Just Passing Through (Open)

Location: A city in Mississippi

The world was caught in that early evening spell. Right at the time when people were probably stuck in rush hour traffic, having all decided ‘hey, lets leave at the same time!’. Some people were starting to get impatient to get out of the city, into their nice cushy suburban homes before the night reared its ugly head in the city.

But Johnny Blaze wasn’t having any problems. Instead of going out of the city, he was going into it. Along the mostly deserted route, his eyes flickered over to the bumper to bumper traffic on the other side and felt a small spark of amusement. So he, the Ghost Rider, once more went into the land where most mortals feared to tread, in this case the darkening downtown area. But Blaze needed gas for the bike that was growling underneath him, perhaps a quick shower before nightfall, and more importantly food and water after being out under the hot sun for hours.

Not that you should really be complaining about a little sun heat. replied the snarky voice of his resident inner-demon. Zarathos was grouchy. For a full month they had been traveling from city to city in the west of the U.S of A and besides striking the fear of God into a few minor punks, they hadn’t seen much action. The blood thirsty demon was already in the mood for a fight.

Blaze ignored him, accustomed to his sharp jabs that were like pin pricks to his brain. They were getting off the high way now, and instead of aching for a fight like Zarathos did, he was aching for a nice glass of water. (He also ignored the rather humorous comment from Zarathos, who asked if his skull felt like it was on fire.)

First stop, a gas station just on the brim of the downtown area. Already five P.M. and Johnny could hear sirens in the distance as he entered the station and parked his Harley in front of the pump and kicked out the kick-stand, dismounting. He left it in front of the pump, taking the keys with him as he walked into the Quikie-mart to prepay and get himself some water. Unlike other bikers, he wasn’t too worried about some punk trying to roll off with his bike. His Harley had probably the best ‘security system’ that a guy could ask for, if you could call a Hell-Bike a security system.

After grabbing his bottle of water, Blaze walked over to the clerk, ignoring the old man’s suspicious looks. Johnny was used to them, and he didn’t blame the old man. With his leather biker jacket, complete with sharp metal spikes, biker boots, long strawberry hair and black shades that covered his blue eyes, he looked like he belonged to some punk gang.

“Pump five.” Blaze said calmly, setting down his bottle of water and pulling out his wallet. The clerk gazed out the windows, frowning at the old Harley sitting there, before ringing his customer up. Johnny slapped the appropriate bills on the counter, grunting out a ‘keep the change’, before grabbing his water and walking out.

Just to his luck and amusement, as he walked out he caught sight of three punks approaching the antique Harley Chopper, obviously by the wrenches in their hands, looking to take off his bike’s wheels. But instead of a concerned Harley owner who would have shouted and tried to stop them, John took his time. First taking off the cap of his water, leaning against the brick wall of the mart, and taking a gulp. Zarathos started giggling with glee. They didn’t have long to wait.

The moment the first punk touched the handlebars of the bike, the machine roared to life. In a burst of flame it turned into the Hell-Bike. Three chains appeared out of it, wrapping themselves around the punks and throwing them away from the bike. The punks in panic scrambled to their feet and ran off.

Johnny chuckled as he capped his water, walking over to the still-transformed bike. The Ghost Rider in him wanted to change with it, go after the punks and make them suffer. But Blaze had paid for the gas, and he was going to get it. Putting a calming hand on the seat of the demon motorcycle, the bike chirped as if an alarm had been deactivated and transformed back into its original form.

Blaze smirked and opened up the gas cap on its rear, lifting up the pump and starting to fill it. “Scaring punks again, old girl?” He whispered to the Harley, amused when it chirped at him again. As he filled the Harley, he didn’t notice that he wasn’t the only one in the gas station, nor that his bike’s actions had gotten someone else’s attention.

"So I see there is truth to the rumors. The Devil's hunter does indeed stalk the land of men; and here I thought you were nothing more than a ancient legend..." A voice said from the other side of the pump station. Eerily, the figure had not been there a moment ago, but had witnessed the entire event. His body was draped in the finest materials, carefully tailored into an exceptional black suit, adorned with a sing red rose in his lapel"...But perhaps, I know something of legends." He added with a chuckle as he slowly strolled around and revealed himself. As he stepped into Johnny's line of site, Jericho smirked with a friendly grin as he leaned against the side of the pump station. He took a glance at the man, Jericho's eyes saw far deeper than the flesh of men. His gaze looked within, revealing the very soul of those that passed under his watchful eye.

"Forgive me for my rude introduction. I am Jericho. Jericho Drumm" He said as he bowed in a rather theatrical manner. He glanced over at the man's bike for a moment, watching as it reverted from it's hellish figure into a more mundane vehicle. "Quite an interesting vehicle you possess." He said, making pointless small talk. "It must serve you well in these troubling times...."

Jericho was stalling. As he gazed upon the soul of this man....No, he was no man.....not anymore. His soul was a contradiction to itself; pure, far more so than even the whitest snow, ad yet, tainted by a vile force that rivaled the Devil himself. However, Jericho could also see his power, the essence of Zarathos within him, and as he gazed upon the demonic entity, Jericho knew that this man was indeed Chasè o diab la....the devil's hunter. Jericho had heard countless tales, even in his native land of a man, fueled by justice or rather, vengeance; A man that harnessed the power of hell itself against those spawned him. Jericho nodded in approval as he buried his hands in his pockets.

"....Ghost Rider."

"So I see there is truth to the rumors. The Devil's hunter does indeed stalk the land of men; and here I thought you were nothing more than a ancient legend... “

Zarathos hissed in warning, but for once he had no cocky remark to graze his host with. It was that that put Johnny on high alert. His blue eyes flicked over to the voice on the other side of the gas station. His mortal eyes could only make out the vaguest shadow of a man. However in his mind’s eye, his Ghost Rider’s eyes, he could see the man clearly.

” ...But perhaps, I know something of legends."

A hand moved calmly from the seat of the Harley, to rest across the holster connected to its side. To a normal person, it would appear as if he was simply shifting his weight. But in that holster was the hellfire shotgun, loaded and ready, in case its owner needed it against a man who had something he wanted to prove.

Come to think of it, the man himself seemed vaguely familiar. As John observed the man who had just walked into his line of sight, he felt a small pang of recognition that he couldn’t explain. Zarathos wasn’t helping with the human’s sudden memory loss, he seemed more like he was trying to hide in the back of Johnny’s head, which drew some concern.

"Forgive me for my rude introduction. I am Jericho. Jericho Drumm"

“Johnny Blaze,” He replied automatically with a smooth southern twang. For when a man gave you his name you gave him one back. “Pleased to meet you sir.” He added on with a nod of his head. The bow that Jericho did was a lot more elaborate, but for Johnny it was dangerous to take your eyes off of someone who had just met. Especially in this business.

"Quite an interesting vehicle you possess. It must serve you well in these troubling times...."

Johnny was caught a little off guard at the sudden switch of conversation over to his bike. The bike itself didn’t respond to Jericho’s praise, remaining still and quiet as any other bike in the world. Johnny himself nodded in response, a small good-natured smile appearing on his face. “She has her moments…” The bike was more than just a vehicle now, more than just a hellbike. It was the last reminder of the life he had once had. A life at the Carnival, and with Roxanne…. He felt a deep pain in his chest at the thought that he quickly cleared out of his head.

If you are done reminiscing, you would realize that this is the Voodoo Priest that helped little Danny-boy defeat that bail of hay, the Scarecrow. Zarathos hissed. Johnny blinked at the wary voice of his resident demon, realizing that Danny had spoken of a Brother Voodoo who had defeated the zombies of Scarecrow without breaking a sweat. Danny had been in his human form at the time, and so ‘blended into the crowd’ as it were. No wonder Zarathos was twitching, Voodoo priests could be nasty when provoked, or when confronted by a demonic or evil entity.

"....Ghost Rider."

Johnny lifted up the pump his was using, sliding it back in place. As he replaced the gas cap on the Harley, he did some ‘soul searching’ of his own. He knew that at this late hour, that if this man was truly evil he would have turned into the Rider before Jericho had the first word out. But he felt no inner drive to protect him either, meaning that the Voodoo Priest was obviously not an innocent.

His blue eyes flickered back up to Jericho, a small contemplative frown grazing his hardened features. “Speaking of legends sir, but you wouldn’t happen to go by the name of Brother Voodoo would you?” His voice was wary, but respectful. You didn’t want to offend someone who could turn you into a zombie if he wanted. Not that Ghost Rider or Zarathos would let him…. Well, it was just easier to be polite.

"Johnny Blaze."


Jericho was pleased that that he had not invoked the wrath of the rider. His powers drew strength from the darkest forces of the universe, directly clashing with the nature of vengeance. Jericho could not deny that his soul was no longer innocent. His hands were stained with the blood of his people, his brother Daniel, to recount one of many. That was what drew him to this place, to this man. As foolish as it seemed, Jericho felt a sense of kinship with the riders even though their lives were worlds apart.


"Pleased to meet you sir."


Jericho almost frowned at the statement. It always made him feel old when people called him sir, but he went with it, forcing a bit of an awkward grin as a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "Please, there is no need for such formalities." Jericho said warmly. "I believe that we both know each others nature far too well to be playing such games, yes? And perhaps it's time to explain why I'm here, rider." Jericho's face seemed to suddenly grow more stern and serious as he continued. "These are turbulent times we are in, as you have no doubt noticed..." Jericho was referring to the mutant registration act. "...Those of us who are...gifted, through our abilities are a precious few in this world, even more precious are those who did not choose to be what they are...." Jericho knew the legend of the riders well. Their powers were manifestation of pacts formed with the devil himself, transforming them into mercenaries of his will (Of course he also knew of how the Ghost Riders rebelled against their former employer). Regardless, people like johnny and Jericho had a choice to receive their powers, even though often times the choice was already made for them. However, this was not so for mutants.

Born into a world that despised their existed, mutants were fated to live their lives under the ridicule of the populace...A disturbing thought indeed when the most noble, and often most powerful, beings on earth could find no peace, but Jericho continued. "...You and I both know, all too well, the nature of fear. How it makes the mind irrational, paranoid of even the slightest abnormality within it's structure..." Jericho turned his gaze to Johnny's motorcycle before returning his attention to Blaze.

"We will be next. That much is clear, so I am curious. What road will you take when the time comes? Will you protect the innocent and ignorant humans that simply seek responsibility and order, or protect the gifted that simply wish to live their lives in peace. I am eager to learn where your allegiances fall ..."

"Please, there is no need for such formalities. I believe that we both know each others nature far too well to be playing such games, yes? And perhaps it's time to explain why I'm here, rider."

Games? Johnny didn’t have any idea that they were playing a game. But how would Jericho know that Johnathan Blaze had grown up in a world where you said ‘yes sir/ma’am’ to everyone regardless of who they were? That was the culture of a southern-based carnival. So he smiled back at him calmly, for he was right on one thing. A Ghost Rider’s nature was one where you couldn’t worry about stepping on other people’s toes.

These are turbulent times we are in, as you have no doubt noticed...Those of us who are...gifted, through our abilities are a precious few in this world, even more precious are those who did not choose to be what they are...."

Ah, the Mutant Registration Act. Johnny felt a pang of sympathy for his old friends Angel and Iceman. He knew that Angel would probably register, but Iceman had too much pride to do so. It was going to be a rough road ahead for both of them. But he had to wonder where Jericho was going with this particular idea. Yes, the Mutant Registration Act was a sign of trouble to come…. For mutants. Johnny was not a mutant, he was a host for a curse. And a wonderful demonic entity.

Jericho seemed to hint that he knew what Johnny was going through. He didn’t know the true story of the Ghost Riders. He didn’t know the story of Johnny’s ancestor, Noble Kale. He probably assumed what the legends said were true for all the Ghost Riders. Perhaps it was better that way that he did.

"...You and I both know, all too well, the nature of fear. How it makes the mind irrational, paranoid of even the slightest abnormality within it's structure..."

Johnny could only nod in agreement. Fear was evident in both sides of the spectrum, in good and evil. Many nights had the Ghost Rider looked into the eyes of a murder and see the fear of god in him right before he administered the penance stare.

"We will be next. That much is clear, so I am curious. What road will you take when the time comes? Will you protect the innocent and ignorant humans that simply seek responsibility and order, or protect the gifted that simply wish to live their lives in peace. I am eager to learn where your allegiances fall ..."

Actually it hadn’t been clear to Blaze that they would be next, until Jericho said it. And it was true, no way would they stop at mutants. There was evil in superhumans as well. But what path he would take, that was a much more difficult question to answer.

Humans shouldn’t follow government so blindly. The last time your race choose to follow a leader like lambs, they ended up starting World War two. chuckled Zarathos darkly, and Johnny visibly winced. In his minds eye he suddenly saw mutants and superhumans being herded into concentration camps or being exterminated. It made the Ghost Rider inside of him growl at the injustice of it.

“You overestimate the amount of control I have over this curse.” Johnny finally said with a frown. “People who write the law are hardly innocent, they gave up their innocence when they were elected to make tough decisions for the population. But our kind isn’t innocent either. So know this…”

There was a spark in those blue eyes, as if a lighter had been struck. “I will protect those who are innocent from the battle that is sure to come. But I will not take a side, I’m sticking to the middle road. If a superhuman decides that he or she doesn’t want to register, that’s fine. But when either side starts putting up a fight, and civilians get in the way, it makes it my business.” There was a distinct growl underneath his voice, that put his threat…. No, promise… into a very real perspective.

Jericho nodded in agreement. The rider was right, few were truly innocent on either side, but his staunch position to protect those caught in the crossfire was reassuring to the houngan, while simultaneously filled him with unbridled terror. He prayed that a day would not come that would place them as opponents in the days to come, but no matter what the outcome, Jericho would do what must be done.

"Perhaps you are right. It was foolish of me to assume one such as yourself would restrict himself in such a manner, but I'm sure you know far too well that lines tend to be drawn, regardless of allegiance..." Jericho paused, bowing his head slightly as he realized how his words must have sounded. "It seems I must apologize again, I do not mean to burden you with such talk." Jericho shook his head slightly as he slowly began to back away from the rider, but paused for a moment as though remembering something. He looked towards the horizon, taking note of the quickly vanishing sunset that lay before them. With an almost childlike grin, Jericho seemed to hesitate, almost holding himself back from the notion, but somehow managed to free his words.

"I don't suppose you could show me the-..." Jericho hadn't the time to finish is question. He felt it, quickly approaching, and shaking the very earth beneath them as they approached. The air seemed to shiver a the sound of motorcycles roared down the road and soon an almost endless stream of lights poured over the road, revealing a staggering number of motorcycles speeding across the asphalt. Jericho sighed at the sight, easily able to predict how this cliche would play out.

"It seems I may get to see your abilities firsthand after all..." Jericho murmured to himself as he turned to face the oncoming horde of bikers. As he predicted the massive group roared into the station, raising holy hell to let the world know of their arrival. Jericho almost hesitated to count them all, but he would agues there were at least 30-40 men and perhaps 15-20 women amongst them. The group quickly glared down Johnny and Jericho, eager to start a fight. One of the men quickly hopped off his bike and lumbered within the store. It was clear that he was demanding to fill all his comrades bike's up but lacked the funds to pay for such a transaction. One need not imagine what happened next.

Needless to say, the clerk's face quickly became acquainted with the cash register before being knocked unconscious. Jericho frowned as he turned his attention to the horde outside who were quickly closing in to receive their prize. A few even seemed to fancy Johnny's bike, talking amongst themselves as to who would get to ride it first. Jericho could only grin at the thought.

Finally one of the men spoke up as a wild grin crept across his face.

"Hey boy! My friend's like your bike, why don't you run on home to mamma and leave the big boy toys for the big bad boys!" The others chimed in as they quickly circled the pump stations, surrounding the two heroes as they continued howling wildly before finally coming to a stop. Gradually, they all dismounted, ready to take their new bike and closing in rather quickly.

Jericho simply glanced over at Johnny with a look of minor amusement.

"Would you prefer first blood or shall I...?"

"Perhaps you are right. It was foolish of me to assume one such as yourself would restrict himself in such a manner, but I'm sure you know far too well that lines tend to be drawn, regardless of allegiance...It seems I must apologize again, I do not mean to burden you with such talk."

Johnny smiled slightly and shrugged, “Its alright, it was a good point to make. Glad you brought it up…” It helped him realize that he wasn’t the only one on this planet that had crazy powers to deal with. At the same time, deep within his human soul, he was hoping that Jericho was incorrect. That the superhumans would be spared, and wouldn’t have to be forced to take sides. Because Johnny would have to stay neutral, it was his way.

He opened his mouth to say something, then quickly forgot as he felt the setting of the sun. The burning urge to literally light on fire and become the Ghost Rider started to rise up in him. He managed to control the urge by gripping his smoking hands at his sides. He had hoped to be far past the city by now, but the talk with Jericho had made him forget the time. And now it looked as if he was going crime fighting tonight, weather he wanted to or not.

Jericho had been about to say something as well, but Johnny didn’t hear him. He didn’t hear the motorcycles driving toward them, but he FELT them. He could feel their evil souls approaching him. And it was worse when they starting circling him and Jericho. It was like a claustrophobic being locked in a closet for Johnny. His body started to visibly shake and smoke as his sunglasses fell from his face.

"It seems I may get to see your abilities firsthand after all..."

Johnny’s answering laugh seemed to echo with that of demonic laughter. He literally looked like he would combust into flames at any moment, something he longed to do. He didn’t notice when the bikers all dismounted in a circle and slowly approached the two men.

"Hey boy! My friend's like your bike, why don't you run on home to mamma and leave the big boy toys for the big bad boys!"

That did it. With a burst of bright light, Johnny’s skin disappeared, consumed by the hellfire within his soul. Zarathos laughed with glee as his human host became the Ghost Rider, left with only his skeleton and the flames of the underworld. Finally….

The bikers gasped in shock, staring as Ghost Rider roared with fury. ”Sorry, you can’t handle this bike…” growled the Rider as his bike followed him in transformation. Some of the bikers were starting to take the hint and ran back to their bikes. But the devil’s bounty hunter had them right where he wanted them. Lifting his hands, he growled demonically, and a ring of fire surrounded them, making it impossible for the bikers to leave. They cowered near their bikes. Some tried to escape, but where blasted back toward the rider and the voodoo man.

The Ghost Rider flicked off his chain-whip from the Hellbike, letting it reach out and grab the biker that had spoken, letting it shake him for a moment, before whipping it out and letting him fly across the street into a brick building.

”Prepare to feel the sting of Hell!!!”