The Ascent

The Lost Ghost continues his origin story

THE LOST GHOST

Book 1 Chapter 2

More security personnel flood the hallways like ants at a picnic. They have all congregated on this floor, believing that I couldn’t have evaded them. They’re well trained and organized, but I’m better than them. I have to be in order to survive. I just have to finish healing myself. I’m in no condition to take any of them on single-handedly, let alone take on multiple opponents. As I continue to focus on repairing my arm, I drift back to the beginning, to five years ago. I had just got booted from the Central Intelligence Agency. I designed a set of goggles with lenses that could switch from night-vision to infrared, all the while being able to pass for simple sunglasses. I figured I could make a few extra bucks by selling the designs, but the powers-that-be at the C.I.A. weren’t too keen on that, as it was considered government property. I narrowly escaped going to federal prison, thanks to connections I had accrued, but those bridges were shortly burned. I had no family, being disowned by my foster parents because of the shame this scandal brought to their door. My foster mother was a senator running for the Presidency, and this was drama she didn’t need. I became persona non grata, unable to get a job, without a single friend in the world. No one would help me, no one wanted me around them anymore. I took to living on the streets, in alleys, the pungent smell of garbage and car exhaust permanently cemented into my brain. My bones would ache from the cold winters of Chicago, the wind cutting me like a hot knife through butter. Rats, the size of small dogs, while alarming to the average Joe, became commonplace, often competing over the same meal as me. Those were rough times, the bottom of the bottom, the lowest of the low. But one late evening, like a deus ex machina from a Greek tragedy, my old college roommate Tim Gelsomino cut through the alley I was inhabiting at the time.

He was being followed by a couple of guys who were up to no good, intent on making trouble in my neighborhood. They began to rob him and he actually succeeded at fighting them off for a minute, but they pulled out a gun and the odds were no longer in his favor. Fortunately for him, I intervened, which wasn’t due to bravery nor for the sake of nostalgia. I was simply looking for a free hot meal. Maybe if I helped him, if I saved his life, he’d owe me. I crept like a ninja in the shadows, quick and silent, and snuck up behind the armed assailant, then wrapped one arm around his neck while one hand covered his mouth, dragging him back into the darkness. I grabbed his gun and pistol whipped him with it, knocking him out cold. The other thug, stunned temporarily over seeing his partner suddenly disappear into blackness, froze in horror, unaware of what had happened. I emerged from the shadows and turned to the man standing. He snapped to and brandished a switchblade. He grabbed Gelsomino, who struggled until he felt the sharp tip of the weapon being held to his neck, and beckoned me to make a move, taunting me. Instinctively, I reached into my pocket and grabbed my multi-tool and with one hand, flipped out the blade. I tossed the tool at the criminal with the accuracy of a skilled marksman, lodging it into his forearm, severing the muscles needed to grasp his knife, which instantly fell to the ground. He yelped in pain, his cries echoing throughout the alley like a child gasping for their first breath of life. Gelsomino swiftly ducked over to the side, in shock at the maneuver I executed, and I darted at the thug, hitting him with an open palm strike, breaking his nose. The cascading stream of blood glistened in the moonlight. I swept his legs from underneath him, then with one punch, knocked him unconscious. I turned to Gelsomino and extended a hand to help him to his feet. He was taken aback by what just transpired, but accepted the gesture, and immediately dusted himself off, as he tried to regain his composure and play it cool. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I didn’t want to have to hurt them too bad!” he jokingly uttered. “It’s okay, Tim, your left hook was always weak.” I replied, mockingly. “Calvin?! Is that you?”

Author's Note

Art by Lia Perrone
www.pechan.deviantart.com/