On a soggy November night in 1940, New York City’s protector and top gangbuster, a trench coated, masked vigilante known as the Silver Scorpion, is about to be murdered by a turncoat cop. Suddenly a pretty blonde appears in an expanding ball of light and shoots him point blank with what looks like a shiny metal bazooka. The Scorpion disappears.
One hundred and forty years later, a clandestine organization known as the Lazarus Project prepares to risk incarceration, ruin, and death in order to reverse the effects of almost a century and a half of decadence and corruption. America’s once great city is now its biggest cesspool.
It’s a daunting task. The good people of the city have all given up or moved out. The evil rule ruthlessly. The city needs a hero. The city needs hope. It needs the Silver Scorpion. It’s about to get him, ready or not.
H.G. Martin is originally from California but now lives in a small town in the Texas hill country. He likes to write stories about things that couldn't ever happen, or maybe just not yet. He currently has a wife, two kids, two big dogs, and a rabbit. He also has a mortgage, so please buy his book.
Thanks to custom-made rubber-soled shoes--and years of practice--the Scorpion moved through the darkness like a silent black cloud in the form of a man. He was heading for an unmarked, unlicensed black sedan. He usually tried to find a dark, inconspicuous place to park it--not that that was easy in New York City. He was about fifty yards from the car when Patrolman David Kincaid drew a bead on him from the open window of a warehouse that looked out onto a shadowed alley.
"Two hours I've been waiting for a chance to finally punch that goddamn Scorpion's ticket," Kincaid muttered to himself. "Tonight's gonna be my lucky night. King Solly's gonna rain dames and moola all over me for this night's work."
As he silently and slowly clicked off the rifle's safety, Kincaid saw something that immediately banished all thoughts of trigger pulling from his mind.
On the other side of the alley, hidden from the approaching Scorpion's line of sight by a concrete stairwell, a pinpoint of white light appeared. It seemed to float in mid-air. Slowly, the light grew larger and brighter until it took on the form of a human. A second later the light flashed and was gone and Kincaid realized that there was a person, a woman, standing right in the spot where the light had been. He couldn't see her too well in the dark—particularly with the flash of light that had brought her still imprinted on his retinas—but she appeared to be wearing a white lab coat and holding something that looked like a small cannon in her hands. She stepped around the stairwell and confronted the Scorpion. Kincaid, a superstitious man at the best of times, was frozen with fear and astonishment. Surely this was impossible, magic even. What the hell? What was she doing now?
The Scorpion saw the light blaze and then fade behind the stairwell ahead of him. He was instantly on his guard. He froze in the middle of the alley, his right hand thrust into the folds of his black trench coat. The moment the woman stepped into view, the Scorpion instinctively drew his Stinger dart gun and leveled it at her. Normally it wasn't his style to point guns at women, but she had just appeared out of nowhere carrying a huge bazooka-like device, and it happened to be pointed right at his chest.
"Drop the artillery, lady, and I won't have to hurt you" he growled.
"I'm sorry," was all she said before activating the device. Immediately, the glowing effect that Kincaid had witnessed occurred again around the Scorpion, only this time it happened in reverse. His body was enveloped in light. The body and the light slowly diminished until they were just a dot floating in mid air. Then it disappeared altogether and the Scorpion was gone. Kincaid watched, riveted, as the woman adjusted something on the device. Then, she activated it again. This time she was the one that glowed brightly and faded away. Kincaid heard his rifle clatter to the concrete floor.
Then he passed out.