by GDL 629 19136
The foggy midnight sky in New York hovered lazily over the streets like a gray shroud. An apropos night, thought Wesley Dodds.
Looking down at the small tenement buildings, two fugitives jumped from building to building, fleeing the oncoming police while their guns blazed with leaden death.
“Hah! That’ll shake ’em, Ed!” Dave shouted, glancing back at the officers stuck on the adjoining building, firing shots back at the desperadoes. “We might as well jump to the next one, too, man!”
Edward stared past Dave at the ominous figure stepping out of the fog, the glass eyes under the fedora gleaming in the stray beams of moonlight. “Uhhh, Daaave…?” A cloud of gas erupted, and Dave fell to the floor.
Ed then ran toward the next building, his lungs burning from too many cigarettes and not enough exercise. Another, somewhat smaller figure appeared in front of him. Edward reached for his gun, but the new stranger kicked it from his hand.
The stranger fired his gun, and Edward felt himself falling, but he didn’t remember landing.
Police Inspector Clem Burke stood across the building, gazing at the events unfolding with the two remaining members of the Atomic Punks gang.
“Hol-eee sh–!” Unfortunately, his father’s occupation was not the only trait he inherited from him; he also inherited his dad’s penchant for uncouth language. “The Sandman? I thought he was dead! Guess Pop was wrong!”
Officer Stevens piped in, “Yeah, Burke, but who’s the other one with him?”
Burke angrily realized his job was suddenly getting a lot more complicated.
Wesley watched the police take the suspects away while his partner ran to check out a domestic situation three blocks down. He smiled in satisfaction. The season of mists had borne quite a promising harvest.
The End