This nut-brown lad with a white mom and black dad was born with curls that covered his face. Born with lips that pouted, and a nose that shouted out that he would never be victimized on account of his race. Birthed by a mother who loved his dad, he learned to smile and not be sad. Respected his dad. Obeyed his mom. While growing wise and strong. She shunned the tradition of being a mom who worked at home from dusk to dawn waiting for a husband to come home. Instead she chose to raise her kid unlike the way her mother did. Unlike the way that she was told, She made him strong and smart and bold. As an only child the boy refused to deny what was clear to the naked eye that he was both mom's son and daddy's boy. Preferring not to choose a race; preferring instead to chase the dreams he had instead. One day while working at the gym he met a girl a lot like him A girl who later he found out shared more with him than pain and blisters In fact, turns out that she was his sister. Different moms same dad. Same drive to eliminate bad people and conditions around the world. Which drove them both to become a team that could be nice and could be mean when their backs were against the wall. They both seemed to understand that together they could take a stand against ideologies that branded them somehow less than a pure race woman or a pure race man. Like twins they grew and learned to fight. On call morning, noon or night against the haters whom they disliked. His name is Hosteen and hers is Santana. You'll soon find them knocking at your door. The fantastic two, not The Fantastic Four.

Copyright 2009 Dr. Elmer E. Wells


Born a beautiful sepia child with hair down to her waist, green eyes and dimples from a mother unafraid of what people might say she grew up long and strong and rough and tough. Even without her father around, she never cried when she fell down. She didn't wear dresses and she didn't wear shoes. She didn't take drugs and she didn't drink booze. She loved to win. Couldn't stand to lose. White/Black girl. Her mother gave her all that she needed, and you could tell that she succeeded in raising a child who someday would fight evil --do the things she should in order to maintain order. Somewhere one day along the way she met a boy like her one day. A boy who seemed to understand mixed race trials in a foreign land. He called her sister, she called him brother once they found out that they had the same father. So this is their story. Full of blood guts and glory. Where the good guys don't always win. Where revenge is not considered a sin. So stay tuned to the saga of these siblings and their drama. They'll be coming to you in due time. Fighting local and interplanetary crime. Chasing creeps and fighting thieves regardless of race, color or creed. Taking names and chasing scum. Keeping evil on the run. Kicking ass unheeded. Saving lives as needed. You'll find them soon by hook or crook when they debut in my comic book.

© 2009 Dr. Elmer E. Wells

act i

"Hosteen! I can't believe what I'm seeing, but I can clearly see 5 armed intruders entering our compound!" exclaimed Santana, pointing to the screen. "No way!" chuckled Hosteen in disbelief. "See for yourself," barked Santana, with hands on her hips. "It's right here on the monitor." "Uhmmmm. I'll take care of it" yawned Hosteen, sounding a bit irritated. 'No, no, no," countered Santana, with a hint of sarcasm, "allow me." Following a sisterly sock to his shoulder, she stared at him confidently. "Then, I'll come with you," demurred Hosteen quite seriously. "Nah. I'll be O.K., brother dear, I'll be fine. Now let's see. I think I'll take the Bushido Samurai, the Ninja Hack Sword, this chain chuck, a few stars, my lucky Colt LE6933 and my loyal Glock." "No grenades?" "Well, maybe I better take a couple." "I'll be watching. If I get bored, I might drop by." "Dear brother! Don't bother!" Getting to the breached location was a routine task, as was locating the would be intruders. And with compliments to her improved night vision goggles, Santana soon outflanked the plucky quintet. They came to attention simultaneously when they heard her voice, magnified by the collar-pin microphone, exclaim, "What the hell do you think you are doing here?!" Rather than answer the query, the group's apparent leader shouted, "Kick her ass!!" Which turned out to be a fatal command as Santana unleashed her M4 Commando (SBR) minus
the silencer. With return fire lighting up what previously had been a pitch black sky, Santana's silhouette, mockingly responded to their refusal to obey her command. This brief standoff pitted her lucky Colt against their weapons of choice. If measured by amount of lead expended and level of volume generated, (about 160 decibels -imagine the sound of a jet engine 100 feet away), the Colt was winning hands down. Meanwhile, Santana could see the mouths of her antagonists moving like wind-up toys about to run out of batteries. Have you ever seen what a two and three quarters 12 gauge one ounce maximum rifled slug HP can do to a 900 pound carcass of hanging beef at close range? Well, multiply that by 10, as Santana's sights found their mark -leaving one down and 4 to go. As the smoke cleared from the first volley, Santana quickly found herself staring into the eyes of a half crazed assassin bent upon spilling her blood. "Bitch! You are dead pussy!" he screamed, as he made his charge. "Uhmmmm, well, time for a little hand to hand combat," she mumbled to herself. Using about 10% of her Kung Fu training, 20% Karate and even less of her Ninja moves, Santana disarmed him and severed his head from his body using her Ninja Hack Sword. Two down.

© 2009 Dr. Elmer E. Wells

act ii

As Santana searched warily for the remaining 3, she heard a familiar whistle. "Hosteen!" What occurred next would not be possible to print without use of super fast film. The remaining 3 challengers didn't know what hit them, what with being besieged by two human loose cannons working in tandem like two giant rogue unmanned chain saws. "Now look what we've done," purred Hosteen. "Got us 3 hostages to dispose of. Got any ideas?" "Yep." Envision an open area deep in the woods. Hidden in the middle of 3000 acres of foliage, totally surrounded by a 10 foot steel fence. At the edge of this clearing stands 3 rockets. Strapped to each is a man. Men who a short while ago were bent upon ending the lives of two fighters for justice. Now groggily staring at their benefactors. "Let me explain," instructed Santana, approaching the prisoners. "What we have here are three uhmmm, carriages, so to speak, primed to airlift when I press this button. Now for your edification, I'll describe your modes of transportation. You, scum bag, will be riding on an all-weather, over the horizon, anti-ship missile weighing 1,145 pounds, 12 feet, 7 inches by 13 and a half inches; with a penetration high-explosive blast of 488 pounds. It's called the AGM-84 Harpoon, touting a comfortable wing span of 3 feet, traveling at subsonic speed. You, ass hole, will be riding an AIM-9 Sidewinder. A supersonic, heat seeking air-to-air missile with a launch weight of 190 pounds; 9 feet, 5 inches by 5 inches built with a wingspan of 2 feet and off loading an annular blast fragmentation warhead." "And you, you lucky bastard, will be astride the widow maker, officially tabbed the GBU-15, with a power adapted glide unit; 12 feet 10 and a half inches by 18 inches hauling a launch weight of 2,500 pounds. It is referred to by veterans as the Guided Bomb Unit. It has a wing span of 4 feet 11 inches and in this particular model, sports two BLU-109 penetrating bombs. You are all strapped to these missiles and I can assure you that you cannot escape. Oh yes, I almost forgot, since Hosteen likes fireworks, we have attached a belt of illegal (pray tell) fireworks around your waists to entertain him: Skylab 12 inch missiles, Europa II 12-inch missiles, Arrowhead missiles, and 12 shot Wolf Pack missiles; some repeater/cakes, roman candles and shell mortars. We are going to give you all enough liquid marijuana to make you feel like you are on a leisurely ride atop a roller coaster in Disneyland at the time of lift-off. This high will wear off in 10 seconds. The missiles are programmed to explode in 20 seconds following lift-off. Let us know how the final 10 seconds felt." After moving a safe distance away, Santana
continued -"5-4-3-2-1-LIFT OFF!!!" VARoooooMMM!!!
"Not bad," nodded Hosteen, 25 seconds later. "About as good as 4th of July fireworks get."
"Yeah." agreed Santana. "But maybe we should of added some smoke bombs." Nodding her
head, she continued, "You do realize that the AIM-9 alone cost us $84,000.00?"
"Yeah," said Hosteen as if to no one in particular, "we might have to hold a fund raiser."
Copyright 2009 Dr. Elmer E. Wells