Zach Moonhunter and the Resistants in…

RESISTANTS IS FUTILE

By Clayton Tooley

My name is Zach Moonhunter…and I’m dying one MPH at a time…

Moving between breaths, the man in the yellow and black costume with the silver helmet moved amidst the statute-like figures before him, pulling weapons from hands and placing EMP nodes on the backs of the green-suited Guardsmen he danced around. Within a second he had disarmed the squad of four and peeled off to the side and began the painful process of slowing his body down to normal speed and attempting to catch his breath as fire raced through his legs and hips and clutched strongly around his heart, causing him to trip and fall along the roadside. Only the protection of his Kevlar costume saved him from serious injury as he slid to a stop after shedding his extra speed in an impressive spray of dirt.

This is it. This time my body will give in to the strain. My heart is going to explode…I feel the cracks forming…deep fissures in all four chambers…

He lay there gasping, the pain as real and potent as anything he had ever felt before. In the distance he heard the building of a charge and the snap-hiss of the EMP nodes activating and five hundred pounds of useless armor slamming into the road along with cries of pain. A strong male voice rang out, ordering an attack on the prison transport, which was followed with a rending of metal and a sizzling sound of excited air molecules as various types of energy were directed at the reinforced transport. The mission seemed to be going well, at least.

Blood in my mouth…I’m hemorrhaging…Dear God don’t let me drown in my own blood!

“Lay still, Cyclone,” a sultry voice said from his side, concern and fear clear in her tone. “I’ll help you.” A hand appeared above his face, the delicate fingers covered in yellow seemed to be swimming in a miniature cumulus cloud that was actually an extension of the curling ribbon of mist that constantly surrounded Mist Mistress when she activated her powers. The tendrils of mist above her hand suddenly flowed downward and into his nostrils, causing him to involuntarily take a deep breath that caused his chest to explode in another burst of pain.

He started to cry out but noticed that just as quickly as it had come the pain subsided and a pleasant numbing feeling spread from the center of his chest out into his extremities until he felt as if his body had fallen asleep and his pulse rate began to slow and his breathing returned to normal slowly. He began to drift into sleep when a second blast of air hit his face, one of pure oxygen that cut through the cotton in his head and snapped his eyes back open. He focused on the smiling face above him and smiled. “You are under arrest,” he said.

“Still with the Robocop jokes, huh?” said Mist Mistress as she reached up and undid the connections between her own metal helmet with the thin black eyesight and her uniform and pulled it free, spilling her long brown hair around her shoulders and her green eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight. She smiled, curling her red lips toward her eyes and asked, “How’s the heart?”

My God she’s beautiful. Too bad she’s a mutant terrorist…

“It’s better,” he said as he sat up, rubbing his still-desensitized chest. “Sorry to keep needing your assistance. You do make a very hot candy striper, though.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “I know you only love me for my anesthetic mist, but I have to again tell you that I don’t agree with you continuously doing this to yourself, Zach. You’re pushing your heart too far and too hard. Not every mutant power is free. I haven’t been able to smell anything since I was fifteen years old, including my own mists. Your speed is killing you.”

Because I’m not a mutant.

“I’m fine,” he said, pulling himself to his feet and reaching down to help her up off of her knees. “I don’t want to talk about it here, Misty. Let’s get Peepers and Quill and get out of her.”

“Occult will shoot you in the face if you call him ‘Peepers’, you know.”

“Never touch me, baby. I’m just that good,” he added with a lopsided smile.

“Didn’t save you from Meteorite’s left hook yesterday.”

“Guy’s the white Tyson, let me tell you,” he said, rubbing his jaw and wincing at the memory of that punch. “All I said was I didn’t think we needed to kill the Guardsmen to bust our guys out. Most of the rest of you backed me up, figuratively at least.”

“You know how I feel about murder,” she said as she pulled her helmet back onto her head. “Self-defense is one thing, but most of us are against premeditated murder. Meteorite, however, hasn’t been the same since DC and the beating that replacement Captain America put on him. It’s been two years and he still can’t let go of his rage.”

Just one of the reasons I’m here. Your leader’s turned into a psycho and is taking all of you with him.

“That’s not a problem that’s going to go away, you know,” he said in a whisper as they neared their teammates.

“I know,” she said back just as quietly.

“Cyclone, what the hell happened to you?” asked the harsh voice of Meteorite as he tossed the top and sides of the prison transfer truck off into the distance, clearing the way for Occult and Quill to step down onto the road and into the reach of Paralyzer, who placed one of his metallic claw-shaped hands onto each of their collars and pumped enough electricity through the locking mechanism to disable them, allowing the two mutants to remove the neutralizing collars and flex their proverbial muscles again.

Peter Quinn, the diminutive mutant known as Occult, turned his bulging eyes toward the front of the ruined truck and loosed a pent-up blast of ocular energy, blowing a hole clean through the engine block of the reinforced truck. The man known only as Quill pulled his arms back behind his head and thrust them forward, which caused his body, which had been completely smooth prior to those actions, to break out everywhere with six-inch long barbs that flew off of his arms and chest and covered the massive oak tree in front of him, splintering the 200 year-old tree into a pile of kindling.

“I see you guys are feeling better,” said Crucible, the last member of the assault team, said as he walked away from the four downed Guardsmen, who he had welded together back to back to prevent them from chasing them after the EMP pulse wore off. “Let’s get the hell out of here before Cyclone drops over like a pansy again.”

“Blow me, fireplug,” Cyclone said, rubbing his chest. “I made this whole operation clean, easy and bloodless. Get off my case.”

“Big deal,” Paralyzer said, rubbing his electrified metal hands together. “We could have taken four guardsmen with our eyes closed.”

“Enough. Get up here and let’s get moving,” Meteorite said, reaching a hand out and grabbing all of them in his telekinetic grip and pulled them up next to him on a huge rock he had retrieved from where he had hidden it when they’d arrived. “Cyclone’s health issues aside, this was a success. Let’s not get busted now.” With the barest movement of his hand, Meteorite caused the rock to shoot into the sky as quickly and nimbly as a fighter plane, banking into the cloud cover and heading West at an insanely high rate of speed, his telekinetic abilities keeping them all anchored to the rock and a bubble of air trapped to its craggy surface that allowed them all to breathe.

Within the hour they were lowering out of the clouds into the wide open deserts of Death Valley California, pulling to a stop next to a normal looking crater amid hundreds of miles of similar craters all over the landscape. They all leapt free of the rock as Meteorite tossed it aside to land in the pile of similarly-sized rocks he kept for use nearby, and they stepped toward the edge of the large crater.

“Open sesame,” Mist Mistress said quietly to Cyclone as they neared the edge of the crater and stepped forward…into the secret camp of the Resistants. Sprawling before them were dozens of tents spread out around the edge of the crater, which was much deeper and wider than it appeared from the air. In the center of the crater was a huge roaring bonfire that had several large animals roasting in preparation of the celebration that had been planned for the return of their two missing brothers. As they appeared within the sanctity of their home, a cheer went up from the almost twenty other mutants inside, celebrating their return.

The strike force dispersed into the crowd of well wishers and eventually made their way to their individual tents to freshen up from the mission. Zach Moonhunter limped into his and collapsed onto his old army cot heavily and buried his face into the pillow to scream.

Jesus Jumped Up Christ! I can’t keep this up…

He was in month nine of a planned six-month operation. He was supposed to only be observing the Resistants, getting an idea of their current operations and threat potential, not moving in. He had no idea what had happened to his extraction three months ago, only that he was still here relying on technology to mimic mutant powers that was more detrimental as time went on. His ‘powers’ were built into his boots and the belt that he wore beneath his suit and activated using a palm controller. The boots gave him the speed and the belt protected him from the stress of the movement, both internally and externally, or so it had for the first few months.

Since then something was wrong and he had no way of stopping it. His body was receiving more and more punishment from the speed, and he was beginning to believe that his joints were being severely affected especially his knees and hips. They burned and he could feel the bones grating against each other when he moved, and he’d developed deep muscle bruises over large segments of his body as a result of diminished blood flow and his constant bouncing across the ground. He was also having headaches and vision problems, though his mental facilities didn’t seem to be impaired as yet.

What could be keeping him…I hope he’s all right…I hope they’re all ok, for all our sakes…

He must have dozed off. A cool cloth on his forehead awoke him and he opened his crusty eyes to see the face of Belinda Stewart, also known as Mist Mistress, who was smiling down on him with concern clear on her face. Across from her, sitting on his left side, was a older man with a cloth wrapped around his eyes beneath a pair of dark glasses, eyes which Zach knew from experience were completely blind and had been from birth. Isaiah smiled at him, his dark skin pulling back from brilliantly white teeth, and he said, “My boy, what did I tell you about all this running around?”

“Sorry,” Zach croaked, gratefully taking the sip of water Belinda offered before smiling at them both. “It’s what I do best.”

“Not from what I can see,” Isaiah said, moving his hands slowly over Zach’s body, letting his own mutant sense of healing probe at his wounds, determining all of the damage and allowing him to see what, if anything, he could do to help. He paused his movements with his left hand hovering above Zach’s knees and his right over Zach’s heart, and tickling sensations began spreading across those locations, both irritating and soothing Zach’s pain at the same time. “Belinda, dear,” Isaiah said as he continued to work, moving his hands closer in toward Zach’s pelvis, the healing sensation spreading, “could you run and see if Freezer would mind wiping up a couple of ice packs for our friend here? There will be some light infection and swelling that he’ll need some additional treatment for tonight.”

“Of course,” Belinda said, smiling at them both before she hopped up onto her bare feet and jogged outside, her short skirt flapping around her rear end in a most inviting way below the strapless tube top she wore. After she was clear of the tent, Isaiah set back, shaking out his hands from the effort of healing Zach. With a sigh he said, “You’re going to destroy her, son.”

I know.

Moonhunter sat up, flexing his leg muscles off of the side of the bed opposite of Isaiah, marveling at how much better he felt after such a short time. “I don’t want to. That’s not why I’m here,” he said as he got up and began peeling his costume off, careful to disguise his equipment as he piled it under his cot. “You know that, Isaiah.”

“No, I believe that, son, but I don’t know shit.” Isaiah took off his glasses and began rubbing his hands over his covered eyes slowly. “All I know is you’re not a mutant and that girl I care about loves you. By all rights I should tell Meteorite about you and be done with it. But…”

“But you know there’s something wrong with him, don’t you?” Zach asked, pulling a light shirt on over a pair of cargo shorts, wincing as his shoulders popped and his hips cried out from the motion.

Isaiah was silent for a moment then he nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“I need your help. I can help you, all of you,” Zach said, sitting back down next to Isaiah. “Criminal records and light terrorism aside, the majority of the people here haven’t done anything wrong, and even some of those who have I can do something about. But Meteorite has, and most of his inner circle as well, but their fates aren’t in my hands. I’m just here to save innocent lives, Isaiah, that’s all.”

“Whose lives, son? Mutants or humans?” Isaiah said.

“Does it matter to you?” Zach asked, turning at a sound from the door of the tent. “A life is a life far as I’m concerned.” He smiled as Belinda returned, holding several carefully bundled packs of mutant-generated ice, smiling at them both.

“I hope so,” Isaiah said as he put his glasses back on. “For all our sakes.”

Meteorite, Crucible and Paralyzer emerged from their tents at nearly the same time, nodding to each other and moving past the bonfire and toward a bare patch of desert out at the far end of the base camp. Midway to the edge of the crater, a smaller invisible barrier was pierced and the three disappeared from the view of those at the bonfire and stopped walking, taking a look around to ensure their privacy. Convinced they were alone, Crucible knelt and held one hand out over a seemingly random area of the desert and loosed a short, controlled blast of heat energy, which struck a hidden sensor beneath the sand and a slit appeared in the sand and retractable horizontal doors swung silently open exposing a sharply descending rock staircase.

The three men quickly descended the stairs and Paralyzer triggered the door close sensor, causing the doors to slam shut and left them momentarily in darkness until overhead lights activated. The light guided them down a short corridor to a secured door set in the side of a rock slab, which Meteorite opened using his telekinesis to simultaneously press four equidistant panels around the door at the same time. This deactivated the security measure and allowed the door to swing outward, allowing them entrance into the amazingly modern and well-lit room beyond.

It was a large room filled on the left with an assortment of computer and communications equipment, manned by a mutant with six eyes and four arms, who was monitoring a dozen computer screens, TV monitors and radios at the same time, listening in to everything happening around the world. Behind him to the right of the door was a medical center containing two cots and a well-stocked cabinet of medicines and medical equipment, which was, thankfully, empty at this time. The nerve center of the Resistants movement, known only to the three men who had just entered and the three permanent staff members, was quiet at this time in the evening due largely to the fact that only the monitor technician was present and he didn’t spare them a glance from even one of his eyes.

There were, however, two additional individuals who knew about the nerve center, but they were not nearly as fond of it. Hanging from wrist and ankle restraints on the back of the large room were two figures wearing bright red, white and blue costumes that were covered in blood…their own. For the last month, Jack Flag and Free Spirit had been ‘guests’ of the Resistants, who had spent the time attempting to discover why the pair had been tracking them down for the last three months, how they had finally found their base camp and, last but most importantly, who the spy or spies were within the Resistants’ ranks.

“Good evening,” Meteorite said, his wolfish grin spreading across his face as he grabbed onto the ribs of his captives and gave them a strong squeeze to wake his two playthings up and garner their attention. “Ready to talk yet?”

“That you again, Invisible Girl?” Jack Flag said. “It’s cute how much you love me.”

“He’s always been the funny one,” Crucible said, popping his knuckles. “Let’s see how funny he is wrapped in his own burning flesh.”

“Oh Torch, I haven’t forgotten about you,” Jack said before crying out in pain as Meteorite slammed his chest back into the wall hard, stunning the young hero.

“My patience is waning, hero,” Meteorite said, stepping closer. “I haven’t done either of you permanent damage for only one reason: I was concerned that your inside man was Captain America himself, and I didn’t want to have to deal with him if he found out I’d killed you…or worse. But,” he said, smiling widely at Free Spirit, “I can’t imagine that in a month the Living Legend of World War Two wouldn’t have found you two yet. So I think it’s time to get a little more…creative.”

With a flick of his wrist he tore the clothing off of both of them. Free Spirit gasped as the cool air of the underground room hit her skin, sending goose bumps and more across her skin. Neither of them had bathed or shaved in the last month, and they hadn’t been allowed bathroom breaks from the wall. Shame and humility nearly suffocated her, but she bit down on her lower lip and continued to stare forward at nothing, trying to keep her faith. At least he’d left her mask on…

Jack Flag’s blood roared in his ears and he threw himself forward against his cuffs, trying desperately to break free and strangle any and all of the men standing in front of him. He’d been hanging on the wall for so long that he knew that if he and Cathy hadn’t been enhanced to superhuman levels their arms would have stopped receiving proper blood flow weeks ago. As it was he had stopped feeling his fingers three days ago and was pretty sure that wasn’t a good thing…

“That’s…pretty disgusting, actually,” said Paralyzer as he rubbed his electrified metal claws together. “How long they been here again?”

“Long enough to skank out, apparently,” Crucible said, curling up his nose. “Pathetic.”

“Broadband,” Meteorite said to the man seated at the communications console behind him. “Activate the recording devices. Once we’re finished here, I want this up on the Internet video sites within an hour ”

“No problem,” Broadband said, smiling his wide mouth beneath his eyes, which were focused solely on Free Spirit’s exposed body, his snake-like tongue flashing across his dry lips.

“Boys,” Meteorite said, lifting a hand and pointing it toward the two exposed heroes. “Dead is not an option.” With a collective laugh, all three went to work.

Even over the Internet, the screams were unbearable.

To be continued in the pages of USAgent!