Be Careful

The sun shines down upon the City of Tomorrow.
The Guardian stands silently atop his tower, listening for a cause. Alone he stands, for no one can understand his struggle. There is no scream or gunshot he cannot hear; no pain he cannot see. Despite his immense power, he cannot save every life.

Ships lay docked near the running river. A beautiful woman walks toward her end. The truth is her goal, a pen her weapon. Day by day, she risks her life in pursuit of that which eludes the law. Though she should have been dead long ago, she still lives. Her enemies know of her great fortune, and fear her very presence--as if it attracts that which will end their reign.
Determined, The Reporter walks briskly towards her goal.
The ship's captain rudely refuses to allow her on board, standing as a tall obstacle at the bridge of Truth.
Feigning acceptance of his refusal, the Reporter slowly turns away--then twirls about, her left heel impacting the large man's stomach. As he doubles over in pain, she shoves him with all the might she possesses, toppling her obstacle into the waters below.

Now aboard the vessel, the Reporter finds her way to the cargo hold, smiling with awe as she finally uncovers the Truth that she longs for.
She does not see the real truth, however--that her audacious actions have signed her death sentence, and the river will soon be her home.

The ship's captain returns sooner than the Reporter expected. Within minutes, she is found. As the barrel points to her head, she screams her savior's name.
The bullet does not reach its target.


A mile away, the Guardian's eyes open as he hears the one voice he listens for above all others. With unearthly speed, he leaves his globe-topped tower, flying forth to answer his princess's call.


Before the crewmen realize what has transpired, they are in the presence of a Champion. Eyes glowing with red fire, he opens his outstretched hand, dropping the crumpled remains of a bullet.
The crew know their justice is at hand.
They flee.
All but one.

Though the guardian has strength of steel, he is not without weakness. His love for others blinds him to the dangers that would threaten his own life, and while he tends to his Princess, one man readies his weapon.
At the behest of her Guardian, the Reporter flees the vessel. The Champion finally looks up at that which threatens him.

One man sits within the metal frame of another. The man who did not run guides a titanium monstrosity, towering over the Champion.
With a swipe of his massive arm, the Metal Man strikes the Champion, thrusting him through steel walls.

The Guardian is stunned for a moment, thrown through the vessel's side and into the waves of the river.
He recovers quickly, rising from the waters to see his enemy already on the shores of his city. His Princess, ever danger-prone, has found herself yet again in harm's way. Beneath the Metal Man's descending foot, she screams yet again.
The foot does not reach its target.

Like Atlas before him, the Guardian lifts the impossible. Kneeling between the woman and her doom, he holds back the giant. Throwing his opponent backward, he lifts up his Princess, soaring towards their globe-topped tower.


Slowly descending, his brilliant red and blue shining in the setting sun, he lowers his beloved to safety. Though she stands safe atop her tower, the woman is filled with fear as her Guardian turns back to face his enemy yet again.
She fears not for her life, but for his.
When she calls for him to wait, he halts in the sky, turning slowly backward. He floats motionless upon the air, time seeming to stop. All is silent as the wind gently flows through her hair and his cape.
Though he leans back towards his task, he stretches his hand forward to meet hers.
As their fingertips touch, tears come to her eyes.
Gently she whispers, "Be careful."

The Metal and its Master

Wrought of steel and bathed in red, it gleams ever-bright.
Through the cloth and chain it strikes, dealing death to those that would bring it.
Though the darkness awaits at battle's front, the blade moves ever-forward, fearing not the flames of hell.

Not merely a weapon, but a symbol, all its master's will and strength focused into a single edge. Every emotion and thought metal-wrought, the blade strikes at its master's bidding. Those who fear for themselves shall not find not victory. Only at death's red embrace does the world become clear to those that spent their lives in vain pursuits.

Only a selfless heart shall master the blade, for only one without pride may stand without fear.
Standing against the onslaught, the Master fights not out of pride for himself, but passion for others. A wise master knows that the struggle is not glorious, but terrible. The lies of glory are clear, yet he fights on.

Death may come, and the light may fade. The path may end here, in the crimson field. Unspoken truths may silently lie, and those for whom the Master fights may never know his mind. Tragic though it seems, the path has been chosen. The Master's tale may forever lay unspoken, screaming silently.

Death may be yet defeated again, though he must still take others. In the blade's wake, those who fight against the righteous have forfeited their lives. Though the Master strives on, he tires of the battle, quietly waiting for the dawn of hope. The hour may come when the prize is won, and peace of the heart is found. Dim though the light seems, the Master cannot divert. He walks on, weary of body and will, holding on nonetheless. Patient and strong of heart, he must believe that one day his strives will not stay silent, and his seven years of battle will end.