Date: Tue, 12 Mar 2024 22:39:32 +0000 (UTC)
From: Joseph Klimczak <at3unit3@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Tales of Sol 80A

The Tales of Sol 76
By Joe at3unit3@yahoo.com

This is a fictional story it is not intended to imply that any members of
the Backstreet Boys, Nsync, or 98 Degrees are gay, or any of the other
celebrities mentioned are homosexuals. If you are not old enough to read
these stories do yourself a favor and don't get caught. The same goes for
those people whose countries have these sites made illegal. And for
everyone else enjoy

Captain Planet and related characters were created by R.E Turner and
copyrighted by AOL Time Warner Company and Trademark by TBS Productions

Babylon 5 and all related characters and props were created by Michael
Straczynski and copyrighted by Warner Bros.

Star Trek and all related characters created by Gene Roddenberry.
Copyright Paramount

Transformers and all related characters, and props are trademarked by
Hasbro Inc. Copyright Rhino Home Videos and AOL Time Warner Entertainment
CO

He-Man, She-Ra, related characters, and props are trademarked by Filmation
1980s

Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and all related characters created by
Joss Whedon.  Copyright 20th Century Fox.

Batman, and all related characters created by Bob Kane. Copyright DC Comics
and Warner Bros.

X-MEN and all related characters were created by Stan Lee. Copyright Marvel
Comics and 20th Century Fox.

To those who've been reading Tales of Sol. I want you to know that while
there is sex in this story. That is not is sole purpose and yes I do hope
the sex sense makes you all hard and gets you off.

Sol is an adaption from my childhood favorite show Captain Planet and the
Planeteers, The cartoon showed us that the world can be a better place if
we took a few moments to care for it.

Tales of Sol is meant to express hope.

It also shows how music can have an impact in our lives. While I don't know
if my favorite bands 98 Degrees, Backstreet Boys, or Nsync have ever read
this. They saw me through some of the hardest moments of my life and
offered in their own way hope. To them, I say thank you.

I dedicate the Tales of Sol to all of my brothers and sisters of the US
Armed Service past, present, and future.

I like to thank my friends whom I had the privilege of showing these
chapters with. They helped with editing and inspiration,

John Rivera, Albert-Russ Alan Rivera-Odum, Derbe.D. Hunte Yvette Ortiz
Samuel Diaz Jr for all their help in Making The Tales of Sol an enjoyable
story to write.

And I have a few other names starting with the beginner of this universe.

James is the author of Tales of a Real Dark Knight. I still hope to
reconnect with you dear friend and all the rest of this series.

Blake the author of Tales of a New Phoenix

Jeremi author of the Tales of Young Mutants

I am adding a few more remarks. I have entered into the 21st century of AI
editing, I have been using various AI programs to help with grammar checks,
clarity, and improvements to my story.

This story was edited with the help of GPT Workspace, Grammarly, Microsoft
Copilot, and Quillbot AI software.

AI Use Disclosure: I used GPT Workspace to generate some text for my story,
Grammarly to check my grammar and spelling, Microsoft Copilot to write some
code snippets, and Quillbot to paraphrase some sentences. I verified the
accuracy and originality of the AI-generated content and cited the sources
that I used for reference.

References:

GPT Workspace. (2024, January 9). Version 1.0. [AI tool]. GPT Workspace
Inc. https://gptworkspace.com/

Grammarly. (2024, January 9). Version 5.6. [AI tool]. Grammarly
Inc. https://www.grammarly.com/

Microsoft Copilot. (2024, January 9). Version 2.3. [AI tool]. Microsoft
Corporation. https://copilot.github.com/

Quillbot. (2024, January 9). Version 4.2. [AI tool]. Quillbot
Inc. https://quillbot.com/

The Tales of Sol 80A

The Dark Side of Humanity

	Gazing out of the airplane window, my heart swelled with a sense of
profound contentment. The journey had been a roller coaster of emotions,
brimming with moments that would linger in my memory forever. It was a
stark reminder that I could confront the wrath of two volcanoes but remain
humbled by the complexities of the human heart. Beside me, Brian rested,
his head on my shoulder, as we made the long journey back to Philadelphia.

As the iconic silhouettes of Liberty One and Two pierced the skyline, Brian
stirred from his slumber. His eyes opened to the sight of the two towers
reigning supreme, a sight that marked our arrival. "We're home," he said,
his smile reflecting the city's grandeur that unfolded below--a magnificent
tableau of Philadelphia from above, enriching the joy that already played
across my face. Brian always cherished these glimpses of happiness etched
into my being.

With a teasing tone, I reminded him, "Home? You're based in Orlando, Brian,
if memory serves."

But Brian, with a look of affection, countered as he surveyed the cityscape
beneath us, "Your home is my home, Mike. Philadelphia holds a piece of us
both now."

Brian then mused tenderly, "I could never grow weary of this view,
especially now that I have an even greater reason to treasure this city."

A fond smile tugged at my lips, "It's been an adventure--one that's
imprinted itself on me with indelible recollections of thrill and
friendship."

Rob Thomas had departed before us, en route to Los Angeles--a man on a
different journey, yet unbeknownst to him, carrying a piece of our shared
experience. In a subtle act of mischief, I had slipped one of my probes
into his belongings as he boarded his flight.

Letting out a contented sigh, I reflected, "It's been memorable, my love,"
as I settled back, already looking forward to our next sexscapade.

"Don't grow too comfortable with sharing; you and I are the primary duo,
and I won't always be willing to share you," Brian stated with gravity.

The casual acknowledgment left me reeling slightly. "Love, I never imagined
we would venture down that road," I expressed, still processing the
unexpected turn of events. "Honestly, the fact that all four of us managed
to entangle ourselves in such a... situation, is beyond surprising," I
added hastily.

Brian offered a sly grin, a hint of mischief in his voice. "What can I say?
When my penis takes over, I'm just along for the ride."

I laughed at his candor, "Isn't that just like any man?"

His chuckle was a soft sound before he confided, "I must admit,
reconnecting with Nick in that way was... exhilarating."

"I've missed him," he sighed, the nostalgia evident in his tone.

"I understand that sentiment," I concurred, my gaze drifting back to the
cityscape unfurling below as the plane descended.

"Why not reach out to him? Let him know you're still there," Brian
encouraged gently.

Hesitation clouded my voice. "But what would I even say? Knowing what's
ahead for him..."

Brian held my gaze, firm yet kind. "Mike, you can't close off your heart. I
owe him too--he played a part in bringing you into my life."

I smiled softly at his words. Looking down at the city below, I mused
aloud, "Do you know what I've always cherished about this view?"

Brian played along, willing to indulge my deflection. "No, what is it?"

"Up here, the city's flaws melt away. You don't see the crime, the strife,
or the heartbreak. From this vantage point, it's all about the beauty that
Philadelphia unfolds," I admitted, appreciating the serene expanse
stretching out before us.

"The inner beauty holds just as much weight as what is seen on the
surface," Brian said with a knowing wink.

"Mike, I've seen the breadth of your heart--its finest stretches unwinding
from Pearl Harbor to our standoff with Mauna Loa, and every bit
throughout," Brian reflected earnestly. "The person I experienced by my
side in Hawaii... that man doesn't just walk away from someone he
loves. And a part of me knows, there's a piece of you that wishes the
moments we had in Hawaii were shared with Jeff."

Gently, he guided my face away from the cityscape and back to his
eyes. "Aside from our volcanic encounters, of course," he added with a
playful giggle before growing more somber. "Fate may have been as unkind to
you and Jeff as it has been to so many others," he said, his gaze warm with
empathy and affection for the enduring emotions I harbored.

"I share that deep affection for Nick too, and I was willing to let you
feel that connection alongside me," he continued.

His smile became sensual for a time. "And who knows... perhaps we'll find a
way to weave Jeff into the tapestry of our love," he thought. Running his
palm over his crotch, there was an undeniable growth. Brian took my hand
and put it over his thick manhood.

On impulse, I began to rub my finger across the curve of his penis head,
which was growing more prominent through his shorts. I even gave it a
gentle pinch and gripped the entire shaft, eliciting a lovely gasp from my
playful lover.

I squeezed him once more. "Down, boy," I said, chuckling at his antics.

In a deep whisper, Brian said, "I would love to see Jeff stick his fat dick
up your ass Mike,"

which made me giggle and give his hardon a playful squeeze.

As the plane began its final descent we unfortunately had to stop our
little fun.

"Mike, you stared down a volcano; you're incredible," Brian said, the awe
in his voice a clear testament to his admiration. Our conversation paused
as the plane's tires met the tarmac with a thud, grounding us back in
Philadelphia. "It feels good to be back," I said, pride swelling in me.

"Welcome home, Mike," Brian echoed as we collected our things. Traveling
first class with the Backstreet Boys meant we were the first to
disembark--a perk that allowed me to lead the way, ensuring their safety
from any overzealous fans.

As we made our exit, AJ and Nick bantered behind us, their competitive
spirits debating who would reach baggage claim first--a lighthearted end to
an epic journey.

As we stepped off the plane, we were greeted by a familiar face waiting at
the ticket counter. "Frank!" Kevin exclaimed, his voice rich with
affection.

"Welcome back, guys," Frank said, radiating warmth as he shook each of our
hands. But a mere handshake wasn't enough to express our gratitude and
relief at seeing him--each of us wrapped Frank in an embrace, a testament
to the love and respect we held for our head of security, who had been
injured in the line of duty, protecting us.

When it was my turn, Frank's handshake turned into a more intimate gesture
as he drew me close. "I've heard our 'Shadow' has been taken care of," he
murmured with a knowing look.

I used the opportunity to hold Frank tighter. His sacrifice didn't go
unnoticed, nor would it ever be forgotten. He'd been hurt because he
trusted my intuition about Hector being the mole who had leaked information
to Devin, putting Brian's life in jeopardy. Frank, a man who had risked so
much for us, deserved not only our gratitude but our enduring support and
brotherhood.

The chill in my voice could have frozen the Alaskan tundra as I responded,
"Alaska is indeed quite the destination, wouldn't you agree?"

Frank's lips curved into a sly smile. "And 'The Shadow' is still enjoying
its hospitality," he added playfully.

With a melancholic shake of my head, I reflected, "What he makes of that
experience is his decision to make."

Frank casually dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand, the serious
undercurrent still present. "The important thing is, you stepped in and
taught him a lesson about the price of crossing lines. I only regret not
being there to see you take him down," he said, his eyes revealing a shared
desire for justice.

As I firmly shook his hand, I passed a discreet probe to him--a silent
promise of support. "Frank, you'll never face such dangers alone again. You
have my word," I avowed with conviction.

A flush crept up Frank's cheeks, and he let out a nervous chuckle. "That
was on me. Should've had backup. I never should've gone after Hector solo."
The anguish of his own perceived failure echoed in his words.

"Frank, to blame yourself for this is like blaming me for letting that man
get close," I consoled him, placing a hand on his shoulder for emphasis.

Together, we headed towards the baggage claim, but an uneasy sensation
gripped me--the awareness of prying eyes. Safely linked to BEATTI once
more, I didn't waste a moment. "BEATTI, keep tabs on my every step until
further notice," I commanded into the badge.

Frank, quick to pick up on the shift in my demeanor, showed concern. "Is
everything okay?"

Feeling the weight of unseen watchers, I leaned in closer to Frank and
confided, "We've got company--I'm being followed."

Frank remained silent for a moment, processing the information with a
seriousness that matched the situation. "Are the guys in danger?" he
finally asked, keeping his voice low enough for only me to hear.

My response was firm and unwavering. "No, they're not the targets--I am," I
clarified.

He prodded further, in an equally subdued tone, "How can you be sure?"

"I just know--call it a gut feeling. I'm the one under the microscope," I
whispered back, my intuitive edge razor sharp. My lifetime navigating the
seas hadn't just honed my physical senses; it amplified my supernatural
awareness to a keen edge. Although my instincts screamed to act, for the
moment, I needed to maintain the facade of ignorance.

Re-enlisting BEATTI's assistance, I instructed my combadge, "Keep an eye
out for anything and keep the feed on me live. No detail is too small."

The familiar, almost comforting synthesized voice of Majel Roddenberry came
from my combadge, affirming my command with a simple, "Yes, Sir."

Frank's concern was palpable as he pressed, "Are you sure it's you they're
tailing?"

My senses didn't lie. The nature of the surveillance wasn't that of a
starstruck fan--it was something else entirely. "The kind of attention I'm
drawing isn't from those who chase after celebrities," I assured him, a
furtive glance confirming my suspicion. They were after something, or
someone, far from the world of pop stardom.

As we made our way closer to baggage claim, the vibrant hum of the bustling
traffic from outside filtered through to us. The terminal's large bay
windows framed a live canvas of vehicles zipping past in a choreographed
dance of transit. It was at this moment that a familiar sensation--a Ping
from the Earth--snapped my focus back from the distant view to the
immediacy of my surroundings. This intuitive nudge momentarily diverted my
attention from the pervasive feeling of surveillance.

My gaze shifted quickly to the airport's interior, every sense heightened,
and the scene playing out before me struck an eerie chord of
recognition. It was almost as if time had looped back on itself, replaying
a moment Dave and I had witnessed on a previous outing.

There, in the flurry of the terminal, was a little girl, her skin the rich
hue of the African continent, weaving through the crowd in innocent
abandon, drifting further from her increasingly frantic parents. And there
was the custodial attendant, a man of Hispanic heritage, lost in his own
world, headphones ensconcing him in a melodic cocoon as he mopped the
floor, oblivious to the little girl headed toward the slick surface he'd
just cleaned.

"History," I muttered under my breath, "you do love repeating yourself."
With no room for hesitation, I broke into a sprint before anyone could
intervene--"Mike!"--their calls trailing after me. But the urgency of the
moment propelled me forward, determined to alter the sequence of events
that I knew all too well.

As I reached the top of the escalators, the anticipated collision between
the janitor and the child occurred. The little girl was jostled over the
railing's edge. Without missing a beat, I leaped towards a hanging banner,
grasping it firmly to swing across the open space. The fabric strained and
tore under my weight, but it held long enough.

With precision born from both instinct and superhuman ability, I caught the
little girl mere moments after her tumble began, wrapping her safely within
the shelter of my arms. We veered off course from the landing, opting for a
more direct route to the lower level.

Calling upon the elemental power at my disposal, my left hand directed a
gentle gust of wind downward, summoning a cushioning whirlwind that eased
our descent. We landed with elegance and finesse I hadn't managed in
previous rescues of this nature--me in a crouch, my left hand steadying our
landing, and my right knee absorbing the impact to prevent any further
drop.

Clutching the girl protectively against me as I stood, I recognized the
gathering crowd surging towards us--her parents, security, and my friends,
the Backstreet Boys, all wore expressions of concern that turned to relief
upon seeing us unharmed.

The parents' grateful faces, security's professional relief, and my
friends' unabashed pride filled the space as they closed in, each person
eager to ensure the little girl's safety and to share in the joyous
aftermath of a tragedy narrowly averted.

The mother's arms extended desperately as she surged forward, "Michelle!"
Her scream was laced with raw panic.

Rising to my feet, I reassured her, "She's just fine." I handed little
Michelle back into the frenzied grip of her mother, who enveloped her child
in an embrace that was equal parts relief and admonishment.

"We've told you to always stay by our side," the mother's voice trembled
with protective fervor.

The father grasped my hand, his firm shake with gratitude. "Thank you--how
can we ever repay you?" he asked, his voice a mixture of awe and
indebtedness.

"Our friend here has a knack for showing up when trouble starts," Brian
interjected with a warm smile, his pride in my actions clear.

I caught Nick's eye and couldn't help but snicker. "Guess what--I win," I
proclaimed, earning a perplexed look from him until his gaze followed mine.

Realization dawned on Nick, and he couldn't suppress a chuckle. "So you
just had to be the first one to baggage claim," he remarked, glancing
around the now-familiar setting. Nick's playful competitive bets that he
had with AJ on the plane were now rendered trivial by the urgency of the
rescue.

Soon after, airport security approached, and I found myself recounting the
details of the rescue. When asked how I had known what would happen, I
cited a similar experience, explaining that the patterns and symptoms had
played out in a near-identical fashion, allowing me to anticipate and
intervene just in time.

The security guard fumbled over his words in his effort to express his
gratitude, "Sir, we've reviewed the footage and you were the only one who
noticed the impending danger. That's remarkable and certainly
praiseworthy."

Nodding, I recalled a memory that mirrored today's events. "On a shopping
trip during my early days at the Philadelphia Geothermal Power Plant, I
went through a very similar incident. History does have a penchant for
repeating itself. Fortunately, this time I was ready," I shared with a
smile.

After expressing their appreciation, security allowed me to rejoin my
friends, where Brian had already collected my luggage. As Frank ushered us
all towards the exit, the group bombarded me with questions regarding the
incident. I shared the story of the shopping excursion with Dave and how it
sparked the path to honing my sensitivity to the Earth's signals.

Brian showed concern and suggested we head back to the hotel, but I felt a
pull towards home. "I need to swing by my place first," I said, already
longing for the familiar comfort of my own space.

Understanding, Brian proposed, "Alright, but let's meet for dinner later. I
know this Italian spot you're going to love."

"Just send someone from security to pick me up," I suggested as a
precaution.

Kevin piped up with a refinement to the plan, glancing towards
Frank. "Better idea--could Steve drive Mike home?"

Frank nodded in agreement. "Of course," he confirmed without hesitation.

When we arrived at the hotel, I stayed in the SUV, with Steve assuming the
role of my chauffeur.

Back at my place, Steve patiently waited as I sorted through the routine of
checking mail and messages--everyday tasks that follow a trip's end. But
one task was far from mundane; I needed confirmation from BEATTI about the
suspicious surveillance at the airport. "Sir, nothing concrete to report at
this time," came the update from my computer.

Settling into the familiar comfort of my shower, I reassured myself, "I'll
do my own sweep later, but I'm sure there were extra eyes on me back at the
airport."

Dressed in crisp black khakis and a snug turtleneck, I was about to secure
my Fighting Pike at my side when my cell phone buzzed with an incoming
text. Nick, ever impatient, was already complaining about the delay.

Chuckling at his eagerness, I mused, "That boy is definitely ruled by his
stomach," as I clipped my phone back onto my belt alongside the Pike. A
dash of Old Spice, and I was ready to step out to where Steve and security
awaited.

With the house now under BEATTI's vigilant eye, I stepped out into the
SUV. The journey resumed, and the niggling feeling of eyes tracing our path
solidified--I was under surveillance. Roughly twenty minutes later, we
pulled up in front of Buca di Beppo, nestled in the heart of downtown
Philly. Steve departed to rejoin the rest of the group, leaving me in the
capable hands of my friends within.

"They really do know my every move," I mused silently. Exiting the vehicle,
I approached the restaurant's entrance with an air of casual confidence,
ready for a night of camaraderie and good food.

After a frustrating fifteen-minute standoff, my irritation peaked to the
brink of causing a scene. It was only when I glimpsed AJ's distinctive
hairstyle that I managed to avert being ejected to the streets. I called
out, "AJ!"

He grinned in recognition, much to the startled waiter's embarrassment. "I
am so terribly sorry, sir. We've been dealing with fan imposters all
evening," the waiter stammered out an apology.

With concern etched on his face, AJ approached. Curiosity got the best of
me as I queried, "How long have you been waiting?"

"About fifteen minutes. Nick was on the verge of sending Steve to check on
you," AJ apprised me of the situation.

The receptionist went pale when my gaze snapped back to him. AJ's
cautionary grip landed on my shoulder as he attempted to defuse the
tension. But I was seething--"Fifteen minutes! You left my friends hanging
while you doubted my identity!" My rebuke came with the force of a naval
officer, unimpressed by his defense or lack thereof.

AJ looked on, torn between sympathy for the intimidated receptionist and
alarmed that we'd be asked to leave even before our meal had started.

The sharp scent of fear was unmistakable from the receptionist, who
faltered under my gaze. "You knew they were here. Instead of wasting time
arguing, you should've verified with my friends directly!" I hissed, my
voice cutting through the room and drawing the crowd's attention.

An intervention came as the manager approached, questioning, "What seems to
be the issue?"

I turned and incensed, "This petaQ!This incompetent staff member caused
unnecessary delay due to his skepticism!"

AJ, ever the voice of reason, rested a hand on my shoulder and said, "Mike,
take it easy. We don't want to cause a scene."

The manager sharply interjected, "Sir, please accompany your companion to
your table. I assure you, I will handle the matter."

With AJ's persistent tugging, I relented, leaving the receptionist to the
manager's discipline. Together, we made our way to our table, leaving
behind the spectacle.

As soon as we came together with the group, Howie couldn't resist
commenting with a mix of awe and humor, "Man, I've never seen anything like
that. And here I thought Mauna Loa erupting was the scary part."

Kevin, who chimed in with a snicker, "You can say that again."

Now that I was with friends, my temper began to fade. "I despise getting
angry," I muttered with a residual growl.

Nick laughed, his mirth diffusing the remaining tension. "Well, after that,
I can't blame you. I hope I never get on your bad side."

Turning back to me, AJ's curiosity was piqued. "What was that you called
the guy back there?"

"PetaQ. It's a word from Klingon," I explained.

Howie looked surprised. "You know Klingon?"

"Just a smattering of phrases," I admitted with a shrug.

Nick, ever driven by his appetites, shifted the conversation. "Have you
cooled down enough to order? Because, as I may have mentioned, I'm hungry."

His playful whine drew a collective chuckle. "Well, 'Hungry,' I think I can
manage that," I replied, the traces of my previous frustration now replaced
by being a smartass.

Nick rolled his eyes, continuing the banter. "Oh, grow up," he said, his
own chuckle softening the jest.

"Look who's telling others to mature," Brian lobbed back, turning the
tables.

AJ jumped in, piling on the teasing. "He's the biggest kid among us," he
said with a wink.

"I am not!" Nick defended, feigning indignation.

I stepped into my role of mediator with a chuckle. "Alright, kiddos, simmer
down now, or it's straight to bedtime for everyone."

AJ flashed a challenging grin. "I'd like to see you try."

With a laugh, I shot back, "I think I could handle you, AJ, you
yellow-haired goon." The table erupted in laughter as dinner began not just
with a menu of Italian delicacies but with a hearty serving of jest and
jibes.

"Make all the jokes you want, but my hair is off-limits," AJ retorted with
a chuckle.

Before I could respond, a loud crack echoed through the restaurant. The
entrance doors swung open with such force that the frame splintered. A
tall, fair-skinned man with iron-gray hair strode in, the air around him
practically crackling with arrogance. His military fatigues added to his
imposing presence, but it was the air of conceitedness and unmitigated
disdain he carried that truly painted a picture of danger.

With an authoritarian tone that had the timbre of the military but none of
its discipline, he announced his crusade. "I am Morgan Clark, director of
this city's Friends of Humanity. I am seeking mutant fugitives."

The guys exchanged concerned glances, uncertainty written on their faces
over this unexpected interruption.

Outside, the grim reality loomed even larger. "Sentinels!" Howie whispered,
and I immediately recognized the towering robotic enforcers I had seen all
too often.

The faction this man represented, however, eluded me for a moment. "Who are
these 'Friends of Humanity'?" I inquired.

Nick's explanation came with a blend of distaste and recognition. "They're
a hate group dedicated to eradicating mutants from the world," he said with
a scowl.

As his words settled, my memory sparked with recollection. "Right, I think
they were the same fanatics who terrorized the Mutant Awareness Charity." I
recalled the incident--the aggressors and that belligerent blowhard
responsible for causing chaos among innocent lives.

A protective instinct flared within me at the presence of such malice in my
city. 'Not in my neighborhood,' I thought resolutely, having tangled with
these twisted machinations far too often.

Brian's voice was tinged with frustration. "Typical of them, harboring
nothing but disdain for those who empathize with mutants," he muttered.

"And I've had more than my fair share of confrontations with those 'Robotic
Rejects,'" I remarked, acknowledging the looming Sentinels outside.

AJ, with a knowing look in my direction, inquired, "Didn't you turn those
clunkers into scrap metal last time?"

Keeping my voice low, I responded with a hint of confidence. "Those
oversized tin soldiers are no match for me." Then, more seriously, I added,
"It's that guy in the knockoff military gear that presents a real problem."

I longed to transform into the Guardian, or better yet, Sol. As Guardian, I
could handle the crisis without putting Brian and the others at risk. Sol
could effortlessly dispose of those mechanical behemoths. Yet, before I
could act, chaos erupted. Three patrons made a desperate dash for the exit,
only to be met with ruthless laser fire. Their gut-wrenching cries pierced
the tense air, paralyzing the restaurant in fear.

The expressions of horror etched on the guys' faces mirrored the rage
boiling within me. The sanctity of life, regardless of its form, was being
violated. I was filled with a fury that screamed for action, yet I knew
that revealing my identity amidst hatred-fueled adversaries would
potentially escalate matters beyond my control. I had to find another way
to resolve this without unveiling the powers that I held.

Determined to confront the bigotry before us, I stood resolutely. "It's
time for a brave heart to challenge this hate," I declared, rising.

"Mike, get the hell back here!" Brian's voice rang out in panic, his hand
reaching out to pull me back.

But Howie had faith, interrupting with a voice heavy with reason. "Brian,
our buddy just took on an angry volcano. He's more than a match for this
hatemonger."

Brian's response was a fervent murmur: "I know, Howie, I know. But I can't
help worrying about Mike."

Approaching Clark, his smile was smug, with absolute arrogance emanating
from him. "Can I help you?" His tone implied that he felt untouchable, but
I was about to challenge that notion.

"You're a disgrace to that uniform," I shot back, my irritation
palpable. His charade of military attire dishonored what the uniform stood
for.

He scoffed. "And how would you know?"

Standing tall, my pride as a serviceman palpable, I countered, "Because I
am a soldier--I am a proud member of the United States Navy."

His dismissive reply, "Good for you," only solidified his disdain and
superiority complex. But I was unfazed, ready to stand ground against his
false sense of hierarchy.

My resolve was ironclad. I was ready to debunk his beliefs
systematically. "How dare you barge in here and terrorize these people?" I
demanded, my voice a low growl.

His reply came tainted with the full veneer of his assumed authority. "I
don't target the populace. I'm here to eradicate mutants," Clark
proclaimed, sure of his corrupt cause.

Scorn filled me as I retorted, "Why? Merely because they differ from you?"
I declared provocatively, "By that logic, I too am a mutant because I'm not
as tall as you."

With each example, my arguments grew more poignant. "She is a mutant, then,
for her skin color," I gestured to a woman sitting at a nearby table, who
bore her individuality with grace. "He is one, too, because of his build,"
I said, indicating a robust man who carried his uniqueness with pride.

I pressed on, amplifying my point: "We all bear differences; it's the
fabric of our humanity, a tapestry woven of countless strands."

With fervor, I continued. "We are the grains that come together to create
the vastness of a shore, each of us uniquely shaped and essential."

"Those variances are not a cause for fear but a wealth to be celebrated," I
challenged him directly, my voice rising in volume. "Who anointed you the
arbiter of righteousness?"

Witnessing the palpable malice emitted from Clark clash with the dignified
pride emanating from the rest of the patrons, I steeled myself against the
injustice.

"So, what's your plan? Destroy an entire establishment over imagined
threats in difference." I threw down the gauntlet, daring him to reveal the
depth of his twisted mission.

Clark's response was defiant. "My aim isn't the death of innocents," he
claimed, his temper flaring.

"You profane that uniform with every word that spills from your mouth to
justify your hatred," I shot back with heat. "It's people like you who
contort noble ideals into a weapon of prejudice, eliminating anyone who
dares to deviate from your narrow vision," I declared, the crowd a silent
witness to our growing confrontation.

"You represent the epitome of this century's bigotry, and like all hate
groups before you, you're destined to collapse. People will wake up to the
ignorance of hatred," I asserted. My proclamation met with sounds of
support from the bystanders rallying behind me.

Clark's face contorted in fury as he brandished a handgun, leveling it
directly at me. "Ten seconds to sit down!" he barked, his finger already
tensing on the trigger.

Unfazed, I met his gaze, my powers covertly at work, rendering his weapon
useless. "You might want to rethink that," I countered coolly. "You have
five seconds to put that ineffective toy away."

With a sneer, he taunted, "And what would you do against this?"

Returning his arrogant smile with one laced with confidence, I replied,
"I've served as a soldier for the United States, trained to handle far more
than your weapon." Swiftly, I disarmed him, turning the gun in his
direction, which caused him a moment of panic. "Experience in unarmed
combat comes with the territory," I informed him, tossing the now harmless
gun aside.

I stood before him, a physical embodiment of the retaliation against
ignorance and hate, ready to protect those who needed it most.

Clark's rage was palpable as he raised his hand in a blind fury. "I'll show
you, you mutant sympathizer!" His tirade fell on deaf ears as I
effortlessly sidestepped his feeble attempt to intimidate.

Undeterred, he lunged for a punch, anger clouding his judgment. "You do
realize that assaulting a member of the armed forces is a felony?" I coolly
reminded him, deftly dodging the blow.

His growl was feral, "That doesn't apply if I'm also a soldier!"

A look of serene control settled on me. "You're no soldier," I stated with
authority.

"Merely donning that uniform is a desecration," I shot back.

With speed and skills honed by military training, I intercepted his next
attack, capturing his fist and twisting it behind his back.

Whispering directly into his ear, I delivered a stern reprimand. "Someone
who has truly served would never stoop to brawling. Wear this again, and
you'll regret it."

I concluded with a decisive kick to Clark's pompous ass and actual
ass. Frankly, it didn't matter; I was still kicking a jackass.

My kick drove Clark crashing out the door and onto the trash-filled
pavement. "That's the appropriate resting place for trash," I concluded,
relieved that the restaurant and its clients were no longer beneath his
malicious shadow.

Brian remained seated with the rest of the band, his emotions torn between
concern and admiration for Mike. His commanding presence sent a shiver down
Brian's spine, and the sentiment resonated with the rest of the group.

"Like I said, seeing him angry is something else," said Nick, finding a
note of humor in the intensity of the situation.

"Mount Pennock really blew its top, but in the best way," AJ remarked, his
words laced with affection and reverence for the man who had just cast out
the embodiment of hate.

Then came a chilling command from Clark: "Torch the place!"

"He's insane!" Howie exclaimed, alarm clear in his voice.

"Mike!" Brian's mind raced with worry--a silent prayer for safety.

"He's just validated Mike's entire argument," Kevin observed with a sneer
of contempt for Clark's actions.

I overheard Clark's destructive order and knew, despite my inability to
summon Sol, I could not simply stand by. nor was there time for me to find
any alleyway to change into Guardian. Doing one or the other exposes my
secret, and leaves this restaurant at the mercy of Clark and his
robo-hunting pack. I had to stand firm and inaction was not an option. My
odds against the Sentinels were favorable. They were formidable but they
were no match for the powers of nature that reside within me.

To be continued

Guardian is back home in Philadelphia and back to work in a very colossal
way.

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Please tell me what you think at3unit3@yahoo.com

All comments are welcome

I also recommend the following stories it was because of them I got into
writing in the first place.

"Tales of a Real Dark Knight" by authorjames

"Marvel Knights" also by authorjames

 "Tales of the New Phoenix" by Blake

"Tales of a Superhero Band" by Leo

"Tales of a Young Mutant" by Jeremi

"Tales of a Thunder God" by Tony Justiss