The Epic Saga of the Leiters (and also everyone else)

[ This is more that just Alister's backstory. I promise. ]

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[June, 1970]

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“Eric? Eric!”
Eric O’Bayor blinked, surprised to find himself on the floor. He looked at the man who had been shaking him.
“Steven? What -- what happened?” He stammered confusedly.
“You scared us to death, Eric. We were at the end of the shoot, and you just -- fainted. Are you all right? You need help or anything?” Steven peered at him through his thick glasses. “You don’t look too good.”
“No, I’m… I’m fine, Steve, I…”
“What the… my ass!” Steven exclaimed, his hand on Eric’s forehead, “You’re burning up, man! Get home, get to bed, and stay there. We can finish the shoot later. I won’t have one of my stars keeling over and ruining this damn movie because of my carelessness. Go!”
Eric shook his head. “I… all right. Thanks, Steve.” Steven shoved him towards the door, then turned and started shouting at the crew to clean up.

Eric trudged up his front walk, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He’d just reached the door when it opened under his hand.
“Eric, love! You’re home early! How was the filming?” Eric’s girlfriend, Tess, leaned forward for a kiss, but Eric pushed her back.
“I’m sick, Tess, I… I don’t want you to… to... get…” His sentence trailed off as the blackness rushed in again.



This time when Eric woke, he saw the impassive face of the doctor, and Tess and Steven standing beside him looking worried.
The doctor smirked. “Wakie, wakie! How are you feeling, O’Bayor?”
“I’m fine, Doc… I just haven’t been sleeping much lately, that’s all…”
“You'd think an actor would be a better liar. You’re burning up, Eric. I'm putting you on immediate bed rest; that means no leaving the bed, no traipsing around Hollywood, no filming. You are to rest, O’Bayor, and if I find you’ve been out of that bed, I will personally come over here and tie you to it. Is that clear?” Not waiting for an answer, he strode out of the room. A moment later, the three left in the room heard his car start and zoom away.
“I’m… sorry, guys, I… didn’t mean to… get sick…” Eric forced the words out of his suddenly uncooperative mouth.
“It’s all right, Eric. We can stand to lose a week’s time. We’re already ahead of schedule. A week won’t make a difference.” Steve grinned. “And besides, we might be able to work that spectacular faint into the script.” With a kiss on the cheek for Tess and a nod to Eric, Steve left.

“And really, Eric, all I care about is that you get better," Tess said lovingly. "Besides, the doctor said it probably wasn’t contagious, whatever it is. I’ll be right beside you through all of this.” She sat down on the bed beside Eric and took his hand.
Eric looked at Tess though his smoky vision, and found his eyelids drooping lower and lower.
“It’s the medicine, Eric,” he heard faintly, “It’ll make you sleep. Don’t fight it. I’ll be right here….”



He dreamed of fire and flame. He was immersed in it; white-hot fire blazed all around him, burning his skin. Eric tried to scream, but his mouth seemed seared shut. He felt the flames tearing him apart. When he looked at the blood running down his body, it was tiny rivers of flame. He felt the fire in his veins; he felt it pounding through him, pushing to get out, trying to tear his skin away - then he felt himself burst. Fire flew from his body, taking his old skin with it and giving him new skin, skin of fire and magma -- when he was awoken by Tess’ scream.



There were flames everywhere, just like in his dream, only this time, he couldn’t feel them. He gazed at himself for a moment, before another scream jerked him out of his shock. He turned, to see Tess writhing in the flames. He reached to grab her, to help her, but as his hands touched her shoulders, the fire he still felt in his veins surged through his hands to envelop her. Eric pulled back in horror, but it was too late. Tess was gone.

Eric let out a horror-filled cry and stared at his hands. What had he done? What was happening to him? Tears of flame ran down his face. He was a monster. A murderer. A mutant. Then a vague memory came to him from the smoldering corner of his brain; he had heard somewhere, from Steve maybe, about a city where things like this were almost normal… That was where he had to go. There he could find someone… someone who could make this nightmare make sense. What had Steve called it? A city… a city of heroes?



Eric drove for days, stopping at disgusting motels to catch a few furtive hours of sleep and food that he barely tasted. He shunned most human contact, afraid that people would recognize him. It wasn’t an easy road, from Los Angeles to Paragon City, but Eric didn’t care. Even when his car broke down, somewhere in New York, he got out and walked. His one last hope was that he could get to this Paragon City and have a normal life again -- not his old life, no, that was well and truly gone. He could never go back to Hollywood; the press had assumed he'd died in the fire, destroyed like his home, his life -- like Tess.



Eventually, he stopped his tired feet in front of the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. A tall statue rose from the horizon, of the mighty Atlas holding the world above his head. As Eric stared at the statue of the giant man, he felt as if the hero had lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders; he had made it to Paragon City at last.

He stood there staring at Atlas until a harsh voice broke into his reverie.
“Ain't safe for a civvie to be wanderin' round here. Toss that wallet this way, maybe you won't get beat, civvie.”
Eric turned to see four Hellions swaggering up to him. The one who spoke had horns.
“Now, look, guys," Eric stammered, "I -- I don’t want any trouble here. I need this money. So, uh, so go on out of here.”
The Hellions broke into laughter. “Do you hear this guy, Slammer? ‘Go on out of here’ he says!” The leader’s face grew serious. “Kill him.”
Eric screamed as he saw the three grunt Hellions draw baseball bats and run at him. He screamed again as the one in front burst into flame.
“Man, he’s a hero! Move! Get outta here!” The three remaining Hellions ran for their lives, casting fearful glances back at Eric.

“Dear God…” Eric whimpered, as he kneeled by the Hellion he had killed, “I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I just wanted to be normal again!”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Eric O’Bayor."
Eric whirled, afraid of what he might find behind him. There stood a man garbed in black kevlar, his red cape flowing from white shoulders. As Eric cowered in the shadow cast over him, the man chuckled.
“Don’t worry, Mr. O’Bayor, I wouldn’t hurt you. My name is James Leiter. I believe I may be able to help you.”

“How can you help me?” Eric cried, “How can anyone help me? I killed a man! And I don’t even know how I did it!”
Leiter kneeled, and put a hand on Eric's shoulder.
“Eric, he would have killed you. And if you were not here, he would have killed another. The Hellions are evil. So are the Skulls, the Tsoo, the Family, all of the gangs that reside in Paragon. That is why heroes flock here, to hold back the evil from taking control of the most wonderful city in America. That is what I do.”
Eric looked up at him with tear-drenched cheeks. “You’re a hero?”
“Yes. As are my friends here.”
Eric looked around. All about him stood men and women garbed as Leiter was. He looked back at the hero.
“Who are you?” He whispered.
Leiter stood, and offered him a hand. “We are the Sixth Column. We have banded together to keep the forces of evil at bay. Watch,” he said.
And Eric watched, as all around him, people burst into flame, or became surrounded by ice, or drew swords, or hovered above the ground. He looked back at Leiter with awe.
Leiter offered his hand again. “Let us help you, O’Bayor.”
Eric felt his spirits rise once more as he stood and took Leiter's hand.
“I am not Eric O’Bayor,” he announced proudly, “Not any more. I am Nacht Alister. Soldat of the Sixth Column.”

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[ The Nacht Leiter referenced in the above story is NOT the Leiter you all know and love. James Leiter is Kaitlyn Leiter's father, and the founder of the (Liberty) Sixth Column. ]

[August, 1978]

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Alister's head snapped back as a punch landed squarely on his chin. His stance broken, he stumbled back, reeling from the force of the blow. The figure in front of him advanced, eager to finish the fight -- stepping exactly where Alister meant her to.

From his deceptively lax stance, Alister snapped his legs around in a powerful sweep, knocking his opponent's legs out from under her and sending her flying forward. Before the woman hit the ground, Alister was on top of her, pinning her to the ground. With a
fierce grin, Alister summoned flame into his clenched fist, preparing to sink one last punch into the woman's face -- when he stopped.

His moment of hesitation was all the woman needed to wrench herself out of his grip and turn the tables. With a series of well-aimed blows, Alister found himself thudding to the floor. He rolled to his back and he shook the sweat from his eyes in time to see a blade snick out of the woman's glove and stop, gleaming, mere moments away from his eye.

Alister glanced from the blade to the girl's face and her expression of complete concentration. He sighed.

"You got me, kapitan," he said wearily.

The young officer's expression relaxed into a hearty smile. "You're getting old, slowing down in your old age!" The young woman laughed. "Up you get, sir."

She offered him a hand up, which he took. He straightened up, and felt his back pop as he threw a tired salute at the kapitan. She returned it, and jogged off to shower away the grime of the sparring session.

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Alone now, with no fight to distract him, Alister's mind wandered back to his moment of hesitation. He knew what caused it; the sight of the flickering light of the flame on the woman's startled face had hit far too close to home. Even after eight years of serving in the Sixth Column, the memory of that first explosive manifestation of his powers and the death of his girlfriend still haunted Alister. He closed his eyes, lost in painful memories.

"Uncle Ally, Uncle Ally!"

A high-pitched squeal interrupted the General's memories and a small body crashed into his leg. Alister looked down in surprise. Unabashed, the toddler now attached to his leg beamed up at him in the pure joy of a three-year-old reunited with her favorite grown-up.

"Uncle Ally, we comed to see you!"

"Came to see me, Katie sweetheart, not comed." Alister grinned in earnest, his sordid past pushed out of his mind for the moment by the innocent joy in the young girl's voice.

"Uncle Ally, we camed to see you! Look at the babies, Uncle Ally!" The toddler pulled on Alister's belt until he followed her over to the black-haired woman now coming through
the door, and the stroller she pushed in front of her, laughing now at the three-year-old's bumbling toddle.

"Angela, love. It's good to see you." Alister leaned over the stroller to kiss the woman's cheek before pulling back to admire her two newborn twins.

Angela Leiter smiled warmly at Alister. Ever since her husband James had brought Alister into the Sixth Column, she'd welcomed Alister like a brother. Her oldest child had echoed her mother's affections, too, and from the moment Kate had learned to speak, she had referred to Alister as her 'Uncle Ally.' Alister had joined the Leiter family hesitantly, at first, but as time went on he grew to appreciate his new family -- his only family, now. As he tickled his new niece and nephew, Alister laughed along with their squeals of delight. His time with the Leiter family gave him a welcome relief from the rigors of military life and the pain of his terrible memories.

Remembering Angela, he looked up and frowned. "Angela, what are you doing here? The doctors said you needed strict bed rest after the twins' birth."

A slight woman, the delivery of the twins had been hard on Angela; as Alister looked closer, he could tell just how hard. There were dark circles under her eyes and her usually-proper posture drooped.

Angela's face grew grim. "Kate, honey, why don't you go build a fort with the fighters' pads? Uncle Ally and I need to talk." Alister's frown deepened as the toddler bumbled off to play, oblivious to whatever was troubling her mother.

"Alister... it's James," Angela blinked furiously as her eyes welled up, "He's dead."

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I'm ganna read this. And I know it's going to be awesome but.

WRITE ABOUT KAITLYN


::cries::

I started to. Read. ;D

Leiter wrote:

(and also everyone else)

Elaborate?

Opus wrote:

Leiter wrote:

(and also everyone else)

Elaborate?

Um. The story will eventually encompass a great number of people who don't belong to the Leiter family?

Leiter wrote:

Opus wrote:

Leiter wrote:

(and also everyone else)

Elaborate?

Um. The story will eventually encompass a great number of people who don't belong to the Leiter family?

Ok, was just wondering who specifically.

You'll have to wait and see.

Ah, excellent. This is great, write moor.

I finally got around to looking at this lol.

It's really good. There is one dude you didn't mention ;P It's Killa pfft :X

James started teh 6th and Killa was a member in the 70s too >.>

Just wait for it, Killa. You're coming up.

Noce.
We're all waiting patiently x.x

Very nice, can't wait to see where this is going

@.@ I likeeeee. Write more. And haha he's a grammar nazi like you. ;D But I like this a lot.

Haha, Shin, I'm glad someone caught that.

I knew Alister was being a grammar nazi like you lol. I just figured it was best to leave it be, since you ARE giving a story about yourself here

Well, Kate Leiter had to get it from somewhere, right?