Night Flyer

Chapter 1-2

Gabe did eventually get his wings, but it was in the form of a Beechcraft Musketeer Single Engine Plane. By then Gabe was a struggling, small-time pilot who owned his own airline, and although it was no more than a rinky-dink operation, he did well with it. Over time he had gained a reputation, being called a flying daredevil by some, and a stupid i***t by others. They said he took way too many chances in the air and would one day crash and burn.

Hell, maybe it was true.

But it was hard for Gabe to keep his flying down to a normal level since he loved it so much. He had come a long way from the kid on the window sill. It seemed as if his dream of flying had come true, but with one exception. His windowsill had turned to a plane he lovingly called the Night Flyer.

Now, as he sat in the cockpit of his plane and looked down through the wide windshield of the Musketeer to the patchwork world below, he saw the twinkling lights of The Big Apple. He was about to come in for a landing, so he switched his radio on, and spoke into a small microphone.

“Beechcraft Musketeer approaching. November, one, two, one, Papa, Papa, requesting coordinates for landing.”

While listening to the instructions spoken into his ear, he looked down at the instrument panel of his Musketeer and let his fingers fly across it, preparing for its eventual descent by positioning each dial, knob, handle, or control to its proper setting. That done, he gradually turned the nose of the plane downward, and let it soar on the four winds, giving his passengers a thrill until he had at last set it down along a glittering runway. He smiled when he heard his newly acquired flight attendant speak into her microphone.

“We’d like to thank you folks for flying with us today. And the next time you get the insane urge to go blasting through the skies in a pressurized metal tube, we hope you’ll think of us here at TangoWest.”

Well, what else could you expect when all you could afford to pay was minimum wage? He couldn’t complain, though. When the passengers got off the plane they always had big grins on their faces. He knew it must be the words of the flight attendant—it certainly couldn’t be his flying.

But that wasn’t all there was to Gabe—not since the night of the lightning strike.

He found out the truth one night when he came out of a gay bar and met the bullies head-on once again. Recognizing him, they immediately blocked his path. “Where you goin’, queer?”

Gabe didn’t say anything at first. He only looked at them, his gaze cautious and guarded. As usual, they were ganging up on him, three to one.

“What do you want?” he asked in a defensive tone.

The leader sneered at him. “We want to see a little blood, hot shot.”

“Why don’t you cut your damned wrists?”

The leader’s smile disappeared. “Always with the wise cracks, ain’t you?” He looked around at the others. “Grab him, boys.”

The next thing Gabe knew, there were hands all over him, and he was being forced into the same alleyway he’d been in the last time they attacked him.

It was dark—like last time.

The music blasted—like last time.

They threw slurs at him—like last time.

But unlike the last time, something inside Gabe wouldn’t let him slink backward and take any more of their abuse, so with quickly moving hands he pulled his shirt open, popping his buttons, and revealing the skin-tight shirt with the words ‘Night Flyer’ written across his muscled chest. At that very moment a big wind came tunneling down the alley, its twisting power surrounding Gabe, knocking his glasses off, wildly ruffling his hair and ripping his clothes. Gabe knew something had changed. He felt a strength in him that wasn’t there before, and looked down at himself. His body seemed to grow bigger before his very eyes. His body was stronger, and hairier than it had ever been, and he burned not only with the lust of a beast, but with fire in his soul. He looked at them, sure there must be fire leaping from his eyes.

The bashers were stumbling around in the wind. “What the hell was that?”

“Just the wind, that’s all. Come on, let’s get started.”

But when they turned back to Gabe, they stopped in their tracks.

“Wait. Something’s happened. What…” the leader whispered to the others. “He looks different. Bigger somehow. My God, look at his friggin’ clothes. They’re too small for him. They’re hangin’ off his body.”

“Hey, we’re wastin’ time,” the punk said, and threw the first rock.

The moment it struck Gabe, it immediately broke into dust.

The guy looked down at the rock in his hand. “What the hell kind of rocks are these?” He squeezed it, but the rock wouldn’t give. “The other one must have just been hard sand. This one’ll do the job.” He heaved the rock a little harder this time, but when it hit Gabe’s body, it also crumbled and fell to the ground.

“Somethin’s wrong. Throw yours.”

When the others threw their rocks, pelting his body over and over, Gabe stood there in a wide stance of confidence with his hands on his hips. “Hey, boys, you’re going to have to do better than that.”

The bashers looked at each other, puzzled. And then with renewed vigor, they began gathering up all the rocks they could find and throwing them again and again, only to end up with the same results.

Gabe laughed, the series of hits feeling like nothing more than little pebbles hitting against his body.

“What the hell gives?” the leader asked, looking at the others. When he looked back at Gabe he noticed for the first time what was written on his shirt as it blew in the wind. “Look at that,” he said, pointing. “What the hell is a Night Flyer?”

“You’re about to find out, creep,” Gabe said as he began walking toward them.

“You stay away from me,” the leader of the gang said.

“C’mon,” Gabe answered. “You wanted a little action. I’m here to give it to you.” He continued to walk forward, his arms extended out, and his hands open and ready to bash a few heads in.

One of the bullies looked over at his partners. “Does anyone know what the hell a Night Flyer is?”

“I don’t know. It sounds like a friggin’ superhero.”

“Superhero?” Gabe remarked, and then chuckled. “Yeah, I’m a superhero. The superhero that’s going to bash a few heads in if you don’t turn around right now and leave. And if I ever see you harassing anyone else, I’ll put you in the hospital. Remember that.”

“I ain’t stayin’ around for this,” one of the members said as he threw down the rocks, turned, and ran. The others were right behind him.

As they ran, Gabe’s laughter echoed on the wind. For the first time, he was proud of himself. It might have started out shaky, but he didn’t back away, and because he was a new man now, he knew he would never have to take their abuse again.

As he stood there watching the cowards haul ass down the street, he looked down at the rocks the bullies had dropped, and became intrigued by what he’d seen. He then leaned over and picked one up. When he held it in his hand, he squeezed it so hard that he crushed it to dust. Curious, he leaned over, picked up another one, and squeezed again. As he continued to squeeze them one by one with nothing but his bare hands, again they broke into clumps, the dust pouring out between his fingers.

By now he was curious and began looking around. While searching the dark space, suddenly he saw a rusty steel rod. Hurrying over to it, he picked it up, held it at each end, and slowly began to bend it with nothing but his hands and the muscles in his arms. It was like bending a child’s toy. Once he had it bent double, he looked down at his hands, and then at his arms. They looked like they always did, except for being bigger and more muscled now that he was working out, and then he looked down at the printing on his shirt. Night Flyer. It was the name of his plane. When he had bought the plane, and named it, he went out and had some shirts made with the name on them for advertisement.

They’re right. It does sound like a superhero.

It made him wonder if he, on some level, had named his plane to sound like a superhero. Of course, he had forgotten that dream a long time ago, but after his last encounter with the i***t gay bashers he knew he couldn’t live that way. He didn’t want to be the ninety-nine-pound weakling, so he joined a gym and began working out. Each day that rolled around he became even more dedicated than the day before, especially when he began to see results. He worked sometimes until his muscles ached. He drank energy drinks, popped vitamin pills, and watched closely as his muscles grew and his body fat melted.

As his physique changed dimensions, he noticed that his personality changed along with it. But the most unusual change that took place was when he had to take his glasses off because he could no longer see through them. His vision hadn’t only righted itself, it had become so precise he could see even the tiniest things sharply and clearly.

This left a big question mark in his mind.

Clearly Gabe was no longer the man he used to be, and he didn’t know why. Curious, he began to do some research and came up with something called Cellular Regeneration. He read everything he could get his hands on about it, and he learned from all the big words, the explanations of experts, and medical know-how that he had practically been made over. His skin had become tougher, and he’d had undeniable proof that he actually did seem to possess a superhuman strength and stamina. His skin had become extremely dense, which rendered him highly resistant to physical injury. He also learned that outside of a mad scientist’s lab, the only thing that could have given him these attributes was electricity. He immediately got a mental picture of himself sitting upon that high fence and being turned on like a neon light by a tremendous stab of electricity. Aside from being knocked on his ass by a lightning strike, he knew then that his body—like Frankenstein’s monster—had apparently absorbed the energy that gave him his new body.

The first time he had ripped his shirt open it was by mere chance, but when he discovered that it was this innocent action that called down power from heaven, he knew he had experienced a calling, but it was a calling that came with a high price. He became the target of shootings, stabbings, and even acid, but because of his otherworldly power, it was all without injury. He had become an exceptional street fighter, being bilingual in Italian and English, and even though he had never studied martial arts, he taught himself how to couple leverage with his strength so as not to hurt an opponent much weaker than himself. Only the ones with weapons, anger, and determination to kill him or someone else got his full load of strength.

But Gabe was not a killer. At most he would defeat them, secure them, and take them to the police station, press charges against them, and have them thrown in jail. At first he was nothing more than one of the good guys who stepped in when needed, but he got to be such a regular customer, eventually the police hired him as a sort of guardian of the streets, a secret weapon they called Night Flyer, reminiscent of the shirts he wore that advertised his plane.

Gabe, being a secret weapon, had to remain mysterious. He couldn’t let people know about the unusual abilities that set him apart from every other man on the street. To look at him no one would ever know that he could see in the dark, or about the laser beam that exuded from his eyes, or that with a single glance those eyes could cut through steel and concrete. In fact, Gabe had many assets he didn’t feel should be made public, especially the fact that he could fly. When he discovered this gift, he knew he would need a flying suit and, with the help of the Police Department, had it specially made from a thick, synthetic stretch fabric lined with steel alloy. The color was dark, making his presence almost invisible in the skies except for the steel alloy in his suit that picked up a radiance as he flew. It gave him the appearance of a bolt of lightning as he streaked from one place to another.

This, along with discharging electricity from his fingertips, or surrounding himself with a force field, were just part of the package that he used only when necessary. The most unusual gift he’d been given was a sort of radar. He could be any place in the city, and the moment trouble started Gabe would feel a pulsing of waves from the source of the trouble, and would home in on it, receiving the range, altitude, and direction of the incident.

Within seconds he was on his way by land, sea, or air to take care of it.

For the most part, Gabe had to stay hidden, to appear to others as nothing more than the average Joe on the street. He didn’t want any glory for what he did. He did it because all his life he’d been a victim of bullies, and the streets were full of them. But most of all, he had also learned that the drama of the sky was still his friend, and with a hand of lightning it had reached down and taken the shy, timid, nerdy pilot with a child’s dream and transformed him into the amazing Night Flyer—a superhero made in heaven.