riderius

    About seven years ago, a being had provoked a contest.  He wasn't human, or from Earth.  Doc called him an extradimensional pseudo-mythological entity; Flicker's partner Journeyman described him as a trickster demon.  The being went by several names, none of them original; the most recognizable one was Hermes.  He wasn't nearly as clever as he apparently thought he was, and didn't have very good judgement, but he had superspeed and several effective methods of disguise, which made him a serious pain to catch.

    His motives had never been entirely clear, but they included the desire to acquire power and fame, things he coveted, by proclaiming himself the best trickster on Earth and inviting challengers.  It hadn't worked out the way he'd planned.  Two other beings responded to the challenge.  Between them, they caused quite a bit of destruction and disruption--and a number of deaths.  A group of superheroes coordinated by Doc had eventually stopped them.

    One trickster died, in a self-inflicted mishap while trying a risky escape.  One disappeared completely, though circumstantial evidence now indicated he was dead.  And Hermes himself had been captured and sent to the Box, the supervillain prison.

    Holding him had proved more difficult.  Less than a year later, during a possibly unrelated security incident, he had escaped.  Without going through the door, the walls, the floor, or the ceiling of his cell.  It was still unknown what had given him the opportunity.  Forensic magicians were consulted.  All they had been able to divine was that Hermes wasn't on Earth, he was still alive when he left, and it was possible that he had outside help.  The Box had tightened its countermeasures against dimensional travel.  Unsatisfying, but what else could you do?

    Unless he came back.

    [For Halloween, a cat story I wrote in 2015.  It takes place when Flicker is sixteen, before the events in The Fall of Doc Future.]

    There was a park in Kenya where elephant and rhino were nearly as plentiful as they had always been, a place where they were still safe.  One of the reasons was a single man who kept it that way.

    His name was Jonathan, and he was a park ranger.  Officially.

    Jonathan was faster than a normal man--much faster.  How fast he could run was limited only by his need to breathe, and for the ground to hold together under his feet.  He'd spent a long time learning his limits, and those of the world around him.  He might have become a superhero.  But he saw a different need.  He could cover a lot of ground--in places without roads.  And quickly intervene, which someone in a plane could not.

    What he mainly did these days was hunt poachers.

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