Back to GatefoldIssue #10 by Daniel Ingram
December 2018 |
"Blood and Dirt"
Security Center
Drake Dran felt a special rage building inside of him that he felt only a handful of times before.
The first time was when his father rejected him. The first so called ‘Indestructible Man’, Damon Dran had room no room for anyone else in his empire, and cast his son out only minutes after their first and only meeting.
That rage was actually productive. It drove Drake Dran to create this haven for criminals and outsiders, and build his own empire. Hell’s Peak wasn’t by any means flashy, but it brought in hundreds of millions just by existing. The resources and secrets kept here could topple governments
But now that was being threatened by two great dangers.
The first were the mercenaries who infested Hell’s Peak. They were like rats, scurrying about, knowing and destroying something so much greater than themselves as they clung to a futile life. The damage they did was infuriating, but it could be contained, mitigated.
The second was more far insidious. Since its founding, the true strength of Hell’s Peak was its occupants. It was understood that an attack on one was an attack on all. Once Hell’s Peak’s population had reached a hundred, he feared no outside threat.
But now that Hell’s Peak faced one of its greatest threats, there were residents who thought they could skirt the rules, slide by on the work of others. And today, Drake was in no mood.
“Sir?”
Drake struggled to reign in his temper. Lashing out at his men would only make things much, much worse.
“Yes?” Drake folded him arms behind his back, to hide his clenched fists.
“I, uhh…have the location of several residents who haven’t been active search, sir. Would you like me to send some men to remind them of their responsibilities?”
“No need,” Drake said, “tell me where they are, and I’ll see to them myself.”
Drake wasn’t surprised to find his wayward tenants in one of the entertainment lounges. Hell’s Peak was took criminals great and small, including digital pirates who were required to share some of their ‘product’.
The first one, Cyber, a dangerous refugee from another reality, stationed here by his handlers to keep him out of trouble. Coated in indestructible adamantium, Drake had counted him as one of the major defense assets, until now.
The other four were part of a small crew of mutants. Steeltrap, his skin like rusted copper. His second in command, a speedster who called himself Speedway. Next was Steeptrap’s wheel man, Tek-War, who wore a sleeveless leather jacket and had data-board tattoos on sleek, metal arms. Last was their muscle was Savage Claw, a pale imitator of Sabretooth, armed with metal claws, an animal disposition and the ability to induce fear with a sub-sonic growl.
None of them gave Dran a second glance when he entered the room. To him, he was just an errant landlord, barely a blip on their radar.
Steeltrap took the mutant growth hormone inhaler, and took a deep breath. He could feel the power flowing in his veins like molten steel.
“God,” Steeltrap sighed, “if I knew the bitch could do this for me, I’d have turned her into product ages ago.”
“Boyfriend of the year, man,” Cyber chuckled.
“Why are you here?” Dran growled.
“Because I’m bored and these idiots are the best company,” Cyber replied, barely deigning to look at Dran.
“What I meant,” Dran said, through gritted teeth, “is why aren’t you out there looking for those bastards? Did you all somehow forget our first agreement? An attack on one, is an attack on all. That’s a fairly simple creed.”
Cyber took a puff of his cigar, and blew a ring, “Sounds like you’re trying to get us to do your dirty work.”
“I’m trying to protect everyone here,” said Dran.
“Well, I’m trying to watch a movie,” Cyber stood up, and blew a cloud of smoke in Dran’s face, “I know what’s more important to me.”
“Pity,” Dran sighed, “I was hoping that your employers might send me more business, but I doubt they’ll do that once I’m done with you.”
“Oh really,” Cyber rubbed his half shaven face, a cocky grin on his face, “you really think you can take a man covered in adamanitum?”
“I know I can,” Dran’s left hand snapped out, and grabbed Cyber by the throat. He lifted the man into the air effortlessly as she squeezed, “they left room for your windpipe to constrict, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to breathe.”
Tek-War’s arms unfolded an impossible amount of energy weapons, all that he directed at Dran.
“Hey, let him go!”
“Kill…you!” Cyber brought his fists smashing down on Dran, but he ignored the blows outright.
“Hey, you were warned, man!” Tek-War unleashed a burst of energy, that Dran gave no more attention than the air around him.
Speedway saw this, and blitzed towards Dran. A thousand blows reigned down in second, but Dran never batted an eye.
“You warned me, now I’m warning you all,” said Dran. His right hand grabbed Cyber’s jaw, and pulled.
Steeltrap nearly threw up as he heard tendons and flesh tear, as Cyber’s lower jaw was torn free of his mouth. Dran cast the teeth and bones aside, and then threw Cyber to the ground, creating a pothole in the cement with the villain’s face.
“A reminder, I am indestructible and more. You, are not. Who would like to be another object lesson?”
Dran lifted his foot, and then stomped down on Cyber’s head, deepening the crater in the floor beneath him. First once, twice and then thrice.
Cyber did not move, as blood formed a puddle around his head.
“Get off your asses. Run these bastards done, make them bleed, make them suffer. And maybe, I’ll forgive this act of disrespect.”
Steeltrap and his crew didn’t bother to hide their fear as they scrambled away.
“So,” Scorpion clenched and released her fists to try to relax. A stupid thing to do right before a fight, but it beat completely panicking, like she really, really wanted to do, “ready for this?”
If Weapon Chi noticed, she said nothing. She simply strolled forward, a katana in each hand and as silent as the night itself.
“Last time we fought, this bitch ran me through,” Warcry took a steadying breath, filling her lungs with air.
Weapon Chi said nothing. She still approached.
“I’m gonna choose to hear that as, ‘we cool’,” said Scorpion.
Weapon Chi said nothing. She simply raised her swords, and leapt towards Warcry.
Scorpion dove in front of the merc while raising her gauntleted arm, blocking the swords. Weapon Chi pivoted on her right foot, and smashed her foot into Scorpion’s gut.
Scorpion fell backwards as Weapon Chi easily reversed her grip on her sword. She fell forward, perfectly positioned to impale the young heroine’s kidney and heart.
A burst of ear-piercing sonic energy slammed into Weapon Chi like a tsunami, and lifted her up into the air.
Weapon Chi twisted in midair effortlessly, bringing her feet underneath her before she swung her swords into the floor, and brought herself to a skidding stop.
“Twisted automation or not, that’s one of the world’s deadliest killers,” said Warcry.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Scorpion said, “she nearly took me out in two moves.”
Weapon Chi said nothing, as she strode forward.
“We better work together,” Warcry, “no way we survive this alone.”
Hurricane banged his fist against the wall, and released a resigned sigh. Mission failure was always a possibility, hell, he thought of it as an all but certainty. He was no stranger to death, and knew it would be his turn one day.
But he had held out hope that it might at least be dignified or honorable.
Being gunned down by seven rednecks was not that. At all.
“Okay,” Hurricane took a relaxing breath, like he practiced as a sniper. Death was a constant companion to any good soldier, and no amount of defiance would change that. So he just accepted it, “get it over with.”
“Sorry, hoss,” said the Minuteman who insisted everyone call him Jefferson, when his birth name was Peter. He motioned for the Minutemen to lower their weapons, “ain’t going to go down that way.”
“Is that so?” Hurricane kept a good poker face, despite every instinct in his body wanting to yell at them for being such idiots. Fish in a barrel had better odds than he did right now, “what’s you have in mind?”
“Don’t suppose you can name the guys who took down Bonnie and Clyde?” said Jefferson, “we just gun ya down, six against one, that just makes us look like cowardly bitches.”
“And six on one beating me to death is better?” said Hurricane.
“Lesser of two evils, man,” Jefferson said, “well, for us, anyways. Sorry man. Franklin, Hamilton, Washington, Adams, you guys drew the first straws, so lose the weapons. Pork, me and Luthor will hang back.”
Hurricane guessed that the fat man on the left was Pork. He looked like a shorter version of the Blob, and Hurricane was tempted to dismiss him as a threat. But each and every man here had somehow gotten their hands on a version of the super soldier serum, making them almost as dangerous as Hurricane himself.
“Alright boys,” Hurricane clenched his fists, “show me your God damn revolution.”
Franklin, Hamilton, Washington and Adams, all wearing a Confederate flag somewhere on their person with no sense of irony, strolled forward like lions ready for the kill.
The wall of muscle might have been an effective intimidation tool against lesser men. But all Hurricane saw was that he now had a chance in hell of survival. He saw the lack of discipline, coordination and experience clear as day. These were pretend soldiers, for all their bravo and bluster, no better than thugs.
And Hurricane had killed countless thugs in his time.
“Lets get this party started!” the first man, Adams, ran ahead of his compatriots, no longer able to withhold his bloodlust.
He swung a haymaker for Hurricane’s jaw, but it was telegraphed a mile away. Hurricane simply turned his head, dodging the blow with ease. He swept his right hand up and grabbed Adams’ wrist, and then swung his left elbow into the back of Adams’ head.
The blow caused the man to stumble, but Hurricane kept his grip on the man’s wrist, and directed his fall toward to the wall. Adams hit it face first, and never saw Hurricane swing his elbow again, aimed at the vertebrae in his neck.
The –crack!- stopped the Minutemen in their tracks.
“He’s…dead,” said Franklin (who looked nothing like his namesake).
“First time at war, boys?” Hurricane allowed the body to drop, and turned to the remaining three, “it only gets worse from here.”
“You son of a bitch!”
Franklin and Washington charged at Hurricane, seeing nothing but red.
Hurricane mule kicked Franklin backwards, but Washington tackled him around the waist and slammed him against the wall, next to Adams’ corpse.
Hurricane brought his right elbow down on Washington’s shoulder, nearly breaking bone before pushing him away.
Hurricane was about to turn his attention to Franklin, when the man who fancied himself Hamilton leapt through the air and smashed his foot into Hurricane’s chest.
He stumbled backwards, and Franklin grabbed him in a full nelson.
“Hamilton, get him!” Franklin snapped.
Hurricane snapped his head backwards, crunching Franklin’s nose against the back of his head. Hurricane slipped free, and swung his right elbow into Hamilton’s chest.
As Hamilton fell, Hurricane thought for a moment that he might get through this, might survive.
He never saw Washington until the man slammed into him, smashing him against the wall.
But he did feel the knife that slid between his ribs.
Warcry was sent flying into the wall as Weapon Chi’s foot struck her upside the head.
The cyborg moved to impale the African merc with her swords, but Scorpion leapt at her, smashing her knee into Weapon Chi’s gut, stunning her.
Scorpion remembered her training, and swept outwards with the flat of her palms. Weapon Chi leaned back to avoid the attack, realizing too late that the attack wasn’t aimed at her. Scorpion knocked Weapon Chi’s swords from her hands, and they clattered back across the floor.
Weapon Chi barely broke stride, though, snapping her head forward, slamming her forehead into Scorpion’s, before swinging an elbow into the side of her head.
Weapon Chi then kicked Scorpion aside, and moved to collect her swords, and had just bent over to pick them up, when a burst of sonic energy flew past her and smashed into the swords, turning them into nothing but shards.
“You want to kill us, you do it with your bare hands,” said Warcry. She held her tonfas in both hands.
Weapon Chi said nothing.
“I hate to tell you this,” Scorpion had her gauntlet extended the entire length of her left arm, “but I think she can do exactly that.”
“Just stay close,” said Warcry, “I can end this if I get just one good shot.”
“Same, cover me, I’m about to do something genius,” Scorpion said.
“Go,” Warcry said.
The sonic merc watched in horror as Scorpion tackled Weapon Chi as if they were playing football.
The act was so surprising, so amazingly stupid, that Warcry would later reflect that it did qualify as actual genius. After all, in a fight to the death, no one expected the enemy to run up to you and offer their own neck.
Warcry, against her better judgment, followed Scorpion a split second later, and wrapped her arms around Weapon Chi’s legs, pinning her.
Scorpion knew she had only a few seconds at best, and moved quickly. She pressed a hand against the exposed flesh of Weapon Chi, and activated her powers.
Weapon Chi hesitated when Scorpion tackled her because it was so foolish, no unexpected, that she really had no idea how to respond, at least for a second.
And that hesitation cost her everything, when Scorpion pressed her right hand against Weapon Chi’s skin.
The cyborg felt as if blood and energy had mixed together and were pouring out of her. Weapon Chi couldn’t comprehend the physics involved, but she knew her strength was flowing into Scorpion, as she watched her hand glow a brighter emerald, the energy pulsing off her growing stronger.
Knowing she had only seconds to act, Weapon Chi slid her right arm free, and then brought her elbow down on Scorpion’s head. She then yanked her feet free from Warcry’s grasp.
Warcry scrambled back the second Weapon Chi had freed her legs, and barely avoiding catching both free with her face. The African merc expected Weapon Chi to be on them in seconds. The woman was on her feet in the blink of an eye, while both she and Scorpion were still scrambling to their feet.
But then Weapon Chi took several careful steps back, something Warcry couldn’t remember happening the entire fight.
“What did you do?” Warcry asked, never taking her eyes off of Weapon Chi.
“Weapon Chi is a cyborg,” Scorpion said, smirking underneath her mask though her head was throbbing, “flesh, blood and metal. You’d be surprised how many toxins and technically, poisons, are required to allow them to co-exist. The oil for her limbs, the anti-bacterial injections, the anti-rejection drugs that keep her immune system at bay? I took them all for myself.”
Warcry realized that she could hear the sound of servos as Weapon Chi flinched.
“So…”
“So now, every movement tears cartilage, pulls muscles or grinds down bone,” said Scorpion.
Warcry chuckled.
“Then lets dance.”
Hurricane could swear that he felt every inch of the blade as it sliced inside of him.
He reacted on instinct, backhanding Washington. The Minuteman fell backwards, bringing the knife with him.
But Hurricane felt no relief, as Hamilton came from seemingly nowhere, and slammed a fist into the wound.
Three blows landed before Hurricane swung his left elbow into the man’s face, and forced him back.
Franklin was still nursing his broken nose, and like all cowards, refused to fight without his friends to back him up
“I’ve about had it with you weekend warrior rejects,” Hurricane growled, “this is your last God damn chance to back off before you make me do something I don’t want to do, and kill you all.”
“You can’t really expect us to believe you don’t want to kill us,” said Franklin, “or even can. That wound on your side looks damn ugly.”
Hurricane could tell that Franklin spoke for the all, and their willingness to fight wasn’t too terribly surprising. Even if they were a man down, Hurricane was alone, wounded and unarmed.
But if they were actual soldiers, and not playing pretend, they would have known, if anything, that only made him more dangerous, not less.
“You misunderstand,” the Merc bent over, and reached down for the deceased Adams’ jaw with his left hand. He tore it free of the body with barely any effort, and crushed it in his hand, now soaked with blood and gore.
The terrible act had left the Minutemen speechless, horrified at what they had just witnessed.
Hurricane held his left hand over the open palm of his right, and began crushing the jawbone in his hand.
“I don’t mind killing you,” several blood soaked teeth fell into Hurricane’s right hand, “I just didn’t want to desecrate a body. But I needed ammunition.”
Hurricane’s hand became a blur, and a second later, Franklin’s head snapped back, and he fell over like a puppet with its strings cut.
“You should know why I call myself Hurricane.”
Hurricane’s hand blurred, and a wisdom tooth exploded out the back of Jefferson’s head. Luthor watched in horror, and never saw the molar that ended his life.
“Because my arms are as powerful as one.”
Pork screamed, falling backwards as his eye exploded like an overripe tick.
Washington and Hamilton tried to rush Hurricane, but his wrist was too fast.
A first molar exploded out the back of Washington’s mouth like a bullet, and a Cuspid smashed through Hamilton’s skull like a blade.
“God damn amateurs,” Hurricane muttered to himself. He dropped the teeth and bone fragments, a feeling of disgust settling in his stomach.
Defiling a corpse crossed a line for Hurricane that he never thought he would even approach, let alone leap across just to save his own skin.
“I used to be better than this,” Hurricane said, only half believing it.
But he pushed all his doubts, self loathing and hatred to the corner of his mind, allowing his training to take over. Right now, he had a mission to complete, and even with (current) attackers dead, he was still in grave danger.
Hurricane approached the mouth of the hallway slowly, his back pressed against the wall, searching for the danger he knew to be waiting for him. He was neck deep in hostile territory, it wasn’t a question if he was in danger, but when.
Hurricane snuck his head out for a split second, and saw just how screwed he was.
To both the left and right were a two Hydra squads, carrying weapons that looked like they belonged in Star Trek, and were carefully approaching, unlike the Minutemen he’d just killed. But that wasn’t nearly as worrying as what he saw across the ring, on three different levels were at least three dozen different men and women, their hands smoldering with energy.
Hurricane was spotted a split second later, and threw himself backwards just before a wall of energy, acid, napalm and God only knew what else came crashing towards him.
Hurricane scrambled back on his hands and knees, as the cement walls behind him were gouged and torn apart, small, scalding hot pebbles that landed across his back.
Ironically, for a moment, the brush with death raised Hurricane’s spirits. It reminded him of the countless times he’d dodged mortar fire with his squad.
But he put his head back in the here and now, and realized that if he didn’t get his head in the game, and think of something soon, he’d be dead.
The Minutemen were gone, but they would get their revenge posthumously.
For all their stupidity, they had lured Hurricane into the perfect kill box.
Fish in a barrel had better odds. The only exit covered by heavy artillery that could probably demolish a literal tank. And they were all killers, ready for blood.
Meanwhile, Hurricane didn’t have any weapons worth mentioning, the wound in his side ached bone deep, and every second that passed meant reinforcements, even though they already had twice the number of people needed to kill him.
“God I miss Afganistan and IEDs,” Hurricane sighed.
Weapon Chi, balancing only on her left foot, swung her right foot into the swing of Warcry’s head, and then swept it back to collide with Scorpion’s stomach.
The young merc staggered, but the blow didn’t hurt nearly as much as her first attacks did.
Scorpion could see the blue and red veins in Weapon Chi’s arms and legs. Where metal met flesh and bone. Scorpion’s powers allowed her, to some degree, to sense toxins and she could tell that Weapon Chi’s body was producing them in earnest now, trying to expel the artificial invaders.
She was slower, she was weaker, but she was still damned dangerous.
Scorpion focused past the pain, and rushed forward. She swung her left elbow, gauntlet extended, and smashed it into Weapon Chi’s face.
Scorpion drew blood, and smashed her elbow into Weapon Chi three times before she managed to bring her wrist up and stop it. The cyborg glared at her.
-Blam!-
Scorpion watched as pain flashed across Weapon Chi’s face. Both women looked to the side, and saw Mr. Raven, propped up against the wall, gun in hand.
Scorpion could see where the bullet had struck, on the back of Weapon Chi’s thigh.
“Warcry!” Scorpion pulled her arm back, and swept her left leg out, catching Weapon Chi in the back of her knee, forcing her to stumble. Scorpion leapt aside, “take the shot!”
Weapon Chi looked at Warcry. She could already see the air ripple around the sonic merc.
“Thank you.”
Hrist cracked her remaining eye open, her body wracked with pain.
“Why don’t we simply kill them?”
She saw wolves in the shape of men, but metal eyes and steel teeth. Two of them were dragging Flash Blade, while another two were dragging the Asgardian by her wrists like a slab of beef.
“They are allies of that screamer. They won’t come for corpses.”
Hrist felt unconsciousness come for her, and she didn’t fight it. If she couldn’t die in battle, then she didn’t want to be awake when her history returned, and the wolves tore her apart.
Elsewhere
“Come on, come on,” sweat beaded down Hurricane’s forehead, as he struggled to think of a way out. Despite what most villains thought, the best traps relied on simplicity and pure function.
And there was nothing simpler a kill-box. One way in, no way out.
“I refuse to die stupid, think damn it!”
“My friends.”
Hurricane turned his head, and saw that the last Minute Man, Pork, rising to his feet. Blood poured from his eye, his teeth were bared like a rabid dog and it didn’t take a genius to guess what he intended to do next.
“You killed my friends!”
“Same as they would to me,” said Hurricane, “you want to live through this, just shut up and sit down. I’ll be dead soon enough, and you won’t even have to get your hands dirty.”
“To hell with that,” Pork said, his voice filled with righteous fury, “no one’s killing you but me!”
Pork charged at Hurricane, but the merc sidestepped it easily.
“Last chance,” Hurricane growled as Pork spun around for another charge, “leave it.”
“Never!”
“Fine,” said Hurricane, “you just became my escape plan.”
Hurricane chopped Pork in the throat, and then mule-kicked him in the stomach, exploding the air from his lungs.
Pork, barely able to breathe, let alone think, was too slow to defend himself as Hurricane ploughed into him like an NFL linebacker, and began pushing him backwards. Though he had a variant of the super soldier serum in his veins and several hundred pounds of muscle, the merc was too strong for Pork.
Hurricane pushed Pork backwards, and the second they passed the threshold, the second they were visible, they were met with a barrage of energy.
A glob of acid, a burst of focused ions, a stream of fire, all slammed into Hurricane’s human shield at the same time, but he didn’t slow. Pork screamed, as chunks of muscle and flesh were torn from his body or outright disintegrated.
Hurricane pressed on, and the two of them smashed through the guardrail, and out into open air.
The moment Hurricane hit open air, he felt a calming sense of déjà vu. In his time as a soldier, he’d been in freefall so many times, that old reflexes took over. He didn’t panic, his heart didn’t pound against his chest nor did his blood begin to rush.
Falling was like riding a bike.
Hurricane sailed through the air like a soft ball, bursts of energy shrieking close by but none coming close enough. The men and women targeting him weren’t marksmen, and as one, Hurricane knew that hitting him in midair like this was a hard shot to begin with.
He saw the railing approaching almost in slow motion, and slammed into it at full speed. The knife wound in his side screamed, his vision blurred, and Hurricane felt himself beginning to slip.
He snapped his hand around the handrail, crushing the metal beneath his palm. Hurricane looked over his shoulder, out of morbid curiosity, and saw what remained of Pork, his flesh blackened and seared, falling limp like a rock.
“Should have listened,” Hurricane sighed.
Hurricane hoisted himself over the railing, his side wound screaming its displeasure at him. He clutched his wound, blood flowing over his hand. His head swimming, Hurricane pressed his hand against the wall, as he struggled to focus.
“Eric.”
Hearing his name, Hurricane felt a spike in his gut as he turned his head towards the voice.
Recognition struck.
“I killed you,” Hurricane said.
“You only killed half of me.”
Hurricane’s vision blurred, a split second before he saw the butt of a rifle smashing towards him.
Mr. Raven rolled his right shoulder, trying to work through the ache.
“Well, that’s Weapon Chi down,” Mr. Raven observed, “good work, ladies.”
“Good, you’re not dumb enough to take the credit for our kill,” said Warcry, “you know, I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, Mr. Raven. But for a guy who’s had whiskey with Wolverine, you seem to have more pussy in you than me and Scorpion combined.”
“When you get tortured by Kree soldiers, then you can lecture me on recovery,” Mr. Raven said, “but we can discuss that later. We’re in luck.”
“What, are the Avengers around the corner?” said Warcry.
“No, but I think Hurricane is,” Mr. Raven said, “can’t you feel it? The magic Hrist used to bind us together, I can sense someone else, close by.”
“I do too,” Warcry said. It was like a weird tingling in the back of her skull.
“Lets go get our guy,” Scorpion said, “four snowflake’s chances in hell is better than three.”
The three mercs moved as one in a hurried pace, eyes peeled for any attackers. Luck seemed to be on their side, until they turned a final corner.
They knew in their gut Hurricane should be there, in the same way one always knew where their hand was, even in utter darkness.
But all the three found was a bloody hand print
Next issue: The blood soaked origin of Hurricane.
Drake Dran felt a special rage building inside of him that he felt only a handful of times before.
The first time was when his father rejected him. The first so called ‘Indestructible Man’, Damon Dran had room no room for anyone else in his empire, and cast his son out only minutes after their first and only meeting.
That rage was actually productive. It drove Drake Dran to create this haven for criminals and outsiders, and build his own empire. Hell’s Peak wasn’t by any means flashy, but it brought in hundreds of millions just by existing. The resources and secrets kept here could topple governments
But now that was being threatened by two great dangers.
The first were the mercenaries who infested Hell’s Peak. They were like rats, scurrying about, knowing and destroying something so much greater than themselves as they clung to a futile life. The damage they did was infuriating, but it could be contained, mitigated.
The second was more far insidious. Since its founding, the true strength of Hell’s Peak was its occupants. It was understood that an attack on one was an attack on all. Once Hell’s Peak’s population had reached a hundred, he feared no outside threat.
But now that Hell’s Peak faced one of its greatest threats, there were residents who thought they could skirt the rules, slide by on the work of others. And today, Drake was in no mood.
“Sir?”
Drake struggled to reign in his temper. Lashing out at his men would only make things much, much worse.
“Yes?” Drake folded him arms behind his back, to hide his clenched fists.
“I, uhh…have the location of several residents who haven’t been active search, sir. Would you like me to send some men to remind them of their responsibilities?”
“No need,” Drake said, “tell me where they are, and I’ll see to them myself.”
Drake wasn’t surprised to find his wayward tenants in one of the entertainment lounges. Hell’s Peak was took criminals great and small, including digital pirates who were required to share some of their ‘product’.
The first one, Cyber, a dangerous refugee from another reality, stationed here by his handlers to keep him out of trouble. Coated in indestructible adamantium, Drake had counted him as one of the major defense assets, until now.
The other four were part of a small crew of mutants. Steeltrap, his skin like rusted copper. His second in command, a speedster who called himself Speedway. Next was Steeptrap’s wheel man, Tek-War, who wore a sleeveless leather jacket and had data-board tattoos on sleek, metal arms. Last was their muscle was Savage Claw, a pale imitator of Sabretooth, armed with metal claws, an animal disposition and the ability to induce fear with a sub-sonic growl.
None of them gave Dran a second glance when he entered the room. To him, he was just an errant landlord, barely a blip on their radar.
Steeltrap took the mutant growth hormone inhaler, and took a deep breath. He could feel the power flowing in his veins like molten steel.
“God,” Steeltrap sighed, “if I knew the bitch could do this for me, I’d have turned her into product ages ago.”
“Boyfriend of the year, man,” Cyber chuckled.
“Why are you here?” Dran growled.
“Because I’m bored and these idiots are the best company,” Cyber replied, barely deigning to look at Dran.
“What I meant,” Dran said, through gritted teeth, “is why aren’t you out there looking for those bastards? Did you all somehow forget our first agreement? An attack on one, is an attack on all. That’s a fairly simple creed.”
Cyber took a puff of his cigar, and blew a ring, “Sounds like you’re trying to get us to do your dirty work.”
“I’m trying to protect everyone here,” said Dran.
“Well, I’m trying to watch a movie,” Cyber stood up, and blew a cloud of smoke in Dran’s face, “I know what’s more important to me.”
“Pity,” Dran sighed, “I was hoping that your employers might send me more business, but I doubt they’ll do that once I’m done with you.”
“Oh really,” Cyber rubbed his half shaven face, a cocky grin on his face, “you really think you can take a man covered in adamanitum?”
“I know I can,” Dran’s left hand snapped out, and grabbed Cyber by the throat. He lifted the man into the air effortlessly as she squeezed, “they left room for your windpipe to constrict, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to breathe.”
Tek-War’s arms unfolded an impossible amount of energy weapons, all that he directed at Dran.
“Hey, let him go!”
“Kill…you!” Cyber brought his fists smashing down on Dran, but he ignored the blows outright.
“Hey, you were warned, man!” Tek-War unleashed a burst of energy, that Dran gave no more attention than the air around him.
Speedway saw this, and blitzed towards Dran. A thousand blows reigned down in second, but Dran never batted an eye.
“You warned me, now I’m warning you all,” said Dran. His right hand grabbed Cyber’s jaw, and pulled.
Steeltrap nearly threw up as he heard tendons and flesh tear, as Cyber’s lower jaw was torn free of his mouth. Dran cast the teeth and bones aside, and then threw Cyber to the ground, creating a pothole in the cement with the villain’s face.
“A reminder, I am indestructible and more. You, are not. Who would like to be another object lesson?”
Dran lifted his foot, and then stomped down on Cyber’s head, deepening the crater in the floor beneath him. First once, twice and then thrice.
Cyber did not move, as blood formed a puddle around his head.
“Get off your asses. Run these bastards done, make them bleed, make them suffer. And maybe, I’ll forgive this act of disrespect.”
Steeltrap and his crew didn’t bother to hide their fear as they scrambled away.
“So,” Scorpion clenched and released her fists to try to relax. A stupid thing to do right before a fight, but it beat completely panicking, like she really, really wanted to do, “ready for this?”
If Weapon Chi noticed, she said nothing. She simply strolled forward, a katana in each hand and as silent as the night itself.
“Last time we fought, this bitch ran me through,” Warcry took a steadying breath, filling her lungs with air.
Weapon Chi said nothing. She still approached.
“I’m gonna choose to hear that as, ‘we cool’,” said Scorpion.
Weapon Chi said nothing. She simply raised her swords, and leapt towards Warcry.
Scorpion dove in front of the merc while raising her gauntleted arm, blocking the swords. Weapon Chi pivoted on her right foot, and smashed her foot into Scorpion’s gut.
Scorpion fell backwards as Weapon Chi easily reversed her grip on her sword. She fell forward, perfectly positioned to impale the young heroine’s kidney and heart.
A burst of ear-piercing sonic energy slammed into Weapon Chi like a tsunami, and lifted her up into the air.
Weapon Chi twisted in midair effortlessly, bringing her feet underneath her before she swung her swords into the floor, and brought herself to a skidding stop.
“Twisted automation or not, that’s one of the world’s deadliest killers,” said Warcry.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Scorpion said, “she nearly took me out in two moves.”
Weapon Chi said nothing, as she strode forward.
“We better work together,” Warcry, “no way we survive this alone.”
Hurricane banged his fist against the wall, and released a resigned sigh. Mission failure was always a possibility, hell, he thought of it as an all but certainty. He was no stranger to death, and knew it would be his turn one day.
But he had held out hope that it might at least be dignified or honorable.
Being gunned down by seven rednecks was not that. At all.
“Okay,” Hurricane took a relaxing breath, like he practiced as a sniper. Death was a constant companion to any good soldier, and no amount of defiance would change that. So he just accepted it, “get it over with.”
“Sorry, hoss,” said the Minuteman who insisted everyone call him Jefferson, when his birth name was Peter. He motioned for the Minutemen to lower their weapons, “ain’t going to go down that way.”
“Is that so?” Hurricane kept a good poker face, despite every instinct in his body wanting to yell at them for being such idiots. Fish in a barrel had better odds than he did right now, “what’s you have in mind?”
“Don’t suppose you can name the guys who took down Bonnie and Clyde?” said Jefferson, “we just gun ya down, six against one, that just makes us look like cowardly bitches.”
“And six on one beating me to death is better?” said Hurricane.
“Lesser of two evils, man,” Jefferson said, “well, for us, anyways. Sorry man. Franklin, Hamilton, Washington, Adams, you guys drew the first straws, so lose the weapons. Pork, me and Luthor will hang back.”
Hurricane guessed that the fat man on the left was Pork. He looked like a shorter version of the Blob, and Hurricane was tempted to dismiss him as a threat. But each and every man here had somehow gotten their hands on a version of the super soldier serum, making them almost as dangerous as Hurricane himself.
“Alright boys,” Hurricane clenched his fists, “show me your God damn revolution.”
Franklin, Hamilton, Washington and Adams, all wearing a Confederate flag somewhere on their person with no sense of irony, strolled forward like lions ready for the kill.
The wall of muscle might have been an effective intimidation tool against lesser men. But all Hurricane saw was that he now had a chance in hell of survival. He saw the lack of discipline, coordination and experience clear as day. These were pretend soldiers, for all their bravo and bluster, no better than thugs.
And Hurricane had killed countless thugs in his time.
“Lets get this party started!” the first man, Adams, ran ahead of his compatriots, no longer able to withhold his bloodlust.
He swung a haymaker for Hurricane’s jaw, but it was telegraphed a mile away. Hurricane simply turned his head, dodging the blow with ease. He swept his right hand up and grabbed Adams’ wrist, and then swung his left elbow into the back of Adams’ head.
The blow caused the man to stumble, but Hurricane kept his grip on the man’s wrist, and directed his fall toward to the wall. Adams hit it face first, and never saw Hurricane swing his elbow again, aimed at the vertebrae in his neck.
The –crack!- stopped the Minutemen in their tracks.
“He’s…dead,” said Franklin (who looked nothing like his namesake).
“First time at war, boys?” Hurricane allowed the body to drop, and turned to the remaining three, “it only gets worse from here.”
“You son of a bitch!”
Franklin and Washington charged at Hurricane, seeing nothing but red.
Hurricane mule kicked Franklin backwards, but Washington tackled him around the waist and slammed him against the wall, next to Adams’ corpse.
Hurricane brought his right elbow down on Washington’s shoulder, nearly breaking bone before pushing him away.
Hurricane was about to turn his attention to Franklin, when the man who fancied himself Hamilton leapt through the air and smashed his foot into Hurricane’s chest.
He stumbled backwards, and Franklin grabbed him in a full nelson.
“Hamilton, get him!” Franklin snapped.
Hurricane snapped his head backwards, crunching Franklin’s nose against the back of his head. Hurricane slipped free, and swung his right elbow into Hamilton’s chest.
As Hamilton fell, Hurricane thought for a moment that he might get through this, might survive.
He never saw Washington until the man slammed into him, smashing him against the wall.
But he did feel the knife that slid between his ribs.
Warcry was sent flying into the wall as Weapon Chi’s foot struck her upside the head.
The cyborg moved to impale the African merc with her swords, but Scorpion leapt at her, smashing her knee into Weapon Chi’s gut, stunning her.
Scorpion remembered her training, and swept outwards with the flat of her palms. Weapon Chi leaned back to avoid the attack, realizing too late that the attack wasn’t aimed at her. Scorpion knocked Weapon Chi’s swords from her hands, and they clattered back across the floor.
Weapon Chi barely broke stride, though, snapping her head forward, slamming her forehead into Scorpion’s, before swinging an elbow into the side of her head.
Weapon Chi then kicked Scorpion aside, and moved to collect her swords, and had just bent over to pick them up, when a burst of sonic energy flew past her and smashed into the swords, turning them into nothing but shards.
“You want to kill us, you do it with your bare hands,” said Warcry. She held her tonfas in both hands.
Weapon Chi said nothing.
“I hate to tell you this,” Scorpion had her gauntlet extended the entire length of her left arm, “but I think she can do exactly that.”
“Just stay close,” said Warcry, “I can end this if I get just one good shot.”
“Same, cover me, I’m about to do something genius,” Scorpion said.
“Go,” Warcry said.
The sonic merc watched in horror as Scorpion tackled Weapon Chi as if they were playing football.
The act was so surprising, so amazingly stupid, that Warcry would later reflect that it did qualify as actual genius. After all, in a fight to the death, no one expected the enemy to run up to you and offer their own neck.
Warcry, against her better judgment, followed Scorpion a split second later, and wrapped her arms around Weapon Chi’s legs, pinning her.
Scorpion knew she had only a few seconds at best, and moved quickly. She pressed a hand against the exposed flesh of Weapon Chi, and activated her powers.
Weapon Chi hesitated when Scorpion tackled her because it was so foolish, no unexpected, that she really had no idea how to respond, at least for a second.
And that hesitation cost her everything, when Scorpion pressed her right hand against Weapon Chi’s skin.
The cyborg felt as if blood and energy had mixed together and were pouring out of her. Weapon Chi couldn’t comprehend the physics involved, but she knew her strength was flowing into Scorpion, as she watched her hand glow a brighter emerald, the energy pulsing off her growing stronger.
Knowing she had only seconds to act, Weapon Chi slid her right arm free, and then brought her elbow down on Scorpion’s head. She then yanked her feet free from Warcry’s grasp.
Warcry scrambled back the second Weapon Chi had freed her legs, and barely avoiding catching both free with her face. The African merc expected Weapon Chi to be on them in seconds. The woman was on her feet in the blink of an eye, while both she and Scorpion were still scrambling to their feet.
But then Weapon Chi took several careful steps back, something Warcry couldn’t remember happening the entire fight.
“What did you do?” Warcry asked, never taking her eyes off of Weapon Chi.
“Weapon Chi is a cyborg,” Scorpion said, smirking underneath her mask though her head was throbbing, “flesh, blood and metal. You’d be surprised how many toxins and technically, poisons, are required to allow them to co-exist. The oil for her limbs, the anti-bacterial injections, the anti-rejection drugs that keep her immune system at bay? I took them all for myself.”
Warcry realized that she could hear the sound of servos as Weapon Chi flinched.
“So…”
“So now, every movement tears cartilage, pulls muscles or grinds down bone,” said Scorpion.
Warcry chuckled.
“Then lets dance.”
Hurricane could swear that he felt every inch of the blade as it sliced inside of him.
He reacted on instinct, backhanding Washington. The Minuteman fell backwards, bringing the knife with him.
But Hurricane felt no relief, as Hamilton came from seemingly nowhere, and slammed a fist into the wound.
Three blows landed before Hurricane swung his left elbow into the man’s face, and forced him back.
Franklin was still nursing his broken nose, and like all cowards, refused to fight without his friends to back him up
“I’ve about had it with you weekend warrior rejects,” Hurricane growled, “this is your last God damn chance to back off before you make me do something I don’t want to do, and kill you all.”
“You can’t really expect us to believe you don’t want to kill us,” said Franklin, “or even can. That wound on your side looks damn ugly.”
Hurricane could tell that Franklin spoke for the all, and their willingness to fight wasn’t too terribly surprising. Even if they were a man down, Hurricane was alone, wounded and unarmed.
But if they were actual soldiers, and not playing pretend, they would have known, if anything, that only made him more dangerous, not less.
“You misunderstand,” the Merc bent over, and reached down for the deceased Adams’ jaw with his left hand. He tore it free of the body with barely any effort, and crushed it in his hand, now soaked with blood and gore.
The terrible act had left the Minutemen speechless, horrified at what they had just witnessed.
Hurricane held his left hand over the open palm of his right, and began crushing the jawbone in his hand.
“I don’t mind killing you,” several blood soaked teeth fell into Hurricane’s right hand, “I just didn’t want to desecrate a body. But I needed ammunition.”
Hurricane’s hand became a blur, and a second later, Franklin’s head snapped back, and he fell over like a puppet with its strings cut.
“You should know why I call myself Hurricane.”
Hurricane’s hand blurred, and a wisdom tooth exploded out the back of Jefferson’s head. Luthor watched in horror, and never saw the molar that ended his life.
“Because my arms are as powerful as one.”
Pork screamed, falling backwards as his eye exploded like an overripe tick.
Washington and Hamilton tried to rush Hurricane, but his wrist was too fast.
A first molar exploded out the back of Washington’s mouth like a bullet, and a Cuspid smashed through Hamilton’s skull like a blade.
“God damn amateurs,” Hurricane muttered to himself. He dropped the teeth and bone fragments, a feeling of disgust settling in his stomach.
Defiling a corpse crossed a line for Hurricane that he never thought he would even approach, let alone leap across just to save his own skin.
“I used to be better than this,” Hurricane said, only half believing it.
But he pushed all his doubts, self loathing and hatred to the corner of his mind, allowing his training to take over. Right now, he had a mission to complete, and even with (current) attackers dead, he was still in grave danger.
Hurricane approached the mouth of the hallway slowly, his back pressed against the wall, searching for the danger he knew to be waiting for him. He was neck deep in hostile territory, it wasn’t a question if he was in danger, but when.
Hurricane snuck his head out for a split second, and saw just how screwed he was.
To both the left and right were a two Hydra squads, carrying weapons that looked like they belonged in Star Trek, and were carefully approaching, unlike the Minutemen he’d just killed. But that wasn’t nearly as worrying as what he saw across the ring, on three different levels were at least three dozen different men and women, their hands smoldering with energy.
Hurricane was spotted a split second later, and threw himself backwards just before a wall of energy, acid, napalm and God only knew what else came crashing towards him.
Hurricane scrambled back on his hands and knees, as the cement walls behind him were gouged and torn apart, small, scalding hot pebbles that landed across his back.
Ironically, for a moment, the brush with death raised Hurricane’s spirits. It reminded him of the countless times he’d dodged mortar fire with his squad.
But he put his head back in the here and now, and realized that if he didn’t get his head in the game, and think of something soon, he’d be dead.
The Minutemen were gone, but they would get their revenge posthumously.
For all their stupidity, they had lured Hurricane into the perfect kill box.
Fish in a barrel had better odds. The only exit covered by heavy artillery that could probably demolish a literal tank. And they were all killers, ready for blood.
Meanwhile, Hurricane didn’t have any weapons worth mentioning, the wound in his side ached bone deep, and every second that passed meant reinforcements, even though they already had twice the number of people needed to kill him.
“God I miss Afganistan and IEDs,” Hurricane sighed.
Weapon Chi, balancing only on her left foot, swung her right foot into the swing of Warcry’s head, and then swept it back to collide with Scorpion’s stomach.
The young merc staggered, but the blow didn’t hurt nearly as much as her first attacks did.
Scorpion could see the blue and red veins in Weapon Chi’s arms and legs. Where metal met flesh and bone. Scorpion’s powers allowed her, to some degree, to sense toxins and she could tell that Weapon Chi’s body was producing them in earnest now, trying to expel the artificial invaders.
She was slower, she was weaker, but she was still damned dangerous.
Scorpion focused past the pain, and rushed forward. She swung her left elbow, gauntlet extended, and smashed it into Weapon Chi’s face.
Scorpion drew blood, and smashed her elbow into Weapon Chi three times before she managed to bring her wrist up and stop it. The cyborg glared at her.
-Blam!-
Scorpion watched as pain flashed across Weapon Chi’s face. Both women looked to the side, and saw Mr. Raven, propped up against the wall, gun in hand.
Scorpion could see where the bullet had struck, on the back of Weapon Chi’s thigh.
“Warcry!” Scorpion pulled her arm back, and swept her left leg out, catching Weapon Chi in the back of her knee, forcing her to stumble. Scorpion leapt aside, “take the shot!”
Weapon Chi looked at Warcry. She could already see the air ripple around the sonic merc.
“Thank you.”
Hrist cracked her remaining eye open, her body wracked with pain.
“Why don’t we simply kill them?”
She saw wolves in the shape of men, but metal eyes and steel teeth. Two of them were dragging Flash Blade, while another two were dragging the Asgardian by her wrists like a slab of beef.
“They are allies of that screamer. They won’t come for corpses.”
Hrist felt unconsciousness come for her, and she didn’t fight it. If she couldn’t die in battle, then she didn’t want to be awake when her history returned, and the wolves tore her apart.
Elsewhere
“Come on, come on,” sweat beaded down Hurricane’s forehead, as he struggled to think of a way out. Despite what most villains thought, the best traps relied on simplicity and pure function.
And there was nothing simpler a kill-box. One way in, no way out.
“I refuse to die stupid, think damn it!”
“My friends.”
Hurricane turned his head, and saw that the last Minute Man, Pork, rising to his feet. Blood poured from his eye, his teeth were bared like a rabid dog and it didn’t take a genius to guess what he intended to do next.
“You killed my friends!”
“Same as they would to me,” said Hurricane, “you want to live through this, just shut up and sit down. I’ll be dead soon enough, and you won’t even have to get your hands dirty.”
“To hell with that,” Pork said, his voice filled with righteous fury, “no one’s killing you but me!”
Pork charged at Hurricane, but the merc sidestepped it easily.
“Last chance,” Hurricane growled as Pork spun around for another charge, “leave it.”
“Never!”
“Fine,” said Hurricane, “you just became my escape plan.”
Hurricane chopped Pork in the throat, and then mule-kicked him in the stomach, exploding the air from his lungs.
Pork, barely able to breathe, let alone think, was too slow to defend himself as Hurricane ploughed into him like an NFL linebacker, and began pushing him backwards. Though he had a variant of the super soldier serum in his veins and several hundred pounds of muscle, the merc was too strong for Pork.
Hurricane pushed Pork backwards, and the second they passed the threshold, the second they were visible, they were met with a barrage of energy.
A glob of acid, a burst of focused ions, a stream of fire, all slammed into Hurricane’s human shield at the same time, but he didn’t slow. Pork screamed, as chunks of muscle and flesh were torn from his body or outright disintegrated.
Hurricane pressed on, and the two of them smashed through the guardrail, and out into open air.
The moment Hurricane hit open air, he felt a calming sense of déjà vu. In his time as a soldier, he’d been in freefall so many times, that old reflexes took over. He didn’t panic, his heart didn’t pound against his chest nor did his blood begin to rush.
Falling was like riding a bike.
Hurricane sailed through the air like a soft ball, bursts of energy shrieking close by but none coming close enough. The men and women targeting him weren’t marksmen, and as one, Hurricane knew that hitting him in midair like this was a hard shot to begin with.
He saw the railing approaching almost in slow motion, and slammed into it at full speed. The knife wound in his side screamed, his vision blurred, and Hurricane felt himself beginning to slip.
He snapped his hand around the handrail, crushing the metal beneath his palm. Hurricane looked over his shoulder, out of morbid curiosity, and saw what remained of Pork, his flesh blackened and seared, falling limp like a rock.
“Should have listened,” Hurricane sighed.
Hurricane hoisted himself over the railing, his side wound screaming its displeasure at him. He clutched his wound, blood flowing over his hand. His head swimming, Hurricane pressed his hand against the wall, as he struggled to focus.
“Eric.”
Hearing his name, Hurricane felt a spike in his gut as he turned his head towards the voice.
Recognition struck.
“I killed you,” Hurricane said.
“You only killed half of me.”
Hurricane’s vision blurred, a split second before he saw the butt of a rifle smashing towards him.
Mr. Raven rolled his right shoulder, trying to work through the ache.
“Well, that’s Weapon Chi down,” Mr. Raven observed, “good work, ladies.”
“Good, you’re not dumb enough to take the credit for our kill,” said Warcry, “you know, I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, Mr. Raven. But for a guy who’s had whiskey with Wolverine, you seem to have more pussy in you than me and Scorpion combined.”
“When you get tortured by Kree soldiers, then you can lecture me on recovery,” Mr. Raven said, “but we can discuss that later. We’re in luck.”
“What, are the Avengers around the corner?” said Warcry.
“No, but I think Hurricane is,” Mr. Raven said, “can’t you feel it? The magic Hrist used to bind us together, I can sense someone else, close by.”
“I do too,” Warcry said. It was like a weird tingling in the back of her skull.
“Lets go get our guy,” Scorpion said, “four snowflake’s chances in hell is better than three.”
The three mercs moved as one in a hurried pace, eyes peeled for any attackers. Luck seemed to be on their side, until they turned a final corner.
They knew in their gut Hurricane should be there, in the same way one always knew where their hand was, even in utter darkness.
But all the three found was a bloody hand print
Next issue: The blood soaked origin of Hurricane.