(Original Story)[Tentative Title] "False Hope"

[Enigma]

I've always wanted to write a superhero story, so here is my attempt.
Comments and critiques are quite welcome.

PROLOGUE

September 20, 2168.

A blue van turned into the parking lot of Stan's Pub and Diner and parked next to an old beatup station wagon. "Huh. Didn't think I'd see a gas burner outside a museum." The van's driver said with a frown. The journalist just nodded in agreement. "Are you sure he said he'd be here?" "Yes I am sure. Well at least that is what his voice mail said anyways." The journalist sighed and continued, "Of all the places to hold an interview. Get yourself prepped and get this interview over with." The driver turned off the van and went into the back while the journalist stepped out.

While waiting for his assistant to get ready, the journalist straightened out his suit and looked at his surroundings. What he saw did not impress him one bit. The dilapidated diner was one of those chrome plated greasy spoon diners built during the 1940s and 50s. The journalist shuddered. Nineteen fifties? Get a life people, this is the twenty second century! But the diner wasn't out of place with its surroundings. It was located in the city's most crime infested, poverty stricken and depraved place in the city. The area was called the "Old Town" back even before the Reformation of 2012 when New Hope City was called Belding. The Reformation of 2012 was supposed to bring a golden era to the city, to wipe out crime, hunger, disease and the like. To be a shining beacon for other cities to assimilate. Instead the reality was that a wall and them later a series of force fields surrounded the city's core, separating the middle class and up from the crumbling, decaying outskirts of the city. Mayors and councillors all have promised to clean up Old Town and to bring it into the rest of the city, but those promises were hollow and the segregation remained, as a dumping place for the poor, the criminals and more recently for metahumans.

The journalist banged on the side of the van and yelled out to his assistant, "Hey John! Let's go already! I don't want to stay here any longer than I have to. Come one, it's showtime!"

"I'm coming! I'm coming! I am just setting up the satlink on the computer."

"It shouldn't take you this long to do it."

One of the van's rear doors opened and John jumped out. "Ready." he said as he quickly closed the door. Both men walked up to the door and stopped. They stared at the door for about a minute before the journalist cursed, "Damn it! What a piece of crap! I'm sooo hating this." John just smiled and nodded. "I'm guessing the door is an older model. Let me see. Door open!" Nothing happened. "Open main door." Nothing. "Open." Again nothing. The journalist's face was turning beet red and was about to let out a long string of profanity but was cut off by John's muffled laughter. "Do you find this funny?" John stopped laughing and answered, "Yes I do. You are so spoiled Derrik. Technology made you soft." Derrik stiffened. "It has most definitely not made me soft!" He then composed himself and once again straightened out his suit. After breathing in deeply, he turned to John and asked, "So how do we open this door?" His reply was, "Maybe it is one of those antique doors that are hand activated. Try placing your palm on it." Derrik did so and nothing happened.

Suffice it to say that what resulted was John laughing so hard that he couldn't stay up. Derrik completely lost it and began jumping up and down, cursing and screaming the whole time. It certainly did not help Derrik's temper that the patrons inside saw the whole thing and were laughing hard too....