Heavy breaths echoed through the room, as a shiver rolled down his body. The lights seemed too bright for any normal lights. Yet upon closer inspection they were just that. Normal every day, run of the mill table lamps. The mind was playing tricks as the withdrawal symptoms kicked into high gear. The yelling and cursing had ended sometime before, only to be replaced with the begging.

Just over a week before while investigating the drug ring of Lady Octopus; Chris had been injected with the drug MGH. Giving him extraordinary powers on top of those he already possessed as Darkhawk, it had also come with a deep addiction. Curiously when affected by the drugs when he had changed to Darkhawk, instead of the usual android body coming from Null Space to replace his own he had stayed as Chris Powell only within the armor. Not much attention had been paid to the new status quo. Breaking him of the new drug habit had been task number one.

“Please. Just one hit. I…I can handle it. I promise.” Jittery hands reached out for the other figure in the room. In order to help him someone hard had been needed. Someone that cared but would do all they could to help kick the habit. Enter Nita. Leaving California in order to do the deed had been her only stipulation. Thus the unknown room they now found themselves far away from the others.

Standing regally tall, Namorita crossed her arms in exasperation. “No.”

“Nita… I need it!”

Steely eyes slid away from his pathetic display of begging. “No.”

“Gah, god damn it you fucking Atlantean bitch, give me the fucking drug!” Rage seethed from his every pore. Luckily the Darkhawk amulet had been removed from his possession before the impromptu detox session.

“No.”

“I swear to god I’ll rip your head off!”

“No you won’t.”

Groaning as tears poured from his eyes, fingers pulled at his hair as he sank to the ground. “Please Nita. I can feel it eating me from inside. I just need one hit. That’s all. I promise that will be all. I just want to go home.”

Kneeling beside him, a delicate hand reached out to grasp his chin. “You can go home, when you stop asking me that question. No sooner. No later.”

Wrenching his chin away, he stared daggers her way. It was not the answer he had long sought. The after effects of the drug had long passed, and the desire for it was burning away. Try as he might there was no way to hang onto it. A strangled cry went up as he tried once again. The sensation of finally feeling good was gone.

PANGS

By Scott Redmond

Day One

Cold. Cold followed by extreme heat. It was almost agonizing to try and bear. The body couldn’t seem to make up it’s mind on how to feel. Every moment it flipped and flopped. The mental agony was more than anyone was supposed to be able to tolerate. Yet he pushed on. There was no other choice. There was no relief in sight.

A sliver of light splayed across the ground as the door slid open somewhat. Eyes that had adjusted to the stark darkness blinked hard in the imposing light. Slightly visible was a figure. Blond hair spilled down the back, as slightly tanned skin was covered with a orange and white body suit. Two stunningly deep blue eyes stared down at the pitiful lump upon the ground.

Hands unclenched from the ground and reached out for the approaching figure. “Please…I just need a little bit.”

“No.”

Pleading seemed to scream from the eyes as his hands grasped at her legs, clawing and prying at anything they came into contact with. None of it visibly bothered her. “I’m burning up… you can’t do this to me!”

“I’m your friend, Chris.”

“You’re a bitch!” The words spilled from his lips with venom as he scrambled back to the far wall. Hatred blazed from the eyes, any hint of kindness or weakness gone in a split second. “I should fucking kill you!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Go to hell you mutant piece of shit!”

A sigh sounded as she moved back into the light. “Perhaps more time is needed alone.” The door closed with a click as he cried out into the darkness.

Day Two

A click sounded once again as the door creaked open. There was very little light this time, which led the mind to wonder if it was day or night outside the confines of the one room. Time had no meaning in his position. It was all the same. This time there was a silvery tray held in her hands. The tray clanked against the floor as she set it before him.

“You must eat.”

“No.”

In truth his stomach screamed at him. Demanded he take the offered food and eat it. Upon the tray sat a bowl of soup and what looked like a sandwich of some kind. The smells were intoxicating. Temptation upon a silver platter. It wouldn’t work though.

“Very well. It is your choice.”

“You know what I want. I don’t want your damn food.”

“Again, it’s your choice.”

“Enough! I don’t need your psycho babble bullshit!”

A chair scraped across the floor as she settled down into it, crossing her legs and arms while regarding him with rapt attention. The face remained neutral as if nothing he said could get to her. Anger bubbled up as he realized that no matter what he said or did was futile. She wasn’t cracking. His hand shot out and grasped the edge of the soup bowl, hurling it into the furthest wall. The bowl shattered upon contact, and splattered its contents all over. Again she didn’t even bat an eye.

“Leave me the fuck alone! You don’t even understand what I’m going through!”

“Explain it to me.”

His eyes could almost bore holes straight through her if he kept up the glares. Curling up against the wall he never took his eyes off her. For what seemed like forever, and was probably only actually a few minutes, they just stared at one another. Finally she stood and pushed the chair aside and gathered up the tray and the bowl pieces before leaving the room and closing the door again.

Back in the darkness he curled up more, holding his knees tightly with his arms. The stomach growled in hunger almost as if it was angry at his seeming betrayal. The food had been right there and he turned it down. Mind and body were at odds, and eventually one would win out.

Day Four

Two days of screaming at the very walls surrounding him had brought nothing. The stomach had long given up it’s fight, as at night a sandwich had slipped through a hole in the door. Not thinking he had leapt forward and gobbled it down before the mind could even register the movement. The body had won a part of the battle in that moment. The mind had easily been overpowered. Yet the thralls of addiction pangs had came back with a rush. The jitters and temperature changes were back with a super vengeance.

Ever since the incident with the food two days before she hadn’t even come into the room. Part of the mind even wondered if she had just left him entirely. Dragged him to the middle of nowhere and just left him. Left him powerless and a mess. Yet the evidence of the food the night before and that morning proved that someone remained. No doubt his original captor. Unless they were switching out to mess with his mind. That seemed just like them in some way. Pretending to be his friend all that time. Letting him on their team. Only to turn around and have a good laugh when he lost it. Evil bastards.

The other half of Chris Powell screamed out that it wasn’t true. That they were indeed his friends and only had his best in mind through the entire process. The Champions were his friends. His second family. They cared about him and that was why he was there. They wanted him cured so he could be a good friend again. That was all. There was nothing dangerous coming. Positive thoughts would win out come the end of the day.

You’re deluding yourself Chris. Sticking behind that pitiful crap about them trying to save you. They’re trying to keep you from being powerful. They’re jealous of you’re new power.

No. They’re my friends. They want what’s best for me.

Would friends lock you up in a room and make you suffer like this?

Yes. ‘Cause they care for me. Just shut up.

I can’t shut up Chris. You know you can’t shut me up that way, and it’s futile to try. I’m you Crhissy boy. We’re one and the same. Together forever.

A whimper passed the lips as he curled up into a ball against the far wall. The voices continued their debate long into the night, his eyes remaining open to take in the darkness. The battle was far from over.

Day Six

Heavy breaths echoed through the room, as a shiver rolled down his body. The lights seemed too bright for any normal lights. Yet upon closer inspection they were just that. Normal every day, run of the mill table lamps. The mind was playing tricks as the withdrawal symptoms kicked into high gear. The yelling and cursing had ended sometime before, only to be replaced with the begging.

Day Ten

“Chris. Wake up.”

Eyes fluttered open as a figure lightly pushed at his arm. Sunlight shone into the room, which had seemingly grown over night. The plush feeling of a bed was beneath, and all dark feelings were gone. It was over. Yet part of the mind wondered if it ever happened. The beaming smile of his mother caught his eye as she stood over him.

“Rise and shine Chris, breakfast won’t wait forever.”

Before he could speak she was out the door, leaving it cracked enough for the voices of his siblings to drift into the room. They were going nuts over some latest game they had bought. A smile came to his lips as the sheets were thrown back. He was home. The nightmare was over.

Bare feet touched the cool wood floors and he didn’t mind. It was a feeling he had missed over the last week. They always said it was the little things you would miss the most. Chalk one up to them knowing what they were talking about.

The lingering smell of pancakes permeated the hallway as he approached the lower rooms. The sound of utensils hitting plates echoed down the seemingly long hallway. Every step closer seemed like a step back as the hall grew. The walls and floor moved accordingly but the destination remained in the distance. Panic and worry began to flood him. Why was it so far away? Why was what he desired so hard to grasp?

The colors all around began to blur the harder he tried. The distant kitchen was replaced with just a bright light pulsing. Hands clawed at the disappearing walls as the fantasy bled away. The colors poured away as his eyes shot open to the room that had been his prison for days. Coughing slightly, he rubbed a hand on his parched throat. The door slid open as a figure slid in. In her hands was food and water. Nita waited for him to blink and adjust to the light in the room.

Setting the two down she watched him grab the glass and down the water quickly. The food followed very soon afterwards. His eyes spoke volumes of thanks for the nourishment. The desire for what he craved no longer shined through his eyes. Instead there was hints of the Chris of before shining through. A slight smile colored her face as she knelt down before him. “Welcome home.”

Epilogue

“It still doesn’t feel right.” Adjusting the suit, his eyes moved across the room to settle upon the other person within. The helmet remained in his arms, the pendant secure around his neck. “I’m so used to it not being my body within the suit. But the android body is seemingly gone. I am Darkhawk now fully.”

“You’ll adjust.” Nita spoke up from the counter as she sat upon it. In the last few days since the end of his withdrawal period they had been slowly easing him back into life. Starting with leaving the room all the way up to taking back his super identity just at that moment. “We all adjust to the changes super heroics bring. You will be no different.”

“Guess that does mean something from the woman who mutated and turned blue for awhile.” Grinning playfully he stared back at his reflection in the mirror. “I guess it does feel better this way. Before I felt attached to the body, but detached at the same time. I took risks I wouldn’t have taken had it been my body on the line. Now it is my body at risk, means I have to be more careful.”

“Indeed.”

The helmet slid into place easily over his head, covering up his face. The eyes glowed slightly as he turned back to his companion. “Let’s go bust some crime.” With little effort he was off through the window back into the world at large. Darkhawk was back, and better than ever.

NEXT: Join us back here for the next issue that kicks off a mini-arc we could only call “Deep Blue Sea,” as the Champions go up against some of the biggest villains of the past! Also, what do Hercules and Archangel have to say about the return of the Champions?