Captain Witwicky Novels & Stories

one of them said over the communicator. “I want half of the battalion to pursue! The other half go to the secondary location. It’s only a few blocks over.” Captain Whitlock ordered. “It could be the suspect or an accomplice! I repeat, pursue! I will make my way to you. Do not enter until we have secured whoever that is!” “Yes sir!” The officers did as they were instructed and half of them moved to the new location. The remaining half engaged the mysterious person. Captain Whitlock ran toward them and saw the mysterious person running down a back street.

"I won't say it. I won't say it even if I die. Zion, we are brothers. If you ask me to keep the secret, I will definitely not betray you. Even if my mommy hit me, I won't say it. Look, my butt is going to blossom." Wisdom pitifully took off his pants. His swollen buttocks made Zion narrow his eyes slightly and his little hands unconsciously tighten. "Your mom beat you?" "Yes, it hurts!" Wisdom said with grievance, with tears in his eyes, but he endured it secretly and said with a smile, "I'm pretty tough, this is my superpower, right? If I'm a superhero, what would you call me?" "Captain Butt-kicked." Zion answered. "Right, right! I'm Captain Butt-kicked! I am a great superhero! Citizens of

I tilt my head to the side, experimenting, and am desperately pleased when the fire goes wide and low, creating a wide ring on the ground instead of a tall funnel. “God damn it,” the Captain says, his face bursting into a grin. Then he looks over at me. “How…how big can it get?” I glance over at Jackson who looks down at me, quite casual. “I’ve got…acres of power left in me, Ari. I’m not kidding when I say this is a croissant.” When I look back at the Captain his face is twisted in confusion. “A croissant?” I laugh. “He just means it can get big. Really big.”

The Captain took one slow, deliberate step forward, his iron boot crunching loudly against the glass, forcing Vance to cower even closer to the floor. "But you are nothing more than a blind, arrogant rat," the Captain continued, his voice dripping with lethal disdain. "And today, your idiot son decided to spit directly into the eyes of a true monster." Vance’s breath completely stopped. The blood froze in his veins. "You ask who that blacksmith is?" the Captain asked, a dark, terrifying smirk finally touching the corners of his scarred mouth. He leaned down, dropping his voice to a chilling, bone-deep whisper that was meant only for the ruined Lord to hear.

Walter, the third of the upper grand scoffed as he laid his back to the backrest of the chair and laughs. Walter is one of Veto's subordinates before, who has an unbeatable skills in bare hand fighting but has a questionable level of madness. He was like the ultimate mad man Veto has a complete control over. "Are you out of your mind? We have to capture that child! It would benefit us more if we caught that child and bring him in here! Don't you think so, Hamlet?" Rebecca, fifth of the lower grand said as she slams into the long table and quickly looks at Hamlet who is sitting comfortably in his seat with both of his hands on top of the table.

“Kian.” “No. I heard you.” He dropped his hand. He looked at the water instead of me. I wanted to take it back and I wanted him to stay shut and I wanted a third thing I did not have a name for. The radio on my belt crackled. Dispatch, then the dock, then a voice I had not heard in ten years and would have known in a hurricane. “Vance Maritime, this is Damian Ashcroft. I need your captain on this channel. Now.”

He will never be able to replace him. Van runs up in a Batman costume and I smile at him. “Wow. Cool costume.” “Yeah, it's awesome! I even have batarangs!” He pulls out a bat shaped piece of black plastic from his waistband and tosses it at the wall. “Woah, kid. What did I tell you about throwing them in the house? You're going to put out someone's eye.” Wyatt tells him. “Sorry.” Van picks up the plastic and runs away. “Where's Ricky and Lucy?” I ask Val.

"We're out here representing the Frostbite Wolves. Remember team honor. Don’t wander off without telling someone. Don’t drink too much. Don’t do anything that’ll make Coach kill me tomorrow. We have a long bus ride back, and I refuse to spend it cleaning up after anyone who gets sick. My arm already gives me enough problems.” The team immediately started teasing him. Big Mike grinned. “Damn, Cap. You sound more like Coach than Coach does.” Lee laughed. “Relax, man. We’re not kids.” Kowalski added, “Yeah, live a little. You act like you’re forty instead of twenty-something.” Marcus was the worst. He saluted dramatically. “Aye aye, Captain! We’ll be on our best behavior… probably.” Liam sighed

First day on the job and I’m hauling my camera bag through the arena tunnels, heart hammering because this was supposed to be my break through. I had studied this team like the palm of my hand. I spotted him right away. Riven Holt. Captain. Star forward. The guy everyone talked about like he was some kind of hockey god. Tall, built like he could break someone in half without trying, dark hair messy from practice, jaw set like he was permanently pissed off. He was barking orders at some rookies near the bench, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “New girl,” he called out when he noticed me standing there fiddling with my lens. “You the photographer? Let’s see what you got from warm-ups.”

We won the next game too. Back home, the city noticed. There was a piece in the sports section, a short one, four paragraphs, about the Vipers' new offensive chemistry, the "unlikely pairing" of their captain and their volatile new acquisition. The writer called us complementary. He used the phrase "symbiotic danger," which I read three times on my phone in the elevator up to my apartment and then put away.