he even looked forward to them. All of this raced through John's mind as he settled into the couch facing Dr. Johannssen's desk.

When he had settled in, the doctor continued, "Every time you come to me I see a new man, John. You seem happier and full of life. I will tell you, I was truly worried about you after you received the letter from your former super group, but I see you have bounced back nicely since then."

Mentioning the letter made John think back to his first days here at the prison. After only a month of being here, he received a letter from the super group he had been a member of, The Paragon City Patrol. It basically said that since he was now a convicted murderer, they no longer wanted to have anything to do with him. John figured it was more for public relations than anything else. 

"Yeah, doc, that was a pretty rough time. But I eventually realized that I had to get things straight inside my own head before I could be any good in a group." John replied.

"Yes, this is so," stated the doctor. "Let me see..." he said as he checked a paper on his desk. "Yes, I see that you have only 6 months left on your sentence. I think that, if things continue the way they have been, that you could easily be reinstated as an active hero when you are released. Your progress is that good. Do you think you will seek membership in another group if you are reinstated?"

Now John sat back in his seat and stroked his goatee thoughtfully. He hadn't really thought about that. "I don't know doc," he said at last. "I doubt any group would want to have anything to do with me, though, so why bother?"

The elderly doctor just smiled mischievously, as if he had anticipated that answer. "I am not so sure about that, my friend. I have something here you may be interested in. I have done some checking and have come across a group that I think could be a good fit for you.  Here, I have some of their literature."

John took the pamphlet Dr. Johannssen was holding toward him and he studied the plain black cover and team logo.

"NRF?" John asked quizzically.

"The No Remorse Force," the doctor said with a smile. "As you can see by their name, they are not the sort to judge a person by who they were, but by who they are now. Perhaps you could contact them. It could do no harm."

John thought for a moment. "Maybe. I don't know, doc. I've kind of been thinking of retiring anyway. I mean, like you said, I've been happy the last few months. Maybe it was all this superhero stuff that was making me unhappy to begin with. I mean, I've told you before, I never wanted any of this stuff."

Now the old doctor's smile faded. "Now, John, you know that your unhappiness was not caused by your actions as a superhero. We have discussed this before. Now, if you want to retire as a hero, then that is certainly your choice.  Perhaps, since you have learned to control your powers now, you could even blend in with society seamlessly as you were unable to in Alabama. But I do beg you to think about this decision a bit more before you make up your mind. Read that pamphlet I gave you and think about your decision, alright?"

John sighed. "Ok, doc. I will, I promise."

The old doctor smiled once more and said "Good. Now if you will excuse me, I believe our time is up. I will see you again next week?"

John stood and said "You know it, doc. I'll be here with bells on" as he spoke he held out his shackled hands and jingled the chains.

The old doctor laughed out loud and said "A joke! Yes, you ARE making progress my boy."

Dr. Johannssen called for Greg, who promptly escorted John back to his cell. Once there, John lay on his bunk thinking about the points Dr. Johannssen had raised. Could he be happy as an active hero, and if so, could this NRF group truly accept him after all he'd done? John read through the pamphlet several times thinking about all of the information it contained, trying to see if it held the answers to his questions.

"Well, if it ain't Cap'n Sinclair," rumbled a deep, gruff voice while he was intently studying the pamphlet for the 5th or 6th time.

Alarm immediately shot through John's mind. No one was supposed to know his true identity. Then he realized he had recognized that voice. It was a voice from long ago. A voice that now only visited him in his nightmares. His heart pounding in his chest, John looked up from the pamphlet, and there before him staring through the bars of his cell door was the face that had haunted his dreams, that had tormented his thoughts ever since that fateful day in Alabama.

"McGee!!" John screamed out.



The face staring at him just broke into a sickeningly evil smile.

It couldn't be. It was impossible. This had to be some kind of a trick. Yet here he was, Dick McGee, nicknamed "The Ripper" because of the gruesome manner in which he had eviscerated his victims bodies, who had been sentenced to death in Alabama...the man who had been in the chairwhen John had been electrocuted all those years ago. John's mind struggled to remember the events of the past. He realized just then that he'd never been told what happened to McGee after that.

He'd never really thought to ask. He'd just assumed the state had executed him at alater time.

"I knew ya couldn't forget your old pal, Ripper." McGee rumbled out. He was a monster of a man. Easily 7 feet tall, as wide as a Mack truck and large, muscular forearms that looked more like tree trunks than anything else. He had always been a very imposing figure, even back whenhe was on death row, but what had unnerved John then, and what was terrifying him now, was the sheer bitter coldness in his eyes. When John looked into those eyes even now, they made his skin crawl in a way that nothing he had ever experienced as a hero had ever done.

Still in shock, John finally managed to make his vocal cords work. "Wha...how...when...", now that his voice worked, he realized his mind wasn't ready to. Finally he gathered his senses long enough to blurt out "What are you doing here??"

"Whatsa matter, Sinclair? Ya look like ya seen a ghost" chuckled McGee. 'I'm here to make ya an offer. The folks I work for have been keepin' tabs on ya."

John's mind screamed. "What are you talking about? Who do you work for? Why are you in Paragon City??"

McGee just grinned again. "I'm working with an outfit calls themselves 'The Family*'. They wanna offer ya a job. They liked what ya did to those 2 punks. They want ya to do more of it, only this time for them."

Now John bolted from his cot onto his feet. "The Family?! How did you get mixed up with them?" It was then that John saw the prison guard standing next to McGee. It wasn't one of his usual guards and he suspected he was a crooked cop on The Family's payroll.

McGee's grin turned almost feral as he lowered his voice and said "Who do you think arranged for your little 'accident'? Yeah, that's right Sinclair, you were just a diversion to get me outta the pen. They liked my work, see, and they knew I'd work for them if they busted me out.So they rigged your little control booth to fry you instead of me, and in the confusion some of their boys hauled me outta there. I've been working for them ever since. Now they want you to work for them too. Like I said, they liked what they saw. You and me, we're the same. We like hurtin' people. We like killin' people. Might as well make a buck or two for doing what we like, right? I can see I've given you a lotto think about, so I'll leave you to just mull it over. I'll be in touch." And with that, he and the crooked guard walked away.

John's mind raced, screaming for him to stop McGee, but his body refused to react as he was paralyzed with pure shock. It hadn't been an accident. It had NEVER been an accident. The Family had been responsible for it all along. In and of itself, electricity began to dance around his body as the rage he had worked so hard to bury deep within suddenly flared to the surface once again. John was only faintly aware of a red light in his cell flashing and a klaxon in the hallway blaring out a warning.

He was too consumed with his thoughts to pay any of it any attention. He was becoming more and more consumed with his thoughts by the moment.  He didn't even notice the police patrol sentry robot arrive at the door of his cell. The next moment all of his rage and confusion was replaced with agonizing, mind-numbing pain as he was stricken by the patrol-bot's stun gun. John collapsed to the floor of his cell in a heap, and as his world slipped into darkness yet again, one single thought ran through his mind:

McGee.

[Raptor]

This installment contains some adult language that, in accordance with forum rules, I will not post here.  However, I am posting a link to the story on another forum (with that forum's permission).  If you are offended by adult language, do not follow this link.

Thanks.

A New Beginning: The Capt. Conduit Saga - Part 6