SHORE WRAITH - The Pirate Protector
(Vol. 1, Part 1)
On a rooftop at night in one of the more densely populated areas of Northeast Florida stood a figure both strange and familiar. This supernatural defender of the region appeared once in every generation for hundreds of years before suddenly and inexplicably disappearing. It was called the Shore Wraith, and despite its long past, almost anyone seeing it on that night was likely to think they were seeing a crazy person dressed like a figure in local folklore. Yet current events suggested that this pirate-adjacent vigilante wasn't reappearing for no reason.
With the 21st century more than half over, the threat of civil war had forced the United States to become the Territorial Cooperative of North America. Cultural and economic distinctions determined the map lines and what remained of the federal government existed mostly to mediate territorial conflicts. Smaller “state” governments struggled to stay funded and maintain legitimacy as factions coalesced against them, each secure in a conviction that only in its image could (or should) the states ever be reunited. But now, from one of the first regions settled long ago, a game changer reemerged.
From the rooftop, the Wraith's gaze followed the path of an armored vehicle with very precious cargo. Larger than life holograms of local news anchors had declared on street corners across the city:
“Experts determined that dismantling the device is more dangerous than its actual use, so the territorial government has reached an agreement with its inventor Dietrich Olivaw and acquired the Quantum Re-Calibrator for an undisclosed amount.”
Also in hologram form had been Olivaw, himself, publicly commenting upon his invention and its fate.
“I built the Re-Calibrator believing that if we could visit other dimensions and historical eras, it might help us get a better perspective on today's issues and find common ground again. Now, I can only hope that it is kept safe until such a time as there are people wise and mature enough to use it as I originally intended.”
Crazy or not, there was an actual man behind the Wraith who talked via an earpiece with his mysterious partner – occasionally called Handler - while following the armored vehicle with his glowing eyes. His colloquial speech was in stark contrast to his dramatic appearance. “It's 90 degrees on this rooftop,” he said, “and all I see is the armed transport. What am I looking for? What am I supposed to do?”
An amiable yet authoritative voice asked, “Do you trust the territorial government?”
The Wraith betrayed his fundamental humanity by replying, “I'm a social worker, not a vigilante.”
“It may sound corny,” said the Handler, “but we don't always choose our destinies. And anyway, the Wraith part of you has a mind of its own. Not totally sentient, but...”
“I know, I know. The 500 year old genetic curse that lets me turn this compass on my chest and teleport to wherever I need to be.”
With wry humor, the Handler said, “You could try web-slinging on palm trees.”
While the Wraith and his partner were talking, the armored vehicle had progressed beyond the area visible from the rooftop. Around ten minutes later, it came to a stop in the relatively empty parking lot of a local storage facility. The only other vehicle present was a sedan from which exited its driver Bruno, an imposing figure with a chain necklace wearing a white suit.
“I don't know what y'all want to do with this thing,” said the Driver as Bruno approached him, “but if it ain't parked in a government facility in the next 48 hours, we're all screwed. I really should know where you're having the autopilot take it.”
“No, you shouldn't,” Bruno replied. “Think plausible deniability. Emeritus won't screw up this deal, and once you have the money we're paying, you should feel right as rain.”
“And when will I have the money?”
“Check your account,” Bruno said with a smirk.
“Uh-huh...” The regret was visible on the Driver's face, but Bruno had an intimidating presence and enough rumors had spread to make the Driver certain that it was a bad idea to cross a well-connected clandestine group like Emeritus. So, having done the deed, he spent the rest of the evening at a nearby bar trying to forget. Had he known what he would later face, he would have realized that it was futile.
Shortly after one in the morning, the Driver called it quits and called for a ride home. He wasn't even sure that what he heard was real when, upon stumbling out of the bar into the alley, he heard a voice call to him, “Where is the quantum recalibrator?” Though the question sounded a little funny to him, the sight he saw upon looking to his right was not. The Wraith had found him.
“Buddy, I don't know what you're talking about,” the Driver stammered, “so why don't you...” But before the Driver could finish his sentence, he felt a hand around his neck and momentarily blacked out. When he awoke after what felt like mere minutes, he found himself dangling from the Wraith's hand that was gripped around his neck over the churning waters of the Atlantic Ocean!
“I will only ask once more before using more intrusive methods to get what I want,” the Wraith said. “Where is the quantum recalibrator?” Unable to scream, the inebriated Driver muttered incoherently and then promptly fainted. What happened immediately thereafter would remain a mystery to both.
It was three in the morning when Archie Collins found himself back in his one-bedroom apartment trying to piece together the previous few hours. Though unable to remember how or why, he was sitting in his favorite chair with the Shore Wraith's garments folded and set neatly on the coffee table before him. The ringing of his phone – normally an annoyance given the time – came as a relief as he picked up the receiver, sure that it could only be one person.
“Cora,” Archie began. “What happened to me?”
“You know what happened,” Cora sad in a mildly disapproving tone. “You let the Wraith take control.”
And like a light being turned on, bits of Archie's memory began emerge in his head. At least, he hoped they were his memories, but the picture they painted was one Archie would never knowingly choose – a picture of him doing what no human should be capable of, hovering over the ocean with his hand around a man's neck during a most extreme interrogation.
“The man... The driver. What happened to him?”
“Do you honestly expect me to know that?” Cora asked with indignation. “I told you the Wraith was an entity unto itself – non corporeal, but quasi-sentient nonetheless.”
“I'm asking you for information that only a Handler could give me, not a line reading from some sci-fi show!”
“Not even a Handler can know everything! You have to start taking some responsibility, Archie. If it were as simple as taking this burden away from you, I would do that in a heartbeat, but I can't. What you're dealing with can't be undone. Period. The Wraith is part of you, and until you make yourself a part of it, your consciousness will always be at its mercy.”
Archie sighed in guilt and resignation. “Can you at least tell me if you think that man survived?”
“That depends,” Cora said. “Do you think you're capable of killing? Or, to put it more accurately, do you think you're strong enough to keep the Wraith from using you to kill?”
“I'm not sure how to answer that honestly.”
“And that, my boy, is the problem.”
TO BE CONTINUED...