2014-2015

The United Center, the arena where the Chicago Blackhawks of the National Hockey League played, was playing “Rock You Like A Hurricane” after Patrick Kane’s third goal was confirmed. It was a beautiful behind the back backhand through the legs and into the net. (Inspired by Seth Griffith’s Amazing Goal.) The goalie for the Winnipeg Jets was stunned.

“Yeah, how about that?” the blond yowled, as he rounded the back of the net. He turned to face the crowd, slamming himself purposefully into the boards. “Showtime, baby!” He screamed out his familiar celebration chant and pointed out across the ice to his Captain and his best friend. “Nice pass Jonny!”

“Nice finish, Kaner!”

Jonathan Toews skidded to a halt and patted his teammate on the head. Traditionally, hats began to rain down on the ice, as Patrick grinned at his close friend. The Hawks all skated back to the bench, allowing the celebration to continue. Everyone congratulated Patrick on his huge night. But no one was happier for him then his best friend, the Captain.

“Way to go Kaner!” they all cried.

“Sick hatty, man!” Andrew Shaw chirped.

“Rock ‘em like a Hurri-Kane, eh?” Jonathan laughed, elbowing Patrick in the arm.

The blond man laughed back. “Showtime, Jonny! I can’t have you leading in the goals department all the time now.”

The spectacle was amazing though. Patrick had just two hat tricks in his career and now a third. A hat trick of hat tricks. He couldn’t feel any more proud and successful. With Jonathan back together with him on his line, anything could happen. But in truth, he dedicated tonight’s dominance and trio of goals to his prankster teammate, Patrick Sharp, who’d been viciously targeted in the first period and had been injured.

He hadn’t returned and the young blond knew that the man the Blackhawks all called “Sharpy” was an unfortunate casualty of the win and he wasn’t coming back. How bad the injury was, was another question altogether. Nevertheless the man had gotten injured and had been playing so well this season. He deserved the dedication.

The game came winding to an end, with the Jets players all pretty much accepting the defeat. Jonathan scored a second goal on an easy empty-netter and the Hawks slaughtered the Jets with a final score of 8-1. The only goal came from big Dustin Byfuglien. Patrick had his hat trick, while Jonathan had two goals and three assists. The other goals came from: Duncan Keith, Niklas Hjalmarsson, and Bryan Bickell. It was an offensive heavy night with many goals and that was good for Chicago. A well deserved win.

“Thanks for passing me the puck Jonny.”

“Hey, you do it for me most of the time.”

“Most?”

“Yeah. Don’t forget Kaner that you don’t always pass me the puck.”

“Yeah, well, neither do you.”

The two had a laugh, before walking down the tunnel and into the locker room. Patrick Sharp, hobbled by his injury, stood there in crutches. He smiled at the two as they entered.

“Sharpy!!” Patrick cried, like a little kid.

“Hey, sick backhander Kaner!” the prankster exclaimed.

“I scored all those goals for you, buddy!! We miss you!” the blond revealed, throwing his arms around the injured man.

“Yeah, well, I miss you too. I won’t be back on the ice for a while though.” He looked down, a bit disappointed.

“Well, still, I dedicate my hatty to you, Sharpy.” Patrick raised his head up, proudly. “You’ll be back before long!”

“I hope.”

“C’mon Kaner, Q’s gonna chat to us about the win!” Jonathan called. “I’d love to hear what he’s gonna say about your goals, man!”

Patrick let go of his friend and skipped - well, whatever you’d call a skipping motion in skates - over to his Captain. They entered the locker room and went to their spots.

****

Meanwhile…

In Russia, at the same time as the Blackhawks’ big win in Winnipeg, a quartet of men sat, gathered around a table. They were in some kind of evil layer, conversing about villain stuff. All around the room, pictures of hockey and doomsday posters littered the walls. It wasn’t a typical villain’s lair, but it passed as one. The walls were blood red with black doors and there were no windows. It resembled more of an office look to the normal person or mere mortal. But this place was jam-packed full of sinister behavior and raw evil filled the place.

One of them stood up, pushing his chair back. He set his palms on the table and leaned forward, eyeing his comrades. He wore an all black outfit, almost like a Dark Batman character and a blood red villain cape. A large letter “K” was printed on his front. On his face, he had a signature scar on the side of his mouth, that almost looked like a dent or a fault line. His dark presence gave him a “Sylar”-like look.

On the wall at the foot of the table, behind him, was a massive flat screen TV with a map of the United States and Canada on it. On the map, pins were marking the placement, state and city of all the National Hockey League teams.

“Well...how are we going to succeed in this?” he asked.

A man, who looked familiar to any hockey enthusiast in the states, rubbed his chin. He was a goon, an ex-Buffalo Sabre and now ex-NHL hockey player. He looked almost like the villain, Penguin, from DC comics. He was dressed in formal wear with a top hat and a tuxedo. He too though, was in all black.

“We want to destroy the NHL, right?” another man questioned, with a clever smirk. He was also, like the ex-Sabre, an ex hockey player of the NHL. He was an ex-Sabre, ex-Canadien and ex-Wild player. He was wearing something similar to the Canuck green-men or the Riddler, only in the color of black. A big letter “V” was plastered on his front to distinguish him from the Vancouver "fans."

“But how are we going to do it, Vanek?!” the fourth man stated, with a roll of his eyes. He resembled a doppelganger type to Mister Sinister. He had a red glowing diamond shape mark in the middle of his forehead. He was in all black and red, like if the NHL produced a villain prototype for the Blackhawk. Out of his tight-fitting black vest top sleeves, he had a pair of midnight black wings.

“Easy, Strum!” the leader hissed.

“Strum” slammed his fist on the table. “No! If Vanek’s going to make stupid remarks, I’m not going to have it! I’m done!” He jumped up from his seat and the diamond mark glowed brighter. He loud out a loud Hawk cry and fire ignited from his palms, as he threw a temper-tantrum.

“Settle down Strum!”

“Make me, Kaleta!”

“Kaleta”, the leader, simply raised his hand up and “Strum” sat back down, extinguishing the fire. The diamond returned to normal on his forehead. He folded his arms, which creaked as he was the only one of the group wearing an armored suit.

“Now, let’s calmly figure out a way of how, we, the LOD can ruin the NHL. Alright? With my smarts and all of you as my henchmen, we’ll strike fear into those hockey playing fools!”

They all cackled evilly.

Notes

I'm not so sure I like this as a beginning chapter, so it may change. But we'll see, I guess.
A Shruinger, I hope you like it. :D
So this is partially inspired by a dream I had, while devouring two kit kat bars before bed. Apparently the things give me weird, vivid, detailed dreams. It is also inspired by my friend A Shruinger's series, and also a little bit from some other stuff.
So what happens when hockey and the super-world collide? Well, I guess it means that Kaner's in trouble again...


Next up: Oh, Kanerboo, you cannot keep yourself outta trouble can you?? Silly Blackhawk.