Previous Chapter | Night Shift | Next Chapter

Light could not penetrate the darkness of the room. The clock rings at seven. An angry hand slams the off button, silencing the annoying buzz. Milo Olmstead rises out of the bed and lets out a huge sigh of despair.

Lifting his cumbersome legs out of the bed, Milo walks over to the curtains. In one move, he flings them open to bestow the majesty known as Rocky City, the large metropolis in which he lives along with two million other people. The city sets the room in a low orange light. Milo cringes as his eyes adjust to its brighter level, brighter than the darkness in which he woke.

Turning on the shower to scalding hot. Milo steps in and stands under the steamy stream of water. Closing his eyes, he drifts between the conscious and unconscious. He is more interested in standing under the water than cleaning up for work.

Climbing into his car, Milo starts the engine and begins his long trek to work. All this time, he has yet to say a word. He sets off for the drive while most people are getting comfortable at the bars or arriving at home for sleep. The drive takes him down the main interstate. Traffic is heavy around the flashing neon signs of the local clubs bustling people trying to find the next “Mr. or Mrs. Right Now.” The painful horns from traffic begin to thin out as Milo passes the busy downtown area.

South of the towers and the business sector, pumpjacks replace the skyline. Milo arrives at the front gates of his work, the Red Mountain Oil & Gas Company. He hands his security card to the guard, who is always one to stir up the conversation.

“Hello Mr. Olmstead, nice weather we’re having tonight, sure beats that cold,” the old jolly guard chats as the card reader establishes credibility.

“Sure,” grunts Milo as he waits for the gate to rise and the work that waits on the other side.

“I hope it doesn’t rain anytime soon, you know how humid it gets when it rains,” says the guard, chattering on.

“Whatever.” Milo’s bitter attitude makes its first appearance of the night.

“Here you go Mr. Olmstead, have a nice night,” says the cheery old guard as he opens the gate. Milo drives on without any courteous response.

Milo works as a researcher in the company’s research and development division. The newest project in the field is a fuel element called Bi-Plasma Petroleum. The substance could literally be black gold for Red Mountain. Milo’s day started working on the exploratory material.

An hour work passes down the disgusting drain of reality. Milo keeps busy with his work, flipping the longest array of buttons and switches. The large blast door opens behind him with one of Milo’s coworkers, Trice Caranego, walking in. Milo lets out a quiet grunt, the disturbance annoying him.

“Hey Milo.”

“Hey,” says Milo as he grunts aloud at the ending of the silence.

“So, you probably noticed that I haven’t been around in the last couple days.”

“Sort of. Where have you been?”

“You don’t check your email often, do you?”

“No, very few people contact me. I don’t even get the memos. Hell, the spammers barely bug me anymore. I almost look forward to seeing spam now.”

“I got promoted!”

“You,” says Milo, shocked at the decision. “How did you get a promotion?”

“They liked the report I worked on. The research on Bi-Plasma Petroleum could make the company billions over the next decade.”

“You stole my project! Bi-Plasma Petroleum is my project!”

“I didn’t steal your project. Mr. Horton wanted me to file the research report for the quarter; he doesn’t like your handwriting, so he asked me to do it.”

“I need to do those reports, only I know the errors and kinks in the formula.”

“Your interns know about the errors as well, Brooke can do the reports.”

“I can’t believe you stole the project from me! I won’t get any of the damned credit now!”

“Well you should on your penmanship.”

“I worked my ass off on projects and those idiots like Horton treat me like dirt. I’m like a shadow on the wall, always there but never getting any recognition.”

“Well if you keep that attitude toward work, they’ll never look at you. Yep, Trice Caranego is moving up in the world, while you will remain the shadow in the back.” Trice leaves the room with a firm walk. Milo shakes his head.

“Dickhead,” says Milo as he returns to work.

*****

The clock strikes four. The sun has yet to make its appearance on the horizon. Milo picks off the last hour of the workday. He begins the tedious process of a shift transfer. Just before he picks up his timecard to clock-out the boss, Barry Horton, walks in. His look is all too revealing of his true emotion.

“Olmstead!” screams Barry, obviously mad about something.

“Yes Mr. Horton, I’m checking out.” Milo braces for the impact of the boss.

“Why didn’t you tell me that the Bi-Plasma project was done?”

“Sir, it’s not done. The substance isn’t practical yet, it burns too quickly.”

“That’s not what Trice said in the report. There’s a reason why I promoted him over you.”

“It’s not ready for production!”

“Nonsense, the compound is perfect! I am ordering full production tomorrow. This product will make us billions! We’ll be with the big hitters in no time.” Horton scowls as he daydreams.

“It’s not going to function well. We need to wait.”

“Tomorrow, full production begins on Bi-Plasma Petroleum. Be ready!”

“Yes sir,” says Milo as the boss leaves the room. Under his breath Milo says, “Dickhead!”

On his way out, Milo waits at the security gate. He waits for the freedom on the other side. Looking toward the east, he sees only small trickles of daylight coming against the jet-black sky in front of him. Milo lets out a large sigh. His despair is all the more apparent.

Unknown to Milo, Rocky City, or even the entire planet, a small meteor approaches the Earth. The rock ignites as its hits the atmosphere. The flaming rock closes fast to the surface. Suddenly, but not quite so spectacularly, the small piece of rock lands in the backyard of a house, oddly the house of Milo Olmstead.

The dust from the explosion settles. The impact is no more than that of a feather hitting the ground. Out of the small crater climbs what can only be described as an alien bug. The six-legged, pale purple creature looks around and heads toward the house.

Milo walks through the door, kicking his shoes off in disgust. He quickly undresses to his boxers and plops onto his bed, letting out another huge sigh. For nearly fifteen minutes he lies on his stomach, just laying with his eyes open. Eventually, he turns on his back and drifts off to sleep.

Sometime during the night, the bug’s search leads its way into Milo’s room. The bug crawls up on the bed, carefully moving around the man’s legs. Next to Milo’s chest, the bedbug squirts out a pinkish fume from the spikes on its back. Milo unknowingly breaths in the fumes and drops his mouth open, remaining asleep. He is oblivious of the bedbug’s presence.

Slowly making its way to Milo’s face, the creature pauses for a moment to investigate its prey. A tube like appendage comes out from the snout of the being and drops it into Milo’s mouth. Through the tube, a sphere pushes out and plops into Milo’s chops. Taking a large gulp, the ball goes down his throat.

The appendage retracted, the thing vanishes without a trace. The only sound heard is Milo’s snoring as he continues to sleep. About an hour passes and Milo sleeps peacefully before a surge of energy spreads through every muscle and tendon of his body. Milo’s eyes spring open and dart about for a moment, before he drifts back to sleep.

*****

Milo wakes up at about nine in the morning and begins his normal routine of chatting with strangers on the internet. It is something to keep his loneliness from taking control of his life. At about two in the afternoon, Milo goes back to sleep in preparation for another workday.

The annoying buzz of the alarm clock sounds as it strikes seven. The nearly perpetual motions begin for Milo. However, as he takes his shower, his stomach growls as the ball brakes inside him and spreads a liquid into his bloodstream. Milo can only grasp his gut as it gargles, completely unaware to the incident that occurred during his slumber.

Even on the drive to work, the growling never stops. Even throughout the first couple of hours of his shift, the growling in his stomach remains constant. Milo works as best as he can with the odd problem. Suddenly, Barry Horton barges in:

“Olmstead,” screeches Horton.

“Yes, sir,” says Milo, as he braces for the impact.

“We’re ready to move the Bi-Plasma Petroleum into the holding tanks.”

“Sir, I’m telling you it’s not ready for production.”

“Do it or you’re fired!”

“Yes Sir.” Milo says, turning his back and shaking his head.

Milo begins the process of flipping switches and pressing buttons, starting the process of transferring the petroleum to the holding tanks. From the tanks, the oil would go to the trucks, then into distribution for the hungry motorists. The crude pumps through the large tubes leading to the holding tanks. Milo stomach starts to growl again. He hunches over in pain.

“You okay,” says Horton, mordantly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just an upset stomach.”

“Well, you’re missing the show to stardom! Watch this.”

Looking up for only a moment, another pang in the stomach causes Milo to wince hard. The pain is intense as he slumps over the control panel. Inadvertently, Milo’s left hand hits the flow panel. His palm accidentally increases the rate of flow, much more than the large tube can handle. The rate increases to the point of alert. Suddenly, a buzzing alarm sounds in the room. Barry and Milo look around, growing more concerned with every passing second.

“What’s going on,” Horton shouts as someone enters the room, reporting on the situation.

“The flow to the holding tanks is out of control,” shouts the employee.

“Why did they overflow Olmstead,” Horton angrily suspects.

“I must have hit the release button by accident.”

“Shut it off! We’ll burst the pipes!”

“It’s too late,” Milo yells over the alarm. “The generators can’t slow down in time. We’ll have to shut it down manually. The switch is in the room with the holding tanks.”

Milo darts out of his workstation and into the reserve rooms where the holding tanks are. The tubes holding the oil look like they were going to burst. The sight of a massive pipe bulging under the stress is enough to frighten anyone.

The reserve room shakes with all of the anxiety of the moment. Many employees run around in a panic. Milo rushes into the room while Horton follows up from behind.

“The place is going to blow, everybody evacuate! Move,” screams Horton.

The room empties while Milo rushes to the emergency shutdown system. The last of the employees clear the room and Horton jumps into action of his own.

“Shut the doors, seal off the room,” he yells.

“Don’t leave me in here,” Milo shouts futilely.

Realizing he is alone, Milo starts the shutdown sequence. The first screen he sees on the computer is the encryption prompt, something that he never learned from his predecessor.

“I don’t know the code, what’s the code,” Milo desperately shrieks trying to end the terror before him.

Suddenly, the pipe in the background begins to buckle under the enormous stress. Milo turns around with his eyes wide open. He sees the inevitable before him. A bolt holding the pipes shoots off, sheared from the nut holing it in place. The bolt passes right next to his head, narrowly missing his eye.

Milo rushes back to the panel once more. He unsuccessfully tries a password, only to have an “access denied” message pop up in front of him. A drop of the oil falls onto Milo’s arm. He looks down at it with both shock and interest. As he watches it, the oil slowly absorbs into his skin, as if it was never there. He looks with some amazement as he hears the pipe buckle.

Milo looks up in time to see the pipe begin to fall and the oil surging into the room. He has no time to react, caught in the stream of ooze. The surge flings him to the other side of the room. The entire area fills up with more than three feet deep of the black oil.

Only a few seconds later, the computer program realizes the break and starts to pull the flow of oil down to zero. Almost all of Milo’s work was fruitful, but it comes up just short. The rest of Red Mountain’s new pride and joy stops dripping on the floor. Horton stares at the aftermath of the accident.

“Open the drainage,” says Horton, calmly and defeated.

The drains open and the petroleum that remains slips in. In a matter a few moments, the oil that was waist deep in the room is gone. Only a few minor drops of the solution stay on the floor.

Horton and some other employees move into the room. Horton seems more interested in the devastation, neglecting the employee he just lost. All of a sudden, a small moan comes from the far corner of the room. Horton looks over to see Milo moving lightly, covered in the substance he was trying to prevent from escaping.

A few employees move in with a stretcher and carry Milo off to the factory doctor. To their surprise, most of the oil clears from his body by the time they get to the door. They clean off the rest of the remaining residue when the doctor begins her analysis.

*****

Milo regains consciousness. Lying on a bed, he tries to gain his bearings. A woman, Dr. Prescott, comes into the room. He remains motionless on the bed. She sits down in a chair beside him, stirring him from his fog.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Don’t get up. You’ve had a rather nasty experience.”

“I’m sure.”

“How do you feel right now?”

“I don’t know. I’m just a little tired I guess.”

“Well you should be dead right now. That oil is very nasty when contacted with the skin. What concerns me is that you do not seem to be affected at all.”

“Really,” says Milo as he raises his head in amazement.

“Yes, the amount of oil that you took in is enough to kill ten men.”

“I know that. I did help research it after all.”

“Yes, quite,” quips the doctor.

“So can I go now?”

“You seem to be fine. I guess we can send you home. If you have any problems, call me and we’ll check you out.”

“Fine by me, Doc.”

Milo collects his things and leaves the room. He gets back into his car at about one in the morning. Driving on the lonely road, he feels his stomach growl worse. The growling is so bad, he parks on the side of the road, enduring the pain. His stomach continues to growl all the way home, even as he gets into bed.

An hour passes. Milo tries to fall asleep, the traumatizing day taking its toll on his mind. However, the fatigue of the experience is winning the battle. Milo’s eyes slowly shut as he drifts off to sleep.

It seems like hours, but only five minutes pass. Suddenly, a huge surge of energy goes through Milo’s body, waking him. Trying to move, he finds himself paralyzed, even impossible to blink.

Milo hears a voice inside his head telling him, “Relax.” Milo’s body bathed in a glowing, radiant green. The voice says, “It is time.”

The souls of his feet start to grow a black covering. The covering feels slick as it crawls over his toes and up to his ankles. The black is an eerily similar compound to that of the oil he found himself covered in earlier. Milo desperately tries to free himself from his paralysis, but his attempts are futile.

Like smooth amber pouring down a tree, the black finishes with his feet and moves up his legs. Milo’s attempts to free himself became more and more vain, the voice taking advantage of his fatigue to do its work. With this change taking place, Milo has no alternative but to allow it to finish.

Passing over his midriff and his chest, the black continues its work. Throughout the process, Milo grunts at the changes occurring. However, when the black reaches his neck, the grunting stops entirely. Trying the best he can to make a sound, nothing comes out of his mouth. Only the breaths he draws pass between his vocal chords.

First, his mouth, then his nose, ears, and finally the top of his head, the black ooze seals the body at the eyes. For a few seconds, the body remains completely covered in black. Suddenly, the eyes open up revealing a pair of laminating green orbs.

*****

The next few hours of the night pass very slowly. The black body begins defining itself, making it stronger. No longer is the body smooth and slick, but it now has rigidity and extra muscle mass. The body that was Milo Olmstead is now fit, no longer weak as before. It also grows areas of protection, similar to a football player. All the body does is lie there, yet improved from before.

The black, shady body lies motionless. Much like the outside, the body lies totally silent and lifeless. However, it appears that the streets in the suburbs of millions are not lifeless. A solitary man carrying a bag on his shoulder walks down the street just outside of Milo’s house. When reaching the street corner, he heads to the house across the road. The house belongs to a girl named Jolene Fisher, sleeping peacefully within. She has always lived next door to Milo. However, the two never paid much attention each other over the years.

The man walks by her mailbox before making a sharp turn up the driveway. It seems his intention is clearer. His brisk walk clearly indicates he is not a boyfriend of Jolene. He comes up to the door and checks the handle, finding it locked. The burley man uses the next best thing to a key, a towel-covered elbow.

The room where the shadowy figure resides remains silent, not even the cricket’s song penetrates the room. However, the glass breaking next-door cuts through the air, the shards of the screen door are cutting the silence themselves. With that, the shadowy figure rises up without hesitation, turning its attention to the noise.

Looking through the room, the burglar searches to steal something valuable. The TV and DVD player look promising, but they are too much to handle for only one man. This burglar is looking for money and jewelry, much more manageable items. In his search for a something of value, the intruder finds the door to the bedroom.

The black figure exits the house, his determined eyes glaring in a glowing green. Looking around, it takes little time for the figure to find the source of the crash.

The burglar bursts into the bedroom, waking Jolene in a shaking terror. A nightmare is coming true.

“Who are you,” she screams.

“Shut up,” says the burglar, as he reaches for a rope in his grab-bag

The thief ties her arms and legs to the bed. He also gags her mouth. Jolene screams in anguish, but they do not resonate far. The intruder cracks an enormous grin, the emotion giving away his full intentions.

“Looks like I’m getting more than just diamonds tonight,” quips the burglar.

Taking off his gloves, the burger gets ready for the crime he never intended to commit. Rubbing his newly exposed hands together, he reaches down for the zipper on his pants. Jolene sheds a tear when there is a bang at the bedroom door.

Turning around in a fury, the intruder checks the noise. To both him and his captor’s surprise, a shadowy figure stands at the door. The burglar is ambivalent with anger and confusion.

“Who are you? Get out of here,” he shouts.

Instead of leaving, as any coward would do normally. The figure presses forward toward the intruder. The black covered man, with all but his eyes hidden, shows no fear.

The intruder pulls out his gun, hidden on his side. He aims it straight at the shadowy figure. However, nothing deters the figure from continuing. Not even a gun is stopping him now.

“Don’t come any closer!” The housebreaker’s eyes nearly bulge out of head. The individual refuses to stop. Taking the last measure, the robber caulks the hammer and pulls the trigger.

A bullet at the distance to the dark figure could make the trip in less than a blink of an eye. Yet, just before the bullet can make penetrate on the shadowy figure’s body, his entire being reacts. His body shifts not around it, but allows the bullet to pass through. The man’s entire body becomes as transparent as a shadow.

The would-be thief finds himself completely baffled at what he sees. How could a man completely avoid a bullet at point-blank range? Realizing the uselessness of his weapon, the burglar throws the gun away.

Charging at the figure, the intruder swings his clutched fists violently. Again, the ghost-like figure is not intimidated. Trying a few roundhouse punches, the robber attempts a connection at the figure’s head. The punches follow the same pattern as the bullet, passing through his head as if he is not even there.

Not sure what to do, the burglar takes a step back preparing for another charge. He screams loudly in vainness. Jolene, still tied up on the bed, looks on with some interest and less fear.

Making another effort, another fury of punches comes from the waning criminal. Instead of letting the punches pass through him, the mysterious figure now begins blocking the punches. Every punch makes him look five steps ahead of his attacker. The defensive position looks almost as if the jabs, uppercuts, and crosses are in slow motion.

This new rescuer starts looking bored even with only his eyes as the visible features on his face. The failing offender tries landing another punch, but this time the figure takes matters into his own hands. He throws a punch of his own. The clutched fist lands on the robber’s nose, stunning him.

The shadowy figure takes two steps back, stalking his prey as an elephant would stalk a cockroach. He takes an open palm and his fingers tucked in on themselves. He hits the criminal. The contact makes a resounding smack. The intruder flies through the air, landing into the wall. His body slides to the floor below. His impact leaves cracks in the striped wallpaper, the drywall itself broken. The man slips into a pleasant dreamland, escaping his nightmarish reality.

With the threat averted, the new hero turns to the former hostage. Untying her legs, the man of ambiguity unties one hand of Jolene. With her hand free, she reaches up and clasps his wrist gesturing her thankfulness. They pause for a moment as she stares into his bright, glowing green eyes. He removes the rope from her hands and unties the remaining rope. He then removes the tape from her mouth.

“I’ll call the cops,” she says as she reaches for the phone.

The shadowy hero takes the unconscious criminal failure to the front door. Taking the very rope he tied his victim to the bed, he ties the intruder to a post holding up the front porch awning. Looking around, the dark shadowed man hears the whining of the police sirens. Taking his leave, he disappears into the night.

*****

Milo wakes up and looks around, his heart races in excitement.

“Wow that was a weird dream.” Milo hops out of his bed and heads to the kitchen. Pulling out a bowl and a box of oatmeal, he fixes his breakfast. While the oatmeal sits on the stove, he notices a police car outside of Jolene’s house. The curious man that he is, he turns the stove off and investigates.

“What’s going on, Jolene,” he says as he walks up.

“Somebody tried to rob me,” she finishes as the cop leaves.

“Did they get anything? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, some guy came in and saved me!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he’s a real superhero. The guy tried shooting him, but it passed through like he was a shadow, like he was some sort of shadow master.”

“That’s impressive,” Milo says as he begins to ponder the back of his head.

“I can’t even begin to thank him. Well, I have to go call a contractor, he threw the guy into the wall and it left a crack. Minimal damage right? Bye.”

“Bye.”

Milo finishes his thought and looks back at his shadow. It curls its left-handed fingers into a fist, something that Milo is not doing with his own body. He thinks to himself:

“A Shadow Master.”

Invasion and all characters contained within ™ and © 2009 Mark Oldfield.
Metahuman Press and all related content ™ and © 2003-2009 Nicholas Ahlhelm unless otherwise noted.
Some fonts by Blambot.