Dr_Draco
Well-Known Member
Come one, come all!!! Welcome to the first edition of Dr. Draco Presents. In this month's issue, we learn of an odd superhero wannabe in "The Projectionist". If you want to know more about it before reading, check out the Solicitation Thread 
.
So without any further ado...
Dawn. The time of the day where the world wakes up for another mundane day of 9-5 number crunching, coffee serving, cleaning, or whatever the hell else people do for a living.
For me, dawn let’s me know my day is almost done. While the people get their morning cups of coffee or tea, I’m wandering the streets, saving their butts from the thugs that would like nothing better than to have their way with the unsuspecting secretary or mug the accountant heading to work.
It’s easy enough to take out these thugs before they strike. No matter how many times I nab some ruffian, the idiots always congregate at the same joints. You’d think they’d learn eventually, but they don’t. Luckily, crime in Wheelston isn’t organized enough for smart-thinking crooks.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I’ve stopped more and more thugs in this past week than I did in the last year. I don’t like this trend. This morning is quiet, however, so I pack up and go to my studio apartment for some sleep before I get to my “real-world” job.
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BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEEEEEEEP! BLEE---
I smash the alarm clock. It reads 2:30, but how can that be? It was 9:00 just a few minutes ago. Maybe I’m just working too hard, who knows.
I get up and look in the mirror. My face has a small scar on the left side of my lip. Some Jet Li wannabe thought a knife across the mouth would make me run. He’s fertilizing wheat fields now. The scar is slightly covered by my four-day shadow. Shaving’s a pain in the neck, and I only do it about once a week.
My black hair is starting to recede, and I notice a few grays in my sideburns this afternoon. Now this really ticks me off. I’m not even thirty yet, and I look like I could’ve graduated high school in the 80s. Aside from that, I do find myself attractive, and the various ladies I find myself with don’t seem to disagree. Perks of the vigilante gig, I’d say.
So I take a quick shower, don my suit, and head to work. I’m a projectionist at Wheelston Park 20, one of the bigger theaters in town. And in case you didn’t know, that little number at the end of the name is the number of screens our theater has. You wouldn’t believe some of the dumb question and remarks I’ve heard concerning that one little thing. Makes me glad I am just a projectionist sometimes. If I actually had to deal with the customer base on a regular basis, I wouldn’t be doing the little hero gig I do.
I get to the theater, and say hi to some of the employees (not many stick around longer than 6 months or so, but those that stay I know) and make a bee-line to Donna, my boss and ex-fiancée. I say ex, because once I started fighting crime, she dropped me like yesterday’s news. It wasn’t because I fought crime (she doesn’t know about that), but apparently sometime after I got into that she claimed I “had no time for her.” She was right of course, but still, it eats at me. I spent 500 bucks on her ring and she won’t give it back, the gold-digger.
“So Donna,” I say as I come up to the guest service desk, “How about you give me that ring back.”
She gets annoyed, nothing new there, “Luther,” that would be my name incase that didn’t come off clear enough for you, never can tell with people these days, don’t catch the obvious, “How many times do I have to say no? You gave it to me as a gift, you ain’t getting it back.” Oh, and the last name’s Gregson, because I know you care.
“Dangit woman! It’s an engagement ring. We’re no longer engaged. How hard is it to figure that out?”
“You ain’t getting it back, end of story,” Donna says, apparently done speaking. She hands me my show-time schedule and turns back to the computer.
My patience is really wearing thin now, but whatever, I’ve got movies to start. We got a bunch of crap films like Ultra-Violet, Shaggy Dog, Aquamarine, and Date Movie. We also got a re-release of Crash, apparently it won Best Picture or some such crap. It makes no sense to show it again, considering it’s been on DVD for about four months now. I’ll never figure out Hollywood.
The night goes by fairly fast. None of the films break or anything like that. You know, most people think our films are digital or on video-cassette or something. Those people are morons. Only a small percentage of theaters in the country have digital screens, and those theaters only have one (two if it’s in LA or NYC or something) screen that can show digital flicks. We still get films the good old fashioned way these days: multiple reels of 35mm film.
----------
When my shift ends, it’s about 1 in the morning: time to change for job number two. I head toward a nearby ally and strip off my clothes, revealing my crime-fighting suit beneath.
The suit’s nothing really fancy: pretty much black jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt, and a black ski-mask. The only thing remarkable about the get-up is a picture of white film reel on the front of my shirt.
I have a small arsenal of weapons, too. My two fists (of course), a couple of revolvers, some hunting knives, and 2 feet of film. Why film? Well, if you knew how strong theatrical film is, you wouldn’t have to ask that question. Anyhow, it’s strong, strong enough that you could hang a man with it if you need too. It can be a bit unwieldy, but is handy in a pinch.
Time to go.
It doesn’t take long to find my first targets, a couple of gang-bangers looking to break into some retail store. That’s the third time this week some idiot has tried to pop this store. Like I said, they never learn.
Silently, I move behind the nearest one. I slip out one of my hunting knives and stab him through the spine. He screams and shakes about, but soon enough he falls, twitching on the ground.
I reach down to pull out my knife. Stuck. Well, no matter, I’ve got another. I grab my other knife as twitching guy’s partner aims his gun at me. Too bad he’s slow and shaky, his shot goes wide. Without even blinking, I launch my knife into this guy’s wrist. He drops the gun.
“Who… Who are you?” The guy asks. Honestly, I never get tired of this question, even if my reputation should be spreading by now.
Nonchalantly, I walk up to the guy and pull the knife out of his wrist, “Who am I? Well, that’s simple. The name’s Drive-In, as in I’m gonna drive this knife into your baby maker!”
Cheesy? Sure, but I love saying it. And the look on the guy’s face once he realizes what I meant is just classic. I drive the knife where the sun don’t shine and leave it there. I walk over to the guy I gave the impromptu spinal tap and manage to wedge my knife out. One last spasm and the guy is dead. Then I walk back to the other guy and finish the job. I clean my knives and move on to the next bit of business.
No one will forget the Drive-In.
----------
----------
Is this the last we've heard of Luther and his alter-ego Drive-In? I wouldn't bet on it. However, Luther won't be the focus for next month's short story. I have something a little... different in mind... :twisted:
.So without any further ado...
Dr. Draco Presents:
(If you've ever heard anything more original, you're lying.)
#1 The Projectionist
(If you've ever heard anything more original, you're lying.)
#1 The Projectionist
Dawn. The time of the day where the world wakes up for another mundane day of 9-5 number crunching, coffee serving, cleaning, or whatever the hell else people do for a living.
For me, dawn let’s me know my day is almost done. While the people get their morning cups of coffee or tea, I’m wandering the streets, saving their butts from the thugs that would like nothing better than to have their way with the unsuspecting secretary or mug the accountant heading to work.
It’s easy enough to take out these thugs before they strike. No matter how many times I nab some ruffian, the idiots always congregate at the same joints. You’d think they’d learn eventually, but they don’t. Luckily, crime in Wheelston isn’t organized enough for smart-thinking crooks.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I’ve stopped more and more thugs in this past week than I did in the last year. I don’t like this trend. This morning is quiet, however, so I pack up and go to my studio apartment for some sleep before I get to my “real-world” job.
----------
BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEEEEEEEP! BLEE---
I smash the alarm clock. It reads 2:30, but how can that be? It was 9:00 just a few minutes ago. Maybe I’m just working too hard, who knows.
I get up and look in the mirror. My face has a small scar on the left side of my lip. Some Jet Li wannabe thought a knife across the mouth would make me run. He’s fertilizing wheat fields now. The scar is slightly covered by my four-day shadow. Shaving’s a pain in the neck, and I only do it about once a week.
My black hair is starting to recede, and I notice a few grays in my sideburns this afternoon. Now this really ticks me off. I’m not even thirty yet, and I look like I could’ve graduated high school in the 80s. Aside from that, I do find myself attractive, and the various ladies I find myself with don’t seem to disagree. Perks of the vigilante gig, I’d say.
So I take a quick shower, don my suit, and head to work. I’m a projectionist at Wheelston Park 20, one of the bigger theaters in town. And in case you didn’t know, that little number at the end of the name is the number of screens our theater has. You wouldn’t believe some of the dumb question and remarks I’ve heard concerning that one little thing. Makes me glad I am just a projectionist sometimes. If I actually had to deal with the customer base on a regular basis, I wouldn’t be doing the little hero gig I do.
I get to the theater, and say hi to some of the employees (not many stick around longer than 6 months or so, but those that stay I know) and make a bee-line to Donna, my boss and ex-fiancée. I say ex, because once I started fighting crime, she dropped me like yesterday’s news. It wasn’t because I fought crime (she doesn’t know about that), but apparently sometime after I got into that she claimed I “had no time for her.” She was right of course, but still, it eats at me. I spent 500 bucks on her ring and she won’t give it back, the gold-digger.
“So Donna,” I say as I come up to the guest service desk, “How about you give me that ring back.”
She gets annoyed, nothing new there, “Luther,” that would be my name incase that didn’t come off clear enough for you, never can tell with people these days, don’t catch the obvious, “How many times do I have to say no? You gave it to me as a gift, you ain’t getting it back.” Oh, and the last name’s Gregson, because I know you care.
“Dangit woman! It’s an engagement ring. We’re no longer engaged. How hard is it to figure that out?”
“You ain’t getting it back, end of story,” Donna says, apparently done speaking. She hands me my show-time schedule and turns back to the computer.
My patience is really wearing thin now, but whatever, I’ve got movies to start. We got a bunch of crap films like Ultra-Violet, Shaggy Dog, Aquamarine, and Date Movie. We also got a re-release of Crash, apparently it won Best Picture or some such crap. It makes no sense to show it again, considering it’s been on DVD for about four months now. I’ll never figure out Hollywood.
The night goes by fairly fast. None of the films break or anything like that. You know, most people think our films are digital or on video-cassette or something. Those people are morons. Only a small percentage of theaters in the country have digital screens, and those theaters only have one (two if it’s in LA or NYC or something) screen that can show digital flicks. We still get films the good old fashioned way these days: multiple reels of 35mm film.
----------
When my shift ends, it’s about 1 in the morning: time to change for job number two. I head toward a nearby ally and strip off my clothes, revealing my crime-fighting suit beneath.
The suit’s nothing really fancy: pretty much black jeans, a black long-sleeved t-shirt, and a black ski-mask. The only thing remarkable about the get-up is a picture of white film reel on the front of my shirt.
I have a small arsenal of weapons, too. My two fists (of course), a couple of revolvers, some hunting knives, and 2 feet of film. Why film? Well, if you knew how strong theatrical film is, you wouldn’t have to ask that question. Anyhow, it’s strong, strong enough that you could hang a man with it if you need too. It can be a bit unwieldy, but is handy in a pinch.
Time to go.
It doesn’t take long to find my first targets, a couple of gang-bangers looking to break into some retail store. That’s the third time this week some idiot has tried to pop this store. Like I said, they never learn.
Silently, I move behind the nearest one. I slip out one of my hunting knives and stab him through the spine. He screams and shakes about, but soon enough he falls, twitching on the ground.
I reach down to pull out my knife. Stuck. Well, no matter, I’ve got another. I grab my other knife as twitching guy’s partner aims his gun at me. Too bad he’s slow and shaky, his shot goes wide. Without even blinking, I launch my knife into this guy’s wrist. He drops the gun.
“Who… Who are you?” The guy asks. Honestly, I never get tired of this question, even if my reputation should be spreading by now.
Nonchalantly, I walk up to the guy and pull the knife out of his wrist, “Who am I? Well, that’s simple. The name’s Drive-In, as in I’m gonna drive this knife into your baby maker!”
Cheesy? Sure, but I love saying it. And the look on the guy’s face once he realizes what I meant is just classic. I drive the knife where the sun don’t shine and leave it there. I walk over to the guy I gave the impromptu spinal tap and manage to wedge my knife out. One last spasm and the guy is dead. Then I walk back to the other guy and finish the job. I clean my knives and move on to the next bit of business.
No one will forget the Drive-In.
----------
----------
Is this the last we've heard of Luther and his alter-ego Drive-In? I wouldn't bet on it. However, Luther won't be the focus for next month's short story. I have something a little... different in mind... :twisted:
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