Back to GatefoldIssue #2 by Daniel Ingram
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"The Plan"
Middle of nowhere
The van pulled up late at night, and the mercenaries inside stepped out, eager to stretch their legs after over an hour of riding in a cramped van.
“I don’t know why you mortals require any torture devises other than what you call traffic,” Hrist grunted. “Acid and knives pale in comparison.”
“We like to spice things up on occasion,” Warcry observed.
Hurricane looked around, instinctively taking in everything he could about everything around him. The nondescript airfield came as no surprise, really. Airfields in the middle of nowhere were to criminals what bus stops were to the law-biding.
But what did surprise Hurricane was the large hangar with the name of a delivery company Hurricane didn’t recognize, with an Antonov An-225 Mriya, the world’s largest cargo airplane resting inside of it.
Hurricane’s hand floated towards his sidearm, and said, “This is a SHIELD op, isn’t it?”
The eyes of everyone in the hangar turned towards Hurricane.
“No,” Mr. Raven said, stepping forward, “it’s mine. SHIELD is simply repaying me a favor.”
Hurricane looked Mr. Raven up and down, trying to decide what to make of the man.
“Is that a problem?”
Like most everyone in his profession, he’d heard of Mr. Raven. Hell, everyone had. But everyone had heard something different.
Mr. Raven had the highest confirmed kill count of anyone who wasn’t Bullseye or Sabretooth. Because when Mr. Raven said, ‘never more’, you were never more. Mr. Raven invaded Latveria, Mr. Raven was killed a dozen times, and not once.
Mr. Raven…the rumors and whispered that followed the man were impressive if they were even half true, and Hurricane wasn’t eager to start an operation like this on his bad side.
Hurricane glanced at the other mercenaries without turning his head and moved his hand away from his sidearm, “Not yet.”
“Good, happy to hear it,” Mr. Raven said, with a face no betrayed little emotion, “everyone on the plane, now. This mission is time sensitive, and we’ve wasted enough already.”
“Damn straight,” Thrill Blade muttered, as he and the others entered the rear of the craft.
When Hurricane stepped inside the airplane, what he found looked like the set off of Star Trek. There were computer monitor’s built into the walls, and in the middle of the hangar was a holographic display platform about the size of a pool table. Further back there was a partition where Hurricane suspected the sleeping cabins lay.
“I’ll go get Jim,” Scorpion said, “let him know that we’re ready to go, and to begin the briefing.”
“Make sure the file clerk hurries,” Mr. Raven said, “I don’t like waiting.”
“Hurricane, it pleases to have you join us!” Hrist gave Hurricane a pat on the back that might have crippled a grizzly, “our last mission together wasn’t nearly as harrowing as it should have been!”
“Agree to disagree,” Hurricane muttered, his back stinging.
# # # # #
Warcry watched the two mercenaries reminisce, and felt a pang of envy. Even if the two weren’t close, at least they shared some fond memories. Warcry couldn’t say that of anyone she worked with.
And, in the end, she didn’t want to. Friendship, camaraderie, those things were a liability now, so close to the end of her mission. And if she had to step over the dead bodies of everyone in this plane, Warcry knew in her heart of hearts that she would.
Hell, she’d slit their throats herself, if she had to.
# # # # #
“Hello, everyone,” Thrill Blade glanced towards Scorpion as she returned, followed by a pudgy, middle aged man in a standard issue, blue Shield uniform, “my name’s Jim Trask, and I’ll be your guide on the journey to hell.”
“Still can’t believe we’re answering to this loser,” Thrill Blade muttered.
“Save it, Wallace,” Jim Trask said, “I have three different doctorates, and more experience in counter intelligence in my left hand than you have in your whole head. If I have to get in the field, then we’re in deep shit already. I may not be bad ass, but I know my business.”
“Question,” Hurricane raised his hand with a cheeky grin, “is this really an anti-mutant thing? Because I do have standards…”
“Does it matter?” Thrill Blade said.
“I do not share my family’s extreme views on mutant human relations,” Trask said, “I would say that I’m here as a Shield agent, nothing more, but as far Shield is concerned, I’m on a two week vacation, and this boat is parked in Virginia for repairs. Everything…and everyone here is off the books.”
“Do we have your word that you’re being straight with us?” said Hurricane.
“Enough,” Mr. Raven growled, “every second we waste not preparing brings us closer to failure, and I will not tolerate that. Everyone here, is in. Otherwise, you’re out. At three thousand feet and climbing.”
A pause.
“Wait, we’re in the air?” Thrill Blade said, “damn, this is one smooth ride. I may never fly commercial again.”
“Given that you’re a criminal, you probably shouldn’t be flying commercial at all,” Scorpion said.
“Are we done?” Trask said, “otherwise, let’s start. Our target goes by the name Damian Dran, son of infamous Damon Dran, rightly known as the Indestructible Man. He’s inherited his father’s abilities and more, we believe.”
“And how are we to kill a man who is indestructible?” said Warcry.
“I’ve an idea there,” Hrist said, “with magic, there is always a way.”
“I suspect that killing him will be the easy part. Our target rarely leaves his home slash business, Hell’s Peak, located in a poor corrupt corner of an Asian dictatorship known as Sin-Cong.”
Trask pressed a button, and holographic representation of Hell’s Peak before them. The bottom stories resembled a square block, while off to one corner where were dozen stories that rose straight into the air like any other skyscraper.
“That thing won’t win any beauty awards,” Thrill Blade observed.
“Like they stuck a sky scraper on the pentagon and called it a day,” Scorpion said.
“The owner, Damian Dran, went through a few contractors,” Trask said, “the square is your basic accommodations, the spire is for wealthier clients. We estimate that there is at least a population of four hundred super criminals, and with that many egos, you need a lot of space.
“That population of criminals is half the defense for Hell’s Peak. An attack on one is treated by an attack on all.”
“More like an excuse to kick up shit,” Hurricane said.
“That too,” Trask said, “beyond that, he employs a small army of mercenaries with mild cyborg enhancements, nicknamed Piranhas. And on top of that, he employs four bodyguards slash trouble shooters slash peace keepers to keep his tenants in line. All very skilled, all very dangerous.”
Trask brought of an image of a young man in a full black and grey body suit that revealed nothing other than a slit for the man’s eyes, and a head of brown hair.
“This gentleman is Midnight. Former partner of Moon Knight turned cyborg slave. Dran keeps him in check with a pain devise located on his spine. He’s well armed and damn competent in hand to hand combat.”
“What, he’s got a black belt?” Thrill Blade chuckled.
“No,” Trask said, “he’s fought off Moon Knight, Punisher and Spider-Man at the same time.”
Hurricane whistled softly.
“He may not win any recognition contests, but underestimate him and you’re dead.”
Trask brought up another image, this time of a woman with raven hair.
“Now, this lady…”
“No need,” Warcry said, “we all know who she is. Electra, one of the finest killers The Hand ever produced. How did Dran get her under his employ?”
“If you’d let me give my briefing?” Trask said. Warcry sneered, but said nothing, “for what it’s worth, you should be right. That, at the very least, is Electra’s body.”
“Her soul has fled,” Hrist said as she scrutinized the image, “tis but a shell.”
“I can’t speak to that, but she hasn’t demonstrated any of her past personal knowledge,” Trask said, “she’s called Weapon Chi, now. Word is, Dran fished her out of the drink around Muir Island. She has mild cyborg enhancements, with all of Electra’s skill, and none of her mercy. She’s the ultimate weapon. Point, click and die. And it’s Dran’s finger on the trigger.”
“This mission just gets better and better,” Hurricane muttered.
Trask brought up the image of a bare-chested man, wearing jeans, standing about six feet tall, with taped hands and a bald except for a hair-knot that went down past his waist.
“This gentleman goes by the name Solution,” Trask said, “all you need to know is that he’s a gifted fighter, demonstrates mild super strength. Oh, and he can generate any power needed to counter any power.”
“So he could create a flash if Batman over there came at him?” Thrill Blade snickered.
“If he did, I’d just beat him to death with my bare hands,” Shroud said evenly, “what would happen if you lost your pig sticker?”
“I’d get by,” Thrill Blade said confidently.
“Last, we have the weakest link, and our first target,” Trask said, “he goes by the name of Mr. Gray.”
Trask brought up an image.
“He’s a Hulk,” Warcry said.
“Cloned during the original’s grey period,” Trask said, “hence the name. He’s not as strong as the original, but he’s still strong enough.”
“He’s…a Hulk,” Thrill Blade said.
“We have some special tools to deal with him,” Trask said, “but our strategy demands that we take him off the board first before proceeding.”
“He’s a Hulk,” Warcry said, this time with a little more emphasize.
“Yes, he’s a Hulk!” Trask snapped, “whatever made you all think this mission would be easy?”
“Enough,” Mr. Raven said, “yes, he’s a Hulk, And we have equipment on board to kill him.”
“Why not go after one of the others?” Thrill Blade said.
“Why Thrill Blade, scared?” Scorpion smirked.
“Just not suicidal,” Thrill Blade replied, “the Hulk eats Avenger teams for lunch. Even if his knock off isn’t that strong, he’s still a damn Hulk!”
“We have to kill him first because his death will open up a two for two new people on Dran’s payroll,” Trask said, “more than that, Weapon Chi, Midnight and Solution rarely leave the compound at all. Mr. Grey leaves every other night around ten. Besides that, the others are too skilled. They might slip out of any ambush and warn Dran. We only have one chance at this, and one way or other we’ll have to deal with him. So he goes first.”
“No way we put down a Hulk silent like,” Hurricane said, “it’ll be noticed, no matter how good we are.”
“Leave that to me, mortal,” Hrist said, “I’ll not let anything rob me of this battle.”
“The plan after that is fairly straight forward. After we take Grey out of the picture, we’ll insert Hurricane and Thrill Blade into his spot,” Trask said, “Warcry? You’ll be applying for asylum. Say that the Brazil job brought you too much heat. From there, we’ll access and figure out our next move.”
“What about Shroud, too?” Thrill Blade suggested, “he’s got enough enemies. He rips off criminals for a living!”
“I do,” Shroud smiled, “and I happened to come into some of Dran’s bank accounts. I don’t think he’d be eager to take me in, and I really want that money.”
“What about my…personal history?” Warcry said, “wouldn’t Dran suspect me because of that?”
“He’s nothing if not confident,” Trask said, “he’s kept all his tenants in line this long. Just stay calm, and things will be fine. This will only be recon.”
“That is, if we manage to kill a Hulk first,” Shroud offered.
“Yes, exactly, thank you,” Jim growled.
“Not exactly what one would call an intricate plan,” Thrill Blade observed.
“There are no wire drops or laser grids here,” Mr. Raven said, “we work down and dirty, blood and mud. Without better intel, we have to adapt to the situation on the ground, then plan and overcome. That is how we will win. Now, everyone, get some food, get some rest. Hurricane, we have some special equipment for you that you should examine before we get there.”
“One last thing,” Trask brought up an image of a woman dressed in a business suit, mid thirties and with red hair.
Hurricane swallowed hard.
“This is Dran’s personal assistant, Andi Hunter. She handles most of his day to day business. It is vital we capture her, alive. That’s mission priority number one after killing Dran.”
“That’s how you’ll sell this op back to Shield,” Hurricane said, “isn’t it? You give them her, and the intelligence they get lets them overlook this mission.”
“Dran doesn’t just trade in money,” Scorpion said, “he trades in secrets as well. Anyone with juicy enough intel, he’ll protect them, at least for a little bit. She guards those secrets.”
“That makes her more valuable than gold,” Trask said, “the good news is that she’s also a coward. I don’t predict much trouble capturing her. Any last questions?”
“Two.”
“What’s that?”
“As you know, me and Hrist recently extracted the son of a drug lord out of his father’s territory and into asylum,” said Hurricane, “why didn’t he try to make it to Hell’s Peak?”
“Elias screwed Dran over on a two million dollar deal a few months back,” said Trask, “otherwise, he probably would have sent his men to collect him personally. Second?”
“Why?”
“Why.”
Hurricane observed how Warcry, Thrill Blade and Hrist gave him a look of confusion.
“Why does Dran have to die?” Hurricane said, “as threats go, he’s fairly passive. He protects criminals sure, but he’s not trying to blow up city capitals, and he’s not harboring Baron Strucker or anyone like that. So why this hit squad?”
“Does it matter?” Thrill Blade said.
“Does to me,” Hurricane said, “I’m a killer, not a mass murderer. I’d like to know why I’m killing a guy.”
“He crossed me,” Mr. Raven said, “he took something from me. So I intend to take everything from him.”
“More than that,” Jim Trask said, “the powers that be fear he could become the next Dr. Doom. Like we said, he trades in favors and secrets, as well as money. He could send an army of villains against the Avengers with just a few calls, but everyone’s also afraid to take a shot and miss.”
“I hope vengeance isn’t a problem for you?” said Warcry.
Hurricane averted his eyes from the holographic image of Hunter.
“No, no problem. Just wanted to know why everyone else is getting themselves killed, is all.”
# # # # #
Later
Hurricane opened the box of bullets marked ‘Dangerous’, and tested the weight of one in his hand. He flicked it into the air with his thumb, and watched it come down into his palm, timing it in his head.
“Please don’t play with the adamantium bullets,” Mr. Raven said, “you wouldn’t believe how expensive they are.”
“You wouldn’t believe how useless they are,” Hurricane replied, “they’re jacketed well enough, but they’re too heavy for a handgun to get good enough penetration for what we’re hunting, and the tips are too blunt. I might as well be shooting wad cutters at Gray.”
“The recoil on anything higher destroys the gun after two shots. I was told you were a marksman,” Mr. Raven said, “with an arm like a hurricane, I believe they said. Make it work. If you want to live.”
Mr. Raven turned on his heel, and left.
“What do you think his deal is?” Hurricane glanced over his shoulder, and saw Thrill Blade leaning against the work bench.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s his story?” Thrill Blade said, “I mean, he’s got to be ex government of some kind. His fighting’s too clean.”
“Maybe,” Hurricane casually unholstered his weapon, and handed it to Thrill Blade, “could you do me a favor? This keeps jamming, and I can’t figure out what’s going on. Could you take a look?”
“Sure,” Thrill Blade ejected the clip, popped out the bullet in the chamber, and disassembled the gun with practiced ease. When it was in pieces, professionally disassembled on the workbench, Thrill Blade turned to Hurricane with a cocky grin, “looks fine, not that it was broken to begin with. Going to try to ambush me with a coffee cup, now mate?”
“I’m actually an espresso man, myself,” Hurricane said, “so you’re military, ex but not special forces. Thought so. I’m curious, why do you look like a blond Mel Gibson?”
Thrill Blade snorted, “Hey, it’s a persona, man. You really think guys like Hrist or Thor are Gods? Bullshit, man, bullshit. And I’ve got Scottish roots, so why not?”
“So this is you selling yourself?”
“Pretty much.”
“Better know your worth, then.”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
“Hrist, you okay?” Scorpion approached the Goddess as she stood at the back of the plane, with a dagger in one hand.
“Fine, stripling. Though I could use your assistance,” Hrist handed Scorpion a glass bowl, “hold this, please.”
“Why do I need…oh my God!”
Scorpion’s eyes went wide as Hrist took the dagger to her wrist and dragged it lengthwise. Too stunned to move, Scorpion held the bowl as blood poured into it.
“My thanks, mortal,” Hrist returned the dagger to her belt, and took the bowl from Scorpion. The wound had quickly sealed shut, “would hate to waste that.”
“Why the hell did you do that?!” Scorpion demanded.
“Blood is a potent magical tool,” Hrist said, “a Goddess’ own, especially. For what Trask asks of me tomorrow, I need much.”
“Any chance you could just teleport us in?” Scorpion said, “that’d save us all some trouble.”
“Hmm, did Trask tell you to inquire?” Hrist raised an eyebrow, and smiled, “my magic is neither delicate nor stable. I am no Amora. If he would be willing to wait several of your months, I could craft something for him to breach the Tower’s defenses. If not, our plan remains the same and what I’ve already prepared should be adequate.”
“Was worth a shot,” Scorpion said, “not all of us are looking forward to fighting through an army.”
“Aye,” Hrist said, “but some of us are.”
# # # # #
Later
The plane set down in an empty field that had been used by drug couriers before the CIA caught on, and Trask offered them their choices of sleeping arraignments. On the plane in a cramped bunk, or in the empty field with a standard issue sleeping bag and tent.
Hurricane took the tent. He wasn’t sure he felt entirely comfortable sleeping in an enclosed space with several professional killers, and compared to Afghanistan this field was like a water mattress, and the edge of the tarmac a fluffy pillow.
Hurricane started to nod off, when he heard someone outside his tent. His hand went to his weapon before he realized that the footsteps were walking away from him.
Hurricane silently rose, and stuck his head outside his tent. About thirty yards away, he saw Scorpion strolling through the field, cigarette in one hand. He watched her for a moment, trying to judge if she was just on a walk about, or trying to slip away to betray them.
His fears were eased when Scorpion strolled back to the plane, and kicked up a tuff of dirt. She looked to be a bundle of nervous energy rather than anything devious.
Sighing, Hurricane stood up.
“Those things will kill you,” Hurricane said.
“Actually, they won’t,” Scorpion said, “my body metabolizes all toxins into energy. Chemical weapons are little more than a snack.”
“Actually, I was referring to the light giving you away in the dark,” Hurricane said, “any sniper worth a damn could put a bullet through your skull. And the smell? Forget about sneaking up on anyone.”
“I know how to stay downwind,” Scorpion chuckled, “and no boy’s complained about the smell before.”
Hurricane observed how the cigarette shook in her hand.
“So what’s your story?” Hurricane said, “Shroud? He wants money. Hrist and Thrill Blade want action, and it’s personal for Warcry and Mr. Raven, that much is obvious. But what’s your stake, kid? What’s your story?”
“My story?” Scorpion blew out a plume of smoke, “not much to tell, just your average kid, bio-engineered by her mother to be the perfect bio-terrorist, who rebelled against the mom who made her.”
“Sounds like a demented Lifetime story.”
“Heh,” Scorpion chuckled, “close. My mom, who runs her own AIM faction by the by, wanted me to be her right hand, but all I gave her was the finger. But Shield thinks otherwise, long story. I do this mission, and Mr. Raven says he can get me clear with them.”
“Can he really do that?”
“Is now really the time to start questioning that?”
# # # # #
The next day
Mr. Grey has a fairly regular routine, and we’ll use that against him.
Hurricane crouched behind the stone wall. The handgun with indestructible bullets was steady in his hand, and laying next to it was a .50 caliber anti-tank rifle and a white phosphorus grenade, his own modifications to Mr. Raven’s plan. More out of habit than need, he practiced his breathing exercises to pass the time.
He leaves the complex at five. The time he returns to base are erratic, so we’re going to catch him on his way back. As luck would have it, he cuts through an old property that doubles as a junk yard. That’s where we’ll hit him.
Thrill Blade’s hand shook as he waited. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself into battle, to let his weapon soar.
Hrist will use her magic to contain the area, but all the same, the quicker we end this, the better.
Hrist reached into her pocket, and removed a leather bound pouch. She unlaced the opening carefully, and poured the contents onto the ground. It spilled out like dust, and then, as if caught in some intangible wind, the dust began to snake away from Hrist and began circling the junkyard.
Keep to the plan, use your numbers, and hold onto your butts.
Warcry and Scorpion were standing behind an old rotted shack that had once been a tool shed, when they heard it.
The sound was like an approaching army, and the earth shook as it drew nearer.
Scorpion swallowed. The Shroud relaxed. Mr. Raven didn’t react.
Hurricane saw Mr. Grey enter the junkyard. Mr. Grey had an army issue haircut, white tank top and camo-pants. His feet were bare, and he had a giant bowie knife in a sheath on his right hip. He was accompanied by two men, in black and grey combat vests, armed with automatics.
Mr. Gray was carrying a heavy gym bag in one giant mitt. The giant paused, and motioned for his men to stop. He set the gym bag on the ground, and took out his knife.
Hurricane cursed under his breath. He was confident that no one had given them away, but Mr. Grey seemed to sense the ambush all the same. To Hurricane, that meant the man had a high degree of experience, and an experienced Hulk was not something Hurricane looked forward to fighting.
“Irons? That you?” Mr. Grey looked about, “we had a deal, old man. I’m warning you, if you think you can snuff me, you better have at least two Butchers on a leash!”
Hurricane had no idea what Mr. Grey talking about, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone’s nerve broke, and this thing went down the toilet.
Hurricane picked up a rock, and tossed it at the rusted car that was three feet away from himself.
Mr. Grey was a seasoned pro, with brains to match his muscle. He (thought he) knew a feint when he heard one, and he looked away from Hurricane, looking anywhere except behind him for who might have thrown the rock.
Hurricane was as silent as the wind. He unsheathed his machete, and came at Mr. Grey’s back. His weapon neatly severed Mr. Grey’s tendons. Hurricane stepped back, and when the giant fell, Hurricane swung for the man’s neck.
Mr. Grey caught the blade with his wrist. As thick as a tree trunk, the weapon barely sank in an inch before stopping.
Hurricane yanked the weapon free with all his strength, and leapt backwards, his machete slick with blood.
Mr. Grey hobbled to his feet, his tendons already healing. The two men at his side leveled their weapons at Hurricane.
“Hope there’s more than you, son,” Mr. Grey said, “because that isn’t nearly enough to keep me down.”
“I guess ‘hope springs eternal’ is ironic in this situation, huh?”
“Hey,” Mr. Grey heard someone whisper, and turned his head.
Warcry smiled.
“…listen to this.”
Warcry screamed, followed instantly by Mr. Grey.
The sonic energy didn’t hit him so much as it traveled through him, like electricity through copper. His eardrums shook before exploded in white gore, his eyes rattled in their sockets and when it was over six seconds later, Mr. Grey felt as if he could feel his brain shaking in his skull. He dropped his blade and clutched his head, trying to keep the agony away.
In comparison, his men were lucky to be thrown half way across the junkyard, like leaves caught in a blower
Hurricane put two adamantium bullets in Mr. Grey’s eyes.
“He’s blind and deaf, people!” Hurricane snapped, “we’ll never get a better shot!”
“I’ve got him!” Scorpion leapt on Mr. Grey’s shoulders, and unleashed her venom blast point blank. She leapt away before Mr. Grey could swat her, and the beast roared.
“You…,” Mr. Grey looked at them through new, bloodshot eyes, “are making me angry.”
“That beast,” Hrist charged, axe gleaming, “was our intention!”
Hrist swung her war-axe into the grey behemoth’s chest. It sank in at least five inches into the giant’s chest.
The giant reached down, and yanked the blood soaked weapon from his chest. He dropped it on the ground without ceremony, and pulled back a giant fist.
“Mission accomplished.”
# # # # #
“I’ll finish the guards,” Mr. Raven shouted. He didn’t wait for a response before he took off after them.
Mr. Raven found the first laying over a car on his back. Warcry’s sonic scream had thrown him perfectly into the old junker, and he was just barely hanging onto life.
Mr. Raven found the second man, his legs broken, crawling away on his stomach.
“That’s far enough,” Mr. Raven aimed his gun, and with one shot turned the man’s automatic into scrap metal.
“Please!” the man turned over on his back, and raised his hands in surrender, “I have a family! Don’t do this!”
Mr. Raven hesitated.
“Everyone has family,” he said finally.
He put five bullets through the man’s heart.
“Sometimes, that’s the problem.”
# # # # #
“Down!” Hurricane tackled Mr. Grey at the knees, and his punch went wild, “teamwork, people!”
“Aye, teamwork,” Hrist smirked, as she picked up her weapon, “that means both axes!”
Mr. Grey was about to slam his palm together, when a thick black cloud seemed to swallow his head whole.
“Blind and deaf again!” Shroud shouted. He stood a few yards away, “Hurricane, help Hrist! Warcry, ready another shot!”
Mr. Grey slammed his hands together, and the sonic clap felt like a bomb going off. Hrist and Hurricane stumbled backwards, but The Shroud took cover behind a rusted truck and through steel like discipline, kept the cloned beast’s head encased in his ebony energy.
“Dark force, huh?” Mr. Grey was on his feet in seconds, “what’s your reach like, hmm?”
Shroud observed Mr. Grey readying a giant leap, and he willed his energy away. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into the air by the monster.
Mr. Grey snorted, “Thought so. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. With enough reinforcements to kill you, and every last ancestor.”
Mr. Grey leapt into the air, but he never saw the axe coming. Hrist’s personal axe struck him between the shoulder. She reached out to the mystic bond she had with her axe, and willed it to fall straight down.
The fact that the weapon was embedded in Mr. Grey’s flesh was of little concern. Gamma flesh ripped and tore, and through the weapon came free, it had still stopped Mr. Grey’s momentum, and he landed back in the junk yard in a heap.
Scorpion leapt across the tops of the totaled cars, and stopped behind Mr. Grey. She saw the long, bleeding gash, and aimed her right hand.
A blast of energy lanced forth, and struck the open wound. Mr. Grey threw his head back and screamed with such power and pain that every pane of glass in the junkyard shook.
Unsteady on his feet, Mr. Grey turned around, and looked at Scorpion with pure, all consuming hatred.
“Crap,” Scorpion muttered. She saw Warcry at her six, and shouted to her, “need some cover fire!”
Scorpion’s blood ran cold when Warcry shook her head, and silently stepped back.
“Oh you bitch…!”
Before Mr. Grey could lunge for Scorpion, Hrist’s axe became lodged in his right shoulder.
“I will rip you each, limb from limb,” Mr. Grey growled. He slowly turned around, and when he was looking right at Hrist, he flexed his massive shoulder, and popped the axe free as if it were a bar of soap, “Slowly. And when I’m done, just maybe I’ll kill you.”
Mr. Raven was at a distance, watching it all.
“I think he’s ready for you now.”
Thrill Blade let loose an animalistic cry of joy, and charged almost faster than Mr. Raven’s eyes could follow.
Thrill Blade’s teammates knew instinctively to get out of the way. Mr. Grey saw what he judged to be a madman racing at him, and swung a massive maw at Thrill Blade.
The young mercenary seemed to slide past, and skidded to a halt behind Mr. Grey.
“Oh man, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Thrill Blade chuckled.
“Do what?” Mr. Grey said.
“That,” Thrill Blade pointed his blade at Mr. Grey’s waist. The gamma soldier looked down, and saw a spreading stain of blood across his hip. Mr. Grey’s blood went cold when he realized he felt the pain starting at his front, but ending at his back.
“Lets go!”
Thrill Blade swung his sword again, carving another gash in Mr. Grey’s stomach. Mr. Grey swept his hand at Thrill Blade’s head, but the swordsman ducked effortlessly, and with a flick of his wrist, sent several of Mr. Grey’s finger’s flying free.
“What…the hell?” Hurricane said, as he seemed to watch the impossible.
The rookie wasn’t just holding his own, it looked like he might actually win!
“Thrill Blade’s sword can absorb and manipulate emotion, and can use it to empower its wielder,” Mr. Raven said as he came up from behind Hurricane, “this Hulk here is like a buffet to that sword.”
“So the angrier Hulk gets…”
“…the stronger Thrill Blade gets,” Mr. Raven finished, “why else do you think I brought a neophyte aboard, his fashion sense?”
“Point,” Hurricane said. He turned away from Mr. Raven, and made his way towards the weapons that he’d left behind, “Hrist, get ready. When Thrill Blade’s out, it’ll be up to us to finish this.”
“What makes you think Thrill Blade won’t finish this himself?” said Mr. Raven.
“Because I’ve met him.”
# # # # #
“Come on!” Thrill Blade brought his sword down on Mr. Grey’s shoulder.
The pain was beyond description, but Mr. Grey had handled pain before. He snapped his head forward, head-butting Thrill Blade at least four yards backwards.
Thrill Blade saw stars, though he had no idea how lucky he was just to be alive.
Mr. Grey was about to move in for the kill, when an adamantium bullet struck him in the eye. Mr. Grey roared.
“I’ve only got so many bullets,” Hurricane said to Hrist, “so throw that damn axe like you mean it, and lets finish this!”
“I thought you might enjoy a little more danger,” Hrist smiled.
She threw her uru axe with all her Godly might, and this time when it struck Mr. Grey, it pierced up to the handle itself, cleaving his ribs, and splitting his heart like a melon.
Mr. Grey half roared, half gurgled even as his healing factor fought to repair the damage. Muscle and tissue reconnected, reforging and repairing itself, only it did so around the weapon. Mr. Grey tugged at the handle, but the agony that came with each beat of his heart was so staggering, he could barely touch it.
“Reel him in,” Hurricane said, “but do it slow.”
Hrist summoned her axe back to her, and Mr. Grey hadn’t the strength or leverage to deny her.
In his right hand, Hurricane held the handgun Mr. Raven had given him, loaded with adamantium bullets. He took aim, and pulled the trigger.
The first bullet, though indestructible, didn’t have the force to do much more than crack Mr. Grey’s skull.
But the bullet behind it slammed it forward like a hammer, pushing the first in deeper, and the third pushed the first deeper still.
Each bullet struck the one before it precisely, and bored into Mr. Grey’s skull like a slow drill.
It took a dozen bullets before the first one peaked out the back of Mr. Grey’s head.
The clip ran dry, and Hurricane dropped the gun without ceremony, and raised the .50 caliber rifle, loaded with depleted uranium rounds. He pulled the trigger once.
The bullet that was sent forth was the size of a man’s first, and struck the hole created by the first bullets perfectly. Mr. Grey’s skull was still strong enough to slow the bullet considerably, but not stop it.
The round traveled the road its brother’s paved perfectly, knocking them aside and further shredding the grey matter inside, before exploding out the back.
Mr. Grey slid to his knees, his eyes blank, but Hurricane wasn’t done.
He took the white phosphorus grenade, and pulled the pin. He was half tempted to shout ‘fire in the hole!’, but it seemed especially tasteless at the moment.
He threw the grenade with laser like accuracy into the bloody hole in Mr. Grey’s head, where it became wedged perfectly.
The explosion sounded like a small fire cracker. Even in death, Mr. Grey’s skull was more than enough to contain a grenade that would have scorched a tank. His ears smoked, and his eyes glowed like a Halloween pumpkin, but still Hurricane turned to Hrist.
“Dead?”
“Dead,” confirmed the Goddess.
“Wanted to make sure,” Hurricane breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hmm, Hurricane smash,” The Shroud deadpanned.
“That…was the best rush ever,” Thrill Blade sighed.
“I cannot believe we survived,” Warcry stated.
“Yeah, you were a real help there,” Scorpion spat. The Shroud placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm the young woman, but she swatted it away.
“Excellent job, everyone,” Mr. Raven said. He approached the now deceased Mr. Grey, and tapped him on the head. The man-monster fell forward like a limp doll, and sent up a small cloud of dust.
“Well,” Mr. Raven said, “the easy part’s over.”
# # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: Infiltration!
The van pulled up late at night, and the mercenaries inside stepped out, eager to stretch their legs after over an hour of riding in a cramped van.
“I don’t know why you mortals require any torture devises other than what you call traffic,” Hrist grunted. “Acid and knives pale in comparison.”
“We like to spice things up on occasion,” Warcry observed.
Hurricane looked around, instinctively taking in everything he could about everything around him. The nondescript airfield came as no surprise, really. Airfields in the middle of nowhere were to criminals what bus stops were to the law-biding.
But what did surprise Hurricane was the large hangar with the name of a delivery company Hurricane didn’t recognize, with an Antonov An-225 Mriya, the world’s largest cargo airplane resting inside of it.
Hurricane’s hand floated towards his sidearm, and said, “This is a SHIELD op, isn’t it?”
The eyes of everyone in the hangar turned towards Hurricane.
“No,” Mr. Raven said, stepping forward, “it’s mine. SHIELD is simply repaying me a favor.”
Hurricane looked Mr. Raven up and down, trying to decide what to make of the man.
“Is that a problem?”
Like most everyone in his profession, he’d heard of Mr. Raven. Hell, everyone had. But everyone had heard something different.
Mr. Raven had the highest confirmed kill count of anyone who wasn’t Bullseye or Sabretooth. Because when Mr. Raven said, ‘never more’, you were never more. Mr. Raven invaded Latveria, Mr. Raven was killed a dozen times, and not once.
Mr. Raven…the rumors and whispered that followed the man were impressive if they were even half true, and Hurricane wasn’t eager to start an operation like this on his bad side.
Hurricane glanced at the other mercenaries without turning his head and moved his hand away from his sidearm, “Not yet.”
“Good, happy to hear it,” Mr. Raven said, with a face no betrayed little emotion, “everyone on the plane, now. This mission is time sensitive, and we’ve wasted enough already.”
“Damn straight,” Thrill Blade muttered, as he and the others entered the rear of the craft.
When Hurricane stepped inside the airplane, what he found looked like the set off of Star Trek. There were computer monitor’s built into the walls, and in the middle of the hangar was a holographic display platform about the size of a pool table. Further back there was a partition where Hurricane suspected the sleeping cabins lay.
“I’ll go get Jim,” Scorpion said, “let him know that we’re ready to go, and to begin the briefing.”
“Make sure the file clerk hurries,” Mr. Raven said, “I don’t like waiting.”
“Hurricane, it pleases to have you join us!” Hrist gave Hurricane a pat on the back that might have crippled a grizzly, “our last mission together wasn’t nearly as harrowing as it should have been!”
“Agree to disagree,” Hurricane muttered, his back stinging.
# # # # #
Warcry watched the two mercenaries reminisce, and felt a pang of envy. Even if the two weren’t close, at least they shared some fond memories. Warcry couldn’t say that of anyone she worked with.
And, in the end, she didn’t want to. Friendship, camaraderie, those things were a liability now, so close to the end of her mission. And if she had to step over the dead bodies of everyone in this plane, Warcry knew in her heart of hearts that she would.
Hell, she’d slit their throats herself, if she had to.
# # # # #
“Hello, everyone,” Thrill Blade glanced towards Scorpion as she returned, followed by a pudgy, middle aged man in a standard issue, blue Shield uniform, “my name’s Jim Trask, and I’ll be your guide on the journey to hell.”
“Still can’t believe we’re answering to this loser,” Thrill Blade muttered.
“Save it, Wallace,” Jim Trask said, “I have three different doctorates, and more experience in counter intelligence in my left hand than you have in your whole head. If I have to get in the field, then we’re in deep shit already. I may not be bad ass, but I know my business.”
“Question,” Hurricane raised his hand with a cheeky grin, “is this really an anti-mutant thing? Because I do have standards…”
“Does it matter?” Thrill Blade said.
“I do not share my family’s extreme views on mutant human relations,” Trask said, “I would say that I’m here as a Shield agent, nothing more, but as far Shield is concerned, I’m on a two week vacation, and this boat is parked in Virginia for repairs. Everything…and everyone here is off the books.”
“Do we have your word that you’re being straight with us?” said Hurricane.
“Enough,” Mr. Raven growled, “every second we waste not preparing brings us closer to failure, and I will not tolerate that. Everyone here, is in. Otherwise, you’re out. At three thousand feet and climbing.”
A pause.
“Wait, we’re in the air?” Thrill Blade said, “damn, this is one smooth ride. I may never fly commercial again.”
“Given that you’re a criminal, you probably shouldn’t be flying commercial at all,” Scorpion said.
“Are we done?” Trask said, “otherwise, let’s start. Our target goes by the name Damian Dran, son of infamous Damon Dran, rightly known as the Indestructible Man. He’s inherited his father’s abilities and more, we believe.”
“And how are we to kill a man who is indestructible?” said Warcry.
“I’ve an idea there,” Hrist said, “with magic, there is always a way.”
“I suspect that killing him will be the easy part. Our target rarely leaves his home slash business, Hell’s Peak, located in a poor corrupt corner of an Asian dictatorship known as Sin-Cong.”
Trask pressed a button, and holographic representation of Hell’s Peak before them. The bottom stories resembled a square block, while off to one corner where were dozen stories that rose straight into the air like any other skyscraper.
“That thing won’t win any beauty awards,” Thrill Blade observed.
“Like they stuck a sky scraper on the pentagon and called it a day,” Scorpion said.
“The owner, Damian Dran, went through a few contractors,” Trask said, “the square is your basic accommodations, the spire is for wealthier clients. We estimate that there is at least a population of four hundred super criminals, and with that many egos, you need a lot of space.
“That population of criminals is half the defense for Hell’s Peak. An attack on one is treated by an attack on all.”
“More like an excuse to kick up shit,” Hurricane said.
“That too,” Trask said, “beyond that, he employs a small army of mercenaries with mild cyborg enhancements, nicknamed Piranhas. And on top of that, he employs four bodyguards slash trouble shooters slash peace keepers to keep his tenants in line. All very skilled, all very dangerous.”
Trask brought of an image of a young man in a full black and grey body suit that revealed nothing other than a slit for the man’s eyes, and a head of brown hair.
“This gentleman is Midnight. Former partner of Moon Knight turned cyborg slave. Dran keeps him in check with a pain devise located on his spine. He’s well armed and damn competent in hand to hand combat.”
“What, he’s got a black belt?” Thrill Blade chuckled.
“No,” Trask said, “he’s fought off Moon Knight, Punisher and Spider-Man at the same time.”
Hurricane whistled softly.
“He may not win any recognition contests, but underestimate him and you’re dead.”
Trask brought up another image, this time of a woman with raven hair.
“Now, this lady…”
“No need,” Warcry said, “we all know who she is. Electra, one of the finest killers The Hand ever produced. How did Dran get her under his employ?”
“If you’d let me give my briefing?” Trask said. Warcry sneered, but said nothing, “for what it’s worth, you should be right. That, at the very least, is Electra’s body.”
“Her soul has fled,” Hrist said as she scrutinized the image, “tis but a shell.”
“I can’t speak to that, but she hasn’t demonstrated any of her past personal knowledge,” Trask said, “she’s called Weapon Chi, now. Word is, Dran fished her out of the drink around Muir Island. She has mild cyborg enhancements, with all of Electra’s skill, and none of her mercy. She’s the ultimate weapon. Point, click and die. And it’s Dran’s finger on the trigger.”
“This mission just gets better and better,” Hurricane muttered.
Trask brought up the image of a bare-chested man, wearing jeans, standing about six feet tall, with taped hands and a bald except for a hair-knot that went down past his waist.
“This gentleman goes by the name Solution,” Trask said, “all you need to know is that he’s a gifted fighter, demonstrates mild super strength. Oh, and he can generate any power needed to counter any power.”
“So he could create a flash if Batman over there came at him?” Thrill Blade snickered.
“If he did, I’d just beat him to death with my bare hands,” Shroud said evenly, “what would happen if you lost your pig sticker?”
“I’d get by,” Thrill Blade said confidently.
“Last, we have the weakest link, and our first target,” Trask said, “he goes by the name of Mr. Gray.”
Trask brought up an image.
“He’s a Hulk,” Warcry said.
“Cloned during the original’s grey period,” Trask said, “hence the name. He’s not as strong as the original, but he’s still strong enough.”
“He’s…a Hulk,” Thrill Blade said.
“We have some special tools to deal with him,” Trask said, “but our strategy demands that we take him off the board first before proceeding.”
“He’s a Hulk,” Warcry said, this time with a little more emphasize.
“Yes, he’s a Hulk!” Trask snapped, “whatever made you all think this mission would be easy?”
“Enough,” Mr. Raven said, “yes, he’s a Hulk, And we have equipment on board to kill him.”
“Why not go after one of the others?” Thrill Blade said.
“Why Thrill Blade, scared?” Scorpion smirked.
“Just not suicidal,” Thrill Blade replied, “the Hulk eats Avenger teams for lunch. Even if his knock off isn’t that strong, he’s still a damn Hulk!”
“We have to kill him first because his death will open up a two for two new people on Dran’s payroll,” Trask said, “more than that, Weapon Chi, Midnight and Solution rarely leave the compound at all. Mr. Grey leaves every other night around ten. Besides that, the others are too skilled. They might slip out of any ambush and warn Dran. We only have one chance at this, and one way or other we’ll have to deal with him. So he goes first.”
“No way we put down a Hulk silent like,” Hurricane said, “it’ll be noticed, no matter how good we are.”
“Leave that to me, mortal,” Hrist said, “I’ll not let anything rob me of this battle.”
“The plan after that is fairly straight forward. After we take Grey out of the picture, we’ll insert Hurricane and Thrill Blade into his spot,” Trask said, “Warcry? You’ll be applying for asylum. Say that the Brazil job brought you too much heat. From there, we’ll access and figure out our next move.”
“What about Shroud, too?” Thrill Blade suggested, “he’s got enough enemies. He rips off criminals for a living!”
“I do,” Shroud smiled, “and I happened to come into some of Dran’s bank accounts. I don’t think he’d be eager to take me in, and I really want that money.”
“What about my…personal history?” Warcry said, “wouldn’t Dran suspect me because of that?”
“He’s nothing if not confident,” Trask said, “he’s kept all his tenants in line this long. Just stay calm, and things will be fine. This will only be recon.”
“That is, if we manage to kill a Hulk first,” Shroud offered.
“Yes, exactly, thank you,” Jim growled.
“Not exactly what one would call an intricate plan,” Thrill Blade observed.
“There are no wire drops or laser grids here,” Mr. Raven said, “we work down and dirty, blood and mud. Without better intel, we have to adapt to the situation on the ground, then plan and overcome. That is how we will win. Now, everyone, get some food, get some rest. Hurricane, we have some special equipment for you that you should examine before we get there.”
“One last thing,” Trask brought up an image of a woman dressed in a business suit, mid thirties and with red hair.
Hurricane swallowed hard.
“This is Dran’s personal assistant, Andi Hunter. She handles most of his day to day business. It is vital we capture her, alive. That’s mission priority number one after killing Dran.”
“That’s how you’ll sell this op back to Shield,” Hurricane said, “isn’t it? You give them her, and the intelligence they get lets them overlook this mission.”
“Dran doesn’t just trade in money,” Scorpion said, “he trades in secrets as well. Anyone with juicy enough intel, he’ll protect them, at least for a little bit. She guards those secrets.”
“That makes her more valuable than gold,” Trask said, “the good news is that she’s also a coward. I don’t predict much trouble capturing her. Any last questions?”
“Two.”
“What’s that?”
“As you know, me and Hrist recently extracted the son of a drug lord out of his father’s territory and into asylum,” said Hurricane, “why didn’t he try to make it to Hell’s Peak?”
“Elias screwed Dran over on a two million dollar deal a few months back,” said Trask, “otherwise, he probably would have sent his men to collect him personally. Second?”
“Why?”
“Why.”
Hurricane observed how Warcry, Thrill Blade and Hrist gave him a look of confusion.
“Why does Dran have to die?” Hurricane said, “as threats go, he’s fairly passive. He protects criminals sure, but he’s not trying to blow up city capitals, and he’s not harboring Baron Strucker or anyone like that. So why this hit squad?”
“Does it matter?” Thrill Blade said.
“Does to me,” Hurricane said, “I’m a killer, not a mass murderer. I’d like to know why I’m killing a guy.”
“He crossed me,” Mr. Raven said, “he took something from me. So I intend to take everything from him.”
“More than that,” Jim Trask said, “the powers that be fear he could become the next Dr. Doom. Like we said, he trades in favors and secrets, as well as money. He could send an army of villains against the Avengers with just a few calls, but everyone’s also afraid to take a shot and miss.”
“I hope vengeance isn’t a problem for you?” said Warcry.
Hurricane averted his eyes from the holographic image of Hunter.
“No, no problem. Just wanted to know why everyone else is getting themselves killed, is all.”
# # # # #
Later
Hurricane opened the box of bullets marked ‘Dangerous’, and tested the weight of one in his hand. He flicked it into the air with his thumb, and watched it come down into his palm, timing it in his head.
“Please don’t play with the adamantium bullets,” Mr. Raven said, “you wouldn’t believe how expensive they are.”
“You wouldn’t believe how useless they are,” Hurricane replied, “they’re jacketed well enough, but they’re too heavy for a handgun to get good enough penetration for what we’re hunting, and the tips are too blunt. I might as well be shooting wad cutters at Gray.”
“The recoil on anything higher destroys the gun after two shots. I was told you were a marksman,” Mr. Raven said, “with an arm like a hurricane, I believe they said. Make it work. If you want to live.”
Mr. Raven turned on his heel, and left.
“What do you think his deal is?” Hurricane glanced over his shoulder, and saw Thrill Blade leaning against the work bench.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s his story?” Thrill Blade said, “I mean, he’s got to be ex government of some kind. His fighting’s too clean.”
“Maybe,” Hurricane casually unholstered his weapon, and handed it to Thrill Blade, “could you do me a favor? This keeps jamming, and I can’t figure out what’s going on. Could you take a look?”
“Sure,” Thrill Blade ejected the clip, popped out the bullet in the chamber, and disassembled the gun with practiced ease. When it was in pieces, professionally disassembled on the workbench, Thrill Blade turned to Hurricane with a cocky grin, “looks fine, not that it was broken to begin with. Going to try to ambush me with a coffee cup, now mate?”
“I’m actually an espresso man, myself,” Hurricane said, “so you’re military, ex but not special forces. Thought so. I’m curious, why do you look like a blond Mel Gibson?”
Thrill Blade snorted, “Hey, it’s a persona, man. You really think guys like Hrist or Thor are Gods? Bullshit, man, bullshit. And I’ve got Scottish roots, so why not?”
“So this is you selling yourself?”
“Pretty much.”
“Better know your worth, then.”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
“Hrist, you okay?” Scorpion approached the Goddess as she stood at the back of the plane, with a dagger in one hand.
“Fine, stripling. Though I could use your assistance,” Hrist handed Scorpion a glass bowl, “hold this, please.”
“Why do I need…oh my God!”
Scorpion’s eyes went wide as Hrist took the dagger to her wrist and dragged it lengthwise. Too stunned to move, Scorpion held the bowl as blood poured into it.
“My thanks, mortal,” Hrist returned the dagger to her belt, and took the bowl from Scorpion. The wound had quickly sealed shut, “would hate to waste that.”
“Why the hell did you do that?!” Scorpion demanded.
“Blood is a potent magical tool,” Hrist said, “a Goddess’ own, especially. For what Trask asks of me tomorrow, I need much.”
“Any chance you could just teleport us in?” Scorpion said, “that’d save us all some trouble.”
“Hmm, did Trask tell you to inquire?” Hrist raised an eyebrow, and smiled, “my magic is neither delicate nor stable. I am no Amora. If he would be willing to wait several of your months, I could craft something for him to breach the Tower’s defenses. If not, our plan remains the same and what I’ve already prepared should be adequate.”
“Was worth a shot,” Scorpion said, “not all of us are looking forward to fighting through an army.”
“Aye,” Hrist said, “but some of us are.”
# # # # #
Later
The plane set down in an empty field that had been used by drug couriers before the CIA caught on, and Trask offered them their choices of sleeping arraignments. On the plane in a cramped bunk, or in the empty field with a standard issue sleeping bag and tent.
Hurricane took the tent. He wasn’t sure he felt entirely comfortable sleeping in an enclosed space with several professional killers, and compared to Afghanistan this field was like a water mattress, and the edge of the tarmac a fluffy pillow.
Hurricane started to nod off, when he heard someone outside his tent. His hand went to his weapon before he realized that the footsteps were walking away from him.
Hurricane silently rose, and stuck his head outside his tent. About thirty yards away, he saw Scorpion strolling through the field, cigarette in one hand. He watched her for a moment, trying to judge if she was just on a walk about, or trying to slip away to betray them.
His fears were eased when Scorpion strolled back to the plane, and kicked up a tuff of dirt. She looked to be a bundle of nervous energy rather than anything devious.
Sighing, Hurricane stood up.
“Those things will kill you,” Hurricane said.
“Actually, they won’t,” Scorpion said, “my body metabolizes all toxins into energy. Chemical weapons are little more than a snack.”
“Actually, I was referring to the light giving you away in the dark,” Hurricane said, “any sniper worth a damn could put a bullet through your skull. And the smell? Forget about sneaking up on anyone.”
“I know how to stay downwind,” Scorpion chuckled, “and no boy’s complained about the smell before.”
Hurricane observed how the cigarette shook in her hand.
“So what’s your story?” Hurricane said, “Shroud? He wants money. Hrist and Thrill Blade want action, and it’s personal for Warcry and Mr. Raven, that much is obvious. But what’s your stake, kid? What’s your story?”
“My story?” Scorpion blew out a plume of smoke, “not much to tell, just your average kid, bio-engineered by her mother to be the perfect bio-terrorist, who rebelled against the mom who made her.”
“Sounds like a demented Lifetime story.”
“Heh,” Scorpion chuckled, “close. My mom, who runs her own AIM faction by the by, wanted me to be her right hand, but all I gave her was the finger. But Shield thinks otherwise, long story. I do this mission, and Mr. Raven says he can get me clear with them.”
“Can he really do that?”
“Is now really the time to start questioning that?”
# # # # #
The next day
Mr. Grey has a fairly regular routine, and we’ll use that against him.
Hurricane crouched behind the stone wall. The handgun with indestructible bullets was steady in his hand, and laying next to it was a .50 caliber anti-tank rifle and a white phosphorus grenade, his own modifications to Mr. Raven’s plan. More out of habit than need, he practiced his breathing exercises to pass the time.
He leaves the complex at five. The time he returns to base are erratic, so we’re going to catch him on his way back. As luck would have it, he cuts through an old property that doubles as a junk yard. That’s where we’ll hit him.
Thrill Blade’s hand shook as he waited. He wanted nothing more than to throw himself into battle, to let his weapon soar.
Hrist will use her magic to contain the area, but all the same, the quicker we end this, the better.
Hrist reached into her pocket, and removed a leather bound pouch. She unlaced the opening carefully, and poured the contents onto the ground. It spilled out like dust, and then, as if caught in some intangible wind, the dust began to snake away from Hrist and began circling the junkyard.
Keep to the plan, use your numbers, and hold onto your butts.
Warcry and Scorpion were standing behind an old rotted shack that had once been a tool shed, when they heard it.
The sound was like an approaching army, and the earth shook as it drew nearer.
Scorpion swallowed. The Shroud relaxed. Mr. Raven didn’t react.
Hurricane saw Mr. Grey enter the junkyard. Mr. Grey had an army issue haircut, white tank top and camo-pants. His feet were bare, and he had a giant bowie knife in a sheath on his right hip. He was accompanied by two men, in black and grey combat vests, armed with automatics.
Mr. Gray was carrying a heavy gym bag in one giant mitt. The giant paused, and motioned for his men to stop. He set the gym bag on the ground, and took out his knife.
Hurricane cursed under his breath. He was confident that no one had given them away, but Mr. Grey seemed to sense the ambush all the same. To Hurricane, that meant the man had a high degree of experience, and an experienced Hulk was not something Hurricane looked forward to fighting.
“Irons? That you?” Mr. Grey looked about, “we had a deal, old man. I’m warning you, if you think you can snuff me, you better have at least two Butchers on a leash!”
Hurricane had no idea what Mr. Grey talking about, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone’s nerve broke, and this thing went down the toilet.
Hurricane picked up a rock, and tossed it at the rusted car that was three feet away from himself.
Mr. Grey was a seasoned pro, with brains to match his muscle. He (thought he) knew a feint when he heard one, and he looked away from Hurricane, looking anywhere except behind him for who might have thrown the rock.
Hurricane was as silent as the wind. He unsheathed his machete, and came at Mr. Grey’s back. His weapon neatly severed Mr. Grey’s tendons. Hurricane stepped back, and when the giant fell, Hurricane swung for the man’s neck.
Mr. Grey caught the blade with his wrist. As thick as a tree trunk, the weapon barely sank in an inch before stopping.
Hurricane yanked the weapon free with all his strength, and leapt backwards, his machete slick with blood.
Mr. Grey hobbled to his feet, his tendons already healing. The two men at his side leveled their weapons at Hurricane.
“Hope there’s more than you, son,” Mr. Grey said, “because that isn’t nearly enough to keep me down.”
“I guess ‘hope springs eternal’ is ironic in this situation, huh?”
“Hey,” Mr. Grey heard someone whisper, and turned his head.
Warcry smiled.
“…listen to this.”
Warcry screamed, followed instantly by Mr. Grey.
The sonic energy didn’t hit him so much as it traveled through him, like electricity through copper. His eardrums shook before exploded in white gore, his eyes rattled in their sockets and when it was over six seconds later, Mr. Grey felt as if he could feel his brain shaking in his skull. He dropped his blade and clutched his head, trying to keep the agony away.
In comparison, his men were lucky to be thrown half way across the junkyard, like leaves caught in a blower
Hurricane put two adamantium bullets in Mr. Grey’s eyes.
“He’s blind and deaf, people!” Hurricane snapped, “we’ll never get a better shot!”
“I’ve got him!” Scorpion leapt on Mr. Grey’s shoulders, and unleashed her venom blast point blank. She leapt away before Mr. Grey could swat her, and the beast roared.
“You…,” Mr. Grey looked at them through new, bloodshot eyes, “are making me angry.”
“That beast,” Hrist charged, axe gleaming, “was our intention!”
Hrist swung her war-axe into the grey behemoth’s chest. It sank in at least five inches into the giant’s chest.
The giant reached down, and yanked the blood soaked weapon from his chest. He dropped it on the ground without ceremony, and pulled back a giant fist.
“Mission accomplished.”
# # # # #
“I’ll finish the guards,” Mr. Raven shouted. He didn’t wait for a response before he took off after them.
Mr. Raven found the first laying over a car on his back. Warcry’s sonic scream had thrown him perfectly into the old junker, and he was just barely hanging onto life.
Mr. Raven found the second man, his legs broken, crawling away on his stomach.
“That’s far enough,” Mr. Raven aimed his gun, and with one shot turned the man’s automatic into scrap metal.
“Please!” the man turned over on his back, and raised his hands in surrender, “I have a family! Don’t do this!”
Mr. Raven hesitated.
“Everyone has family,” he said finally.
He put five bullets through the man’s heart.
“Sometimes, that’s the problem.”
# # # # #
“Down!” Hurricane tackled Mr. Grey at the knees, and his punch went wild, “teamwork, people!”
“Aye, teamwork,” Hrist smirked, as she picked up her weapon, “that means both axes!”
Mr. Grey was about to slam his palm together, when a thick black cloud seemed to swallow his head whole.
“Blind and deaf again!” Shroud shouted. He stood a few yards away, “Hurricane, help Hrist! Warcry, ready another shot!”
Mr. Grey slammed his hands together, and the sonic clap felt like a bomb going off. Hrist and Hurricane stumbled backwards, but The Shroud took cover behind a rusted truck and through steel like discipline, kept the cloned beast’s head encased in his ebony energy.
“Dark force, huh?” Mr. Grey was on his feet in seconds, “what’s your reach like, hmm?”
Shroud observed Mr. Grey readying a giant leap, and he willed his energy away. The last thing he wanted was to be dragged into the air by the monster.
Mr. Grey snorted, “Thought so. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. With enough reinforcements to kill you, and every last ancestor.”
Mr. Grey leapt into the air, but he never saw the axe coming. Hrist’s personal axe struck him between the shoulder. She reached out to the mystic bond she had with her axe, and willed it to fall straight down.
The fact that the weapon was embedded in Mr. Grey’s flesh was of little concern. Gamma flesh ripped and tore, and through the weapon came free, it had still stopped Mr. Grey’s momentum, and he landed back in the junk yard in a heap.
Scorpion leapt across the tops of the totaled cars, and stopped behind Mr. Grey. She saw the long, bleeding gash, and aimed her right hand.
A blast of energy lanced forth, and struck the open wound. Mr. Grey threw his head back and screamed with such power and pain that every pane of glass in the junkyard shook.
Unsteady on his feet, Mr. Grey turned around, and looked at Scorpion with pure, all consuming hatred.
“Crap,” Scorpion muttered. She saw Warcry at her six, and shouted to her, “need some cover fire!”
Scorpion’s blood ran cold when Warcry shook her head, and silently stepped back.
“Oh you bitch…!”
Before Mr. Grey could lunge for Scorpion, Hrist’s axe became lodged in his right shoulder.
“I will rip you each, limb from limb,” Mr. Grey growled. He slowly turned around, and when he was looking right at Hrist, he flexed his massive shoulder, and popped the axe free as if it were a bar of soap, “Slowly. And when I’m done, just maybe I’ll kill you.”
Mr. Raven was at a distance, watching it all.
“I think he’s ready for you now.”
Thrill Blade let loose an animalistic cry of joy, and charged almost faster than Mr. Raven’s eyes could follow.
Thrill Blade’s teammates knew instinctively to get out of the way. Mr. Grey saw what he judged to be a madman racing at him, and swung a massive maw at Thrill Blade.
The young mercenary seemed to slide past, and skidded to a halt behind Mr. Grey.
“Oh man, I’ve always wanted to do that,” Thrill Blade chuckled.
“Do what?” Mr. Grey said.
“That,” Thrill Blade pointed his blade at Mr. Grey’s waist. The gamma soldier looked down, and saw a spreading stain of blood across his hip. Mr. Grey’s blood went cold when he realized he felt the pain starting at his front, but ending at his back.
“Lets go!”
Thrill Blade swung his sword again, carving another gash in Mr. Grey’s stomach. Mr. Grey swept his hand at Thrill Blade’s head, but the swordsman ducked effortlessly, and with a flick of his wrist, sent several of Mr. Grey’s finger’s flying free.
“What…the hell?” Hurricane said, as he seemed to watch the impossible.
The rookie wasn’t just holding his own, it looked like he might actually win!
“Thrill Blade’s sword can absorb and manipulate emotion, and can use it to empower its wielder,” Mr. Raven said as he came up from behind Hurricane, “this Hulk here is like a buffet to that sword.”
“So the angrier Hulk gets…”
“…the stronger Thrill Blade gets,” Mr. Raven finished, “why else do you think I brought a neophyte aboard, his fashion sense?”
“Point,” Hurricane said. He turned away from Mr. Raven, and made his way towards the weapons that he’d left behind, “Hrist, get ready. When Thrill Blade’s out, it’ll be up to us to finish this.”
“What makes you think Thrill Blade won’t finish this himself?” said Mr. Raven.
“Because I’ve met him.”
# # # # #
“Come on!” Thrill Blade brought his sword down on Mr. Grey’s shoulder.
The pain was beyond description, but Mr. Grey had handled pain before. He snapped his head forward, head-butting Thrill Blade at least four yards backwards.
Thrill Blade saw stars, though he had no idea how lucky he was just to be alive.
Mr. Grey was about to move in for the kill, when an adamantium bullet struck him in the eye. Mr. Grey roared.
“I’ve only got so many bullets,” Hurricane said to Hrist, “so throw that damn axe like you mean it, and lets finish this!”
“I thought you might enjoy a little more danger,” Hrist smiled.
She threw her uru axe with all her Godly might, and this time when it struck Mr. Grey, it pierced up to the handle itself, cleaving his ribs, and splitting his heart like a melon.
Mr. Grey half roared, half gurgled even as his healing factor fought to repair the damage. Muscle and tissue reconnected, reforging and repairing itself, only it did so around the weapon. Mr. Grey tugged at the handle, but the agony that came with each beat of his heart was so staggering, he could barely touch it.
“Reel him in,” Hurricane said, “but do it slow.”
Hrist summoned her axe back to her, and Mr. Grey hadn’t the strength or leverage to deny her.
In his right hand, Hurricane held the handgun Mr. Raven had given him, loaded with adamantium bullets. He took aim, and pulled the trigger.
The first bullet, though indestructible, didn’t have the force to do much more than crack Mr. Grey’s skull.
But the bullet behind it slammed it forward like a hammer, pushing the first in deeper, and the third pushed the first deeper still.
Each bullet struck the one before it precisely, and bored into Mr. Grey’s skull like a slow drill.
It took a dozen bullets before the first one peaked out the back of Mr. Grey’s head.
The clip ran dry, and Hurricane dropped the gun without ceremony, and raised the .50 caliber rifle, loaded with depleted uranium rounds. He pulled the trigger once.
The bullet that was sent forth was the size of a man’s first, and struck the hole created by the first bullets perfectly. Mr. Grey’s skull was still strong enough to slow the bullet considerably, but not stop it.
The round traveled the road its brother’s paved perfectly, knocking them aside and further shredding the grey matter inside, before exploding out the back.
Mr. Grey slid to his knees, his eyes blank, but Hurricane wasn’t done.
He took the white phosphorus grenade, and pulled the pin. He was half tempted to shout ‘fire in the hole!’, but it seemed especially tasteless at the moment.
He threw the grenade with laser like accuracy into the bloody hole in Mr. Grey’s head, where it became wedged perfectly.
The explosion sounded like a small fire cracker. Even in death, Mr. Grey’s skull was more than enough to contain a grenade that would have scorched a tank. His ears smoked, and his eyes glowed like a Halloween pumpkin, but still Hurricane turned to Hrist.
“Dead?”
“Dead,” confirmed the Goddess.
“Wanted to make sure,” Hurricane breathed a sigh of relief.
“Hmm, Hurricane smash,” The Shroud deadpanned.
“That…was the best rush ever,” Thrill Blade sighed.
“I cannot believe we survived,” Warcry stated.
“Yeah, you were a real help there,” Scorpion spat. The Shroud placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm the young woman, but she swatted it away.
“Excellent job, everyone,” Mr. Raven said. He approached the now deceased Mr. Grey, and tapped him on the head. The man-monster fell forward like a limp doll, and sent up a small cloud of dust.
“Well,” Mr. Raven said, “the easy part’s over.”
# # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: Infiltration!