text: [Themes: sci-fi]
  
  "Samantha, wait," you say to the girl in front of you. She looks up from the rifle, moving a dirty-blonde strand of hair from her emerald eyes, a questioning look on her face. "Aim with the sights skewed a little to the left." The carnival worker's expression clouds over at your suggestion. Samantha takes a deep breath and shoots. The BB hits the paper star. "Yes!" Samantha exclaims before throwing her arms around your neck in a victory hug. "Nice shooting," says the carnival worker, a forced smile upon his face. "Name your prize, young lady."
  
  A few minutes later the two of you walk through the main walkway of the carnival, Samantha carrying an oversized stuffed panda bear. "How'd you know?" she asks. You shrug in reply. "Just a lucky guess." She returns your half-smile and the two of you continue walking. A tower drop ride called "The Fallen Angel" catches your eye, and you stop to look at the neon blue angel wings decorating the Sans-Serif font. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. A warm breeze lightly brushes your face, causing your hair to tickle your forehead. The carnival's neon lights linger in reversed colors on the back of your eyelids.
  
  How did you know? You don't know if it was something you saw, maybe picked up subconsciously, like the barrel being slightly bent; or maybe something you felt, like a change in the wind. No. That can't be it, you think. The sights were rigged. That's the only explanation. But again, how could you have known? Another mystery in a long line of them stretching back as far as you can remember.
  
  "Hey!" Samantha's cheery voice interrupts your brooding. "Let's ride the Ferris wheel." She grabs your hand and takes off running, dragging you along, before you could even vocalize a reply. As the two of you approach it, the brightly lit Ferris wheel looks like an alien space craft. The late sunset sky, slowly merging from a dull orange-pink near the horizon to turquoise and then to deep midnight blue, makes the neon lights on the Ferris wheel appear like brighter, closer stars. But as beautiful as it looks, it also carries an aura of loneliness, separated from the rest of the carnival so high up in the sky.
  
  The ride is smooth and has a soppy feel to it. Chicago's "You're the Inspiration" blares from the PA system, a cheesy love song if there ever was one. Samantha holds onto you tightly, resting her head on your chest and shoulder, her body snugly tucked within your arms. You can smell the sweetness of her hair as the wind whips it into your face. You distractedly kiss her head and look down below. Up so high in the air, the people on the ground seem distant; the neon colors somewhat muted. Samantha wiggles closer into your arms. You can feel her breathe as she lets out a contented sigh. She was a beautiful girl, her dirty blonde hair framing large, expressive facial features. Her body pressed against yours should have given you that warm feeling of Lovers' Butterflies, but the night felt oppressive in its loneliness to you, and that feeling was seeping deep into your bones like cold liquid mercury. How do I always know, you think, as the ride ends and the two of you walk off. What the hell is wrong with me?
  
  Eventually your introspection is cut off by the reality of social expectations. Samantha, smiling up at you as brightly as ever, has asked you to take the giant panda bear to her car while she uses the restroom, and then for you to get her purse so she can buy more tickets for rides and games; however you suspect she has some surprise waiting for you in her car. Maybe the latest video game. It's your anniversary after all, and she's always playing little games with things like this.
  
  Just as you're approaching the gate you see a small angel statue holding a metal plate. Why on earth it would be there is beyond you, but the pleading, distressed facial expression holds your attention. Definitely not the kind of statue you'd expect at a carnival. You shake your head. It's weird, but you have to get to the car, lest you awaken Samantha's wrath.
  
  You turn toward the exit to the parking lot.
  
  > No. Something isn't right. The statue...
  Another angel? First the neon wings, then this weird statue. No, this isn't a coincidence. You run your hand along the angelic face and arms. You accidentally brush against the metal plate. It moves. Suddenly you have an inexplicable urge to steal the plate. You look around. No one is paying attention to you or the angel.
  
  Moving quickly, you lift the plate from the statue's hands and place it under your shirt. It's a lot heavier than it looks, but you've had these feelings before, and usually it's best to trust them. You slip through the gate and into the parking lot without anyone noticing.
  
  Near the gates the neon lights still light up the lot, but further ahead, where your girlfriend's car is parked, it's much darker. A few oblivious lovers walking arm in arm stumble by, and some families with kids buzzing around like bees amble past you, but for the most part the lot is deserted. The carnival will be open for another two hours, so you're not surprised.
  
  You finally reach her car. A cool wind blows past as you take one final guess at what devious plot she'd no doubt planned. You move to the driver's side, take her keys out of your pocket and peer into the tinted window. Nothing.
  
  You open the door and smile: a box of condoms sitting on a red lacy thong. Finally. After two and a half years of dating Samantha you're finally going to get laid. As a senior in High School, just turning 18 years old, you were starting to worry. But tonight you will finally be losing your virginity. A note sitting on the seat reads "Call me right now, Babe, and turn around."
  
  You turn back to the gate and see Samantha standing, leaning with one hip extended, her shirt lifted past her naval and ready to go higher. A flirty grin sits below half closed, smiling eyes. You smile. Is she actually going to do it? you wonder. Better call her like she asked in the note and find out.
  
  As you reach into your pocket to get out your phone, you hear a deep, raspy voice. "Give me your wallet. Now." You quickly turn and see a man in a hood pointing a gun at you. "I ain't fucking playing man!" You raise both your hands reflexively. "Chill man. I'll get it." As you reach into your pocket, a car alarm goes off two rows down in the parking lot. Suddenly you feel a punch to your chest.
  
  The wind is knocked out of you and you fall to your knees. Inexplicably the man suddenly falls over. Kneeling in agony, you realize the car alarm spooked the robber and he shot you. You look at your chest. A hole in your shirt, but no blood. You unbutton it and see the metal plate, now with a small dent. You look to the man in front of you. He is writhing on the floor, blood gushing from his leg. The bullet must have ricocheted off of the plate and hit him.
  
  A scream causes you to turn around. Samantha is standing in open-mouthed terror, hands to her face. She runs over to you and examines you with a panicked expression. "I'm okay," you manage to croak out. "Call 911." The man on the floor picks up the gun. You quickly run over and kick it out of his hands. "Don't move, asshole," you yell at him. The man looks at you pleadingly before passing out.
  
  Samantha looks on in hysterical confusion. "What? How did you? He shot you!" You show Samantha the plate with a sly grin on your face. She just engulfs you in a hug and holds on to you tightly. A few minutes later the police arrive.
  
  > ride home
  "You are one lucky son of a gun," the police officer says. "Surviving a gun shot with nothing but a bruise is lucky enough, but it looks like no one is going to be arresting you either." You and Samantha exchange confused glances. "Arrest him?" Samantha starts. "He didn't do anything!" She clutches your hand in a death grip, and had been since the shooting. The officer nods his head toward the gate, then looks to Samantha. "Your boyfriend all but admitted to lifting the metal plate that saved his skin." He looks at you. "But seeing as how no one even knows about this angel statue you speak about, let alone that expensive looking plate, there isn't any reason to pursue charges. So yeah, you are one lucky kid." He looks Samantha up and down with a leering grin. "And judging by the condoms in that car, doubly lucky." He laughs and then walks off.
  
  Samantha looks on in quiet rage. "What a total fucking asshole," she says, her voice louder that you'd prefer. Must be the adrenaline after watching you get shot at. "Well, at least I'm not going to jail." With an evil grin you add, "I'd hate for Billy Bob and Cletus to deflower me when you were about to do the job." She playfully smacks you on the shoulder, then fiercely hugs you. "Don't ever do that again," she demands. "You aren't aloud do die." You look her in the eyes. "Never."
  
  A while later the two of you are on the road heading back to town in Samantha's car. You turn on the dome light and hold the red lacy panties up. "These are gonna look nice on you." She looks at you with raised eyebrows and says, "I actually bought them for you to wear." You laugh and then grin at her. "You think we might try them out tonight?" She playfully hits your arm. "Are you out of your mind? No way." Samantha reaches for your hand, and the two of you ride for a while in silence that way. All joking aside, the events of the evening were traumatic for both of you.
  
  You pull up to a red light. Some jerks from school next to you start to rev their engine and make cat calls at the two of you. Samantha, her patience for the night all but gone, leans across you and yells "Fuck you!" out the window, but to her chagrin this only encourages them. You take off your seat belt, lean out the window and flip them the bird. Then, you turn around, drop your pants and moon them, bare ass sticking out the window. Samantha sinks as low in her seat as she can, palm to her forehead, looking like she might die from embarrassment. "Jesus Christ," she says, rolling her eyes. The light turns and they take off in a squeal of tires, leaving you at the light. Smiling at her, you say in mock impatience, "Samantha, darling, the light's green." She sighs. "Sorry, but man, this night, huh?" She smiles at you, puts the car in gear and the two of you are off again.
  
  Suddenly you hear a crashing sound like a derailing freight train. You're slammed against the windshield, and then a moment later you feel weightless. The ground and the sky spin; one below you first, then the other, back and forth. You land with a soundless expulsion of air. From the road you can see a semi-truck lodged into the hood of Samantha's car, one of it's wheels angled a few feet off the road, spinning in place. A warm liquid falls into your eyes, obscuring your view. Where is Samantha? You can't see her. You can barely see anything. Your vision narrows into a point of light, then that light vanishes, taking you along with it.
  
  > Dancing on the Edge
  You are looking directly at stars. They seem to blur every couple of seconds. You feel someone holding your hand. "Please, please save him." You look to your right. Your mother. You see paramedics pull her away from you. "Please," she whispers, tears running down her face. The look of hopeless terror on her face breaks your heart. What the hell happened? Suddenly you feel a sharp pain as the gurney you are on is lifted into the ambulance. Darkness returns...
  
  "Pressure is dropping," you hear someone say. White lights roll on past you from above. People surround you. You are moving in a white and green hallway. Lying down, but moving. What is going on? Terror rises up as another bout of blackness comes...
  
  Voices...
  
  "We think he's going to make it. There are, however, doubts about his chances with the first test."
  "We at least know he acted. He knew what to do, and he acted."
  "Yes. But he had no knowledge of the truck. Nevertheless, we must proceed as originally planned. There is no time to start over this late."
  "True. But if he fails, can we afford an even longer waste of time finding another?"
  
  The voices fade out...
  
  Eyes closed, you reach a level of consciousness not experienced since you first entered the emergency room. You feel a hand on your shoulder. "Things are going to get hard for you. They know about you now. You need to trust your intuition." You begin to fall back into nothingness, but just before you do, you crack your eyes open enough to see a man dressed in a black tuxedo and matching fedora walking out of the room...
  
  "What do you mean?" you suddenly shout. "Babe? Oh my God! He's awake, he's awake!" You look to see Samantha at your bedside holding your hand. She kisses your forehead just as your mother and father walk into the room. "We were so worried," says your mother. Your parents look at you with concern. Samantha refuses to let go of your hand, as if you might slip back into unconsciousness if she didn't hold on tight enough.
  "You almost died, son," says your father. "Thought we'd lose you." The last was said with a hitch, and your father became quiet. Never a man to cry, you sensed if he kept speaking he'd violate his own ridiculous masculinity rules and break down. Your mother shared no such nonsensical emotional code and had just began adding more tears to an already tear-streaked face. "We prayed nonstop for the last two weeks. God came through! He always comes though, son." As a closet non-believer, you have pretty condescending feelings toward your mother's religious views, but today you're glad to be alive, and with these people who love you. Hell, you'd even be open to reciting the Shema prayer like you did years ago as a devout, gullible child.
  
  "Wait," you say. "Two weeks? I've been out for two weeks? What the hell happened?" Samantha suddenly looks down, as if she were ashamed. A tear streams down her face. Your mother, wearing a devastated expression, says, "You and Samantha were in an accident. You had a head injury, broken ribs, and a deep cut in your leg. You've been in a coma for two weeks. Samantha, she..." your mother cannot finish the sentence. She suddenly buries her face in your father's chest and begins to weep.
  
  You look up at Samantha, tears running down her face. You touch her on the forearm, pulling her closer. "It's okay," you say. Her chin begins to quiver. "No. It's not," she softly whispers, eyes downcast. That's when you see it: She's in a wheel chair, leg in a cast, but from around mid-thigh to where her foot should be is nothing but air. Her left leg has been amputated. She starts to sob. You've known her since you were eleven years old, and when her parents were killed last year, your own parents fostered her. Seeing the pain on her face is the most devastating thing you've ever experienced. Emotionally rocked, you lean back in your bed as warm tears leak down your cheeks.
  
  > Recovery
  You'd slept more than you could ever remember the last few days in the hospital. You were told the accident was caused by a drunk driver, who fled the scene and was still at large. Your mother called you every day, and Samantha had sat by your bed every night after her physical therapy, although it took some convincing from you before she would accept you'd still love her, leg or no. But most of your waking hours in that hospital room were spent thinking about the voices you heard in the dream you had, and the man in the black suit. At first you were convinced it was all a dream, but you'd ask the nurse about the log of visitors to your room. It listed your father, your mother, Samantha, and two uncles you don't have. The man in the suit and the other he was talking with had to have been those visitors.
  
  But if it was real, what did he mean? Things are going to be hard for you, trust your intuition, and they know about you. That's what he had said. But who are "they?" And what do "they" know? About your incredible luck? Your ability to figure things out intuitively? The part about trusting intuition makes sense. Had you not trusted yours with the metal plate, you probably would have died from a gunshot.
  
  Your brooding is interrupted as the nurse walks in, an overweight man in blue scrubs. "How are you feeling?" You tell him you're fine. He goes about his business checking your vitals, then says, "You have a visitor from the police department. The doctor says you're strong enough for an interview, so he'll be up in a few moments." The nurse finishes up and leaves, leaving the door open a crack. A few minutes later a detective walks in.
  
  You greet him with a cheeky smile. "Morning officer. So, did you get the bad guy?" He looks around the room, his eyes stopping on the window. Dressed in a short sleeved button up shirt and dress pants, he didn't look like a cop, save for the badge clipped to his belt. "I'm not here to talk about that. In fact I shouldn't even be here, but we are out of time." He looks at your IV drip. "You grabbed the metal plate, but why didn't you anticipate the truck?" he asks. You stare dumbfounded. "What?" He looks at you. "Never mind. There's no time for this. Listen. When I leave, you'll have about five minutes to get out. See that window?" He points to the only one in the room. "I'm going to open it. You need to be out that window before they get here. A black SUV will drive by in exactly," he looks at his watch, "four minutes and thirty seven seconds."
  
  You try to form a couple of different questions, first one, then another, but your voice won't cooperate. Tilting your head, you are resigned to just stare in open-mouthed confusion.
  
  > Chapter 2
  What the hell is he talking about. You look at the detective. He looks nervously at the door before putting on his hat. A black fedora! He was the one from the dream! "You! You came to my room! You told me to trust my intuition, right?" He nods. "Yes, and right now you need to trust what I'm telling you now. Get out that window." He walks to the window and opens it. "I can't be here when they arrive. And you especially can't. I think they'll kill you." "What? Why?" you ask. He looks at the window, ignoring your question. "You know what you have to do. The black SUV. It will be here soon. You won't get another chance. Hurry!" He turns and leaves, locking the door behind him.
  
  You sit in paralyzed fear for a moment as his words sink in. By now you must have less than four minutes to get to the street, based on what the detective said. You rise from the bed and nearly feint. You carefully remove the IV needle and then take slow, wobbly steps toward the window. You look down five stories to the sun-lit grass just on the other side of a sidewalk next to the building. A couple of trees line the window about ten feet away on either side, just past the sidewalk. The street is about ten meters beyond the wall. You look at the clock. You can't have more than three more minutes to get where he said. How are you going to get down this building?[Themes: fan fiction, superhero]
  
  Or
  
  Not Another Question Fanfiction
  
  [Author's Note: A very questionable Christmas special. It's Christmas in Hub City. One might expect that even criminals would take the night off, but you've learned the hard way that crime doesn't sleep. While the rest of the city is tucked into their homes in the company of loved ones, you're on the hunt in a silent city, making sure that things stay that way. The Question is copyright DC comics. So yeah, don't sue me. Author's Notes: Did I say I was definitely not going to write a Question fanfiction for this contest? Because what I meant was I didn't mean to but I had to squeeze something out before the contest's end. And with Christmas so fast approaching, what better than a Christmas special, eh?]
  
  > And So Begins Your Tale
  For once, the bustling streets of Hub City are dead. No light comes from any buildings, no office workers are working overtime, no citizens are staying up too late in their homes, no 24/7 convenience stores are open. Christmas time in the Hub proves to be unusually quiet compared to the rest of the year, and this proves to make your job much easier on this night unlike most others. In fact, most of the time, you don't find any crime on Christmas Eve... But still, there's always that chance.
  
  With the city dead, you're able to walk along the streets rather than jumping from rooftop to rooftop as you usually do. You turn a corner, and notice something at the end of the street: a pair of silhouettes, seemingly breaking into a TV store. Crouching down and moving slowly to mask your footsteps, you walk down the street and approach the store. As you get closer, you hear what they're saying.
  
  There's two voices, a man and a woman. Their voices are hurried and coarse, almost like those of addicts going through withdrawals. "C-c'mon, we just gotta get this t-to Johnny Boy's a-a-and he'll get us what we need," the man says, hauling out a small flatscreen television.
  
  "Just wanna b-be warm... I wanna be warm..." the woman mutters to herself, shivering and wrapping her arms around her body to heat up.
  
  What do you do?
  
  > They're not criminals. They're just desperate addicts. You'll see if they want you to bring them to a soup kitchen you know.
  You rise up and allow your footsteps to be heard. They freeze; the man nearly drops the television to the ground when he sees you. "O-oh crap, just my friggin' luck! The one time we try'n steal something and out walks the friggin' Question!" the man yells, clearly panicking. He sets the TV down and raises his hands. "Please man, just let us g-go! You won't see us again!" The woman stays silent, as if in fear, and you notice her slowly backing away to be closer to the man.
  
  You shake your head. "Not going to hurt you. Look like you're in need of some warm food. There's a soup kitchen that's open. I can take you to it, if you want." You let the offer hang in the air. The man and woman look surprised by your offer. They huddle up and whisper to each other, just quiet enough that you can't hear what they're saying. Finally, after a moment, they look to you.
  
  "I... Yes, we'd like to go to that soup kitchen. We'd appreciate it greatly," the man says. He lifts the TV up and walks through the door that they managed to unlock, and he places it back on the display stand in the window before walking back out. You walk with them through the cold city streets, taking them to a soup kitchen a few blocks away that's open for Christmas. They thank you again, before walking in. You take one last look at the building, before walking off.
  
  > Continue
  After dealing with the two addicts, you continue down the street. For about an hour, there's nothing; you just walk and walk through the snowy city without a soul in sight. However, soon, you hear a commotion down an alleyway across the street. You pick up the pace, heading across the road and into the alleyway. There, you see a large, burly man standing over two young boys.
  
  "So, you little bastards think you can steal from me, huh? I'll teach ya what for!" He lifts his arm up, revealing that he's holding a wooden cutting board by the handle. No doubt, that'd hurt the two small boys pretty bad if he hit them. Of course, you can stop this. Then again, the boys did steal from the man, so it's not like they're innocent either...
  
  > They're kids, for God's sake! You're not going to stand idly by while a man three times their age and four times their size beats them down.
  You run forward and throw a leaping kick at the man's back, sending him stumbling and making you fall to the ground. You quickly recover, jumping up to a stand and getting into a fighting stance. The large man winces, then glares at you. "Hmph. What's your problem, no face? I'm just dealing with these two little rats who stole some bread from my shop!"
  
  "They're kids. Homeless, by the looks of it. You really going to beat on two hungry kids on Christmas Eve?" you ask, hoping you can talk him down. It seems like he's really thinking about what he was about to do for a moment, and you lower your guard slightly. He looks at you... And grins.
  
  "Nah, I think I found someone who'll put up more of a fight." He charges at you with the cutting board. The two boys take the opportunity to run out of the alleyway.
  
  The man swings the board at you!
  
  > dodge out of the way and jab at his throat.
  You dodge out of the way of the swing, throwing your hand out and managing to catch the man in the throat. He drops the board and coughs violently, grabbing his throat, before shaking his head and looking at you. "Nice hit, no-face." He readies his fists, before swinging a big meaty hand at your chest.
  
  > try to grab his arm and break it.
  You try to grab his massive hand as it comes barreling at you, but you don't manage to; his fist breaks through your block and hits you square in the chest. You fall to the ground, and he takes the opportunity to stomp on your chest over and over. Faintly, you're aware of your ribs breaking under the weight of his boots, but then there's nothing.