Timeline: June 22, 1951
On the tarmac, a sleek private airplane provided by Chris Hilton waited with its engines quietly humming, ready to whisk the group away to Chicago. The sun cast long shadow across the ground as Mark Fletcher, Loe Halloway, and Mindy Williams stood near the aircraft, exchanging final words with Michael Wilson.
Michael, with a serious expression etched on his face, looked at his friends. "Mark, Loe, remember to be safe." he said, his tone firm and filled with concern.
Mark, always the one to lighten the mood, nodded and flashed a big smile. "You got it." he said confidently.
Michael sighed, his eyes turning to Loe, who was leaning against the plane with a smirk.
"Don't worry, dude, we're going to be okay." Loe assured him, radiating his usual confidence.
But Michael couldn't help but murmur under his breath, "I'm worried because you have a civilian coming with you." as his eyes landed on Mindy.
Mindy, picking up on his unease, let out a soft giggle and tried to lighten the mood with a playful, "Hehehe."
Loe shrugged, looking at Michael with a nonchalant expression. "It's not my fault that this girl wanted to come along."
Mindy, determined to justify her presence, looked up at Loe with her best puppy-dog eyes. "I'm the only one who knows Chicago and the places where the business will be held." she said earnestly.
Loe sighed, his resolve softening under her pleading look. "Alright, alright," he conceded, turning back to Michael. "You heard her, right? She knows Chicago more than we do, so I decided she should come with us."
Michael sighed, relenting to the situation. "Fine... Anyway, Chris has arranged this private plane for you, and his people will ensure you all arrive safely in Chicago."
Both Loe and Mark nodded, acknowledging the plan.
"Chris... he really is one of the richest guys in the world." Mark commented, shaking his head in amazement.
Loe chuckled. "Well, he is a Hilton." he said, shrugging as if it was obvious.
Michael couldn't help but smile at their banter, a light chuckle escaping him.
Then, with a more serious tone, Michael reminded them, "Remember the tools I gave you two."
Mark patted the bracelet on his wrist and reassured him, "Don't worry, it's safe." The bracelet wasn't just a simple accessory—it was a spatial bag, capable of storing an array of tools and supplies, an invaluable asset for their journey.
Loe, intrigued, couldn't resist asking, "Just how many powers and items do you have at your disposal, Michael?"
Michael laughed, his voice rich with amusement. "Well... What can I say? I'm a man with resources."
Their laughter echoed across the tarmac, a brief moment of camaraderie before the journey began. Mindy, who had been watching the interaction, smiled as she glanced at Loe, sensing the bond they all shared.
With a final wave, Michael stepped back, letting the three make their way to the airplane. The driver, already at the base of the steps leading up to the cabin, waited patiently for them to board.
As they ascended the steps and settled into the plush seats of the aircraft, the reality of their mission began to sink in. Chicago, with all its history, dangers, and mysteries, awaited them. The plane's engines roared to life, and soon, they would be on their way to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
......
Meanwhile, at Thomas Halloway's Residence
Thomas Halloway sat alone in his dimly lit living room, the soft glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the worn furniture. The room was filled with the scent of old books and leather, a testament to the years he had spent here, building a life of quiet wisdom and reflection. The walls were adorned with a few cherished mementos—framed certificates, antique clocks, and a collection of books that had accompanied him through many decades.
But tonight, Thomas's attention was fixated on a single portrait hanging on the wall. The photograph, slightly faded with time, depicted a much younger Thomas, his face lined but smiling warmly as he rested a hand on the head of a boy with short, monk-like hair. The boy, Loe, stood beside him with a look of mild annoyance in his eyes, though there was a hint of affection beneath the surface. Loe had been 14 years old then, newly adopted, and still adjusting to the idea of having a father figure in his life. Thomas had been in his 60s, yet full of the energy and hope that came with starting anew as a parent.
Thomas sighed deeply, his eyes lingering on the image of Loe's youthful face. The memory of that day came flooding back—how reluctant Loe had been to accept Thomas as his father, how difficult it had been to break through the boy's walls, and how, despite everything, they had formed an unbreakable bond. Loe had grown up since then, but in Thomas's heart, he would always be that stubborn, endearing boy.
As he murmured softly to himself, "I hope you are fine, Loe." his voice carried the weight of years of love and concern. He knew Loe was no longer the child he once was, but a young man on a dangerous mission in Chicago. The city, with its dark history and treacherous underworld, was no place for the faint of heart, and Thomas couldn't help but worry.
"Capone.." Thomas whispered, his voice filled with both anger and determination. His eyes tightened, and the warmth in his face turned into a serious, almost stern expression. Thomas understood that Loe had chosen this dangerous path, and though he wished he could protect him, he knew that Loe had to face this challenge by himself.
With a heavy heart, Thomas turned away from the portrait, his thoughts still with Loe. He walked over to his old armchair, sinking into it with a sigh. The room seemed colder, emptier without Loe's presence. But he knew that somewhere out there, his son was fighting for something bigger than himself, and that thought gave Thomas a small measure of comfort.
As Thomas knew that Loe was ready. He had trained him, guided him, and now, it was time for Loe to forge his own path. The title of the "Angel" vigilante would be passed on, but Loe would make it his own, shaping it in ways that Thomas could only imagine. The thought filled him with both pride and a deep, fatherly concern.
As he sat in the silence of his living room, Thomas whispered to himself, "You'll be stronger than I ever was, Loe. You'll take up the mantle, and you'll become the Angel this world needs."
He leaned back in his chair, the weight of years lifting just a little, knowing that his legacy would live on in the form of his adoptive son, the new Angel vigilante.
As he sat in the quiet of his home, Thomas sent up a silent prayer for Loe's safety, hoping that the strength and wisdom he had tried to impart would guide his son through the trials ahead.
......
In the grand Felcoms manor, the lavish surroundings highlighted the contrast with the quiet conversation between Emily Hawkins and her uncle, Gil Felcoms. The manor was a showcase of the family's immense wealth and power, featuring high ceilings, shiny marble floors, and elaborate tapestries. Emily, wearing a stylish summer dress, sat comfortably on a soft velvet couch. Her demeanor was relaxed, yet her eyes revealed the balancing act she faced—living out youthful dreams while also shouldering the heavy responsibilities of her family's legacy.
Beside her, Mela, with her bright, inquisitive eyes and a playful grin, fidgeted in her seat, clearly less interested in the heavy atmosphere and more curious about the mysteries of the manor. She was the exact opposite of her sister—full of energy and always asking questions, her mind constantly wandering to the next curiosity.
As she looked at her uncle, Emily noticed a hint of sadness in his eyes. Despite his age, Gil still had a youthful charm. His warm and gentle smile often hid his feelings of regret that occasionally surfaced when he thought of his place within the family hierarchy. Despite the jovial exterior, Emily knew that her uncle longed for a more significant role in the family's affairs.
"Uncle Gil, where are they?" Mela's voice cut through the silence, pulling Gil from his reverie. Her curiosity had finally gotten the best of her.
Gil leaned back in his chair, his smile never wavering. "Well, everyone's in the meeting room, discussing business, as usual. That leaves just the two of us here." he replied, his tone light but tinged with resignation.
Mela tilted her head, studying him. "How about you? Why aren't you in there with them?" she asked, her wide-eyed curiosity bringing a smile to Gil's face.
Gil chuckled softly, a hint of self-deprecation in his laughter. "Ah, I'm the youngest of the Felcoms, Emily. The only ones worthy of being in that room are your grandfather, the heir to the Felcoms fortune—my eldest brother—and your mother, Sharon, along with your father, the famous Gary Hawkins."
He paused, his smile faltering for a brief moment, allowing a glimpse into the unspoken disappointments he harbored. But before Emily could say anything, he quickly masked it with another smile.
Emily, always perceptive, caught the subtle shift in his demeanor. "You wish to be there, don't you?"
Gil met her gaze, his eyes softening with a mix of admiration and regret. "Well, I won't lie. Yes, I do. But what can I do? I'm the youngest."
His smile returned, though this time it seemed more genuine. He couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for his nieces—Emily, who was not only sharp-witted but also caring, and Mela, whose curiosity and innocence reminded him of the joys of youth. However, in the back of his mind, Gil's thoughts drifted to the topic that had occupied much of the family's recent discussions—Chicago. There was something brewing there, something that concerned the Felcoms, and Gil had his own plans to address it.
Emily interrupted his musings with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "That's awful, Uncle. Maybe I should tell you one of my mother's dark secrets as payback for them leaving you out."
Her wild grin was infectious, and Gil couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Ahahaha," he laughed, genuinely amused by her suggestion. Mela, too, giggled along, even though she didn't fully understand the joke. Emily, at 18, was a force to be reckoned with—smart, sly, and with an innocence that was both endearing and deceptive. Mela, at 14, was the embodiment of curiosity, always eager to learn and explore, with a brightness that brought light into every room she entered.
As their laughter subsided, a brief moment of silence fell between them. Emily's thoughts wandered, her smile fading slightly as she thought of someone far away. (I miss you, Mark.) she thought, her mind drifting to her boyfriend, Mark Fletcher. The responsibilities that came with being the future heir of the Hawkins family often weighed heavily on her, but thoughts of Mark always brought a sense of warmth and comfort.
Gil noticed the change in her expression and didn't press her further. Instead, he reached out and gently patted her hand, a silent gesture of understanding. Mela, noticing the shift in mood, sat quietly, sensing that the conversation had turned more serious.
They were all part of families that demanded much from them, but they also shared a bond that allowed them to find moments of respite in each other's company.
As the echoes of their laughter faded in the grand halls of the Felcoms manor, both uncle and nieces knew that the weight of their respective responsibilities would soon call them back. But for now, in this quiet moment, they allowed themselves to simply be, finding solace in their shared connection.
As Gil looked at his niece, his mind filled with plans and strategies. (I need to go to Chicago and solve that problem,) he thought resolutely. The idea of proving himself, of showing that he was more than just the youngest sibling with a lesser role, was becoming increasingly urgent.
"I will prove to everyone," he mused, his gaze hardening with determination. (To my family, to my eldest brother Albert, to my sister Sharon and to my brother in law Gary Hawkins, and to myself—that I can handle more than what they've given me. I'll show them that I have the skill, the intellect, and the bravery to take on such challenges.)
.........
As the private plane touched down on the tarmac of a smaller, private airstrip in Chicago, Mark Fletcher, Loe Halloway, and Mindy Williams disembarked, their eyes scanning the city that stretched out before them. The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and the distant hum of city life, a far cry from the picturesque landscape Mark and Loe have imagined.
As Fletcher, Loe Halloway, and Mindy Williams stepped out into the warm, sticky air of Chicago. The cityscape before them was a mix of tall skyscrapers and older, run-down buildings. The streets were alive with the noise of honking cars, distant sirens, and the hum of busy people going about their day.
Mark squinted in the bright sunlight, taking in the view of Chicago. The city he had imagined, with its glamorous Prohibition Era charm and dangerous allure, looked quite different in reality. He had expected a place full of glitz and excitement, where old-fashioned elegance mingled with the risky world of gangsters and secret bars. Instead of a glamorous, exciting place, Chicago looked rough and gritty. The buildings were old and worn, and the streets seemed messy and chaotic. It wasn't the sleek, shiny city he had expected; it was a mix of old and new, struggling to come together in a not-so-glamorous way.
Loe, grinned as he surveyed the surroundings. "This is Chicago, alright. Looks like the real deal."
Mark thought to himself as he surveyed the streets (Is this chicago?)
To be continue