Friday Snippet from “Shades of Grey”

“Shades of Grey” is a novella in progress. I’m writing it because I’m burned out on my novel (which is still simmering in the back of my head). It’s a superhero original fiction. I’m writing it because I need to be writing SOMETHING, and this is an easy option. BUT. It also means I can work on some of my weaker writing abilities, without having to worry about the rest of it. I don’t know if it’ll be any good or not, but if I learn from it, it’s worth it. I’ve already set up a progress bar. I’m targeting 20,000 words, but it could be more, or less.

So, here’s a snippet from my WIP.

This is a Work in Progress. It is an original work, raw first draft with all it’s errors and mistakes. But it’s mine, all mine, so don’t post this anywhere!

Capital City — Now…

“Hurry up and load this stuff, will ya? Somethin’ ain’t right, and I got a bad feelin’ in my stomach.”

“Probably just that Chinese you had for dinner, Billy. Relax, will ya?” He turned to another man and lifted another heavy box. “Ignore him. He always gets fidgety when we’re on a job.” Their laughter rattled uneasily in the still night.

“Yeah, keep laughin’, Marcus,  but I’m tellin’ ya, it’s just the old days, when Eclipse was runnin’ around. Just like before a tornado hits. The calm before the storm, ya know?”

“She’s dead. We saw it on the t.v., remember? Ding, dong, the witch is dead, and it means we can party. Hand me that–”  Marcus went abruptly silent as the moonlight was snuffed out, and a cold darkness settled around them.

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” The voice was little more than a whisper, raspy and ethereal, but it scraped their minds like a coarse grater. They looked up, disbelieving the shadowy figure perched on top of the truck, spelling out their doom.

Target landed lightly on the ground, his feet barely disturbing the gravel as he walked. His suit was inky black, and indistinguishable from the darkness around him. He scanned the area, perplexed at the scene before him. Three men, battered, bruised, bloody, and mercifully unconscious, were tied to and propped up against a pile of expensive electronics.

“Hmm,” he uttered thoughtfully. “Not that I mind the help, but just who had a hand in this?” One of the men moaned, and Target approached him, and kneeled. The man coughed and looked around to orient himself. Up close, Target was stunned at the beating the man had taken–one eye had already swollen shut, and he had a large gash on his forehead. He’d lost a fair amount of blood. As his good eye cleared and met Target’s gaze, Target tapped the button on his wrist. “Hola, amigo. Care to tell me what happened here?”

“You…you’re one of them, aren’t you?” He spat blood.  From the small communicator nestled within his ear, Target heard Signal’s voice over their secure frequency.

“I’ve alerted the police dispatch to your current position, Target. Their ETA is eight minutes.”

“Copy, Target out,” he responded audibly, which he considered the only flaw to Signal’s expertly designed system. Forgetting that, he focused on the man in front of him. “My name is Target. I take it you were trying to lift these items here. Who caught you at the job?” The man’s face flushed with fear, his one good eye widening, his lips trembling.

“G-ghost,” he stammered. “She’s the wrath of God, and she’s come back to haunt us.”

“Eh? Who are you talking about?”

“Eclipse.”