The Hellajet Nation

Idea #2 (Capes in Love)

Bluebell is a teenaged superheroine who works for her dad in a super market, mostly doing heavy lifting. She spends most of her free time fighting crime and super villains alongside Haven, a hero about her age. One day after a patrol, Haven admits that the reason he got into vigilantism is the fact that his parents spend most of their time fighting, and he would rather risk his life against Bloodray than deal with their problems. Bluebell decides to help Haven, and gets him a job working for her dad. The two start to hang out more, and fall in love. Over time their relationship grows, but trouble hits when the arch villain Slandera hooks up with Haven to drive a wedge between the two of them. The problem is Slandera is also kind of crushing on Haven, and Bluebell is refusing to be drawn into teen angst nonsense. Things escalate out of control until they reach the nevitable outcome.

Idea #1 (Stories of the Sleepless City)

Hilarius Bremin is a private eye in Sleepless, a city on the edge of the Waking. He died a few years ago, but when his dreaming self left for the Dream, his body stayed alive, so he still hangs around, working in the limited capacity he can manage. Lately, things in Sleepless have been strained as more and more Dreams have been coming over the border, and crimes against them are rising. Hilarius emerges as kind of a protector for the Dreams, despite his own misgivings about them. His first job that establishes him as a hero to the reality immigrants is finding who killed a young dream. Many think it was a hate crime, but eventually Hilarius finds it was another Dream that killed him.

The story is kind of like the Dick Tracy newspaper comic mixed with some of the Spirit (the non-Frank Miller version) and healthy amounts of LSD. A comic with running storylines, but no real over arching plot.

Still Remember

“My first memory was killing a man.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was… three? Four? Something like that.” He took a deep draw from his cigarette, letting the smoke float around in his lungs for a moment before blowing it back out again. “Anyway, I was in my dads office, you know—”

“The one at home, or—”

“yeah, with all the cheap mahogany knock off shit he was so obsessed with at the time.”

“Sure.”

“I was fiddling around in the drawers or some shit, you know how you can’t remember anything from your childhood.”

“And the stuff you do remember is mostly just shit you made up.”

“Funny how that works, isn’t it. Probably some survival instinct or something.” He paused for a moment, letting his cigarette dangle in his finger loosely for a moment. “Anyway. So I was fiddling around in some shit, and found his gun. That cold, shiny piece of motherfucker that he kept around so he could feel tough. You know, do the whole Clint Eastwood Dirty Harry shit.”

“hmm. So you played with the gun and it went off and killed some dude?”

“No. I said my frst memory was killing a man, not leading to the accidental death of a man. His assistant, who, mind you, was supposed to be watching my demented ass, waltzed in, I aimed the gun at him, and pulled the trigger.”

“Jesus.”

“I still remember the way it felt, to feel my arm being almost ripped out of it socket by the pullback, or whatever you call it. I still remember the way his body reeled in pain, blood pouring out of his chest like candy from a pinata. I still remember the way he fell to his knees, gasping. I still remember the way it made me feel. I still remember the way it felt to have my first orgasm, at the age of four.”

“Ha. You really are fucked up, Mr. President.”

“Right you are, son. Right you are.”