Back to GatefoldIssue #6 by Daniel Ingram
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Then
Jerome Banks looked down the sights of his berretta, smoking still wafting from the barrel.
The airfield was littered with a half dozen bodies, not that the man who would be Hurricane cared. Once he killed them, they were less than an afterthought, meat rotting on the ground.
The only one Jerome cared about now was laying on the ground, bleeding from wounds in her left shoulder, right knee and left foot.
“Please…,” the corporal begged, her hands covered in her own blood “you don’t have to do this!”
Jerome pulled back the hammer.
“I know….”
“…please!”
Jerome put a bullet through her hand, which sent bone and fingers flying.
“…I want to.”
“Please…wake up!”
Now
“Wake up!”
Hurricane felt as if his skull had exploded, and when his brain finally cleared, he saw a heavy set man standing, covered in scars, standing in from of him, with a smug grin on the man’s face.
The merc looked down at his wrists, and saw iron manacles running across the length of his wrists. He glanced down, and saw that he’d been stripped of everything save his underwear. The numbness of his ass told Hurricane that the chair he was in was crafted out of cement (not an experience Hurricane thought he’d ever repeat, but his life was anything but boring) running into the floor, and the room was utterly bare, except for three men.
The first two were Dran’s foot soldiers, known as Piranhas. Hurricane suspected that they were only present in case the main interrogator needed them to fetch some tools, or to keep him from going too far, too soon.
There was no easy end for him, Hurricane knew that instinctively.
But he knew he didn’t deserve anything else.
Hurricane looked at the interrogator, his upper chest laced with scars, and a sinister sneer on his face. He had a way about that that conveyed how practiced he was in inflicting pain and misery. As professional in his sadistic hobby, as Hurricane was in his.
And standing next to him, was Dran’s second in command, Andi Hunter.
Hurricane stared at her for a long second, despite every effort not to.
“What?” Hunter demanded, “care to make a threat? That’s what most people in your position do. First threats, then begging, then…well, just be glad that we wash the chair.”
“Where am I?” Hurricane said, hoping to center himself.
“In a hole so deep that you’ll never be able to dig yourself out of,” Hunter said, “did you really think you’d get away with this?”
Hurricane looked the woman in the eye, studying her face. He tried his best to casually shrug, to appear indifferent in the face of all this.
“Kinda hoped I would.”
Andi waved a hand in front of her face, “Hope is something only Dran provides here, merc. Shame your last meal will be chicken.”
“That won’t be his last meal,” said the interrogator, “his last meal will be his teeth, washed down by his blood.”
“I was a marine, special forces,” said Hurricane, “so all you’re really offering me is dessert.”
“Is that why you’re dressed like a soldier?” Hunter said, “your teammates…”
“Accomplices,” Hurricane said, “we’re work for hire, not a band.”
“Noted,” said Hunter, “as I was saying, your teammates are all about the spandex, but you? Kevlar armor, kabar knife…yet I don’t think you were honorably discharged.”
Hurricane hesitated before answering.
“No, no I wasn’t,” Hurricane said, his voice laced with regret.
But Hunter just glared with anger.
“No, you wouldn’t be here if you were,” Hunter said, “and then you wouldn’t be buried in our basement. Was coming here worth dying?”
“Yes,” Hurricane said, without hesitation, “yes it was.”
“Glad to hear it,” Hunter said, “I’ll be leaving you to your meal
“You asked earlier, where are you?” the man pulled back his fist, “you in hell now.”
Hurricane sighed, “Well then, at least I’m where I deserve to be.”
“Allow me to introduce myself proper then,” The first punch made Hurricane see stars, the second loosened teeth, and after the third Hurricane just let himself drift in an ocean of pain, “You may call me Skarr, in the short time you are still able to do anything other than scream.”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
The disgraced valkyrie known as Hrist, began chuckling almost as soon as she awoke.
She was stripped naked, her arms held above her in adamantium sleeves. The room was filled with a thick, black smog that was electric to the touch, and Hrist could sense at least five creatures as they channeled magic, suppressing her own.
The ground beneath her was consecrated with the blood and marrow of demons, amplifying the magic that choked her own like a vice.
Yet still she laughed.
“What is so amusing, fallen one?”
Hrist looked at the creature standing before her. She recognized him as a Dire Wraith, a fat and pudgy creature who came to earth decades ago to sow trouble.
“That you foul things did not kill me the moment thou were given me,” Hrist said, “I thought there were limits to mortal stupidity. I see now how that I was wrong.”
The Dire Wraith chuckled, “You stink of powerful magic…clumsy, poorly wielded, perhaps, but magic none the less.”
“As do thou. And of troll droppings. What of it?”
“So to kill a death goddess versed in magic?” the Dire Wraith sneered, “no doubt you’ve some enchantment designed to avenge you. For all you Norse Gods talk of glory, you love blood even more. Even a novice could smell the enchantment that rests in your flesh”
Hrist raised an eyebrow.
“You think me laced with a trap?” Hrist huffed, “do not blame me for thy cowardice!”
“So impatient for an immortal,” the Dire Wraith hissed, “but we can afford to dally. We cast your weapons into a distant realm, and the seal that surrounds you was painted with the ashy remains of a hundred vampires, and is powered by the beating heart of a dozen mindless ones, their powers channeled by my coven. Should that not be enough, the metal sleeve holding your arms is made of a metal not even Thor could dent with his hammer.”
“And despite all this, you fear me,” smiled Hrist, “at least you have some intelligence.”
“We are not fools, and you are diminished, Goddess, in our place of power” the Dire Wraith said, “enjoy these last few days. My coven will disable your spell, and Dran has given us free reign to do with you as we please, so long as you die painfully. We’re still debating what to do with you. Any suggestions?”
“Just that you start running now,” Hrist said, “and if you do, I may not kill you all.”
oooOOoo
Maximillian Quincy Coleridge, better known and feared as the Shroud, tugged at his restraints.
The cell was sixteen by sixteen feet, and every inch was covered in soft light lamps. It contained a bed, toilet and absolutely no other amenities. Though Shroud could feel his connection to his primary weapon, the dark-force, he could also feel how faint it was.
What had once been a firm muscle in the back of his mind now felt like a thin thread, a barely remembered friend, no doubt because if the room’s lighting.
The guards had slapped chains on his wrist, and left without a word. Shroud new a dozen ways to pick a lock, or improvise a pick, but the restraints didn’t have a lock. Rather, they used some glue that Shroud didn’t recognize to seal them closed and walked away.
Shroud, rather than waste time struggling with his restraints, sat down and meditated.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before the door opened again, and two guards stepped inside.
“Chow time,” one said.
Shroud readied himself for action, his muscles like a coiled spring, when the first guard set the tray on the ground, at least three feet from where the chains would allow him access. The second man had a stick, and picked the tray within Shroud’s reach.
“…thank you,” Shroud said curtly.
“No man, thank you,” said the guard.
“Excuse me?”
“Dran said the money that he gets from selling you is part of our Christmas bonus,” the man said, “I hear that the bidding’s already reached three million.”
“I almost feel flattered,” Shroud said, “don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who sold me out?”
“I don’t mind telling you, no.”
Shroud felt his blood boil with rage, and even though he was blind, he still saw nothing but red.
“Trask, you son of a bitch…!” Shroud growled. He lunged for Trask, but was stopped effortlessly by his restraints “I will crush your throat with my bare hands!”
Jim Trask simply rolled his eyes.
“You should blame your Mr. Raven,” Trask said, “but I should thank him. My position in Shield had become…questionable, what with so many mutant lovers left even after Forge left. They all looked at me as if I were the scorpion, and they the frog. They, Shield as they treated me as a threat in the making, made me the scorpion, damn mutie huggers.”
“So you sold out Shield because of hurt feelings?” Shroud snapped, “because someone gave you the stink eye? I never gave you much thought, but congratulations. You’re a rare kind of scum. Selling out your cause not because of money, but because of hurt feelings.”
“Oh, I’m getting money too,” Trask smirked, “I actually get half of your asking price. I’m confident with right investment, it’ll be enough to retire on.”
“So buck up. Your slow death will set me for life. But first…” Trask turned to the guard beside him, “could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
Each breath was agony, and tasted of copper.
Warcry returned to consciousness slowly, each step more painful than the last.
The sonic merc was actually surprised to find that she was still alive. The last thing that she remembered was being stabbed through the chest by Weapon Chi, and then nothing but an incky blackness.
It took her nearly seven minutes to reach full consciousness, her head feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton and another three to realize her situation.
She was strapped down to a medical gurney, a ball gag wedged in her mouth. Warcry could feel an itch below her breasts, and realized that she had two valves in her lungs where Weapon Chi had stabbed her. She knew that without them, her lungs would have been flooeded with blood, and she’d already be dead.
“Awake?”
A man leaned over Warcry, wearing medical scrubs, a stethoscope resting over his shoulders. For the most part, he looked utterly forgettable. Like an extra in a million hospitals and medical dramas.
Except for the gaping holes where his eyes should be.
“My name is Dr. Void,” he said, with a smile that more resembled that of a shark than a human being, “and I’ll be your physician today.”
Warcry’s first instinct was to fight, but the smallest budge sent ripples of pain through her body.
“Don’t try to struggle, dear,” the Doctor removed a flash light from his breast pocket, and shined it in Warcry’s eyes, checking her pupils. The pain in her eyes paled compared to the pain in her chest “I’ve treated your lungs, but too much excitement and you could undo all my hard work.”
Warcry spat something amazingly offensive, but it was lost by the gag.
“Looks good enough,” the Doctor stepped back, “you awoke just in time, my dear. You have a guest.”
Guest? Warcry raised an eyebrow. Who in the hell would want to visit her…?
“Well well well, you look good enough to eat.”
The war criminal known to Shield, Interpol and dozens of other law enforcement agencies as General Tier stepped forward from the shadows, with a predator’s smile on his face.
Warcry tried to scream, to take the man’s head off with her sonic abilities, but even as she attempted to push past the pain, the ball-gag stopped the attempt with ease.
When that failed, Warcry bucked in her restraints. The agony was unlike anything she felt before, but she would be damned if she would lay helpless before her most hated enemy.
But barely a minute passed before her body forced her to do just that. She could barely get a breath, and the pain from her wounds only grew greater the more she moved.
“So defiant,” General Tier said. He casually traced a finger over Warcry’s leg, and she wanted to vomit, “your sister was much the same way. At first.”
Warcry forced herself to listen, knowing that every word he said might was information she had sought almost her entire life, but it was difficult to listen over her pounding heart.
“I never suspected that the sonic African mercenary I occasionally heard about was in fact you. But then, I thought I left you rotting in the ground,” General Tier clucked his tongue, “ah well. I look forward to catching up. You angered Dran a great deal, young lady. He gave you to me with oh so little prompting. To do with as I please.”
If looks could kill, General Tier would have died a thousand times by now.
He leaned over, his canines all but gleaming in the light and whispered in her ear, “I hope you taste like your sister did.”
oooOOoo
Elsewhere
It felt as if his stomach exploded when Skarr slammed his fist into it, but Hurricane didn’t have much time to feel the pain before a fist crashed into his jaw.
“Okay…okay!” Hurricane bent over, and coughed up blood. He spit to the side, “enough…please…”
Skarr cracked his knuckles, “Already? I haven’t even worked up a sweat.”
“I’ll go out with you…,” Hurricane said, “but…we go dutch, okay? I’m not sure how I feel about you. And I’m not into Mexican.”
Skarr snorted, and Hurricane knew he’d struck a nerve when the two men behind his torturer snorted with laughter.
For people like Skarr, the dumber the joke, the greater the defiance behind it. And as a result, the greater their failure.
Hurricane could see that he’s struck a nerve when he saw Skarr’s careful, controlled smile. He wasn’t about to celebrate just yet, as a pissed off Skarr simply meant that he was about to take things to the next level.
“Funny man. You take beating surprisingly well,” Skarr said, “but tell me, do you know why I start with fists and not knife?”
“You wanted to feel me up first?” Hurricane said.
“Because cutting into bruised flesh hurts more,” Skarr said, “sit tight, I show you.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, man,” Victor Pratt, one of the two guards, said after Skarr left the room, “I’ve watched this guy work, you coulda had fists for another hour. You really stepped in it.”
“Story of my life,” Hurricane said, blood dripping from his mouth. He spit out a mouthful of blood, all over his right hand.
“Vic, just shut up,” said Robert Green, the second man, “bad enough we have to watch what comes next, but last thing I want is to feel sorry for the guy too.”
“Don’t blame him,” Hurricane said, “guard duty’s boring. We’ve all been there.”
“When did a big shot like you ever get grunt work?” Robert said, despite his better judgment.
“When I was a grunt, actually,” replied Hurricane, “didn’t last long. Lets just say that I have a gift when it comes to a gun and combat.”
“Soldier, eh?” Vic said, “should have known, the way you were dressed. No spandex, that K-bar knife…”
“Want to know why I call myself Hurricane?” said the Merc.
“I won’t stop ya,” Vic shrugged.
“See, I read this article a long time back, about how this home owner found a straw embedded in a tree on her property. Small, plastic straw, nothing special,” Hurricane said, “guess what had hit her home only a few days before?”
“A hurricane?” Vic deadpanned.
“Got it in one,” Hurricane said, “see, a hurricane can throw anything with enough force and make it deadly. And that’s me.”
“And Bullseye.”
Hurricane shrugged, “And him. I don’t know how the white boy does it, but me? I have super strength. In my hands, anything is a bullet. Anything.”
“We know all that,” Robert said, “that’s why we were told to keep your distance, and this room is completely bare. You’re not going to trick us into letting you free.”
“I already did.”
Hurricane flashed a smile…that was missing three teeth.
“Oh shi…”
-thwik!-
Robert’s head snapped to the side just in time to see his partner slump to the ground, with a small spot of blood resting on the wall just behind where Vic’s head had been only moments ago.
Robert’s heart was pounding like a drum, as he slowly brought his attention towards Hurricane.
“Sorry about your friend,” Hurricane said, “but I had to demonstrate I was serious.”
“Please…don’t kill me!”
“I don’t want to,” Hurricane said, “but I will if I have to. You release me, and I give you my word, I won’t kill you.”
“…how do I know you’re not just saying that?”
“Look at it this way,” Hurricane said, “don’t release me, and it’s certain I will kill you. Let me go, and I may spare you. Not the odds you want to play in Vegas I know, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Oh God…”
“Look, I’m not a wack-job like Sabretooth or Bullseye,” Hurricane said, “I have a code, the three Cs. No collateral, no cruelty and no civilians. And when I give my word, I mean it.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Robert repeated almost mindlessly as he approached Hurricane. He unlocked the restraints, and stood back, trembling
“Try to relax,” Hurricane rubbed his sore wrists, “not gonna kill you, promise.”
Hurricane’s hand whipped out, grabbing Robert by the throat.
“But I didn’t say I’d leave you conscious,” said Hurricane, “when you come to, I’d suggest you blame your partner for me getting loose.”
Robert clutched and clawed at Hurricane’s wrist, but he didn’t last long. The merc dropped the man to the floor, and then went to Vic’s corpse.
“Robbing a dead body for weapons,” Hurricane muttered, “the glamorous life of a super powered mercenary.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be for long.”
Hurricane turned around, and barely ducked a punch that would have taken his head off.
“Sorry Skarr,” Hurricane danced backwards, fists raised, “we’ll have to reschedule. Is never good for you?”
“Dran was very insistent that you not escape,” Skarr spat, “accept your death now. Any attempt to resist will only make me stronger. Pain is my ecstasy, and my strength.”
“And your mouth is your weakness,” said Hurricane.
He chopped Skarr’s throat, and the torturer stumbled backwards. Before he could recover, Hurricane ducked behind the man and grabbed him in a headlock.
“Suffocation is a fairly painless death,” Hurricane observed.
Skarr swing his left elbow back three times, catching Hurricane in the side.
“For most people,” Hurricane grunted.
Skarr’s struggles grew weaker and weaker, and within a minute, his body was limp.
Hurricane took no chances. He snapped the man’s neck before he released his choke hold, and dropped the corpse aside.
“Okay, hard part’s done,” Hurricane heard a stomp of boots, and looked down the hall.
Seven heavily piranhas were just down the hall, and had begun leveling their weapons at him.
“Shit!”
Hurricane threw himself to one side before automatic gunfire would have torn him apart. And only after he was safe (for the time being), did he realize that he was separated from the only weapons in the room by a wall of bullets.
“This day just gets better and better.”
oooOOoo
In general, Eric Carr didn’t hate his job as much as he thought he would.
He’d worked for AIM and Hydra both, and left the organizations after losing colleagues to superiors who decided that nothing they did could hide their mistakes if they killed enough peons.
Working for Dran was considerably different. It was dangerous, but he never lied about that, hadn’t executed anyone for minor offenses (major offenses was another story), and the pay was great.
But there were times when he felt like a glorified hall monitor. Jim Trask had asked to use the bathroom, and regulations mandated that someone keep an eye on.
Luckily, that didn’t mean going into the bathroom with their guest, but instead watching him on a monitor that made Trask a red blob on a monitor. The man had already been searched for weapons, but that Eric had to watch this man pee still made him feel like a hall monitor.
Eric didn’t bother wasting time watching the monitor. He simply leaned against the wall, and tapped his foot.
He didn’t pay any attention to the time, until his patience had run out.
“You about fine in there?” Eric tapped on the door.
“Not anymore.”
A gauntleted fist smashed through the wooden door, and grabbed Eric by the throat.
“You all forgot who the real Scorpion is.”
oooOOoo
Hrist crooked her head to the side, listening.
She then smiled.
“My dear so called Dire Wraith, I believe it is time to leave,” said Hrist, “release me, and I may only beat you half to death.”
The Coven head, Cold Raven, hissed at Hrist, her pointed tongue snapping back and forth like a snake.
“You will never leave her under your own power,” she hissed, “your metal restraints alone…
“Are indestructible, yes,” Hrist grunted. She set her feet, shifted her weight and began pulling.
A loud tearing sound, like countless pages of paper tearing, filled the air, and Hrist’s arm, slid free of the restraints.
The arm was covered in blood and torn flesh, muscle and sinew exposed to the entire world.
“But as it so happens, the flesh of my arm is not.”
The Fallen Goddess pulled her other arm free, as the Coven stared at her, paralyzed by fear and awe.
Hrist stood before the mystic masters of Dark Magic, naked as the day she was born, and her arms drenched in dripping blood and torn flesh.
“Well” Hrist said, “I stand here in the center of thy power, unarmed and wounded.”
Hrist spat on the ground.
“Come at me, sisters. Yours odds will never be better.”
“Kill her!” screamed the Coven head.
Six of the Coven sisters shifted into wolf like creatures, but before they could even growl, Hrist was upon them with a berserker rage.
Cold Raven watched, frozen by horror, as her sisters were savaged by the goddess. Hrist tore the throat of the second wolf apart with her bare teeth. The goddess grabbed another sister, and tore her magically enhanced form apart as if it were paper.
Two of Cold Raven’s Coven were cunning enough to come at her from behind. One sank her teeth into Hrist’s shoulder, and the other grabbed her right ankle in its mouth.
Though they looked as wolves, her Coven had long since perfected enhancing their natural shapeshifting with magic. Their claws could shred steel, and the pounds per square inch of their jaws could dent tanks.
But they barely drew blood from Hrist before she grabbed them by the neck, and used them as improvised flails against their kin.
Hrist screamed in some ancient, hate-filled tongue, and when she was done, the Dire Wraiths in her hands were no longer people, but bags of flesh and bone.
“…I don’t like wolves,” Hrist dropped her weapons, “hast thou had enough? Would thou like to step aside?”
“You…killed…my sisters!”
Cold Raven called upon the souls of her sisters and all her magic, and began to transform.
Hrist watched as Cold Raven transformed into a creature that vaguely looked like a bear, but with three rows of eyes, four arms and claws made of steel
“That a nay?”
Cold Raven went for Hrist, intent on tearing the Goddess apart and swallowing her flesh to avenge her fallen sisters.
But Hrist met her lunge with one hand, and stopped the alien without so much as looking at her.
“You were right, your magics did diminish me,” said Hrist, as Cold Raven uselessly raked her claws over the death goddess. Hrist gave, what was to her, a good shove, and Cold Raven was pitched backwards with such strength that when she struck the steel reinforced concrete, she didn’t live long enough to feel her body hit the floor.
“But even diminished, I am still greater than thee.”
# # # # #
Earlier
Peter Holden looked at his screens, as the situation went from bad to worse.
He had been tasked with overseeing all the prisoners. It was little more than glorified monitor duty, but then Dran liked redundancy in his planning, and it was easy work. The theory was that even if one prisoner broke free, and managed to overpower the guards without raising the alarm, they’d be helpless to stop a guard from doing the same, who wasn’t even in the same room.
Peter was about to prove the wisdom of the redundancy, when he felt something pressed against the back of his head.
“No, not yet,” Mr. Raven said. He pulled the trigger, and blood splattered against his goggles, “we need to keep this party private just a little while longer.”
# # # # #
Hurricane heard the gun fire taper off for a half second before it started up again, which informed him that the men he was facing were professionals.
Two men would lay down cover fire, while the others would inched forward, and open fire when the first two stopped.
Hurricane remained calm, detached. If these men were really professionals, he knew what their next step would be, and if he was right, frayed nerves would be the death of him as surely as the bullets.
The gunfire stopped for a split second too long, and Hurricane readied himself for what was to happen next.
A grenade came flying through the doorway. But before Hurricane could leap to intercept, it was followed by another, and another. Far too many to return before one exploded
Acting on instinct, Hurricane dove for Skarr’s body, and pulled the man over him as cover just as the three grenades exploded as one, filling the room with fire as it shook as if caught in an earthquake.
The dust hadn’t even settled before six men poured in, guns on their shoulders. Hurricane, his ears ringing, and his lungs burning, watched as men barely six feet away struggled to find and end him.
“Anyone have contact?”
“Like pea soup in here!”
There was discipline, and then there discipline, Hurricane reflected. The men were good yes, but not that good. Their nerves were on edge, and they sought to end the engagement quick and messy rather than slow and methodical. They rushed in, when they could have waited the few seconds it would have taken the smoke to clear and killed him from the doorway.
It wasn’t much of an edge, Hurricane knew, but it was still something.
He tossed a small piece of debris to his left, and the men all turned as one, instinctively huddling closer for strength, confidence.
Which made them all an easy target for when Hurricane threw Skarr’s mangled husk at them as if it were a log.
All six men went down, just as Hurricane leapt to his feet, and closed the distance with two strides.
He moved quickly and ruthlessly. He killed two Piranhas with one right cross, and mule- kicked a third, collapsing his chest.
He grabbed another two by their throats, and snapped their necks cleanly.
The final man managed to get his sidearm out, but Hurricane backhanded him with enough strength to make the man’s head spin one hundred and eight degrees.
“…damn,” Hurricane’s knees felt as if they were made of rubber, and for a second he fought to keep from falling over, “thought red shirts were supposed to be easy kills.”
Hurricane swept his eyes over the men, and his heart pounded. He’d killed six men plus the two that had been here, but he counted only nine bodies total…
“Don’t move!”
Hurricane raised his hands and turned around slowly. He knew the drill, having been on both sides of it.
The man looked a little older than the bodies that were on the ground, which to Hurricane explained why the man was still breathing.
“Don’t supposed you’d care to set that weapon down, eh?”
“Now why would I do that?” said the man.
“Because of the armed man behind you.”
The Piranha paused for a moment, but he never pointed his gun away.
“How stupid…”
Hurricane turned his head aside as blood splashed across his face.
“Are we done here?” Mr. Raven said.
Hurricane slid his foot under a .45 magnum that had tumbled to the ground and kicked up straight up into the air. He snapped it up with one hand, and leveled it at Mr. Raven.
“Not yet,” Hurricane growled, “tell me how the hell you just strolled in here. Because when they were dividing us up, they said you were dead!”
“I’m Mr. Raven,” said the man, as if no other explanation was needed, “if you’re going to pull the trigger, I suggest you do it now. We’re still surrounded by criminals, all of whom will have to kill us if they want to keep their freedom.”
“You were the only one who could get in, is that it?” Hurricane said, never moving his weapon, “so you knew Trask would sell us out, and were cocky enough to think you could free us.”
“No, I was certain you would free yourselves, and I could only get in if they thought I was dead,” Mr. Raven said, “if you couldn’t, then you were of no use to me. Now are you coming?”
Hurricane gritted his teeth, and lowered his guns.
“Do I at least have enough time to get some pants on?”
oooOOoo
“No no no,” Dr. Void scrambled to his lab, and began scrambling through the drawers, looking for weapons.
He’d seen the Asgardian Goddess engaging the security teams just down the hall, throwing men and even body parts around as if it were confetti, and knew that she’d be here in seconds.
The only way he could think to save his life was to use Warcry as a hostage, a bargaining chip to get out of this ever widening disaster.
But for that, he needed a sharp blade, and the lab was amazingly understocked. Damn that Skarr!
“Hey.”
Dr. Void turned around, just in time for Warcry to stab him in the gut with three scalpels she had held between her fingers.
“My sonic powers…can destroy steel…,” Warcry hissed, “my teeth…? Can bite through it.”
Warcry held the blades in place, watching the life drain from Dr. Void, before her knees felt as if they were made of rubber, and she collapsed against the wall.
Each breath was a struggle, and with each passing second Warcry regretted using her sonic abilities to free herself. Blood began to trickle down her wounds, and Warcry realized that she couldn’t feel her legs any more.
“Ain’t you a sight…”
Warcry turned her head, and saw Scorpion standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
Warcry didn’t need the ability to read minds to know that Scorpion was recalling their recent battle against Dran’s enforcer, Mr. Grey, and how Warcry left Scorpion without support in the middle of a battle.
And she didn’t need to be a master tactician to know that Scorpion was seriously considering doing the same to her right now.
“If you want me to beg, you can keep on walking,” Warcry hissed despite herself. .
“I’d settle for an apology,” said Scorpion.
“Sorry I won’t die for you,” Warcry said, “good enough?”
“…you are so lucky that we need you alive.”
# # # # #
Shroud sat in his cell, his feet crossed lotus style. He controlled his breathing, as it begam shallower and shallower, while his heartbeat lessened with each pulse. It was an ancient meditative technique he had been struggling to master since before his vision was stolen, though Max had always found it good for clearing his mind.
But as luck would have it, he had a better grasp of the principles the greater the danger he was in. In less than two minutes, Max felt himself reaching a new height of focus, of enlightenment, of clarity…
“Get up, don’t move!”
The Shroud pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.
“You heard us, do it!”
Three Piranhas had burst into his cell, weapons drawn and their brow covered in sweat.
“Which one?” Shroud didn’t bother to look at the gun barrel pointed at his face.
“What?”
“You told me to get up, and not to move,” said Shroud, “so which order am I supposed to follow?”
“Just get up!” ordered the middle guard.
Shroud held his hands up in a peaceful gesture, and rose without uncrossing his legs.
“Something go wrong?”
“Shut up!” the guard on Shroud’s right pushed him backwards. Shroud took another step backwards.
The entire building shook, and Shroud didn’t bother to hide his smirk.
“Don’t look too happy, cape,” said one Piranha, “unless they surrender, we’re going to put a bullet in your smug face!”
“You should know three things before you consider using me as a hostage,” Shroud said, “first, my allies are mercenaries. They won’t surrender their lives for mine. Two…the amount of light that could get through my restraints.”
“Light that could get…?”
The Shroud held up his hands, and his restraints dropped off his wrists like tissue.
Without a word and a fluid grace, he drove his left elbow into the face of the man on his right, and when he swung it back he smashed the jaw of the man in the middle.
The final man had managed reach his pistol and squeeze off a shot, but the Shroud had already ducked underneath. He came up with an uppercut that instantly rendered the man unconscious.
“Lastly, I don’t need my powers to kick your asses.”
# # # # #
Hurricane turned a corner, and slammed into Hrist’s chest.
“Hurricane!” Hrist, covered in blood and soot, grabbed Hurricane into a bear-hug, “I am heartened you’ve managed to survive!”
“Me…too,” Hurricane grunted, before Hrist dropped him, “I’ve got Raven, where is everyone else?”
“I’m dragging Warcry’s sorry ass,” Scorpion said. She had one arm under Warcry’s arms, supporting her. The two women limped towards their compatriots, fresh blood falling from Warcry’s wounds.
“Now all we’re missing is Shroud and Flash Blade…,” Mr. Raven said.
“Not anymore.”
The Shroud stepped out a shadow in the corner, dragging the unconscious Flash Blade with him, the young mercenary’s face dragging on the floor.
Scorpion helped Warcry lean against a wall, and then rushed to Flash Blade’s side.
“What did they do to him?”
“Nothing,” Shroud said, “they drugged him, nothing more. Probably didn’t think they’d get any useful intelligence out of him.”
“They weren’t far wrong,” Hurricane said.
“All that leaves is that traitor Trask,” Warcry hissed.
Scorpion and Mr. Raven exchanged a glance.
“Already taken care of,” Mr. Raven said.
“Anyone got a plan?” Shroud said, “because we have no more than four minutes before the people outside start beating their way inside and overwhelms us.”
“We might as well just plan our funerals,” Hurricane said, “I feel like shit, Warcry’s barely alive…”
“…but still alive…,” Warcry hissed.
“…and only three of us still have our equipment,” Hurricane said, “we’re in no condition to fight, let alone win.”
“I have an idea there,” Mr. Raven reached into his pocket, and produced a blue orb. He tossed it underhanded to Hrist, who caught it in her left hand.
“My dear goddess, if you would?”
Hrist had a predator’s grin as she said, “Gladly.”
The fallen death goddess bit her right thumb, drawing blood. She smeared it across the orb in the form of an ancient rune, whispered a few words humanity hadn’t heard in three thousand years, and then flung it at the ground.
A blue mist exploded from the orb, followed by a light of a blue so searing that everyone was forced to look away.
The flash lasted only seconds, and when Hurricane began to blink the dots away in his vision, he immediately felt different. The aches and pain of the evening’s torture was gone, and he felt refreshed as if he’d just awoken from a nap.
He glanced down and could scarcely what he saw.
Warcry ran her fingers gingerly over where Weapon Chi had stabbed her, and found that the wounds weren’t healed so much as they felt as if they’d never been. More than that, Warcry realized that she was in her uniform, her blades pressing against her skin and her custom tonfas resting on a loop on her belt.
And a familiar itch on her shoulder.
“Ugh…,” Flash Blade stood up, rubbing his sore head. He held his right hand out, and his sword appeared in his hand as if it had always been there, “what happened?”
“You planned this,” Warcry said, “back on the plane. You weren’t careless with that teleportation orb of yours…”
“We had to play things close to the vest,” Mr. Raven said, “there was no other way to get this far inside.”
Hurricane examined his shotgun, still baffled how all the equipment he had thought had been destroyed and scattered, was now back in his hands. He wasn’t overly sentimental over his equipment, but it was odd for this soldier, to have back literally everything he’d written off before.
If only everything could be reversed so easily, Hurricane thought bitterly to himself.
“Okay, everyone’s at 100%,” Scorpion said, “any ideas?”
“Aye,” Hrist gripped her axes, “we gut anyone standing in our way.”
“Lets call that plan B,” said Scorpion, “Mr. Raven, tell me you have an idea in mind.”
“There’s a server on the other side of the building,” Mr. Raven said, “we need to hit that before we do anything else. Without that server, they won’t be able to track us on the internal cameras.”
“And after that?”
“After that,” Hurricane said, “we kill each and every one who stands between us and Dran.”
Flash Blade smiled.
“That’s a plan I can get behind.”
Next issue: Our mercs vs. everyone! They’re back to fighting form, deep behind enemy lines! And that’s the good news!
Jerome Banks looked down the sights of his berretta, smoking still wafting from the barrel.
The airfield was littered with a half dozen bodies, not that the man who would be Hurricane cared. Once he killed them, they were less than an afterthought, meat rotting on the ground.
The only one Jerome cared about now was laying on the ground, bleeding from wounds in her left shoulder, right knee and left foot.
“Please…,” the corporal begged, her hands covered in her own blood “you don’t have to do this!”
Jerome pulled back the hammer.
“I know….”
“…please!”
Jerome put a bullet through her hand, which sent bone and fingers flying.
“…I want to.”
“Please…wake up!”
Now
“Wake up!”
Hurricane felt as if his skull had exploded, and when his brain finally cleared, he saw a heavy set man standing, covered in scars, standing in from of him, with a smug grin on the man’s face.
The merc looked down at his wrists, and saw iron manacles running across the length of his wrists. He glanced down, and saw that he’d been stripped of everything save his underwear. The numbness of his ass told Hurricane that the chair he was in was crafted out of cement (not an experience Hurricane thought he’d ever repeat, but his life was anything but boring) running into the floor, and the room was utterly bare, except for three men.
The first two were Dran’s foot soldiers, known as Piranhas. Hurricane suspected that they were only present in case the main interrogator needed them to fetch some tools, or to keep him from going too far, too soon.
There was no easy end for him, Hurricane knew that instinctively.
But he knew he didn’t deserve anything else.
Hurricane looked at the interrogator, his upper chest laced with scars, and a sinister sneer on his face. He had a way about that that conveyed how practiced he was in inflicting pain and misery. As professional in his sadistic hobby, as Hurricane was in his.
And standing next to him, was Dran’s second in command, Andi Hunter.
Hurricane stared at her for a long second, despite every effort not to.
“What?” Hunter demanded, “care to make a threat? That’s what most people in your position do. First threats, then begging, then…well, just be glad that we wash the chair.”
“Where am I?” Hurricane said, hoping to center himself.
“In a hole so deep that you’ll never be able to dig yourself out of,” Hunter said, “did you really think you’d get away with this?”
Hurricane looked the woman in the eye, studying her face. He tried his best to casually shrug, to appear indifferent in the face of all this.
“Kinda hoped I would.”
Andi waved a hand in front of her face, “Hope is something only Dran provides here, merc. Shame your last meal will be chicken.”
“That won’t be his last meal,” said the interrogator, “his last meal will be his teeth, washed down by his blood.”
“I was a marine, special forces,” said Hurricane, “so all you’re really offering me is dessert.”
“Is that why you’re dressed like a soldier?” Hunter said, “your teammates…”
“Accomplices,” Hurricane said, “we’re work for hire, not a band.”
“Noted,” said Hunter, “as I was saying, your teammates are all about the spandex, but you? Kevlar armor, kabar knife…yet I don’t think you were honorably discharged.”
Hurricane hesitated before answering.
“No, no I wasn’t,” Hurricane said, his voice laced with regret.
But Hunter just glared with anger.
“No, you wouldn’t be here if you were,” Hunter said, “and then you wouldn’t be buried in our basement. Was coming here worth dying?”
“Yes,” Hurricane said, without hesitation, “yes it was.”
“Glad to hear it,” Hunter said, “I’ll be leaving you to your meal
“You asked earlier, where are you?” the man pulled back his fist, “you in hell now.”
Hurricane sighed, “Well then, at least I’m where I deserve to be.”
“Allow me to introduce myself proper then,” The first punch made Hurricane see stars, the second loosened teeth, and after the third Hurricane just let himself drift in an ocean of pain, “You may call me Skarr, in the short time you are still able to do anything other than scream.”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
The disgraced valkyrie known as Hrist, began chuckling almost as soon as she awoke.
She was stripped naked, her arms held above her in adamantium sleeves. The room was filled with a thick, black smog that was electric to the touch, and Hrist could sense at least five creatures as they channeled magic, suppressing her own.
The ground beneath her was consecrated with the blood and marrow of demons, amplifying the magic that choked her own like a vice.
Yet still she laughed.
“What is so amusing, fallen one?”
Hrist looked at the creature standing before her. She recognized him as a Dire Wraith, a fat and pudgy creature who came to earth decades ago to sow trouble.
“That you foul things did not kill me the moment thou were given me,” Hrist said, “I thought there were limits to mortal stupidity. I see now how that I was wrong.”
The Dire Wraith chuckled, “You stink of powerful magic…clumsy, poorly wielded, perhaps, but magic none the less.”
“As do thou. And of troll droppings. What of it?”
“So to kill a death goddess versed in magic?” the Dire Wraith sneered, “no doubt you’ve some enchantment designed to avenge you. For all you Norse Gods talk of glory, you love blood even more. Even a novice could smell the enchantment that rests in your flesh”
Hrist raised an eyebrow.
“You think me laced with a trap?” Hrist huffed, “do not blame me for thy cowardice!”
“So impatient for an immortal,” the Dire Wraith hissed, “but we can afford to dally. We cast your weapons into a distant realm, and the seal that surrounds you was painted with the ashy remains of a hundred vampires, and is powered by the beating heart of a dozen mindless ones, their powers channeled by my coven. Should that not be enough, the metal sleeve holding your arms is made of a metal not even Thor could dent with his hammer.”
“And despite all this, you fear me,” smiled Hrist, “at least you have some intelligence.”
“We are not fools, and you are diminished, Goddess, in our place of power” the Dire Wraith said, “enjoy these last few days. My coven will disable your spell, and Dran has given us free reign to do with you as we please, so long as you die painfully. We’re still debating what to do with you. Any suggestions?”
“Just that you start running now,” Hrist said, “and if you do, I may not kill you all.”
oooOOoo
Maximillian Quincy Coleridge, better known and feared as the Shroud, tugged at his restraints.
The cell was sixteen by sixteen feet, and every inch was covered in soft light lamps. It contained a bed, toilet and absolutely no other amenities. Though Shroud could feel his connection to his primary weapon, the dark-force, he could also feel how faint it was.
What had once been a firm muscle in the back of his mind now felt like a thin thread, a barely remembered friend, no doubt because if the room’s lighting.
The guards had slapped chains on his wrist, and left without a word. Shroud new a dozen ways to pick a lock, or improvise a pick, but the restraints didn’t have a lock. Rather, they used some glue that Shroud didn’t recognize to seal them closed and walked away.
Shroud, rather than waste time struggling with his restraints, sat down and meditated.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before the door opened again, and two guards stepped inside.
“Chow time,” one said.
Shroud readied himself for action, his muscles like a coiled spring, when the first guard set the tray on the ground, at least three feet from where the chains would allow him access. The second man had a stick, and picked the tray within Shroud’s reach.
“…thank you,” Shroud said curtly.
“No man, thank you,” said the guard.
“Excuse me?”
“Dran said the money that he gets from selling you is part of our Christmas bonus,” the man said, “I hear that the bidding’s already reached three million.”
“I almost feel flattered,” Shroud said, “don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who sold me out?”
“I don’t mind telling you, no.”
Shroud felt his blood boil with rage, and even though he was blind, he still saw nothing but red.
“Trask, you son of a bitch…!” Shroud growled. He lunged for Trask, but was stopped effortlessly by his restraints “I will crush your throat with my bare hands!”
Jim Trask simply rolled his eyes.
“You should blame your Mr. Raven,” Trask said, “but I should thank him. My position in Shield had become…questionable, what with so many mutant lovers left even after Forge left. They all looked at me as if I were the scorpion, and they the frog. They, Shield as they treated me as a threat in the making, made me the scorpion, damn mutie huggers.”
“So you sold out Shield because of hurt feelings?” Shroud snapped, “because someone gave you the stink eye? I never gave you much thought, but congratulations. You’re a rare kind of scum. Selling out your cause not because of money, but because of hurt feelings.”
“Oh, I’m getting money too,” Trask smirked, “I actually get half of your asking price. I’m confident with right investment, it’ll be enough to retire on.”
“So buck up. Your slow death will set me for life. But first…” Trask turned to the guard beside him, “could you tell me where the bathroom is?”
# # # # #
Elsewhere
Each breath was agony, and tasted of copper.
Warcry returned to consciousness slowly, each step more painful than the last.
The sonic merc was actually surprised to find that she was still alive. The last thing that she remembered was being stabbed through the chest by Weapon Chi, and then nothing but an incky blackness.
It took her nearly seven minutes to reach full consciousness, her head feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton and another three to realize her situation.
She was strapped down to a medical gurney, a ball gag wedged in her mouth. Warcry could feel an itch below her breasts, and realized that she had two valves in her lungs where Weapon Chi had stabbed her. She knew that without them, her lungs would have been flooeded with blood, and she’d already be dead.
“Awake?”
A man leaned over Warcry, wearing medical scrubs, a stethoscope resting over his shoulders. For the most part, he looked utterly forgettable. Like an extra in a million hospitals and medical dramas.
Except for the gaping holes where his eyes should be.
“My name is Dr. Void,” he said, with a smile that more resembled that of a shark than a human being, “and I’ll be your physician today.”
Warcry’s first instinct was to fight, but the smallest budge sent ripples of pain through her body.
“Don’t try to struggle, dear,” the Doctor removed a flash light from his breast pocket, and shined it in Warcry’s eyes, checking her pupils. The pain in her eyes paled compared to the pain in her chest “I’ve treated your lungs, but too much excitement and you could undo all my hard work.”
Warcry spat something amazingly offensive, but it was lost by the gag.
“Looks good enough,” the Doctor stepped back, “you awoke just in time, my dear. You have a guest.”
Guest? Warcry raised an eyebrow. Who in the hell would want to visit her…?
“Well well well, you look good enough to eat.”
The war criminal known to Shield, Interpol and dozens of other law enforcement agencies as General Tier stepped forward from the shadows, with a predator’s smile on his face.
Warcry tried to scream, to take the man’s head off with her sonic abilities, but even as she attempted to push past the pain, the ball-gag stopped the attempt with ease.
When that failed, Warcry bucked in her restraints. The agony was unlike anything she felt before, but she would be damned if she would lay helpless before her most hated enemy.
But barely a minute passed before her body forced her to do just that. She could barely get a breath, and the pain from her wounds only grew greater the more she moved.
“So defiant,” General Tier said. He casually traced a finger over Warcry’s leg, and she wanted to vomit, “your sister was much the same way. At first.”
Warcry forced herself to listen, knowing that every word he said might was information she had sought almost her entire life, but it was difficult to listen over her pounding heart.
“I never suspected that the sonic African mercenary I occasionally heard about was in fact you. But then, I thought I left you rotting in the ground,” General Tier clucked his tongue, “ah well. I look forward to catching up. You angered Dran a great deal, young lady. He gave you to me with oh so little prompting. To do with as I please.”
If looks could kill, General Tier would have died a thousand times by now.
He leaned over, his canines all but gleaming in the light and whispered in her ear, “I hope you taste like your sister did.”
oooOOoo
Elsewhere
It felt as if his stomach exploded when Skarr slammed his fist into it, but Hurricane didn’t have much time to feel the pain before a fist crashed into his jaw.
“Okay…okay!” Hurricane bent over, and coughed up blood. He spit to the side, “enough…please…”
Skarr cracked his knuckles, “Already? I haven’t even worked up a sweat.”
“I’ll go out with you…,” Hurricane said, “but…we go dutch, okay? I’m not sure how I feel about you. And I’m not into Mexican.”
Skarr snorted, and Hurricane knew he’d struck a nerve when the two men behind his torturer snorted with laughter.
For people like Skarr, the dumber the joke, the greater the defiance behind it. And as a result, the greater their failure.
Hurricane could see that he’s struck a nerve when he saw Skarr’s careful, controlled smile. He wasn’t about to celebrate just yet, as a pissed off Skarr simply meant that he was about to take things to the next level.
“Funny man. You take beating surprisingly well,” Skarr said, “but tell me, do you know why I start with fists and not knife?”
“You wanted to feel me up first?” Hurricane said.
“Because cutting into bruised flesh hurts more,” Skarr said, “sit tight, I show you.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, man,” Victor Pratt, one of the two guards, said after Skarr left the room, “I’ve watched this guy work, you coulda had fists for another hour. You really stepped in it.”
“Story of my life,” Hurricane said, blood dripping from his mouth. He spit out a mouthful of blood, all over his right hand.
“Vic, just shut up,” said Robert Green, the second man, “bad enough we have to watch what comes next, but last thing I want is to feel sorry for the guy too.”
“Don’t blame him,” Hurricane said, “guard duty’s boring. We’ve all been there.”
“When did a big shot like you ever get grunt work?” Robert said, despite his better judgment.
“When I was a grunt, actually,” replied Hurricane, “didn’t last long. Lets just say that I have a gift when it comes to a gun and combat.”
“Soldier, eh?” Vic said, “should have known, the way you were dressed. No spandex, that K-bar knife…”
“Want to know why I call myself Hurricane?” said the Merc.
“I won’t stop ya,” Vic shrugged.
“See, I read this article a long time back, about how this home owner found a straw embedded in a tree on her property. Small, plastic straw, nothing special,” Hurricane said, “guess what had hit her home only a few days before?”
“A hurricane?” Vic deadpanned.
“Got it in one,” Hurricane said, “see, a hurricane can throw anything with enough force and make it deadly. And that’s me.”
“And Bullseye.”
Hurricane shrugged, “And him. I don’t know how the white boy does it, but me? I have super strength. In my hands, anything is a bullet. Anything.”
“We know all that,” Robert said, “that’s why we were told to keep your distance, and this room is completely bare. You’re not going to trick us into letting you free.”
“I already did.”
Hurricane flashed a smile…that was missing three teeth.
“Oh shi…”
-thwik!-
Robert’s head snapped to the side just in time to see his partner slump to the ground, with a small spot of blood resting on the wall just behind where Vic’s head had been only moments ago.
Robert’s heart was pounding like a drum, as he slowly brought his attention towards Hurricane.
“Sorry about your friend,” Hurricane said, “but I had to demonstrate I was serious.”
“Please…don’t kill me!”
“I don’t want to,” Hurricane said, “but I will if I have to. You release me, and I give you my word, I won’t kill you.”
“…how do I know you’re not just saying that?”
“Look at it this way,” Hurricane said, “don’t release me, and it’s certain I will kill you. Let me go, and I may spare you. Not the odds you want to play in Vegas I know, but it’s better than nothing.”
“Oh God…”
“Look, I’m not a wack-job like Sabretooth or Bullseye,” Hurricane said, “I have a code, the three Cs. No collateral, no cruelty and no civilians. And when I give my word, I mean it.”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Robert repeated almost mindlessly as he approached Hurricane. He unlocked the restraints, and stood back, trembling
“Try to relax,” Hurricane rubbed his sore wrists, “not gonna kill you, promise.”
Hurricane’s hand whipped out, grabbing Robert by the throat.
“But I didn’t say I’d leave you conscious,” said Hurricane, “when you come to, I’d suggest you blame your partner for me getting loose.”
Robert clutched and clawed at Hurricane’s wrist, but he didn’t last long. The merc dropped the man to the floor, and then went to Vic’s corpse.
“Robbing a dead body for weapons,” Hurricane muttered, “the glamorous life of a super powered mercenary.”
“Don’t worry, it won’t be for long.”
Hurricane turned around, and barely ducked a punch that would have taken his head off.
“Sorry Skarr,” Hurricane danced backwards, fists raised, “we’ll have to reschedule. Is never good for you?”
“Dran was very insistent that you not escape,” Skarr spat, “accept your death now. Any attempt to resist will only make me stronger. Pain is my ecstasy, and my strength.”
“And your mouth is your weakness,” said Hurricane.
He chopped Skarr’s throat, and the torturer stumbled backwards. Before he could recover, Hurricane ducked behind the man and grabbed him in a headlock.
“Suffocation is a fairly painless death,” Hurricane observed.
Skarr swing his left elbow back three times, catching Hurricane in the side.
“For most people,” Hurricane grunted.
Skarr’s struggles grew weaker and weaker, and within a minute, his body was limp.
Hurricane took no chances. He snapped the man’s neck before he released his choke hold, and dropped the corpse aside.
“Okay, hard part’s done,” Hurricane heard a stomp of boots, and looked down the hall.
Seven heavily piranhas were just down the hall, and had begun leveling their weapons at him.
“Shit!”
Hurricane threw himself to one side before automatic gunfire would have torn him apart. And only after he was safe (for the time being), did he realize that he was separated from the only weapons in the room by a wall of bullets.
“This day just gets better and better.”
oooOOoo
In general, Eric Carr didn’t hate his job as much as he thought he would.
He’d worked for AIM and Hydra both, and left the organizations after losing colleagues to superiors who decided that nothing they did could hide their mistakes if they killed enough peons.
Working for Dran was considerably different. It was dangerous, but he never lied about that, hadn’t executed anyone for minor offenses (major offenses was another story), and the pay was great.
But there were times when he felt like a glorified hall monitor. Jim Trask had asked to use the bathroom, and regulations mandated that someone keep an eye on.
Luckily, that didn’t mean going into the bathroom with their guest, but instead watching him on a monitor that made Trask a red blob on a monitor. The man had already been searched for weapons, but that Eric had to watch this man pee still made him feel like a hall monitor.
Eric didn’t bother wasting time watching the monitor. He simply leaned against the wall, and tapped his foot.
He didn’t pay any attention to the time, until his patience had run out.
“You about fine in there?” Eric tapped on the door.
“Not anymore.”
A gauntleted fist smashed through the wooden door, and grabbed Eric by the throat.
“You all forgot who the real Scorpion is.”
oooOOoo
Hrist crooked her head to the side, listening.
She then smiled.
“My dear so called Dire Wraith, I believe it is time to leave,” said Hrist, “release me, and I may only beat you half to death.”
The Coven head, Cold Raven, hissed at Hrist, her pointed tongue snapping back and forth like a snake.
“You will never leave her under your own power,” she hissed, “your metal restraints alone…
“Are indestructible, yes,” Hrist grunted. She set her feet, shifted her weight and began pulling.
A loud tearing sound, like countless pages of paper tearing, filled the air, and Hrist’s arm, slid free of the restraints.
The arm was covered in blood and torn flesh, muscle and sinew exposed to the entire world.
“But as it so happens, the flesh of my arm is not.”
The Fallen Goddess pulled her other arm free, as the Coven stared at her, paralyzed by fear and awe.
Hrist stood before the mystic masters of Dark Magic, naked as the day she was born, and her arms drenched in dripping blood and torn flesh.
“Well” Hrist said, “I stand here in the center of thy power, unarmed and wounded.”
Hrist spat on the ground.
“Come at me, sisters. Yours odds will never be better.”
“Kill her!” screamed the Coven head.
Six of the Coven sisters shifted into wolf like creatures, but before they could even growl, Hrist was upon them with a berserker rage.
Cold Raven watched, frozen by horror, as her sisters were savaged by the goddess. Hrist tore the throat of the second wolf apart with her bare teeth. The goddess grabbed another sister, and tore her magically enhanced form apart as if it were paper.
Two of Cold Raven’s Coven were cunning enough to come at her from behind. One sank her teeth into Hrist’s shoulder, and the other grabbed her right ankle in its mouth.
Though they looked as wolves, her Coven had long since perfected enhancing their natural shapeshifting with magic. Their claws could shred steel, and the pounds per square inch of their jaws could dent tanks.
But they barely drew blood from Hrist before she grabbed them by the neck, and used them as improvised flails against their kin.
Hrist screamed in some ancient, hate-filled tongue, and when she was done, the Dire Wraiths in her hands were no longer people, but bags of flesh and bone.
“…I don’t like wolves,” Hrist dropped her weapons, “hast thou had enough? Would thou like to step aside?”
“You…killed…my sisters!”
Cold Raven called upon the souls of her sisters and all her magic, and began to transform.
Hrist watched as Cold Raven transformed into a creature that vaguely looked like a bear, but with three rows of eyes, four arms and claws made of steel
“That a nay?”
Cold Raven went for Hrist, intent on tearing the Goddess apart and swallowing her flesh to avenge her fallen sisters.
But Hrist met her lunge with one hand, and stopped the alien without so much as looking at her.
“You were right, your magics did diminish me,” said Hrist, as Cold Raven uselessly raked her claws over the death goddess. Hrist gave, what was to her, a good shove, and Cold Raven was pitched backwards with such strength that when she struck the steel reinforced concrete, she didn’t live long enough to feel her body hit the floor.
“But even diminished, I am still greater than thee.”
# # # # #
Earlier
Peter Holden looked at his screens, as the situation went from bad to worse.
He had been tasked with overseeing all the prisoners. It was little more than glorified monitor duty, but then Dran liked redundancy in his planning, and it was easy work. The theory was that even if one prisoner broke free, and managed to overpower the guards without raising the alarm, they’d be helpless to stop a guard from doing the same, who wasn’t even in the same room.
Peter was about to prove the wisdom of the redundancy, when he felt something pressed against the back of his head.
“No, not yet,” Mr. Raven said. He pulled the trigger, and blood splattered against his goggles, “we need to keep this party private just a little while longer.”
# # # # #
Hurricane heard the gun fire taper off for a half second before it started up again, which informed him that the men he was facing were professionals.
Two men would lay down cover fire, while the others would inched forward, and open fire when the first two stopped.
Hurricane remained calm, detached. If these men were really professionals, he knew what their next step would be, and if he was right, frayed nerves would be the death of him as surely as the bullets.
The gunfire stopped for a split second too long, and Hurricane readied himself for what was to happen next.
A grenade came flying through the doorway. But before Hurricane could leap to intercept, it was followed by another, and another. Far too many to return before one exploded
Acting on instinct, Hurricane dove for Skarr’s body, and pulled the man over him as cover just as the three grenades exploded as one, filling the room with fire as it shook as if caught in an earthquake.
The dust hadn’t even settled before six men poured in, guns on their shoulders. Hurricane, his ears ringing, and his lungs burning, watched as men barely six feet away struggled to find and end him.
“Anyone have contact?”
“Like pea soup in here!”
There was discipline, and then there discipline, Hurricane reflected. The men were good yes, but not that good. Their nerves were on edge, and they sought to end the engagement quick and messy rather than slow and methodical. They rushed in, when they could have waited the few seconds it would have taken the smoke to clear and killed him from the doorway.
It wasn’t much of an edge, Hurricane knew, but it was still something.
He tossed a small piece of debris to his left, and the men all turned as one, instinctively huddling closer for strength, confidence.
Which made them all an easy target for when Hurricane threw Skarr’s mangled husk at them as if it were a log.
All six men went down, just as Hurricane leapt to his feet, and closed the distance with two strides.
He moved quickly and ruthlessly. He killed two Piranhas with one right cross, and mule- kicked a third, collapsing his chest.
He grabbed another two by their throats, and snapped their necks cleanly.
The final man managed to get his sidearm out, but Hurricane backhanded him with enough strength to make the man’s head spin one hundred and eight degrees.
“…damn,” Hurricane’s knees felt as if they were made of rubber, and for a second he fought to keep from falling over, “thought red shirts were supposed to be easy kills.”
Hurricane swept his eyes over the men, and his heart pounded. He’d killed six men plus the two that had been here, but he counted only nine bodies total…
“Don’t move!”
Hurricane raised his hands and turned around slowly. He knew the drill, having been on both sides of it.
The man looked a little older than the bodies that were on the ground, which to Hurricane explained why the man was still breathing.
“Don’t supposed you’d care to set that weapon down, eh?”
“Now why would I do that?” said the man.
“Because of the armed man behind you.”
The Piranha paused for a moment, but he never pointed his gun away.
“How stupid…”
Hurricane turned his head aside as blood splashed across his face.
“Are we done here?” Mr. Raven said.
Hurricane slid his foot under a .45 magnum that had tumbled to the ground and kicked up straight up into the air. He snapped it up with one hand, and leveled it at Mr. Raven.
“Not yet,” Hurricane growled, “tell me how the hell you just strolled in here. Because when they were dividing us up, they said you were dead!”
“I’m Mr. Raven,” said the man, as if no other explanation was needed, “if you’re going to pull the trigger, I suggest you do it now. We’re still surrounded by criminals, all of whom will have to kill us if they want to keep their freedom.”
“You were the only one who could get in, is that it?” Hurricane said, never moving his weapon, “so you knew Trask would sell us out, and were cocky enough to think you could free us.”
“No, I was certain you would free yourselves, and I could only get in if they thought I was dead,” Mr. Raven said, “if you couldn’t, then you were of no use to me. Now are you coming?”
Hurricane gritted his teeth, and lowered his guns.
“Do I at least have enough time to get some pants on?”
oooOOoo
“No no no,” Dr. Void scrambled to his lab, and began scrambling through the drawers, looking for weapons.
He’d seen the Asgardian Goddess engaging the security teams just down the hall, throwing men and even body parts around as if it were confetti, and knew that she’d be here in seconds.
The only way he could think to save his life was to use Warcry as a hostage, a bargaining chip to get out of this ever widening disaster.
But for that, he needed a sharp blade, and the lab was amazingly understocked. Damn that Skarr!
“Hey.”
Dr. Void turned around, just in time for Warcry to stab him in the gut with three scalpels she had held between her fingers.
“My sonic powers…can destroy steel…,” Warcry hissed, “my teeth…? Can bite through it.”
Warcry held the blades in place, watching the life drain from Dr. Void, before her knees felt as if they were made of rubber, and she collapsed against the wall.
Each breath was a struggle, and with each passing second Warcry regretted using her sonic abilities to free herself. Blood began to trickle down her wounds, and Warcry realized that she couldn’t feel her legs any more.
“Ain’t you a sight…”
Warcry turned her head, and saw Scorpion standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.
Warcry didn’t need the ability to read minds to know that Scorpion was recalling their recent battle against Dran’s enforcer, Mr. Grey, and how Warcry left Scorpion without support in the middle of a battle.
And she didn’t need to be a master tactician to know that Scorpion was seriously considering doing the same to her right now.
“If you want me to beg, you can keep on walking,” Warcry hissed despite herself. .
“I’d settle for an apology,” said Scorpion.
“Sorry I won’t die for you,” Warcry said, “good enough?”
“…you are so lucky that we need you alive.”
# # # # #
Shroud sat in his cell, his feet crossed lotus style. He controlled his breathing, as it begam shallower and shallower, while his heartbeat lessened with each pulse. It was an ancient meditative technique he had been struggling to master since before his vision was stolen, though Max had always found it good for clearing his mind.
But as luck would have it, he had a better grasp of the principles the greater the danger he was in. In less than two minutes, Max felt himself reaching a new height of focus, of enlightenment, of clarity…
“Get up, don’t move!”
The Shroud pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed.
“You heard us, do it!”
Three Piranhas had burst into his cell, weapons drawn and their brow covered in sweat.
“Which one?” Shroud didn’t bother to look at the gun barrel pointed at his face.
“What?”
“You told me to get up, and not to move,” said Shroud, “so which order am I supposed to follow?”
“Just get up!” ordered the middle guard.
Shroud held his hands up in a peaceful gesture, and rose without uncrossing his legs.
“Something go wrong?”
“Shut up!” the guard on Shroud’s right pushed him backwards. Shroud took another step backwards.
The entire building shook, and Shroud didn’t bother to hide his smirk.
“Don’t look too happy, cape,” said one Piranha, “unless they surrender, we’re going to put a bullet in your smug face!”
“You should know three things before you consider using me as a hostage,” Shroud said, “first, my allies are mercenaries. They won’t surrender their lives for mine. Two…the amount of light that could get through my restraints.”
“Light that could get…?”
The Shroud held up his hands, and his restraints dropped off his wrists like tissue.
Without a word and a fluid grace, he drove his left elbow into the face of the man on his right, and when he swung it back he smashed the jaw of the man in the middle.
The final man had managed reach his pistol and squeeze off a shot, but the Shroud had already ducked underneath. He came up with an uppercut that instantly rendered the man unconscious.
“Lastly, I don’t need my powers to kick your asses.”
# # # # #
Hurricane turned a corner, and slammed into Hrist’s chest.
“Hurricane!” Hrist, covered in blood and soot, grabbed Hurricane into a bear-hug, “I am heartened you’ve managed to survive!”
“Me…too,” Hurricane grunted, before Hrist dropped him, “I’ve got Raven, where is everyone else?”
“I’m dragging Warcry’s sorry ass,” Scorpion said. She had one arm under Warcry’s arms, supporting her. The two women limped towards their compatriots, fresh blood falling from Warcry’s wounds.
“Now all we’re missing is Shroud and Flash Blade…,” Mr. Raven said.
“Not anymore.”
The Shroud stepped out a shadow in the corner, dragging the unconscious Flash Blade with him, the young mercenary’s face dragging on the floor.
Scorpion helped Warcry lean against a wall, and then rushed to Flash Blade’s side.
“What did they do to him?”
“Nothing,” Shroud said, “they drugged him, nothing more. Probably didn’t think they’d get any useful intelligence out of him.”
“They weren’t far wrong,” Hurricane said.
“All that leaves is that traitor Trask,” Warcry hissed.
Scorpion and Mr. Raven exchanged a glance.
“Already taken care of,” Mr. Raven said.
“Anyone got a plan?” Shroud said, “because we have no more than four minutes before the people outside start beating their way inside and overwhelms us.”
“We might as well just plan our funerals,” Hurricane said, “I feel like shit, Warcry’s barely alive…”
“…but still alive…,” Warcry hissed.
“…and only three of us still have our equipment,” Hurricane said, “we’re in no condition to fight, let alone win.”
“I have an idea there,” Mr. Raven reached into his pocket, and produced a blue orb. He tossed it underhanded to Hrist, who caught it in her left hand.
“My dear goddess, if you would?”
Hrist had a predator’s grin as she said, “Gladly.”
The fallen death goddess bit her right thumb, drawing blood. She smeared it across the orb in the form of an ancient rune, whispered a few words humanity hadn’t heard in three thousand years, and then flung it at the ground.
A blue mist exploded from the orb, followed by a light of a blue so searing that everyone was forced to look away.
The flash lasted only seconds, and when Hurricane began to blink the dots away in his vision, he immediately felt different. The aches and pain of the evening’s torture was gone, and he felt refreshed as if he’d just awoken from a nap.
He glanced down and could scarcely what he saw.
Warcry ran her fingers gingerly over where Weapon Chi had stabbed her, and found that the wounds weren’t healed so much as they felt as if they’d never been. More than that, Warcry realized that she was in her uniform, her blades pressing against her skin and her custom tonfas resting on a loop on her belt.
And a familiar itch on her shoulder.
“Ugh…,” Flash Blade stood up, rubbing his sore head. He held his right hand out, and his sword appeared in his hand as if it had always been there, “what happened?”
“You planned this,” Warcry said, “back on the plane. You weren’t careless with that teleportation orb of yours…”
“We had to play things close to the vest,” Mr. Raven said, “there was no other way to get this far inside.”
Hurricane examined his shotgun, still baffled how all the equipment he had thought had been destroyed and scattered, was now back in his hands. He wasn’t overly sentimental over his equipment, but it was odd for this soldier, to have back literally everything he’d written off before.
If only everything could be reversed so easily, Hurricane thought bitterly to himself.
“Okay, everyone’s at 100%,” Scorpion said, “any ideas?”
“Aye,” Hrist gripped her axes, “we gut anyone standing in our way.”
“Lets call that plan B,” said Scorpion, “Mr. Raven, tell me you have an idea in mind.”
“There’s a server on the other side of the building,” Mr. Raven said, “we need to hit that before we do anything else. Without that server, they won’t be able to track us on the internal cameras.”
“And after that?”
“After that,” Hurricane said, “we kill each and every one who stands between us and Dran.”
Flash Blade smiled.
“That’s a plan I can get behind.”
Next issue: Our mercs vs. everyone! They’re back to fighting form, deep behind enemy lines! And that’s the good news!