Issue 1 - The Return of The Plainsman

Daniel Mitchell drained the last of his tall glass, and gently tapped it on the bar to get the bartender's attention.

“Another round, hon?” the young woman asked. She was a beautiful, if somewhat lanky, Asian American woman. Daniel's eyes lingered a moment on the scripted tatoo on her shoulder.

“Yeah, keep 'em coming,” he said. This was his third beer. Well, third rather large beer. Daniel was here today because his friend, Doug, was dead.  Ten years now.  And even Daniel Mitchell, the Plainsman, the "World's First Super Hero", hadn't been able to stop it.'

Dan stared at his image in the mirror before he took a drink. He was old. There were wrinkles, his brown hair was starting to recede, and his muscles were still thin and weak, despite a year of rehab. That was all part of the price he had paid, the night Questmaster had killed his friend with one of those damned exploding dice of his.  A dead friend, a ten year coma, and the end of the great Plainsman, master of unarmed combat, wielder of a shaman-blessed Colt Navy pistol from the 1850s, World's First Superhero.

Dan knocked back the beer and ordered another, watching the Royals on the tube in the bar as the bartender cleaned up some dinner dishes, cheese fries or some such, left by the last customers to leave.

A young woman entered; Dan perused her cursorily, but then she walked around into his range of vision. It was an Asian woman, probably Chinese, heavier and more full figured than the bartender. She walked up and gave the woman a hug. Sisters, Dan though to himself. They immediately began chatting to themselves, with the newcomer taking a seat at the end of the bar.

Somehow, Dan couldn't take his eyes off the young woman who just walked in. She seemed so much more real than her probable sister, much more approachable and honest. He knew that judging the bartender for being thin and lively wasn't a righteous or good thing to do, but his human instincts just made Dan want to believe the best possible of this newcomer, this chubby Asian woman in glasses. Oh, he thought to himself as the young woman caught his eye. Busted.

The bell of the door opening distracted him. Looking over, he saw a large man entering; Dark skin, dreadlocks. Dan went back to his beer. This guy was okay; Dan could tell by the way he carried himself.  Then he heard the footsteps behind the man. Small, shallow but purposeful. Dan glanced over his shoulder, and almost spit out his beer. It was him. His oldest opponent.  The Maestro. 

He wasn't wearing his costume, just a trench coat. But Dan knew it was him. He'd seen the small man's narrow face a hundred times in waking life, and a hundred more in his nightmares.  He knew his purposeful march. And he knew something was coming. Some evil gimmick. Gas? Poison darts? Dan had no idea. He found out soon enough.

The barrel of...something was pointed at his neck. “You lose, Plainsman,” was all the Maestro said, and he whispered that. Dan glanced over. The bartender and her sister thought it was two friends screwing around. The tough guy wasn't paying attention at all. But Dan had been ready.

Dan knew the barrel of the weapon was aimed at such an angle that it wouldn't hit the women. It would pass over their heads by a good amount. Using his skills at the martial art known as Okichitaw, Dan dropped his chest to the bar, while at the same time hitting his opponent behind the knee. The dart (I knew it! Poison darts! Dan thought) flew into the ceiling as the Maestro lost his balance. An instant after that, Dan was dropping his entire weight onto the small man, driving him to the floor.

The Maestro, evidently, had expected the out of shape hero to be easy prey. Dan was half-shocked himself at the result.  But the Maestro weaseled out from under the erstwhile Plainsman, and stood to reveal a very complicated bomb under his jacket.

“Well, Plainsman, it seems you've forced me to call on 'plan B',” the evil little man cackled.

Dan felt ashamed that he hadn't realized someone as diabolical as The Maestro would have a 'plan B', but there was little to be done. If he hadn't survived, he definitely couldn't have stopped it, and Maestro was not known for being merciful to witnesses. Time to succeed or just suck, Dan thought. Flipping to his feet faster than Maestro could react, Dan reached out and grabbed a central circuit, ignoring all the wires. Pulling it, the readout on the bomb switched the “ERR”.

Dan had taken a gamble that the wires were for show, and that the bomb was a simple electronic model. Once it no longer had a processor to send commands, the explosives were useless without an old fashioned fuse, and there was none attached.

Maestro backpedaled. “Time for plan C,” he said. But it was too late. Dan had incapacitated the villain before he could flee, holding him in an old fashioned headlock. Applying pressure to the neck, it took only a few seconds for The Maestro to pass out, and Dan was a hero. Again.

“That was sooo cool,” the bartender said as she called the police. “Was that Tae Kwon Do?”

“Okichitaw,” Dan said. The bartender stared at him. “Native American kung fu,” he explained.

The larger man nodded respect to Dan, who nodded back. Feeling good about himself and the attention he was getting, he turned to look at the other Asian woman, the sister. She was paying him no attention at all. Figured.

Dan dropped a $20 on the counter, easily enough to cover his bills. Fortunately, this was his first time here. He had to take off now if he had any hope of securing the identity of The Plainsman. He'd gotten lucky, but he wasn't about to waste the opportunity. The Plainsman was back!