THE AGGREGATION OF THE HORSEMEN

Part III: Black Famine

By Shawn Gauthier and Jeff Axtman

Dublin, Ireland. In the heart of a hidden I.R.A. military installation on the outskirts of the city…

The two men walk purposefully down the long corridor, their brisk footsteps echoing loudly throughout the slate-gray hall. Except for these two, there is no one else in the long hallway, adding to the already thick uneasiness that is evident between them.

The shorter man, his hair graying, clears his throat nervously as he trails a short distance behind the man in the black suit. The taller, younger man in the suit looks over his shoulder at the other, a solemn expression on his face.

“I trust you have not had any problems with the prisoner, Mr. O’Leary?” the taller man asks, focusing his gaze straight ahead as he speaks.

“Nothin’ o’ the sort, Agent Denti,” the shorter man replies, his thick Irish accent vaguely hiding the fact that his voice is quivering slightly. “Ever since he turned ‘imself in, the man ‘as not made so much as a peep.”

“‘Turned himself in,'” the man called Carl Denti repeats to himself. “It just doesn’t add up, Mr. O’Leary. Why would a wanted international mutant terrorist willingly surrender to the authorities? He must have some alterior motive.”

“All he said was he needed some time to ‘imself… something about a safe place to recover,” O’Leary replies as he tries to catch up with Agent Denti.

“I… see,” Denti says as his voice trails off. “And how about containment? Are you equipped with the proper restraints for this particular mutant?”

“We ‘ave ‘im incarcerated in the best o’ our maximum security cells,” O’Leary stumbles, “but other than that…? Well, Agent Denti, we don’t ‘ave much experience in containin’ muties…”

Finally the two men arrive at a heavily reinforced steel door. O’Leary steps in front of Denti and slides open a small hatch on the door, allowing for a clear view of the prisoner inside his cell. He steps back, and Denti has a look for himself.

“He hasn’t moved for several days now, I’m afraid,” says O’Leary as he peers over Denti’s shoulder. “Self-induced isolation’ll do that to a man.”

“Indeed,” whispers Denti as he watches the unmoving man in the cell.

‘Another mutant,’ he thinks. ‘Another mutant terrorist that is putting innocent people like O’Leary in unnecessary danger. Another criminal soon to be executed for his heinous crimes.’

Suppressing his hatred and anger, Denti turns back to O’Leary. “Well, if you don’t mind then, Mr. O’Leary, I’d like to have a few words in private with the prisoner.”

“O’ course, o’ course, Agent Denti…” O’Leary complies. “If’n ye need me, I’ll be in me office down the hall.” He turns to go, and Denti watches as he makes his way down the long hallway and disappears around the corner at the end.

Once he is alone, Denti opens his suit coat and removes a small, alien-looking device from the inside pocket. The device is triangular and resembles a miniature pyramid with tiny lights all over its surface. With careful precision, he places the object’s base against the solid steel door, just above the keyhole. At once the device begins to melt into the steel. It spreads until it is over the keyhole, and with a tiny, controlled implosion, the part of the door that was covered by the melting device is now gone.

‘Smart creatures, those Z’Noxx,’ Denti smiles to himself as he swings the heavy door open. ‘Those little imploding devices of theirs can get me into any place I want to be.’

As Denti enters the room, the mutant sitting motionless on the floor slowly looks up. With a crafty smile he acknowledges the stranger in his midst. “Ah… I see I ‘ave me a visitor.”

Without a word, Denti raises his hand, palm facing inward. He touches a small button on his cuff link, and at once his plain black suit is replaced by armor, chainmail, and various high-tech gadgetry. He straightens up and advances closer to the mutant, so that he is standing directly over him. The bright blue faceplate that masks his face glares menacingly at the mutant below him.

“Cassidy, Thomas R… throughout your infamous career as a professional terrorist under the guise ‘Black Tom’, you have endangered countless innocents. As one of your first crimes you murdered a lawyer in the village of Dal’roon, one Colin Flaherty. As your terrorism tactics increased, you affiliated yourself with one Cain Marko, the self-proclaimed ‘unstoppable Juggernaut’. Together with Marko you committed numerous acts of terrorism, caused insurmountable property damage, and threatened thousands of lives in the process.”

“An’ what do ye want with me, boyo?” Black Tom snarls, wood shards beginning to emerge from his arms and back.

“Simple, Cassidy,” Denti replies, aiming his energy lance at Black Tom’s head, “I want your life for the crimes you have so wantonly committed. I am your judge, jury… and X-Cutioner!”

The ancient sands of the Libyan Desert hold many secrets. Amid this desolate multitude of dunes, there lies countless artifacts of lost civilizations and forgotten cultures. Some will eventually be found, and others are hidden forever beneath miles of sand and silt.

One such secret, an underground fortress belonging to one whose name can be heard whispered across the desert winds – En Sabah Nur – has now been discovered. The mutant called Post has just arrived within its dark and foreboding halls… and he is not alone.

“Visual sensors impaired. Switching to infrared sensory devices,” he says coldly into the darkness, his human emotions long since removed and replaced by super-enhanced technology. The only thing that remains for him now is revenge. Revenge on the man who is responsible, in his mind at least, for his current condition – Cable.

Post’s sensors indicate he is in some kind of large room, empty except for himself. However, deeper within the fortress he detects several lifeforms, one of which he desperately hopes is Apocalypse. Activating his cloaking device, Post proceeds deeper into the bowels of the structure, towards the lifeform signals.

Silently, Post enters the chamber that contains the lifeforms. At once he is bombarded by blasts of green energy and psionic spears and lances. He flies backward and crashes loudly against the stone wall, huge cracks spidering out from the point of impact. He cannot believe he was taken by surprise, seemingly ambushed by an enemy unknown. Slowly he gets to his feet, the cloaking device disabled and the technology surrounding his body sparking and smouldering from the attack. With the back of his hand, he wipes a trickle of blood from his upper lip.

There, standing triumphantly before him, are Apocalypse’s Dark Riders. They had been transported back to the fortress following their defeat at the hands of Sabretooth when Moonstar psionically detected an intruder in their midst. Guided by her powers, they attacked the mysterious trespasser and surrounded him, cornering him against the wall.

“Whoever you are, know that you have made your final mistake in coming here. The High Lord does not take kindly to strangers,” Moonstar says bitterly. Trial, Tusk, and his Tuskettes stand firm behind her, ready to spring to their leader’s defense.

“‘The High Lord?'” Post mutters. “Then I have finally made it? Apocalypse is here?!”

“Who wants to know?” Trial sneers.

“I am Post, though names are of little consequence. Lower your defenses, for I seek your master’s aid.”

The I.R.A. Military Base outside Dublin.

The soldiers within this installation’s walls are well aware of the so-called ‘mutant threat’ that plagues the world on a nearly daily basis. These men have heard the stories, seen the television reports, and have come to their own conclusions regarding their genetically-gifted brethren. Most of them, in truth, are afraid of what they do not understand. Unfortunately, more often than not, that fear breeds hatred.

The latest rumor amongst them is that their superiors are for some reason harboring a mutant in their midst. Somewhere within their impregnable bunkers, the higher-ups have been hiding a mutant, the reason for which they cannot hope fathom.

Today, their suspicions will be confirmed… at a deadly cost.

Outside the tall barbed wire fence that surrounds the perimeter of the base, two guards keep watch. Their assault rifles slung at their sides, the two enjoy a quick smoke before their watch is over. The rain pours from the darkened sky, drenching the guards as they lean lazily against the chain-link fence, oblivious to the world around them.

Suddenly, the installation’s sirens scream a warning, and the guards snap to attention, their cigarettes falling limply from their mouths.

“What the bloody hell?!” one of them shouts as he strains to see through the sheets of rain as they fall. He swings his gun wildly around as he searches for the cause of alarm.

“An intruder somewhere outside the perimeter!” the other replies as a searchlight moves past them, offering them a brief glimpse of the darkness beyond. “Can’t see ‘im anywhere!”

“There!” the first guard interrupts, pointing a trembling finger high into the air. “Blow that bastard out o’ the sky!”

Without another word, the two guards open fire on the huge figure slowly descending upon them from the gray-blue sky above. To their surprise, the bullets they shoot at it seem to bounce off harmlessly. The shape continues its silent fall until it is almost upon them.

“Fools! Your weapons are useless against one who can withstand the sands of time!” the voice booms as the figure reaches the ground, mud squishing beneath its armored boots. “Try as you might, you cannot turn back the Apocalypse!”

With that, the huge man clad in blue armor grabs the two guards in either hand and lifts them high above his head. They wimper audibly as they stare into the face of their death. The mutant called Apocalypse simply stares back, his evil gaze boring into their very souls.

But before Apocalypse can retaliate, the bright searchlight focuses on him. A voice projected over an intercom addresses him hastily as he slowly lowers the two guards still held frimly in his grip.

“Stop where ye are! Do not attempt to move a muscle, or we’ll blast ye where ye stand! Now slowly drop the soldiers…” the speakers blare as the spotlights are trained on Apocalypse. Defiantly, he seizes one of the guards by the neck and casually snaps it between two fingers. As if to add fuel to the fire, Apocalypse throws the dead body to the ground in disgust. In response, the intercom gives the command: “Never mind the other guard… fire at will!”

Immediately, an outburst of firepower issues forth from the premises of the installation, destroying everything within a twenty-foot radius of Apocalypse. Huge explosions throw up enormous chunks of earth, creating large smoldering craters in their wake. The chain-link fence is utterly destroyed, a large portion of it blown apart by the sheer force of the attack. After several seconds of continuous fire, the voice over the intercom finally intercedes, “Cease fire! Cease yer fire!”

Once again, it is silent. For a time, all the soldiers within the base can hear is the falling rain as it gathers into puddles on the battlefield. Thick black smoke curls up from a large fire as the searchlights scan the area for any sign of the intruder. Finally, the smokey haze dissipates and something can be seen making its way forward from the middle of the carnage.

It is Apocalypse, protected by a force field and still holding the frightened and unharmed guard as he walks through the now useless fence. Apocalypse tosses the other soldier towards the base like a rag doll. With a furious explosion of sparks and shattered glass, the guard hits one of the huge spotlights, instantly killing him and disabling the light. Apocalypse takes out the second spotlight with a blast of energy from his fist, surrounding the base’s perimeter in complete darkness.

With the defenses unable to see their target, Apocalypse systematically destroys the opposition, coming closer and closer to his goal with every passing second.

Inside the installation a separate battle rages on, though the sounds of war outside are not lost on the two men here.

Another explosion rocks the building, causing the X-Cutioner to temporarily lose his balance. Black Tom Cassidy takes the oppurtunity to press his attack. He leaps forward, dagger-like wooden talons bared before him. The X-Cutioner parries the attack, sidestepping out of harm’s way. He turns just as Black Tom spins around to face him. The two stand apart, staring each other down.

“Let me get this straight… ye tried to get Cain first, but failed… and ye came for me instead?” Black Tom snarls as he extends the wooden daggers on each of his fingers even more. “Boyo, ye came to the wrong place. I’m gonna tear ye apart!”

“Save me the bravado, Cassidy,” the X-Cutioner retorts from behind his faceplate, “it doesn’t suit you.”

Taking careful aim, the X-Cutioner fires his energy lance at Black Tom, knocking him through the thick concrete wall of his cell and out into the rainy night. Following close behind, the X-Cutioner crawls through the huge whole in the wall and walks over to Tom’s body as it lay still on the sopping wet ground. The X-Cutioner pokes him twice with the end of his lance, unsure if his target is unconscious or dead. Finally, he decides that he has succeeded in killing Black Tom Cassidy.

“Heh…” the X-Cutioner chuckles to himself. “That wasn’t so hard at all.”

Kneeling down, he prepares to scoop up the body and retreat to his ship not far away. The X-Cutioner reaches out to pick him up, but Black Tom suddenly forms his arm into a sharp wooden spike and thrusts it deep into the X-Cutioner’s midsection.

“URK!” the X-Cutioner chokes, his face just inches from that of Black Tom. Tom stares into the mask, his face dripping with rain as he grins evilly back at the X-Cutioner.

“Better luck next time, boyo,” he cackles as he withdraws the bloody spike, the X-Cutioner’s body slumping to the mud below. Tom watches as the X-Cutioner holds his stomach, wincing in excrutiating pain. Slowly, he removes a small cylinder from one of the pouches on his costume. With the last of his dwindling energy, he slams the the cylinder into the ground. It begins glowing green, and soon an envelope of pale green light surrounds the X-Cutioner. And with that, he begins to fade away, until he and the cylinder disappear altogether.

Black Tom stares at the ground for a long while, his wet curly hair falling down in tangles across his eyes. Only when he senses movement behind him does he spin around, his hands forming into deadly wooden daggers.

“Calm yourself, Thomas Cassidy,” Apocalypse says, as he walks closer to Black Tom. Behind him, his destruction of the army defenses is evident in the fires and smoke coming from the front of the building. He speaks again, his voice oddly distant this time. “Now is not the time for fighting. I come to you with an offer. I am Apocalypse, the supreme High Lord of the Homo Superior species. If you come with me, I shall offer you all the power you can possibly imagine.”

For a long time, Black Tom is silent. Finally, he looks up at Apocalypse. “Power?” he asks, a twinge of intrigue in his voice.

Epilogue

The X-Cutioner shuffles down the corridor of his personal ship high above Dublin. He still grips his stomach, his glove blood-stained and encrusted with dried mud. He uses his free hand to steady himself against the wall as he continues to slowly make his way down the corridor.

He knows he is lucky to have escaped with his life today. If he had not teleported away when he did, he may have died alone, buried in the mud. Now he at least has a chance to save his own life.

Finally he reaches his intended destination. With some difficulty, he crawls into the Skrull med-pod located in the heart of his ship. Once completely in, he pushes a few buttons on the console outside, activating the healing processes of the advanced Skrull technology. With a slight hiss, the pod closes around him.

His last words before the med-pod completely seals are whispered almost unconsciously. “Score one for you, Black Tom Cassidy.”

NEXT ISSUE: The Aggregation Of The Horsemen Part 4! The Fourth Horseman is finally gathered by Apocalypse! But who can be the one called Pestilence?! And will Apocalypse accept Post’s request for help? Plus: could there possibly be… a Fifth Horseman?!