Back to GatefoldIssue #3 by Daniel Ingram
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"THE INTERVIEW"
Now
“Yum, dark meat!”
Hurricane brought his machete up moments before the eight-foot, half Aligator, half man mercenary who called himself ‘Overbite’ barreled him over. The man-monster didn’t appear to care that he was literally pushing against Hurricane’s blade in attempt to eat him.
“Sorry,” Hurricane flexed his muscles and pushed his machete outward, slicing Overbite in two, “I don’t need boots that talk back.”
# # # # #
Then
Jerome Banks looked through the scope of his rifle, and breathed out.
He was high on a hill, overlooking a shitty little town in Afghanistan that, in Jerome’s opinion, no one would have cared about if there wasn’t a middle level insurgent with a gift for bombs who called the place home.
Jerome had the man in his sights, through the second floor window. The man was working on another bomb, another devise to kill American soldiers. Banks felt his blood boil even as he steadied his breath.
“This is bird’s nest,” he said over his radio, “I’ve got the target in my sights. Advise?”
“What’s his status?” squawked the radio.
“Building death,” Jerome replied, “I’ve a clear shot.”
“Is it safe?”
Jerome observed a boson-burner, and from his vantage point he could see several barrels of chemicals across the room. They were unlabeled, but Jerome had enough experience to know what they contained.
“It’s safe.”
“Then proceed. Be mindful of civilians.”
Jerome pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet smashed through the window and struck the bomber’s hip, shattering it like glass. The second bullet struck the barrels, and the contents began to pour out on the floor.
“No easy out for you, asshole,” Jerome muttered.
Less than ten seconds later, the building exploded in an orange ball of fire that shook the entire block.
“Hurricane!” Banks’ radio shrieked, “what the hell was that? You said it was safe! There were civilians on that block!”
Banks stood up and marched into the woods, the heat of the flames washing over his back even from so far away.
“It was safe,” Banks said, “I don’t have a scratch.”
# # # # #
Four hours before now
“Okay, so we killed us a Hulk,” Scorpion said. “Now what?”
“Now, Hurricane and Thrill Blade are going to be at a certain location,” Mr. Raven said, “Mr. Dran is pulling out an open call for muscle. If anyone asks, you received a ride from a Mr. Door. Teleporting travel agents aren’t that uncommon in our profession.”
“Why me and Thrill Blade?” Hurricane said, “wouldn’t Hrist be better?”
“Hey!” Thrill Blade protested, “did you not just see me take on a Hulk?”
“I saw a rabid dog,” Hurricane said, “I’ve worked with Hrist before, and I know what to expect from her.”
“You honor me, mortal,” Hrist said, “and I agree. Why am I to be denied this slaughter?”
Hurricane raised an eyebrow at the word ‘slaughter’.
“Your little adventure in South America has made both of you rather infamous,” Mr. Raven said, “should the two of you show up at the same place, Dran would be on guard.”
“So I get saddled with the rookie,” Hurricane said.
“Hey!” Thrill Blade said, “right here!”
Hurricane turned to Thrill Blade, and said, “Hello there, rookie. Looks like I’m saddled with you.”
“Words can hurt, man.”
“The rest of us will be observing and tipping things in your favor,” Mr. Raven said, “we need to make sure that you get the job, and that won’t be easy.”
“So you guys’ll have my back out there?” said Hurricane.
“As much as possible,” Mr. Raven said, “which won’t be nearly enough to save you if you don’t watch your own back.”
“We need to get a move on,” Jim Trask said, “does everyone have their gear? Anyone need to use the can or anything else?”
“We’re not ten years old,” Scorpion said.
“I know. Ten year olds behave better.” Said Trask.
“We’re good,” Warcry scratched an itch under her elbow and sneered, “shame we can’t all stay safe here in the jet.”
“Nowhere is safe for us, if this goes wrong,” Mr. Raven said, “Hrist, if you would?”
“Of course,” Hrist went to her work bench. She picked up what looked to be three blue orbs, with a swirling mist inside. Though Hurricane knew they looked to be paperweights, he knew instinctively that they contained powerful magics.
And when Hrist dropped one, Hurricane barely controlled his bowels.
A blue light washed over them, and for a moment, every mercenary felt light headed.
“Whoa, what was that…?” Thrill Blade shook his head, “and where can I get some more?”
“Sorry, mortal,” Hrist said, “accident. Truly. But that’s why I make spares, whenever possible.”
“Didn’t you use your own blood for those?” Scorpion said, “that’s so gross…”
“Aye, but I always have a fresh stock,” Hrist placed one orb in Hurricane’s hand, “merely crush it, and you’ll be taken to where you need to be.”
“Teleported?”
“Aye.”
“…I remember what happened the last time I did that with you,” Hurricane said, “I’ve had flashbacks that were less horrifying.”
“Mortals,” Hrist huffed, “those norn stones were flawed, meant only for emergency use. These are of the finest quality. Well, for me”
“If you say so…”
“Well, Hurricane, you have a choice before you,” Hrist said, “either trust me, or insult me.”
“Tell me, which is more dangerous?”
Hurricane crushed the orb in his hand, and he and Thrill Blade vanished in a burst of purple light.
“Wise choice,” Shroud muttered.
“Let’s get moving,” Mr. Raven said, “we’ll only have a short amount of time to set up before the shit hits the fan.”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
When Hurricane opened his eyes, he and Thrill Blade found themselves in a wooded area, in the dead of night.
“I’d ask if we were in the right place, but since we didn’t know where we were supposed to go…” Thrill Blade said.
“You learn to stop flapping your gums, and use your brain, you might make it in this business,” Hurricane unsheathed his machete and began cutting through the thick underbrush that surrounded them. He had barely been at it for more than twenty seconds, when the brush fell away to reveal an old gravel road.
Hurricane turned his head north, and could see lights in the distance, as well as blaring music.
“That’ll be our meet up point, I bet,” Hurricane said, “give me ten minutes, then follow me in. Remember, you don’t know me, so don’t approach, wave or anything like that. Hell, just stay away from me until this is all over.”
“You say that, but I can sense that you want to be friends,” said Thrill Blade.
Hurricane mumbled under his breath and made his way down the gravel path.
What he found didn’t much surprise him. There was a makeshift bar with plenty of drinks, music loud enough to strip the paint off a car and light polls that made the pitch black night as bright as a sunny day. Above the bar was a large banner that read ‘Auditions!’, and stationed on the outposts were several armored guards. They wore grey guardsmen suits, with modified blasters on their wrists. Hurricane recognized them instantly as Dran’s elite guards, the Piranhas, meant to keep the rabble of Hell’s Peak in line.
And who he saw didn’t surprise Hurricane either.
It just terrified him.
There was a woman who wore nothing but a hooded cloak and barbed wire like it was a sweater. Hurricane saw a cyborg who’s head was resting in his torso, and next to him was a skrull in his natural form, bare chested and his hands taped like that of a fighter’s.
The former soldier looked around, and found that the only person he recognized was the English mercenary, Shockwave. That yellow suit was hard to miss, even in this crowd.
But beyond that, Hurricane saw no big names. Perhaps Dran didn’t want to meet their salary demands, or didn’t expect them to stay loyal slash employed for long. After all, once you had a name, you had a rep.
Hurricane could feel a dozen sets of eyes fall on him, and realized that here, now, he was a big name.
But he didn’t let that fluster him. Instead, as more and more eyes fell upon him, Hurricane approached the bar, and took a seat.
“What.Will.It.Be.?” said the Bartender, half his face metal and circuit boards, “Miller.Lite? Scotch?”
“Water,” Hurricane said.
“Water?”
“Water,” Hurricane repeated.
“The big bad Hurricane drinking water?”
Hurricane didn’t turn towards the speaker. Instead, he looked at the bartender.
“Give me a few large ice. I’m feeling brave today.”
“Oooh! Look at you!”
The Bartender placed Hurricane’s drink order in front of him, and only then did Hurricane look at the man who was standing next to him.
The man was thin, but lithe. He wore jeans and a sleeveless leather cut, and his arms were covered in tattoos, and his head was shaved into a buzz cut and dyed green.
“Have we met?” Hurricane said. He reached into his glass, and plucked an ice-cube out.
“They call me Razor,” said the man, “maybe you’ve heard about me?”
“Nope,” Hurricane squeezed the ice-cube in his hand.
Razor held his hand out with his fingers pointed to the sky, and Hurricane saw something glint in the light. He watched as what looked like green electricity traveled up a wire thinner than a single strand of hair.
“I’ve heard about you,” Razor said, “you pull one high profile job and you think that makes you somethin’, boy? What’s so special about you?”
“I’m helpful.”
“Help…”
Hurricane flicked his ice-cube at Razor, where it slid into his mouth, and half way down his throat perfectly.
The mercenary started coughing and wheezing, struggling to breathe. Hurricane swung his fist into the man’s gut, dislodging the ice, and as Razor doubled over from the blow, his head smashed into the bar, and he fell back, unconscious.
“See?” Hurricane took a sip of his water, “helpful.”
Hurricane glanced at the crowd that had gathered. Without a word said and denied a show, they began to go their separate ways. The guards came and dragged Razor’s unconscious body away, mumbling something about ‘too soon’, and with that Hurricane was left alone with his water.
Hurricane thought about Thrill Blade, and envied the young man for a moment. It wasn’t as if he had to deal with being infamous, or hell, recognized.
# # # # #
Ten minutes from now
“Thrill Blade? Oh! My God!”
Thrill Blade had barely stepped foot into the gathering before he was tackled bodily. He felt metal arms wrap around his head, legs wrap around his waist, and most importantly, breasts pressed to his face.
“Alley-Cat,” Thrill Blade mumbled, “nice to see you and the twins.”
The woman who’d tackled him leapt off, and smiled. She wore a tank-top and the tightest shorts Thrill Blade had ever seen with a sleek, stainless steel belt that held a nine foot metal tail in the rear, while her arms were metal prosthetics. She had bright red hair, painted whisker marks on her face, and a warm smile.
Thrill Blade had pulled a job with her in France, and the young mercenary had gotten to know her fairly well.
“What are you doing here?” Thrill Blade said, “how’re the kids?”
“They’re fine,” Alley-Cat said, “living with their aunt. I’m here the same reason you are, dope!”
“Really? You want to work security at some hell hole?” Thrill Blade said, without thinking.
“Hey, we’re criminals,” Alley-Cat replied, “not a lot of options out there if we want a steady pay check, ya know? It’s just an interview, right?”
“…right,” Thrill Blade felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “just an interview.”
# # # # #
The Shroud glanced towards Mr. Raven. He and his fellow mercenaries were a few feet away from a very steep ledge. The location was isolated, in a country The Shroud didn’t much care for and if they were attacked, they would have been boxed in effortlessly.
“Right location?”
Mr. Raven glanced up at the stars in the sky. The Shroud could hear something adjusting in the man’s goggles.
“Right location,” Mr. Raven confirmed, “Shroud, give us some cover.”
The Shroud reached out with his abilities, and the five criminals and mercenaries were covered in a swirling black mist.
“Stay close,” Shroud said, “I can’t expand this too far, without becoming obvious.”
“Worry not, mortal,” Hrist said, “I’ve added my magic to your abilities. We’ll not be seen unless we wish it.”
“Good,” Mr. Raven said, “Warcry, you’re up. Scorpion, I need you to help her pick targets. Hrist, you and me are on overwatch, make sure no one sneaks up on us.”
“If things go wrong, promise to at least not push me over the edge,” Scorpion said.
“No promises,” Warcry replied.
The two women crawled towards the edge, flat on their stomachs. Warcry pulled out her necklace of whistles, and went through them before finally stopping on one labeled ‘LDB’.
“Question,” Scorpion said, “what can you even do for our guys from up here?”
“I can literally whisper warnings in their ears, and make anyone I want dizzy,” said Warcry, “it’s not the same as bullet to the head, but better than nothing.”
“So where are we anyways?” Scorpion said, as she looked down. The deep hole in the ground reminded her of a quarry, but there were old, rusted cars piled almost everywhere.
“A junkyard in Singapore,” said Mr. Raven, “the owner usually hosts street fights. Dran tripled his usual fees for tonight.”
“Hurricane is a hundred miles away!” Hrist said.
“Magic isn’t the only way to teleport,” Mr. Raven said, and as if on cue, there were several quick bursts of yellow light, and suddenly the cliff face was host to a dozen gray armored soldiers, including one not fifteen feet away.
Mr. Raven motioned for silence. Hrist and Scorpion made a face that said ‘no shit’.
“This is post one, reporting in,” radioed someone in the distance, “all clear.”
Posts one through nine all reported an all clear. When it came time for post ten, the man closest to them, to call in his report, everyone save Hrist held their breath.
“This is post ten,” he said, “all clear.”
“Gotta love magic,” Warcry muttered.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Raven, “get ready, things are in motion.”
# # # # #
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome…”
Hurricane had just finished his water, when a hologram of Dran, flanked by his bodyguards Midnight, Solution and Weapon Chi, appeared above the gathering.
“The reason why you’re all here, is because recently my family suffered a loss,” said Dran, “my good, dear friend, Mr. Grey, was struck down. It’s left a hole in my family, and just as important, in my business. You all come highly recommended, and that’s why you’re here tonight. If you’d bear with me for a moment…?”
Hurricane felt the familiar tell-tale tingle of teleportation, and he went from party to junkyard in the span of a second.
“Thank you. Because of the strength of Mr. Grey, I find that I need not one, but two replacements.”
Hurricane glanced around, and came out with a headcount that easily peaked at three dozen. He glanced up at the quarry walls, and saw the guards with their weapons aimed down. Dran and his people were up there as well, their eyes on the make-shift arena.
“But only two.”
Hurricane observed how everyone’s attention was on Dran, and he began to shuffle away. If this was heading where he thought it was heading, Hurricane had little doubt that he’d be the first with a bullseye on his head.
“What the hell?” Hurricane saw a man with a lion’s head and swords strapped to his back, protest, “that wasn’t the deal!”
A second later, the man’s head exploded in gore.
“It is now,” Dran said, “I’d prefer two. But if I have to wipe you all out and start over, I will.”
A tension hung in the air, because everyone realized what Hurricane had only a minute before everything exploded. With the men down here and the guards up there, they were in the perfect kill box. So he made his way around a pile of cars, out of sight of the main crowd, but before he could get too comfortable, he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.
“Going somewhere, lunch?” Overbite said.
# # # # #
“Alley-Cat…”
Thrill Blade turned to his friend, to assure her that he would protect her.
But she’s already on the ground, bleeding badly from a hole in her stomach.
“Oh God, no…” Thrill Blade was at her side in a second.
“Thrill Blade…,” Alley-Cat coughed up blood, “t…tell me…”
Alley-Cat’s last words were lost in a cough of blood, and her eyes rolled up towards the back of her head.
Something inside of Thrill Blade snapped. He saw a man with traces of silver in his skin charging him, and with a single swipe, Thrill Blade cut him in half.
Another half dozen men came at Thrill Blade, and he met them like a wave crashing onto the surf.
# # # # #
A bullet ricocheted off the metal door a foot above Hurricane’s head, and he snapped his head in the direction of the shot.
He saw one of the guards motion towards the fight with his rifle. Apparently his strategy of ‘let them whittle each other down’ wasn’t appreciated.
Fine, Hurricane thought to himself. He was in a target rich environment, with no risk of collateral damage. If there was ever a time to cut loose, this was it.
Hurricane stepped out from his hiding spot, and walked straight into a man with snake-like skin, who likely had the same thought as him. With barely a thought, his hand went to his blade. Hurricane brought his machete sweeping down. His enemy’s head exploded like an overripe grape. Blood and bone splattered across his arm, but Hurricane barely had time to notice. Because he was still surrounded by over three dozen men and women who had to kill him, if they wanted to survive.
He pulled his sidearm out with his left hand, and strolled across the field. He squeezed the trigger three times, and four men fell on the ground, dead.
That gained Hurricane some attention, but his pace never quickened. Acid, lightning and fire was cast his way, but Hurricane saw each person as they attacked. Their firing stance was quick and sloppy, and he knew, as a cold hard fact, that the only way they could hope to strike him was by pure luck.
So Hurricane reached his second target, an engine block, unscathed. He hooked his foot underneath it, and kicked it lightly into the air as if it were a soccer ball.
Hurricane pitched it towards the crowd of career mercenaries and felons, where it struck down a half dozen of them.
“Alright, a challenge!”
Hurricane watched as the crowd seemed to part for a giant of a man. Seven feet tall, his skin the texture of brick. His hands were coated in blood, but none of it his.
“No, it’s not, Brik,” Hurricane tightened his grip on his machete.
“Ha!” Brik swung his giant, blood soaked fist at Hurricane’s head.
Hurricane’s response was swift and precise. He swung his machete, cutting off Brik’s hand at the wrist as it missed Hurricane’s head, and then he brought his machete back in a downwards slice, cleanly cutting off Brik’s leg at the knee.
Brik’s mind had barely registered the pain as he fell backwards, as Hurricane pulled his weapon back, and lunged for the man’s heart. He punched it through skin that could endure a tank-shell effortlessly, and with a twist, ended the fight.
Hurricane glanced up at the crowd, who’d just seen him end ten men.
“Oh shit,” Hurricane muttered, as he realized he was a star in the worst way. He gripped his machete, still in Brik’s body, and used it as a lever, bringing the man’s corpse up as a shield just as over a half dozen men and women took up a proper firing stance, and let loose havoc.
# # # # #
“…we have to do something,” Scorpion said, “they’ll kill him!”
“Can’t,” Warcry said bluntly, “everyone is watching too closely.”
“He’ll be killed!” Scorpion said.
“So will we if we give ourselves away,” Mr. Raven said.
“Besides, he’s not the only agent in play.”
# # # # #
The man who called himself Man-of-war had thought himself a genius.
He’d been a guard at one of Shield’s man evidence holding facilities, when one day he’d just gotten tired of his boring life. So one day, he’d forged some transport papers, and left with an Ironmonger armor and a force field generator. A little tinkering, and he’d had an armor that was the toughest thing on the block.
Man-of-War had accomplished a dozen missions without breaking a sweat. And when Dran announced the conditions of his contest, he was still certain of his victory.
But then Thrill Blade came at him. His sword sliced through Man-of-War’s force field effortlessly, and his blows bent steel.
Man-of-war released his bladder, as the fear inside of him grew, and Thrill Blade seemed only to grow stronger.
# # # # #
Hurricane felt the onslaught of energy that had been keeping him pinned cease, and after a five count, he peaked his head over the top.
The men and women who’d been trying to kill him moments earlier were on the ground now. Standing over them was a man that Hurricane judged to be of European descent. He wore a simple suit, had a scar over his left eye and a grey beard and mustache.
At first, Hurricane couldn’t tell how the man had killed them. He held his left hand out, but it was as if he had ribbons in place of fingers that led from his hands to the fallen bodies of his victims.
“I prefer quick,” the man said. Mentally, Hurricane named the man Boris, “but to impress employers, I have to make a show of it.”
Boris’ fingers reappeared for a split second, before the thin ribbons Hurricane had seen before came rocketing towards him. Hurricane threw himself to the side, as the ribbons nicked his shoulder.
Hurricane rolled to his feet, and looked at the wound. It was, by far, the neatest cut he’d ever seen. Paper cuts weren’t half a clean, but the pain was staggering.
“I would not advice moving, yes?”
Hurricane leapt aside again, as Boris’ fingers missed him, but sliced through the rusted steel husks as if they were air.
“Same to you,” Hurricane said. He whipped out his sidearm, and squeezed.
Boris saw the shots coming. He merely switched to his left, and seemed to disappear in thin air.
“Not even you can hit me if I do not wish to be,” Boris said.
Hurricane said nothing, but he knew it was no ideal boast on Boris’ part. Having seen his powers in action, Hurricane realized the man’s power was to become two-dimensional. That enabled him to turn his fingers into blades that could slice through the very atoms of material.
Hurricane glanced to his left, and saw a car laying there, it’s hood open and the engine and most other parts, completely intact.
That was the light bulb moment.
“I can hit any target I want, champ,” Hurricane said. He squeezed off two shots, more to get Boris to back off than anything else, and sprinted for the car.
“Is futile!” Boris declared, as he strolled towards. Hurricane recognized that the man was showboating, just like he himself had been doing earlier.
“Irony is a bitch,” the marksman muttered as he reached the car. He found what he was looking for, and turned to Boris, “you offered me mercy, now I’d like to offer the same. Stand down, and I’ll make it quick.”
“No,” the man said simply.
“Then I’m very sorry,” Hurricane picked up the car battery, and threw it at Boris.
Who, like Hurricane had anticipated, turned two-dimensional and turned aside.
But Hurricane had predicted perfectly where he’d be standing, and threw the car battery there.
Boris sliced the battery like a hot knife through butter, and the battery acid was smeared across his back and chest like suntan lotion.
Boris returned to his regular human shape, his skin bubbling and blistered, but as he sucked in air to scream, Hurricane put a bullet through his ear.
“I’m sorry,” Hurricane muttered as he holstered his weapon. He still carried his machete in his other hand, but that was more caution than anything else.
He scanned the battlefield, now littered with bodies. Not everyone was dead, as he saw Shockwave huddled in a corner, his legs bent at the wrong angles, but as best he could tell, he and Thrill Blade were the only men left standing.
But when Hurricane looked closer at Thrill Blade, he almost wished they weren’t.
Thrill Blade was standing over Man-of-War’s armor, having cracked it open like a lobster. His hands were covered in motor-oil, and he was breathing so heavily Hurricane might have mistaken him for a horse.
Oh, and he was literally grinding the dead body of the man who’d been piloting the armor into a multi-colored paste.
“Hey kid,” Hurricane called out, “it’s over. Last men standing.”
“Over?” Thrill Blade said, spittle flying from his mouth. He turned towards Hurricane, and both men instinctively grabbed their blades tighter, “it’s never over!”
Thrill Blade leapt towards Hurricane, and the mercenary barely brought his machete up in time to keep his head.
The sheer force drove Hurricane to the ground, Thrill Blade standing over him, pushing his sword towards Hurricane’s skull. Hurricane, struggled to hold his machete in place, even with all his strength.
Warcry and Scorpion watched it all from above, horrified.
“Oh, this may be a problem,” Warcry observed.
# # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: Next Issue: Our mercs are in! Trouble, that is…
“Yum, dark meat!”
Hurricane brought his machete up moments before the eight-foot, half Aligator, half man mercenary who called himself ‘Overbite’ barreled him over. The man-monster didn’t appear to care that he was literally pushing against Hurricane’s blade in attempt to eat him.
“Sorry,” Hurricane flexed his muscles and pushed his machete outward, slicing Overbite in two, “I don’t need boots that talk back.”
# # # # #
Then
Jerome Banks looked through the scope of his rifle, and breathed out.
He was high on a hill, overlooking a shitty little town in Afghanistan that, in Jerome’s opinion, no one would have cared about if there wasn’t a middle level insurgent with a gift for bombs who called the place home.
Jerome had the man in his sights, through the second floor window. The man was working on another bomb, another devise to kill American soldiers. Banks felt his blood boil even as he steadied his breath.
“This is bird’s nest,” he said over his radio, “I’ve got the target in my sights. Advise?”
“What’s his status?” squawked the radio.
“Building death,” Jerome replied, “I’ve a clear shot.”
“Is it safe?”
Jerome observed a boson-burner, and from his vantage point he could see several barrels of chemicals across the room. They were unlabeled, but Jerome had enough experience to know what they contained.
“It’s safe.”
“Then proceed. Be mindful of civilians.”
Jerome pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet smashed through the window and struck the bomber’s hip, shattering it like glass. The second bullet struck the barrels, and the contents began to pour out on the floor.
“No easy out for you, asshole,” Jerome muttered.
Less than ten seconds later, the building exploded in an orange ball of fire that shook the entire block.
“Hurricane!” Banks’ radio shrieked, “what the hell was that? You said it was safe! There were civilians on that block!”
Banks stood up and marched into the woods, the heat of the flames washing over his back even from so far away.
“It was safe,” Banks said, “I don’t have a scratch.”
# # # # #
Four hours before now
“Okay, so we killed us a Hulk,” Scorpion said. “Now what?”
“Now, Hurricane and Thrill Blade are going to be at a certain location,” Mr. Raven said, “Mr. Dran is pulling out an open call for muscle. If anyone asks, you received a ride from a Mr. Door. Teleporting travel agents aren’t that uncommon in our profession.”
“Why me and Thrill Blade?” Hurricane said, “wouldn’t Hrist be better?”
“Hey!” Thrill Blade protested, “did you not just see me take on a Hulk?”
“I saw a rabid dog,” Hurricane said, “I’ve worked with Hrist before, and I know what to expect from her.”
“You honor me, mortal,” Hrist said, “and I agree. Why am I to be denied this slaughter?”
Hurricane raised an eyebrow at the word ‘slaughter’.
“Your little adventure in South America has made both of you rather infamous,” Mr. Raven said, “should the two of you show up at the same place, Dran would be on guard.”
“So I get saddled with the rookie,” Hurricane said.
“Hey!” Thrill Blade said, “right here!”
Hurricane turned to Thrill Blade, and said, “Hello there, rookie. Looks like I’m saddled with you.”
“Words can hurt, man.”
“The rest of us will be observing and tipping things in your favor,” Mr. Raven said, “we need to make sure that you get the job, and that won’t be easy.”
“So you guys’ll have my back out there?” said Hurricane.
“As much as possible,” Mr. Raven said, “which won’t be nearly enough to save you if you don’t watch your own back.”
“We need to get a move on,” Jim Trask said, “does everyone have their gear? Anyone need to use the can or anything else?”
“We’re not ten years old,” Scorpion said.
“I know. Ten year olds behave better.” Said Trask.
“We’re good,” Warcry scratched an itch under her elbow and sneered, “shame we can’t all stay safe here in the jet.”
“Nowhere is safe for us, if this goes wrong,” Mr. Raven said, “Hrist, if you would?”
“Of course,” Hrist went to her work bench. She picked up what looked to be three blue orbs, with a swirling mist inside. Though Hurricane knew they looked to be paperweights, he knew instinctively that they contained powerful magics.
And when Hrist dropped one, Hurricane barely controlled his bowels.
A blue light washed over them, and for a moment, every mercenary felt light headed.
“Whoa, what was that…?” Thrill Blade shook his head, “and where can I get some more?”
“Sorry, mortal,” Hrist said, “accident. Truly. But that’s why I make spares, whenever possible.”
“Didn’t you use your own blood for those?” Scorpion said, “that’s so gross…”
“Aye, but I always have a fresh stock,” Hrist placed one orb in Hurricane’s hand, “merely crush it, and you’ll be taken to where you need to be.”
“Teleported?”
“Aye.”
“…I remember what happened the last time I did that with you,” Hurricane said, “I’ve had flashbacks that were less horrifying.”
“Mortals,” Hrist huffed, “those norn stones were flawed, meant only for emergency use. These are of the finest quality. Well, for me”
“If you say so…”
“Well, Hurricane, you have a choice before you,” Hrist said, “either trust me, or insult me.”
“Tell me, which is more dangerous?”
Hurricane crushed the orb in his hand, and he and Thrill Blade vanished in a burst of purple light.
“Wise choice,” Shroud muttered.
“Let’s get moving,” Mr. Raven said, “we’ll only have a short amount of time to set up before the shit hits the fan.”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
When Hurricane opened his eyes, he and Thrill Blade found themselves in a wooded area, in the dead of night.
“I’d ask if we were in the right place, but since we didn’t know where we were supposed to go…” Thrill Blade said.
“You learn to stop flapping your gums, and use your brain, you might make it in this business,” Hurricane unsheathed his machete and began cutting through the thick underbrush that surrounded them. He had barely been at it for more than twenty seconds, when the brush fell away to reveal an old gravel road.
Hurricane turned his head north, and could see lights in the distance, as well as blaring music.
“That’ll be our meet up point, I bet,” Hurricane said, “give me ten minutes, then follow me in. Remember, you don’t know me, so don’t approach, wave or anything like that. Hell, just stay away from me until this is all over.”
“You say that, but I can sense that you want to be friends,” said Thrill Blade.
Hurricane mumbled under his breath and made his way down the gravel path.
What he found didn’t much surprise him. There was a makeshift bar with plenty of drinks, music loud enough to strip the paint off a car and light polls that made the pitch black night as bright as a sunny day. Above the bar was a large banner that read ‘Auditions!’, and stationed on the outposts were several armored guards. They wore grey guardsmen suits, with modified blasters on their wrists. Hurricane recognized them instantly as Dran’s elite guards, the Piranhas, meant to keep the rabble of Hell’s Peak in line.
And who he saw didn’t surprise Hurricane either.
It just terrified him.
There was a woman who wore nothing but a hooded cloak and barbed wire like it was a sweater. Hurricane saw a cyborg who’s head was resting in his torso, and next to him was a skrull in his natural form, bare chested and his hands taped like that of a fighter’s.
The former soldier looked around, and found that the only person he recognized was the English mercenary, Shockwave. That yellow suit was hard to miss, even in this crowd.
But beyond that, Hurricane saw no big names. Perhaps Dran didn’t want to meet their salary demands, or didn’t expect them to stay loyal slash employed for long. After all, once you had a name, you had a rep.
Hurricane could feel a dozen sets of eyes fall on him, and realized that here, now, he was a big name.
But he didn’t let that fluster him. Instead, as more and more eyes fell upon him, Hurricane approached the bar, and took a seat.
“What.Will.It.Be.?” said the Bartender, half his face metal and circuit boards, “Miller.Lite? Scotch?”
“Water,” Hurricane said.
“Water?”
“Water,” Hurricane repeated.
“The big bad Hurricane drinking water?”
Hurricane didn’t turn towards the speaker. Instead, he looked at the bartender.
“Give me a few large ice. I’m feeling brave today.”
“Oooh! Look at you!”
The Bartender placed Hurricane’s drink order in front of him, and only then did Hurricane look at the man who was standing next to him.
The man was thin, but lithe. He wore jeans and a sleeveless leather cut, and his arms were covered in tattoos, and his head was shaved into a buzz cut and dyed green.
“Have we met?” Hurricane said. He reached into his glass, and plucked an ice-cube out.
“They call me Razor,” said the man, “maybe you’ve heard about me?”
“Nope,” Hurricane squeezed the ice-cube in his hand.
Razor held his hand out with his fingers pointed to the sky, and Hurricane saw something glint in the light. He watched as what looked like green electricity traveled up a wire thinner than a single strand of hair.
“I’ve heard about you,” Razor said, “you pull one high profile job and you think that makes you somethin’, boy? What’s so special about you?”
“I’m helpful.”
“Help…”
Hurricane flicked his ice-cube at Razor, where it slid into his mouth, and half way down his throat perfectly.
The mercenary started coughing and wheezing, struggling to breathe. Hurricane swung his fist into the man’s gut, dislodging the ice, and as Razor doubled over from the blow, his head smashed into the bar, and he fell back, unconscious.
“See?” Hurricane took a sip of his water, “helpful.”
Hurricane glanced at the crowd that had gathered. Without a word said and denied a show, they began to go their separate ways. The guards came and dragged Razor’s unconscious body away, mumbling something about ‘too soon’, and with that Hurricane was left alone with his water.
Hurricane thought about Thrill Blade, and envied the young man for a moment. It wasn’t as if he had to deal with being infamous, or hell, recognized.
# # # # #
Ten minutes from now
“Thrill Blade? Oh! My God!”
Thrill Blade had barely stepped foot into the gathering before he was tackled bodily. He felt metal arms wrap around his head, legs wrap around his waist, and most importantly, breasts pressed to his face.
“Alley-Cat,” Thrill Blade mumbled, “nice to see you and the twins.”
The woman who’d tackled him leapt off, and smiled. She wore a tank-top and the tightest shorts Thrill Blade had ever seen with a sleek, stainless steel belt that held a nine foot metal tail in the rear, while her arms were metal prosthetics. She had bright red hair, painted whisker marks on her face, and a warm smile.
Thrill Blade had pulled a job with her in France, and the young mercenary had gotten to know her fairly well.
“What are you doing here?” Thrill Blade said, “how’re the kids?”
“They’re fine,” Alley-Cat said, “living with their aunt. I’m here the same reason you are, dope!”
“Really? You want to work security at some hell hole?” Thrill Blade said, without thinking.
“Hey, we’re criminals,” Alley-Cat replied, “not a lot of options out there if we want a steady pay check, ya know? It’s just an interview, right?”
“…right,” Thrill Blade felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “just an interview.”
# # # # #
The Shroud glanced towards Mr. Raven. He and his fellow mercenaries were a few feet away from a very steep ledge. The location was isolated, in a country The Shroud didn’t much care for and if they were attacked, they would have been boxed in effortlessly.
“Right location?”
Mr. Raven glanced up at the stars in the sky. The Shroud could hear something adjusting in the man’s goggles.
“Right location,” Mr. Raven confirmed, “Shroud, give us some cover.”
The Shroud reached out with his abilities, and the five criminals and mercenaries were covered in a swirling black mist.
“Stay close,” Shroud said, “I can’t expand this too far, without becoming obvious.”
“Worry not, mortal,” Hrist said, “I’ve added my magic to your abilities. We’ll not be seen unless we wish it.”
“Good,” Mr. Raven said, “Warcry, you’re up. Scorpion, I need you to help her pick targets. Hrist, you and me are on overwatch, make sure no one sneaks up on us.”
“If things go wrong, promise to at least not push me over the edge,” Scorpion said.
“No promises,” Warcry replied.
The two women crawled towards the edge, flat on their stomachs. Warcry pulled out her necklace of whistles, and went through them before finally stopping on one labeled ‘LDB’.
“Question,” Scorpion said, “what can you even do for our guys from up here?”
“I can literally whisper warnings in their ears, and make anyone I want dizzy,” said Warcry, “it’s not the same as bullet to the head, but better than nothing.”
“So where are we anyways?” Scorpion said, as she looked down. The deep hole in the ground reminded her of a quarry, but there were old, rusted cars piled almost everywhere.
“A junkyard in Singapore,” said Mr. Raven, “the owner usually hosts street fights. Dran tripled his usual fees for tonight.”
“Hurricane is a hundred miles away!” Hrist said.
“Magic isn’t the only way to teleport,” Mr. Raven said, and as if on cue, there were several quick bursts of yellow light, and suddenly the cliff face was host to a dozen gray armored soldiers, including one not fifteen feet away.
Mr. Raven motioned for silence. Hrist and Scorpion made a face that said ‘no shit’.
“This is post one, reporting in,” radioed someone in the distance, “all clear.”
Posts one through nine all reported an all clear. When it came time for post ten, the man closest to them, to call in his report, everyone save Hrist held their breath.
“This is post ten,” he said, “all clear.”
“Gotta love magic,” Warcry muttered.
“Indeed,” said Mr. Raven, “get ready, things are in motion.”
# # # # #
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome…”
Hurricane had just finished his water, when a hologram of Dran, flanked by his bodyguards Midnight, Solution and Weapon Chi, appeared above the gathering.
“The reason why you’re all here, is because recently my family suffered a loss,” said Dran, “my good, dear friend, Mr. Grey, was struck down. It’s left a hole in my family, and just as important, in my business. You all come highly recommended, and that’s why you’re here tonight. If you’d bear with me for a moment…?”
Hurricane felt the familiar tell-tale tingle of teleportation, and he went from party to junkyard in the span of a second.
“Thank you. Because of the strength of Mr. Grey, I find that I need not one, but two replacements.”
Hurricane glanced around, and came out with a headcount that easily peaked at three dozen. He glanced up at the quarry walls, and saw the guards with their weapons aimed down. Dran and his people were up there as well, their eyes on the make-shift arena.
“But only two.”
Hurricane observed how everyone’s attention was on Dran, and he began to shuffle away. If this was heading where he thought it was heading, Hurricane had little doubt that he’d be the first with a bullseye on his head.
“What the hell?” Hurricane saw a man with a lion’s head and swords strapped to his back, protest, “that wasn’t the deal!”
A second later, the man’s head exploded in gore.
“It is now,” Dran said, “I’d prefer two. But if I have to wipe you all out and start over, I will.”
A tension hung in the air, because everyone realized what Hurricane had only a minute before everything exploded. With the men down here and the guards up there, they were in the perfect kill box. So he made his way around a pile of cars, out of sight of the main crowd, but before he could get too comfortable, he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.
“Going somewhere, lunch?” Overbite said.
# # # # #
“Alley-Cat…”
Thrill Blade turned to his friend, to assure her that he would protect her.
But she’s already on the ground, bleeding badly from a hole in her stomach.
“Oh God, no…” Thrill Blade was at her side in a second.
“Thrill Blade…,” Alley-Cat coughed up blood, “t…tell me…”
Alley-Cat’s last words were lost in a cough of blood, and her eyes rolled up towards the back of her head.
Something inside of Thrill Blade snapped. He saw a man with traces of silver in his skin charging him, and with a single swipe, Thrill Blade cut him in half.
Another half dozen men came at Thrill Blade, and he met them like a wave crashing onto the surf.
# # # # #
A bullet ricocheted off the metal door a foot above Hurricane’s head, and he snapped his head in the direction of the shot.
He saw one of the guards motion towards the fight with his rifle. Apparently his strategy of ‘let them whittle each other down’ wasn’t appreciated.
Fine, Hurricane thought to himself. He was in a target rich environment, with no risk of collateral damage. If there was ever a time to cut loose, this was it.
Hurricane stepped out from his hiding spot, and walked straight into a man with snake-like skin, who likely had the same thought as him. With barely a thought, his hand went to his blade. Hurricane brought his machete sweeping down. His enemy’s head exploded like an overripe grape. Blood and bone splattered across his arm, but Hurricane barely had time to notice. Because he was still surrounded by over three dozen men and women who had to kill him, if they wanted to survive.
He pulled his sidearm out with his left hand, and strolled across the field. He squeezed the trigger three times, and four men fell on the ground, dead.
That gained Hurricane some attention, but his pace never quickened. Acid, lightning and fire was cast his way, but Hurricane saw each person as they attacked. Their firing stance was quick and sloppy, and he knew, as a cold hard fact, that the only way they could hope to strike him was by pure luck.
So Hurricane reached his second target, an engine block, unscathed. He hooked his foot underneath it, and kicked it lightly into the air as if it were a soccer ball.
Hurricane pitched it towards the crowd of career mercenaries and felons, where it struck down a half dozen of them.
“Alright, a challenge!”
Hurricane watched as the crowd seemed to part for a giant of a man. Seven feet tall, his skin the texture of brick. His hands were coated in blood, but none of it his.
“No, it’s not, Brik,” Hurricane tightened his grip on his machete.
“Ha!” Brik swung his giant, blood soaked fist at Hurricane’s head.
Hurricane’s response was swift and precise. He swung his machete, cutting off Brik’s hand at the wrist as it missed Hurricane’s head, and then he brought his machete back in a downwards slice, cleanly cutting off Brik’s leg at the knee.
Brik’s mind had barely registered the pain as he fell backwards, as Hurricane pulled his weapon back, and lunged for the man’s heart. He punched it through skin that could endure a tank-shell effortlessly, and with a twist, ended the fight.
Hurricane glanced up at the crowd, who’d just seen him end ten men.
“Oh shit,” Hurricane muttered, as he realized he was a star in the worst way. He gripped his machete, still in Brik’s body, and used it as a lever, bringing the man’s corpse up as a shield just as over a half dozen men and women took up a proper firing stance, and let loose havoc.
# # # # #
“…we have to do something,” Scorpion said, “they’ll kill him!”
“Can’t,” Warcry said bluntly, “everyone is watching too closely.”
“He’ll be killed!” Scorpion said.
“So will we if we give ourselves away,” Mr. Raven said.
“Besides, he’s not the only agent in play.”
# # # # #
The man who called himself Man-of-war had thought himself a genius.
He’d been a guard at one of Shield’s man evidence holding facilities, when one day he’d just gotten tired of his boring life. So one day, he’d forged some transport papers, and left with an Ironmonger armor and a force field generator. A little tinkering, and he’d had an armor that was the toughest thing on the block.
Man-of-War had accomplished a dozen missions without breaking a sweat. And when Dran announced the conditions of his contest, he was still certain of his victory.
But then Thrill Blade came at him. His sword sliced through Man-of-War’s force field effortlessly, and his blows bent steel.
Man-of-war released his bladder, as the fear inside of him grew, and Thrill Blade seemed only to grow stronger.
# # # # #
Hurricane felt the onslaught of energy that had been keeping him pinned cease, and after a five count, he peaked his head over the top.
The men and women who’d been trying to kill him moments earlier were on the ground now. Standing over them was a man that Hurricane judged to be of European descent. He wore a simple suit, had a scar over his left eye and a grey beard and mustache.
At first, Hurricane couldn’t tell how the man had killed them. He held his left hand out, but it was as if he had ribbons in place of fingers that led from his hands to the fallen bodies of his victims.
“I prefer quick,” the man said. Mentally, Hurricane named the man Boris, “but to impress employers, I have to make a show of it.”
Boris’ fingers reappeared for a split second, before the thin ribbons Hurricane had seen before came rocketing towards him. Hurricane threw himself to the side, as the ribbons nicked his shoulder.
Hurricane rolled to his feet, and looked at the wound. It was, by far, the neatest cut he’d ever seen. Paper cuts weren’t half a clean, but the pain was staggering.
“I would not advice moving, yes?”
Hurricane leapt aside again, as Boris’ fingers missed him, but sliced through the rusted steel husks as if they were air.
“Same to you,” Hurricane said. He whipped out his sidearm, and squeezed.
Boris saw the shots coming. He merely switched to his left, and seemed to disappear in thin air.
“Not even you can hit me if I do not wish to be,” Boris said.
Hurricane said nothing, but he knew it was no ideal boast on Boris’ part. Having seen his powers in action, Hurricane realized the man’s power was to become two-dimensional. That enabled him to turn his fingers into blades that could slice through the very atoms of material.
Hurricane glanced to his left, and saw a car laying there, it’s hood open and the engine and most other parts, completely intact.
That was the light bulb moment.
“I can hit any target I want, champ,” Hurricane said. He squeezed off two shots, more to get Boris to back off than anything else, and sprinted for the car.
“Is futile!” Boris declared, as he strolled towards. Hurricane recognized that the man was showboating, just like he himself had been doing earlier.
“Irony is a bitch,” the marksman muttered as he reached the car. He found what he was looking for, and turned to Boris, “you offered me mercy, now I’d like to offer the same. Stand down, and I’ll make it quick.”
“No,” the man said simply.
“Then I’m very sorry,” Hurricane picked up the car battery, and threw it at Boris.
Who, like Hurricane had anticipated, turned two-dimensional and turned aside.
But Hurricane had predicted perfectly where he’d be standing, and threw the car battery there.
Boris sliced the battery like a hot knife through butter, and the battery acid was smeared across his back and chest like suntan lotion.
Boris returned to his regular human shape, his skin bubbling and blistered, but as he sucked in air to scream, Hurricane put a bullet through his ear.
“I’m sorry,” Hurricane muttered as he holstered his weapon. He still carried his machete in his other hand, but that was more caution than anything else.
He scanned the battlefield, now littered with bodies. Not everyone was dead, as he saw Shockwave huddled in a corner, his legs bent at the wrong angles, but as best he could tell, he and Thrill Blade were the only men left standing.
But when Hurricane looked closer at Thrill Blade, he almost wished they weren’t.
Thrill Blade was standing over Man-of-War’s armor, having cracked it open like a lobster. His hands were covered in motor-oil, and he was breathing so heavily Hurricane might have mistaken him for a horse.
Oh, and he was literally grinding the dead body of the man who’d been piloting the armor into a multi-colored paste.
“Hey kid,” Hurricane called out, “it’s over. Last men standing.”
“Over?” Thrill Blade said, spittle flying from his mouth. He turned towards Hurricane, and both men instinctively grabbed their blades tighter, “it’s never over!”
Thrill Blade leapt towards Hurricane, and the mercenary barely brought his machete up in time to keep his head.
The sheer force drove Hurricane to the ground, Thrill Blade standing over him, pushing his sword towards Hurricane’s skull. Hurricane, struggled to hold his machete in place, even with all his strength.
Warcry and Scorpion watched it all from above, horrified.
“Oh, this may be a problem,” Warcry observed.
# # # # #
NEXT ISSUE: Next Issue: Our mercs are in! Trouble, that is…