[n9zee]

This will be the thread for the story; post comments in the Rabbit Room. (I don't think we'll need an official comment thread)

Some guidelines:
- Keep it PG-13 or so, this should be somewhat family friendly
- Try to post at least 4 sentences; though you can certainly post more.
- relax and have fun!

As I mentioned earlier, it would be neat to see a story that doesn't involve super powers, but don't try to force it just to make me happy. If it's a superhero story, it's a superhero story!

I'll keep an eye on the story and make minor edits - like punctuation and spelling - but the story is up to you guys to write.

[KaosDad]

It was raining. It always rained when he packed. It only added to the gloom of the moment. The shadows of the bedroom seem to swallow the light from the small coal fireplace. She reclined on the bed, watching him, her eyes a bit moister than normal.

"You said after the last time it was all over, no more."

He stopped, the weight of her words settling on his back. "I know I did, but you also know I can't walk away from this."

He wondered why he even bothered unpacking the damned duffle bag. He always packed the same stuff back into it. Every time. With the rain falling on the tatched roof.

[dreamchaser]

He often asked himself why he didn't just leave her. Coming back always seemed to end with her crying and him fighting an onslaught of guilt he had no time for. He'd known long before he met her that he was married to the job. Anyone and anything else would always play second fiddle.

He shrugged off the distracting emotions as anyone else would shrug off a confining suit after a long day. His face was cold, expressionless. He checked the Sig Sauer in its holster at the small of his back and secured his Smith and Wesson .38 snub-nose in an ankle holster concealed under his pant-leg.

Pulling up the collar on his black leather jacket, he ducked out into the rain and didn't look back.

[ForgottenCode]

This one was going to be a bad one – he could feel it deep in his gut. What he’d told her was true, last time was supposed to be the last one, but reality rarely went along with wishes.

He stood on the street corner, rain running off his flat brimmed hat and soaking his coat, but leaving his face dry. He slung the duffle bag over his right shoulder while fitting his left hand into his trench coat pocket and fingering the etched metal piece inside.

Transportation for a job was never his choice. In fact, although he owned a vehicle, a dark green Dodge Ram, he only used it for his home life. He used it to get groceries, or visit the hardware store, or any number of other regular activities.

The job however, was different. It had been decided a long time ago, and not by him that others would control the transportation to and from a job and leave him to only need to worry about what he did best.

[DIV]

He heard the dull roar of a train whistle in the distance.

"Dammit."

He had spent too much time arguing and now he was running late. The train tracks were half a mile west, if this was his ride he was going to be cutting it even closer than usual. He took off toward the sound at a run, trench coat and duffel bag flapping behind him, ruining his usual aura of dignity.

On clear ground, he could do a half mile in a little over 2 minutes, but he was was running through the Canadian wilderness. At 6'5" his long legs leaped easily over smaller weeds, but much of this land was untouched by humans, leaving it massively overgrown. To make matters even worse, a steep incline was making his extended stride all but useless.

As he struggled to make his way to the crest of the hill he heard the train whistle again. He didn't know what would happen if he missed his ride, it had never happened before. He knew better. As he reached the summit of the hill he saw the smoke of the train unfurling over the trees into his new horizon.

Halfway there.

He tore down the slope as fast as his legs would carry him. As it turned out, a little faster than his legs would carry him. He floated in the air for a moment before colliding with the ground and bouncing into a tree. He sprung up without hesitation and let loose a sting of curses that would make a teamster search for a dictionary. Covered in mud, he ran full tilt again, ignoring the biting pain in his left ankle and the ache in his lower back in the place his duffel bag continually bounced against him.

The ground began to even and the wood began to clear. Thank God for deforestation. Soon, the train was in view. He scanned it quickly, his keen eyes noticing a bright red mongoose in the corner of one of the cars. This was his ride. He pumped his legs furiously as, car by car, the train shot past him.

He leaped for the last car as the train rumbled by, his fingers catching the slick exterior handle. By some miracle he managed to gain a grip on the handle and pull his feet onto the metal frame of the car. He gripped the handle tightly and tried to ignore his throbbing back and ankle. He didn't know where the train was headed, if they shared a destination, or even what his destination was.

Then again, that applied to most of his life.

[dreamchaser]

He worked the rusted lock on the exterior of the car until the door slid open with a squeal. With the noise of the train itself, it was unlikely anyone up in one of the occupied cars would hear anything unusual to investigate. He had a cover story, of course, but most of the time going unnoticed was preferable to...well, any of the alternatives.

Once inside, he took off his hat and shook the rain and mud off as best he could before sliding his long body down the wall of the freight car. Seated in as much comfort as could be expected, he took the time to examine his throbbing ankle. Nothing broken, but damn, his empty ankle holster stared back at him. He hated losing a weapon - especially when entering a potentially hostile situation like this one.

No more than a few minutes had passed before he noticed the smell. God, how he hated working with these creatures. You'd think the company could have found allies that weren't so....pungent. He quickly checked his pocket. Good, the metal token was still there. He stood slowly, and breathing as shallowly as he could, he extended his hand palm up. The token began to glow.

[KaosDad]

“No s**t! Um… Sir!”

The corpsman’s eyes were wide as saucers, staring in utter disbelief at the LTCDR in the pilot seat.

“Yep – when we touchdown I get my gold star!” LTCDR Fitzgerald had been explaining that this flight into Amundsen-Scott station completed his 75th support flight to the Antarctic. That, along with a silver “Wintering over” clasp (for three winters at the station) on his Antarctic Service Medal made him a legend in the Navy. “Six years ago they were asking for volunteers for south pole duty. It meant an automatic promotion and guaranteed flight hours. They paired me up with a seasoned pilot and after about five missions he cycled out and I became the head honcho for support flights. They stopped asking me if I wanted to cycle out after my 50th mission.”

The Navy had also given up on trying to issue him a new aircraft. The C-130J he was flying (legend had it) was delivered to the Navy on his commissioning date and he wasn’t about to give it up. In addition to the standard Haze Grey livery, he had 68 snowflakes and six “howling clouds” painted under his window on the pilot’s side. The snowflakes were for regular, no incident landings. The howling clouds for six times he landed in foul weather. Underneath four of those was a red cross for evacuating a seriously ill stationer.

Today’s flight was no big deal. The plane was loaded with routine supplies plus a couple of new snow buggies. He would evacuate out a bunch of empty cargo crates, two busted buggie chassis (stripped of all useful parts for spares) and any samples the scientists had cored out. The weather was clear & bright and the last report he had checked put the winds at AS peaking at only fifteen knots.

“Fitz” pressed the radio send button on the yoke; “Amundsen Station, this is delta-charlie-one-three-niner. We are about thirty clicks out and requesting ground conditions, over.”