See You on the Flipside
Using one of the two given titles is greatly preferred.
Word count: ~1870
You have been hiding a secret. Or three. You've been really good at keeping them over the years. But...old flames smolder long. Now you're out of places to hide.
To clarify some names:
- Lorraine Law—popular hero "Hurricane"
- Mortimer Swatch—the listener. Everybody called you Swatch exclusively.
Swatch's power should be either a little "buzz" or chime sort of effect when used.
Please include my name u/thesabretoothlime and a link back to this script in your description. You may monetize this script, if you follow the rules. I hope it brings you success! Formatting syntax can be found here.
SWATCH!
<A chair is thrown at high velocity and smashes through abandoned cubicles>
SWATCH!
<A second chair, a little closer to the listener>
This only goes poorly the longer you try and wait me out, Swatch. Is my patience really something you'd like to be testing right now?
<A third chair...or was that a table?!>
{Pause; nothing}
I know it's you. Nobody else at your age has that kind of natural, stark titanium hair like you do. I'd never forget a sheen like that.
If you were anybody else, they would have either fought back or run right up to me. Nobody in their right mind would pass up sticking with Hurricane, especially in a combat setting.
{Pause}
<Footsteps; the speaker is moving around trying to find the listener>
You're lucky I don't feel like blowing all these office desks away out the windows. It'd clear the space, but I'd likely fling you out the windows, too.
Maybe you'd like that, honestly.
I don't see what the big problem is. You had no problem faking your death the first time!
<Another thrown chair, but further away; they're going away from listener/the wrong way>
It's not fair, you know.
I went to the funeral. I wept for you. Losing one of my best friends broke me.
I mourned you for weeks. I nearly flunked out of school, over you.
<Another chair thrown>
TWELVE YEARS, SWATCH.
Not a day went by that I didn't miss what we had.
I didn't care that you didn't have powers. I didn't care that your family wasn't well off. I didn't care that our paths were inevitably going to branch apart.
We were friends, Swatch.
What was it you always said? Together through thick and thin...thick like your head and thin like your patience?
Whatever happened to sticking together, huh?
<At this point, throwing things is less about finding you and more just being angry; throw another piece of furniture>
Whatever happened to trust?
Whatever happened to being my friend?
<Stop walking, catching breath a little bit>
Clearly you didn't trust me.
I worked my ass off to get where I am. Do you know how much work it took to make Hurricane a household name?
90 hours a week. For years.
Press conferences. Battles against villains. Community engagement. Protection training. Violence theory. Harm reduction. Therapy. Hospital visits.
I worked myself to the bone to get to where I am.
{Pause, expecting some sort of response}
That got me privileges, you know. I'm not just an instructor for new heroes, but the director of the whole damn department. I'm on the Blue List. I get access to restricted materials. I get priority on information requests with the government.
A handy trick, that last one is. It lets me look up all sorts of things about people.
We've caught a number of villains and criminals that way.
Jerry The Butcher was Jerald Shultz. His supposedly untraceable background was foiled by tracing his bank robberies to the laundromats he owned with delinquent payments.
About two years ago, I had a thought. Maybe it was hopeful, maybe it was paranoia...maybe nostalgia eats me alive. I decided to look at your file.
<Walking again, getting closer to the listener>
It was mostly empty, of course. Only making it to 14 doesn't really give a lot of data.
But there was one thing in there.
Five days before you died, you got a letter in the mail.
An important one.
[Sigh]
[Softer, but urgent] A notification to declare powers.
They don't make mistakes on that. There's never been a mistaken case. Ever.
So...you did have powers. The whole time. And I'm willing to wager that you knew and didn't tell anybody.
You knew and lied.
You do realize mandatory service was abolished ten years before you were born, right?
You only had to report it.
Which means...
[Suddenly much louder; they bent down under a desk...one desk away] You needed to hide it.
[Back upright] Something so powerful that you couldn't bear to tell anybody.
Even me.
[Softer] Especially me.
You know just as well as I do about the secret trackers in those letters. Your dad helped invent them, after all.
It was opened, never taken to the EPD, and critically not destroyed. No warning signals to the EPD that way. Smart. That said, we've never been able to locate the damn thing. You're good at hiding it.
It's almost like it moves on its own.
{Pause}
<Stop walking again>
You're close. I hear your breathing, somewhere in the midst of these office cubes.
Swatch.
[Try and sound like you're not lying] I'm not going to report you to the EPD or the Hero's Union.
That is, if you surrender now and answer some questions of mine first.
You have a lot of explaining to do.
I'm not working Hero duty right now. I'm only trying to find someone that I trusted and cared about.
{Pause; trying to get a reaction}
...with classified knowledge I got from being a Hero. Sue me.
I'm sure you won't tell me why you decided to fake your death. Any particular reason you decided to show up now?
Twelve years is a long time to stay dormant. Were you sloppy and got caught? Did you end up getting tracked by something you didn't expect?
<Moving a little>
Or was it time to start...whatever your plan is?
{No answer}
[Pointed; Darkly] Do you want to know what they plan to charge you with?
Nonregistration, for starters. Faking your death is some kind of fraud. Maybe they'll even throw tax evasion into the fold.
But...the other charges on you are much more interesting. You've been busy, haven't you?
Regular robbery...fine. Added to grave robbery...well, that's certainly a surprise.
Breaking and entering certainly sounds a whole lot less impressive next to that. This abandoned office space is no different.
Are you trying to rack up criminal charges?
{Short pause}
Swatch. Please.
We both know you're not capable of being a villain.
Twelve years have passed and I still know you're too much a coward that follows rules to ever make routine crime a career.
You're after something.
Or, given your range, a couple of things.
You moved. I can feel it. The air pressure here has shifted.
I've been trying to detect your movements while we've been talking. Err, while I've been talking, anyway.
<Starting to take footsteps again>
Swatch. Swaaaatch. Let me help you. You clearly need it. If you've hidden your existence for this long, I'd have to imagine you're pretty lonely by now.
There are ways to fix problems without breaking the law.
I can vouch for you. Swing the courts. Make it so that you get painted as some dramatic victim to cruel and unusual circumstances.
You moved again. I'm almost sure you're trying to get towards the door at this rate. Which means...
<A huge gust of wind knocks away many of the remaining desks, revealing Swatch underneath>
A-HA!
You were still scurrying around here after all!
<Walking closer>
Well aren't you a grotesque sight for eyes. Your skin is so pale, it almost looks gray like your hair. And your outfit...
All black is always classy, but...those are real human bones. You look like you're wearing most of a skeleton...or that one's absorbing you. Was the matching of the arms and fingers to yours really necessary?
You were always a little macabre, but this is far, even for you.
Unfortunately, this is the part where I'll have to be a bit honest. I need to take you in.
You'll be under my watch the whole time, so there's no reason to...
{Brief pause}
I see this is not going to go that way. Ugh. Fine.
Backwards crab-walking like that isn't going to save you, you know. Stay still and make this easy.
<The listener stumbles up, and leaps over a desk to give more space. They grab two items: A chair, and an apple>
Is that an apple? Is your secret power the ability to summon fruit at will? Or is your plan to just hit me with it to annoy me?
<The listener throws the apple; as they do, repeat the same magic effect sound>
Wait-
<The apple—now a chair—has been thrown at high speed towards Hurricane, smashing into them>
<Hurricane is thrown a few steps back>
Ow, ow, ow! Fuck! That fucking hurt, Swatch!
<Swatch clambers onto an upright desk>
Height won't give you the advantage here. I'll blow that damn desk away!
<Swatch jumps, touching the ceiling. Repeat the magic sound effect; they are now gone>
<The wind of Hurricane slams the desk away into another>
Wh-...What??
You were just here. You were just. Here.
Think, think, think, Lori—think!
He had an apple in his hand. Then it was a chair. It's not illusion magic because I felt it. There are shards around me. I don't think it was some type of biological or transformative power, either.
Reflexes? Speed?
None of those would explain how he went through the ceiling...
{Pause; thought processing}
SHIT! I need to follow after him!
<A gust of wind blows a hole through the ceiling, near where Swatch crawled through. Rubble falls from the flooring>
<A second gust of wind blasts Hurricane to the floor above>
Not so fast, Swatch!
<Swatch, running away, pauses>
Is that a chunk of rebar? Are you fucking with me right now? You honestly think that swinging a metal rod around like a sword is actually going to hurt me?
Really?
After everything I told you, after everything you've been offered, you still plan to fight me to escape out of here?!
You asshole! You...you fucking wretch!
You leave me to think you're dead for twelve years! You come back from gods know where, refuse to reach out to anybody, and scurry about under darkness and isolation like it's no big deal. I try to help you re-integrate, re-connect, re-search, re...anything, and I'm only met with re-bar!
I thought we had meant something to each other!
{Brief pause}
Look at you. You're quivering, barely able to keep your hand steady.
[Quieter; defeatedly] I don't even need my powers to stop you.
<Slowly walk towards speaker>
<The speaker swings...and it's caught in the gloved hand of Hurricane>
See? I caught it. Not nearly enough force to hurt me.
Give it up, Swatch.
<Swatch's magic effect plays; the rebar has moved from their right hand to their left>
<Another swing...and collision. Right with Hurricane's head. The crumple to the floor>
<Swatch make a break for it>
<Head ringing, woozy thoughts; all thoughts are internal until scripts end>
That...hurt...
What happened...?
The rebar in his hand moved, didn't it?
He swung with his right hand...
...then it was in his left...
Urgh.
Is it...spatial magic...?
That's unlikely, but...
Knowing Swatch...
Fuck.
I don't feel good.
I need...backup...
{Pause; worsening}
He's getting away...
Swatch...
You'll pay for this...
Right?
You should...
{Pause}
Are...
Are those bones glowing?
<Lose consciousness; fade out>
END.
