A Flock of BeachKrew: Part 1 of 2: And I Swam

The Violence Inherent in the System

Bonnie Blue stood on the blackened ground of what had once been the Sloshed Pit. Bulldozers had already cleared away the worst of the debris, leaving only a sooty imprint where the aging building had stood. An orange plastic safety fence fluttered in the steady winds that came whistling through the gap. Two buildings on one side of the former bar were boarded up, criss-crossed with black and yellow "CAUTION" tape, awaiting demolition. An onyx-black briefcase dangled from her hand, grew heavier as her smartphone clock counted the seconds. She looked around for any sign of approach, but the whole street seemed deserted.


"An interesting choice...."


His voice -- she'd have recognized it anywhere -- came from behind her, at precisely five-fifteen. Bonnie spun, one fist clenched and ready to strike. Well out of her range, David Sanchez stood, gazing at her in frank appraisal. No limo nearby, no bodyguards flanking him; though Bonnie was certain they were hidden nearby, waiting for things to go pear-shaped.


"I only came here to return this," Bonnie told him, lifting the case for him to see before she set it on the ground and shoved it in his direction with a kick. "You can't buy me off. I don't want your money."


He ignored the case and took a step nearer. The significance of the location Bonnie had selected wasn't lost on him. It was holy ground, as far as she was concerned; a reminder to herself -- and to him -- of their ongoing enmity.


"No, perhaps not. But there is something you do want."


Another step. Bonnie held her ground.


"Something I can give you."


She raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sanchez paced a slow circle around the petite, young blonde; predator and prey. Bonnie's distrustful gaze followed him.


"You have the potential for greatness, yet you toil in mediocrity. Fame and glory, yours for the taking... but you embrace obscurity, instead. Why?"


"I didn't come for no lec--"


"But you came," he interrupted. "And that means some part of you is curious, whether you'll admit it to yourself or not. So you might as well hear me out. You've got that hunger, Bonnie, and what's more.... you have the drive to succeed. I've seen it firsthand. Last night, in fact."


She looked away; he smiled.


"Don't misunderstand me, Bonnie. I'm not upset. You did what you had to do. Made me a little bit proud of you, honestly. Some of what I've said must be sinking in. I mean, it still wasn't enough. You've got that frozen millstone around your neck, dragging you down. You don't see it yet, but you will. Maybe as soon as next Sunday. Unless...."


He trailed off, leaving Bonnie to puzzle out the many potential implications. Her next words were full of hesitancy, as though she didn't want to speak them, but couldn't resist the compulsion.


"Unless... what?"


"You've seldom had a problem cutting people off. Grayson Pierce -- you haven't even spoken to him since Mexico City. DeMarcus Jordan?"


Bonnie's fist clenched reflexively. "Don't... you... dare..."


"Curb stomped his heart so badly he left UCI altogether. And why? Because he was in your way. You can tell yourself you did it to protect him from the forces of evil, or whatever helps you sleep at night. But make no mistake -- at the end of the day, you're as ruthless as I am." He paused, making sure he had her complete attention. His voice softened perceptibly. "And that's not a bad thing, Bonnie. Loyalty is for dogs, not champions. Heroics get people killed. If you really want to do good in this world, the first thing you have to do is stop lying to yourself."


"I also didn't come here to be insulted," Bonnie growled.


A heavy sigh escaped the Mayor's lips, and he shook his head sadly.


"You're not ready to understand this yet... but I need you to be. Listen to me, Bonnie. I'm not your enemy, never have been. Am I a bastard? Yes. Absolutely. I can't deny it. We've all done things we're not proud of, but aren't they always out of necessity? Look at this city, Bonnie. A pale shadow of her former glory. Only thing that's the same is the violence, the unrest, and all I'm trying to do is fix it. Our goals are not mutually exclusive, which you could see, if you weren't letting yourself be led around by a spoiled, self-righteous manchild. You said yourself that this was your chance to choose your own path... so why aren't you taking it? Why aren't you making your own decisions?"


"Cut the shit, David. What's the bottom line, here? What are y'after?"


The hook was set; Sanchez hid a self-satisfied smirk.


"Just a little of your... time. A mutually beneficial arrangement. I can put you squarely in the spotlight, set you on the right path, and give you a real opportunity to shine. Follow my guidance, and there's no limit to what you can achieve."


"What do you get outta the deal?"


I get to put the White King in check, he thought. Not that he'd tell her that. Instead, he gave her an enigmatic smile.


"Nothing you need to concern yourself with. But rest assured that I intend your friends no harm. When you lose those title belts this Sunday, maybe you'll reconsider my offer. You know how to get in touch."


And with that, he turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come, leaving the briefcase behind as he vanished into the deepening shadows of a twilit alley.

Part One: And I Swam

Steaming water cascaded through Bonnie's hair, ran in rivulets down her bare flesh, and washed away the soapy lather. Her thoughts turned again to her brief, uncomfortable meeting with the Mayor, mere days ago, even has her hand reached for the soap once more; as if she could scrub clean the very memory, erase the tiny doubt he'd etched in her mind. Sudsy hands slipped down the length of her arms, across her chest, slid below her waist as the scene replayed itself in her mind's eye.


What could I have done differently? Bonnie wondered. Besides not bothering to show up... Why did I go? I knew better. Can't trust that son of a bitch, not ever.


She was obsessing, slightly, and she knew it. How in the hell could someone be so repulsive, yet simultaneously so...compelling? How could she be even remotely drawn to him, when his very presence made her skin crawl?


Bonnie rested her forehead against the cool tile....


Was it the power? The implied promise? What was it about him that aroused in her a sense of self-interest; seduced the ego she strove so hard to hide?


Warm water washed down her back in a sensuous stream; she bit her lip as hand slipped between her thighs....


The game he'd drawn her into was dangerous, put everything at risk. But she couldn't help it. Bonnie was enmeshed in his web, and she didn't know if she wanted out. His words hadn't been sweet nothings, whispered in her ear, yet all the same, found their mark as true as an arrow. What if he really could give her what -- deep down -- she truly, desperately wanted?


Burning shame -- not at her actions, but the impetus behind them -- kindled a different kind of fire within....


Or perhaps it was simply that he was one of only few who had just enough respect for her not to take it easy on her -- but at the same time, wasn't seeking to outright destroy her. Yet. She didn't doubt he could. Memories of Sunday night's match were still fresh in her mind; the sheer, physical dominance applied with cold calculation.


At last, she succumbed and allowed herself to be carried on a wave of ecstatic sensation....


A sense of self-loathing lasted only long enough to realize that the water was running chill, and the trembling in her legs had stopped. Hurriedly, Bonnie shut it off, grabbed a towel, and wiped away the excess water; stress relieved, in the wake of an endorphin rush, anxieties allayed. Bonnie pulled on a pair of blue capri-length yoga pants and a white T-shirt bearing the United Championship Infinite logo. Then, quietly, she crept downstairs to the Drunken Dragon's open floor. Everyone else should have been asleep -- it was early, yet, the first rays of morning sun just now beginning to breach the second-storey windows -- but Bonnie could clearly hear the sound of voices coming from a booth in the corner.


Concerned that an intruder might somehow have found a way past Tesla's security measures, Bonnie grabbed the baseball bat from behind the bar and made her way toward the voices. The semidarkness tricked her eyes, making her see movement in the shadows; only to turn around and find nothing there. But the sounds grew louder as she drew near. And there, lit by the glow of a smartphone screen, sat young Jeffrey Bankston, enrapt upon an episode of what turned out to be classic Transformers. He glanced up at Bonnie's approach and beamed at her happily.


"Hey, Kid," she said, giving him an indulgent smile. "Couldn't sleep, either, huh?"


He shrugged and turned his attention back to the show. When the credits started to roll, a few moments later, he put the phone down and looked up at her.


"You look... sad," he observed. "No, not sad. Something else..."


Bonnie shook her head. "Just tired. An' kinda hungry. How 'bout I rustle us up some breakfast?"


At her suggestion, the boy's belly rumbled loudly, and they both giggled. It was the work of but a few moments to put two bowls of cereal on the table, less than a minute to set up her computer so they could watch Transformers on a larger screen. They'd sat quietly through three episodes, when Jeff turned to Bonnie and remarked again that she seemed unsettled. She could see he wasn't going to be put off, so she cast about for the most innocuous of the thoughts tumbling through her head.


"Well, Kid, to be honest... I am a little worried," she told him. "Me an' your daddy gotta defend our titles this week, an' I am very familiar with our opponents."


"But Daddy says that's how you defeat your enemy -- by knowing him," said the little boy, sagely.


"That's right. Problem is, they know me at least as well as I know them. Ain't no advantage in that. An' I done seen them men do some pretty nasty things, in an' outta the ring. Whatever face Dustin Beaver an' Wade Moor are tryin' to present to the rest of the world, it's just a mask. I know what lies beneath, the heart that beats in stone-cold breast. But y'know what the scary part is, Kid?"


Wide-eyed, he stared at Bonnie and shook his head.


"These men have traditionally brought out the worst in me. It's like they've got an instinct for it. They draw the darkness out, then use it to beat ya down. That, an' usually a chair." She sighed. "Defeatin' them, keepin' these belts -- it might take more'n I got. More'n your daddy an' me got. An' then I gotta wonder how far I'm willin' to go to keep the tag titles."


"Mommy says, when the bastards got you down, put your faith in your partner."


The look on his face was so earnest -- so like that of another Jeff, in another time -- that Bonnie had to laugh. The tension that had been dogging her since losing to Sanchez in the Updegraff Tournament, and the subsequent assault by Wentworth Updegraff the Younger, seemed to evaporate.


"Funny," Bonnie said, "I had a friend who used to say the same thing."

(New Orleans, 2033)

Bonnie could hear the roar of the crowd through the open door of the locker room she shared with her partner, and smiled as she laced up her boots. This would be their first real match as a team, against legitimate competition. They'd worked their way through a dozen or more dark matches in the past few weeks, and at last, all that work had paid off.


He came around the corner running his fingers through dampened hair, dressed in a gleaming white singlet -- Bonnie's partner, Jeffrey Bankston: the new Kid Phantasm. In build and stature, he resembled his father; the lean bulk and chiseled jaw were Cam's. But the fire in his eyes, the passion that burned in his heart, and the aggression he struggled sometimes to control -- those he inherited from his mother.


"They're really pumped out there, aren't they?" he remarked, fingers rubbing at his temples.


Bonnie Blue nodded her agreement. "Is it bad?"


"Not yet. I'm going to need a higher grade neural inhibitor. Burned this one out."


"Already? Jesus, Jeff..."


He waved off her concern. "I'll be ok for the match. Dampeners around the ring still work fine."


"You're pickin' up too much telepathic feedback."


"Tell me about it," he replied. "Stop being so worried. I can hear everything you're thinking."


"Well... stop doin' that. Ain't polite to eavesdrop."


He shrugged and gave her his most innocent look. "Not like I can help it, Bonnie. Ever since the Wave...."


"What wave?" she asked, puzzled.


Jeff Bankston cocked his head to one side, looking at his partner in mild curiosity.


"THE Wave. How do you not know about it? I thought you studied this stuff."


"I did. I don't remember any -- "


Bonnie stopped abruptly as something seemed to crash against her brain like pounding surf on a stony beach. She frowned.


"The Wave.... But that -- no, that can't be right."


Interpreting her thoughts, Jeffrey was as thoroughly confused as Bonnie. He could sense two divergent sets of memory, trying to shuffle themselves together into some kind of order, like two entirely different decks of playing cards -- to much the same effect. Moments later, however, she favored him with a smile.


"Ok, the Wave. I sort of remember learning about it now," she said. "It's hazy, but it's there. Feels like maybe it shouldn't be, though." Bonnie shrugged. "We got more immediate things to worry 'bout now."


"What, our opponents?" Jeff scoffed.


"Echelon, Jeff. They're the tag champs for a reason."


"Yeah, but this isn't a title match. And they aren't prepared for us to bring it like it is. We got this, Bonnie, no sweat. Have a little faith in your partner."


"Don't I always?"






But wait, Bonnie thought, that wasn't quite the way it happened.


They hadn't known about it, then. Jeff hadn't had abilities. The Wave hadn't happened. She found it slippling from her mind, the awareness that she was a stranger here, in this reality. Others, as well, had been catapulted from the old and into the new -- which ones? How many remembered the way things were? There was one question that superseded all others, always: What was the Wave?


What had caused it? Who was responsible? Bonnie's suspicions were divided. Part of her was certain that only the Dark Timekeeper wielded the power and the cunning to spawn a tangential reality from the Prime; another part, equally certain that it had something to do with BeachKrew, although why and how continued to escape her. An alert tone from her Samsung Galaxy finally broke her reverie. It was an e-mail from the Jack of Shadows, reminding her of the next day's meeting of the Renaissance Men.


The Daughter of Time sighed. It was just as well that sleep seemed to be proving elusive these days, between two straight losses -- to the Mayor, no less -- and the threat of losing those brand-new tag titles; won under questionable circumstances in the first place. Though she'd never been wholly comfortable with it, there was nothing to do but move forward; to prove, week after week, that the Guardians deserved to be UCI's Tag Team Champions.


Doin' a stellar job of it so far! she told herself bitterly. Not this time. I'll be damned if I let them two assclowns walk outta Overload with my -- our tag titles!


A perceptible cooling of the air warned Bonnie of her partner's approach, just as little Jeffrey Bankston launched himself from her side with a cry of childish joy. Like Crystal, Jeff seemed immune to his father's icy touch, though Bonnie shivered and immediately reached for the steaming mug of coffee in front of her.


"Morning, Cam," she greeted, flashing him a smile. "Coffee's still hot, if you want some."


"Doesn't do me a lot of good," he said, a little wistfully, and pulled out a chair. "What are you two watching?"


"Transformers," Bonnie told him. "It's the episode where Starscream dreams that he and Megatron are the Odd Couple, and Optimus Prime is their wacky neighbor who always tries to draw them into his crazy shenanigans."


"What? That never happened!"


She chuckled. "Too bad. Woulda been a great episode."


"Yeah." He cocked his head, looking her over. "You already hit the gym today?"


"I was up early, so I went for a run."


"Thought I heard the shower this morning."


A slight flush rose to Bonnie's cheeks. "I'm up for another round, though. We should get some more mat time in, anyway. You know what we're up against."


Cameron scoffed. "What, Dustin Beaver? I mean, the guy couldn't even be a pop star in his own right -- he had to imitate the worst one ever."


"Yeah, but he's a fuckin' killer in the ring." Bonnie's hand brushed unconsciously at her throat. "An' he'll do anything Wade tells him to. He don't stop to question it, got no compunctions about nothin'. An' both of 'em are some seriously misogynistic motherfuckers."


"But you've beat Wade before, right? You said -- "


"I know what I said. Truth is, Cam... I cheated. I was up against two guys who had more interest in endin' my career -- maybe my life -- than winnin'. That's why they ejected Preecha an' made me fight a handicap match."


"You never told me you tagged with Preecha," Polar said, surprised.


Bonnie sighed. "That's 'cause I didn't. Almost. We woulda been amazing together -- which is the opposite of what BeachKrew wanted. Me an' Preecha found ourselves standin' on common ground where they was concerned. He wanted that world title Wade was carryin', an' I wanted... Well, honestly, I dunno what I was after. Tryin' to prove somethin', I reckon. Leastways, that's how it started. After a while, there was just this blind hatred that existed 'tween us an' them... Stupid, really, pickin' a fight with 'em while they was runnin' the comp'ny."


"Heh. It's ballsy. Exactly the kind of thing Reb would have done."


"Reb wouldn't have had to punch Moor in the nuts, though. An' I'd rather not have to do it again."


The Polar Phantasm winced involuntarily at the notion. "Yeah, let's try to avoid that. I'd like a clean title defense. Last week, against Sanchez and Wright, that was one thing. Belts weren't on the line. But you know I don't like the way we won them any more than you do, and that makes it twice as important to do this by the book."


Bonnie picked up her cup and swirled the coffee around, trying to break up the ice crystals forming along the top. She glanced up at her partner, who shrugged apologetically. There was another area where they needed practice; only Nightmare had learned to channel her fiery nature, primarily because maternal instinct demanded it. Bonnie's time-distortion abilities manifested sporadically, and usually only under life-threatening conditions, making it difficult to call upon them at will. At any rate, now was hardly the time to concern themselves with it.


"Yeah," she agreed, at last. "By the book. Wouldn't have it any other way. But that means we better get our asses back in the gym."


He gave her a wry smile. "Yeah... you right. Let me go tell Crystal we're about to head out real quick."


"Heh. I got time to cut a promo, then," Bonnie replied, winking.


Cam just grinned, shrugged, and hurried back upstairs, leaving his partner behind to roll her eyes.





The Daughter of Time reached out to make a final, miniscule adjustment to the angle of her laptop, centering herself in the frame. She perched on a barstool in the middle of the Drunken Dragon's spacious floor, flanked by two gold-painted dragon statues that guarded the front entrance -- all in conscious imitation of the imagery displayed on the tag belt laid across her lap: half of a whole; the whole, more than the sum of its parts. Bonnie looked into the camera, an earnest expression written across her face, softened by a hint of a smile.


"Wade Moor," she began. "Bruh -- I feel like we've known each other long enough by now, I can call you 'Bruh' -- I just wanted to say, first of all, I'm totally stoked to be facing you again, at last. I know, man, we weren't never friends. Far from it. But when we've been across that ring from each other, on those rare but memorable occasions, you have always taken me to my limit. An' I 'preciate that. Not typically while it's happenin'... but after, once the achin' lets up, an' the bruises to my ego heal. That's when it sinks in.


"An' I know, Bruh, that you're jus' doin' what you do. Bein' who y'are. You really can't help it, can ya? "


She hesitated, raising one eyebrow in curiosity as she lit a blunt and took a long, slow hit. After several moments, she released her breath in a puff of smoke.


"Somethin' about you seems diff'rent, though, Wade. I can't quite put my finger on it, but my desire to slap you in the face with a brick is somewhat less intense than it was. Not gone, mind you -- just less. What I really want is to beat you in a fair fight. You an' your partner. I don't reckon that's quite how it's gonna go, now, is it?


"This is hashtag BeachKrew we're talkin' 'bout -- or the scattered remnants thereof. An' this is where part of the mystery becomes clear. I'm expectin' you an' Dustin to mention how me an' Polar got these belts -- it's an easy shot. I made it pretty clear I wasn't happy about it, an' neither of y'all's above takin' that cheap shot, rubbin' salt into wounds. 'Cept a thinkin' person might stop to ask themselves, 'Say, wasn't Jim Thuggin affiliated with BeachKrew? Wasn't he all friendly with Wade Moor? With Johnny Rabid? With Jared Holmes?' An' they'd have to answer themselves, 'Why, yes... yes, they were all asshole buddies before the Wave.' An' that's where things get int'restin'.


"So I reckon -- an' feel free to correct me if'n I'm wrong, Bruh -- that Jim Thuggin had himself a plan, an' maybe Mrs. Flash an' Mrs. Sharkboy didn't figure into that plan. Maybe they were a little more ambitious than he liked, so he got 'em outta the way that night. Safer bet, lettin' me an' Polar hold onto these here tag titles until you an' Beaver come after 'em. No risk that either of y'all would have any kind sentiment toward us, whereas y'all might hesitate to harm Alessandra or Thursday. Now, that plan comes to fruition if -- an' only if -- y'all manage to get these here belts away from us. Am I hittin' the mark, here?"


Bonnie hit the blunt again, and appeared to ruminate on the matter for a moment, then shrugged in a noncommittal way.


"Then again, that might be a bit paranoid. To be fair, y'all done wove some intricate plots back in the day. Before all this ...Wave chaos. Interestin' name for the phenomenon: the Wave. I mean, I ain't sayin' hashtag Beach Krew had anything to do with it...."


With an enigmatic smile, the pretty young blonde let the thought linger unfinished.


"Wait, Bruh... that ain't what I wanted to say to you. Kinda got away from me. Look, Wade, I can't say I ever respected ya, back at the other place. Maybe I shoulda. Not on a personal level, but on a professional level. On a personal level, I'm still pretty sure you're scum. Like, I get it. Somewhere inside you, somethin' is seriously broken. Somebody really fucked you up along the way. And now ya pay it forward, lashin' out at everyone around ya who don't give ya the esteem ya think you're due.


"But really, Wade, why? As an athelete, you're in terrible shape. The only reason you were ever pushed is because you were one of Jared Holmes' cronies. As a human bein', you're vile. Execrable. It's to a point where I almost pity you -- almost."


Bonnie shook her head.


"You'd be the same guy anywhere, Wade. This reality, or the previous one. Any of the thousand-thousand alternate universes where we dance this same dance, over an' over, wearin' diff'rent guises, but our goals ever the same. At least, that's how I imagine it. Is that fire still there, Wade? That hate? Why did you hate me so much, anyway? Was it merely because I refused to bend knee to you and the rest of your drunken idiot, party boy friends?


"Don't tell me it's because you resent women trying to make a place for themselves in a man's sport -- that's boring and overplayed -- and way too obvious. Everyone knows you treat women like trash. At least give me something interesting, 'cause your little protege -- Dustin -- he's gonna give me both barrels with the misogyny bullshit. In fact, I hope he's by your side like the faithful little pupper he is, watching.


"Or not, whatever. I'm gonna tag both y'all when I upload this shit anyway. Ok, so, Dustin, sugar... what's it gonna be this week? So far, you've refused to even acknowledge my existence within the United Championship Infinite, even when a hundred-thousand dollars was on the line a couple weeks back. But then, you've never really acknowledged me as a person, as an athlete, as a serious competitor. The most you've ever had to say in regard to Bonnie Blue was to insinuate that my only value was in bein' passed around among my stablemates. Well, as I recall, it was less implication, more outright sayin'. So, essentially, never havin' been able to find fault with my performance in-ring -- which is sheer laziness right there, Dustin; plenty of instances where I wasn't at my best -- you rely on callin' me a slut, in essence.


"So what is it this time? You gonna suggest that I'm not so much the Polar Phantasm's tag team partner, as I am his side piece? Yawn. See, problem with takin' shots at a person's sexual liberty is that they have to give a goddamn what you think. They gotta be ashamed of their inclinations an' proclivities. An' it's really best if there's some truth to what you're sayin'. My number one rule: I don't mess around with married men. My second rule: I don't get involved with coworkers. Broke that rule once. Didn't end well."


Bonnie gave another shrug, and hit the blunt once more before setting it aside. With slow deliberation, she let her breath out in a long, smoky stream. Her fingers clutched the title belt stretched across her lap just a little tighter.


"See, that's the thing. I know you guys. Neither of y'all's changed one bit since reality got shredded, changed, reshaped. Y'all stayed the same. But me?"


The Daughter of Time pointed to herself.


"I'm diff'rent from how I was back then. Gone is the wide-eyed innocent, the inexperienced upstart. No more, those days of wanin' confidence. I was all bluff an' bluster in them days, without real substance -- but that's over with now. Competition here's as stiff as it ever was there, maybe even moreso, but the playin' field is level. Here, my work in the ring stands on its own merit. Here, the things I achieve have meanin'. We build a legacy on fresh foundations, not the crumbling cornerstones of the old age.


"Look at what I've done. What my partner and I have done. Even before we were officially a tag team, we put down every pair of jokers put in front of us. We dominated the tag division before there was a tag division. I could even argue that we created it. Honestly, did anybody give two shits about tag matches before me an' Polar started layin' waste to motherfuckers? Fuck no! We gave rise to the UCI tag division! These belts might as well have been custom made for us. This is who we are, and this is where our legacy starts.


"But it doesn't end here. Dominatin' the tag division is just the beginnin'. The Guardians are on the hunt for gold, an' every last one of us is damn well good enough to get it. It ain't just me. It ain't just the Polar Phantasm. Every member of our group was chosen because they are the best there is at what they do. An' y'all boys better believe that me an' my partner are on the exact same page when it comes to this Sunday night.


"Gentlemen, I know you're comin' hard for these belts. I'd expect no less from either of y'all. But y'all know we ain't gonna just let y'all take this gold. I'm done takin' shit from people like y'all. I'm done holdin' back 'cause I let folks make me think I wasn't good enough. We have worked an' clawed an' scraped our way to this height; we damn sure ain't gonna fall now. Every win we've chalked up has been earned. Every loss we've been dealt has been a lesson. An' more'n that, I got a legacy to live up to.


"I'm the daughter of a man who dominated the WCF tag team division off an' on for years, who was thrice the WCF World Champion, who retired Allen Guilliano. My own accomplishments have been paltry in comparison, but this is how it starts -- with these tag belts. It continues when me an' my partner rise triumphant over the fallen remains of hashtag Beach Krew, to retain our United Championship Infinite World Tag Team Titles!


"Tempus vindice!"


And so saying, Bonnie Blue leaned forward to cut the video.







A flare of white luminescence spat an emerald-green Ford Ranchero out onto a wide swath of verdant lawn, where it rolled to a stop in front of a modest half-timber cottage. The Daughter of Time got out, stretched, and leaned against the fender as she waited. Stone washed denim embraced her legs like a second skin; an oversized Culture Club T-shirt, strategically altered, draped over her shoulders, revealing a glimpse of the azure camisole beneath; and her blonde hair was pulled into a loose ponytail that hung to one side. It wasn't long before the ARCTIC touched down nearby. Together, Bonnie, Crystal, and Cameron approached the house.


"House-sitting," explained Jack Hampshire, when he opened the door, even though nobody asked. He made an expansive gesture as he stepped back. "Come in."


The sound of voices raised in impassioned debate drew them toward the parlour, where a tall Russian -- he had been briefly introduced to Bonnie as Terranaut -- was arguing with a skinny Italian, who wore an expression of deep ennui and, for some reason, a Fiat hubcap that had been beaten into the shape of a World War One doughboy helmet. They broke off when Bonnie and her friends entered. Jack was obliged to make introductions again.


"Veloci," said Jack, pointing to the Italian. "Speedster. Terranaut, you already know."


The Russian gave Bonnie a nod, but his suspicious gaze remained on the Bankstons. Jack gestured to a well-dressed African man.


"Safari -- animal shapeshifter. Squall, the weather manipulator, you already met," he went on, nodding toward the Maori. "This not-wholly-substantial lady here is Psyche, our telepath. And these are our newest members, Quartz and Askew -- he can become hard as stone at a moment's notice -- and no, that's not in any way sexual -- and she is far more flexible than the laws of physics should allow. Also, not innuendo."


An unassuming man in a tweed jacket with elbow patches and wire-rimmed glasses gave a nod at the mention of his name. Beside him, a young hispanic woman smiled at them as she was introduced.


"All right, you lot," Jack continued, "this young beauty is Bonnie Blue, professional wrestler by day, time-distorting superheroine by night. And her friends, the Polar Phantasm and Nightmare. Iceman and firestarter, respectively. All members of the superteam-slash-wrestling-stable known as the Guardians."


Hampshire grinned as the new arrivals mingled with the rest of the group he had dubbed the Renaissance Men. In moments, the entire affair had taken on a festive quality, particularly once somebody got a bowl lit; soon enough, the parlor was hazy with the pungent smoke of cannabis. Bonnie tried to focus on the conversation in which she was peripherally involved, but neither heart nor mind were in it; both were occupied by idle speculation, mostly about this fascinating stranger who called himself Jack of Shadows.


Cameron Bankston, Jr. and Jack Hampshire got to discussing equipment -- particularly the Renaissance Men's lack thereof -- though Hampshire's eye was continually drawn to Bonnie Blue. The Phantasm observed this without comment, though he smiled to himself when he caught his partner sneaking glances in their direction, too.


"So, wait... you guys are just using your phones to keep track of things?" Cam asked, surprised.


"Oh, yeah. It's not that bad, really. Turns out our friend Terranaut over there has a few ins with the Russian government. Got us uplinked through old Soviet spy satellites, knocked together an Android app. Sends alerts by GPS proximity, so if something goes down, the phone goes off."


As if on cue, Jack's phone lit up and played an urgent-sounding tone. Moments later, so did every other phone in the room, save for the Guardians'. Almost as one, the Renaissance Men checked the alerts. Bonnie and Nightmare wandered back over to join Polar, while Jack looked at his screen and frowned.


"Psyche, be a love and check it out, would you? Barafundle Bay."


The burka-clad figure glanced at the photo he held out to her, gave a brief nod, and vanished. In seconds, however, she returned, shaking her head.


"Warded?" Jack asked her. At her affirmation, he cast his gaze to the Italian. "Veloci, you're up."


With a flippant, two-fingered salute -- that is to say, in the shape of a "V", back of his hand facing outward -- the speedster dashed off. He was back in less than a minute, his rust-colored cardigan and thick beard slightly singed.


"All yours, Jack," he said, the carefully controlled boredom in his voice edged with a hint of fear. "Demons."


Jack thought it over. His bailiwick, for sure, but he needed people with him. People who could fight, keep the damned things distracted long enough for him to identify them and come up with the correct banishment spell. His team wasn't ready for the field yet. After a moment, Hampshire glanced up at his American friends.


"Fancy a trip to the beach?" he asked.



To be continued...




A FLOCK OF BEACHKREW
Series conceived by Bonnie Blue and the Polar Phantasm
Episode I: And I Swam
Episode written by Bonnie Blue
'The Guardians' created by Bonnie Blue, Jay Omega and the Polar Phantasm
(Come home soon, Spaceman.)
Mayor Sanchez appears courtesy City Hollow and the City of Chicago.


[(c) United Championship Infinite 2016. All rights reserved.]