Back to GatefoldIssue #8 by Daniel Ingram
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"The Hunted"
Hell’s Peak
The Adaptoid known to his friends and co-workers as ‘The Solution’ looked over the dead and broken bodies of his fellow androids, known as the Mimic 5.
They had all escaped together from a AIM facility that had been dedicated to recreating the original Super Adaptoid, an android powerful enough to fight the Avengers single handed.
But escaping wasn’t enough. For all their power, they were still inferior copies and wanted by the Scientist Supreme.
So they had come to Hell’s Peak, and Solution had volunteered. For the safety of his family.
That same family that was now literally pieces on the floor. Even if he could somehow force Tony Stark or Reed Richards to reassemble them, the people that they were, were gone forever.
“They die,” Solution clenched his fists, “after I beat them to death with my bare hands, they die.”
# # # # #
Before, Afganistan
“Everybody get down!” Banks shouted to his men. He’d just thrown himself to the ground second before a blast of gamma radiation sliced over his head.
Jerome Banks could scarcely believe it. This was supposed to be a routine mission, five miles from base, escorting a geologist to survey some dirt that someone, somewhere, decided was important. The route was somewhat exposed, but given the proximity to base, and the fact that his men were Special Forces, Jerome thought his team would be fine.
And he was wrong, because someone had apparently brought a laser cannon to a gun fight.
A blast of what Banks would later learn was gamma energy knocked the lead vehicle of his convoy clear off the road. His men had scrambled to get to cover, and to get over the shock of the fact that the damn Taliban were using advanced weaponry.
It was an unspoken rule of war. Any weapon that didn’t shoot bullets or relied on gunpowder brought an immediate and heavy handed response from the powers that be. Using them meant winning a battle, and getting crushed in the war.
Escalation and destruction would follow as naturally as night followed day, and whether it came in the form of Shield, a platoon of Guardsmen or the Avengers, it would come. And for that reason, most extremists preferred to stick to regular gunpowder and IEDs, feeling that a quick victory now wasn’t worth the crushing defeat that was sure to come later.
But Jerome wasn’t interested in his team being avenged after the fact. He wanted, needed his men to survive now, not be avenged and memorialized by some armchair General.
“Ross!” Jerome forced himself forward to the hum-vee that carried Specialist Ross and the Geologist. The blond, chiseled soldier’s head was laying against the door. The side of his head was caked in blood, and he didn’t seem responsive.
Jerome yanked the handle and swung the door open. Doing his best to ignore the bursts of energy that were flying everywhere, he grabbed Ross by the shoulder, and pulled him free.
“Karen,” Ross muttered, “what about Karen?”
“Karen?” Jerome said, “who the hell is that?”
“The Geologist chick,” Ross said, his voice unsteady, “right next to me. She make it?”
“She’s not our problem right now,” said Jerome.
“Civilian,” Ross said by way of explanation.
“Warzone,” Jerome replied, “we survive, she survives. Get it together, soldier!”
# # # # #
Hell’s Peake, North Corridor, Now
Kyle Weaver, one time merc and current leader of a squad of Piranhas, looked over his team. Eight enhanced men that Weaver had personally trained into one of the most effective units here in Hell’s Peak. Three times now they’d dealt with unruly tenants without causalities. Armed with vibranium bullets, and superstrength via cybernetics, they were a forced to be reckoned with.
That was why Dran had sent them in to either confirm or cause the deaths of the intruders who’d just destroyed the building’s main server. The explosion had shaken the entire building, with the mercs near ground zero, so chance were they were so much ash.
But Weaver knew his boss was in a foul mood, and unless you confirmed a kill with your own two eyes, you were asking for trouble.
“Alright gents, this is where we earn our paycheck,” Weaver said, “Dran wants confirmation, to know where to send his big guns, nothing else. So we move in slowly, eyes open and engage at will.”
Kyle held his gun close as he and his men stepped into the ebony smoke. They moved slowly, inching forward, examining the rubble and never moving too quickly.
But in their heightened, alert state, none of them noticed how the smoke from the flames didn’t really waft through the air or even smell of smoke.
“Jake, anything?” Kyle checked their six, out of habit.
But when he turned to face his front, The Shroud stood before him, and his squadmates were gone.
“Something,” Shroud said.
Jake leveled his weapon, but Shroud swatted it aside effortlessly.
“For what it’s worth,” Shroud formed a dagger of darkforce, and pulled his hand back, “this isn’t personal.”
“This is.”
Jake never saw who or what slammed into the Shroud, just a blur. When he opened his eyes again, he saw The Solution standing over Shroud, the hero unconscious beneath his feet.
“Get medical here,” Solution said, “your friends might survive. I’ll deal with Shroud.”
“Deal with?” Jake said, “he isn’t dead?”
Solution gave Jake a hard stare.
“This man killed my friends.”
Solution picked Shroud up by the neck as he walked away.
“Dying for him won’t be easy.”
# # # # #
Hurricane blinked his eyes, and found only darkness.
Given what had happened only minutes ago (hours? Days? Hurricane quickly realized he had no idea how long he might have been unconscious), he was actually someone relieved. He expected to be dead, or in hell.
But instead, he felt a weight above him, all around him in fact, with his hand still gripping his machete, and his arms and legs itching furiously.
Hurricane took a moment to brace himself against what he assumed was the floor, released his grip on his machete, and using both hands and calling on every ounce of his superstrength, pushed aside a slab of concrete the size of a small car.
“Never thought I’d miss the sand box,” muttered Hurricane, as he dusted himself off.
He took a moment, trying to gather his wits. The explosion had destroyed the floor beneath his feet, while the force of the explosion had propelled him through the air like a wet bar of soap.
It was a small stroke of luck, Hurricane reflected, on a mission that seemed to be only a heartbeat away from complete disaster already. And when he bent over to pick up his machete, Hurricane realized how lucky he had been, even now.
Apex, the Kree hunter/soldier, was still impaled on the blade, his skin burned black and his arms and legs burned down to nubs. Hurricane couldn’t tell if the man was still alive, but he hoped, for the Kree’s sake, that he wasn’t.
Hurricane brushed the dust from his shoulder, and as he did so, observed a camera in the far corner.
“Well, there’s one stroke of luck,” Hurricane muttered to himself. With the main CPU down, the camera was likely deactivated, and even if it wasn’t, it was unlikely that whoever was monitoring knew this corridor.
Hurricane forced himself to get moving. The magic that Hrist had imbued them with was faint, but it was enough to give him a general direction of where his teammates might be. All he had to do now was get through a hot zone unlike any other in the history of combat.
# # # # #
“Sir, we’ve found one. Looks like he one called Hurricane, in corridor 8, on level 20.”
Andi Hunter, Damien Dran’s second, felt a surge of conflicting emotions when she heard the report.
Long ago, Dran had turned over control of the thousands of cameras in his facility to automatic, specially designed computers. Dran had learned early on that paying men to watch cameras was simply a waste of money. There was too much to watch, and when they did see something, often had trouble identifying where it was happening.
But Dran had kept the old guard station all the same, and it had just proven its worth.
Andi Hunter was at the guard’s side in an instant.
“You sure about the location?” Andi said.
“Oh yeah,” replied the Guard, “I was part of the detail that helped move our Red white and blue tenants. Once I saw who was in that tube, I made it a point to have an escape plan ready.”
“That’s where we put him?”
Andi Hunter barely suppressed her surprise as her boss, Damien Dran, seemed to appear over her shoulder
“Yes, sir,” replied the guard, “saw that crazy bastard in action, once. That was enough for me.”
“All tenants are expected to assist in a crisis,” Dran said, “an enemy of one is an enemy of all, that’s in our rental agreement. Tell the man’s handlers to activate him and point him at Hurricane.”
“Yes, sir,” Andi snapped.
“And then find Solution, and see what the hell that bastard robot is doing!”
# # # # #
Years of intense training had taught The Shroud how to wake with urgency. The second consciousness flooded his mind again, he reached out to the darkforce, to his powers, trying to draw the ebony substance to him.
But where he once felt a firm connection, he only felt a sliver of what had once been.
“Don’t bother,” said Solution, “this room is dimensionally locked. Your powers are functionally useless here.”
Shroud climbed to his feet slowly. His body still ached, and he was in no hurry to test it’s limits.
“Why am I still alive?”
“Because you killed my friends, my family,” Solution replied, “so you don’t get off easy.”
“The Mimic 5, right?” Shroud surveyed the room. Though he lacked vision in the traditional sense, what he could sense around him more than compensated for it. The room wasn’t big by any measure, no larger than a studio apartment, and there was a hum that made Shroud’s teeth ache.
But beyond that, there was nothing. Just him, the Android and four walls.
“That’s right.”
Shroud rolled his neck.
“We gave them the option to leave. They didn’t. Happens, in this business.”
“We escaped an AIM lab together,” Solution said, as if Shroud hadn’t said a word, “we were all part of the same project, trying to recreate the Super Adaptoid. AIM thought that gave them to right to torture us, to make us slaves.”
Shroud said nothing.
“Dran found us shortly thereafter. Said he needed some enforcers. But they weren’t wired like that, no matter what AIM wanted.”
“No,” Shroud said softly, “they weren’t.”
Solution clenched his fists.
“But that’s what happens in this game,” said Shroud, “if we let them stop us, we were as good as dead. They knew that, and still stood in our way.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Solution, “that’s the game. You’re just the first, the most powerful of all the mercs running around here. I’d even bet you were their exit strategy. But inside here? You can barely cast a shadow. There’s no escaping that way.”
“Maybe not,” said Shroud. He snaked his right hand into his cape, “but good thing there are some natural shadows, huh?”
Solution did a double take as Shroud removed a meteor hammer from inside the folds of his cape. He allowed the round weight to drop to the ground with a –thunk!-, as he looped the chain around his left wrist.
“Planning to go Kill Bill on me?” said Solution. He licked his lips, “might actually make this fun.”
“Well, I sure as hell won’t make this easy.”
Shroud sprang into action, whipping the meteor hammer at Solution’s head. The Android turned to the side, the metal sphere brushing past his face.
“We’ll see,” Solution smirked.
The Android rushed Shroud, and slammed his left elbow into the man’s ribs.
Shroud gritted his teeth, and retaliated instantly, yanking the meteor hammer back like a yo-yo, where it slammed into the back, and before Solution could recover, decked him with a left hook and then a snap kick that sent the Android stumbling backwards.
“Told you so,” Shroud said.
“Yes, you did,” Solution rubbed his chin for a moment, “still, how did it feel? I’m just sculpted in human shape, made to look like flesh and blood. But my bits are metal and plastic, not as easily broken as your bones. Tell me, how does your hand feel?”
Shroud clenched his fists, but said nothing.
“I’d say that it’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Solution stood up, “but it’s never going to get better.”
Solution lunged towards Shroud, lashing out with his foot to kick the man’s head off. Shroud saw it coming, and pulled the chain of the meteor hammer tight in front of the blow, but Solution’s fist barely registered it, snapping the chain-links like paper before slamming into Shroud’s jaw.
“Pathetic,” Solution bounded a few steps, allowing Shroud to recover, “I want a real fight, you bastard, come on!”
Shroud wiped the blood from his mouth, and tossed his weapon aside.
“Just shut up and bring it,” Shroud hissed.
“Eager to die?” said Solution, “good, I’m eager to kill.”
The two stalked towards one another, neither wanting to allow the other the initiative.
Solution attacked first with a right hook. Shroud turned sideways and grabbed Solution’s wrist in his right hand, while his left hammered Solution’s side with three rapid blows.
Solution flattened his hand and swept his arm outward, intending to decapitate the blind hero, and missing only by inches. The Android spun on his heel, and brought his left knee slamming into Shroud’s chest.
The Shroud focused past the pain, and crossed his wrists over his head as Solution brought his fist hammering down to crush his skull. It was just barely enough to save his life, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid a kick to the stomach.
Shroud flew backwards, and when he landed he swung himself to the side, seconds before The Solution’s feet landed where his head had been. He quickly rolled back, slamming his elbow into the side of Solution’s knee.
“Argh!” Solution cried out. An electric simulation of pain shot through his body, and though he recovered only a second later, Shroud was already on his feet.
“Sculpted like human,” said Shroud, “built like one, too, I bet.”
Solution sneered, but said nothing.
And to Shroud, that said everything.
Shroud moved towards Solution slowly. He knew he had greater experience in combat than Solution, but that might not be enough in a situation like this.
Solution attacked first, with a right hook that could have decapitated a man, but Shroud sidestepped around the attack and slid behind Solution like a snake.
Shroud unleashed two quick snap-kicks to the back of Solution’s ankles, driving him to his knees. And when Solution fell, Shroud grabbed the sides of the Android’s head, and pulled him backwards, smashing the back of his artificial skull into his knee.
Solution tried to pull away, but Shroud expected that, leaping forward as Solution pulled away, flipping handily over the Android, and as he came down, Shroud swung his arms down, smashing Solution’s face into the pavement.
The second Shroud’s feet touched the ground, he lunged for Solution, who was already climbing to his feet. He grabbed Solution’s head again, intending to bring it to another meeting with his knee, bit Solution was faster, blocking the attack with his left wrist, while swinging his right fist into Shroud’s stomach.
“Your moves aren’t bad,” said Solution, “but I’ve got programming, powers and strength. You can barely cast a shadow in here. There’s only one way this can end.”
Shroud felt a calm overtake him at those words.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Shroud said, “but talking won’t get us there, will it?”
“No, but it does make this sweeter,” Solution was a blur of motion as he leapt towards Shroud, one knee extended.
The attack was too fast to dodge, so Shroud raised his wrists and braced himself. He expected the blow to be strong, but the power of it lifted Shroud from his feet and flung him across the room, his back slamming into the wall.
Pain spread across his body like a swarm of ants, but the monks that had trained Shroud to set the pain aside.
But like a great many things, that was easier said than done. Solution barreled towards Shroud, easily ducking underneath Shroud’s punch.
But instead of immediately attacking, Solution pressed his feet against the wall and bounded into the air, twisting as he went. His left hand swung out and grabbed Shroud under the chin and pulled him back while he swung his knee forward.
Shroud swore he could feel his brain bouncing inside his skull. His training could only do so much for the pain, so much for the limits of his body.
Shroud fell like a puppet with its strings cut, flopping bonelessly to the ground. But despite the pain, the agony, Shroud wasn’t willing to surrender, that simply wasn’t his nature. He focused on his abilities, on his darkness, as he crawled away, trying to think of a plan.
Solution smiled, as he watched Shroud struggling to crawl away. Helpless, weak.
Solution was tempted to let the fight continue, to drag out the suffering, but there were others he still had to kill.
So with wistful sigh, Solution bent over and grabbed Shroud by the neck, and then wrapped his other arm around the vigilante’s neck.
“Well, it was almost a real fight,” Solution said, “maybe your friends will do a little better.”
The Shroud struggled to move the arm as it pressed against his windpipe. The grip was stronger than steel, and already the Shroud could feel his conscioisness slipping away. He threw his elbow into his attacker’s side with enough force to shatter a normal man’s ribs, but the grip around his throat only became stronger, and his breath became shorter.
“Just give up,” his enemy said, his voice growing more and more distant, “dying here is easy.”
# # # # #
“Vitals are good.”
“Are we really doing this?”
“It was part of the rent agreement, if you can believe it.”
“I almost can’t.”
“Also, the target apparently killed a few soldiers. I think the tp brass are just looking for an excuse to put this guy down.”
“That, I can believe. Okay, subject is awake and ready with his thousand yard stare. Man, talk about intense.”
“Soldier, the mission profile’s been uploaded. Are you ready to serve?”
“Give me a red.”
# # # # #
“Come on, come on,” Mr. Raven had his arm under Scorpion’s elbow, dragging the unconscious woman down the hall, while his eyes and ears searched for anyone who might be looking for them.
Escaping the server room had been a near thing. Mr. Raven was still somewhat surprised to find himself alive and relatively unharmed. The explosion had destroyed the surrounding area, but Mr. Raven hadn’t lived this long without having a few tricks.
But there were limits to those. In the escape, Scorpion had been clipped upside the head by shrapnel. Mr. Raven had no idea how bad the blow might be.
“Trask,” Scorpion muttered, “where…?”
“Dead,” Mr. Raven said sternly, “that doesn’t matter. We have to find the others, before…”
“Before someone finds you.”
Mr. Raven felt a barrel pressed against his back.
“Yeah, something like that,” Mr. Raven said. He turned around, and found himself facing the weapons of the Kree special forces team known as the Special K.
“Surrender, tell your people to stand down and I swear on the Supreme Intelligence, your deaths will be quick.”
“And if I decline?”
“Then we’ll torture you in the hopes that your people come running to your rescue. And then kill them slowly.”
“The result is the same, but how messy it is is up to you,” said a bald Kree that Mr. Raven suspected was the team leader, “you are responsible for all this, after all.”
Mr. Raven glanced away for a split second, ashamed of the truth in his enemy’s words, “You have no idea.”
# # # # #
Thrill Blade screamed until his voice was raw, yet not a single sound escaped his mouth.
The agony seemed to invade every cell in his body, every ounce of his being. Thrill Blade could see nothing, hear nothing, and felt as if he could only feel pain, now and forever.
The pain surged, and finally, mercifully ended. And when Thrill Blade opened his eyes and took stock of the world, he found that he was laying on his back, while Hrist stood over him, leaning against the wall with a look of annoyance on her face.
“What did you do to me?” Thrill Blade climbed to his feet, his knees threatening to bucjkle underneath him.
“I healed thy sorry ass,” replied Hrist, “Hel’s fire can cure mortal injuries, but it can scorch the soul.”
“I thought you were Valkerie,” Thrill Blade groaned, “are you allowed to save lives?”
Hrist scowled and narrowed her eyes at Thrill Blade, “Watch thy ass, mortal. I will not be bound to that disgusting order.”
“Okay, okay,” Thrill Blade held his hands up in a placating gesture. Just the air around Hrist, the magic that radiated from her, made it clear to him that she was not someone to be trifled with, “sorry. Thanks for healing me, and what the hell are we supposed to do now?”
“Now?” Hrist gripped an axe in each hand, “I sense a killer from Asgard nearby. They have no doubt come for me. We’re going to find them first, and kill them.”
“Killers? From Asgard?” Thrill Blade said, “are they as tough as you?”
“With any luck?” Hrist smiled, “tougher.”
“You need to look up the definition of luck.”
# # # # #
Hurricane pressed his back up against the wall, and glanced down the dimly lit hallway.
He’d been lucky thus far, managing to avoid running into any hostiles, but now that was beginning to make him worry.
The cliché went, ‘It’s quite, too quite’, but Hurricane had come to learn it was truer than most people suspected.
Anywhere people lived, there was a pulse, a heartbeat to it. And when shit was about to go down, that pulse became muted, as the inhabitants sought to avoid becoming collateral damage.
And Hurricane knew that it took a special kind of wild animal to produce the kind of silence. So Hurricane took a deep breath, readying himself as he looked for any sign of what might be coming, listening for the slightest clue.
“Our boys!”
Hurricane heard the whirl of the Gatling only a second before the wall behind him exploded in a cloud of dust. His legs, acting faster than his brain, had him racing around a nearby corner, making it with only seconds to spare.
“You killed our boys!”
For a brief moment, Hurricane fought for control of his bladder, because he recognized his enemy.
Frank Simpson, Nuke.
A super-soldier first deployed in Vietnam, his exploits still talked in hushed rumors. He had a triple digit body count, had decimated entire drug cartels by himself and was an entire Special Forces branch all by himself.
“Hurricane!” Nuke ceased firing, “you are to stand down and surrender for immediate court martial!”
Nuke pulled the trigger to his Gatling, and Hurricane turned his head and grimaced as the corner beside him exploded in plaster and dust again. Nuke’s Gatling tore apart brick and mortar like they were dirt, and Hurricane knew it would do even worse to his flesh.
Stall for time, Hurricane said, “Nuke! I demand you produce my warrant!”
“Warrant?”
Hurricane peaked his head out for a split second, trying to appraise the situation. From everything he’d heard about Nuke, he was the Pentagon’s blunt object, a super soldier designed only for combat, and it showed.
Nuke reflected on the question for a split second, trying to remember proper protocol and when that failed, fell into a blinding rage, all in the span of three seconds. He unleashed another wave of bullets at Hurricane, who barely managed to get behind cover once more.
“Warrant? Warrant! I have orders!” Nuke screamed, as he unleashed bullets from his gun like water from a fire hose, “you will comply!”
“Not in this lifetime,” Hurricane said. He focused his mind, and thought back t what he had just seen, specifically, Nuke’s Gatling gun.
Personal Gatling guns were a fairly rare breed, and there existed only a handful of designs, all of which Hurricane had studied. Not for personal use, they were too dangerous for his liking, but because a good soldier was at least familiar with the tools of his trade.
As luck would have it, Nuke was carrying an XL-Pred model, designed by Stane Enterprises. Gas powered, with a Pym particle feed belt, it was easily one of the most expensive models in the world.
But because all the technology had gone into making sure the user had enough bullets, they overlooked what Hurricane considered a serious design flaw.
“Nuke!” Hurricane shouted. He drew his sidearm, took a few steps forward, and then leveled it at the far wall,“I surrender!”
“…surrender?” Nuke released the trigger, his binary mind barely able to process what he’d just heard. His tactical reason refused to believe anyone would surrender, his blood lust demanded battle, but the part of him conditioned to obey orders required him to accept the surrender, or at least consider it.
And while Nuke fought his internal struggle, Hurricane took aim and fired once.
The bullet exploded from his gun, cutting through the air perfectly as its designers intended. It struck the wall at an angle, deforming as it hit, and redistributing its kinetic energy throughout its form before ricocheting through the air, and striking the exposed methane gas tank that enabled Nuke’s gun to fire.
“A false surrender?” Nuke heard the gunshot, but hadn’t seen where it hit. And as he grew more incensed by the second, he never noticed the smell of rotten eggs, “like they did to our boys! You’re a deadman!”
Nuke pulled the trigger.
Muzzle flare met methane.
And for one brief, shining moment, Nuke looked as if he were at the center of his namesake.
“Damn,” Hurricane muttered. He stepped out from behind the corner, and eyed the bonfire. As a general rule, he preferred to confirm the kill, but with all the smoke and fire, that was all but impossible, “how much gas did they put in that damn thing?”
Hurricane paused, allowing himself a moment of silence for Nuke. The man had been trying to kill him, and was a wackjob of the first order, but he was still a soldier. At one time, they had shared a brotherhood.
And while Hurricane had since disgraced it in himself, he thought he could at least spare a moment to respect it in others.
“Rest in peace, soldier,” Hurricane saluted, “you’ve earned it.”
“…our boys…”
The voice was soft and low, sounding as if it had come from a radio turned almost all the way down. But the anger and menace were as loud as a gunshot.
“You killed our boys!”
Hurricane watched, frozen in horror as Nuke stood up from the center of the inferno, bare-chested and wearing nothing but jungle camouflage pants.
Hurricane reached for his shotgun, slung over his shoulder, but before he could even make it half way, Nuke pounced at him with all the speed of a tiger, and the strength of a God damn bear.
Nuke grabbed Hurricane by the throat, and without even breaking stride, lifted him into the air before slamming him into the far wall at full sprint.
Hurricane felt a firework of agony explode behind his back as solid stone cracked and spider-webbed behind him, and the edges of his vision went dull and grey.
“You killed our boys,” said Nuke. Now, his voice was calm and sharp, and that only worried Hurricane more. He could see the laser focus in the eyes surrounded by the American flag. Whatever his mental issues, this wasn’t a man who lacked for focus or will, “betrayed our country and everything it stands for.”
“But I’m not going to kill you.”
Nuke smashed Hurricane up against the wall again.
“I’m just going to tear you apart, piece by piece.”
Next issue: Hurricane vs. Nuke! Mr. Raven and Scorpion in the clutches of the Special K! And Hrist unleashed!
The Adaptoid known to his friends and co-workers as ‘The Solution’ looked over the dead and broken bodies of his fellow androids, known as the Mimic 5.
They had all escaped together from a AIM facility that had been dedicated to recreating the original Super Adaptoid, an android powerful enough to fight the Avengers single handed.
But escaping wasn’t enough. For all their power, they were still inferior copies and wanted by the Scientist Supreme.
So they had come to Hell’s Peak, and Solution had volunteered. For the safety of his family.
That same family that was now literally pieces on the floor. Even if he could somehow force Tony Stark or Reed Richards to reassemble them, the people that they were, were gone forever.
“They die,” Solution clenched his fists, “after I beat them to death with my bare hands, they die.”
# # # # #
Before, Afganistan
“Everybody get down!” Banks shouted to his men. He’d just thrown himself to the ground second before a blast of gamma radiation sliced over his head.
Jerome Banks could scarcely believe it. This was supposed to be a routine mission, five miles from base, escorting a geologist to survey some dirt that someone, somewhere, decided was important. The route was somewhat exposed, but given the proximity to base, and the fact that his men were Special Forces, Jerome thought his team would be fine.
And he was wrong, because someone had apparently brought a laser cannon to a gun fight.
A blast of what Banks would later learn was gamma energy knocked the lead vehicle of his convoy clear off the road. His men had scrambled to get to cover, and to get over the shock of the fact that the damn Taliban were using advanced weaponry.
It was an unspoken rule of war. Any weapon that didn’t shoot bullets or relied on gunpowder brought an immediate and heavy handed response from the powers that be. Using them meant winning a battle, and getting crushed in the war.
Escalation and destruction would follow as naturally as night followed day, and whether it came in the form of Shield, a platoon of Guardsmen or the Avengers, it would come. And for that reason, most extremists preferred to stick to regular gunpowder and IEDs, feeling that a quick victory now wasn’t worth the crushing defeat that was sure to come later.
But Jerome wasn’t interested in his team being avenged after the fact. He wanted, needed his men to survive now, not be avenged and memorialized by some armchair General.
“Ross!” Jerome forced himself forward to the hum-vee that carried Specialist Ross and the Geologist. The blond, chiseled soldier’s head was laying against the door. The side of his head was caked in blood, and he didn’t seem responsive.
Jerome yanked the handle and swung the door open. Doing his best to ignore the bursts of energy that were flying everywhere, he grabbed Ross by the shoulder, and pulled him free.
“Karen,” Ross muttered, “what about Karen?”
“Karen?” Jerome said, “who the hell is that?”
“The Geologist chick,” Ross said, his voice unsteady, “right next to me. She make it?”
“She’s not our problem right now,” said Jerome.
“Civilian,” Ross said by way of explanation.
“Warzone,” Jerome replied, “we survive, she survives. Get it together, soldier!”
# # # # #
Hell’s Peake, North Corridor, Now
Kyle Weaver, one time merc and current leader of a squad of Piranhas, looked over his team. Eight enhanced men that Weaver had personally trained into one of the most effective units here in Hell’s Peak. Three times now they’d dealt with unruly tenants without causalities. Armed with vibranium bullets, and superstrength via cybernetics, they were a forced to be reckoned with.
That was why Dran had sent them in to either confirm or cause the deaths of the intruders who’d just destroyed the building’s main server. The explosion had shaken the entire building, with the mercs near ground zero, so chance were they were so much ash.
But Weaver knew his boss was in a foul mood, and unless you confirmed a kill with your own two eyes, you were asking for trouble.
“Alright gents, this is where we earn our paycheck,” Weaver said, “Dran wants confirmation, to know where to send his big guns, nothing else. So we move in slowly, eyes open and engage at will.”
Kyle held his gun close as he and his men stepped into the ebony smoke. They moved slowly, inching forward, examining the rubble and never moving too quickly.
But in their heightened, alert state, none of them noticed how the smoke from the flames didn’t really waft through the air or even smell of smoke.
“Jake, anything?” Kyle checked their six, out of habit.
But when he turned to face his front, The Shroud stood before him, and his squadmates were gone.
“Something,” Shroud said.
Jake leveled his weapon, but Shroud swatted it aside effortlessly.
“For what it’s worth,” Shroud formed a dagger of darkforce, and pulled his hand back, “this isn’t personal.”
“This is.”
Jake never saw who or what slammed into the Shroud, just a blur. When he opened his eyes again, he saw The Solution standing over Shroud, the hero unconscious beneath his feet.
“Get medical here,” Solution said, “your friends might survive. I’ll deal with Shroud.”
“Deal with?” Jake said, “he isn’t dead?”
Solution gave Jake a hard stare.
“This man killed my friends.”
Solution picked Shroud up by the neck as he walked away.
“Dying for him won’t be easy.”
# # # # #
Hurricane blinked his eyes, and found only darkness.
Given what had happened only minutes ago (hours? Days? Hurricane quickly realized he had no idea how long he might have been unconscious), he was actually someone relieved. He expected to be dead, or in hell.
But instead, he felt a weight above him, all around him in fact, with his hand still gripping his machete, and his arms and legs itching furiously.
Hurricane took a moment to brace himself against what he assumed was the floor, released his grip on his machete, and using both hands and calling on every ounce of his superstrength, pushed aside a slab of concrete the size of a small car.
“Never thought I’d miss the sand box,” muttered Hurricane, as he dusted himself off.
He took a moment, trying to gather his wits. The explosion had destroyed the floor beneath his feet, while the force of the explosion had propelled him through the air like a wet bar of soap.
It was a small stroke of luck, Hurricane reflected, on a mission that seemed to be only a heartbeat away from complete disaster already. And when he bent over to pick up his machete, Hurricane realized how lucky he had been, even now.
Apex, the Kree hunter/soldier, was still impaled on the blade, his skin burned black and his arms and legs burned down to nubs. Hurricane couldn’t tell if the man was still alive, but he hoped, for the Kree’s sake, that he wasn’t.
Hurricane brushed the dust from his shoulder, and as he did so, observed a camera in the far corner.
“Well, there’s one stroke of luck,” Hurricane muttered to himself. With the main CPU down, the camera was likely deactivated, and even if it wasn’t, it was unlikely that whoever was monitoring knew this corridor.
Hurricane forced himself to get moving. The magic that Hrist had imbued them with was faint, but it was enough to give him a general direction of where his teammates might be. All he had to do now was get through a hot zone unlike any other in the history of combat.
# # # # #
“Sir, we’ve found one. Looks like he one called Hurricane, in corridor 8, on level 20.”
Andi Hunter, Damien Dran’s second, felt a surge of conflicting emotions when she heard the report.
Long ago, Dran had turned over control of the thousands of cameras in his facility to automatic, specially designed computers. Dran had learned early on that paying men to watch cameras was simply a waste of money. There was too much to watch, and when they did see something, often had trouble identifying where it was happening.
But Dran had kept the old guard station all the same, and it had just proven its worth.
Andi Hunter was at the guard’s side in an instant.
“You sure about the location?” Andi said.
“Oh yeah,” replied the Guard, “I was part of the detail that helped move our Red white and blue tenants. Once I saw who was in that tube, I made it a point to have an escape plan ready.”
“That’s where we put him?”
Andi Hunter barely suppressed her surprise as her boss, Damien Dran, seemed to appear over her shoulder
“Yes, sir,” replied the guard, “saw that crazy bastard in action, once. That was enough for me.”
“All tenants are expected to assist in a crisis,” Dran said, “an enemy of one is an enemy of all, that’s in our rental agreement. Tell the man’s handlers to activate him and point him at Hurricane.”
“Yes, sir,” Andi snapped.
“And then find Solution, and see what the hell that bastard robot is doing!”
# # # # #
Years of intense training had taught The Shroud how to wake with urgency. The second consciousness flooded his mind again, he reached out to the darkforce, to his powers, trying to draw the ebony substance to him.
But where he once felt a firm connection, he only felt a sliver of what had once been.
“Don’t bother,” said Solution, “this room is dimensionally locked. Your powers are functionally useless here.”
Shroud climbed to his feet slowly. His body still ached, and he was in no hurry to test it’s limits.
“Why am I still alive?”
“Because you killed my friends, my family,” Solution replied, “so you don’t get off easy.”
“The Mimic 5, right?” Shroud surveyed the room. Though he lacked vision in the traditional sense, what he could sense around him more than compensated for it. The room wasn’t big by any measure, no larger than a studio apartment, and there was a hum that made Shroud’s teeth ache.
But beyond that, there was nothing. Just him, the Android and four walls.
“That’s right.”
Shroud rolled his neck.
“We gave them the option to leave. They didn’t. Happens, in this business.”
“We escaped an AIM lab together,” Solution said, as if Shroud hadn’t said a word, “we were all part of the same project, trying to recreate the Super Adaptoid. AIM thought that gave them to right to torture us, to make us slaves.”
Shroud said nothing.
“Dran found us shortly thereafter. Said he needed some enforcers. But they weren’t wired like that, no matter what AIM wanted.”
“No,” Shroud said softly, “they weren’t.”
Solution clenched his fists.
“But that’s what happens in this game,” said Shroud, “if we let them stop us, we were as good as dead. They knew that, and still stood in our way.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Solution, “that’s the game. You’re just the first, the most powerful of all the mercs running around here. I’d even bet you were their exit strategy. But inside here? You can barely cast a shadow. There’s no escaping that way.”
“Maybe not,” said Shroud. He snaked his right hand into his cape, “but good thing there are some natural shadows, huh?”
Solution did a double take as Shroud removed a meteor hammer from inside the folds of his cape. He allowed the round weight to drop to the ground with a –thunk!-, as he looped the chain around his left wrist.
“Planning to go Kill Bill on me?” said Solution. He licked his lips, “might actually make this fun.”
“Well, I sure as hell won’t make this easy.”
Shroud sprang into action, whipping the meteor hammer at Solution’s head. The Android turned to the side, the metal sphere brushing past his face.
“We’ll see,” Solution smirked.
The Android rushed Shroud, and slammed his left elbow into the man’s ribs.
Shroud gritted his teeth, and retaliated instantly, yanking the meteor hammer back like a yo-yo, where it slammed into the back, and before Solution could recover, decked him with a left hook and then a snap kick that sent the Android stumbling backwards.
“Told you so,” Shroud said.
“Yes, you did,” Solution rubbed his chin for a moment, “still, how did it feel? I’m just sculpted in human shape, made to look like flesh and blood. But my bits are metal and plastic, not as easily broken as your bones. Tell me, how does your hand feel?”
Shroud clenched his fists, but said nothing.
“I’d say that it’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Solution stood up, “but it’s never going to get better.”
Solution lunged towards Shroud, lashing out with his foot to kick the man’s head off. Shroud saw it coming, and pulled the chain of the meteor hammer tight in front of the blow, but Solution’s fist barely registered it, snapping the chain-links like paper before slamming into Shroud’s jaw.
“Pathetic,” Solution bounded a few steps, allowing Shroud to recover, “I want a real fight, you bastard, come on!”
Shroud wiped the blood from his mouth, and tossed his weapon aside.
“Just shut up and bring it,” Shroud hissed.
“Eager to die?” said Solution, “good, I’m eager to kill.”
The two stalked towards one another, neither wanting to allow the other the initiative.
Solution attacked first with a right hook. Shroud turned sideways and grabbed Solution’s wrist in his right hand, while his left hammered Solution’s side with three rapid blows.
Solution flattened his hand and swept his arm outward, intending to decapitate the blind hero, and missing only by inches. The Android spun on his heel, and brought his left knee slamming into Shroud’s chest.
The Shroud focused past the pain, and crossed his wrists over his head as Solution brought his fist hammering down to crush his skull. It was just barely enough to save his life, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid a kick to the stomach.
Shroud flew backwards, and when he landed he swung himself to the side, seconds before The Solution’s feet landed where his head had been. He quickly rolled back, slamming his elbow into the side of Solution’s knee.
“Argh!” Solution cried out. An electric simulation of pain shot through his body, and though he recovered only a second later, Shroud was already on his feet.
“Sculpted like human,” said Shroud, “built like one, too, I bet.”
Solution sneered, but said nothing.
And to Shroud, that said everything.
Shroud moved towards Solution slowly. He knew he had greater experience in combat than Solution, but that might not be enough in a situation like this.
Solution attacked first, with a right hook that could have decapitated a man, but Shroud sidestepped around the attack and slid behind Solution like a snake.
Shroud unleashed two quick snap-kicks to the back of Solution’s ankles, driving him to his knees. And when Solution fell, Shroud grabbed the sides of the Android’s head, and pulled him backwards, smashing the back of his artificial skull into his knee.
Solution tried to pull away, but Shroud expected that, leaping forward as Solution pulled away, flipping handily over the Android, and as he came down, Shroud swung his arms down, smashing Solution’s face into the pavement.
The second Shroud’s feet touched the ground, he lunged for Solution, who was already climbing to his feet. He grabbed Solution’s head again, intending to bring it to another meeting with his knee, bit Solution was faster, blocking the attack with his left wrist, while swinging his right fist into Shroud’s stomach.
“Your moves aren’t bad,” said Solution, “but I’ve got programming, powers and strength. You can barely cast a shadow in here. There’s only one way this can end.”
Shroud felt a calm overtake him at those words.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Shroud said, “but talking won’t get us there, will it?”
“No, but it does make this sweeter,” Solution was a blur of motion as he leapt towards Shroud, one knee extended.
The attack was too fast to dodge, so Shroud raised his wrists and braced himself. He expected the blow to be strong, but the power of it lifted Shroud from his feet and flung him across the room, his back slamming into the wall.
Pain spread across his body like a swarm of ants, but the monks that had trained Shroud to set the pain aside.
But like a great many things, that was easier said than done. Solution barreled towards Shroud, easily ducking underneath Shroud’s punch.
But instead of immediately attacking, Solution pressed his feet against the wall and bounded into the air, twisting as he went. His left hand swung out and grabbed Shroud under the chin and pulled him back while he swung his knee forward.
Shroud swore he could feel his brain bouncing inside his skull. His training could only do so much for the pain, so much for the limits of his body.
Shroud fell like a puppet with its strings cut, flopping bonelessly to the ground. But despite the pain, the agony, Shroud wasn’t willing to surrender, that simply wasn’t his nature. He focused on his abilities, on his darkness, as he crawled away, trying to think of a plan.
Solution smiled, as he watched Shroud struggling to crawl away. Helpless, weak.
Solution was tempted to let the fight continue, to drag out the suffering, but there were others he still had to kill.
So with wistful sigh, Solution bent over and grabbed Shroud by the neck, and then wrapped his other arm around the vigilante’s neck.
“Well, it was almost a real fight,” Solution said, “maybe your friends will do a little better.”
The Shroud struggled to move the arm as it pressed against his windpipe. The grip was stronger than steel, and already the Shroud could feel his conscioisness slipping away. He threw his elbow into his attacker’s side with enough force to shatter a normal man’s ribs, but the grip around his throat only became stronger, and his breath became shorter.
“Just give up,” his enemy said, his voice growing more and more distant, “dying here is easy.”
# # # # #
“Vitals are good.”
“Are we really doing this?”
“It was part of the rent agreement, if you can believe it.”
“I almost can’t.”
“Also, the target apparently killed a few soldiers. I think the tp brass are just looking for an excuse to put this guy down.”
“That, I can believe. Okay, subject is awake and ready with his thousand yard stare. Man, talk about intense.”
“Soldier, the mission profile’s been uploaded. Are you ready to serve?”
“Give me a red.”
# # # # #
“Come on, come on,” Mr. Raven had his arm under Scorpion’s elbow, dragging the unconscious woman down the hall, while his eyes and ears searched for anyone who might be looking for them.
Escaping the server room had been a near thing. Mr. Raven was still somewhat surprised to find himself alive and relatively unharmed. The explosion had destroyed the surrounding area, but Mr. Raven hadn’t lived this long without having a few tricks.
But there were limits to those. In the escape, Scorpion had been clipped upside the head by shrapnel. Mr. Raven had no idea how bad the blow might be.
“Trask,” Scorpion muttered, “where…?”
“Dead,” Mr. Raven said sternly, “that doesn’t matter. We have to find the others, before…”
“Before someone finds you.”
Mr. Raven felt a barrel pressed against his back.
“Yeah, something like that,” Mr. Raven said. He turned around, and found himself facing the weapons of the Kree special forces team known as the Special K.
“Surrender, tell your people to stand down and I swear on the Supreme Intelligence, your deaths will be quick.”
“And if I decline?”
“Then we’ll torture you in the hopes that your people come running to your rescue. And then kill them slowly.”
“The result is the same, but how messy it is is up to you,” said a bald Kree that Mr. Raven suspected was the team leader, “you are responsible for all this, after all.”
Mr. Raven glanced away for a split second, ashamed of the truth in his enemy’s words, “You have no idea.”
# # # # #
Thrill Blade screamed until his voice was raw, yet not a single sound escaped his mouth.
The agony seemed to invade every cell in his body, every ounce of his being. Thrill Blade could see nothing, hear nothing, and felt as if he could only feel pain, now and forever.
The pain surged, and finally, mercifully ended. And when Thrill Blade opened his eyes and took stock of the world, he found that he was laying on his back, while Hrist stood over him, leaning against the wall with a look of annoyance on her face.
“What did you do to me?” Thrill Blade climbed to his feet, his knees threatening to bucjkle underneath him.
“I healed thy sorry ass,” replied Hrist, “Hel’s fire can cure mortal injuries, but it can scorch the soul.”
“I thought you were Valkerie,” Thrill Blade groaned, “are you allowed to save lives?”
Hrist scowled and narrowed her eyes at Thrill Blade, “Watch thy ass, mortal. I will not be bound to that disgusting order.”
“Okay, okay,” Thrill Blade held his hands up in a placating gesture. Just the air around Hrist, the magic that radiated from her, made it clear to him that she was not someone to be trifled with, “sorry. Thanks for healing me, and what the hell are we supposed to do now?”
“Now?” Hrist gripped an axe in each hand, “I sense a killer from Asgard nearby. They have no doubt come for me. We’re going to find them first, and kill them.”
“Killers? From Asgard?” Thrill Blade said, “are they as tough as you?”
“With any luck?” Hrist smiled, “tougher.”
“You need to look up the definition of luck.”
# # # # #
Hurricane pressed his back up against the wall, and glanced down the dimly lit hallway.
He’d been lucky thus far, managing to avoid running into any hostiles, but now that was beginning to make him worry.
The cliché went, ‘It’s quite, too quite’, but Hurricane had come to learn it was truer than most people suspected.
Anywhere people lived, there was a pulse, a heartbeat to it. And when shit was about to go down, that pulse became muted, as the inhabitants sought to avoid becoming collateral damage.
And Hurricane knew that it took a special kind of wild animal to produce the kind of silence. So Hurricane took a deep breath, readying himself as he looked for any sign of what might be coming, listening for the slightest clue.
“Our boys!”
Hurricane heard the whirl of the Gatling only a second before the wall behind him exploded in a cloud of dust. His legs, acting faster than his brain, had him racing around a nearby corner, making it with only seconds to spare.
“You killed our boys!”
For a brief moment, Hurricane fought for control of his bladder, because he recognized his enemy.
Frank Simpson, Nuke.
A super-soldier first deployed in Vietnam, his exploits still talked in hushed rumors. He had a triple digit body count, had decimated entire drug cartels by himself and was an entire Special Forces branch all by himself.
“Hurricane!” Nuke ceased firing, “you are to stand down and surrender for immediate court martial!”
Nuke pulled the trigger to his Gatling, and Hurricane turned his head and grimaced as the corner beside him exploded in plaster and dust again. Nuke’s Gatling tore apart brick and mortar like they were dirt, and Hurricane knew it would do even worse to his flesh.
Stall for time, Hurricane said, “Nuke! I demand you produce my warrant!”
“Warrant?”
Hurricane peaked his head out for a split second, trying to appraise the situation. From everything he’d heard about Nuke, he was the Pentagon’s blunt object, a super soldier designed only for combat, and it showed.
Nuke reflected on the question for a split second, trying to remember proper protocol and when that failed, fell into a blinding rage, all in the span of three seconds. He unleashed another wave of bullets at Hurricane, who barely managed to get behind cover once more.
“Warrant? Warrant! I have orders!” Nuke screamed, as he unleashed bullets from his gun like water from a fire hose, “you will comply!”
“Not in this lifetime,” Hurricane said. He focused his mind, and thought back t what he had just seen, specifically, Nuke’s Gatling gun.
Personal Gatling guns were a fairly rare breed, and there existed only a handful of designs, all of which Hurricane had studied. Not for personal use, they were too dangerous for his liking, but because a good soldier was at least familiar with the tools of his trade.
As luck would have it, Nuke was carrying an XL-Pred model, designed by Stane Enterprises. Gas powered, with a Pym particle feed belt, it was easily one of the most expensive models in the world.
But because all the technology had gone into making sure the user had enough bullets, they overlooked what Hurricane considered a serious design flaw.
“Nuke!” Hurricane shouted. He drew his sidearm, took a few steps forward, and then leveled it at the far wall,“I surrender!”
“…surrender?” Nuke released the trigger, his binary mind barely able to process what he’d just heard. His tactical reason refused to believe anyone would surrender, his blood lust demanded battle, but the part of him conditioned to obey orders required him to accept the surrender, or at least consider it.
And while Nuke fought his internal struggle, Hurricane took aim and fired once.
The bullet exploded from his gun, cutting through the air perfectly as its designers intended. It struck the wall at an angle, deforming as it hit, and redistributing its kinetic energy throughout its form before ricocheting through the air, and striking the exposed methane gas tank that enabled Nuke’s gun to fire.
“A false surrender?” Nuke heard the gunshot, but hadn’t seen where it hit. And as he grew more incensed by the second, he never noticed the smell of rotten eggs, “like they did to our boys! You’re a deadman!”
Nuke pulled the trigger.
Muzzle flare met methane.
And for one brief, shining moment, Nuke looked as if he were at the center of his namesake.
“Damn,” Hurricane muttered. He stepped out from behind the corner, and eyed the bonfire. As a general rule, he preferred to confirm the kill, but with all the smoke and fire, that was all but impossible, “how much gas did they put in that damn thing?”
Hurricane paused, allowing himself a moment of silence for Nuke. The man had been trying to kill him, and was a wackjob of the first order, but he was still a soldier. At one time, they had shared a brotherhood.
And while Hurricane had since disgraced it in himself, he thought he could at least spare a moment to respect it in others.
“Rest in peace, soldier,” Hurricane saluted, “you’ve earned it.”
“…our boys…”
The voice was soft and low, sounding as if it had come from a radio turned almost all the way down. But the anger and menace were as loud as a gunshot.
“You killed our boys!”
Hurricane watched, frozen in horror as Nuke stood up from the center of the inferno, bare-chested and wearing nothing but jungle camouflage pants.
Hurricane reached for his shotgun, slung over his shoulder, but before he could even make it half way, Nuke pounced at him with all the speed of a tiger, and the strength of a God damn bear.
Nuke grabbed Hurricane by the throat, and without even breaking stride, lifted him into the air before slamming him into the far wall at full sprint.
Hurricane felt a firework of agony explode behind his back as solid stone cracked and spider-webbed behind him, and the edges of his vision went dull and grey.
“You killed our boys,” said Nuke. Now, his voice was calm and sharp, and that only worried Hurricane more. He could see the laser focus in the eyes surrounded by the American flag. Whatever his mental issues, this wasn’t a man who lacked for focus or will, “betrayed our country and everything it stands for.”
“But I’m not going to kill you.”
Nuke smashed Hurricane up against the wall again.
“I’m just going to tear you apart, piece by piece.”
Next issue: Hurricane vs. Nuke! Mr. Raven and Scorpion in the clutches of the Special K! And Hrist unleashed!