Writing Enigma

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[size="3"][font="Lucida Sans Unicode"][center][b]WARNING: BAD LANGUAGE, VIOLENCE AND OTHER ADULT THEMES WILL FOLLOW - IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THESE THINGS, PLEASE TURN BACK NOW. IF NOT, COME ON IN...[/b]

[u][b]Enigma[/b][/u][/center][/size]

[size="2"]This is my brand new story, my attempt at an original superhero story. Well, I say super[i]hero[/i]...

[b][center]Chapter One[/center][/b]

[b]"The nation is in mourning. Washington D.C. was the scene of an horrific crime last night as America's first and only true superhero, Vanquisher, was brutally murdered by a masked man identifying himself only as "Enigma". The final moments of the combat between the two were seen by multiple witnesses, who claim that Vanquisher was impaled on the pole of an American flag on the steps of the United States Capitol. The masked man then identified himself as Enigma and fled before the police could apprehend him..." [/b]the news reporter was abruptly silenced as a large, thick-set man jabbed the "mute" button on his remote, and swivelled on his chair to face the younger, slimmer man standing in front of his desk.

[b]"Breaking news of the week, hell, the ******* year,"[/b] spat the seated man gruffly, slamming his meaty fist on the desk, [b]"And where were our reporters? In bed, drunk out of their minds, nuts-deep in hookers! It's pathetic, everyone has photo or video evidence except us."[/b] His face was reddening as his rage built, the blood-flushed skin contrasting boldly against his greying hair and moustache and his dull green eyes. He was well-built, to the point he seemed to almost be bursting out of his striped shirt and braces, and looked like he could definitely throw a punch if he had to. But it was his terrifying demeanour as much as his physical presence which gave Jack Harrison his towering reputation.
[b]
"I don't know what to tell you, Jack,"[/b] replied the young, slim reporter, albeit with a wide grin on his face. He was a handsome man, slender but muscular, with a mop of light brown hair atop his head and piercing blue eyes. He wore clothes well, looking comfortable and stylish even in the simple black shirt and grey jeans he was wearing, his feet encased in a tattered pair of black Converse and unable to keep still, causing him to rock back and forth gently.

[b]"You could give me some good news!"[/b] bellowed Harrison, getting to his feet, a vein pulsing in his temple,[b] "You really dropped the ******* ball on this one, Garfield!"
[/b]
[b]"Did I?" [/b]smirked the young reporter, [b]"Or did I get the clearest picture of this Enigma bastard out of all of them?"[/b] As if to punctuate this final rhetorical question, he dropped a beige folder down on the desk, a couple of large black-and-white photographs sliding out of it as it landed. Harrison snatched them up greedily, and thumbed through them a number of times, before looking up at his employee, the vaguest hint of a smile creeping onto the corners of his mouth.
[b]
"How did you get these?" [/b]he asked, then held up a finger as the reporter was about to respond, [b]"Actually, I don't care. Just get me more pictures of this fucker, and get them to me as soon as possible. Now get out."[/b] He slumped back into his chair and waved his hand, signalling for the young man to vacate the room, which he did with a smile.
[b]
"You really pulled your balls out of the fire there, Alex,"[/b] said a small, weaselly-looking man, slapping him on the shoulder as he left the office, [b]"Shame you couldn't help out the rest of us!"[/b] Alex smiled back at his co-worker, then headed across the newsroom towards his desk.

Sliding into his chair and opening his laptop, he exhaled slowly and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept all night, getting across town to the Capitol, then developing the photos he had taken took all night, and he was exhausted. But there was a lot more work to do before he could get to bed.

---

Dr. Grace Atkins drained her plastic coffee cup in one gulp, and wished for more caffeine. The emergency room had been hell, and a niggling feeling in the back of her head told her that it would only get worse from here. She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to try and wake herself up. Realising after a moment that this probably wouldn't help, she opened her eyes again and pushed the door next to her open, heading into the Ladies' bathroom.

She splashed cold water over her pale skin, a few strands of her dull blonde hair sticking to her forehead with the moisture. She looked deep into the reflection of her emerald-green eyes, and saw the dark bags underneath them. She grimaced a little at how tired she looked, then turned and leaned on the sink. Her light blue scrubs were not particularly flattering, but it was clear that she was slim and curvy in all the right places. She didn't care much about her appearance, working out to keep healthy rather than attractive, and she rarely wore make-up. There was not much need for her to maintain her appearance, the various fluids that were regularly spat over her in the emergency room would have rendered any attempts to do so ultimately futile.
[b]
"Grace!"[/b] came a panicked voice as another female doctor burst into the bathroom, [b]"Grace, they need you to witness an autopsy. I can cover for you if you want to make a run for it?"

"No, it's fine,"[/b] sighed Grace, rubbing her eyes, [b]"I'll do it. Anyone I know?"

"You could say that,"[/b] replied the other doctor, smiling comfortingly as she left the bathroom. Grace took a deep breath and headed out of the bathroom, through the winding, deserted corridors of the hospital to the morgue, her plain white shoes squeaking a little on the ruthlessly clean floor.

The autopsy had already begun by the time she arrived, bursting through the swinging doors into the darkened room. She muttered apologies to the morticians and snuck through the small crowd of witnesses, bumping into a few of them and mumbling more apologies as she went.
[b]
"You know how to make an entrance,"[/b] whispered a gruff voice from behind her as she finally found her place amongst the group. She turned her head and saw a familiar face.
[b]
"It's one of my skills,"[/b] she replied dryly, [b]"Who's the stiff, Lucas?"

"Franklyn Mayhew,"[/b] said the man, moving forward to stand next to Grace. He was tall and imposing, with dark skin and eyes, a close-cropped head of black hair with salt-and-pepper speckles and a growth of stubble across the lower portion of his face. His chest was broad and covered with a grey shirt and black tie, and a grey wool overcoat which fell just past his knees. A gleaming gold badge hung round his neck on a silver chain, a single gold bar marking him as a police lieutenant.

[b]"Never heard of him,"[/b] whispered Grace.
[b]
"He's not usually known by that name,"[/b] replied Lucas, turning to Grace and answering her questioning look, [b]"Franklyn Mayhew, also known as Vanquisher."

"Vanquisher? Why here?"[/b] she asked, genuinely surprised by the information her old friend had just given her.
[b]
"Closest hospital to the Capitol. No idea why we need an autopsy, I'm pretty sure it was the flagpole through the heart that killed him,"[/b] Lucas said, a little too loudly, causing the mortician and several others to turn around, scowling at him. He shrugged an apology, and turned back to Grace.
[b]
"They obviously couldn't pass up the opportunity to see what the inside of a superhero looks like,"[/b] Grace replied, looking at the body, the chest now wrenched open.

[i]He always looked so dynamic on television[/i], thought Grace, [i]There's something pathetic about seeing him on the slab. Guess he was just human in the end after all...[/i]

She was snapped out of her thoughts by a buzzing noise right next to her ear. She turned, and saw Lucas rummaging in his jacket pockets for his phone, which he eventually fished out and slipped through the crowd to the door, mouthing a silent goodbye to Grace as he went. She nodded and rolled her eyes playfully.
[i]
He looked tired[/i], she thought, [i]Then again, who doesn't these days?[/i] She shook her head to try and get out of her own thoughts, and concentrated on the autopsy.

---
[b]
"Hello?" [/b]Lucas asked, answering his phone as he broke through the morgue doors.

[b]"Lieutenant Lucas Richardson,"[/b] a crackly, distorted voice replied through the phone.

[b]"Who is this?"[/b] asked Lucas, concern crossing his face. A gut feeling told him he already knew the answer to his own question, but he waited for the response anyway.

[b]"I believe you know,"[/b] the voice answered,[b] "But if you must have confirmation, my name is Enigma."[/b] Panic bubbled up in Lucas' stomach, but he fought it down, making sure it didn't appear in his voice.

[b]"I've just been looking at some of your handiwork, Enigma,"[/b] he said, unable to fully disguise the quaver in his voice, [b]"Impressive. Horrific, but impressive."

"You needn't be afraid of me, Lieutenant,"[/b] said Enigma, recognising the fear in Lucas' voice, [b]"At least, not unless you disobey me."

"I have enough problems with my bosses, thanks. I don't need another one,"[/b] Lucas joked, hoping the humour would cover the increasing fear he felt.

[b]"Well, as long as you follow my commands, you won't have any problems with me. But this call is not for work, rather a social call. A warning from a...concerned party."

"What do you want?"[/b] replied Lucas, irritation and anger now beginning to replace the fear he was feeling.

[b]"Ah, straight to the point, a man after my own heart. The city is afraid of me after my first act alone. I have removed the nation's defender in one move, and you can no longer rely on Vanquisher to protect you. But my warning is this: things are only going to get worse. The city is afraid of me, but soon the whole country will be. If you remember just one thing from this conversation, Lieutenant, remember this: the death of Vanquisher is just the beginning. Goodbye, Lieutenant."[/b][/font][/size]