Louie Lue, Occult Detective

Death Written in Hanzi

by CSyphrett

As museum curator Jackie Lue arrives in Honolulu from Hong Kong for his first vacation in years, he expects to have a nice, quiet vacation visiting his grandfather. But when that grandfather is the famous occult detective Louie Lue, can there be any relaxation involved? Unfortunately for the young martial arts master and his mystically endowed grandfather, the Tiger Demon cult has other plans for him!

• Chapter 1: The Tiger Demon Cult

• Chapter 2: The Yaoguai

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Hourman

Beware the Ides of February

by HarveyKent

All married men know the drill — don’t forget about Valentine’s Day! When Hourman tries to pick up a last-minute gift for his wife at a local jewelry store, he catches the Sportsmaster in the midst of a robbery! But since his hour of power is already up, is it game over for Hourman?

• Chapter 1: Valentine’s Day Emergency

• Chapter 2: Foul Ball

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Showcase

The Coyote Howls

by CSyphrett

When Willie White Raven finds himself transported from the Mojave Desert to the land of spirit animals, he finds himself in a losing battle with Coyote and Raven against Bear, leading to a showdown with Snake. But while this vision quest results in the birth of a new hero called the Coyote, Willie’s troubles are far from over as he encounters the menaces of Diamond Jill and a group of villains gathered by Snake to finally take him down. Will the Coyote and his new ally, a super-speedster, be able to overcome this ultimate menace?

• Chapter 1: The Ring

• Chapter 2: Thrill Ride

• Chapter 3: Servant of Set

• Chapter 4: Snake’s Revenge

• Chapter 5: The Coyote’s Desert

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The Unknown Soldier

Times Past, 1953

Death at the Inn of the Red Swan

by Blackwolf247, with Doc Quantum of the Time Trust

A version of the Korean War in an alternate timeline in which the Nazis and Imperial Japanese remain undefeated is the backdrop of this exciting spy story. The Unknown Soldier is sent to Korea to either retrieve or kill a scientist who is a supposed traitor before he can supply the Japanese with a powerful mind-control technique. But before he can do so, he has to grapple with a new King Cobra and two other special agents of the Axis. Just another day in the life of the Unknown Soldier! Featuring a short history of the Blackhawks — all three groups by that name!

• Chapter 1: South of the 38th Parallel

• Chapter 2: Too Many Blackhawks

• Chapter 3: King Cobra’s Nest

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The Brave and the Bold: Batman and the Metal Men

True Mettle

Times Past, 1982

by Libbylawrence

When Dr. Will Magnus goes missing, the Metal Men seek out Batman to help them find their missing creator. But they instead end up battling an army of looting robots made of iron, which are strangely similar to the Metal Men themselves. Has Doc Magnus gone rogue?

• Chapter 1: Missing: One Doc Magnus

• Chapter 2: Too Many Irons in the Fire

• Chapter 3: Family Ties

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Secret Origins

The Goon

by Doc Quantum of the Time Trust

Jake Bennetti, nicknamed Bobo by the newspapers, was nothing more than a bank robber, a big thug with super-strength who fought a lot of superheroes in the 1950s and ’60s. But when an opportunity comes by for Bobo to change his stripes, will he take it? Introducing the Goon!

***

Listen up, kiddies, and I’ll tell you a tale. ‘Bout a guy — young guy, rakish good-looks. Did his Navy stint, saw Korea in the first few weeks of that whole mess. ‘N got a floating mine shoved up his ass in the process. He is me, of course. Me, Jake Bennetti.

So I wake up in a hospital. I should be linguini and clams from the waist down. But no, I’m whole. In fact, I feel better than I did before. How much better only became clear as time went by. I got my Navy discharge. Couldn’t wait to get back in a pair of pants with pleats and turn-ups. Couldn’t wait to sleep in until half an hour before the first rays. Couldn’t wait to do a lot of things, like try out the super-powers I discovered I got from the blast.

Super-strong. Super-tough. And when I get scraped up, I heal quick.

Back in ’51, when I first learned I had powers, I thought about being a superhero… for maybe a half a second. But me, I knew who was. Certainly not a bleeding heart. Was I a bad guy? Can’t say I know. But when it came, the test of my morals — no, wait up. I gotta confess: there was no test, no crossroads. I needed dough for a tip I got at the track, so I robbed a bank — a small bank. And with my powers, it was easy. And fun!

Deliver ice? Everyone was getting refrigerators. Tend bar? I would’a drunk away the profits. I was a bank robber. Pretty soon, the newspapers saddled me with a nickname I hated — Bobo — and I ended up fighting some superheroes in the process. Sure, the JSA’d retired the same year I got back from Korea with my powers, but some o’ the members were still around in the ’50s. And there were still plenty o’ holdouts from World War II back then. My main enemies were Doctor Mid-Nite and Starman. Even fought Green Lantern once — the old one with blond hair and broad shoulders, not his much-younger double who replaced him a couple years back. (*) Now that was a fight. Scraped skin off my knuckles that day.

[(*) Editor's note: See Green Lantern: Emerald Renaissance for the real story.]

I wasn’t no killer, though. I was a bank robber. And once, I even saved Starman’s life, when I heard that he was gonna be offed by three of the big guns, as far as super-villains go — the Fiddler, the Icicle, and the Gambler. But they wasn’t about to kill him the old-fashioned way, see? They staged a robbery and hired snipers to pick Starman off when his back was turned. How’d I hear about it? Well, these things get around. One guy starts bragging, tells his buddy, who tells someone else, and so on and so forth.

Anyways, where was I? Yeah, I heard about this around the same time as I fought the Jester, back in ’52. It was one of his last public appearances, and he was on my trail. I knew this, but I also knew about the plan to shoot Starman in the back. I went to a guy by the name o’ the Shade back in Opal City, Starman’s town. I knew he was an Opal boy. And he’d never fought Starman, only did his crimes out of state. Fought the Flash over in Keystone City, so that told me he liked the way things were. And this guy was big-time, too; I wasn’t. I figured that made him smarter than me, and I wanted advice. I was no killer. Knowing a man was about to die and not telling him made me culpable, in my books. But I was also not a rat. Only problem was, the Shade didn’t give a care. I was on my own.

So the deal went down. The Gambler, the Fiddler, and the Icicle came out in plain view, planning on getting Starman out in the open so their hired gunmen could pick ‘im off. The Jester was there, too, and they began to mop the floor with ‘em. Up on the rooftops, though, I did what I had to do. I picked off the assassins myself. Got four of ‘em in seconds, but there was a fifth, and I was too late. I wasn’t gonna make it to him in time.

Well, I’ll tell you, I had the surprise o’ my life when outta nowhere, the Shade came from the shadows and got the fifth hitman. I glanced back down to the street and saw Starman and the Jester shaking hands. The big-time super-villains were sprawled all over the pavement. Me an’ the Shade just looked at each other. It was tense. I said to him, “One thing — if you tell anyone I did this, I’ll kill you.”

All he said was, “Likewise,” and we parted ways.

Six months later, I returned to Opal and ended up fighting Starman for the first time after a haul. Got arrested and spent some time in the stir for it. But I knew I’d done the right thing. I said I wasn’t no hero, but every man’s got some good and bad in him.

I robbed a lot more banks, right through to the mid-sixties, and fought a lot of superheroes during that time, too. Even defeated a few of ‘em, like the original Fury and Air Wave. Small fry. I was in and out of the joint so much during those years that I never got rich from my schemes. It became a way o’ life more than anything.

Until 1965. I was out doing a job in Salem, and I fought Doc Fate. Now, bro, you ever get the inkling to fight a superhero, a word to the wise — stay clear of the magical ones. Anyway, I got out of that one with fifty bucks and the skin of my teeth.

So I get home, back in Opal, and I find my wife with another man. I go crazy. I’m super-strong. I kill ‘em both before I know what I’ve done. Then I call the cops and wait for them. I surrender, meek as a lamb.

I spent the next fifteen years in jail. I didn’t care. My girl was dead, and inside I was dead, too. I tell you, there ain’t a day went by that I haven’t thought of her. Even now, she’s still under my skin, as ol’ Blue Eyes said. Anyways, they let me out at the end of those fifteen years. They’d only charged me with manslaughter and were convinced of my reformation.

Me? I wasn’t so convinced. I hadn’t done anything but rob banks and spend time in prison since Korea. I’d never held down a job, and the girl I began dating back in ’51 and later married was now dead, by my hands. What was I gonna do? Wait tables?

This was 1980. I was back in Opal again, back home. I took a walk around town. Great thing about Opal was that it never changed. At least not the old city. Pretty soon I found I had a tail on me. Some family o’ cops by the name of O’Dare were dogging me. Followed me around everywhere, convinced I was planning on robbing a bank. Sure, I was in my mid-fifties now, but I’d only aged about ten years since 1950, if that. It wouldn’t have been a problem for me. Thing was, I think they knew me better than the parole board did. Maybe even better than myself. I was too old. I couldn’t fit in on the outside. All the old guys, Frank, Dean, and Tony — they were really old guys now. Relics. Just like me.

So I planned to rob a bank. ‘Course I knew I’d get caught. There was a million and three cops hiding around me, all waiting to pounce. Plus, the Star-Spangled Kid was in town, visiting his old buddy Starman, who hadn’t really retired but had given him his own cosmic rod, which he’d turned into a cosmic converter belt. With all that manpower, I’d be nabbed and shipped back to the pen, which I figured was where I best belonged.

Funny thing happened on the way to the bank robbery.

I take a drag on my smoke and push over a scrawny bank guard, saying, “All right, folks, this is a hold-up,” when I hear a yell from behind me.

I turn around and go bug-eyed when I see three circus freaks dressed in red devil costumes shouting, “Freeze right there! This is a hold-up!” I almost laughed. They were some ex-circus acrobats who called themselves the Daredevils, and had fought the big black Bat over in Gotham back in the late ‘fifties.

A few seconds after these jokers show up, in comes the Star-Spangled Kid crashing through the bank window, confused as hell. It went something like this.

“You the Star-Spangled Kid?” I said, taking my jacket off.

“You must be Bobo,” he replied.

“The name’s Jake,” I said as I took off my tie and stripped down to my undershirt.

“Who’s the bad guy here?” he said.

“Not me, pal. Not today. But I’m plenty mad at these cupcakes for queering my gig. I feel like doing an exorcism. How about you, Stars? You feel like sending these Devils back ta Hell?”

I sure didn’t mean to start teaming up with no Star Kid. I just had this feelin’ in my gut. One of the reasons I wanted to go back to the pen was ’cause I still felt I needed punishing for my wife’s death. The law may have said I’d done my time, but I didn’t. As I saw those costumed Charlies standing there trying to look tough, though, it was like my wife was in my head. Cooled the rage, like Scotch on the rocks.

She said, “My bad caused your bad. Good redeems us both.” I mean, she didn’t actually say it, but I kind of felt the words, if you know what I mean. ‘Course, I’d have appreciated her also telling me that the third Daredevil was a real devil – one tough demon from Hell, boy, complete with hellfire and brimstone. I’m not making this up. Still, I had him leaking ectoplasm before long, and pretty soon the demon was outta him, and he was just a normal guy again. That wasn’t the first time I’d encountered the paranormal, so I’d had a bit of experience with it by then, even if I didn’t like it all that much.

And there was this moment — in the heat of it — when me and Stars looked at each other and smiled. And then the cops came bursting in.

The cops arrested me. They arrested everyone except the Kid. The Daredevil gang took the rap, though. Lady Luck had us picking the same bank, same time. No, the cops grabbed me for slugging the bank guard. That’s assault. He dropped the charge later when he learned what I’d done.

The wild part was that the bank hired me after all of this. They wanted me to supervise security in their locations all over town. I know I was just free publicity. They were the bank that had its own superhuman watching the dough. And I guess they figured you set a thief to catch one. But hey, a gig’s a gig, as Jackie Gleason said on more ‘n one occasion.

Funny thing. Remember how I said I wasn’t no hero?

I still ain’t, but my bank-robbin’ days are over. My brief career at the bank ended up turnin’ into a full-time security job with Pinkertons. I know I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I know crooks. I know how their minds work. Hell, I was one of ‘em. Things were copacetic all around for ol’ Jake.

Shortly after I helped the Kid stop that bank robbery, I met Starman once again. Only this time not as foes. He wasn’t sure what to make of me. He’d only known me through my bank-robbing days and couldn’t get over the new life I was living. Well, you never would’a believed it, but me an’ ol’ Stars ended up becoming buddies. Pals. I even helped him out a couple o’ times.

Pretty soon, I was eating Christmas turkey with him and his sons, Dave and Jack. Now, Dave’s a straight-shooter like his pops, but Jack’s a whole ‘nother cat entirely. I thought I was trapped in the past — Jack lives in it. He loves it. Take Sinatra, for example. He could tell me about every album — when it was released, what the covers looked like, you name it. Old suits, old books, old this, old that. He’s the guy. I took a liking to him right away. And as soon as that kid gets outta his mad at the world stage, he’s gonna take the world by storm. Mark my words.

Anyways, Ted — that’s Starman’s real name — had a buddy in the FBI. His name was Woodley Allen, and he was some ace troubleshooter for the Feds back in the ’40s and ’50s. He’d been retired for years now, but still had contacts everywhere. Ted spoke to him for me without my knowing about it. Then came back to me and told me this Woodley guy wanted to see me. They both knew about my security work with Pinkertons and had seen my record. They also knew about my criminal record beforehand but were impressed with my reformation.

Woodley talked to some guys. They talked to some other guys. Before you know it, I was visitin’ Pennsylvania Avenue and shakin’ hands with a really old FBI chief named Branner, who started tellin’ me about some bank robber way back in the ’40s called the Eel. I’d heard o’ the Eel — Eel O’Brian — but until Branner told me about it, I’d had no idea he’d also been the mystery man and special agent for the FBI called Plastic Man. He went missin’ with a bunch of other costumed types back in ’42, and not long after that was when Branner learned Plastic Man — his best agent — had all along been a crook who’d never served time for his crimes but helped the Feds put away a whole lotta other crooks. And that was a problem, y’see, ’cause as everyone knows, if you wanna be a Fed, ya gotta have a clean record. But since everyone at the Bureau — includin’ J. Edgar himself – had been fooled, Branner never lost his job.

Instead, a new clause — the O’Brian Clause, as they called it — was invented to cover everyone’s asses, but kept off the books. Simply put, O’Brian was one big, gaping exception in the FBI — one that the Bureau will deny even exists until they’re blue in the face, mind you — secretly allowin’ for special agents with a criminal record if they got super-powers. Branner told me they never invoked that clause with anyone but me, but for all I know, the Feds could be employin’ a whole horde o’ super-villains as some kinda suicide squad or cannon-fodder or somethin’. I still got my ears ta the ground, so I hear rumors like that sometimes.

And ya know what? They made me, Jake Bennetti, a special agent for the FBI. Ted would’a been proud if he was still around to see this. Thing is, he disappeared to God knows where a couple years back. Once in awhile I still talk to Sly Pemberton, the Star-Spangled Kid. Only he calls himself the Patriot now. As for Dave and Jack? Well, Dave is the new Starman, and he took his father’s place the JSA like I knew he would. And Jack — good ol’ Jack – he’s the new Star-Spangled Kid, and I couldn’t'a been prouder if he’d been my own son.

Who ever would’ve thought that me — the man the papers called Bobo the bank-robber — would one day join the ranks of mystery men? I’m glad I ain’t a real superhero, but it wasn’t for their lack o’ tryin’.

Y’see, ever since the days o’ Plastic Man, Chief Branner’d had a whole slew of special agents over the years, usually one at a time, each one carryin’ on for Plastic Man after he disappeared in ’42. There were several — the Green Cobra, the Black Adder, and the Purple Weasel, to name a few — all with their own costumes and motifs. And the Chief had the idea that I’d follow in their tradition. He even came up with a name for me — the Barracuda — and somehow got me to try on a stupid-lookin’ costume he’d designed for it. I looked too ridiculous to describe, and as I said, I ain’t no superhero.

But the Chief was insistent that I adopt a new identity. After all, Bobo was still a recognizable enough name in some parts. So I compromised. I threw on a wife-beater, pleated pants, and a woolen flat cap, and called myself the Goon. Hey, it beats Bobo any day.

We’re based in a little office in New York City, completely off the reservation as far as the Bureau is concerned, and the Chief sends me tips to look into. Thanks to my experience on both sides o’ the law, I’m not all that bad at it. Most of the cases I handle deal with the paranormal — threats that are just too unbelievable or bizarre for your regular Fed. Mostly I beat the crap outta zombies, werewolves, and all kind o’ ghouls — and let me tell you, it’s a great thing ta be able to completely let loose every once in awhile.

We’ve got a contact at FBI Headquarters who throws us most of these types of cases – Squirrel Mueller — just a lowly clerk in charge of the Bureau’s X-Files archive. He’s a scrawny little guy, and no one takes him seriously, but that just makes my job a little bit easier. Less red tape that way. Leaves me free to kick some vampire weenies into the curb without havin’ to file paperwork.

Hey, it’s a living.

The End

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Showcase: The Green Mask

The Vita-Ray Rush

by Bradley Cobb and Doc Quantum of the Time Trust

When an old friend contacts him in need of help, private eye Michael Shelby visits the small city of Foxville, intending to solve a police corruption case before resuming his old identity of the Green Mask. But will this mean the beginning of a new rise to fame or the start of a long jail term?

• Chapter 1: Michael Shelby’s Story

• Chapter 2: Marquee Star

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Johnny Thunder

Times Past, 1946

Bolt from the Blue

A JSA Classified story

by Nadra Enzi

Johnny Thunder is often dismissed as the sidekick of the Justice Society, the comic relief of the mystery man set. But the U.S. government knows why Johnny is a force to be reckoned with.

***

An assessment of Johnny Thunder by an anonymous intelligence agent:

Johnny Thunder isn’t commonly considered the brain trust of the mystery man set, to put it kindly. He is often thought to be a well-intentioned blunderer whose sidekick, a being made from magical lightning, is actually the brains of the operation. Johnny is many things: a bit dense, even clumsy on average, but beneath the surface lie some pretty impressive qualities.

How many of us, no matter how well-intentioned, wouldn’t misuse a limitlessly powerful being who does whatever we desire? If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, picture the landscape wrought by an eager lightning bolt sent out to impose your version of right and wrong upon the world.

Johnny could use the T-bolt (his nickname for the creature) to make himself rich, or make himself the President or, conceivably, emperor of the world. That he hasn’t speaks either to his character or — some cynically whisper — an utter lack of imagination.

Together, they have saved countless lives, and while not often viewed as a crime-fighter, Johnny Thunder has actually held his own against some pretty tough customers.

“I’m not a Batman, obviously — y’know, real smart, real strong, big-time detective, and all that stuff — or a Sandman. Well, no, I don’t wear a gas mask, or any mask, but I’m no Green Arrow, either. I don’t have any arrows. I’m not a Crimson Avenger, ’cause I’m not really avenging much right now, or a Doc Fate, because I’m not a magician. But I do have a magic lightning bolt I work with. Or a Superman because, well, that’s real obvious, too. Hmmm… but I am me, and that’s got to count for something!“

That’s how he once explained his place in the caped and cowled pecking order during an Unusual Stories interview. And that was the edited version.

Thunder has a heavy responsibility to shoulder. After he utters the phrase, “Say you!” — English translation, of course — he in effect becomes one of the most powerful men on the Earth, a fact not lost on law enforcement, military, and intelligence agencies from coast to coast and overseas.

Most people would be surprised to learn that secret studies have been commissioned assessing his strategic value in the event of either dire national emergency, or — should he somehow turn against the United States — the potential he carries for irreparably harming the nation. Plans are in place to secure Thunder in the event of war with the Soviet Union or, should he be deemed a security risk, other measures have been considered.

While it’s easy to think of him as a simpleminded boob in the public eye, one should note that Presidents Roosevelt and Truman alike have quietly sought Thunder and his magical friend for matters where their unique talents could benefit the country.

The FBI, OSS, CIG, Army Intelligence, Naval Intelligence, and other departments, agencies, units, and assorted government groups known and unknown have availed themselves of this remarkably unremarkable man.

By his own admission, Johnny Thunder isn’t many of the things that come to mind when  the topic of mystery men is discussed, but he gets the job done — not always the best way or without his allies’ considerable frustration — but when Johnny Thunder finally does come through, it’s like he’s a bolt from the blue! Even his lightning bolt pal has been impressed by Johnny on a few historic occasions.

The End

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Mister Terrific

Times Past, 1946

A Thousand Weapons to Choose From

A JSA Classified story

by Nadra Enzi

It’s no easy task measuring yourself against a man with a thousand talents. Just ask Agent Freeman when he’s instructed to find out what makes Mister Terrific what he is!

***

From the diary of mystery man liaison agent Mark “Free” Freeman, during the opening volleys of the Cold War:

Now I really feel dumb. My latest assignment is to work with Mister Terrific, the Man of a Thousand Talents, guaranteed to make me die of chronic inferiority complex, if I’m not too careful.

Hey, I shouldn’t complain. I was an Eagle Scout. Graduated with honors from high school, college, and law school. Joined the Office of Strategic Services during the war and signed up with the Central Intelligence Group half a year after V-J Day. I got this plum assignment after catching some super-spies and costumed world-wreckers.

Still, he is Mister Terrific, you know.

He strode into my office, smiling like God Himself had just whispered the secret to life in his ear (hey, with this guy, you never know).

“Agent Freeman, pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand with a grip just short of what’s needed to crush a brick, if need be.

“P-pleasure’s all mine,” I stammered, trying to sound like the ace Strategic Services agent who’d once taken down the Ultra-Humanite’s gang (with a whole lot of luck and bullets). I cleared my throat and said, “Let’s get to work,” handing him a briefing file.

Waving his hand, Mister Terrific said, “Already read it on the way over. Speed reading’s a hobby of mine.”

Along with about 999 other things, I’ll bet.

Our assignment was to create a training program based upon Mister T’s endless talents, so our fighting men could become much smarter and tougher. He seemed genuinely excited, while I dubiously asked myself — for the thousandth time — if we were kidding ourselves.

“Free, there’s nothing special about me. I just keep myself open to learning new skills. Look at it this way: nearly everyone can think, walk, run, and perform thousands of other tasks daily without even thinking. I just start thinking about how to do something new or learn something new and go from there. Simple!” explained the man who was supposed to be smarter than even Albert Einstein.

Sighing, I took my pad and pencils and wondered if there were any openings at the Post Office.

Granted, what he said made sense, red mask, Fair Play belt buckle, and all. To a much-smaller degree, I did the same in my life.

“Yes, I’m a crime-fighter, but really I’m just someone who doesn’t say no to his imagination. Imagine how safe we’d be if millions of us realized just how terrific we can be! The Injustice Gang and the Reds alike would head for the hills. That’s what keeps me going — the dream of awakening in everybody what’s awake inside me.”

On and on it went for hours, me soaking in what he said with a occasional peep just to feel like I was holding up my end of the conversation.

But out of all he said and all he could do, one quote still stands out in my mind:

“Mark, when a man has an open mind, he literally has a thousand weapons to choose from!”

Mister Terrific taught me and the rest of us just how well-armed each of us can be — when we really use what’s between our ears.

The End

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Hourman

Times Past, 1941

Time Management

A JSA Classified story

by Nadra Enzi

Rex Tyler only has one Miraclo-fueled hour at a time to spend as Hourman. Is it any wonder that the man of the hour seeks to make the most of it?

***

Gulp! was what chemist Rex Tyler remembered before he quickly swallowed his Miraclo pill. The man wearing Hourman’s costume was about to become Hourman. After swallowing, the world became super.

Imagine feeling a sun burst inside you, each of its rays engulfing different parts of your being — your body swelling with strength like you’ve never dreamed of, all fueled by endless energy howling throughout every nerve ending, and the overall sensation just too good to describe.

Now imagine only having one short, sweet precious hour at a time to feel this way, and you could understand Hourman’s dilemma. He had to squeeze as much excitement as he could into a paltry sixty minutes.

The back door to the burning building caved in through one kick from his booted foot, its blast furnace of burning air barely raising a sweat on his hooded brow.

A leap through a vortex of swirling flame and a sprint up a crumbling flight of flaming stairs rewarded Hourman with two injured firefighters trapped in a collapsed section of the building. Smashing down the wall behind them, the man of the hour took each man beneath his arms like infants and jumped three stories downward to the street.

“Thanks, see you later — bye!” he said too quickly to be understood before sprinting away faster than even Olympic great Jesse Owens. He wasn’t being rude, but he was in a rush.

A running leap upward to a lamppost allowed Hourman to effortlessly swing his body  around twice before launching himself toward a rooftop with just a flex of his super-powered arms.

From a higher vantage point he surveyed the city, anxious to do something, anything exciting.

“Somebody up there likes me!” he happily said to himself, jumping downward toward the scene of an auto accident. The side of one car was crushed in like a beer can as its hapless driver weakly called for help.

Bracing himself against the car’s crumpled side, Hourman yanked the damaged door free from the chassis with one loud screech of metal yielding to superior force.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down, he gingerly lifted the injured driver out. A quick hop to a police call box a block away summoned help on the way. Thankfully, the driver was shaken up more than anything else.

Hourman jogged past astonished onlookers, his senses in overdrive, still on the lookout for things to do while still on the clock.

Proving no task is too small for a mystery man, he even scaled a tree to rescue a kitten who’d gotten a little too adventurous for his own good.

A brawl at a nightclub ended when he simply out-brawled the brawlers after politely asking everyone to clam down.

When two would-be car thieves woke up in police custody, their shared recollection was of a cowled man in a cape wearing an hourglass around his neck knocking them unconscious with a single swat of his fast hands.

An unlucky cat burglar was just climbing out of the window of a store he burgled, when a fist from the darkness put his lights out for a while.

A stalled car with a frantic husband and his very pregnant wife was quickly pushed a half-mile to the nearest hospital by the man of the hour.

His last fifteen minutes before dreaded normalcy returned were spent helping police catch an escaped convict who thought his reputation as a mob strongman made a difference against someone stronger than a dozen mob strongmen.

As the last vestiges of his hour of power faded, Hourman had to admit he’d managed his time pretty well. But there was always a next time.

The End

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