Captain England in…

EUROPEAN DEFENSE INITIATIVE

Part IV

By Ed Ainsworth

Captain France pursued his fellow EDI counterparts towards Italy. His flight pattern was unsteady at best. He scowled at Italy and Spain as the pair looked back at him, smiling as they wove through the air.

It was more aggravating to him as he was the most powerful of the three of them. Ever since he’d been given the solution that was mopped off the Belgium Brain, he had developed at a much faster pace than the others. He was stronger than they ever would be.

Yet, it appeared that Italy and Spain had more innate abilities and control. They could limit their strength and fly with ease and grace, Italy had developed his abilities into those of virtual invulnerability, while Spain was easier the fastest of all the recruits.

“How are you holding up, France?” Umberto called. Captain Italy’s question was met with an even more powerful scowl and obscenities. He was the least battle drunk after their fight with Captain England.

The pair ahead continued to laugh and be jovial as they made their way ever closer to Italy. There was nothing that could hurt them.

Beginning their descent, France noticed something huge moving in the sky a few miles ahead of them. It reminded him of tales of his grandfathers’. Fishing trips deep at sea where great dark shapes moved through the water underneath the boat. To them, it had been an omen of storms and troubles ahead, but to France, it was a signal that their first test would be upon them.

“Target sighted,” he said into his intercom. The other two Captains turned to face him, flying with their backs towards the entity.

“¿Dónde?” Spain asked, gazing through the sky. France was about to reply with sarcasm until he noticed that the dark blob, nearly a mile across, had vanished.

“It was there,” France muttered, as Spain began to spout something excitedly in his own language.

“Britain follows, but cannot keep up!” Italy yelled, his laughter becoming louder and louder. “A telling tale of reality, no?”

France said nothing. The duo ahead of him slowed their advance to allow him to catch them up, despite his lack of finesse.

“Merde . . .” France said, as the cloud before the trio split itself asunder. Through it came the swirling mass of biology that had been released from Tunisia.

“Où est mon Intel!” France yelled, as the creature with the body and faces of a man, but little else, cut through the distance between them.

{God. I can see that from here!} Britain said from the distance between the two squads.

Whatever it was, it resembled nothing alive. France could make that much out. It had a huge brand across the remains of its chest. It was slightly imperceptible, as the men’s ribs and other assorted bones had exploded through the thin, yellow skin and out into the day-light.

Allowing its flight were long, extraordinarily thin, slices of skin-like wings. It appeared to be made up from the skin of hundreds of people.

“That is it then,” Italy said, balling his fists and hanging still in the sky. “That is how the people in the centre died. It made their bodies into his body.”

“What could do this? Why?” Spain asked, freezing momentarily. This was his first taste of something like this. While France had spent a lot of time working under the guise of a gonzo journalist and Italy was former military, Spain was only a civilian athlete. He was barely able to make it through the training program and passed only because of his connection to the Spanish Royal family, which was questionable anyway.

“We don’t have to ask why, Spain. We just need to end it,” Italy said. He folded his arms in and dropped towards it. “Grab his other arm and we’ll pull him down towards the sea!”

Colliding with one of the huge, nearly mile long wings, Italy exploded through the thin membrane and out the other side, plummeting towards the ocean below him.

“Damnit!” he yelled, twisting in the air and shooting back towards his target. Already, the skin from the hundreds of victims was being used to knit the hole he’d created.

“Spain!” Italy yelled, as the pair collided with opposite sides of the meta-human. France watched in horror, as the creature twisted in opposite directions. Italy shot upwards, taking most of the mobility and momentum from the wings of the beast, while Spain hurtled downwards, into the bend of the arm.

“Spain! Watch yourself!” Hugo screamed.

Bone spears exploded from the ends of the wing and nearly sheared Italy’s arm off at the elbow. Long bone spikes that appeared to have been worn into a point, sprung forth. Italy froze in place immediately. Once again, his nigh invulnerability had been negated, perhaps because of the battle with Captain England before hand. Or perhaps because he simply wasn’t as invulnerable as he thought.

Spines penetrating his eyes exploded through the back of his head, and pierced the soft skin of the inside of his throat. He died immediately, which was of little comfort to Hugo.

“Umberto? Carlos?” France asked, as the blood and brains bled from the fist sized hole that punctured either side of his forehead. His powers immediately negated he fell from the sky, towards the ocean below.

“Umberto!” France screamed, turning his attention away from the falling man, and back towards the Tunisian monster.

“MORT!”

Fists forward and body primed for impact, Captain France said a silent prayer to his God and to his girlfriend, before he ploughed into the Tunisian monsters chest. Bones shot outwards, as though they were spring loaded, impaling different parts of France’s body. He let loose a scream which ended far too soon, and without so much as landing a single decent punch, he lost control of himself, and followed his friend, Umberto, down towards the Ocean below him.

Speedball in…

FIELD TRIP FROM HELL

Part III

By Dale Glaser

“And now, one of our most exciting projects. . .” Sridevi Patel announced, indicating the door behind her.  “Would you like to see it?”

The third graders in Mrs. Naylor-Baldwin’s class raised a clamor to indicate their emphatic desire; their teacher beamed proudly.  Her son Robbie, meanwhile, kept his attention focused on the young woman guiding the tour of the computer science department at Empire State University.  For the thousandth time that day, Robbie wished he could do what he pleased rather than babysit two dozen 8-year-olds, but given little choice in the matter, the presence of a beautiful woman in the sexy-scientist mold was a welcome bright spot.  He followed the schoolchildren into the tour’s last stop.

An elevated circular platform in the middle of the windowless laboratory was dominated by a metallic structure shaped like an inverted horseshoe.  The five-foot-high arch spanned a Lucite pedestal supporting a matte gray box with multiple cables running from side ports up to the ceiling, outward to the walls, and down again to massive terminals framing the room, where monochrome green CRTs flashed lines of type too fast to read.

“The device is a Synchronous Square Wave Pulse Optimizer, although many in this lab call it a Thinking Cap, for short,” Sridevi explained with a smile.  “It generates a field within which computers are able to perform processing calculations far faster than normal.”

“How much faster?” a boy asked.  He had longish feathered hair like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, and Robbie thought of him as Riggs.

“Over five hundred times faster, calculating by cycles per second,” Sridevi answered.  Begrudgingly, Robbie was impressed.  He knew computers were becoming faster every year, but if the Thinking Cap accomplished what Sridevi claimed, running a computer within its field was like tapping into processing power from twenty or twenty-five years into the future.

Sridevi continued, “All the other computers in this room are capturing and storing the data generated by the unit within the Thinking Cap’s field.  It will be some time before all that data can be fully analyzed.  But the mathematical models predict what the rate increase should be.”  A couple of analysts at the terminals waved noncommittally as Sridevi made reference to their work.  Robbie was thoroughly unsurprised that one of the technicians was long-haired, bearded, and eating something gloppy directly from a plastic tub while staring at an output screen.

“Are they gonna be able to make Thinking Caps for people’s brains someday?” asked a heavyset boy with hair buzzed to his scalp.  In his unfortunate pale purple tanktop, he had immediately become King Hippo in Robbie’s mind.

“If they did, and it could help you, it would use enough juice to cause a blackout!” Riggs retorted.  King Hippo blushed furiously while the other children snickered.  Robbie looked to his mother, saw decision-making on her face as she weighed whether to reprimand or ignore Riggs.  Suddenly the laboratory’s lights went out; the children fell quiet while the analysts at the terminals muttered with more annoyance than concern.  Then they, too, were shocked into silence as the lab door slammed open, with Scarecrow’s macabre silhouette backlit by the hall’s emergency lights.

“Nice toy you’ve got there,” the burlap-masked intruder hissed, advancing on Sridevi.  “Heard your little science lesson out in the hall.  Just so happens I know a few people who would pay a lot for an edge like that.  People who build killer robots and laser guns and might want to give them a little … boost.”  Scarecrow infused the final word with deadly menace.

Robbie slowly edged toward the door while the villain’s attention was on Sridevi.  The technicians, analysts, his mother and her students did not spare a glance in his direction as he sidled along the wall.  All eyes were fixated on the man in dirty green straw-fringed coveralls, brandishing lethally sharp tines of a pitchfork at Sridevi’s trembling throat.

“P. . . P. . . Please,” Sridevi’s warbled.  “I would let you take it. . . but. . . the device is powered by rare superdense magnetic metals.  It weighs over three tons. It can’t be moved!”

“We’ll see,” Scarecrow promised.  He stepped up onto the platform and kicked aside the pedestal, sending the test computer to the floor where it shattered noisily.  Scarecrow braced his free hand under the metallic arch.  Then he screamed: “I am walking out of here with this shiny supercharger in five minutes! Anyone who gets in my way will die choking on their own entrails!  Anyone who even thinks of getting in my way will bleed out slow and painful!”

One third grader began to cry before Scarecrow had completed his murderously deranged proclamation, opening the floodgates.  Soon most of the class was sobbing hysterically.  Robbie had heard enough, and dashed into the hallway, running toward a fire exit.

Robbie briefly considered running through the exit, but that had never been his primary plan.  Instead he threw himself into the steel doorframe and immediately rebounded in a nimbus of shimmering, iridescent lightglobes.  His body grew slightly larger while his clothes transformed from shorts and t-shirt to a cobalt bodysuit with orange bubble-patterned boots, gloves, belt and half-mask.

Speedball caromed down the hallway, angling toward the wall opposite the lab.  He bounced off the wall and through the door.  “Hey, Scarecrow!  Get stuffed!” he yelled as he catapulted toward the elevated platform.

Scarecrow was now holding the Synchronous Square Wave Pulse Optimizer a few inches off the floor with one hand, and barely seemed to be straining.  Behind the ragged holes in the villain’s mask, his eyes narrowed darkly.  He raised his pitchfork and swung it mightily, knocking Speedball off his incoming collision course.

Speedball flailed wildly, uncontrollably, crashing into a set of cheap aluminum shelving that splintered weakly, giving him no kinetic energy to spare.  The pitchfork’s tines had bloodied his stomach, and the broken shelves had gouged several smaller incisions.  “That did not go as well as I’d planned,” Speedball muttered to himself.

To be continued…

Random in…

DOPPELGANGER

Part I

By Dino Pollard

Albany, New York

The only thing to break the darkness in the middle of the cemetery was a lit wooden match. He brought the flame to the tip of a cut cigar, puffing on it so the tobacco leaves would catch fire. Through the sunglasses he wore, he focused his eyes on the granite marker at his feet.

Vera Stone.

She was his aunt, the only member of his family who treated him like a person and not a freak of nature. And she was the only one who could get away with referring to him by his birth name of Marshall Evan Stone III. But for everyone else, he preferred a different name: Random.

“Gonna find out who did this t’ you, Vera. An’ when I do . . .” Random’s arms shifted, bulging as his body altered their shape, forming into large, quad-barrel organic cannons. “I promise I’ll make ‘em pay. But first, I gotta find the bastard. An’ I know just where t’ start . . .”

Xavier Institute

The pink-haired Welsh girl fluttered into the Danger Room on multi-colored wings. She glanced around and looked up. In the center of the ceiling was a man hanging upside-down from a harness and wearing heavy, metal boots. A panel was open on the ceiling and he seemed to be mucking about with the circuitry within.

“Excuse me, Mr. . . err . . . Forge?”

The Cheyenne mutant looked down from his work. He wore a pair of goggles over his eyes and held some strange-looking tools in his hands. When he saw the girl down there, he frowned.

“The Danger Room’s off-limits to students without a faculty member, Pixie.”

“I know that, sir, but Mr. Guthrie sent me down. He’s keeping an eye on your visitor.”

“Visitor? What visitor?” asked Forge.

Pixie shrugged. “Dunno. But he’s real big and real pale.”

Forge reached for the boots and flicked a switch. The magnetic locks released his legs and the harness lowered him to the ground. “I want all you kids in your rooms, understood?”

“What’s happening, sir?”

“Just do as I say.”

Pixie nodded and left the Danger Room to carry out her orders. Forge made a quick stop by his workshop, grabbing some firearms and strapping them to his body, before proceeding to the main level of the school. As he passed students in the halls, he gave them the same orders he gave Pixie, making his way out the front entrance.

Sam Guthrie, also known as Cannonball, was one of the head teachers at the Institute. He stood on the grounds with his arms crossed, staring past the gate at the visitor. Forge came up by his side, holding a gun at the ready.

“Has he said anything?” asked Forge.

“Just that he’s lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t make a peep more,” said Cannonball. “Whaddaya think’s goin’ on?”

Forge raised the gun and pointed it past the gates at Random. “You’ve got a lot’ve nerve coming here after everything you’ve pulled.”

“The hell . . .?” asked Random. “If this is a joke, it ain’t a real funny one, Forge.”

“Did McCoy send you?” asked Forge.

“Mc-who?”

“The Dark Beast. Whatever he calls himself these days. Is he the reason you’re here?” asked Forge.

Random scratched his bandana-clad head. “Have you been drinkin’? I got no idea what you’re talkin’ about. I know it’s been a while, but thought we left on good terms? Y’know, I stay freelance but join up when X-Factor needs me?”

Forge paused, staring at Random with a mixture of interest and confusion. “You think that’s the last time we saw each other?”

Random’s face twisted in confusion. “Well . . . yeah. After that, I got called away t’ Madripoor on a job. Got myself in some hot water, needed t’ lay low. Check with yer SHIELD buddies if you don’t believe me.”

“Forge . . .?” asked Cannonball.

“Go inside, Sam. Keep an eye on the students. I’ll handle this.” Forge reached for his belt and drew a smartphone. He used it to make a secure call to SHIELD intelligence. After providing his access code, he had the analyst check out Random’s story. Within a few moments, Forge turned off the phone and holstered his weapon.

“Seems we’ve got some catching up to do, Random.”

The cafeteria was usually a bustle of activity, but with Random’s presence, everyone was slightly off. Forge sat across from the mercenary at the small table, holding two paper cups of coffee. He offered one to his uninvited guest.

“You’re right about one thing, Random—we were on good terms,” said Forge. “After the incident with Haven, you refused membership, but said you’d still be available for freelance jobs. And not long after that, we found out you were working for the Dark Beast, striking at X-Factor from within. Even kidnapped Havok for him.”

“Got it all wrong, Forge. After that thing with Haven, I got mixed up with jobs overseas. Heat finally died down enough so I could get back Stateside a few months ago. Had a job up in Baltimore, then came out here, only t’ find someone closed to me’d been offed.”

“Vera Stone?” asked Forge.

Random nodded.

“After the dust cleared, we looked into your background, trying to see if we could get any leads to McCoy. All we turned up was your house in Albany and Vera’s body,” said Forge. “It seems McCoy set this all up. He knew you were a wild card in X-Factor, but probably didn’t want to take a chance on whether or not you’d betray us.”

“So he sets me up on that Madripoor job, keeps me outta the country,” said Random. “An’ then, he sends someone wearin’ my face after Havok?”

“It would explain a lot. There were plenty of contradictions in your history,” said Forge.

“What sorta contradictions?” asked Random.

“Well for starters, according to birth records, Marshall Evan Stone III should be in his mid-thirties,” said Forge. “This other Random? He was a teenager.”

“Where do I find ‘im?” asked Random.

To Be Continued…

Lady Bullseye in…

SHIRAYUKI-HIME

By Gavin McMahon

Maki Matsumoto had a reputation that was whispered on the winds of infamy. Japan cowered under the fear that she should find herself assigned to collect their bounty, and she lived in terror of the day when she would be forced to face the directionless fury that threatened to consume her. To some, the pale-faced beauty was known as Lady Bullseye but Maki had never accepted the name accredited to her. She was not a hero, nor was she a villain. As always, she was a mercenary – hired and paid for the purpose of murder. Her raven hair was drawn back into a severe chignon that rested neatly atop her head, stylised with two pins that had the appearance of crimson chopsticks. Dark circles covered her forehead, further exemplifying how she had come to earn the nickname of Lady Bullseye.

Exhaling, the assassin moved with elegance and grace across the rooftops of Beijing. Her cheeks were flushed beneath the white makeup but she was not yet tired nor over exerted. Instead, she decreased her pace to gather her thoughts. She was far from her native home of Japan but there was a unique familiarity she felt as she looked down onto the hectic streets of the great Chinese city. Despite being early morning, there was a quiet bust of people that intrigued her – they went to their jobs and then home to their families. It was a life she had often imagined but never experienced, Maki wasn’t destined for a pleasant life. Her call had taken her from a bloodbath into a world where she was the perpetrator but she had never shied away from this reality, Maki had never run from her past but she had often actively ignored it.

Her breath rose in flumes as she turned towards the high rise building three rooftops from where she now stood. Lady Bullseye had been brought in on a more personal contract, it was a vendetta. This was about justice. However, Maki hadn’t asked for details. She hadn’t needed to. The media had kept her informed of Yi Lim, partner of an accountancy firm that was connected to the Communist Party of China, but the money she had been paid confirmed his guilt in her mind. Maki, amoral and cold as she could be, had a law by which she lived and a man as vile as Lim couldn’t be allowed to survive.

She had surprised herself by returning the money to their bank accounts, Maki was flying solo and had taken their agenda as her own. Child molestation, she ran the thoughts through her mind and felt filthy for using them.

Moments passed and Maki made her move, increasing her momentum as she launched from the ledge into the air and crashed into the snow at the other side. Lady Bullseye moved with the practised but flawless grace of a dancer. She wasn’t heavily armed, she hadn’t expected much of a challenge. Vile as he may be, he was still just an accountant. Her contacts had kept her informed – the Raven had been useful – and there was a team of eight security guards but only one was stationed per floor. Lim frequented the executive suite and worked late. It was his diligence that she would use to her advantage, but Maki couldn’t deny that she lived in anticipation of the fresh release of blood from his throat.

Lady Bullseye had killed many men and women but very few had been more than just another contract.

Reaching the rooftop, she tore open the hatch on the roof and dropped into the hallway. Immediately, the hulking security guard burst to life. Stampeding down the hall with the force of a rhino, he balled his fists but the agile Lady Bullseye managed to evade his punch. Sliding to the side, she drove her foot into his knee and forced the man to crash into the ground. Cartwheeling so that she stood ahead of the groaning giant, Lady Bullseye delivered the final blow by wrapping her hands around his head and giving a sharp twist – the crack echoed as he died.

Turning towards the office, the assassin walked slowly. She kicked doors open as her eyes fell upon the pitiful excuse for a man that was Yi Lim. Overweight, balding and bespectacled with all the dignity of a gnat, the accountant whimpered in the corner of the large window overlooking Beijing. In China, Lady Bullseye was less well known but there were those that knew her legend. Even if Lim hadn’t been aware, the sight of his murdered employee would have brought him fear. Cowering with his head held in his hands and a quickly forming puddle of his own urine, Lady Bullseye was temporarily embarrassed but it was a feeling that quickly passed. She had a mission and she might avenge one family, but she couldn’t undo what had happened.

Her eyes darkened. “Get up.”

Lady Bullseye’s Chinese was sloppy but the soft lilt of her voice drew the man into an upright position. He pleaded in an almost indecipherable dialect but she wasn’t listening. Then, he moved rapidly to come at her. She was quicker. Lady Bullseye drew one of the blood red chopsticks from her chignon and thrust it through the air, it landed with a thud through the hand of the accountant, pinning him to the wall. He screamed in pain but found no sympathy in her stern features.

Walking forward, Lady Bullseye pulled the second ornament from her hair and displayed that it bore a blade. In silence, she drew the bladed end across his fattened neck as a thin line of blood became a gushing source of liquid. His white shirt and ill-fitting suit was quickly stained as the life slowly drained from his face. Unsatisfied, Lady Bullseye gave the tear, urine, and blood-stained man a sharp push backwards as she freed his hand from the wall.

Lim crashed through the window as Maki watched.