Jim Hammond, the Original Human Torch, in…

NOTHING QUITE NEW

Part I

By Derrick Ferguson

“Out of all the places that I had ever imagined you’d settle down in, Jim, Las Vegas was never one of them.”

Jim Hammond switched his cell phone from one side of his head to the other so as to have his right hand free to shuffle through various papers on his desk. He knew exactly what he was looking for and exactly where it was so there was actually no real need for him to go through the motions of looking for it. Thanks to his positronic brain it was impossible for him to forget anything he had seen or heard but he had been mimicking human behavior for so long that it was second nature to him by now and he frequently did so even when he was alone as he was now in the spacious office.

“And why not, Steve? After all, Las Vegas is an artificial city masquerading as a real one and I’m an artificial man masquerading as a real one. What better place for an android to live?”

“Don’t start that. One of the things that I’ve always respected about you is that you never seemed to have issues about your artificial nature the way that other androids seem to take on as a cross they have to bear.”

“But that’s because I was created with the express purpose of blending into human society and passing for human. The part with the fire was a by-product.” Jim picked up the invitation he had been looking for and said triumphantly, “Found it!”

“Good. Do you think you’ll be able to make it?”

“An Invaders Reunion Dinner? You must be kidding. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

“The others feel the same way. Even Namor.”

“You’re joking.”

The party on the other end sighed. It was a unique sigh Jim had heard many times and usually used whenever Steve had to deal with the volatile Sub-Mariner. “I’ve known Namor for…what is it now…sixty years? And the only thing I can predict about him is how unpredictable he is. When I first approached him with the idea of an Invaders Reunion Dinner I expected to get that arched eyebrow thing he does and an imperious lecture about how a ‘Prince of The Blood Royal does not have time for the frivolity of reminiscing on times long past and best forgotten!’”

Jim exploded into laughter at Steve’s dead on point impersonation of their long time friend. “That so much like him it’s scary, Steve. You ought to do that at the dinner. So what did he say?”

“I swear you could have knocked me over with a strong breeze when he asked if there was anything he could do to help. If I didn’t know better I’d say that Namor was actually looking forward to seeing all the old gang together again. He even asked if you were going to be there. But then again, given the unique nature of the relationship the two of you have had, maybe it’s to be expected.”

“Well, I’ll most certainly be there. In fact, I’ll probably swing into town a day early or so early.”

“Swell. See you then. Good talking to you, Jim.”

“Take care, Steve.” Jim Hammond closed up his cell phone and swiveled around in his high backed leather office chair to look out of the window of his 51st floor suite located in The Stratosphere Hotel & Casino at the glittering cityscape of Las Vegas. Even during the daytime it was a magnificent sight and the blaze of colors dazzled his eye and made even his synthetic pulse beat a little faster. Jim never regretted his decision to move out to Vegas and The Stratosphere Hotel had been absolutely delighted to have a world famous hero such as The Original Human Torch making his headquarters in their establishment and they had naturally milked the publicity for all it was worth, even picking up the tab for refurbishing Jim’s suite to his own specifications since it was his intention to both live and work out of his suite. Outside his private office were his secretary’s combination office and the guest lounge/conference room while a short walk down the hallway led to Jim’s private living quarters.

Why Las Vegas indeed? Perhaps it was because so many of his recent adventures seemed to have begun or ended in this fabulous playground of the world. Perhaps it was because he had totally by accident come to fall in love with the city. They had a lot in common. Both of them never slept and both could burn bright and hot as a supernova. And there was certainly enough work here to keep him busy in both of his areas of expertise: corporate administration and superheroics.

The polished oak door of his office was opened and a broomstick-thin Asian girl in her early twenties with short hair an interesting shade of dodger blue entered, walking briskly across the twenty feet from the door to the desk. Her alert, intelligent eyes sparkled wetly behind the tinted lenses of the Ronir Classic Clubman eyeglasses that seemed barely able to stay on her rather cute stub of a nose.

Jim Hammond wasn’t sure if Lucille Ballantine worked for him or if it were the other way round. Shortly after he had asked the Assistant Mayor of Las Vegas if she knew of a stable, wonderfully competent assistant he could hire to help out, Lucille Ballantine had showed up and promptly proceeded to get the fledging firm of Hammond Consultations, Inc. in shipshape order with a calm, determined efficiency that would have wrung gasps of envy from a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Lucille was a graduate student at UNLV studying law and she had mentioned that working for a superhero couldn’t help but bring her into wonderful situations where she could get more experience than if she worked in a law firm.

Her perkiness and enthusiasm might have irked some others but Jim found it infectious and effervescent. He enjoyed being in the company of youngsters greatly. A few years back, shortly after his reactivation and re-emergence into the world Jim had been granted Avenger membership and took advantage of the benefits of that membership which included some counseling sessions with Dr. Leonard Samson, who the media had long since dubbed “Super Shrink To The Superheroes” and it was Doc Samson’s opinion that Jim found children, teenagers and young adults fascinating because he had never experienced that stage of human development. After all, he had been ‘born’ as a mid-twentyish adult male, created in that mold and so had never had a childhood.

“It’s after five pm, Mister Hammond. If there’s nothing else you require, I’d like to knock off for the day.”

“Not a bad idea at that. You have any studying to do, a date with a boyfriend? Anything of that nature?”

“The only date I have is with my sink.” Lucille ran a slim hand through her hair. “Gotta put the color back in.”

“Why don’t we grab some dinner and get to know each other better? After all, we’ll be working together for a long time, I hope. There’s some questions I’d like to ask you and I’m sure there are plenty you want to ask me.”

“Man, is that ever an understatement,” Lucille grinned. “Sure, I’m down.”

“Fine.” Jim Hammond stood up and walked around his desk. It was genuinely hard for Lucille to believe that the man standing next to her was actually an artificial life form, an android if you please, that had been created in 1939, a date to her that sounded incredibly old. Lucille was very much a product of today’s world and simply couldn’t imagine what the world had been like before 900 high definition satellite TV channels, cell phones, The Internet and Ashlee Simpson. But standing before her was a being that had indeed lived in that world and survived to thrive in this one. To her eye Jim Hammond appeared to be a 6 foot 3, dazzlingly handsome blond haired, blue-eyed demi-god dressed in an impeccably tailored Michael Kors navy pinstriped suit. She had shaken his hand a couple of times and it felt just as warmly human as those of any number of people she had shaken hands with in the past. She had even noticed that his chest rose and fell naturally as if he was breathing. “Any place in particular you like to eat?”

“I’ll let you pick the place…Mister Hammond? There is a question that has been buggin’ me for a couple of days now.”

Jim motioned for her to lead the way as they walked. “Feel free, Lucille.”

“Well, there’s something I don’t get…I mean…you’re an Avenger an’ all…”

“Reserve Avenger, actually. I haven’t been on the active roster in quite some time now. But I get your point. Go ahead.”

“An’ I know you’ve worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. ‘cause you’ve got priority clearance an’ all. So why open up an office for consulting work? You could go back to the Avengers or work with S.H.I.E.L.D. an’ make a whole lotta money an’ have free room an’ board besides.”

They walked down the carpeted hallways to Jim’s private elevator as he answered; “That’s a valid question. First of all, to answer the main question: I already have a lot of money. When I resigned from Oracle, Inc. my severance package was a generous one, trust me. Maybe I can’t play Monopoly with Tony Stark and Bill Gates but I don’t have to settle for the cheap seats at the opera either.”

Lucille giggling. That was another thing that surprised her about Jim Hammond: his quiet sense of humor and dry wit.

“I suppose it goes back to what I was just telling a good friend of mine a few minutes ago: I was created to interact with humans, not live apart from them. I like living with humans and working with them. And after being around them so long many of the desires and ambitions and aspirations of humans I’ve adopted for my own and among those is the desire to work at something I enjoy as well as providing a useful service. I’ve had extensive corporate experience as well as superhero experience. I hope to be able to put them both to good use.” Jim gave her a warm grin that seemed to fill the hallway with golden sunshine. “With your assistance, of course.”

Lucille fairly floated into the elevator. She had the distinct feeling that she was going to like working for Mr. Hammond a LOT.

The estate of Ellsworth Falconeri occupied over 11,000 acres of land 23 miles east of Las Vegas. An impressive oasis of Falconeri’s own creation with lush green grass and impressive, imposing tropical trees that normally would not have survived in the desert climate but these trees thrived remarkably well, helped by technological means. In fact, Falconeri’s entire estate was one that had been showcased in many scientific journals and magazines as one of the most technologically advanced private estates in the world. The entire 11,000 acres were climate controlled and the hundreds of species of plants and trees from all over the world were maintained by devices that were of such incredible design that it was rumored that Reed Richards had requested to examine them. Ellsworth Falconeri had denied Mr. Fantastic’s request. And for good reason.

The circular airship that approached the magnificent 16th Century Medieval style castle had been built from plans stolen from Wakanda. Smuggling the plans out of that country had cost three lives and two million dollars but it had been of little consequence to Ellsworth Falconeri. It had been worth it for him to be able to own an airship of his own of genuine Wakandan design. There was a landing pad next to the castle and the gleaming silver airship landed with hardly a whisper of sound and a ramp slid silently from it’s recessed slot inside the ship as the hatch opened with a hiss of hydraulics.

The passenger looked up at the castle and was thankful that his mask helped to hide the fact that he was impressed. Falconeri Castle was a wonderful sight with its towers, turrets and crellenations. The windows were rectangular and the entire structure was of yellow and gray stone that looked extremely new. The passenger had no way of knowing that Falconeri Castle had been constructed using methods stolen from Damage Control that made even old stone look like brand new.

Ellsworth Falconeri himself was walking from the castle toward the airship. Despite it being late afternoon, Falconeri wore an evening tuxedo as if he were on his way to the opera. The passenger stepped clear of the futuristic airship and also walked toward Falconeri, sizing him up.

Ellsworth Falconeri was of average height with a narrow waist and wonderfully erect posture. His shoulders were set back in a way that looked almost painful and his angular, aristocratic face seemed chiseled out of marble. Despite the fact he had lived in Las Vegas for 12 years he had not tanned one bit in all that time. Icy eyes the color of water sized the passenger up, taking in the blue and gray steel-mesh bodysuit with the golden bird design that covered his broad, muscular chest. Falconeri’s eyes dropped down to the passenger’s wrists and the gleaming metal bands he wore there. Metal bands of titanium that boasted curving razor-sharp talons extending from each side.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Falconeri said in his cultured, almost effeminate voice.

“I’d’ve been here sooner if I had flown out here on my own power,” the passenger said. “I was in L.A. and for me that’s not much of a flight.”

“That’s quite all right. I want you to conserve your energy and your power. You’re going to need it.”

The passenger shrugged his shoulders. “I understand you want your wife killed, is that right?”

“Exactly right. She’s been carrying on the most disgusting affair with a fellow of low class and a man of my distinction cannot be allowed to be humiliated in such a manner.”

“Before we go any further: you said you’d pay me $30,000 just for coming out here to talk to you. I haven’t seen that yet.”

Falconeri nodded impatiently. “Of course, of course…. Damien, will you bring out the satchel, please?”

The passenger looked around, puzzled. Then it dawned on him that Falconeri must have microphones on his person or somebody in the castle had a listening device trained on them. Probably had a high-powered rifle aimed right at his head as well. But it didn’t bother him. He had no intention of reneging on a contract and if Falconeri’s reputation was all it was supposed to, he wouldn’t either. But it was always wise to take precautions.

A tall man in a black suit, eyes hidden by wraparound sunglasses, emerged from the castle and broke into an easy jog that rapidly ate up the distance between him and his employer in no time. He carried a leather satchel that he handed to the passenger who opened it and grunted with satisfaction at what he saw within. He closed the case and nodded. “Pretty big sack to hold just a couple of bundles of cash.”

“You’re going to need it to hold the rest of the money I’m going to pay you for killing my wife.”

“Shouldn’t be that hard. Unless she’s got superpowers. Which is why I’m assuming you hired me.”

“No, Ruth has no superpowers but her lover is an extraordinary man of some power and considerable ability who has come to Las Vegas for the purpose of accumulating wealth so as to finance his activities. The affair with my wife was something of a by-product, so to speak.”

“This guy got a name?”

“He calls himself Professor Marcus White but he has another name that I think you know.” Falconeri spoke that name and was pleased to see his hired assassin react.

“Yeah…I can see why you’d want a guy like me to take out your wife. He may take it personally. Insult to his intellect and all that. That’s why I hate dealing with those brainy guys. They always think they should see shit coming. I guess you’ll understand why I have to ask for another two million on top of the five you’re already paying me? Once he knows I did the job I’ll have to spread around some cash just to cover my tracks. He’s not somebody to take lightly. Just the fact he’s had his ass kicked by The Fantastic Four means that he’s a heavyweight. There’s not many who have taken them on more than once and are still walking around to brag about it.”

“Fine. I just want it done and I want it done as soon as possible. You might also want to know that Las Vegas has recently become the home city of Jim Hammond, The Human Torch.”

The hired killer nodded. “I read the papers. I know of Hammond.”

“And the thought that you might have to take on the original Human Torch doesn’t bother you? By all reports he’s more powerful than Johnny Storm, the other Human Torch.”

Killer Shrike held up his thickly muscled arms and the desert sunlight glinted on his titanium claws. “Human or android…these babies can and will cut through anything standing between me and my target. Don’t you concern yourself, Falconeri…you wife won’t be seeing the next sunset. You got my word on that.”

Jim and Lucille emerged from the cool air-conditioned interior of Poirter’s Steakhouse into the 80 degrees that was typical for Vegas around this time of year. During the night the temperature would drop to 60, which still was nicely warm. Lucille was wiping sweat from his throat before they had gone half a block but even in his suit and tie Jim looked cool and comfortable with nary a drop of sweat.

“I guess the heat doesn’t bother you, huh?”

“Heat has never been a problem for me,” Jim deadpanned. “I’d like to thank you for having dinner with me. You’re a fascinating young lady, I must say. If there’s anything I can do to help you in your schooling…if your working hours will conflict with you classes…please don’t hesitate to let me know and we’ll work it out.”

“I just think I’m really lucky to be working for you, Mr. Hammond. I mean, you’re like a living history lesson! And I’m sure that I’ll have a lot of opportunities to ask you about your past adventures and stuff.”

“I’m assuming you want to specialize in what is commonly referred to as superhero law?” Jim frowned slightly. “A somewhat childish name but I suppose that given the glamorization of Marvels over the years, it’s to be expected.”

They were walking along the crowded street, headed back toward The Stratosphere where Lucille had left her used ‘98 Dodge Ram. Lucille was going home and Jim’s intention was to return to his living quarters and spend the evening catching up on his reading but when he heard the high-pitched whine of miniaturized turbo jets he had the feeling that he was going to have to put off Carl Sandburg’s “Abraham Lincoln: The War Years” for another night.

With surprising speed and agility that took Lucille totally by surprise, Jim scooped her up in his muscular arms and leaped to one side as bolts of destructive blue hued energy smashed into the pavement, pulverizing the space they had just occupied. The other pedestrians screamed and bolted for cover with all possible speed.

Lucille’s eyes were open so wide it would have been comical if the situation weren’t so desperate. The smoking crater she was staring at was a testament of the destructive power of the armored being that landed in the middle of the street, where cars had braked to a shrieking halt.

Some ten feet tall, the armored figure fairly bristled with awesome firepower. 33mm electric cannons were on each shoulder. The arms bristled with electron casters. The chest plate was opening up to display an impressive array of mini-sonicsnare missiles. As the armored behemoth approached his right hand came up and from a recessed slot in the wrist a crackling, hissing drillsabre emerged and his right hand went to his hip and detached a hypershocker hand cannon which he pointed right at Jim.

Jim pulled Lucille to her feet. “Get clear. As clear as you can. Things are about to happen.”

Lucille didn’t waste time. Her long legs were a blur as she sprinted away a good hundred or so feet away before she took cover behind a UPS truck and turned to watch.

The armored tank on two legs stopped just a few feet from Jim Hammond, the extraordinary array of weaponry pointing right at him. “Check it, old man!” The amplified voice belonged to what Jim assumed was the operator inside the thing. He would have to verify if that was so since he really didn’t want to seriously injure anyone inside. At least if he didn’t have to. “I got me a whole ASSload of gats designed just for you! You wanna take my advice and bounce th’ hell on up outta Vegas and don’t NEVAH come back!”

Jim sighed. “Do you have a name, son?”

“MANSLAUGHTER, BITCH!”

Jim sighed again. “I mean your real name, son. The one your mother gave you.”

“Leave my momma outta this! You gots people that don’t wanna see your tired ass in this town! Up to me, I’d just light your ass up an’ git it ovah with! But I wuz told to give you a chance to take it on the hop! So what’s it gonna be, old man? Flight or fight?”

Jim grinned widely. “Bring it on.”

Manslaughter howled wordlessly and the electric cannons spun, firing rapidly, pounding bullets into Jim while the mini sonicsnare missiles erupted from the chest launcher and the hypershocker cannon discharged a crackling stream of twisting, whirlwind energy.

And Jim Hammond seemed to disappear in a ball of sheer destructive force that made the entire street shake while crazily zigzagging cracks ran in all directions, some of them large enough for cars that had been abandoned by their owners to fall in. Manslaughter stepped back, the thrumming of massive servomotors drowned out by his jubilant yells of triumph. “Yeaaaaah, BOI! Looka you NOW, BITCH! You can’t scrap with Manslaughter an’ think you just gonna walk away like DAT!”

The cloud of black smoke that covered the entire sidewalk suddenly parted and an amazing sight emerged. A man of blazing, living orange-red fire. An inferno that walked on two legs. A holocaust of flaming power that men called The Human Torch. He walked out of the smoke, leaving smoldering footprints of melted concrete behind him. He had raised the temperature of his flame high enough to have completely disintegrated everything Manslaughter had fired at him and so he was completely unharmed.

“Excuse me,” the Torch said politely. The massive, dome shaped head on the armored behemoth turned with a whirr of servos and if the armored suit had a lower jaw it would surely have dropped open in stunned surprised.

“Oh, shit.”

“Indeed. Now, do you want to come out of there and act like you have good sense or do we have to draw this out to its inevitable conclusion?”

“You ain’t nuttin’, old man! They done told me all ‘bout you! What you think throwin’ some punk ass fireballs is gonna do to this here suit I got?”

The Human Torch’s flaming face smiled. “Oh…I can do a bit more than just throw fireballs, son….and by the way…you may not have heard what I said a minute ago with all the shooting you were doing.”

“What’d you say, old man?”

“Flame ON!”

The Human Torch’s right arm pistoned forward and a jet of solid white hot flame streaked outwards like a battering ram of fire to smash Manslaughter right in the middle of his chest, instantly raising the temperature of the suit high enough to set off the remaining missiles and ammunition in their magazines. Manslaughter was blown backwards by the impact of the flame burst and his own weapons exploding and he careened like a cannonball, smashing right through a Starbucks abandoned by customers and staff, his heat so great that everything he passed by burst into fire and even the glass liquefied. He continued on through the rear of the store, destroying everything in his path, the sound of the destruction apocalyptic in scale. The Starbucks collapsed in on itself in a smoking heap of rubble.

The Torch flew over the Starbucks, mentally figuring out how much he was going to have to pay to recompense the company and didn’t like the figures he was coming up with. Even with the tax breaks he was getting from the city it was going to be a hefty sum. He paused for a few seconds to draw the flames from the Starbucks up and into himself before looking for Manslaughter.

Manslaughter was lying on his back in the next street over. He had gone through not only the Starbucks but a dry cleaners as well. Jim clocked up another figure as he landed next to Manslaughter, reached down one fiery hand and his fingers oozed into titanium as if it were wax. With a surge of strength he simply tore away the fire-weakened metal, which was now as malleable as cardboard after being subjected to the phenomenal heat that The Torch could generate. He looked inside and said: “Just as I thought.”

If Manslaughter was 20 then that was pushing it. Dressed in a one-piece jumpsuit, electronic leads attached to input sockets on his wrists and at the back of his neck he looked up at the blazing apparition with terror. “Don’t kill me! Please! They said they would let me keep the suit if I took you down, old man! Don’t kill me!”

“Be quiet. Nobody’s going to kill you.” The Human Torch dropped the hunk of melted titanium in his hand and mentally flamed off. His suit had, of course, burned away to nothing and he now was revealed to be wearing a red bodysuit with a simple yellow belt and yellow cuffs at the ends of his sleeves. Even without his flames Jim Hammond still looked powerful, confident and capable and one look from his eyes communicated that to Manslaughter very well. “How do I disconnect you and get you out of there?”

“There’s a computerized sequence. I don’t know it. They said that it would enable me to have the suit react to my electronic thought impulses.”

Jim’s head cocked to one side, his face puzzled. “A minute ago you were talking as if you were trying out for a part in a very bad gangsta rap movie. And now-“

Manslaughter looked sheepish. “Actually I thought I would come across as being tougher if I spoke that way.”

“You thought wrong.” Jim heard a commotion behind him and turned to see that a huge crowd had assembled around the still smoking armored suit, clapping and cheering and pointing excitedly at him. Many had cell phone cameras or digital cameras taking pictures and beaming them to friends, family and Internet news services all over the world. Jim smiled as he thought of days back in the 30’s and 40’s when much the same thing had happened after one of his epic battles with the Sub-Mariner…only then the cameras were big boxy affairs with flashbulbs that weighed ten pounds or more.

Nothing quite new…he thought wryly…nothing quite new at all…

“Mister Hammond! Mister Hammond!” Lucille pushed her way through the mob and breathlessly threw her arms around Jim. “Oh, my GAWD! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Lucille. Just fine. Thank you for asking but I barely worked up a sweat on my new friend here. Now, I want you to get on your cell phone and call Captain Troy Barksdale. He’s my official liaison with the Las Vegas Police Department. Tell him what’s happened and that he needs to bring a tech team with him so that we can get Manslaughter out of there safely.”

Lucille nodded, digging through her shoulder bag for her cell phone. She was looking at Jim’s face with some concern. “You look angry.”

“I am. Somebody put that boy inside of that walking tank and sent him after me knowing full well that he could have been killed. I don’t like it when people play games with other people’s lives and I intend to find out who put him in that suit and why they sent him to kill me.”

“And then?”

“And then things will really get hot.”

NEXT ISSUE: We’ll find out who Manslaughter is and who sent him to kill Jim Hammond! And if that’s not enough – The Human Torch vs. Killer Shrike!