Jared AxelrodWriter of Adventure

They called her Resolve.  A woman of immense strength and power, she stood toe to toe with the Mega-Gorgon of the Lost Dimension, the Storm Kings of 67th Century, and the Xenophage Legion.  When the Galactivore came to lower its might teeth into our very planet, Resolve and Resolve alone stood fast in the face of such certain doom.  She was indomitable, indestructible, and possessed a bravery unlike any other the world had seen.

So it was that when the Cosmic Challenger came to Earth and bellowed for a champion, Resolve stood, and met his wager. With the fate of the world in the balance, Resolve met the Cosmic Challenger on equal footing. His muscular frame towered over her, despite her own impressive stature.

“Well, little one!” He said. “As the challenged, it is up to you choose the style of battle! Be wary! I am a master of over four thousand distinct martial arts, and over twenty nine thousand variations of them! Do not expect to catch me unawares!”

“You will not need any of them,” Resolve said. “All you must do is meet my eyes.”

Born Of An Atom Bomb is a daily warm-up piece, where I base a character around a random word or phrase. Today’s word: resolve

The Alligator, as he was know in both heroic and wrestling circles, wanted nothing more than to be a woman. He expressed this to Croco, his sidekick/manager.

“First off, and I am stressing this because I believe it is important,” Croco said, stubbing out his cigar. “You will never wrestle again. Not in the way you’re used to.”

It was here that the Alligator brought up Nong Thoom.

“Nong Thoom,” said Croco. “Only does movies and exhibition matches. If that’s what you wanna do, I’m sure we can arrange something. Maybe with one of your Society of Saviors chums. Folks love heroes fighting heroes, for some reason.”

The Alligator conceded that an exhibition match was not quite the fire of combat he normally enjoyed in the ring, but that the idea of facing his teammates for charity struck him as a fine idea.

“Well, like I said, we can arrange that, whether you go through with this or not.” Croco paced back and forth in his small office. “More to the point, I think, is that Nong Thoom weighed 140 pounds before the operation. You’re a big guy, ‘Gator. You’re good as a big guy.”

The Alligator thought on this. He looked at himself in the mirror, all seven feet eight inches of him. His chest was broad, his muscles nearly bursting the seams of his jade jumpsuit. He looked down at his large, scarred hands. Not exactly ladylike.

The Alligator turned and faced Croco. “My size is who I am. I need you to understand, Croco, as you closer than family to me. I am not changing who I am. I am merely altering the outside to match what is inside.”

Croco looked up at the man who had saved his life countless times. “If this what you want, I’m behind you,” he said.

The Alligator hugged the smaller man, in a grip that would have crushed a lesser person. The Alligator wiped a tear from the eyehole of his mask, and asked Croco if it was possible for him for him to have as nice a chest as Chyna.

Croco lit another cigar. “Gator, old buddy, let me make some calls. I’ll get you better, or I ain’t worth my paint as your sidekick!”

Born Of An Atom Bomb is a daily warm-up piece, where I base a character around a random word or phrase. Today’s word: alligator

The Eyeball Kid can see exactly how you’re going to break her heart. She can see your moves before you make them, the lies in your eyes and the sweat on your brow. She can see though your slight hug, your bloodless peck on the cheek. She can see what you’re doing.

The Eyeball Kid can see you’re about to say that it isn’t her, it’s you. She can see herself agreeing, and being an adult about the whole thing. She can see past you, and your pettiness. She can see the future, and she can see who will regret this, and who won’t.

She can see that it’s over. She can see the million little clues you carry with you in a cloud. Clues that tell her everything she needs to know about the girl you’ve met, what she does for a living and what she likes to do to you bed. This last bit causes her to smirk slightly, but she quickly hides it. But not because she’s afraid you saw it.

You only notice when things are missing.

Born Of An Atom Bomb is a daily warm-up piece, where I base a character around a random word or phrase. Today’s word: eyeball

Paleface swings down from the rooftops, scraping sky. His head a skull, all exposed teeth and sunken eyes. Paleface swings down, inky cape bringing the night down with. Pasleface swings down, his skull gleaming in the moonlight. See his skull and his large fists, and know what’s coming. Paleface swings down from the rooftops full of promises. Promises of justice and judgment. Paleface swings down and keeps every damn one.

Paleface swings down surrounded by a sea of near-truths. He’s death himself. He’s a man in a mask. He’s got a halo, wings, horns and a tail. Paleface is a thunderclap, a lightning bolt, the darkness itself. Paleface swings down, questions and legends tugging at his cape. Pulling him down, swinging him down.

Paleface swings down, Paleface swings down. Paleface swings down from the rooftops, scraping sky, his moon-white skull grinning amongst the stars. Paleface swings down to keep his promises. Paleface swings down into the filth and danger, keeping his promises close to the chest, as always. Paleface swings down because he can’t look up, not through that mask of bone. The brow’s too heavy, the eyes too dark. Paleface swings down from the rooftops, scraping sky and anything else in the way.

Paleface swings down further and further, ‘till he reaches the bottom.

Born Of An Atom Bomb is a daily warm-up piece, where I base a character around a random word or phrase. Today’s word: pale