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    From the Ashes of Heroes
    From the Ashes of Heroes
    From the Ashes of Heroes
    Ebook80 pages1 hour

    From the Ashes of Heroes

    By Brett P. S.

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    About this ebook

    Even heroes die. Especially heroes. Paul Thompson carried the ashes of Captain Mega, a man touted as a legend during the war to end all wars. With Mega's ashes close, Paul could suffer a mountain levied against him, but when a path of retribution toppled Firebrand's criminal headquarters, his betters saw fit to relocate the man who did nothing but stir up trouble.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBrett P. S.
    Release dateFeb 16, 2017
    ISBN9781370652914
    From the Ashes of Heroes
    Author

    Brett P. S.

    Brett Sawyer (1986), born in Old Saybrook, Connecticut, is an indie author who writes short stories & novellas, from science fiction to heroes. He graduated from Eastern Illinois University in 2015 with a Bachelor’s in education and currently teaches game design at Lake Land College.Short Change arrived at retailers in November of 2014, the start of a hero series where ordinary people gained powers over oddly specific domains, following the story of a shorter than average hero who can telekinetically manipulate small units of currency.Short Change is free on “smashwords.com/profile/view/BrettPS” and Barnes & Noble along with other samples and short fiction.Brett’s popular releases in science fiction include “Dark Station” and “Tales from the Colony: An Interstellar Saga.” Dark Station is a deep space thriller set aboard an abandoned orbital science station where Ben Gebbley and his crew secretly investigate the disappearance of the original staff before others come to claim the lost assets.

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      Book preview

      From the Ashes of Heroes - Brett P. S.

      Table of Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Epilogue

      Legends of the Great War

      Part One

      Strife and Ashers

      Prologue

      Branded an Asher

      Lady’s Inn, Chicago Firebrand HQ

      Monday, June 15th 1953, 9:31am

      Even Heroes die.  Especially Heroes.  Paul Thompson deeply considered himself a punctual man.  A spry fellow, teeming in his early twenties, he carried the weight of thousands like a noose around his scrawny neck, but even the burliest couldn’t so easily push him aside.  He loosened up his tie and swallowed the lump in his throat as he made his way up the steps of Charge’s place, the old hotel that belonged to a former Hero from the Great War.  These days, it fell to the rats of Firebrand, a hollow shell long overdue for a good cleaning. 

      Paul stood outside the double doors at the top of the steps and rested his hand on the railing.  Chicago was a big city, easy for someone to get lost, easier still for a man to end up missing.  The House of Ashes wouldn’t pry too deeply if events didn’t turn in his favor, despite his dedicated service in their employ.  No, he was about to stick his neck somewhere he had no business going, but duty called for a bigger man than he was. 

      Paul fished underneath his suit jacket and pulled out a gem, pinching the connected wire with his two fingers.  He took his other hand and felt the stone, an epoxy, but a damned good one, able to withstand a bit of shock if the situation arose.  Inside the now solid mixture floated bits of Ashes, the remains of a great man.  Some might say, more than a man, but Paul didn’t believe for a second that the Heroes were anything more than hardworking men who happened upon circumstance. 

      He didn’t claim to know every little detail, but even the Heroes died.  They were flesh and blood, same as him.  He stuffed the gemstone back into his vest and tucked the wire underneath his white shirt collar.  Paul stroked back his black hair and combed it to a nice bounce before he made his way into the belly of a sour beast. 

      Charge used to call this former hotel the Lady’s Inn, and there were definitely ladies inside … of a certain persuasion, that is.  He strode through a hallway on the first floor lined with mouth breathers and addicts, but he kept his cool.  They were here somewhere.  The less he confronted, the better his odds of making a break when the need arose. 

      The House mostly kept clear of Firebrand and for good reason.  Conflicts between the law and these criminals tended to end in a bloodbath.  Firebrand was a livable evil, but when they take one of Chicago’s own … well, let’s say there’s a time and a place for diplomacy, and Paul wasn’t having it.

      He stepped up beside an elevator.  He doubted it even worked, but in lieu of the stairs, he opted to tap down on the set of buttons.  Much to his surprise, the elevator moved, though with much lethargy and a grinding squeal that made his ears hurt.  He could tell he’d upset some of those behind him, but it was better to double down and look as if he knew what he was doing.  People seldom questioned a confident man.  He’d learned that lesson the hard way, a mistake he didn’t intend on making twice. 

      Paul popped his collar and stepped into the elevator.  The contraption closed as it made its way down to the second floor basement, the old holding cells.  If Cleaver had taken his time with the interrogation, his fellow officers would have been transferred into one of the holding cells below Firebrand’s HQ.  There’d be security, but a flash of his fake credentials would fool some, and his Colt revolver would take care of the rest.  Paul had prepared for the worst. 

      He drew his revolver from underneath his vest and spun open the cylinder.  Six cartridges stuffed inside the cylinder, ready to level into some poor sap.  He didn’t want to use it unless the situation demanded it of him.  Most of the time, he didn’t need a gun, but an awful feeling in his gut told him today he wouldn’t be so lucky.  He tended to listen to those feelings.  They were usually right. 

      He snapped his revolver back together as the elevator came to a grinding halt, and the wire mesh doors slid open.  Paul stepped out onto a venue few people had ever laid eyes on.  The basement level chamber contained machinery and Ash containers of considerable size.  He didn’t recognize his associates, but the cellar had definitely undergone some renovations since the reports he’d dug up over the years.

      Mr. Thompson, so good of you to drop by, someone said in a snarky tone.

      Paul recognized the lowlife ingrate on instinct alone and

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