Micro fan fiction: "Conversations" Come in and contribute!

I just thought it could be fun if we had a low comittment fan fiction topic, just for fun. The general theme of this fiction thread is quiet interaction between heroes rather than larger action sequences so common to the supehero genre. I figured this can keep the entries short, punch and generally easy to write without worrying too much about building a larger arc.


With that, let's get started. :)  I'll put my first contribution in the next post.



Heroes: Mr. Fixer & Unity - "Ain't Broke"




"No," Mr. Fixer said flatly.


"But c'mon. You know I could do it to. It'd be so easy for me!" Unity said with a whine.


"No". The same response. The same flat tone. 


Unity blew a stray piece of hair out of her face and crossed her arms with a huff. Sullenly, she leaned against the wall of the garage and turned her head out to face the morning sun. Mr. Fixer continued working on an engine block of an old Ford Mustang, his head down and hands busy under the raised hood of the car. She didn't know why she was being forced to just stand around and be bored to tears like this. At least it was a warm summers day.


"It would be so easy to turn any one of these cars into a robot. It'd be awesome!" Unity threw out imploring, excited hands towards Mr. Fixer, as if she could impress upon a blind man of her point if she could but gesture hard enough.  "I could probably improve the fuel efficiency if you give me a couple minutes! Oh! Maybe I could make it transform back and forth too. It would be totally adorbs! And weapons! I could give it a brand new..."




Unity frowned with much vigor.

Mr. Fixer absently wiped some grease from his palms with a nearby rag. "Young lady, why do you think I asked you to visit my garage?"

"To help with the workload?" Unity offered.


"Child, I have being handling this garage just fine for years before you were born. I asked you here to teach you something."


"Oh! Kung-fu!" Unity quickly chopped the air in front of her.


"No." Mr. Fixer gestured for Unity to come closer and, with a calmness that belied his blindess, guided her hand to the engine block. "What is this?"

Unity was a little confused. "Um...it's an engine block."

Mr. Fixer shook his head. Gently he said, "Close your eyes. You already have the power to look deeper here. This was a car from nearby where we last clashed with Citizen Dawn. Now...tell me again what this is."

Unity furrowed her brow but closed her eyes despite herself. Through her palm, through her glove, she felt the metal and frame of the parts. The heft of pistons and pipes and...teeth marks. Teeth marks that were identical to that of her raptor bots. A bite that only Mr. Chomps could have made. She realized what had happened and guilt crept up on her like a swarm of bee bots. "Oh...it's my handiwork."

"Exactly. And you will fix it. The old fashioned way," Mr. Fixer handed her a wrench and walked off to grab another cigar.


Unity frowned one last time, but smiled when she heard Mr. Fixer add, "And...maybe a Kung-fu lesson later if you are good."






That was a cute story! Maybe I'll take a stab at writing a little blurb. 

Oh man I had totally forgotten about this thread.

I started this one when I first read this thread, but by the time I got around to finishing it I couldn't remember why I started writing it.

Anywhere, here it is:

Keep your friends close.

Expat scouts the Freedom 5.


Amanda Cohen was bored.  As bored as she had been in years.  This whole team thing wasn’t really her style, but Legacy was right, they needed her, The Ennead were no joke.

“Your problem is you care too much.” she said to herself.

Lt. Starchy, or whatever his name was continued his tactical briefing, she knew it all, she had read the report, it was well done, but now he just kept talking.  

She had seen the suit, it was impressive.  That kind of armor could absorb a lot of firepower, and the weapons layout was no less powerful.  But aiming with computer assisted gyro balancing crap?  That wasn’t going to get you anywhere.  You'd just have to keep your movements from being predicted and find the right part of the suit to shoot.

“Hmm. . . “ she quietly thought out loud, “open big, rocket to the upper chest, then some smoke and flash for the sensors, then right under for the access panels, some plastic or a knife if you want the suit.  Although. . . some scramblers might be real useful, depending on the suits magnetic protection.”

Satisfied with that evaluation and making a mental note to get some scramblers Amanda let her gaze move to the next person.

“Ryan Frost, AKA Absolute Zero.  The obvious route was incendiary ammo, but the obvious route is how you die.  She’d need to get some numbers on the power drain of that suit, you want to hit him while it’s low.  Maybe overwork it, switch up cryo and incendiary, or get something that would stick to the suit.  Napalm could work, get him burning and overwork the suit, then just keep him busy till things went bad.”

“Speaking of Napalm,” Amanda looked to the man in white standing so tall in the front, “I wonder how he’d react to it.  I don’t care how tough his skin is, Napalm would have to have some effect.  After that get him coming at you.  Invulnerable and mad meant predictable.  She could probably get him to take himself out at that point, she’d need to go light and be able to mix up fire and kinetics.  He’d be hard, and dangerous.  Probably be better off taking out his team mates and letting him stew about it.”

“Next up,” she said quietly as she shifted her gaze to Dr. Meredith Stinson, Tachyon.  The easy way would be to go after the wife, but that was cheap and distasteful, amateur stuff, and a damn good way to make more enemies than you can dodge.  Tachyon was tricky, she’d seen the woman’s training program, seen her weave around bullets.  “Need to set her up, get her to come to my shot.  Shotgun would be nice, but too bulky, you’d never get her lined up.  Flash Bangs wouldn’t blind her with those fancy goggles she wore, but throwing off her balance a bit could be helpful.  Best bet would probably be dual subs, get enough bullets on her at once and she might not dodge one.  Mostly she’d need to get the jump on her in tight quarters, in the open Tachyon would just outrun her ability to strafe.  “Catch her off-guard, probably in the break room, quick flash-bangs and dual subs.”  She still didn’t like the odds, but it would do.

Lt. Starchy was still talking, it was unbelievable.  Thorough was one thing, but did he really have to babysit this team through a tac briefing?  “Maybe they really do need me,” Amanda muttered.

Lastly there was The Wraith, Maia Montgomery, Amanda looked to see the Wraith’s empty chair. . .  she looked back across the room, They were still talking, and Amanda hadn’t been so distracted that she would have missed someone leaving the room.

“Hello there.”

Amanda nearly jumped out of her chair.  @$## how had she gotten right freaking behind her?

“Sorry if I startled you,” Maia whispered, “I couldn’t help but notice you were scouting the team.”

“Yeah, sorry” Amanda choked out, “old habits.”

“Hey don’t fret it, do it myself all the time.” Maia replied.  “So how’d you get Stinson?”

Trying my hand at this.


He stands in the hallway, observing.

He was used to being in the thick of action and taking decisive steps to thwart evil, but at the moment, Paul Parsons' demeanor was pensive and uncertain.

Was he doing the right thing, training his daughter as his father had done before him, a family tradition dedicated to the preservation of freedom and liberty wherever injustice and fear reared its ugly head? It seemed to be a natural thing, and she was certainly well equipped for the weights that would come with the cape.

Yet, the things he had seen, the things that the Visionary had spoken of sent a cold chill down his spine.

He never wanted to leave her alone. He never wanted to give Blade the chance to do the unthinkable.

Was it his place to choose? She'd be of age to make her own decisions, and soon.

So pondering, he stands in the hallway, watching her as she studies in the den, golden sunlight from the windows there making her long hair sparkle.

She stops, and turns her youthful, exuberant smile on her observer, "Hey dad, everything ok?"

"Sure," he replies, summoning a smile that only she can prompt, ever since he first saw her blink her eyes in the delivery room. He pauses, then continues, "Just have a lot of thoughts on my mind, about the future."

Pauline, still smiling, laughs, "Love you, too, Dad, but staring at me is making it hard for me to study my physics, and you know how Meredith gets when I don't ace those exams."

Paul nods, smiles, "We can't have that, can we?" and reluctantly heads for the kitchen. 

Focus on the now. The future will just have to wait.

Here's my take on things. I hope it's well received.

The Speed of Sound

The cooling metal tinked slightly as the night winds brushed against it. The sun, once a white hot orb in the sky, had sunk below the horizon half an hour ago and the desert was quickly becoming comfortable.

 Perched on what remained of the now charred wagon on Main Street, Anthony Drake idly strummed the strings of the old banjo he’d picked up from the floor. He winced and adjusted them slightly, smiling as a second strum produced a more friendly noise. 

 ‘Hi.’ A voice from the air said, followed a second later by a soft breeze. ‘Whatcha doing?’ The same voice, coming from a different direction.

 Drake sighed, giving the strings one final strum.

‘What does it look like, Meredith? I’m tuning a banjo.’

 ‘Oh.’ The breeze brushed past again and he closed his eyes, his fingers dancing on the strings. A lambent green glow began to surround him, the colour pulsing in time to the notes.

 A few heads appeared at various windows, curiousity at watching the red haired stranger make such beautiful music from Ole Flaningan’s strangled cat outweighing their fear.

 He played on, oblivious to the attention. The glow began to expand and then, abruptly, disappeared.

 ‘Meredith. If you’re going to stand that close to me, at least wear something classy and be asking me to dance.’ Drake said, his eyes closed and his lips barely moving.

 ‘Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to.  Better? I’m just so bored. Bored, bored, bored, BORED.’ The woman in the white tracksuit flopped to the ground dramatically. ‘There’s nothing to do. The tech is non-existent, I’ve run around the place so many times I’ve lost count, Maia asked me to check the ridge and I did. Twice. I just want to do something fun.’ A blur and she stood in front of him. ‘Play something fun. A scherzo or something. Please?’ She cocked her head. ‘Plllllllllllllease, Anthony.’

 He opened his eyes and sighed. ‘Fine. I’ll give you something to do.’ He placed the banjo on the floor and then pulled a pair of silver pipes out of the air.

 The notes danced in the still night, flashes of green light dancing around Drake as he played.

 He lifted his lips from the pipes and grinned.

 ‘Fetch.’ The next note caused the air around him to ripple and then the nearest cactus burst into fire, sparks flying into the air, carried by the breeze.

 There was a laugh, a blur, a breeze and then the cactus was extinguished. Drake’s grin widened and he continued playing, igniting more cacti.

 ‘Are you going to do this all night?’ The deep voice of Paul Parsons asked from behind him. He shrugged.

 ‘There’s a lot of cacti out there. It keeps her busy. And we might be here for a very long time.’

Sorry about the double post. Any feedback is welcome.



‘You want me to do what?’ Ryan Frost glared at the red-haired bartender. ‘This is my home. Not your own personal cold storage.’ His voice was bitter, accusatory.

 ‘It wasn’t my idea. Pauline wants an ice sculpture there and she thought it would give you something to do while you’re waiting for a new television.’ Anthony Drake, zipped in a big winter coat as he was, shivered in the sub-zero room. ‘Please? It would mean a lot to her. And you do owe him your life. Several times over.’

‘Look around you, Drake. It’s not like I have that much room in here to begin with. Casa del Frost is tiny. But it’s mine. And I don’t care what plans she has for her father’s birthday, you are NOT making me share my living space, the only place I can be out of that damned suit, with a chunk of ice, let alone carve it. I don’t need reminding of my situation every time I turn around.’

 Drake nodded and turned to leave.

‘I’ll let her know that’s how you feel. But she’ll probably get Pete to ask you as well.’ He stepped into the airlock and kept his back to Frost, missing the panicked look that flitted over the older man’s features.

 Frost glanced at the large picture of his fiancée, grimacing at the memory of what had happened to it the last time the bumbling, yellow-suited idiot had come into his cryo-chamber.


‘I am still not sure that this is the best use of my...gifts.’ The woman known to her friends as Helena said as she flew near the ceiling of the large hall. Her wingtips brushed a chandelier as she hovered, affixing decorations to the ceiling itself.

‘Pardon?’ A deep voice asked from below. She glanced down, her normally solemn face struggling to hide smile arising from the infectious smile that was always on Aata Wakarewarewa’s lips.

‘God gave me these wings for a reason, no matter what that Deceiver says, and I am putting them to use to hang decorations.’

 The big man merely shrugged, regarding his own handiwork critically.

‘Is this bunting too much? The kids wanted to help but got a bit carried away.’ He opened his arms, his large hands holding the ends of the lantern-shaped bunting delicately.

 Helena lowered herself gently to the floor, the breeze from her wings sending ripples along a nearby drape. She walked over to her companion.

 ‘It will do. Pauline was not very specific with her instructions, so I do not suppose that it really matters.’ She gave up fighting the smile, remembering her recent vow to seek redemption for everyone, including herself.

 Aata grunted and nodded his agreement, putting the bunting aside to begin work on assembling another strand.

‘You should come and visit the kids at some point.’ He said conversationally as his fingers danced around with surprising dexterity. ‘I’m sure they’d love you.’ He looked up. ‘They certainly won’t judge you.’

 Helena regarded him for a long moment before nodding.

‘Perhaps. It would be nice to be distracted from my thoughts for once.’ She paused, ‘From my doubts.’ She added quietly, immediately wondering what it was about the big Maori that prompted people to expose their darkest thoughts to him.


Pauline Felicia Parsons’ apron was doing an admirable job of keeping her clothes clean. Somewhere under all of the dough, she knew, it read ‘Feed the Hero’. But for the moment she was too concerned with the bowl of cake mix in front her.

 ‘Cake tin.’ She ordered, her voice bubbling with an undercurrent of laughter. There was a repetitive clanking noise and a small man, barely six inches tall, crossed the work-surface towards her, the tin held above his head.

 The tiny robot, his eyes glowing pink, came to a stop in front of her and proffered the cake tin. She took it, laughing out loud at the tiny face, it was a perfect replica of her father’s.  She began to spoon the dough into the tin.

‘I could make something to do that for, you know?’ Devra Caspit said from her position on the edge of the table.

‘I know. But it’s my Dad’s birthday and I promised Mom I would make the cake by myself.’

‘Oh. In that case....’ Devra’s voice trailed off and the little metal Legacy shivered and twisted, the fragments of recycling that comprised it re-arranging themselves to form a metal replica of Pauline herself. ‘Is that better?’

‘It was fine as it was.’ Pauline said, turning around to look at her friend. Devra Caspit sat on the table, her fingers idly scratching the head of the little metal dinosaur she seemed to take everywhere. ‘And he is adorable. Whatever the Five say.’

Devra laughed.

‘You hear that, Mr Chomps? Who’s an adorable dinosaur? You are. Yes, you are.’

Pauline looked around the kitchen, noticing it looked like an edible bomb had exploded in it.

‘Could you make something to help me clean up while we wait for the party?’

Just want to say that I enjoyed everything that everyone posted here.  You're all very talented!


I agree!

Also, would anyone be opposed of their fanfic getting fanart? It's just a thought I have right now, but I wanted to run it by yall first. 

I'm fine with it. It'll probably end up as desktop wallpaper....

The Price of a Smile"

"You do not smile enough."

Helena looked up at the large, somewhat immodetly dressed, man with a miled glare. "I do not require a lecture from you."

The large man chuckled. "That is what I mean. You are not happy when you fight. You are not happy when you rest. You are not even happy when you eat. You must smile more."

"The position of my mouth does not affect my ability to defeat evil," Helena retorted. She tried to turn her full attention to her sword, though of course the broken blade needed no attention despite its current form.

"That is very not true," the muscular man said in a light tone. "I have lived many lifetimes, and I know what is true. You cannot win if you cannot smile."

"I have won many battles," Helena said dismissively, "and vanquished many evils."

"Have you?" the large man asked. "Do you remember all the battles that you have won?"

"Every last one," Henela replied instantly with confidence. The face of the deceiver flashed in her mind, and she shuddered a bit. But it did not take anything from her passion. "I have never forgetten any of them!"

The big man walked around so that he was centered with Helena's position. "Then you have not won. these battles haunt you, and you obsess over them. What could you ahve done differently? Better?"

Helena glared more fiercely this time at the man whose smile would not fade. "What is wrong with that? I am an agent of the Lord. I must strive for perfection!"

The man in red and yellow spandex nodded with a big smile. "Yes! Perfection. That is why you are known as Fanatic. And perfection is good. Perfection requires you to smile."

Helena huffed. "I think that you and I shall agree to disagree on that."

He shook his head. "No, we must not disagree. You are called by a good god to protect the weak and the innocent. It is a noble calling. They must be able to see that such a service makes you happy!"

Helena could not believe how incredulous or audacious this man was being. "You think that I should smile whenever I smite down a foe? That would cause a little girl watching me to fear me, rather than admire me."

The large man from New Zealand put a hand on her shoulder. She intentionally did not react, but she listened to him anyway. "You worry about this little girl that may see you? She must be made to see good, yes?"

Helena nodded, but she did not look at him.

"Good is making good grow," he insisted. "How do you feel when this little girl cries? How do you feel when she smiles? It affects you, does it not? Makes you stronger, or weaker."

Helena thought about it.

"You do not smile enough," Haka said again.

Very cool! The more I hear about him, the more I think that Haka would be one of my favorite characters in Sentinel comic books. 

Great story!

I love the story, but I thought Haka was from New Zealand, not Hawaii...

You are correct - he is Maori.

Ouch. I need a good Haka Ashamed meme. :)

Edited the story to fix it. Thanks for the catch everyone!

I know the OP states this is for heroes, but would anyone mind reading about villains during their downtime? I've had a few ideas bouncing around.

Sure, stories about villains would be neat. 

I like villains.

I imagine friction being a really annoying person with a one track mind. And the V5 on their off time try to avoid her