0900HRS was chow time. Steve walked through the halls of the prison, two guards flanked him at a safe distance of four feet. Close enough that if he bolted they could get him with their tasers before he got too far, but far enough away that if he turned on them they had time to react. Things had been so much easier before the invention of the Taser. Most of the other prisoners avoided eye contact with him, staying out of his way. While he had been told that the Cold War was over, there still seemed to be a lot of resentment towards America and Americans.
The same old story, the same old disagreements. He worked his way up the food line, ignoring the slop poured onto his tray. Steve worked his way to the back of the mess hall to the one table he was allowed to sit at without it causing any issues with the other denizens of the prison. He nodded to the ageing, but well-toned, Russian who was already sitting at the table. His hair was long and matted, his eyes starting to grey over. Alexei Shostakov had been the original Red Guardian. The two had formed a tentative friendship while Steve taught Alexei how to use his new abilities as a Super-Soldier.
As Alexei aged, and became disgruntled with the fact the KGB was using him as an assassin rather than a soldier he attempted to break Steve out of prison. They had got pretty far too, but it wasn't meant to be. Alexei had been tortured viciously and Steve wasn't entirely sure what the punishment was for. Alexei for betraying his country, or for Steve trying to escape. He had gone without torture himself, but watching what Alexei had to go through had been torture enough.
Few people in the prison messed with Alexei, as they knew. They could do whatever they wanted to the Former Captain America with no repercussions, but to mess with them was to incite Steve's wrath.
The two soldiers nodded at one another as Steve sat down, and started using his fork to raise the stew into his mouth. The meat was burnt and chewy, with little to no flavour. At times he wondered if the cooks were as old as him, as somehow the quality of the food had never changed. It had never gotten worse, nobody ever suffered food poisoning, but it never got better. Not even slightly.
Heavy footfalls meant that the other member of their little trio had arrived, the bench shifting under his weight slightly. A behemoth of a man, Piotr Rasputin was considerably younger than the two old war dogs. Having been discovered to be a mutant with super strength and durability, he had refused to sign up and become part of Russia's Winter Guard program. As a result, once the scientists had tested and tortured him extensively he had been sent here, wherever here was, as it was the only prison capable of holding him.
The kid didn't deserve to be here, all he had wanted was to live a quiet and peaceful life. Steve could understand why Alexei was here, and why he was here. It was twisted, it was messed up but he could see the logic in it. All Piotr had done to get a one-way ticket was choose to not become a weapon.
Steve tried to look after him as best he could, but he was ashamed to admit he couldn't always be there for the kid. Anti-mutant sentiment in the prison was rife, and while he was built for strength the anti-mutant serum he was constantly dosed with always left him a sickly pale colour with his muscles next to useless. A side effect of his daily doses, a so-called cure for the mutant affliction. Dropping his voice low, he leaned in to make sure they weren't overheard. It was unlikely they would have been given the usual noise and chaos of the mess hall, but you could never be too careful. "Piotr. When are you due your next dose?"
"Tomorrow mornink-" Piotrs control of English was still flawed, which is why Steve spoke slowly, even with the most sensitive of subjects. "-Why are you asking?
Steve leaned in, with only the slightest smile on the corner of his lips. "We've got an opening, time to send a message."
“Gentlemen set phasers to stun,” Hammer smiled, chuckling at his joke while Rhodes and Jordan exchanged unamused looks. Straightening his tie, Hammer cleared his throat, his cheeks changing to a shade of scarlet that made his tie look washed out.
“Ahem, more properly this is the Stark Threat Utility Neutralizer, or the ‘S.T.U.N.’, a de-escalation tool designed to numb and nullify enemies in a non-lethal manner. It directly attacks the target, primarily to immobilize them, but more specifically designed to immobilize the mutant gene to render their powers null and void.”
“Is such a weapon legal?” Karoline Farris piped up as Hammer fidgeted his foot uncomfortably.
“It’s uh, a gray area. Technically under current laws, mutants aren’t considered a minority nor a protected class, so they’re not protected from prejudice of any kind.” Hammer replied, “There’s also no way to prove the weapon is specifically designed for use on powered individuals. Our research and development team was very thorough in their keyword use on the patent.”
“With all due respect,” Danvers interjected, “I have no intention of breaking any laws or marginalizing a class of people who can’t help the way they were born. If you want these weapons tested, I’ll only do so with the express purpose of them being used against threats to the safety of the American people, not to subjugate an entire race.”
“My apologies, Captain I didn’t mean to imply-”
“Hammer, did you Hammer up the introductions again?” The snide comment echoed across the tarmac as Tony Stark approached the group, “Why’s everyone looking so hot to trot? Hammer, did you get antsy while I was gone, don’t worry, Daddy’s home?”
Stark smiled at the group, before leaning over and whispering in Hammer’s ear.
“And Papa’ll spank you later for your insolence.”
Spinning around on his heels, Tony took the weaponized gauntlet from Hammer before sliding his arm into it and giving it a couple of swings.
“The S.T.U.N. is incorporated into the gauntlet as a retractable beam weapon. You’ll find it on the rotating cuff. The palm contains the repulsor which is calibrated both for offensive capabilities and flight stabilization. A white glow is utility mode,” Tony demonstrated, pointing the gauntlet towards the ground before launching himself slightly to the side with a controlled burst.
“Orange is offensive,” He sneered, suddenly turning the weapon on Hammer who instantly froze. The collected pilots tensed up at the display. Almost every one of them was military and they knew better than to point a weapon at someone you didn’t intend to shoot.
“I’m just having fun,” Stark said, breaking the tense silence as Rhodes took a step toward his old friend. The palm of the gauntlet resumed its pale white glow as Tony removed his hand.
“The forearm contains another weapon slot, might I suggest a Stark Mutli-Phase Missle, but we’ll let you customize your payloads another day. For the time being, flight is the name of the game.”
Tony rubbed his hands together eagerly.
“Alright, callsigns, ladies and gents.”
“Highball,” Jordan replied as Tony rolled his eyes.
“Right, the alcoholic,” Tony turned and pointed to Karoline, “What about you city girl?”
“Star Sapph-” Major Major attempted to interject before catching a quick elbow to the ribs.
“Spitfire,” Karoline stated flatly, casting a side-eye toward Jordan.
“Yeah you are,” Tony replied before pointing to Danvers. “Your turn, space cadet,”
“Flamebird.” She replied as Tony looked between the two women.
“Did you two coordinate that?” He accused mockingly, “Hopefully the fire theme doesn’t extend to any other burning, Highball any comment?”
“No comment,”
“How about you, my patriotic friend?” Tony asked turning to Rhodes, “The pilot and the mechanic working together again, you must have a great callsign, why don’t we just call you Patriot?”
“Tony, you know damn well my callsign is Shellshock.”
“I’m just saying it’s a rebranding opportunity,” Tony smirked,
“That’s what I said!”
“Joint venture, you and me, the Iron Man and the Iron Patriot,”
“I’d sooner be called War Machine.” Rhodes deadpanned.
“Careful what you wish for, buddy,” Tony replied, slapping James on the back, “When you win this thing, sorry ladies, you might just be.”
“Tony, I-”
“No arguments!” Tony shouted, turning on Hammer, “Why aren’t they in their suits?”
“Jordan made some modifications and I needed to-”
“You Hammered it up again, didn't you?” Tony replied dismissively, “No matter, Daddy is here now, so let's make this right.” He whistled as the four prototype Personal Aviation Suits were brought forward.
“Really Jordan? This gaudy green?”
“Better than hot rod red.” Jordan shot back, smacking his gum as Tony raised an eyebrow.
“You’re entitled to being wrong,” Tony shot back, “Alright Shellshock, you’re in the blue and white, Flamebird, you’ve got red and blue. Spitfire, purple and gold and I guess Jordan you’ve got green and gold.”
“Sweet, we’re going to look like Power Rangers.”
“Jordan can you just,” Tony waggled a finger at the slightly younger man, “Can you just be cool for once.”
Jackie squeals with delight the higher the swing gets. "Higher, higher!" she says. I smile to myself, closing my eyes. The exhaustion is starting to kick in. I need to rest. I stop pushing Jackie, the swing slowly rocking back and forth before settling in its original position. Jackie looks at me from over her shoulder, her lips pulled into a pout. "What's wrong, mister Charlie?"
"Tired... Real tired."
"Are you done playing?"
I sigh. "I don't think I've got enough in me to keep going." I look at the other kids, still chasing each other around jungle gyms and spring riders and a merry-go-round. "Why don't you go play with them?" I ask, gesturing to the other children.
Jackie's expression falls at that. "They don't want to play with me."
"Why not?"
"They call me stupid."
I furl my brow at that. I kneel down to be at eye level with Jackie and ask her a simple question: "Are you stupid?"
She grips the chains of the swing tighter at that, avoiding my gaze. "... Yeah..."
I place a hand on her shoulder and her eyes come back up to meet mine. "You're not. And don't let anyone ever tell you that you are." I smile at her reassuringly. "You're very special. More than you might think. And one day everyone will know how special you are."
She smiles at me, a bright smile. Full of innocence. Full of hope. In the blink of an eye her arms are pressed against my chest in a hug, too small to wrap around my torso fully but squeezing tightly all the same. I wrap an arm around her, patting her on the back. After a moment she finally parts, that smile still shining. I stand back up and step away from her. "I've gotta go now. But I'll see you again. Don't worry."
"Bye mister Charlie!" She waves at me as I turn away and walk to the back door. When I get there, I see the sister that led me to the yard speaking with a pair of police officers. She looks worried, gesticulating wildly while the cops loom over her menacingly. One of them is gripping his baton tightly, like he's ready to strike.
I'm on them in an instant. "What's going on?" I ask, glaring at the cops.
One of them grins, baring his nasty yellow teeth. "Nothin' that involves you, sir."
The nun looks at me, eyes wide in fear. Her voice is shaky. "They're coming to take Jackie."
"We're taking the girl to her mother," the other cop says.
"I can save you the trouble. I'll take her there."
"You? Frankly, I don't even know who you are, buddy. We ain't lettin' some rando guy take the Mayor's niece." The first cop steps forward, gripping his baton in both hands. "Now move!" He shoves me back.
Think of the Butterfly. Think of its softly beating wings.
"You wish you hadn't done that," I say.
"You mean you wish I hadn't."
"No." I place a hand on his baton between his hands, grabbing it tightly and yanking it upwards before throwing a fist into his gut. As his body reels back from the hit I take the baton from his hands and strike him in the face with it, spinning around with the swing and ducking low into a sweeping kick. Always my favorite move. "You wish you hadn't."
The sound of the children playing has stopped and I see all of them looking in my direction with wide eyes, faces distorted in horror. I twist my head to look at the other cop and find him holding a gun to the sister's head, his arm wrapped around her neck. "Hold it there, hotshot. Make another move and I blow her fucking brains out." I drop the baton as the first cop pulls himself to his feet, groaning.
He grabs his baton off the ground and swings it at my face, my head snapping back as I fall to the ground. I blink rapidly, dazed, as he kicks me in the ribs and walks away. "C'mere girl," he snarls and I hear Jackie screaming. "Keep kickin' and I'll cap ya!"
The edges of my vision are going dark. Can't move. I try, God do I try, but I can't pull myself off the cold hard ground. The last thing I hear before slipping into unconsciousness is Jackie crying out, "Mister Charlie! Help!"
“Jean I...you...can-” Scott stopped, leaning his head up before flopping back in his seat. Jean felt her spirits deflating, but at the same time there was a shade of amusement in seeing him squirm like never before. His thoughts were bouncing all over the place: gripes of befuddlement, tidbits of fear, and a conflict of a deep respect for his wife with the new need to reconcile with- “I just don’t understand how you can think of something so reckless!”
Nathan let out a low whine, so Jean plopped him on the floor and watched him shuffle off to play with some of his blocks. “Look, it’s just… After yesterday I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do about, well, not even just the mutant kid. But that was what started it. I think this can be a way to make a better world for mutants!”
Scott gave a slow nod. He lowered the volume on the TV. “Sure, but there’s also activism, which is less...illegal.” The TV was on some daytime television, but the vague gesture conveyed plenty of his intent. “I really don’t think the government is going to let this go. It’s catching on fast: the news can’t keep up at all. There’s plenty of heroes and there will be plenty more.”
“Are there any here in Baltimore yet?”
Scott was given pause, licking his lips before flipping the channel to local news. They happened to be covering some sightings in Washington D.C., concerns being cited about the safety of government officials, but it was quiet on the home front. Scott picked up his phone, typing in a search before scanning the results and giving up. “Well Google sucks but no, there aren’t any Baltimore heroes yet.” Cracking a smile he admitted, “You got me there but you’re not out of the woods yet!” Heel bouncing up and down, he let out a sigh before relenting, “I know you have nothing but good intent, and you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through.”
Jean leaned forward, reaching a hand out and stroking Scott on the knee, the limb slowing to a stop. He took a breath to steady himself. “I know you don’t want me to get hurt, but even if I don’t become a hero, I can’t abandon him, and he might hurt me if I try to reach out. I’m strong: me and those inhibitors never got along, you know that.” Scott shuddered. Jean didn’t need to peek into his mind as he recalled her recounting a childhood of drugs and prayer used to keep her powers in check. In high school she’d taken him to the ruins of an old mansion, crushed and burnt. Officially it was blamed on vandals, but Jean claimed her parents brought her there to try and ‘let it all out’. She didn’t even remember a bit of it, just that she’d been told it hadn’t worked. What followed had no doubt been more inhibitors, more sedatives, more prayer, more memory loss. Even if the systems in place worked for most, some slipped through the cracks. Some weren’t a fit at all. “I could use some practice, but I can think that I can do more.”
Scott flashed his teeth in a grimace. He looked over at Nathan, who’d just collapsed a block tower, letting out a squeal of surprise and looking over at his parents, who gave smiles and waves. “I’m sure if you had this thought last year-”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have heard the start of it.” Newborns were always a handful, and Nathan had been no different. Even having made the work schedules work to ensure he had constant care, things were much calmer now all things considered. While he was certainly rambunctious, Jean had begun to suspected he had mutant powers already (though Scott insisted it was parental bias: the tendency for the average kid to be seen as above average by their parents). Still, he had an uncanny sense of picking up on emotions, staying away in this moment of parental agitation. He was also more than willing to playing on his own for fair periods of time. Maybe he would be the loner type? He certainly wasn’t at a lack for parental smothering, but if he wanted space Jean and Scott were more than eager to give it to him. He even tended to sleep when they did. Usually. He had his bad days naturally, but he was a goddamn angel.
“I don’t know if you can be a superhero and a teacher. We need the money, and if anyone is going to quit I’d rather it be me. You already help those kids just by being there for them! Having the calendar so they can set up days to talk to you in private, I love that! And you make more money than me. Things are hurting enough as it is.”
Jean raised an eyebrow. “You said you didn’t want to let our student debts get in the way of doing what we want to do.”
“Yeah, like...travel.”
“Look, I think there’s some areas I can be a bit more efficient. I can cut an hour more of sleep, I already can’t stay awake for long. I think Nathan’s prevented me from ever having deep sleep again. And let’s not think about if we ever do decide to have another kid.”
“Wait, you are thinking about another kid?!”
“No! Well, not soon!” Scott puffed out his cheeks, before bursting out in a chortle. Jean slapped him on the shoulder but she was laughing too.
Catching his breath. “Two kids, a teaching career, and a superhero? You really are a Superwoman.”
“I can come up with a better name than that… I was thinking, like, resilience. Mutants have been tread on for so long, but we’re strong and can be stronger.”
“Like as in just 'Resilience'? Hmm, we could workshop it.”
“No something that gives the idea of resilience. Like...'Firebird'. Rising from the ashes again and again. And...you know.” She waved her fingers, imitating the motion of fire.
Scott thought on it for a moment, before blurting, “...So if we stick to a mythological creature thing I would be 'Cyclops'?”
Jean gawked. “Well they’re usually just evil monsters. And wouldn’t it be 'Biclops'?”
Shaking his head, Scott revealed, “I took some videos before to see what my beams were like, years ago. They end up becoming one, so it’s like I have one eye.” He mimed his own laserbeams, two hands coming from his eyes and lightly clapping to form one.
Jean stared “...You’ve thought about this before. You’ve been thinking about!” Planting a hand on her face she gave a smile of disbelief, standing up.
“Of course I have! Everyone’s thought about being a superhero, or having superpowers.”
“I can’t believe you.”
“If you don't believe me you could always check!” Scott tapped his fingers against his brain case. Jean shook her head. She knew that he had no interest in being a hero himself. He was happy with things as they were and Jean wanted to upend that for her selfish desires. Selfless in the macro sense, sure, but with a heavy cost to their domestic life.
Feeling Nathan tug at her pant leg, she lifted him up, pecked him on the cheek, and sat back down. “Do you wanna be a superhero? Huh?”
“Bbabababa.”
“I don’t think the news outlets will be able to spell that name very well but it’s bold! Daring!”
Scott whispered to him, “Go with Cable.” Jean gave him a look. “He pulled the cable from behind the TV and tried to bite it earlier. I dunno, it just hit me.” Jean shook her head, and Scott reached over, running his fingers across her cheek, catching a lock of her hair. “Even if I wasn’t terrified of losing you, do you think you can go out there and fight knowing what might happen if your identity gets out there? I’m so glad we’re talking about this and I’m not finding out the Fantastic Firebird on the news is my lovely wife in a goofy mask, but what happens when everyone else finds out?”
Jean winced, her face screwing up in pain as she imagined the worst case. It was far from the last thing she thought of. In fact, it was first. The elephant in the room Scott finally paid mind to. She reached up and clutched his hand, running a thumb across its back. “I know,” she silently mouthed.
Scott gave her a long hard look, then took a long hard sigh. Nathan took a few steps across the couch towards him. “Well, I trust you with my life. If you still think it’s a good idea, I’ll be behind you every step of the way.” Tapping his sunglasses, he added, “If some bad guy knocks on the door maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to figure this thing out. But I just don’t want you to have second thoughts when its too late. No half arsing something, full arse it. Oh, oop.”
Scott’s careful words were punctuated with Nathan grabbing his sunglasses and gradually pulling them from his face. Jean sat up straight, but Scott only smiled, eyes perfectly closed. “We’re good, we do this all the time.” Scott took Nathan up from his underarms before placing him on the ground, letting him run off, Scott’s sunglasses waving in his hand. Scott quietly counted to ten before standing up, carefully stalking after the child, trapped in his pen. He didn’t collide with anything, brushing lightly against their table and couch before swooping in on Nathan with a playful growl, the toddler screaming in glee. Curling on the couch as he put his glasses back on and wrestled with Nathan, she felt her heart melting. Came out of the eyes for some reason. Beating back tears, so too did her doubts wash away, as she saw the two things she most loved in the world somehow give her something she never would have had the courage to ask for or the confidence to think she deserved: more to love.
Jean and Scott had gone through so much that she didn’t want Nathan to go through as well, if he was as much a mutant as them. For all that she’d been blessed with, in order to give Nathan what he deserved, she’d have to find her wings, and fly.
Iris came to a halt outside the door, allowing herself two deep breathes to get her breathing under control and allowing her hair to settle back down. Knocking on the hard familiar wood, she grabbed the old cold handle and pushed the door open. "Dad, I'm home!" Ever since they had been little, Sunday Nights had always been family dinner nights at the West household. They weren't overly religious, her father just always found it important that they spend time together as a family. "Dad?! Having secured the door, she tossed her keys into the bowl on the nearby shelf. Not even having to look before there was the familiar clink as the keys settled in. It was all just muscle memory.
"Kitchen."
Walking into the kitchen she felt the smile possess her face as she rushed forward, at a normal non-metahuman speed, and grabbed her dad in a great big hug. The smell of the roasting beef and boiling vegetables assaulted her nose, and she could already feel her stomach start to rumble. One of the more interesting side effects of her abilities was the fact she could eat as much as she wanted. She actively needed too.
Barry had said it had something to do with the amount of calories her body was burning with her enhanced metabolism. All she cared about was that she could treat herself to that bucket of ice cream and pizza on a Friday night, and not even have to worry about it. Stepping back she looked through to the dining room as she heard voices, but was surprised to find that other than the old TV playing some TV show in the corner it was completely vacant. "Bar running late?"
Her concern grew as she walked into the dining room to put her coat on the back of her chair, when she noticed that only two seats had been set at the table. "No, he called earlier. Said he's got another commitment."
Iris felt her heart sink slightly. "Oh... work?" She turned back to face her father, hands on the back of her chair.
"Not that I know off. He wrapped up the Condiment King case earlier, I don't think he has anything else pressing-" Iris had to stop herself from audibly wincing at the mention of the Condiment King. Some Superhero she was going to be.
"The Condiment King?"
"Yeah, some costumed freak trying to rob the bank. He was stopped by that woman that has been travelling the city at superspeed helping out."
Iris nodded as she pulled her chair out, looking at the TV she was surprised to see an old conspiracy documentary playing. One that Barry had obsessed over throughout his teen years in the hunt for his mother's true killer, looking for people who could do impossible things. People who could do things even mutants couldn't achieve. "Is that why you're watching this old thing?" she jabbed her thumb towards the television as Joe walked into the room carrying piles of food, sitting it down on the table.
"Well-" He shrugged. "-we always dismissed what Barry said. We knew about mutants sure, but the Justice Society of America? Invaders? Howling Commandos?" Joe just chuckled to himself.
"It always just seemed like propaganda for the war, I mean. I remember growing up with the comics and the old black and white films."
Old grainy black-and-white footage played on the screen, occasionally interrupted by the talking head of a man sitting in an office surrounded by papers. "I mean, it just seems so riidddiiiiccccc-" Time slowed as her brain sped up. On the screen was an old clip of the famed Captain America, with a couple of other soldiers in weird and wonderful costumes.
She had seen it one hundred and one times, what she had never noticed before was the static and the blur that crossed the screen at this exact moment. That which everyone had always attributed to damaged tape. Instead was a man, a man wearing a winged helmet with a lightning bolt embroidered on his chest. A man, who could move as fast as she could. She snapped back to the moment. "-uuuullloous." Joe chuckled to himself, and Iris joined in weakly.
As she piled food onto her plate. "I have a question-"
Joe pointed to her plate heaped with food. "So long as it doesn't lead to me thinking I have my first grandbaby on the way."
"Huh?" She looked at the sheer amount on her plate and brushed slightly. "Oh, no. No, no no. Nothing like that, I've just uh. Had a couple of big days at the gym." She chuckled as she picked up a chunk of meat with her fork, chewing it before continuing with her thought. "What do you think of this hero going around Central City?"
Joe paused for a moment, weighing the question. "I think her hearts in the right place, and I can't argue that she's done some good."
"I sense a but coming-"
[coolor=lightgoldenrodyellow]"I don't worry for her, I think she aims to do good and I respect that. Choosing to be something more, to help normal people. I just worry for the other side of things."[/color]
Iris held her fork at her mouth and lowered it back down to her plate. "What do you mean?"
"You've seen the news. You've got heroes crawling out of the woodwork, all inspired by this-" He swirled his hand around trying to think of the word, the name.
"Superman." She offered.
"That's the one. Since he came out in Metropolis we've seen more and more of them, and now we have this Condiment King. Who, let us be honest was more a nuisance than a threat-" he didn't know the half of it. "-I just worry that the threats are going to get bigger, as a result of that. In a never-ending game of escalation."
STAR LABS // CENTRAL CITY
Harrison clambered through the debris of the treadmill. He threw most of it into a pile, heaping it up as it wasn't important. Reaching deeper down he pulled out a battery pack. A smile crossed his face, he could practically feel the energy pulsing within. This right here, this discovery. This is what would lead him to change the world. Stark and Trask were focused on pushing the mutants and the metahumans down. They didn't even realise how much of an asset they could be, how much they could learn about the world they lived in. The advances they could make to science.
Instead, they were blinded by their ego. Their fear. Men were afraid of what they couldn't understand or explain.
Harrison would understand it, and he would be the face that changed the world.
This speed, this power source that Miss West emanated, coursed through her veins. It was the key. Picking up his phone he dialed a number. It rang out, waiting for the beep of the answerphone. "Hey, its Harrison. Are you still looking for a power-source for your project?" He held up the battery in one hand closer to his eyes, he could almost feel the power within it. "Because I think I have something that you might be interested in."
Michael's fingers tapped away on the keyboard as the glow of the multiple monitors in front of him illuminated his serious expression in the dark room. He wasn't going to let his still-healing arm slow him down. The Gazzos wouldn't wait for him just because he wasn't at 100%. They had been a thorn in Metropolis' side for far too long, and if the police weren't going to step up, he would. He leaned back in his chair, deep in thought as he considered all the possible ways to get a lead on them. His mind began replaying the events of his first night. He couldn't afford another mistake like that. He had made it out alive, but just barely.
With a deep breath, he leaned forward and began typing again. His fingers a flurry as lines of code filled the screen in front of him. Before long he had tapped into the city's surveillance camera network. The Gazzo crime family was careful, but nobody was perfect. There had to be a trail somewhere, something he could use to bring them down. He had already bypassed the firewall of a few security cameras near the site of the botched gun deal, hoping to catch a glimpse of any movement leading up to it. But now, he was expanding his search, broadening his net across the entire city.
He sifted through hours of footage, trying to spot any small clue or trail they had left. His eye was drawn to the monitor on his left, displaying the feed from one of his T-Spheres. It floated around his apartment conducting diagnostic checks and scanning as much as it could. He was proud of the little inventions for sure, but there was always room for improvement. Sure they had gotten the flight system working, but had he not regained his steely resolve and managed to signal for them to catch him he might have been six feet under. He couldn’t shake the memory of falling, the helplessness as gravity took hold and his life hung by a thread. He needed more control, faster response times. He and Alex had discussed the idea of implementing an AI component to the Spheres. One that would allow them to make decisions on their own and react to situations as they unfolded. A pipe dream at the moment. Their resources were stretched thin as it was and AI wasn't exactly the most profitable venture at the moment.
He raised a mug of coffee up to his lips as he brought up a news website on the monitor to his right. A few clicks and the face of Bolivar Trask was on his screen, his announcement of The Sentinel Program hadn't escaped Michael's attention. For a moment the thought of stealing the tech ran through his mind, but he shook this from his head. His little robots were no match for the hulking giants standing behind Trask and he'd have much worse than a broken arm if those things caught him.
He clicked onto the next video, and Tony Stark appeared on screen with his usual flair. Michael didn't usually pay much attention to the playboy antics of the billionaire. But tonight, Stark was flaunting something that couldn’t be ignored: the War Machine suits. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease. These suits were far beyond anything he and Alex could create in their small flat, let alone Trask's AI automatons. The thought of such advanced tech in the wrong hands made his stomach twist. The world was changing fast, and the stakes were higher than ever. But he couldn’t afford distractions. The Gazzo family was still out there, and they wouldn’t wait for him to catch up.
His thoughts were interrupted by a flicker on one of the screens. He rewound the footage and leaned in closer. There, at the edge of the frame, was a familiar figure—one of the Gazzo enforcers, Fredo Frossi, slipping into a nondescript sedan. The timestamp showed it was recorded just an hour before the gun deal. Michael's eyes narrowed as he began tracing the car’s route through the city, jumping from one camera feed to another. The sedan made several seemingly random turns, clearly trying to shake any potential tails, but Michael easily kept track as he rewound and fast forwarded any footage. Eventually, the car pulled into a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, tucked away in a forgotten district.
"Bingo."
He attempted to tap into the camera feeds around the warehouse. No dice. All of them were encrypted and it would take far too long for him to crack the encryption. Instead he tapped into one across the street and zoomed in as far as he could. The place was more like a fortress than a warehouse, it was covered in cameras and he could see rough looking Italians all over the place. He needed to be smart about this, a confrontation with that many guys would no doubt result in a trip to the ER at best or the undertaker at worst.
He pushed back from his desk and grabbed his jacket, wincing slightly as his shoulder reminded him it wasn't fully healed. Alex looked up from his own workstation. "You heading out man? If you're going to a shop can you pick me up some iced coffee? Think I'm going to be up all night with this code."
"I'll try to remember. I found one of the Gazzos safe houses." Michael replied. Alex stopped typing, peering around the side of his monitor to look Michael in the eye as he continued speaking. "I'm going to go and check it out, see what I can find. If I can get inside maybe I can figure out how they're getting their stuff into the city."
Alex frowned. "Are you sure that's a good idea, bro? Your arm is still banged up from the other night. The brace is good, but I doubt it would survive you throwing punches with it on, or falling down another fire escape. Maybe we should take a step back, work on upgrading the Spheres first. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with here."
Michael shook his head. "If I wait, they’ll move everything, and we’ll be back to square one. Besides, I’m not going in guns blazing. I’ll be in and out before they even know I’m there."
Alex sighed. He could tell from the tone of Michael's voice that there was no point in arguing. He could be a stubborn bastard at times, for better and for worse. "Just… be careful, alright? We’re not exactly swimming in cash right now. I can’t afford to design a new arm brace if you end up breaking something else. And god knows how I'd do the accounting around here if you get yourself killed."
Michael smirked, grabbing a small case of equipment and slinging it over his good shoulder. "I’ll be fine. Keep your phone on you, though, just in case."
He left his apartment and started walking down the street. The sun had long since set and the city's nightlife buzzed around him. Drunk couples and loud frat boys spilled their way out of bars laughing and bickering. Michael did his best to blend into the crowd as he made his way to the industrial district, his mind already trying to work out an infiltration plan as he got closer. Ideally he'd go completely unnoticed, but worst case scenario he could use his Spheres to provide a bit of controlled chaos if he had to make a sudden escape.
The warehouse came into sight and Michael ducked into a nearby alley. He lowered his equipment case to the floor and clicked it open to reveal his T-Spheres, now fully charged and ready for action. He spread the nanogel on his face and as his eyes flickered red the T-Spheres came to life and floated up in front of him. The interface on his mask fully loaded, bringing up a HUD that displayed their status and the surrounding environment. He ran through a final systems check, ensuring everything was in order.
The Spheres darted off, moving in perfect synchronization as they began their sweep of the perimeter. Michael stayed low, creeping along the building’s edge as he kept one eye on the security feeds being relayed back to his mask. The guards were well-armed but sloppy, more interested in their conversations than their surroundings. It would be easy to slip past them—at least, that’s what he hoped.
He paused behind a dumpster near a side door. Waiting for two guards to finish their conversation and move away from it. He quickly lurched over to the door, trying the handle before noticing an electronic keypad on the wall. Electronic yes, but nothing too sophisticated. He stood eye level with it and used his mask to zoom in on each of the keys, noting small indents on specific keys that had been pressed more than others. 4 Numbers, 24 possible combinations. He glanced left and right, he'd need to be quick. Seconds felt like hours as he pressed the keys over and over in different orders, every nerve in his body on high alert.
Finally, the door clicked open. Michael slipped inside, the T-Spheres hovering close behind as he moved through the dimly lit corridors. The warehouse was vast, filled with crates and equipment, men sat on makeshift chairs playing cards on makeshift tables. He moved silently, his footsteps barely making a sound as he avoided being spotted and approached a door at the far end of the hall. It was slightly ajar, and he could hear voices inside.
"We need to tighten security after that last fuck-up. The boss is gonna have my head if something like this happens again. I don’t want any more surprises. Move the shipments up tonight. And find out who the hell this guy is. I want him dead before he becomes a bigger problem."
Michael’s breath caught in his throat. This was bigger than he had anticipated. The Gazzos were spooked, and wanted him dead. He needed to get that information and get out, but he couldn’t risk being seen. He glanced at the T-Spheres, their silent hum reassuring him. With a few quick commands, he sent them to work and they floated over to a laptop open on the table in the room, uploading the data from the documents while he kept watch.
It was a tense few minutes, but finally, the download was complete. Michael pulled back, carefully making his way back through the warehouse, his heart still pounding. As he slipped through the door and back into the night, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had done it, and this time without any broken bones. But as he moved away from the warehouse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Gazzo family was planning something big, and he had only scratched the surface. The real challenge was still ahead, and he needed to be ready for whatever came next.
For now, though, it was time to head back to the apartment and go through the data he had gathered. The investigation was far from over.
Carmine Gazzo sat in the back of the dark, smokey bar in his private booth. His tall, lean form was relaxed, though his mind was anything but. He sipped on a glass of water, rage bubbled underneath the surface but putting this on display was bad for his health, and bad for business. So, he kept his emotions tightly in check, his face a mask of composure, even as his mind was deep in thought about the vigilante threatening his operations.
His eyes shot over to the door at the end of the bar as a slight man wearing a perfectly tailored suit made his way over to the mob boss. As he got closer, Carmine noticed an eyepatch underneath a pair of dark sunglasses. The man took a seat opposite him. To the wider world, he was an unknown, a man who didn't need headlines to prove his worth. But to those in the know, he was Crossfire, a cold and efficient assassin known for his discretion.
Crossfire didn't waste any time with small talk. "You've got a problem," he stated, his voice low and steady, cutting through the noise around them. "I can solve it."
Carmine looked back at the man, his fingers drumming on the table as he took another sip of water. "Someone has been messing with my operations." He said, his voice tinged with spite. "A man. Don’t know who he is yet, but he’s been sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Made off with something from my warehouse last night. Took out a few of my guys last time he showed up. We think he's in his early 20s, supposedly has these floating metal things he uses. Don't know his name yet, nut I don’t need to know his name to know he’s becoming a problem."
Crossfire barely reacted. He had heard stories like this before. The only thing out of the ordinary was the gadgets, but that was no concern for a killer like him. "What do you want done?"
Gazzo leaned forward slightly, his expression still cool. "I want him dead, and I want it done quietly. No attention, no mess. Then you recover the body and we can send a message to any other freaks who want to fuck with us. I don't care about his little toys, sooner or later he's gotta slip, and when he does I want you to be there to put a bullet in him."
"Sounds like he's already slipped if he’s come after your warehouse. You’ve got a location?"
Carmine nodded, sliding over a piece of paper with an address written on it. "One of my warehouses on the edge of town. Security cameras all over the joint, but we couldn't make out his face. Got word from one of my Capo's he'd stolen some documents from us. Whoever this guy is, he’s getting bolder. He’s not just watching us anymore. He’s getting inside."
Crossfire smiled. "I’ve taken down bigger targets with less. He won’t even know I’m coming. By the time he realizes what's happening, it'll already be over."
Carmine slid a slim black envelope across the table. "Half now. The rest when the job’s done."
Crossfire slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket without a word. He stood up, his movements deliberate and fluid, every step calculated. "Consider it done," he said before turning and heading toward the exit.
1030HRS was yard time. Or rather, what used to be yard time. Steve hadn't been allowed in the yard since the summer of '85. As such at 1030HRS while everyone else went outside to enjoy the weather, Steve had the choice of retreating into the library or the gym. He and Alexei liked to alternate their days, technically speaking Alexei hadn't been banned from the yard. At this point, the guards couldn't be bothered to separate the two ageing super-soldiers. Walking into the empty gym Steve nodded at one of the guards, speaking in his broken attempt at Russian. <Good Afternoon Viktor. How are the mushrooms?>
The two guards looked at each other with a confused look on their faces, Alexei shrugged as Steve ran the words through his head again. Добрый день, Сержи. Как грибы? No, that wasn't right. He held up a finger to indicate to give him a second while he worked it out. <How are the kids? He put extra emphasis on the last word.
Viktor nodded. "They are well, thanking you Mister Rogers." Steve nodded, guiding Alexei deeper into the gym.
"I do not see why you feel the need to do that." The old man croaked as he sat on the bench beside Steves. Steve merely smiled as he walked around the bench setting up the weights. An easy 1000lbs to warm up.
"Viktor, and many of the guards here now have only ever been good to me-" Alexei nodded.
"Many of the old resentments and prejudices seem to be gone."
Steve lay down on the cold hard bench, a familiar sensation. He pushed the bar off its rest, lowering it slowly allowing the blood to start pumping. "And yet-" he grunted as he pushed the bar back up into the air, holding it for a couple of seconds before letting it come back towards his chest. "-new ones seem to rise to replace them."
Alexei watched on, his head bobbing up and down with the bar to count the reps. "Do you really think our two countries could become allies. Resentment runs deep."
Steve smirked as he finished his set and put the bar back at rest, swinging his legs around till he was seated on the stool. "The two of us managed it, old friend."
Alexei chuckled. "I do not think our shared experiences are exchangeable."
That was probably true, Steves expression went distant as he thought back to the cold nights. To the torture, and the experimentation. He had been tested before, but what he was subjected too here -
Steve shook his head bringing himself back to the present. "How is your French Alexei?"
Alexei raised an eyebrow, then replied in French. <About as good as it was last time.>
How is your French was a code the two of them had developed for when they wanted to talk without anyone else knowing what they were saying. Yes, they ran the risk of anything they said being translated however for the very rare occasions where Steve and Alexei spoke in French to keep secrets, they spoke in French twice as often to discuss mundane things like the weather and the food. <Excellent. It is lovely weather we're having today, it's a shame I won't get to go out into the yard.>
<I am looking forward to it later while on work-duty.>
Steve nodded as he lay back down for another set. <You are cutting logs, correct?>
Alexei nodded. <Yes, we stack them in the North West corner to dry out in time for winter.> Steve nodded. <Five more reps.> Steve could feel the heat rising as his body started to work, he could easily handle more weight. The issue was the bar didn't have the space for much more.
<You do a good job with the logs, plenty to keep us warm in the harshest winter.>
<So why now?
Steve sat up after his last rep and raised an eyebrow. <What do you mean?>
<You know exactly what I mean. Why, now?>
Steve merely shrugged. <I see an opportunity.>
<And the fire?>
A boyish grin crossed the old soldier's face. <Promise you won't call me mad?>
<No.>
Steve laughed and then shrugged his shoulders. <I have tried breaking out myself several times->
<Many times.>
He nodded at the correction. <Fine. Many times, but I'm still here.> He leaned in closer to Alexei. <It's time to think outside of the box.>
They both looked up as they heard a commotion at the door. The guards saluted as a man in a red outfit walked in. White belt around his waist, a white star in his chest and his cowl had three white stripes atop it. In his left hand was a red shield. Very little while in prison angered Steve as much as seeing his shield repainted, and carried around by his captors.
Steve stood up, standing as tall as he possibly could. Alexei stayed seated, his back to his younger replacement. "Greetings comrades! I am Nikolai Krylenko, the Red Guardian."
"For now...
Both Steve and Nikolai snapped too the old man sat atop his bench. "Excuse me?"
Alexei stood up and turned to the young Red Guardian. "How long did they give you?"
"I do not understand what you mean-"
"Don't pay any attention to-"
"How long did they tell you the serum would last for?" He indicated to himself, and his frail old bones. "I am not so old as you think." Without another word, the former Red Guardian barged his way passed. When the guards attempted to step in his way to prevent his escape, Nikolai just waved them off. Trying to appear unphased, and unrattled by Alexeis comment.
If the moment hadn't been so serious, Steve may have smiled. The old dog was cunning he had to give him that, getting in Nikolais head. Filling him with doubts over the serum. Nikolai was well into his eighties now, and while frailty was starting to catch up with him he could probably still take out any single one of the guards here without breaking much of a sweat.
Steve cleared his throat and offered the costumed soldier his hand. "Steve Rogers-" They shook hands, Steve not reacting as Nikolai attempted squeezing his hand as tight as possible. "-shall we get started?"
“Hey kid,” I say, nudging the sleeping teenager with the toe of my boot, “breakfast is almost ready.”
Kitty stirs, and I groggily step back into the main room of the small cabin to give her some privacy. Outside, the morning sun has warmed the valley to just being too-goddamned-cold instead of deadly, but I close the cabin door behind me to keep as much warmth in as possible as I step bleary-eyed outside and trudge through the snow.
“*Sniff*...yeah, not much longer,” I say as I get a nose full of wood smoke, mixed with the salty smell of fatty meat cooking. Just the smell of it wakes me up a little, enough to make me realize how tired I am.
I kept watch on the cabin until Kitty calmed down enough to fall asleep, and I've been busy since the dead of night. I took care of the hardest job first: digging a long ditch to bury the men outside. I was lucky enough to find a ditch a few hundred meters from the cabin, and my claws make me better than most at digging and burrowing, but even then, after carving out enough room for fourteen bodies and their gear, dragging them through the woods, and then covering them up, I was about spent.
Still, we were both gonna need fuel to get moving, so I had to find some fat and protein. After a few minutes to dig out a Dakota fire pit that won’t give off much smoke, another few minutes to get some wood burning, and then a few more to clean and chop a fresh kill, I was able to sit for a while and just cook.
Eventually, Kitty comes out of the cabin, bundled up in her coat and a heavy blanket wrapped over her. She looks down at the frying pan I’ve got over the fire, and sees the red strips of meat that are sizzling in the pan. ”What’s that?”
”Bacon,” I answer, turning a strip over with one claw.
”I, uh, I can’t eat bacon,” she says, uneasily.
I look over my shoulder and raise an eyebrow. “You a vegetarian or something?”
She shakes her head. ”Er, no, I’m Jewish.”
”Ah,” I nod. “Well, good news: it’s not pork.”
Kitty nods, then I see her face go white. “Wait a sec. Those guys from last night…is that–”
“It’s deer meat,” I cut in, realizing the conclusion she’s jumping to. “I caught a doe this morning.”
Gesturing to the treeline, I point out the skinned and cleaned carcass I've got hanging from a branch. Most of it’s butchered cleanly, apart from a couple of bloody mouthfuls I tore out to keep my hunger down.
“Oh God, that's… eucch!” Kitty turns away, holding back a dry-heave. “Seriously, I don't do blood. You can't just show me a dead animal without warning me!”
I shrug. “It's just nature, kid. Gotta eat to live. And we're gonna need a lot of food to get us all the way to New York.”
Kitty nods, still not wanting to look at the carcass. “Just, I dunno, warn me first, okay?”
I grunt, and after a few more moments of cooking, I pull the strips of deer bacon off the pan, put them on a small plate from the cabin's supply closet, then offer it to Kitty.
The kid looks at the deer meat and makes a face, but after a moment, the picks up a strip and bites into it.
“Thishh … tayshht…mmf” she says as she takes another bite, before she's even done with the first bite. “It…*gulp*...it tastes really bad.”
“Sorry,” I nod, “I'm not much of a cook. But you’'ve gotta make sure deer meat's cooked all the way through, so you don't get parasites. Don't want to travel with somethin’ nasty tagging along. Which reminds me..you got a phone on you?”
Kitty nods, and rustles around in her pile of blankets and heavy clothes before pulling out a smartphone. “The battery is almost out, but if we can get it to a charger, we can HEY!”
I drive my claws into the phone, shattering the glass and cracking the electronics inside, then throw it on the ground and stomp on it until it's pulverized.
“What the hell, Logan!” Kitty shouts. “That was a birthday present from my parents, they saved up all year for it!”
“You know how easy it is to track a cell phone, kid?” I ask her. “Half the programs on those things are loaded up with spyware. I'd bet you anything those assholes that attacked you last night knew where you were following that phone.”
“Paranoid much?” she scoffs.
“It's not paranoia when they really are out to get you,” I say, “and they are. Whichever organization those guys worked for, they're not going to give up just because a couple of their grunts went down. They're gonna try again, with more guys and bigger guns. Which means we've gotta move soon, and we can't leave any way for them to track us.”
“Okay, I..I got it,” Kitty nods as she finishes the last of her deer bacon. “So no cell phones, no footprints, no trash that could give away where we went, yeah?”
“No strong smells either,” I add. “You've got something on you, smells like coconuts. It's a dead giveaway.”
Kitty blinks, then sniffs her forearm. “What, my skin cream? It's not even all that strong, what do you…oh eww, are you, like, sniffing me in my sleep or something?!”
Kitty takes a few big steps away from me, a look of revulsion on her face.
“It's part of what I do,” I say, hands up again. “Enhanced senses. Lets me see in the dark, hear things most people can't, smell things from miles away. How do you think I got that deer in pitch black?”
Kitty doesn't look convinced. Hell, I wouldn't be convinced either, if I were her.
“Right,” she says. “Buuut, even if you can smell my skin cream a mile away, mutations are usually unique, right? So wouldn't that mean you're the only one who can do it?”
“...well, th-”
“Oh wait, dogs!” Kitty interrupts. “They use bloodhounds to track people, right? Do they even still do that?”
“Sometimes, yeah, especially in the woods,” I answer.
And it isn't a lie.
But it isn't really the truth, either. And it isn't what I was going to say.
Truth is, I'm not the only one who can do what I do.
Still, she's scared enough already. Better she doesn't know about him. Not yet, anyway. One nightmare at a time.
“We're gonna need to get a move on soon,” I change subjects, finishing off the deer meat. “I've got a pickup truck stashed away not far from here,” I say as I start to break up the camp. “We'll need to head East to meet up with one of my contacts in Winnipeg; he can get us the paperwork we need to get into the States. We cross the border at Buffalo, and from there it's a straight shot to Westchester. Should be about three and a half days driving if we don't get slowed down. Time to spare.”
Kitty raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“By what?”
“You said ‘time to spare,’” she says. “Are we on a time limit now?”
Shit, I mutter to myself. I shouldn't have let that slip.
“It's…a long story,” I say carefully. “For now, let's just say your timing really could've been better.”
“Right,” she says, skeptical again. She's not satisfied with the answer, but that's the only answer she's getting.
A few minutes pass in relative silence as we put out the fire, pack up Kitty's things, and clean the cabin til there's no trace we were there.
We start heading through the valley down an old game trail, towards another one of my safe houses where I'd stashed the truck. If the kid does a half-decent job of keeping up the pace, we should make it there before evening.
Around the halfway point, Kitty stops in her tracks.
“You know, it just occurred to me how screwed up this is,” she says, “You kill a bunch of guys from the government, you smash my cell phone, you say you know what my skin cream smells like, and now you're making me follow you to a second location. This is, like, every red flag possible.”
I look back at her, and realize she's got a point. I haven't given her any reason to trust me, other than that I killed some guys that were after her.
“Wish I had more to give you than just my word,” I tell her. “but it's all I've got right now. There's about a thousand wild animals between here and the next town. You know what the only difference between them and me is?”
Kitty shakes her head.
“I can make a promise, and keep it,” I tell her. It's only a half-truth: I can make a promise and try to keep it, at least. “You stick with me, I'll make sure nothing and no one gets a hand on you. Promise.”
She doesn't answer, so I add “And anyway, you can run through walls. If you want, you can run and I can't catch you.”
“Good enough for now,” Kitty shrugs. “Just don't get any ideas, okay?”
I chuckle. “Kid, I'm old enough to be your granddad, probably older than that. I stopped having those kinds of ideas a long time ago.”
We hike along in silence for another two hours or so, then eventually, we reach an old tumble-down farmhouse with a garage on the side. Sliding up the garage door, there's a beaten-up pickup, covered more in rust than paint.
“There's a town about an hour southwest of here,” I say. “We'll stop there to grab some cash, supplies, a couple changes of clothes.”
The suspension audibly creaks as I hop into the bed of the truck and lay down against the back of the cab. “You know how to drive, right?”
“I, ah, I got a learner's permit,” Kitty says sheepishly.
“Close enough,” I say, “Just don't get pulled over. Keys are in the glove box”
Kitty nervously climbs into the cab, and after a couple of false starts, the engine starts.
As the truck rumbles down the long dirt road towards civilization, I let myself fall asleep.
With a roar, Garfield swatted the first two parasites that charged him with casual slaps of his grizzly paw. One flopped about, nearby bisected, screeching in distress, while the other was more or less intact, bouncing back immediately only to be shrouded in darkness and flung aside, crashing into the metal opening of a cardboard baler and flopping out of sight. Rachel did the same to the next parasites to come at them. The third and second bashed into the first before the metal gate crashed down, sealing the parasites in side before the baler started into motion, a press made to compact hundreds of cardboard boxes slowly falling upon the writhing intruders. In moments they’d be splattered about the machine's innards, but Rachel would be rather distracted. A few of the parasites overwhelmed Garfield, biting into his flesh. He let out a snarl of pain before digging his teeth into one on his arm, ripping it off. The skin tore, fur speckled with blood, but it held firm.
“Ả̴̹z̵̢̋̕a̴̩͛̂r̵̲̯̈͘a̴̧͙̍̿t̸̡̛̠̿h̵͙̋ ̵̲̺̒M̷̤̒͐è̵̡t̵͊͆͜ṙ̸̥̣i̸̩̙͆̏ȍ̶̯̪͠ņ̵̃ ̵̛̯̦̚Ż̴͚ḯ̵̫n̴̰̔̔ṱ̷̒̇h̷̲̲̒ơ̵̙̫s̶̛̤͈!̴̨͎̅” came Rachel’s cry, a valley of darkness carving through the corpse. A few parasites were caught in the path, torn asunder, but the greatest effect was that it gave many of the others pause, blocking their potential route. Garfield didn’t hesitate to make use of the opportunity, turning into a bright green hummingbird, the gorging parasites flopping to the ground, grasping for anything in reach with their maws. Wings beating like mad, he zipped upwards before shifting into a bulky hippopotamus, turning the parasites beneath him to jelly.
Standing up, now in his human form, he grunted, “Ow. Big things really do fall hard...” Putting some distance between himself and the corpse, the two of them watched the parasites write, their howls reaching a crescendo of sorts. The bodies of the fallen began to fluctuate, sticking to one another to form grotesque, shattered chimeras their few parts still amalgamating in all the wrong ways.
Rachel had never been so bewildered. “Did they just cast necromancy?”
“Wizard zombie corpse worms?! That middle part just feels redundant,” Garfield echoed with his own disbelief, kicking the nearest one away with his tennis shoe. A glob of fused parasites shuffled awkwardly on the ground towards Garfield, the young man took a stance to change before the very air rippled, bisecting it horizontally. Rachel and Gar turned to see the disciple had awoken.
“It’s not so strange, not where they’re from.” Garfield turned into a gorilla, wailing on the nearest parasite zombies and ripping them apart again, Rachel hissed, “Ä̵̻̉z̷̥̃͠a̶͉͝r̶̛͜a̴͚̹͋t̴̯̀h̴̛͕ ̴̧̛̳̈́M̴̠̈́e̵̟̚t̵̞̭͆̍r̷̛͖͒ḯ̵̟o̴̪͠n̴̥̿̈́ ̶̢̹͊̑Z̶̧̐ḯ̸̠̚n̴̰̏̈ͅt̶͚̐̚h̵̘̯̓̆ǒ̴̠̜͂s̶̨̺͋!̸̱̿̇” The whole of the corpse’s side shuddered, flipping up and over, Rachel turning it around and trapping some of the parasites underneath.
“Magic is a primal force of nature. It’s humanity that has left magic, not magic that has left humanity.” Clapping his hand together, the space in front of him twisted and warped, sparks of flame encircling another window through space. Rachel winced as a rush of hot air and stench of sulfur washed over her. Orange-yellow light washed into the room, and smoke started to rise from the gateway to a far off volcano. “Thus we simply return it all to nature.”
Rachel exchanged looks with Garfield, who stopped his carnage to swap forms. “You chop it up, I put it in the bowl?” Rachel’s acceptance was silent, the girl throwing on her hood and floating up into the air, arms out to the side “Ä̵̲͉́̀z̷̹͙̃a̴̻̍͘r̵̹͝ä̵͍́͊ṯ̵̽h̶̓́͜ ̵͇̝̄͠M̸̜̹̋̽ȅ̸͙t̵̢͂̍r̴͎̭̕ȋ̶͓͇̚o̸̜̞͐̍n̶͕͑͆ ̶̤̤͒Z̴͖̗̀̉ĩ̴̦̚ṅ̶̥̆ẗ̷̤̲́ẖ̶̺͌o̸͓̐ş̸͂̂!̴̳̂̔” She grew winded as she tore into the corpse yet again, striking carefully. Her head pounded from exertion, and with a wave of her magic one of the chunks rolled towards the portal, a couple parasites slipping off. Garfield took the form of gibbon, scrambling over before landing in the shape of a horse, back legs kicking out to knock the alien flesh into the gate where it smacked against the molten stone and caught alight. Switching to an orangutan, his long lanky limbs grabbed the two closest parasites before sending them to follow.
In tandem, the two were able to maintain the flow, redirecting the monsters heading to rip them to shreds and the corpse they spawned from into their molten doom. Shoving the last piece of corpse in with one last distance squelch, Rachel returned to ground level, rife with sweat, and collapsed to her knees. Garfield went to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You cool?”
Rachel narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth only for alarms to ring out, the smoke detector sounding off even with mild circulation from the still opened shutters. With groans throughout the ceiling, a sprinkler system kicked off, drizzling the ground in stagnant water smelling of rust. The alien blood began to flow, diluted. Stare blank, Rachel murmured, “No.”
Gar managed a smile as the portal began to close, but a banging made itself known from the cardboard baler. From the opening crawled one last parasite, formerly three, crushed into one flat pulp. “Keep the portal open!” Garfield called, the gate reversing its motion as the disciple heeded his call. Gar sprinted to meet the awkward shuffling mass, and once he was about a dozen feet away his form shrank down into that of a crocodile. Lunging forward, his jaws ripped into the parasite glob and held fast. Clawed feet clacking against the slick concrete, he flipped about, skulking towards the hole, the less crushed extremities of the parasite awkwardly flailing as they tried to do any kind of damage. Rachel floated aside as Garfield reached the portal. But the small legs of the crocodile weren’t made for endurance like those of man or horse. Giving out on the slick ground, Garfield’s nails scraped against the ground, failing to find traction as he slid right into the portal.
Rachel’s stomach seemed to fall. The opening began to shrink. Hr lips faltered, but she managed to choke out, “Don’t!” Shaking his head, once again the disciple opened the portal. Smoke continued to belch out, water rained down, and Rachel waited.
There was a flash of green as a hawk streaked out of the gate. Turning human, Garfield splashed down onto the floor. “Okay, you can close it now!” With a groan, he collapsed to the floor, letting out a loud “Whew!” Her adrenaline draining, Rachel’s legs gave out.
Head scanning back and forth, spotting the still unconscious apprentices and the flashing lights of emergency vehicles from the city starting to come down the out skirting roads, the disciple looked to Rachel. “You’re not hear to commune with Baroshtok?” Rachel’s bafflement made the answer self evident. “Then...no, we will talk elsewhere. Somewhere safe, nearby, and deserted.” Leaving the two of them be, he went to each of the apprentices and shook them awake. As they were apparently unharmed, the disciple opened another portal, the two hopping through. Garfield began to move, groaning as his body resisted, but he stopped, holding a hand out to Rachel. “Nice job back there.”
Rachel felt her nose crinkle. She made a motion to knock his hand aside yet again, but the encroaching sirens echoing from over the empty land around the dump made themselves known. Reluctantly, she took his waterlogged hand, Garfield helping her to her feet and the two of them slipping through the portal, which closed promptly. A few minutes later, a pair of firetrucks and an ambulance parked outside the complex. Outfitted in his gear and pack, the firefighter grimacing at the smell of sulfur and rot. Looking at the profound mess of unrecognized monster blood and viscera, scattered aluminum cans, waterlogged cardboard, and a sweltering humidity from the sprinklers and lingering heat from a distant volcano, he dropped his mask and gawked, “What in the unholy hell happened here?”
>"Police have called for a manhunt for former NYPD detective Frank Castle this morning. Law Enforcement has linked ten murders to him, and reports indicate he is calling himself the Punisher. He is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. He was last seen leaving the Royal Palace in lower Manhattan, and is confirmed to be the suspect in the mass shooting at the Stardust Lounge. The NYPD is investigating several other murders in the area to determine any connection to the suspect. Police are also looking into the possibility of this mass shooter having any connection to the masked vigilante terrorizing citizens in Hell's Kitchen-"<
Matt turned off the tv, sighing with a raspy exhale. He was sprawled on the couch, a half-empty liquor bottle and an old first aid kit littered on the floor next to him. His ribs were bruised, his head clouded by fog and confusion. He had been through worse, but the strength of the big bastard the night before had rung Matt's bell. A little recovery would be needed. And if he was going to face people like the Ox, he was going to need tools.
Luckily, he knew just the place.
♦♦♦
Fogwell's Gym smelled of mildew, rust, and mothballs. It had been abandoned years ago, shortly after the death of Jack Murdock. Most of the boxers who came out of Fogwell's ended up dead. It was a blessing, in that regard, that the gym was home only to cobwebs and memories. It wasn't even good enough for the rats.
Half the sandbags had fallen to the ground, rusted chains shattering under tremendous weight. Of those that remained, several had holes in them. The holes were relatively uniform... someone used them for target practice at some point. Or stray shots, given the faintest whiff of blood soaked into the creaky wood flooring. It could be any old boxers. It could be his dad's. It could be someone who was gunned down for making the wrong choices. The ghosts of this place wouldn't tell him, if Matt could be bothered to ask them.
Matthew Murdock wasn't at this gym to reminisce. He clutched at his bruised ribs, the jolt of pain clouding his focus for a moment. He had thought about his father plenty. He was here for a different memory.
666.
His father wasn't as staunch of a Catholic in his final years. He believed in God. He believed in salvation. He believed in loving your neighbor. But he was flippant with most other tenets. Its why he put on that persona, and even made the "Mark of the Beast" his locker combo. Matt heard the door click open and pulled on the small handle. He reached forward, rubbing his fingers along the fabric of Jack Murdock's old boxing robe, and then the fake devil suit. It was hard to picture the outfits now, after so many years. Even when they were in his hands, he couldn't easily remember what color the robe was. Red? White? Yellow? He didn't know for certain.
Of course, what he came for was in the bottom of the locker. An old wooden box, the faint indent and burn of a symbol on the top Matt never quite knew. The parting gift of an old flame. The box was slightly ajar, certainly from the last time he had checked it was still there a few months prior. He knew the contents, the letter printed out in braile, the faint whiff of her expensive perfume. It was all still there. Matthew Murdock removed the lid, and slowly removed the contents.
First were two tonfas, made of near solid metal. They were light and durable in his hands. Next, a grappling hook with a fiberwire cord. Lastly, a small set of throwing knives tucked into a black sash. She knew he would want them some day, even if he hadn't. If she even remembered him, she probably was smiling at the mention of a vigilante in Hell's Kitchen. She would know it was him.
Matt placed the items back inside the box, and slid it into an old duffel bag. Before he zipped up the bag, he paused. The faintest ruffle of old fabric reminded him of the robe and outfit left in the locker. Without dwelling on it further, he ripped the costumes off their hangers and shoved them into the duffle bag. Sufficiently packed, Matt zipped up the bag and swung the strap over his shoulder. He slipped out of Fogwell's, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up to obscure his face as he joined the foot traffic on the sidewalk outside.
♦♦♦
Matthew Murdock stood atop a brownstone, overlooking the Hudson river. From the ringing of the bells of Saint Cyril's, it was 1 am. He had slept most of the day, having called in a sick day with Foggy. He'd get shit for it later. But they didn't have many clients, and those they did have were all well taken care of. Matt shot off a few emails and did a little brushing up on case law while he popped painkillers and prepared for another night out.
The Devil was roused from his musings as he heard something that had been surprisingly absent that night so far. Metal scraping metal, along with the pull and release of a spring. A gun being loaded, several blocks away. Not a mere handgun... a rifle? He took a deep breath, before he jumped off the side of the building, swinging his way down the fire escape.
He had no idea what fresh Hell was waiting for him.
It was easy enough to sneak into the shipyard, even with the rifle case strapped to my back. Barbed wire on top of the chain link fence meant no climbing over it so instead I dropped the rifle case, cut a hole in the fence, then squeezed through and pulled the rifle case in after me. A few night guards, not too sure if they were employed by the Saints or not, so I opted to stick to the shadows and avoid them. Getting to the rooftop of the main office building was easy, there was a ladder around back that was easy enough to climb.
Now I'm on the roof overlooking the shipyard. Two black panel vans are parked in front of a warehouse directly across from the office. The lights are on inside, unlike the other warehouses. That's where they'll be coming from. Looking away, I lay the rifle case out before me, opening it up and pulling out the PSG1 I acquired from Greco. I load up a magazine, attach the scope and suppressor, then flick open the bipod and steady the rifle against the lip of the roof.
The world is simpler when it's viewed through a scope. Smaller. There's nothing but the reticle, lining up your shot. Through the scope I watch as a small cargo ship pulls up to the dock and comes to a halt, the gangway lowering as the five- no, six men on deck begin to carry crates off the ship. The shutter door of the warehouse flies open, six more men stepping out from within. I don't recognize any of them, but I've got to assume the rotund old guy is important; no soldier would be that fat. I set my sights on him.
Inhale.
*BLAM!*
Exhale.
The big man falls to the ground with a nice chunk of his head blown off. The Saints scramble for cover while the guys from the ship drop their crates and pile back onto the boat. One of the Saints peeks his head above cover, trying to find out where the shots are coming from.
Inhale.
*BANG!*
Exhale.
The shot rips out and he falls to the ground, a cloud of blood and brain matter spurting out of his head.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE!?" one of the men shouts.
"HE'S ON ONE OF THE ROOFTOPS!" another shouts back to him. He pops up and fires a few shots at the roof of one of the warehouses. The wrong one, but he's got the right idea at least. I set my sights on him.
Inhale.
*CRACK!*
I feel a sharp pain as something solid strikes me in the back of the head, making me lose my grip on the rifle. It tips over and falls off of the roof, clattering onto the asphalt. I jump to my feet and whip around, pulling the pistols out of my shoulder holsters. I'm about to fire when I pause at what I see: a man with a white bandana wrapped around his head, holding a tonfa in one hand.
I'd heard rumors on the street of a man like this, stalking the streets of Hell's Kitchen and delivering vigilante justice. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, they called him. Didn't use guns, didn't kill. Just beat the crooks down. I was hoping I wouldn't run into any of these costumed heroes that have popped up, but here we are I suppose.
I hear the Saints shouting below me, trying to figure out why the shooting stopped. Need to get back to them. Can't take up too much time playing with this guy. "I'm giving you one chance to back off. These men are mine."
I S S U E # 6 I S S U E # 6
R U N N I N G W I T H T H E D E V I L R U N N I N G W I T H T H E D E V I L
The name Horace Wilks means nothing to you. In fact, it means nothing to almost everyone. Not that Horace see's this as a bad thing, he's a simple man with simple needs and desires. He was married straight out of highschool and has beautiful house with 2 daughters. Waking up this morning, he could hear the latest cheesy pop-song on the radio alarm. He looked at the alarm to see the time "10:01" He grabbed the clock as he quickly realized what was happening. This was the third time he had slept through his alarm this month, that was grounds for disciplinary action. Quickly leaping out of bed, he ran over to the wardrobe, pulling his clothes out and pulling them on as quickly as he could, before running out of the house. He looked around, not seeing his car. "What the fu... UUUUUGH!!!" He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed his wife. "Hello, dear, where's the car? What do you need it for? Well, i need it. Why didn't you wake me?" He asked. "AAaaaaaaaaahhh!" He roared, before running off down the street to try, in vain, to make it to work before he was fired. As he began to run, the heavens opened and sheets of rain pelted down.
By the time he had gotten to the city center, he had given up. Looking at his phone, he saw the time was 10:26 and he was hungry. Well, if he was going to be late and soaking wet anyway, better be late on a full stomach. Horace entered the McDonalds and waited in the que for several minutes, leaving immense puddles of rainwater dripping off of him, before finally being seen.
"Hello, can i please get a sausage and egg McMuffin meal? Large coffee." He asked. The woman behind the till pointed to the clock. 10:31. "Look, i'm not having a good day, can you please just give me an egg McMuffin meal?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but i'm not allowed to serve breakfast after 10:30am." Horace grunted in frustration. He then saw someone getting handed a pancake breakfast meal.
"Well, then why is he getting served?" He asked.
"That customer obviously made the order before 10:30." The woman replied with a smile. Horace's face soured even more. He looked at his phone to see 10:29 on it.
"Hey, it's not even 10:30 yet, look." He showed her his phone.
"I'm afraid that your phone must be running slow, sir."
"Have you ever heard the expression, the customer is always right?" He asked. He then saw the clock on his phone flip over to 10:30.
"Yes i have, and your phone now says that it's 10:30, i'm afraid that i cannot serve you breakfast. May i offer you a Big Tasty?"
"No you may not offer me a big tasty, i don't want a big tasty, i want an egg mcmuffin." He growled.
"Well, i'm sorry, i'm afraid that there is nothing i can do." She replied, big smile still across her face. Horace looked around, before looking behind her and seeing a whole row of egg mcmuffins on the pre-made bench behind her.
"Wait, can't i just buy one of those? You're going to throw them away anyway." She turned around and looked at the row.
"Ooooh, i'm sorry, but it's past 10:30, i am afraid that i could lose my job for selling you one of those."
"BUT YOU'RE GOING TO THROW THEM AWAY!" He yelled.
"Sir, if you are not satisfied with the lunch menu, then you can speak to the manager, or call our offices." She said. Horace didn't even care that he was getting later for work by the second, this was a matter of principle.
"Yes i would. Get your manager down here right now." He ordered. She spoke into a mic and a few moments later, the manager arrived.
"Hello sir, can i help you?" Asked the manager.
"Yes, you can, i want to buy an egg mcmuffin, one of those ones sat right there and about to get thrown away!" Horace demanded.
"Was this employee refusing to sell one to you?" The manager asked.
"Yes, she kept on saying "BuT iTS pAsT 10:30!!!" Despite the fact that it was 10:28." He growled.
"I'm sorry, sir, but it's past 10:30 and we aren't allowed to sell them anymore. We could lose our license." The manager replied.
"SELL ME THE FUDGING BURGER!!!" Horace snapped.
"Sir, if you will not remain calm, i'm afraid that we are going to have to call the police." Horace wasn't paying attention anymore as he watched an employee picking up the tray of muffins and taking them to the back to throw them in the dumpster and all he could feel was the purest of anger. He only wanted this one thing to brighten up his already pretty shitty day.
"Horace..." A voice said. Horace looked around, he could see the manager still talking at him, but he couldn't hear a word the man was trying to say. "Horace Wilks, I sense in you great rage. Say the oath and join our ranks." As the manager continued to talk at Horace, he saw the mans eyes starting to turn red, before his teeth sharpened, red foam started to pour from his mouth.
"Umm... Sir... Are you alright?"
"With blood and rage of crimson red, From the corpse of the innocent, so freshly dead, Together with our Righteous hate, We'll burn all evil--that is your fate!"
Horace's clothes exploded, revealing a crimson red business suit, with black lines and the Red Lantern Logo over his breast-pocket. his eyes were now a burning red. Red fists of energy lanced out, punching the till operator and the manager in the face, before he let out a roar and a shockwave of red energy erupted through the McDonalds, throwing over tables and smashing the windows. Horace stomped through the carnage outside, before red hands of energy launched up to the golden arches and pulled them down and throwing them across the street. People were now running away screaming.
"BURN EVERYTHING!!! BURN!!!" He roared as he opened his mouth and a beam of fire shot from it, setting the McDonalds sign on fire.
S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, New York City
Hal, Sinestro and May sat around a large table looking at several dossiers. Hal slammed his down on the table, forcing the other 2 to take notice "Ok, i appreciate this whole "Let's pick out some guys for our team who aren't likely to go insane and kill us the moment they see a power ring" thing we've got going on, but shouldn't we be going out there and find the rings and whoever they belong to and add them to our team instead?" Sinestro eyed Hal for a second, before looking at May.
"Hal Jordan makes an excellent point, Agent May. Your Shadowy "Boss" as you call him, put whichever members of his organization as he wishes under my..." He shook his head "Under our command. But the Rings will be the ones deciding who will be facing Ronan when he comes."
"And if we choose the correct team, then the chances of Ronan making it to Earth are considerably lower... Also, my Boss is a rather paranoid guy. He's not going to trust anyone he hasn't personally vetted." May replied. At that point, May's phone began to beep loudly. "Well, that's moot now, we've got a live one." She said, pressing a button under the desk and a small keyboard folding out. Pressing a few buttons, a video feed of the burger restraunt on fire with the man in the red suit outside of it came on the large moniton the back wall.
"Red. That's anger right?" Hal asked. He watched the guy belch a massive plume of fire into the air. "That's a lot of anger and i don't think he's putting it to the most constructive use as a hero."
"Rage, a very different emotion from simple anger. Believe it or not, this is the ring i'm second least afraid of." Sinestro replied, watching it. "Yes, that is just him acting on mindless aggression. Not the Champion of Rage at all." Sinestro got up and in a flash of gold, was wearing his Lantern suit and his face was back to the rosy pink. "Come, Hal Jordan. This will be a good test of your abilities." He patted Hal on the shoulder, before walking over to the window and opening it.
"Um, Sinestro, what are you doing?" Hal asked as he began climbing out. "Buddy i know things are a bit hard with your teams loss, but this isn't the answer." Hal pushed away the chair and ran towards the window. Sinestro floated out of it, before turning around and looking at Hal, confused. May and Hal looked shocked as Sinestro floated there.
"You... You didn't know Lanterns could fly?" Sinestro asked. Hal and May looked at each other. "You're trying to tell me that you have been a Lantern for almost 2 weeks and you haven't attempted flight even once?" Hal wasn't quite sure about the physiology of Sinestro's people, so how their veins worked was something of a mystery to him. But he could SWEAR he could see a vein bulging in Sinestro's immense forehead and his eye twitch a little. "Never mind" Sinestro wheezed in purest frustration. "Now, Green Lantern Hal Jordan, fly out here with me and let us go and retrieve the Red Ring." He said.
"Ok, yeah, fly... How?" Hal asked. Sinestro's forehead vein bulged just a little harder.
"Transform and all will become clear." He grunted, clearly trying to remain as civil as he could. Hal nodded, before looking at the ring, gripping his hand tight, the green light enveloped him and he stood in his costume. He then simply levitated off the ground and over to Sinestro. The ring instils natural instincts into your brain when it is active. Flight and construct creation is as natural as breathing. Hal looked himself over as he floated.
"Well, alright." He laughed, before turning to May "Highball requesting permission to sortie, ma'am?" He asked. May simply stared.
"Permission granted, Captain." She replied. Hal saluted her before rocketting off upstate. Sinestro watched with a little bit of surprise. He had gone from no idea that he could fly to being able to fly at jet speeds in less than a minute. Maybe this Human wasn't as incompetant as he suspected.
Yonkers, New York
The two finally arrived to see Horace advancing on a pair of police that were emptying clip after clip of ammunition into him, a red shield blocking it. Sinestro floated a few hundred feet above them, he watched Hal circling the area. "Enjoying the view?" Sinestro asked. Hal could hear him just as clearly as if they were stood next to each other, despite him flying around.
"Built in 2 way communication, convenient." He continued to fly in a circle before finding his vector for attack. "Highball, descending for attack." He called, before flying down and onto an attack vector. His ring creating a large green construct fist out in front of him. Sinestro sat back and watched. He needed an idea of Hals base line before he could begin training the Green Lantern in earnest. As Hal rocketted towards Horace, the Red Lantern looked up, his now-forklike tongue whipped around his face.
"Ah, my misbegotten brotheren!" He laughed, before belching a large lance of magma straight at Hal. The green fist, managed to cut right through the magma and splattered it off to the side, onto cars and the now abandoned streets, before the fist made contact with Horace's. The nearby police were thrown backwards by the force of the Impact and they scurried for cover, leaving these two to sort things out between themselves. "Come to stop my evil rampage, or maybe to join me, brother?" He laughed, before a pair of red uzi's appeared in his hands and he began to fire at Hal at point blanc range. Hal, quickly summoned more green hands to block the incoming red fire.
"Calm down, citizen, i'm here to save you from that ring." Hal managed to grunt out, mostly trying to focus on not dying right now. Horace, however, simply laughed maniacally.
"Save me...? Save me? HAHAHAHA I DO NOT NEED SAVING FOR I AM ALREADY SAVED!!!" He roared, before the uzi's turned into a pair of rocket launchers and he turned towards another fast food chain. "I'M GOING TO BURN THE ENTIRE OF CORPORATE AMERICA TO THE GROUND! THAT'S MY SALVATION!!!" He fired the Rocket Launchers, Hal instinctively created a few more hands that reached out and grabbed the rockets, crushing them in his grip and setting them off, sending Hal back a few feet from the force. He turned and summoned a large Baseball Bat and struck Horace across the face with it. Horace slowly looked back up at Hal, spitting some blood onto the floor which sizzled from the lava inside of it, before his hands turned into large, red, scizzor-like claws that he began slashing at Hal wildly with. Hal stumbled back, summoning a shield to deflect the blows, after about 10 swipes, he quickly lifted off from the ground and rocketted into the air, Horace in close persuit, flying towards Sinestro.
"ANY CHANCE OF A HAND, GOLD!?" Hal yelled at him as he shot past.
"You've got this Green Lantern." Sinestro smiled and saluted to him. That was the first time Hal had seen him smile and he did NOT appreciate it. Lances of lava shot past Hal as he instinctively took evasive action. Horace summoned his uzi's back and began pumping out an endless stream of red bullet and lava blasts towards Hal. Hal couldn't help but be reminded of those old japanese flying games in the arcade that ate a god chunk of his allowance as a kid. But he had gotten good at them and he was going to remain good at them as a Super Hero. He smiled, before focussing on weeving around.
"What's the matter, Red? Somebody never learned target tracking?" He taunted Horace, who simply roared in frustration, 8 new hands made of red energy hot from the ring, each holding an Uzi, which began firing at Hal. Hal picked up the pace, summoning a shield to catch any stray bullets. He had done this kind of fighting before. It wasn't too disimilar to his Training Dogfights back at the academy. Just needed to bleed off the guys energy and not give him a good opportunity to actually hit him, before swooping in for the kill. Slowly, the hands with the uzi's began to fade, Horace's face looking confused. He roared in anger and they popped back up for a few seconds, before dropping again. Hal made one final flourish, before turning around. Time for the kill. Immediately, he pushed every bit of will he had behind him, rocketting at Horace at almost Mach speed, a large green fist forming in front of him, before raising it and bringing it down on Horace's head, sending the man spiralling into the tarmacked road bellow them, leaving a brand new hole in Yonkers' highstreet (Not that the Citizens would notice another one) Hal slowly floated down and landed next to him. Sinestro already having arrived there.
"You... You cannot..." Horace grizzled a little bit, trying to get back up, but Sinestro simply put his boot onto the back of Horaces head before sharply smashing it into the floor to render him fully unconscious, without leaving any longterm damage. A containtment beam shot from Sinestro's ring, enveloping the Red Ring and pulling it from Horace's finger.
"Alright..." Hal huffed, a little tired from that. "3 down, 4 to go." He smiled, before holding up a hand for Sinestro. Sinestro looked at him confused. "Come on, buddy, don't leave me hanging." Sinestro shook his head before lifting off into the air. The police approached them, Hal looked at them. "Don't worry about this guy, not his fault. Umm... It's... Umm... You know what-" He reached in his pocket and pulled out a S.H.I.E.L.D. business card. "Just call these guys, they'll give you an official statement on what that was, but just know, it's not this guys fault." He said, giving them the thumbs up, before shooting into the air after Sinestro. "So... We have it... Now what?" Hal asked Sinestro as he caught up with him.
"Little choice in the matter, we're going to have to wait for the Hero of Rage to show himself. We'll have to bleed off some of its energy off to keep it from escaping. If we can calm it, then the next time it goes active will be when the true Red Lantern makes himself known."
"Convoluted... But it makes sense." Hal sighed. "Hey, race you back to HQ!" He then set off at his top speed.
"Green Lantern Hal Jordan, you still have much to learn. Sinestro replied, before immediately shooting straight past Hal as if he was standing still.
Lois Lane smirked as the speedometer on her dashboard reached 80 MPH. Her car weaving between traffic on the freeway, The Daily Planet's primetime anchor paid no attention to the fact that her cameraman - dutifully checking his equipment from the questionable safety of the passenger seat - was experiencing a comedown from the adrenaline of being asked to come along for the breaking story happening out at Hob's Bay. Neither Lane nor Olsen could attest to the nature of what the story was yet, given that an explosion at a factory could've been the result of anything from faulty equipment that had passed through half-witted safety inspectors to domestic terrorists hoping to get one in on the morally dubious billionaire that owned the company, but the fire in Lois' eyes more than adequately indicated that she didn't care - she was getting this story first, Perry White's misgivings be damned.
"Olsen, that's your anxiety talking. If you know Perry, you'll know that he doesn't want what he thinks he wants."
Olsen was almost too afraid to ask, but he did it anyway. "Uh, okay. Then what does he want?"
"Whatever we're about to give him. So lose the negativity and keep prepping the cameras."
That unwavering confidence must have been what made Lois Lane the household name that she'd become, Clark mentally noted, hunched over in the back seat while quietly searching for any mention of the explosion from social media. So far, it seemed that any locals that were posting about it were still trying to piece together what'd happened - from the street, the recurring verdict was that none had been injured but there were more police on the scene than paramedics, indicating that there wasn't cause for concern. Clark nevertheless hoped that nobody had been caught in the blast. The last thing he'd want to experience on this job was any human suffering - though he realized how naive that sentiment probably was.
Lois glanced back at the man in the glasses through her rearview mirror, realizing that he'd barely said a word in the twenty minutes since they'd left. People who barely spoke were often a source of frustration with her, so to say that he hadn't made a great first impression was an understatement.
"Hey, intern."
"It's Clark."
Lois took a drag from a lit cigarette, all but interested. "Uh-huh. Find anything yet?"
Clark cleared his throat, his gaze affixed to his phone, still too nervous to look Lois in the eye. The truth of the matter is, he'd become an admirer of her work over the last year. It was even part of the reason he'd thought to apply for an internship at The Daily Planet. Though it hadn't made itself readily apparent so far, her passion for human interest stories and the victims of policies that favored the upper class at the expense of the lower class bled through the screen. She actually seemed to care, which was becoming more rare to find in any news organization. So to his mild embarrassment, he still couldn't shake the feeling of being starstruck. Whereas she seemed more annoyed with his presence than anything.
"Well... going off of this, it doesn't seem like anyone knows anything."
Lane didn't miss a beat as she tossed the burning cigarette out of the window and placed her hand firmly back on the wheel. "Since you're new, word of advice. Never judge a situation at the outset. Somebody knows something. Don't let the overly-polished exterior of this place fool you, there's always going to be a hidden angle. You just have to know how to spot the ones trying to keep hidden."
Clark kept his eyes down for a different reason, desperately trying not to show a reaction that might betray his rather contradictory circumstances.
"To be fair, I said the same thing about Intergang. And yet you and everyone else at the station remain a skeptic."
Clark's eyes suddenly darted up at Jimmy, curious. "Intergang?"
"Yeah. You've heard of them, surely. The whole urban legend about a secret cabal of criminals running the day-to-day businesses. Like the Maggia in New York except, well, more modern and tech-based. People used to think that Intergang was the whole reason that the city got practically rebuilt overnight after the big meteor shower before Luthor resurfaced and took credit for it. But I still think there's alot that Intergang's existence could answer about a few things, like how Lex managed to bribe his way to absolute power."
"He did it by having more money than God, Jimmy. Get enough of it yourself and you wouldn't need some all-powerful committee of stripe-suit fedora clowns from a Scorsese film to buy your way into any backroom dealings..."
"But it wouldn't hurt. And even with all of his money, Luthor couldn't have..."
"Oh, c'mon. You also believe that a giant monkey is living in the sewers."
Jimmy became visibly irate at that. "There is one, Lois! Titano's very real and nobody's doing anything about it! There's a ton of evidence online, you wouldn't believe how many witnesses are out there!"
Clark smiled to himself, his initial nerves finally subsiding. He and Lois even shared a glance of mutual amusement at Jimmy's brief loss of composure - but in a way that he could tell quietly meant she'd deny it if he ever so much as breathed a word to anyone. Even so, he considered it a small victory that she didn't look at him with contempt the entire time.
"Actually, I've read that Luthor gained all of his wealth through the military-industrial complex."
Lois and Jimmy glanced at eachother, surprised that Clark sounded so confident in such an assertion. The mild-mannered intern had barely even said two sentences at a time to either of him in his first week on the job, so hearing that he'd possessed any interest or insight into Metropolis' so-called leading citizen took some measure of adjustment. Most people were content to simply read off the blatantly edited facts approved for Luthorcorp's Wikipedia page.
"At least, that's what I've read in archived national news articles, before everything went digital. His lawyers have tried to have it buried, but a few key moments in the lead-up to the war in Iraq, the ongoing insurgency conflicts in Bialaya, and a few other big government operations were crucial to getting him an audience with S.H.I.E.L.D. And this part is conjecture, but it's likely that he designed a few state-of-the-art weapons for them, pocketed the contract earnings, and plunged it back into Metropolis' infrastructure."
"You read that in... I'm sorry, archived national news articles? Those things that no one ever cites as a credible source because it's just a bunch of cliff notes to be used for some passing-grade college theses?"
Clark adjusted his glasses, perhaps realizing that he was forgetting himself.
"I... had alot of free time in Met U."
Lois scoffed. "I'll bet."
"Isn't your dad in the military? Maybe he could confirm if Lex gets his money from weapons contracts instead of just computer hardware and security systems like he's always claimed. That could be a huge story in and of itself."
"Firstly, my dad and I haven't spoken since high school graduation. Secondly..."
"Mr. White wouldn't let you run a story about Luthor even if you wanted to. He's too litigious and his lawyers are some of the best in the country. Probably even the world."
Lois raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that?"
"Easy assumption to make. Men like Luthor always have their bases covered."
For a fleeting couple of seconds, Lane looked back at him from the rearview mirror once again, genuinely impressed by the seemingly meek stranger's quick response to the Luthor question. Most people in Metropolis were all too glad to let Luthorcorp foot the bill for the city after the widespread destruction in '94, so the billionaire had gained enough leeway in the public eye to earn very few outspoken skeptics. Lois had always been one of the few, so to hear a brief level of fire from a man who didn't look like he'd seen the outside more than a few days of his life was somewhat mystifying.
"Any more at home like you?"
"Not really, no."
The feeling didn't last. Lois and Jimmy immediately eyed the cloud of thick, billowing smoke that was rising out of the oncoming scene of Hob's Bay. Turning onto the next exit, Lois wordlessly stepped on the gas and started making her way past a growing volume of traffic ahead. As Jimmy started clinging on for dear life, Clark simply looked back down at the phone, hoping that neither of them would dwell on what he'd just said. One of the biggest problems with working at a news media company was the fact that he'd expressly told himself not to be noticed. Getting excited and trying to make connections this early seemed to betray that rather crucial goal.
"Alright, gameplan. Jimmy, I'm gonna need some exterior shots. Crowds, site of the explosion, police presence. The works. That'll give me enough time to charm my way into a few on-camera interviews. See if any factory workers know what's going on. Any cops with a DPNN+ subscription would be a bonus."
Olsen raised his oversized DPNN-branded ENG camera onto his lap, wrapping the strap over his shoulder. "Easy-peasy. What about Clark? What do you need him to do?"
"Who?"
Jimmy and Clark looked at eachother. "...Intern?"
"Oh. Right."
Coming to a stop under an overpass as soon as it became clear that there was too much traffic to circumvent without going on foot, Lois looked back at the man from over her shoulder, struggling to come up with anything. Even if he didn't say it, Clark didn't take it personally. After all, she hadn't anticipated bringing him along, much less giving him firm directions on how to approach his first-ever stab at fieldwork. Even if Lois seemed abrasive on the surface, it was clear that she had simply never worked within the confines of a group beyond her and one other person - likely Jimmy, who seemed to have a genuine rapport with her. It was probably just the mode in which she was used to working.
"Look, no offense, but this could be dangerous. With one explosion, there's always the chance that another could go off if it hasn't already. And the last thing Olsen or I need is a tagalong to complicate things. So I'm just gonna say that for this one, stay in the car. Keep a lookout and call one of us if you see anything. Maybe call the office if we're not back in an hour. I don't know."
She had tried her best not to sound condescending, but Lois wasn't sure if she had succeeded. Surprisingly, however, Clark was amendable to these conditions, giving a nod and going back to browsing his phone instead of trying to respond with any argument. Lois wasn't sure if she needed to be thankful or if she needed to roll her eyes. This intern was probably another millennial who'd rather spend most of his time behind a screen than be around where the action was. And if there was a type of person Lois could never relate to, it was that.
"Right. Good talk. Jimmy?"
"Lead the way."
As the two of them departed the car, Clark shut off the phone and looked back up, quietly watching them approach the crowd of onlookers being directed by police to avoid the ambulances. He sighed under his breath, trying not to let himself get too wrapped up in the rising disappointment. It wasn't that he actually wanted to sit out the assignment - with his abilities, he'd actually be quite the boon to the investigation. He imagined that being able to see and hear through solid walls tended to be extremely useful to uncovering the truth about the origins of an explosion. But then, he also saw the crowd that was still building ahead.
All of those people. They were each potential witnesses if he made a wrong move, or did even the slightest thing out of the ordinary. They'd accuse him of being a mutant, even though it had been clear for years that something else was the cause of these things he could do. And such prejudices weren't just going to go away overnight because he happened to be of a different origin - none of the detractors cared about where mutants themselves came from, much less the fact that they were just people trying to live their lives.
So however the times had changed and whatever the modern public claimed to be in regards to their level of tolerance, Clark was almost certain that the only thing his powers were to be met with was paranoia and fear. And having to face that every day for the rest of his life was the last thing in the world that he wanted.
Despite what Lois had said before, some things were just worth keeping hidden.
From within the still-smoking ruins of the Hob's Bay Luthorcorp Processing Plant, something had awoken.
Firefighters were still inside, tasked with containing the resulting fires that had sprung up after the explosion had leveled the East Sector's wall, sending a few of the plant's workers to the hospital with varying levels of injury. A root cause had yet to be established, but that was for the forensics team still waiting outside. Paramedics had yet to come back for another sweep, either. The police initially seemed convinced that it was the work of one of the mutant workers, a janitor named Jones, but his records had been pulled and the CCTV footage confirmed that he wasn't anywhere near the East Sector at the time. Not to mention that he was on Luthorcorp's own pharmaceutical cocktail of mutant inhibitors.
No, it had been something else entirely. And it started, of all places, in the bowels of the server room. A few lines of code that had been coming in through wireless signals, were unnoticed and seemingly harmless. They hadn't even tripped Luthorcorp's significantly advanced firewalls, they were so minuscule. But whenever this innocuous data had reached a specific point beyond the public facade of the plant, to a massive testing lab sitting several feet below the manufacturing floor that hadn't been on any official records, that was when something had stirred to life. Lights began to flicker in the halls beneath. The whirring of machinery had gradually begun to whine in the distance. Before anyone had even noticed, several large objects had even started moving.
As it turned out, Luthorcorp had been holding onto a secret.
A secret that was moments away from spilling out onto the streets.
Met with a rush of cool, dry air, Rachel caught her breath, water speckling the pavement from the lot of them. Garfield shifted into a golden lab, moving a polite distance away before shaking himself out. The mages were conferring in Chinese, using magic to accomplish some drying and taking note of any wounds. Pulling off her cloak and attempting to wring it out, to little effect, she saw from the signs reading ‘Riviera Country Club’ that they were in- “...A golf course parking lot?”
The disciple looked over. “It was the best I could think of on short notice!”
As he went back to his conversation, Rachel winced when Garfield suddenly collapsed with a yelp. Turning back into a human, he shifted to a sitting position. In the light of the empty parking lot, she could see spots of blood where he’d been bitten, and his limbs were trembling. Turning to Rachel, he smiled. “Got some MP left in you?”
Shaking her head in disapproval, regardless she approached, cloak squelching as she took a seat, the cool water against her skin already wearing on her patience. “You owe me.” He let out a sigh of relief as she started healing him, her mind muttering the whole while, I can use this, I can use this...
The two looked up as the disciple reached them, stooping down and taking a seat with a grunt. “If you were not there to commune with Baroshtok, then what were you doing?”
Rachel sneered. “I could ask you the same.”
“You struck first, you can answer first.”
Narrowing her eyes for a moment, she sighed before her tongue wove the lies she’d settled on in the last minute or so. “I was meditating when I detected something off about that recycling plant. I wanted to find out why it had a magical signature.”
“And you attacked us because…?”
“You were threatened by my presence and I was outnumbered. What should I have done?”
“I dunno, talked?”
The disciple studied Rachel before admitting to Gar, “No, that can be read as an act of hostility in itself, at least when it comes to mages.” He sighed. “Very well. You may have initiated, but I did escalate. Let’s leave it at that.” Taking a deep breath, he began, “Baroshtok is a being from another dimension. A powerful one. Our discipline had been using a particular vanishing spell to dispose of unwanted materials and banish dangerous objects. Rather than some unknowable void, they were being sent to a region in realms beyond ruled by Baroshtok. They believed they were receiving tributes of worship from some primitive beings, and investigated. When they discovered we were using his domain as a garbage dump, they were outraged, demanding recompense. We settled on an arrangement: for ten years we would be allowed to continue using our vanishing spell while we discovered a new one, but they would also be allowed to use our home to offload their garbage in exchange. This is the last year and they’ve gotten even more aggressive about the sent waste. I’m thankful they give us warning about where their refuse is offloaded, but mostly it’s been at that plant. The magical signature you detected was the result of the plant being used for ten years as Baroshtok’s dumping ground. When all of this is over, it will be gone in another few years, I’m sure.” Rachel’s shoulders fell, as did her expression. “This time was more dangerous than ever. I would have needed backup, but you had the problem well in hand, so I should thank you.”
As Rachel retreated into herself mentally, losing focus, Garfield turned from her to the mage, butting in, “Hey, the, uh, necromancy: what’s up with that?”
“Ah. Baroshtok’s dimension is a plane closer to the natural order of the universe, more primordial and much more in tune with magic. Even their equivalent to bugs can tap into it through sheer instinct and affinity, where we need years of study to emulate that power. The corpse was closer in kind to Baroshtok: I prey it was found already infested and sent here. I shudder to think if Baroshtok deliberately sent the bug filled corpse, but I will report this to my superior. There’s nothing for you two to worry about.” Satisfied, he began to turn off, but finished, “You are rather talented, girl. If you wish to further yourself in magical arts, you are welcome to come with me.”
Eyes shooting up at him, Rachel’s head not moving at all, she clicked her tongue. “Not interested.”
Giving a slight nod, he simply replied. “Right then.” Moving away, he waved the other two along and summoned one last portal, vanishing into the night.
-----
Still too exhausted to move far, the two teens made their way to a bench to catch their breath, shivering as they tried to air dry. A security guard wandered by, but they were able to wave him off with promises that they’d be gone soon. He just laughed at the assumption that they’d been caught in the sprinklers while messing around, but Garfield was just glad he didn’t get crap for being a mutant.
Calming his lip as it trembled from the chill, Garfield asked, “You okay?”
Rachel bit her lip, nails digging into her knee. She tried to stand, but her legs didn’t listen. So instead she just lowered her head, getting as close as she could to a fetal position before letting out a scream. A primal shout of disdain and palpable frustration. The nearby plants and foliage shuddered and shook, black magic tearing leaves and weak branches apart. Garfield himself was buffeted, holding firm by sheer instinct. Once it was quelled, she sat up, breathing heavily. “I have a mission. A purpose. I’ve been training for years. My father prepared me to do his bidding, and I was going to invoke his name over literal garbage.” Looking down at her hand, she bared her teeth before biting down, catching a fold of flesh behind her knuckle. She didn’t draw blood even as she held for a few seconds, but the teeth marks were very visible when she pulled away. It seemed to calm her, and the recognition only made Garfield’s heart sink even further. “I don’t need your pity. The only one I care about thinks I’m trash, or rightfully should after that display.” Once again she tried to stand, and once again she failed utterly, letting out a cry of frustration.
“...I don’t think you’re trash.” Garfield said meekly. Rachel didn’t respond. Garfield still didn’t even know her name. He barely knew anything about her. Yet still, he sat here, refusing to leave her side. How could he? For everything he didn’t know, the blanks he filled in were painting another picture. He couldn’t imagine what personal demons she was fighting. Earlier when she said the mages were ‘trying to stop her’ he assumed she’d trashed the plant for no particular reason but to lash out, releasing something bottled up inside. Even if he’d been wrong then, it wasn’t wrong now. Maybe Gar was being unimaginably cocky, but dammit, for as messed up as his life was, he felt like leaving this girl alone was the worst thing he could possibly do.
“Hey...did I ever get your name?”
She sat silently for a few seconds, before weakly croaking out, “Rachel.”
Garfield gave a slow, solemn nod. “Okay...Ray-Ray.” Her eyes flashed red.
“Don't you dare!” “Don't you dare!”
Garfield held up his hands, the edges of his lips cracking into a smile despite himself. Nostrils flaring, Rachel cooled down. That brief moment of anger targeted at something else brought her back to her senses. She realized what bothered her about Garfield: sensing his emotions only baffled her more and more as he refused to have the reaction she expected from him.
“Look, you messed up once. It’s not the end of the world!” Rachel didn’t have the energy to retort. “I don’t know who your dad is-” Rachel turned on him, so he decided to choose his next words wisely, “...But if he can’t accept one failure from you then I don’t know if what he expects is really all that reasonable. Is it really that bad?”
Rachel rubbed the part of her hand she bit moments ago, the teeth marks being replaced by red irritation. “I’ve never failed before.”
“Uh, have you ever even seriously tried something before now?” Rachel’s resounding silence told Garfield enough. He kept his last follow up to himself, instead offering, “Annnd...what if I helped you?”
Once the words sank in, Rachel nearly jumped out of her spot. “Wh-what?” Garfield hadn’t heard anyone be that audibly thrown for a loop before, her words weak and lacking all her normal bluster.
“Well, you’re like a witch and I can be your familiar! Would you prefer toad *gribbit*, cat *meooow*, rat *squeaksqueak*, snake *sssss*, or owl *hoo?*”
Rachel’s expression was beyond frustration. “No! And if you turn into an owl again I’ll rip out your tongue and feed it to a dog.”
Back to normal, Garfield grinned. “Aw come on you look like you loved Harry Potter when you were a kid!”
“No, I didn’t, because books and movies are a waste of time!”
“Not enough of a waste if you knew enough to catch the reference!”
Rachel planted her palm on her forehead gem, letting out a long, tired sigh. Taking a breath, she finally found the energy to stand, mystifying herself as much as she surprised Garfield. “You know what? If you really think you have what it takes to be my familiar, we can do the ritual tomorrow. But frankly I don’t think you have it in you. You don’t even know what my mission is.”
Getting combative, Garfield stood. “Can’t be that bad. We kicked that corpse’s butt!”
Rachel turned on him, looking up at the taller boy. “I want to emblazon my father’s sigil on enough places of magical power to call him here to Earth, where he’ll inhabit my form and use the charred corpse of this worthless rock called Earth as a stepping stone to make the whole dimension fall to his boundless power.”
“Judo is the way to the most effective use of both physical and spiritual strength.” - Jigoro Kano
Central Park at five AM blurred past in a rush of green foliage and dark pavement. The fresh dew filled Luke’s nostrils and the early morning chirps of the park’s critters filled his ears. That, and the dulcet tones of Danny Rand’s voice.
“I don’t need your wushu chinese bullshit right now, Danny,” Luke said. The roadwork was taking its toll on him. Since Danny had turned up at Luke’s door weeks ago, they’d taken to training together. It wasn’t a smooth thing, finding a place in your new life for your childhood friend -- one who was supposed to be dead. But training was the best thing for it, to work together in silence and adjust to each other’s presence. In theory it was silence.
“It’s not wushu, it’s parapsychology. Synchronicity.” Danny’s breathing was lighter than Luke’s, but he had about fifty fewer pounds of muscle to worry about. A mile back he had mentioned something about yogic breathing and it reminded Luke of the way Danny used to brag about all the techniques he knew, because he was just so good at martial arts. Never mind the fact that it was really his parents money getting him into all those classes and teaching him all those extra things.
“Parapsych is so much better,” Luke snorted and pressed harder. Every slam of his sneakers into the concrete path rocked up through his legs, and he tried to use the sensation to drown out Danny’s droning explanation.
“When things happen soon after one another, and have no discernable connection, yet appear meaningfully related. For most people, at most times, it’s little things. You think of a song and you hear it when you next turn on the radio. You think of an old friend and soon see them unexpectedly…”
Luke laughed, and his sides stabbed at him for his trouble. “You trying to convince me we have some special connection, Rand?”
“I’m not not suggesting it, but I’m thinking bigger actually. Put it to you this way: ten days ago, some kid wrestler in a spider mask floors a three hundred pound champion with one strike. A week ago, a streak of horizontal lightning blasted through Central City. Yesterday, people saw a man in Metropolis actually flying over the skyline.”
What was Danny trying to say? That the ‘rules’ had changed? Luke knew that better than anyone. He’d known it from the moment the needles broke his skin and filled his whole body with icy fire, so that he could never be broken again. It only took part way, the change was literally only skin deep. But that was enough to smash his way through guards, prisoners, and brick walls alike until he reached freedom. In his escape he’d taken handgun shots to the chest and they had actually bounced off. It was impossible.
But he knew, from the deep bruises and the joint pain, it was real. Every blow his unblemished skin had absorbed had certainly saved his life, but ravaged the muscles beneath. By the time the adrenaline wore out he collapsed two miles from the prison. Over the next six months he recovered and rebuilt his body from the ground up, making his way back to the city in small jumps, week by week. Here, now, back in the city with Danny was near the end of his training, putting on the finishing touches and achieving his final goals. But what did Danny know?
When Luke asked what had happened to him, Danny told some story about finding some place in the mountains where the ‘old masters’ lived. Luke took that to mean, ‘I don’t want to talk about it’. It figured. Kid probably had to watch his mom die out there. Mrs. Rand was one of the good ones, if there ever were good rich people. She always brought a smile and fancy lunches for all the kids at the dojo. There was always a little extra for Luke, she’d say it was for all the ‘trouble’ Danny was giving him. It figured that even the ‘good’ ones still couldn’t help but try to make all their kid’s messes go away. Mr. Rand was a spiteful bastard whose lip would curl in disgust every time it was his turn to collect his hellion from the dojo and from all the unwashed masses inside. Mr. Rand had the good fortune to not be on the plane that took his wife’s life, and had dropped out of Luke’s attention almost entirely since then, except for the man’s habit of investment in independent fight promotions. Rand had never spoken a word about finding his son in the aftermath of the disappearance, but Danny showing up now told Luke the whole story.
Most likely, Danny got recovered by his father’s people somewhere out in the mountains while his dad milked the ‘disappearance’ for what it was worth. Probably shipped the kid around the world to whatever dojos would take his donations. But there had to have been some kind of fallout between them, and recently. Kid probably made some indiscretion in a foreign land and got left out in the cold. Danny had come to Luke with a face covered in a scraggly beard that hid most of his features. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in a year. He’d since shaven and bathed, but he still had the look of a man that had lived on the road for some time.
The first thing you noticed about Danny were his hands. Luke remembered Danny having little twigs for fingers that young Luke hoped would snap every time he hit the bag. But now his fingers and palms were thick and rough, almost as big as Luke’s. It had to be the product of hundreds or thousands of hours striking a leather coated makiwara, or from living it rough out in the sticks... Maybe Danny had learned something out there. But he had a funny way of showing it, with his endless rants about eastern philosophy garbage. Luke was about to tell Danny to can it when he saw a man down along their path.
“Sweet Christmas,” Luke said. He saw Danny almost laugh at the expression before his eyes caught the figure approaching down the concrete paved path. Carl fucking Creel. The Crusher. You could tell it was Creel from a mile away, by the way his glistening bald head seemed to come to a fine point that caught the light of the early morning sky.
“Small city, Lucas,” Creel said. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He refused to break Luke’s gaze.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Luke asked. As far as he knew, Creel was still due another few years in lockup, back down in Georgia. Creel came to a stop a dozen paces away.
“A guy can’t visit the greatest city on earth?” Creel cocked his head at Luke. He laughed. “I’ll tell you this much -- your escape made a lot of opportunities for a lot of people. I just took advantage of one of them.”
Luke caught Danny gazing back and forth between them bemusedly. This was another one of the things about new Danny, the way he’d look at you like a greened out stoner who was sure he was well beyond whatever you had to say.
“So you’re not here for me?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. Two fighters meet, and there’s no one around to object. What else is there to do?” Creel was right. In this part of the park, at this time of day, it was dead. The only thing around besides the three of them, the grass, and the pavement, was a bench a half dozen yards away. If Creel made this a fight, he could clobber them and get away without attracting too much attention.
Luke was gassed. They had been driving hard for the last two hours and he was about at the end of his stamina. But this was only Crusher Creel. He could have done a hundred times what Danny did for hand conditioning and it wouldn’t change the simple fact that an all out bare knuckle strike would break against Luke’s skin.
“You really want me to teach you this lesson again?” Luke said. He took a step forward and his calf tightened into a charley horse. Luke dug his fingernails into his palm and felt them crack against his skin.
“I was thinking I’d teach you one this time, actually. Six months is a long time,” Creel took a knee. Luke raised an eyebrow.
“A lesson in forgiveness, I hope,” Danny chimed in. He pulled a yellow bandana out of his pocket.
“This guy isn’t someone you wanna play with, Danny,” Luke said. Over the last few weeks, Danny had shown himself to be a huge proponent of light sparring. To his mind, you avoided injury and developed all the same skills. It told Luke all he needed to know, that Danny had only ever been in ‘matches’.
In prison, it was against the rules to teach any martial system, but that didn't stop the yard fights. Luke didn't get in many, but most of the ones he was in involved Creel. They were brawls where men laid their lives on the line, but Creel went harder than most anyone. The man was a savage striker, and had cracked Luke's skull more than once. On the outside the man had been a boxer with a powerful jab cross combo. But the last time Creel tried it on Luke, he shattered his hand on Luke’s new, unbreakable face.
“I don’t need to hear from the bench. But don’t worry -- I’ll show your friend here how to give a proper apology,” Creel said to Danny. He touched his right knuckle to the bare pavement. It was the same hand Luke had broken. Traces of gray appeared on the back of his hand and for an instant Luke thought Creel was going pale. It was the same shade and texture as the concrete, leaping up Creel’s arm and across his whole body. It was like he was absorbing the concrete straight out of the sidewalk, into the pores of his skin.
“Let’s see how tough you are in a real street fight, Carl Lucas.” Creel stood and grinned at him. Even his crooked smile, still missing the teeth Luke had taken from him, was the same gray pavement. Luke swallowed. There had to be stranger things in the world, Danny had just listed some of them, but it wasn’t often that an asshole from the clink turned himself into a jersey barrier that was ready to throw hands.
“Oh, Luke…” Danny had wrapped the bandana across his face so that it hid his eyes behind white lenses. He was smiling, “he really is someone I want to play with.” He stepped in front of Luke and threw his arms wide, presenting himself. “How about trying me on for size?”
The stone faced man laughed. “Oh yeah? Fucking try it, new meat. I’ll take the warm up. Hit me a hundred times -- a thousand times -- I won’t give an inch. That’s a boxer’s guarantee. I’m unbreakable.” He thumped a fist against his chest and it sounded like a sledgehammer.
“I don’t have to hit you. I just have to throw you. I’m going to beat you,” Danny said, “with only judo.” He swayed back, his challenge accepted, and brought his arms together, fist in hand.
“You’re funny, bandana,” Creel snickered.
Danny bowed to Creel.
“What the fuck was that?”
Luke’s chest tightened. Danny was serious. Only judo. But this wasn’t a spar anymore, like all the matches Luke and Danny had. Could he tell how serious Creel was? The stone smile was disappearing from his face, and he seemed to tighten across his whole body. It was like every facet of his concrete form, down to the black specs of his eyes hidden in the mass of his flesh, was a bull prepared to charge… and Danny insisted on waving the red cape.
“My name is Danny…” Danny assumed his pose, two open hands, one in front of the other, “Danny Rand, ninth dan black belt of the K’un Lun Kōdōkan. I’m thanking you for giving me the chance to improve my technique. I hope you will take this opportunity to improve yours.”
Luke knew the power in Creel’s hands. He could have cracked Danny’s head open like an egg before his change. A ninth dan black belt or not (which sounded like more Rand flavor bullshit), Luke had seen Creel drop guys with just as much fancy martial arts training. It didn’t compare. He was about to watch Danny kill himself on Creel’s superhuman fists, and he couldn’t coax his damn leg to move.
“Danny…” was all he was able to get out before Creel charged and Danny moved. It was over. One swipe from the concrete cudgels of Creel’s hands would crush through Danny’s bones. He heard the noise before he registered what happened, the thunderous crackling of his old friend having his body shattered. He couldn’t look. Only…
Creel had hit the ground. What? Luke did a double take. He hadn’t seen it, whatever Danny had done. There he was, standing over Creel, mugging like an idiot, none the worse for wear, while the big man recovered.
“Maybe you can tell me…” Danny hopped backwards, avoiding a swipe from Creel’s forearm. “Why are you here? In New York, I mean. Sure sounds like you’ve come a long way,” Danny sidestepped an uppercut as Creel launched himself to his feet. His dodges were crisp, but Creel’s moves were only half committed. Danny was way ahead of himself, to think he could just chat Creel up. He was on the knife’s edge.
“Same reason anybody who’s anybody is here, punk. Meta-Brawl.” Creel said. His composure hadn’t shaken one measure. He was already adapting, sidling just out of Danny’s effective reach. Danny had to have gotten lucky with his first move. Creel was a professional. Luke had seen Danny try crazy things in their spars before; cede an opening, drop a block, and go for something ‘cute’ when they least expect it. They were just the kinds of things men like Creel worked day and night to iron out of their routines, to easily defend against and crush upstarts without discipline. In the professional’s world, only truly practiced techniques and refined principles mattered. Yet here Danny was, pulling another crazy stunt.
“What’s a ‘Meta-Brawl’?” Danny tilted his head and lowered his shoulder. Danny was dangling his chin, his end-it-in-one button, in front of a boxer like a shank of meat.
“One audition with powers like these, and I’m a shoe in for the big leagues. Night after night, I’ll get to face real champions in real fights. Not half rate dorks like you two,” Creel said. He saw the opening and threw a cross. Danny bobbed under it by a centimeter, grabbing Creel’s leading shoulder and wrapping a hand around his waist. Danny turned and Creel tumbled over the smaller man’s hip and crashed to the ground. Luke realized Danny lied to Creel, in a sense. Danny was relying on judo’s speciality, and he was hitting Creel -- with the earth itself.
“You’re a man after my own heart, Creel,” Danny grinned at him while Creel brought himself to one knee. The concrete had cracked across Creel’s back and chest. A spider web of lines and tumbling pebbles defined his jaw. “You can’t stop chasing the next challenge, can you?”
“And you can’t stop sticking your nose into fights that ain’t yours, huh kid?” Creel stood and adjusted his guard, now presenting his shoulder first to Danny -- the Philly shell. Creel was on the backfoot and he knew it.
“I think I already get you… You’re not here for revenge on Luke. You need to prove to yourself you can beat him. I’ve been there.”
“Get this!” Creel stepped in and threw a combination. Flicker jab, cross, straight, flicker, flicker, uppercut, no matter which move Danny weaved between them. Creel might as well have been in slow motion. Somehow Danny the punk was moving like he’d fought Creel ten thousand times. Was Danny that familiar with boxing too? Where did he find the time?
But Creel saw it too. Danny knew boxing too well. Creel turned out of his defensive stance and flicked his knee up. It wasn’t a practiced motion, totally outside the scope of boxing, but it was enough to set off Danny’s reflexes.
Danny moved to dodge the surprise knee, but it was a feint. Creel’s real straight rocked into Danny’s cheek and he stumbled backwards. Danny spat out a mouthful of blood and Luke cringed for him. Danny smiled.
“Incredible. You’re just incredible, Creel,” Danny flowed back into his stance. Creel bellowed and the dance began again.
It hit Luke like one of Creel’s crosses, just what Danny meant about synchronicity. He wasn’t talking about something as small as the pair of them, or something so insignificant as unbreakable skin or a body made of concrete. He was already thinking farther ahead than Luke could have dreamed: he was thinking about a world where people could climb again.
Creel was the biggest guy on the prison yard by almost a full head, rippling with muscle and bristling with a decade of experience. He didn’t need to train any harder, he was already the best. Until Luke arrived, a man almost as large and with a mountain more technique. Formal martial instruction of any kind was banned, but that didn’t stop the muscle shearing workouts and the breathless, whispered discussions of anything that could give a man an edge. Soon it spread beyond Creel and Luke, even the inmates who had never seen their fights knew what was possible. The ceiling had been raised.
It was a truth well beyond the scope of one prison. In the world of sprinters it was the ten second barrier, in the history of high jumpers it was the two meter mark. One person achieves something thought impossible, and dozens come out of the woodwork with the talent to claim the same achievement. What would happen in a world where the ceiling wasn’t raised by a tenth of a second or a handful of centimeters, but to the dizzying height of a Superman?
Danny was living proof that a man, a lone judoka, could climb in that world, and knock on the ceiling alongside the titans. And he was climbing fast. Creel hit the pavement again and split the air with a sickening ‘CRUNCH’.
Creel had to be at his limit. He was actually dragging himself along the ground now, arms shaking. But his focus hadn’t dropped, his bullish brow stayed firm as he clawed across the concrete, hardened fingers leaving furrows in their wake. The man was beaten, but he didn’t know it yet. Danny just had to… The bench. Luke had forgotten about it, but now it was only a foot away from Creel, metallic surface gleaming in the early morning sun.
Luke couldn’t move. His legs wailed at him, but there was no way he could make it to the bench and heave it away before Creel could get there. If Creel could coat his body with metal, just like the pavement, the fight really would be over. But Danny saw it coming.
“No.” Danny grabbed Creel’s wrist an inch from the bench and twisted. Creel’s determination dropped and he scurried along like a panicked animal with Danny’s flowing motions, around and away from the bench.
Danny laughed and released him, the concrete beast flopped on the ground, rock on rock cracking together in a drum roll. “I’ll admit, Creel, you made me break my promise. You made me use aikido, and you surprised me again. You’re a clever guy! Most people who haven’t seen that move before would end up letting me break their arms. But let’s finish this, huh? I’ve got one last judo doozy for ya, I think you’ll like it.”
As Creel staggered to his feet for the last time, all Luke could think about was how small the big man was before Danny. Luke wasn’t looking at the brash boy from Pop’s anymore, he wasn’t a spoiled bullshido brat, and he wasn’t just a judoka. Judo, boxing, aikido, and more besides… He was a weapon.
Danny danced inside Creel’s guard and hooked his left leg around the concrete man’s right ankle. His left hand found its place under Creel’s chin, and he tripped the titan over his calf. Danny jerked and brought his whole weight up and through his palm as soon as Creel’s feet left the ground, the sheer impact shattered a whole slab of sidewalk as Creel’s head smashed into the dirt beneath.
Creel looked like his face had been in the oven too long, puffed up and cracked open all over to reveal the punished, bruised skin beneath. The man was out cold, and the concrete armor was beginning to fade away, dropping off from his skin in chunks.
“Yeah…” Danny nodded to himself, “he’d like to learn that one for sure. If he remembers it when he wakes up.” He wiped blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then went fishing in his pocket. He pulled out a business card, one from Pop’s, and threw it onto Creel’s slowly rising and falling chest.
“Do you have a death wish? You’re giving our address to a guy who wants to kick both our asses?”
“I want to know more about this ‘Meta-Brawl’ thing…” Danny pointed at the card, “and that’s a way to find out.”
“There have got to be easier ways to find out than inviting this guy to our place.”
“Yeah. But our gym needs more students if we want to make rent. He has potential.”
“The potential to kill us both.”
“Or, the potential to be one of the best sparring partners we’ve ever had. With the proper application of will and kindness, a great enemy can become a great friend.”
“Okay, that sounds like wushu chinese bullshit.”
A bonus section, dear readers! I thought it would be neat to include these.
-My Luke swears. I know its not vanilla, but its just the voice I found for him. I tried a couple times to remove them but it never felt right. And anyway, I think it reflects his changed origin a touch better. He's still a pastor's son, but a born-and-raised Georgia boy he ain't.
-Danny’s initial synchronicity rant is in part a reference to the start of the 2018 Baki anime, but I thought it would also be a nice way to lampshade the emergence. The back half of it, Luke’s part, is also a bit of a reference to Kengan Omega.
-In both this post and my sample I’ve had Danny using Japanese martial arts. This is in part because I’m more familiar with those systems, and in part because I’m still thinking about what the precise components of the K’un Lun style are. I think Danny knows all kinds of martial arts, but I want to pin down what’s special stylistically about K’un Lun’s particular permutation of kung fu. Plus, its one of my goals to try and have this story show as many unique styles as possible.
-Judo nerds will know that the Kōdōkan is the name of the oldest Judo dojo, founded by Jigoro Kano, founder of Judo. In this case, I imagine several of his students (if not Kano himself) have wound up in K’un Lun over the years, and established their own branch of the Kōdōkan within.
-And martial arts nerds will also know that a 9th dan is kind of ridiculous, especially on a man cross training so many arts. A dan is typically only given after a fairly extreme amount of time once already at the black belt level, but I figured I could handwave and give Danny this achievement because he’s supposed to be a special martial arts wizard or whatever.
1045HRS. He had been selected to train the next Red Guardian, Nikolai Krylenko. They stood in the boxing ring, the shield was affixed to Nikolais back. His shield. This was the closest he had gotten too in for about forty years, since Alexei tried to break him out. Nikolai had removed his cowl, which showed just how long he was. He could have barely cracked his twenties. Not that Steve had been much older when he had signed up for the Super-Serum. Though, that had been a different time.
Steve finished wrapping his hands with medical tape, throwing the roll outside the ring. "Any ground rules?"
Nikolai bragged a cracked smile as he shook his head. "Nyet. No rules."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure-?"
Nikolai nodded as he lunched forward, grunting as he did so. Steve twisted to avoid the punch, grabbing Nikolais wrist he used his own momentum with a simple twist and pull sending Nikolai face first to the deck.
The tumbling Russian put his hands out in front of himself and twisted his momentum into a roll. As he came back up and twisted towards Steve he found his opponent stood in a boxing stance fists raised and feet separated at the ready. Nikolai feinted left with his fist, Steve turning his body into it. Nearly realizing too late as Nikolais right foot came within millimetres of his ribcage.
Steve flashed a smile. "You're good. Faster than Alexei ever was."
"Da. There have been much improvements in the program since then, but are we talking or fighting?"
Steve held out a hand as Nikolai lunged. "If you'll just, one request before we continue?" He allowed his eyes to well up.
Nikolai simply raised an eyebrow.
"One soldier to another, can I hold my old shield?" Steve pointed towards the disk on Nikolais back. He seemed to hesitate for a second before something clicked for him, reaching back and pulling it off its perch.
"It is least I can do."
Steve smiled as the familiar weight returned to his hands, light as ever. He wasn't too thrilled by the colourscheme but he could feel his spirits raise the moment he put his arm through the leather straps. It fit like an old coat, snug and perfect.
"Okay, that is enough-" Steve stroked around the edge of the shield with his free hand, trying to find any imperfections. Seemingly transfixed. Nikolai stepped forward, grabbing the shield in both hands to pull it away from Steve. "-give it back no-"
CRUNCH
Steve pushed the shield forward into Nikolais nose with all the strength he could muster, he had very little doubt that it had been instantly broken as the Russian stumbled backwards with a dumbfounded look upon his face. His eyes went wide as he let go of the shield, however he had no chance to react as Steve followed through with his right fist catching Nikolai square in the jaw. The momentum carried off him feet and several feet away before he came to a stop.
"Consider that a lesson on not handing over your weapon-" Jumping over the rope he started making his way to the door, before turning back around and shouting back to Nikolai. "-Oh, and never let your guard down."
“J.A.R.V.I.S,” Stark’s voice echoed over the tarmac as the four test pilots were fitted into the suits. Helmets closed, momentarily leaving each pilot in the dark before the interior was illuminated with a cutting-edge heads-up display.
“Begin A.I. integration, sync to each pilot and ramp up the interface, I don’t want a pilot so much as blinking without the A.I. compensating.” He snapped as the H.U.D.s in each suit changed from a pale blue to a glowing green while the upload occurred.
“I’m integrating a Virtual Integrated Rapidly Evolving Grid-based Intelligent Lifeform, or V.I.R.G.I.L., but you’ll each have your own instance so you can give them nicknames. V.I.R.G.I.L. is the brains of the suit, translating your movements and intents to the suit.” Stark explained, “If you thought the suit handled well under just your skills, Highball, wait until you fly with power steering.”
“The brains of the suit, huh?” Captain Danvers replied, looking around the helmet before speaking again. “Do you mind if I just call you ‘Brainy’ ‘then?”
“Not at all, Ma’am,” Came the disembodied response.
“‘Nuff of that ‘Ma’am’ nonsense, Flamebird or Cara will do.”
“Understood,” Brainy replied.
“Each instance of V.I.R.G.I.L. will grow and adapt to you, so y’know treat the kids right and they’ll grow up to respect you,” Stark added over the shared channel, “That goes double for you, Major.”
“Hey, don’t pick on me!” Jordan laughed, “I’m a sensitive soul.”
“Based on the data from Mr. Stark, I find that unlikely, if anything you’re a boisterous blo-”
“Geez Louise, cheese on crackers, you scared the living daylights out of me, Cowgirl.” Highball practically smashed his head on the inside of the helmet as the A.I. spoke. “Freakin’ ghost in the shell up in here.”
“Apologies Mr. Jordan,”
“Nah, don’t like that, Major or Highball will you, Spectre.” Major replied, “Actually, yeah I like that, you’ll be Spectre.”
“Copy that, Major.”
“Look at that, the kids are all getting along,” Stark replied, “Go on Shellshock, give yours a name.”
“I’m okay with Virgil,” Rhodey replied. “Alright, what do you got Star Sapphire?”
“I’m going to kill Jordan,” Karoline replied, “It’s Spitfire,”
“That’s what I said,” Stark replied, Karoline could practically see him smirking from the tower.
“Alright, Virgil, how do you want to be addressed?” She asked the A.I. as a faint glow illuminated the helmet.
“I was doing some research just now and I’m rather fond of the name ‘Krystal’.”
“Works for me.” Karoline smiled, “Welcome aboard, Krystal.”
“A.I. integration complete, removing locks and there-” Stark exclaimed, “The suits should be-”
He didn’t even have the words out of his mouth before Highball had left the ground, rocketing into the air. A scowl appeared over Tony’s face before slowly giving way to a smile as he watched his invention soar through the air, seemingly effortlessly as the pilot and A.I. readings began to light up on the screen green. The integration had been a success, Jordan and Spectre were perfectly in sync.
“This is unreal,” Came Jordan’s voice over the comms, “Kari, you’ve got to get up here.”
“Don’t jizz your pants just yet, Jordan,” Stark snarked, “Unlocking defensive and offensive systems.” He relayed over the open channel. “Deploying targets, try not to get hit.”
Behind Jordan, the other three pilots shot into the air, following the course that lay before them. Drone emerged onto the course and began targeting the four personal aviation suits before opening fire as the War Machines were forced to engage in evasive actions.
“I have to admit, Tony,” Rhodes’ voice came over the comms, “It truly does handle like a dream.”
“You’re missing out not being out here, Stark,” Danvers’ voice echoed followed by Spitefire.
“I’ll give you props, Mr. Stark, you made a good pro-”
Her words were cut short as an explosion rocked the tower overlooking the testing grounds. The building began to crumble as smoke and flame engulfed the room where Tony had stood seconds earlier.
“Stark!”
“Tony!” Rhodes roared before turning around and flying towards the tower. Another missile flew through the air, striking the blue and white suit.
“Shellshock!” Danvers roared as she and Highball turned towards the source of the missiles, evading another attack.
“Do… not…” Rhodes’ voice crackled in the comms too late as both Jordan and Danvers were hit with an electromagnetic pulse. Their H.U.D.s suddenly went black before the pair of suits plummeted towards the ground, landing in front of a pair of feet.
The arid desert heat drew beads of sweat down Duncan's forehead. He had been awake for a few hours now, sitting outside the small tent the Bedouins had been gracious enough to provide him after the feast. He struggled to sleep the night before, he could only think it was a side effect of being asleep for a thousand years. He wondered if he'd ever have a good nights sleep with this much to catch up on.
He rolled a sleeve up and rubbed his wrist. Omar hadn't held back in their fight, that was certain, he felt like someone had been smashing his forearms with a hammer. He looked up at the sky, he had taken off his chainmail before the feast last night but even his tunic felt too hot in this weather. He wondered how the tribe managed to keep so cool in their long, flowing robes.
People had been beginning to wake up and start their day for a while now, all the while Duncan had been deep in thought, trying to remember as much as he could about his past, if anything at all. Everything still felt like a ghost to him. Faint shimmers of faces and voices appeared in his mind like lightning bolts if he thought hard enough. Nothing substantial though, nothing to grasp onto.
His trance was broken by the approaching Mehdi, that same knowing smile playing on his lips as he carried over a bundle of robes.
"Good morning, Duncan." He spoke. "I hope I am not disturbing you."
"Not at all, Mehdi." Duncan replied, rising to his feet and brushing sand from his legs. "Your people's hospitality has been great, but I really must be on my way, Merlin awaits me."
Mehdi shook his head.
"I'm afraid it's not so simple as that, my friend. Merlin did not just ask us to find you, but also to help you..." He searched for the word. "Acclimatise to the world as it is now. This camp is one thing, but the world beyond it is another." He handed over the stark black robes to Duncan. "Here, put these on. You must be baking in that old tunic."
Duncan nodded, retreating into his tent before emerging resplendent in the fine robes. He smiled at Mehdi, already feeling cooler as the robes worked to combat the heat of the oppressive sun. Mehdi allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips.
"We'll make a Bedouin of you yet, Duncan. Come, Merlin told us you are a great warrior. If you are to fulfill your end of the contract I shall have to teach you how to fire a Jezail."
Mehdi led Duncan to their camels and the two mounted their animals. They rode lazily under the sun for an hour or so, heading in the direction of a few boulders marring the horizon with their presence.
"Mehdi, much has been said about this 'contract' between your tribe and Merlin. What exactly is my end of the deal?"
Mehdi didn't turn to acknowledge his question. He smoothed his moustache against his face.
"All will be revealed later, my friend. For now, let us focus on the task at hand." Duncan nodded, albeit with a hint of suspicion coursing through his veins.
They arrived at the boulders and dismounted, Mehdi sliding two rifles from the saddle of his camel and pointing Duncan to the top of the boulders before moving over to the space far in front of them. He planted a few sticks into the ground and slid a few empty cans on top of the sticks to serve as targets.
Mehdi joined Duncan on top of the boulders, handing him one of the rifles and crouching next to him. Duncan inspected the weapon, not quite understanding what the contraption was.
"This was what you used to kill Ali yesterday. Is it some sort of wizard's staff? I have only seen Merlin conjure such explosions from thin air."
Mehdi smiled.
"A magic of sorts, my friend, but one that requires no wizard to cast. These are our rifles. Unfortunately they are not as advanced as the type you will see in the wider world, but they serve their purpose." He slid the ram rod out from underneath the rifles barrel and instructed Duncan to do the same. "We used these to fight the Ottomans during the second world war. Handy rifles made handier with our knowledge of the land." He unhooked a bag of powder and another of ammo from his belt and placed them inbetween the two. "We load the rifle with these small, metal balls and then fill it with gunpowder. The gun does the rest." He explained, demonstrating just what he had said before resting the rifle against his shoulder and aiming down at the targets he had set up. "Then you just point at your target and squeeze the trigger." In an instant there was a loud bang and the noise of a tin can being hit and flying off it's stick over in the distance.
Duncan almost jumped back at the noise, looking down at the rifle. He'd never been much of an archer, much preferring close-quarters combat, but this device surely could change the tide of many battles. He attempted to copy Mehdi, loading the rifle and firing, but missing completely.
"Keep trying, my friend. No one hits the can on his first try." Duncan nodded, loading the rifle again as he began to speak.
"Mehdi, I can only assume the reason you're teaching me this is because our contract involves bloodshed. I am capable and willing to fulfill my end of the deal if it is for a just and honourable cause, but my only request is a sword. Have you have any idea what happened to my Ebony Blade?"
Mehdi just shook his head. "Merlin had mentioned such an artefact. We combed the desert for days searching for it, but nothing was found. The desert has a funny way of getting such things lost."
Duncan cursed under his breath. "Perhaps it is for the best. Still, I should need a weapon I feel more comfortable with should we be facing danger."
"This can be arranged."
Mehdi had made sure to bring Duncan back well before nightfall. The knight had taken to the rifle rather quickly, all things considered. He was no crack shot, but he was managing to at least glance off the cans consistently by the end of their trip. Mehdi had given Duncan the rifle as a gift and promised to speak with the Sheik about arranging an appropriate weapon as soon as possible.
They dismounted as they neared the camp, leading their camels in and tying them outside a nearby tent as they made their way in for dinner. A group of children ran by laughing, play-fighting with some sticks. The sight pierced through Duncan like a blade. He felt a surge of emotion and enlightenment so harsh it almost knocked him off his feet. He could remember—remember something so far back it was like a dream.
Duncan’s vision blurred, and suddenly, he was no longer in the desert but in the lush highlands of Scotland, centuries ago. He was a boy again, no more than eight years old, his small hands clutching a rough-hewn stick as he faced off against his brother, who was a few years older.
The two of them stood on a grassy hill, the wind whipping through their unruly hair as they laughed and swung their makeshift swords. Duncan had taken the role of the villain, his face scrunched up in a mock scowl as he menaced his brother. "You’ll never defeat me, Sir Alasdair!" he cried, trying to deepen his voice to sound more menacing. His brother, playing the hero, grinned and raised his stick high.
"In the name of the King, I shall!" his brother declared, charging at Duncan. Their sticks clashed with a satisfying thwack, and they whirled around each other, giggling and shouting, lost in their game.
The sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, and for a moment, the world was nothing more than this small hill, their laughter, and the thrill of the battle.
"Duncan! Alasdair! Come in, it’s time for supper!" Their mother’s voice carried on the wind, breaking through their game. Duncan’s brother, Alasdair, lowered his stick and grinned at him.
"Looks like the good knight wins this time," he teased with a smile, before turning to run back toward their small cottage at the bottom of the hill.
Duncan laughed, chasing after his brother, the stick forgotten in the grass as he raced down the slope. As they neared the cottage they were met with the familiar sight of smoke curling from the chimney.
Their mother stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face as she watched her sons approach. Her auburn hair was tied back in a braid.
"Wash up, both of you. Your father will be home soon," she said, ushering them inside. Duncan could feel a surge of excitement at the mention of his father returning. He had been gone longer than usual this time, maybe even a week. He chattered excitedly with his brother, wondering outloud if his father had brought them any trinkets or souvenirs on his travels.
Duncan’s father arrived just as they were sitting down to eat. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders and a rough-hewn face, his dark black hair flecked with grey. He carried an air of rugged strength about him, and Duncan admired him deeply, though he could never quite understand why his father was often away for days at a time. Their parents had never gone too deply into his fathers missions, just telling the boys that a knights duty took him away for days at a time.
"Been a long day on the road." His father said gruffly, patting Duncan on the head as he passed. Duncan noticed the tiredness in his father’s eyes, but also the way his mother’s smile faltered ever so slightly as she glanced at him.
To Duncan, it was a mystery why his mother sometimes seemed worried when his father came home, why she always asked if he was alright, and why his father would only respond with a quiet nod before changing the subject. The two boys were so excited to see him, why wasn't their mother?
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan with a hollow ache in his chest. He had loved that small, simple life, and though the memory was bittersweet, it brought a smile to his face. He wondered what had become of his family, of Alasdair, and of the parents who had shaped him into the man he had become.
The memory faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Duncan standing beside Mehdi, who noticed the distant look in his eyes. They began to walk toward the large communal tent where dinner would soon be served. The scent of spiced meat and fresh bread filled the air, pulling Duncan back to the present.
Mehdi glanced over at him, his brow furrowing with concern. "You seemed far away just now, Duncan. Is everything alright?"
Duncan hesitated before offering a small smile. "Yes, just… remembering something from long ago. I'm fine."
They continued walking, the lively sounds of the camp around them contrasting sharply with the quiet, haunting echoes of Duncan's past. As they entered the tent, Duncan pushed the memories to the back of his mind, knowing that whatever lay ahead, he would need to stay focused on the present. But the images of the highlands, his family, and that simple, happy time lingered just beneath the surface. He hoped more of his memories would come back soon, he still felt so lost.
Iris was broken out of her reverie by a commotion at the door. "Sorry I'm late-! Joe was on his feet and returned to the kitchen to fix another place setting and plate as Barry came into the room, smiling at Iris. She briefly returned the gesture, before pointing the remote at the TV as she rewound the documentary.
"Have you seen this?" She allowed it to play again, the scene of Captain America on the beach. The static, damage section came up again—the speedster in the winged helmet. This time Iris noticed more in the background of the next shot as various Nazi soldiers were disarmed and incapacitated at high speeds. How had nobody ever picked up on any of this before? She saw the perplexed look on Barrys face, and chuckled to herself. "You don't see it, do you?"
Barry shrugged, then laughed himself. "No, not a clue."
Iris leaned in, casting a glance to the kitchen. Seeing Iris need for secrecy Barry sat himself down and leaned in. "The speedster."
He raised an eyebrow. "All I see is static, possibly some tape damage." His eyes went wide. "Are you telling me-"
Iris eyes darted to the door as Joe re-entered the room. "-that Joe is watching one of my documentaries?"
Joe chuckled as he placed a mat and plate in front of Barry. "Well, what can I say? They seem a little less crazy these days."
The room went silent as the documentary continued. Barry seemed to go distant, his eyes glazing over. They were all shaken out of their reverie as Joe's phone started to ring. Raising his hand to indicate one minute, he unflipped the antique device. It wasn't long before he came back rushing into the room, and pulling on his jacket. Placing his cap upon his head. "Bomb threat downtown." Rushing out the door he turned back to Iris, pointing at her. "Straight home!"
Turning out of the house Barry smirked back at Iris as he stood back up. "You're not going to stay here are you?"
Lightning flashed in her eyes. "Not a chance." He blinked, and Iris was stood there in her costume. Pulling the cowl up over her head she smiled at him. "Lock the door behind you-" She flashed a wink at Barry. "-I'll be back in a Flash"
ABANDONED WAREHOUSE // CENTRAL CITY
Harrison stood with his briefcase in hand. The old door creaked and groaned as he pushed it open, his footsteps echoing on the cold hard floor. "Hello!" His voice echoed throughout the warehouse. Things shifted in the dark, and then suddenly a door opened.
"Wells!" The man rushed forward, a smile on his face.
"Jackson." The man looked ragged and worn. That was to be expected, until several months ago Jackson had worked for STAR Labs as a technician. Until he was found stealing from work to fuel his habits. Harrison twisted the briefcase away from Jackson as he went to grab it.
"Is that what you promised me?"
"This power-cell should be the solution to all your problems-" he twisted the case in his hand. "-and maybe even a little something else too."
Not only had he successfully killed the thief known as Tony Stark, but he had captured not one, but two of the prototype suits he was instructed to procure. The only thing left to do was open the can and pry the sardines from inside.
“<Good shot>,” His comrade complimented him as Anatoli turned to look at the larger blonde man. Arkady Gregorivich, a failed member of the Red Guardian program, turned Winter Solider much like the legendary KGBeast himself. The mutant cracked his neck before extending his Carbonadium tentacles towards one of the downed suits and lifting it so that the visor came to his eye level.
“<What do we do with pilots?>” A cruel smile accented the rhetorical question before Omega Red began to slowly reposition the suit’s limbs into one that would break those of the human inside.
“D…nv…s” Cara took a deep breath as her suit slowly came back to life, her comms crackling with Rhodes’ voice. The HUD suddenly flashed a message of recalibration before the whirl of servos and actuators sounded like a triumphant orchestra in her ears. Fighting back against the metallic tentacles, Captain Danvers, tucked her knees to her chest before igniting her thrusters and breaking free of Omega Red.
“Danvers, Jordan, do you copy?”
“Little busy right now, Colonel,” Danvers replied moving to Jordan’s side, “Brainy, I need countermeasures, what do you have for me.”
“Might I suggest these?” Brainy replied, flashing an image of the suit’s schematic onto the HUD and highlighting the shoulder missiles. “Stark Hummingbird missiles, armour piercing, full spread.”
“Make it so,” Danvers ordered as the two assailants were forced to beat a small retreat as Brainy pelted them with the missiles.
“<Return fire, we can not lose target.>” Omega Red growled as the KGBeast steadied his cybernetic arm, targeting the pair of War Machine suits before loosing another shot. Danvers didn’t have time to react, still unfamiliar with the suit, she braced for impact before the projectile was deflected from its intended target by a repulsor blast.
Standing up, Jordan let out a whoop as his suit had power returned.
“Alright Spectre,” Highball smiled, “Who’s ready to send these Cold War relics back into the icy wasteland they came from?” Opening his comm channel, Jordan turned towards Danvers, “Do you want the big guy or the ‘borg?”
Instinctively cracking her knuckles in the suit, Cara smiled behind her helmet while answering Highball.
“Dibs on the big guy,”
“Alright Maiden of Might, he’s all yours,” Jordan smirked before rocketing forward and tackling KGBeast. Omega Red let out a roar before sending forth a tentacle. Wrapping it around one of her gauntlets, Cara smiled before speaking to her integrated A.I.
“Hey, Brainy, can I get a material analysis?” She asked.
“Affirmative, the tentacle appears to be made of Carbonadium, an Adamantium alloy.”
“That’s conductive right?” Danvers asked with a smile.
“Affirmative.”
“Light him up then,” Cara ordered as Brainy rerouted power from the suit’s reactor and opened a circuit on the gauntlet. The large mutant suddenly went rigid as the electrical shock shot through his body, paralyzing him before he slumped to his knees, the metal tentacle going limp.
“One down,”
“<Filthy American, get your metal hands off me,>” KGBeast muttered as Jordan maneuvered the suit into the air, taking his assailant off the ground. Managing to free his cybernetic arm, KGBeast rammed the nozzle of his weapon into the cuirass of the armour and opened fire, lighting up Jordan’s HUD like a Christmas tree.
“Fine, if you don’t enjoy the trip,” Jordan muttered before suddenly releasing the Winter Soldier, “Then I’ll see you next fall!”
“<Then we die together,>”
The Agent of the Red Room suddenly fired again, striking the suit in the chest and penetrating the armour.
“Catastrophic damage detected. The rector has been decoupled, rerouting power from the emergency cells to sustain flight.” Spectre relayed as Major deployed his brake flaps.
“Flamebird, I need an assist.” Major relayed before looking towards the ground as Danvers moved to intercept him.
“Wait, Danvers, watch out!” Jordan tried to warn her before Omega Red lept to his feet around, the Carbonadium tentacles wrapping around the neck of the suit and its torso.
“<No one said the suit had to be undamaged.>”
“Brainy-” Cara choked out, “I’m open to options.”
“Engaging thrusters, overclocked, 241%.”
The suit struggled to move against the grip of the tentacles, but Omega Red let out a screech of agony as the thrusters burned his skin, his healing factor unable to keep up. Fighting the pain, he tightened his grip before he was eventually forced to break. Cara rocketed forward, careening wildly as the overclocked thrusters launched her through the air toward Jordan.
“Brainy, I need inertia dampeners online,”
“Compensating.”
“Hang on, Jordan,” Danvers yelled before the two suits collided midair. Wrapping her arms around his, Danvers steered the pair back towards the base.
“We need to regroup, if those guys aren’t beating a retreat by now, we can’t continue to take them on our own.”
“No arguments here, girl of steel.” Highball retorted.
“Danvers, Jordan, do you copy?”
“We copy, Colonel, what’s your status?”
“I’m in the tower, looking for survivors. The whole place is coming down.” Rhodes’ voice was frantic.
“We could use some suppressive fire,” Danvers replied, “Might have a tail,”
“Kari, get them off us,” Jordan added as a streak of purple appeared above them.
“We’re clear, but so much for an undisclosed location.”
3x Thank
3x Thank
