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Trouble Has a Name

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Heroid:
Punching bad guys in the city is way better than bein' one in prison.

Not that I was really a bad guy. I just made a bad decision. Or two. Or four. I never felt like I did anything to violate my probation, but I guess when you romance the daughter of a billionaire, the daughter of a influential religious leader, and the daughter of one of Crey Industries chief scientists -- all at once -- one of them daddies is bound to have enough pull to get a judge to send you back to jail. Or maybe all of them did. Of course, if I hadn't been involved in that bank robbery when I was fifteen, I wouldn't have been in trouble to begin with.

But two years in Cell Block X -- a facility built just for li'l ol' me -- wasn't that hard to deal with. It gave me time to think and once a week Mr. Kirby would come and talk to me, kinda let me know that the hard times would pass. He wasn't no stranger to trouble, having made some mistakes of his own -- and him a lot older than me -- but he's come through it all right. I come through it all right too.

I've been keepin' a low profile since I got back, tryin' to get a feel for the new city.

Not that Paragon's not still Paragon. If anything, it's even more Paragon now than it was before. But it's just... different.

Maybe it's 'cause I was away when whatever happened happened, but I noticed it right away. Some of the people I knew before hadn't aged a day since I last saw them, even though it had been a couple of years. Others had gotten older just like me. And these people exist side-by-side and don't bat an eye about it. Oh, they talk their theories about what happened and what didn't happen, but there ain't nobody knows anything for sure. I guess that's the one thing about Paragon that ain't changed -- it's still the weirdest fricken place on Earth.

But anyway, I'm back and I'm ready to make a name for myself. I used to just go by Wyatt Wyborn, but hell, when you google that, it brings up my mug shots. The name I'm gonna make for myself is... (da-da-da-daaaa!) Hurtproof.

Pretty awesome, huh?

Paragon Avenger:

Paragon Avenger:

Paragon Avenger:

Paragon Avenger:
He sipped his beer slowly.  Yeah, he was no lightweight drinker.  he used to mix Bourbon, Rum, Vodka and Gin together.  He called it 'The Nasty'.  The name along made his old acquaintances shy away.  The pale brown color looked unappealing as well.  Although it really didn't smell too bad, it was named for its taste.  Tonight was different.  He didn't want to see how much he could drink before he had to throw up, a little game he used to play with his friends.  He wasn't trying to screw-up courage to rip-off a gas station or all night Quickie Mart(c).  He was simply killing time...waiting.

A good-looking slender man approached him.  "Wyatt?"  He asked.
Hurtproof looked up from his beer.  "Are you wearing glitter?"  He countered.
"I have a sparkly personality and a face to match, scooch over."  The stranger replied.
"Look, you're cute and all, but I don't swing that way."
"Oh get over yourself.  Now slide over my dogs are barking."

Hurtproof moved over a little to let the glitter guy sit down.
"Thank you, now I understand that you are looking for a guy."
"I told you, I don't swing that way, do a have to rearrange your face?"  Hurtproof insisted feeling insulted.
"Oh please, you are definitely not my type."
"Why, what's wrong with me, not that I care."  Hurtproof said not knowing why.  He had never been rejected by a gay guy before.  He had never been accepted by a gay guy before either.

"Where do I begin..."
"Ok, ok, never mind, why are you here?"  Hurtproof interrupted
"For a modest fee, my agency can help locate just about anybody in the city, on the isles or even in Praetoria."
"How much we talking, and how do I know I'm getting what I paying for?"
"Excellent questions, first we have several bundle packages and saver plans to fit any budget."
"Get lost."

"Typical, alrighty how's 5000i grab you?"
"Wow!"  Hurtproof replied in shock.
"And another 5000i after the job is done."
"I just want to find him, not put a contract out on him."
"Why didn't you say so?  Oh never mind, 300i for good info about his last known where-a bouts."

"Sounds good."
"And 1000i for his current where-a-bouts."
"You don't miss a trick."
"And another 1000i and we forget to tell him that you're coming."
"You ought to be locked-up."  Hurtproof admonished.

"Usually I do the locking-up and then I ..."
"Enough!  Promise me you will NEVER give me any details concerning your---hobbies."
"Oh you are a prude.  Give me two grand and Some Nut With A Gun will be your---playmate."
"How did you know..."  Hurtproof started.
"It is my business to know, now 2000 portraits of Statesman, please."

Hurtproof reached into his wallet.  He carefully counted out the 2 G's.  He tossed the money on the table, and with one very quick and graceful movement, the sparkly stranger gathered the money and slipped it into his pocket.
"Aren't you going to count it?"  Hurtproof said sarcastically.
"Not here."  The stranger got up.  "We will be in touch."  The strange slide around the corner.
"Oh hell no!"  Hurtproof exclaimed.  He got up and went after the stranger, but as he rounded the corner he could not see sparkles anywhere.  "Great, just great; I just blew 2000i"

Nobody dared to laugh.

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