His wounds had been grievous. A thousand rounds of hot metal tore through his body, yet he lived. That was the entire point. His body had been dying, poisoned by its own blood, and Michael Morbius had gone to the worst extremes to save himself. Now, instead of death, he remained always….a Living Vampire.
Bushwhacker had been the closest that Michael Morbius had come to death since his “cure” all those years ago. A man had bled something green, a vile liquid that did nothing to satiate the thirst of Morbius. Then another man, Bushwhacker, one Morbius had been told to work with, opened fire on the two, sprayed Morbius and the Plant-Man with hundreds of bullets. Maybe the Plant-Man had died – Morbius had not cared to find out. When he’d awakened, the Living Vampire had been weak, and no longer willing to work with those who would just as soon kill him. So Morbius had fled…to feed.
Oh, how Morbius had fed. With police gathered at the scene where monsters had clashed, the Living Vampire had been free to find prey elsewhere. No longer did he limit himself to the blood of the guilty, but at night in Los Angeles there was little else. Whores and drug dealers fell prey to the thirst of Morbius, infected blood that healed his wounds but did little to ease the hunger. It was enough at least…to run.
Into the hills did Morbius go, traveling under cover by day and feeding by night. Farther from the cities, more innocent blood came available, healthier and stronger. Ah, that slumber party had fed Morbius well. Youthful screams had quenched his thirst as much as the young blood did. For nearly a weak did Morbius drink to recover, until the call of guilty blood drew him back into Los Angeles itself.
A young girl, but she’d tasted enough cock in her life for a hundred women. She’d tasted the man who even now was striking her, for tonight she was a little light. Her face pressed against the urine-soaked alley wall, he forced her legs apart, saying he was going to take what was owed him out of her ass. And if she ever held out on him again-
Morbius dropped from above, silent as a shadow. His fangs sank into the man’s throat, and drank deep before a scream could utter. What pressed against the girl went limp as blood was drained, and she risked a peek over her shoulder. The Living Vampire stood behind her now, over the body of her pimp, mouth dripping his blood. Red-stained fangs now descended on her.
This one did manage a scream. But it was short, and given the area and time of night, would go unnoticed. Oh did she struggle, and Morbius allowed it as he drank, slower than usual. She tasted of sweet innocence swaddled in guilt, and he wanted to savor it. But this too, would come to pass, and soon the empty shell would drop to the Living Vampire’s feet.
“Oh, I am so going to fucking enjoy this.”
Morbius turned, and saw them at the alleyway’s mouth. Three men, all costumed, one of whom Morbius recognized from not too long ago. It had been the violent time, monsters trying to kill monsters. Nothing else defined what they were, all of them. That some worked for a corporation and the others had been sent to kill by the government did not matter. Boomerang, Blizzard and Blacklash were monsters, and certainly so was Morbius.
It had been Blacklash that spoke, the whip in his hand unfurled to its full length. Hidden behind a purple mask were eyes that seethed with murderous intent. “That kid wasn’t much older than mine.”
A snap of the wrist meant a snap of the whip, and it shot towards Morbius even as the Living Vampire flew at the three. Circuitry wrapped in leather found the monster’s throat, and wrapped tight around it. Though it slowed Morbius, this was not enough to halt his flight.
Fingers flexed, and the circuitry ignited. Electricity coursed through the bullwhip, and through Morbius. It was this that grounded it, and then the volts grew more painful. But Morbius, no stranger to pain, gripped the whip with his hand and slowly pulled.
“A little help, please,” muttered Blacklash through grit teeth, as he struggled to hold his ground.
Blizzard raised his hand towards the whip. “As long as you said the magic word.” Thin flecks of ice settled over the leather, ran down the whip and found the Living Vampire’s arm. All that blood he’d engorged dropped in temperature, and in seconds his hand on the whip was almost frozen solid.
It was Boomerang’s turn, and he readied a weapon of his name gleefully. “Eh, this I’m just glad to do for the fun.” From his hand the boomerang went flying, blunt but deadly. His aim was perfect, as the frozen hand was struck and shattered.
Morbius howled. A shattered stump fell away from the whip, and the convulsing Living Vampire finally succumbed to the pain jolting through his body. He sank to the ground, still held fast by the whip and still fed volts of pain. The three monsters that had him approached, wary but triumphant.
“The plan was to beat the information out of you,” Blizzard told him. “But around Pasadena and that nursery, it all changed. Now we’re not going to bother asking for a few hours.”
“Feel free to just tell us where Mr. White and your employers are now, though,” added Blacklash.
“Won’t stop anything,” said Boomerang with a wide grin. “But then we won’t have to worry about breaking your jaw or crushing your throat.”
Sadly, Morbius didn’t give them that much, and the monsters went to work.
Bushwhacker had been the closest that Michael Morbius had come to death since his “cure” all those years ago. A man had bled something green, a vile liquid that did nothing to satiate the thirst of Morbius. Then another man, Bushwhacker, one Morbius had been told to work with, opened fire on the two, sprayed Morbius and the Plant-Man with hundreds of bullets. Maybe the Plant-Man had died – Morbius had not cared to find out. When he’d awakened, the Living Vampire had been weak, and no longer willing to work with those who would just as soon kill him. So Morbius had fled…to feed.
Oh, how Morbius had fed. With police gathered at the scene where monsters had clashed, the Living Vampire had been free to find prey elsewhere. No longer did he limit himself to the blood of the guilty, but at night in Los Angeles there was little else. Whores and drug dealers fell prey to the thirst of Morbius, infected blood that healed his wounds but did little to ease the hunger. It was enough at least…to run.
Into the hills did Morbius go, traveling under cover by day and feeding by night. Farther from the cities, more innocent blood came available, healthier and stronger. Ah, that slumber party had fed Morbius well. Youthful screams had quenched his thirst as much as the young blood did. For nearly a weak did Morbius drink to recover, until the call of guilty blood drew him back into Los Angeles itself.
A young girl, but she’d tasted enough cock in her life for a hundred women. She’d tasted the man who even now was striking her, for tonight she was a little light. Her face pressed against the urine-soaked alley wall, he forced her legs apart, saying he was going to take what was owed him out of her ass. And if she ever held out on him again-
Morbius dropped from above, silent as a shadow. His fangs sank into the man’s throat, and drank deep before a scream could utter. What pressed against the girl went limp as blood was drained, and she risked a peek over her shoulder. The Living Vampire stood behind her now, over the body of her pimp, mouth dripping his blood. Red-stained fangs now descended on her.
This one did manage a scream. But it was short, and given the area and time of night, would go unnoticed. Oh did she struggle, and Morbius allowed it as he drank, slower than usual. She tasted of sweet innocence swaddled in guilt, and he wanted to savor it. But this too, would come to pass, and soon the empty shell would drop to the Living Vampire’s feet.
“Oh, I am so going to fucking enjoy this.”
Morbius turned, and saw them at the alleyway’s mouth. Three men, all costumed, one of whom Morbius recognized from not too long ago. It had been the violent time, monsters trying to kill monsters. Nothing else defined what they were, all of them. That some worked for a corporation and the others had been sent to kill by the government did not matter. Boomerang, Blizzard and Blacklash were monsters, and certainly so was Morbius.
It had been Blacklash that spoke, the whip in his hand unfurled to its full length. Hidden behind a purple mask were eyes that seethed with murderous intent. “That kid wasn’t much older than mine.”
A snap of the wrist meant a snap of the whip, and it shot towards Morbius even as the Living Vampire flew at the three. Circuitry wrapped in leather found the monster’s throat, and wrapped tight around it. Though it slowed Morbius, this was not enough to halt his flight.
Fingers flexed, and the circuitry ignited. Electricity coursed through the bullwhip, and through Morbius. It was this that grounded it, and then the volts grew more painful. But Morbius, no stranger to pain, gripped the whip with his hand and slowly pulled.
“A little help, please,” muttered Blacklash through grit teeth, as he struggled to hold his ground.
Blizzard raised his hand towards the whip. “As long as you said the magic word.” Thin flecks of ice settled over the leather, ran down the whip and found the Living Vampire’s arm. All that blood he’d engorged dropped in temperature, and in seconds his hand on the whip was almost frozen solid.
It was Boomerang’s turn, and he readied a weapon of his name gleefully. “Eh, this I’m just glad to do for the fun.” From his hand the boomerang went flying, blunt but deadly. His aim was perfect, as the frozen hand was struck and shattered.
Morbius howled. A shattered stump fell away from the whip, and the convulsing Living Vampire finally succumbed to the pain jolting through his body. He sank to the ground, still held fast by the whip and still fed volts of pain. The three monsters that had him approached, wary but triumphant.
“The plan was to beat the information out of you,” Blizzard told him. “But around Pasadena and that nursery, it all changed. Now we’re not going to bother asking for a few hours.”
“Feel free to just tell us where Mr. White and your employers are now, though,” added Blacklash.
“Won’t stop anything,” said Boomerang with a wide grin. “But then we won’t have to worry about breaking your jaw or crushing your throat.”
Sadly, Morbius didn’t give them that much, and the monsters went to work.
Back to GatefoldIssue #28 by Chris Munn (plot) & Steve Crosby (script)
The Acts of Monsters |
Few research labs were built in the traditional sense anymore, an opinion that Blacklash informed his two companions of to great extent. “It’s not like the places we used to raid. Say what you will about Stark, but he never went this post-modern art-deco bullshit. Working man factories, that’s what he’s got. Labs nowadays are all havens of yuppie nerds and their masturbation fantasies.”
“Well,” remarked Blizzard as he cocked his head and stared forward. “It is an ugly piece of shit. I’ll give you that.”
The two men, along with their third associate Boomerang, stood atop a hill and looked down at a building of glassy plastic and obtuse angles. Parts of it was built into the hill, but not in the traditional sense of a fourth wall. Arcing columns actually jut down from the hill and sideways into the compound, almost like bridges that spanned two separate buildings.
“Maybe the whole point is to confuse guys like us,” Boomerang pointed out. “Really, who the hell would guess this place housed a government prison? If I hadn’t played first-hand in some fugly stadiums, I’d be flaying that vampire fuck some more for pulling a prank on us.”
“Speaking of that thing,” cut in Blizzard. “Are you sure he’s not dead? Because even before I staked him to the ground with ice, it looked dead.”
Boomerang shook his head though. “The other night I saw that thing get shot up more than a nigger trying to surrender.”
“Hey!”
Boomerang looked at Blacklash. “What?”
“You can’t use that word!”
“Why not? Who the hell am I gonna offend here? Or are you going to tell us you chose your name out of some mixed heritage?” Boomerang then turned to Blizzard. “And did you suddenly turn another color under the mask.”
“Well, no, but-”
“It’s a hate word,” protested Blacklash. “You just can’t use hate words.”
“I’m a villain,” replied Boomerang. “I hate everybody. Besides, the analogy’s apt.”
“Do you even know what that means?” asked Blizzard.
“Sure, I heard it on the Simpsons.” Boomerang threw his hands up. “Anyway, if the vampire freak survived that, he could definitely survive anything we did to him.”
Blizzard was suddenly getting worried. “How do we know he won’t be coming after us then? We’re in the middle of business here and suddenly boom the freak ambushes us.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Boomerang rolled his eyes. “Maybe because it’s almost dawn and on yeah we staked him to the fucking ground! That’s supposed to bind him to that spot or some shit, least that’s what that vampire flick I saw said. Course that was a porno, so it was a different kind of wood, but still. Principle applies.”
Blacklash looked sideways at Boomerang. “Sometimes I’m ashamed to say I know you.” To Blizzard he added, “Donny, you saw what we did to the guy. We know he’s not getting up for a while. But then, you never know, so can we all just shut up and do this thing?”
The man with the boomerangs on his body, and hence was called Boomerang, shrugged. “Find by me. How do you want to do this?”
The man in the blue and white costume and was hence called Blizzard spoke up. “I vote we blow shit up and then just search for Mr. White through the rubble.”
But the third man, established as having a whip and hence was called Blacklash, shook his head. “Nah. White could just go intangible and sneak away. I’m all for the blowing shit up, but we’ve got to make sure nobody gets past us. Boomerang, you got any eye-spy ‘rangs?”
“All but the ones in Moonstone’s bathroom. Let’s go kill some government pricks.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Security rooms have two things: a wall of monitors and men to watch them. Usually it’s two, except at shift change when it’s none, because in the coming and going they pass each other outside. A dawn the room was empty for a brief time, and nobody saw Blacklash’s approach. He had several seconds even after the room was occupied, as men fresh on the shift don’t expect trouble at the beginning.
“Hey! We have an intruder!”
For Blacklash’s whip, seconds was enough. Three cameras out before anyone noticed, and when the control board started to spark, they certainly noticed. One reached for the button, to sound the alarm, but a spark jolted him clear across the room. The other ran for the door.
“Send out the alert!” he shouted to the relieved security as they were walking down the hall. “We’re under assault!”
He turned back to the monitors, and saw that all but three had faded. Three monitors showed three different men. Boomerang and Blizzard, approaching from opposite ends. And Blacklash, who was already inside, captured by the camera just outside the security room. On the floor just behind him were two men. Those same men the security guard had just called to.
“We can’t have people know they’re going to die just yet.”
Something lashed against the security guard’s back, and before he mercifully passed out could smell burnt flesh. He fell against the control board and then onto the floor. More lashes, and the smoking control board soon burst into flame. Blacklash turned from the room and the dead men inside, stepped over the dead men outside, and turned the corner to find more men he would kill.
So it would go, for him and the other two, until they found the one man they wanted dead. Mister White wasn’t getting away.
# # # # # # # # # #
The security room wasn’t the only place to have monitors. Seated behind his desk, Agent Crass observed as the three criminals infiltrated his compound, the property of the United States government. None of it was supposed to be like this, he knew. The Thunderbolts should have been dead at the hands of his operatives, not at their doorstep, killing loyal American patriots.
Three monitors displayed frozen scenes of carnage. Pieces of men littered the floors, all covered in ice. Some men appeared to be skewered through, while others appeared to be trapped screaming inside solid blocks of ice. The instrument of such destruction, Blizzard, walked the halls, his every move visible to Agent Crass. Every closed door he came across, Blizzard would touch it frozen, then shatter it with a kick. If empty, he would move on. If occupied, he dealt with the occupants. No room seemed to have what he wanted.
Then there was Boomerang, who seemed to be taking great glee in his acts of violence. Agent Crass saw the criminal juggling – juggling! – his boomerangs as he approached armed guards. Bullets were being fired at him, and Boomerang smiled. Idly he threw the boomerangs, razor sharp and explosive and so many other varieties, types that deflected the bullets and types that incapacitated the shooters and types that blew them into tiny bits. Men died at his hands, and Boomerang was smiling about it.
Then there was Blacklash, who knocked out cameras everywhere he went. Soon he wouldn’t have to, as power in the compound was beginning to fade. The monitors were starting to flicker, and the last one that went blank had Blacklash moving towards Agent Crass’s office.
Agent Crass pressed a button on his desk. “Let him out.”
“But sir!” a voice on the other end exclaimed. “You said he was too dangerous to-”
“That was then.” The voice of Agent Crass was tight with fear. “This is now.” Fear of his attackers, and of what he’d have to unleash to repel them. “Let him out. Now.”
# # # # # # # # # #
In his cell, Mister White raised his head at the flickering lights. That, and the activity of the security guards, told him that something was going on. An opportunity, perhaps.
“You men seem to be having some trouble,” Mister White informed the security guards stationed outside his cell. “Release me, and I’ll see what can be done about it.”
“Quiet down, freak,” ordered one of the crude guards. The other guard had started down the corridor, towards another specialized cell that was out of Mister White’s vision.
But Mister White could hear the fear in the man’s voice, and couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I don’t think I will. Why don’t you come over here and do something about it? Make yourself feel like a man, while your friends are all dying upstairs.”
It’d been a guess, but apparently Mister White was correct. Because the guard marched towards his cell, baton raised. If the act was mean to be intimidated, Mister White did not act as though it were. He simply raised an eyebrow. Off in the near distance, a man screamed, but the guard didn’t seem to take note of this. Mister White shifted his eyes in that direction, where the other guard had walked a short time ago.
“You shut the hell up or-” the guard started to yell, less than a foot from the outside of Mister White’s cell. At that moment, the lights flickered again. Suddenly the guard’s breath was caught in his throat.
In the space of flickering lights, Mister White took a chance and made his move. Power disruptions meant security disruptions, and sure enough the power neutralizer had been briefly disabled. Outside of normal space was something else, and Mister White stepped sideways into it and through the clear plastic wall of his cell. His hand passed into the security guard’s throat, caught the air and held it.
“No, I think you’ll shut up,” uttered Mister White softly. Nearby explosions began to shake the room, and Mister White then sighed. “Unfortunately, much as I would love to inflict the pain of suffocation on you, time seems to be of the essence. So I sincerely hope this hurts a great deal.”
A chalk-white hand entered the guard’s chest, and he felt his heart tighten. The pain was excruciating, and if he could have screamed it would have been music to Mister White’s ears. The look on his face was more than enough, however.
“Oh, thank you so very much.” Mister White stepped a little further into the outside space, becoming a little more transparent in the process. A man that was dead passed through a man that was nothing, but when the dead weight hit the ground Mister White had stepped back into being something. “Escape is what I should probably do, but I can’t help a little curiosity. Just one peek.”
# # # # # # # # # #
The ground rumbled at Blacklash's feet. Some feet ahead of him, the floor ripped apart and something rose up from it. With the dust blurring his vision, Blacklash could only make out a large shape, nearly as wide as the entire hallway. Not one to be intimidated, Blacklash cracked his whip, and stood to face down this new obstacle.
"Rrrrr."
The shape lunged forward, and Blacklash saw that it wasn't nearly as wide as first appeared. Skinny thing actually, all skin and bones. Especially the wings, big leathery flaps attached to its arms. A big greenish-grey monster with an elongated head and beakish face, but there was more to its features. Blacklash could have sworn the skin looked like circuitry, but there was no time or desire for a closer look.
Out in a flash the whip cracked, its tip meant to take the monster's eye and maybe give the brain a jolt. But not only was the monster big, it was fast as well. One long bony hand snatched the whip from the air. This wasn't the worst of it though. On contact, Blacklash could see his whip start changing, it's color began to match the creature, take on that same circuitry appearance, and it was spreading down the whip toward his arm.
Just in time, Blacklash let go of his weapon and fell back. The whip didn't fall to the ground, however. Once the transformation was complete, the creature drew the whip into itself, and roared in triumph. It's screech hurt Blacklash's ears. Like a tortured animal with rusted metal in its mouth.
"Goddammit!" yelled Blacklash. His main weapon was gone, and this thing could do worse than kill him with a touch. "What the hell are you?!"
"You've probably never heard of Sauron." The voice came from a speaker box on the wall, near Blacklash. He didn't recognize the voice, but it belonged to Agent Crass, and was full of gloat. "He traveled in different circles, and hasn't been active in a while besides. What he has is a techno-organic virus that was apparently altered by his bizarre physiology. You and your friends aren't long for the world, Mr. Scarlotti. Unless, of course, you're willing to make a-"
"I'm not a weak traitor like White!" hissed Blacklash.
Sauron advanced, but there were other weapons on Blacklash's person. It was the bola that he unfurled and threw at the techno-lizard freak. Aimed low, it wrapped around Sauron's legs and the monster crashed to the ground. Claws ripped at the floor, which like everything else in the compound was made of specially-treated materials that were immune to the techno-organic virus. Soon though, the bola would succumb. Still, Blacklash had time to turn and run.
Satisfying screams echoed behind Blacklash, as well as the sound of metal and bone snapping at once. Good, Blacklash thought, his bola had at least been able to raise the immediate area's gravity. Maybe that thing would get sucked back into Hell were it belonged.
Never the optimist, Blacklash turned on his radio. "Donny, Fred, we've got some serious trouble. Another one of those freaks the government sent after us is here. My whip's gone. I need you guys at my location now!"
Before a response could be made, shrieks of rage told Blacklash that Sauron was back up and bearing down on him. He risked a glance, and saw that the monster was airborne, flapping those wings in a space that was almost too slow to allow it. As it was, Sauron was banging against the walls and ceiling as it attempted to fly at Blacklash. There was no way he could outrun it, but Blacklash ran anyway.
Turning a corner without slowing down cost Blacklash a pained shoulder, as he couldn't avoid a smash against the wall. He managed to keep the pace though, and hoped that when Sauron crashed into that same wall seconds later it would be slowed down some. No such luck, as Sauron soon seemed to be gaining by the inch.
The air up ahead, at an intersection, looked a little murky to Blacklash. He hoped it wasn't the hits he'd taken, and dove when he was about to hit the intersection. Sure enough, the air felt a little chilly. Out of the corner of his eye, Blacklash saw Blizzard several feet down the adjacent hallway. A few seconds after diving, Blacklash heard the sweet, sweet sound of a head colliding with a thick bar of ice.
Sure enough, when Blacklash rolled out of his dive and turned around he observed Sauron on the floor, dazed. Broken pieces of ice lay scattered around it, and they were still ice. Water was apparently something that couldn't be infected.
"Skewer this freak!" Blacklash yelled, and Blizzard was more than willing to comply. His arms threw outward, and in the air there appeared large icicles hurtling towards Sauron.
"Graah!" the monster bellowed in a pained rage as the sharp ice jammed into it's body. Had he been flesh and blood, the ice would have torn his leathery wings and spilled his blood. But the techno-organic virus made Sauron much more. Any minor wounds inflicted healed almost immediately. "Your meager life shall become mine!" roared Sauron. He tore a long piece of ice from his body and hurled it back at Blizzard.
"Oh crap." He tried a form a wall of ice in front of him, but Blizzard had already leeched most of the moisture from the air. Blizzard's own icicle pierced his armor and into his side. "Aaahhh!"
Blacklash was the closer of the two, but Sauron chose to move past him and towards Blizzard instead. Weaponless, Blacklash was helpless to act as his wounded friend was faced with impending death. "Dammit Myers!" he screamed for Boomerang over the radio. "Where are you!"
It seemed as though Boomerang was waiting for just that moment to act. An explosion caved in the ceiling, showering debris just feet away from Blizzard. Hanging out in the mid-morning sky was Boomerang, kept aloft by rockets in his boots. He held in front of him a boomerang so long it required both hands, and it bristled with energy.
"Hey Dino," quipped Boomerang. "Why not come try me for size?"
Sauron opened his beaked jaws wide and bellowed that horrendous screech. His arms - and wings - spread wide. "In the air, you will be easy prey!"
However, Boomerang just grinned. "Good thing you won't be making it to the air then."
The distraction had paid off. Blizzard managed to regain his bearings, and the air around Sauron had suddenly dropped at a rapid rate. "What is this?" roared Sauron. Already his legs had frozen, and ice was creeping up through his body. "You think this can hold me? I'll break free and leech you all dry!"
"Maybe," admitted Boomerang. He started to rap his boomerang against his other hand. "If we were just going to hold me. My friends and I may not look it, but we're monsters too." Boomerang raised his weapon to throw. "And this is what monsters do."
*kksshh* Frozen and brittle, Sauron shattered into a billion tiny pieces once the boomerang struck him. Blizzard, Blacklash and Boomerang were so fixated on the glittering fragments as they danced across the floor, that they failed to notice an opaque white shape going through a dead guard's pockets.
"Okay." Blizzard nodded his head. "Crisis averted. Lets get back to finding..." But his voice trailed off. The tiny frozen fragments hadn't stopped moving. In fact, they were slithering across the floor, coming closer together.
Boomerang found the words first. "Oh shit. He's pulling a T-1000 on us."
Blacklash flicked his eyes up toward Boomerang. "No time now, but I will mock you for that later."
Almost faster than anyone could react, Sauron was whole and on the move, rushing again at Blizzard. There was nothing Blacklash or Boomerang could have done. Their friend was about to die. Blizzard realized this as well, and his eyes widened with fear.
"Grraaahhh - urk!"
Sauron halted mere feet from his intended target. Another man had stepped into his path, a man with chalk white skin and dressed in a black suit, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Like a ghost, Mr. White had appeared before Sauron, allowed one scaly/circuitry hand to clasped around his throat. Mr. White had a hand of his own pressed against Sauron's chest, and there was no fear whatsoever in his expression.
"You drain life," declared Mr. White. "By all means, try that on me."
Sauron complied, not infecting Mr. White with the techno-organic virus but instead tried to leech the life-force from Mr. White's body. Nothing happened, and Sauron's eyes widened as he felt the strength start to fade from his own body. His suspicions confirmed, Mr. White raised one end of his mouth and exhale a plume of cigarette smoke.
"Sorry, you'll find there's nothing left in this husk to take. Now that I've taken you're attention, I should inform you of a very important thing. You're free. So, instead of trying to kill the men that are here to give your captors gruesome deaths, maybe you should leave. Find some easier prey."
Sauron's eyes were locked on Mr. White's. He tried to use his other power, to hypnotize Mr. White into doing his bidding. But though their eyes met, Sauron had no connection to the other man. It was as though Mr. White weren't entirely there, that most of him was somewhere else completely. His powers completely useless against this thing, Sauron hated. Hated the nothing man who faced him, hated more the three costumes who'd tried to hurt him. But most of all, Sauron hated the suits who'd held him captive, and if these men were there to hurt those suits….
The hand broke away from Mr. White. Sauron needed it, and spread his arms out. He took to the air, through the hole in the ceiling and past Boomerang. Sauron hissed at the airborne man, almost hoped he'd try something. But Boomerang just backed up several feet, giving Sauron space. Reluctantly, Sauron flew off, a monster free to do as it pleased.
Having just been saved from certain death, Blizzard unsteadily rose to his feet. "Thanks for that, White, but it doesn't change anything. You're gonna die he-ukk!"
Without turning around, Mr. White raised his leg and kicked Blizzard high in the chest. The man was forced back several steps, and he would have fallen if Mr. White wasn't suddenly there to catch him from behind. In Mr. White's hand was another shard of ice.
"That wound in your side looks pretty serious," Mr. White hissed. Ashes from his cigarette dropped onto Blizzard's armor, started burning tiny holes. "Could I do any worse?" Then he jammed the shard of ice into Blizzard's other side, and twisted.
"Aaaiiieee!" Blizzard was shoved forward, and his head smashed against some the debris made when Boomerang blew a hole into the ceiling.
"You son of a bitch!" roared Boomerang. There were no weapons in his hand, but the man rocketed down at Mr. White. He intended to just hurt the traitor with the impact.
"Stupid, stupid," chided Mr. White. He made no effort to avoid Boomerang; simply turned immaterial so that the man passed right through him. Boomerang hurried to stop, and managed to slow himself enough that crashing into the call didn't hurt too much. But before he could recover, grab a boomerang, Mr. White grasped both hands to his head. "Maybe it would help if you knew why I've been working for Baron Zemo. What he saved me from a permanent existence of."
For a brief split-second, both Mr. White and Boomerang became opaque, immaterial and cut off from that plane of existence. For what seemed much longer, Boomerang screamed as though his soul was being torn from his body. When they again aligned with reality, Mr. White released Boomerang, and the man dropped to the floor. Breathing unsteadily, trembling throughout his body, and drooling from the mouth.
"That was only a fraction out of time," Mr. White stated as he turned around. "Imagine what I've been through, trapped there for years and still not entirely free."
Blacklash didn't care about imagining. Mr. White had just hurt his two best friend, and betrayed his teammates to an attack that cared several. Weaponless, he ran at Mr. White, and the two collided.
"You're going to die slow, you sick fuck!" screamed Blacklash. He raised a fist and dropped it at Mr. White's head. But the man had gone immaterial and Blacklash collided with the floor instead. "Aargh!" Mr. White was no longer underneath him, and Blacklash felt those cold but strong arms wrap around his neck. "Oh no you fucking don't!"
Taking a step back, Blacklash bent over and threw Mr. White over his head. The man crashed to the floor, but was quickly on his feet and facing Blacklash as he rushed again. This time he was prepared, and plunged his arm into Blacklash's chest. He stopped cold, feeling pressure on his chest.
"What do you think would happen if your blood suddenly dropped out of your body?" Mr. White hissed. "I've never thought to wonder, and I've had these powers for years. Instead, like you, I relied on weapons. Something that made killing so easy, I took it for granted and died myself. Now," his grip on the heart tightened, and Blacklash gasped in pain. "now it's harder, more personal, the way it should be for monsters like us."
"Gonna…rip your heart…out," swore Blacklash.
Mr. White shook his though. "Not likely. I would need to have one first. That is why I want Zemo dead. This artificial body he gave me, back when he freed him from a life in limbo, it's breaking down. Suddenly there's a deadline for him to give me a real host body, and I intend to make sure he pays up."
"What do we…have to do…with Zemo?" asked Blacklash. Mr. White seemed eager to talk, and Blacklash wasn't about to stop him.
"You don't know where's he's hiding, do you?" Mr. White smiled, and spat the spent cigarette into Blacklash's face. "Why, he's right in plain sight, disguised as Justin Hammer! It's about time your eyes became as open as mine. Oh, I hated being his lackey, but I put up with it because of what he did, and for what he promised me. That's done now."
The grip on Blacklash's heart was released, and he slumped to the ground. Mr. White stood over his semi-conscious form, triumphant.
"Maybe he thought you could kill me, or this could have been his way of removing you from his service. With Zemo one never knows, and I won't risk even inadvertently doing his bidding. So you'll live, Blacklash, you and your friends. With your pathetic weapons and ridiculous costumes, go and tell Zemo who's coming for him. Not Mr. White, that name he forced upon me. Once and again I am the Death-Stalker, and my actions live up to my name!"
Beaten and weak, Blacklash opened his eyes, but the former Mr. White had vanished. He was alone, with a seriously injured Blizzard and comatose Boomerang. Slowly, Blacklash rose to his feet, and adjusted the radio until he found the correct frequency.
"Quantum…we need Quantum to get us. Now." Fire in the building was spreading fast, and an explosion almost made Blacklash lose his footing. A strong hand grabbed his arm to steady Blacklash however. He looked up at the silent Quantum. "What took you so long? Get us out of here. Blizzard and Boomerang need medical attention now. Then I want to talk to your boss."
Quantum didn't say anything, but the four men vanished, teleported by his power. Flaming debris crashed down on the space they previously occupied. Where monsters had dwelt, only destruction remained.
Alone in his office, the only room untouched by the devastation, Agent Crass sat behind his desk. Serious damage had been done that day and two prisoners had gone free, but perhaps there was something he could salvage something from it. If Agent Crass thought long and hard enough, there had to be something to benefit him.
So concentrated was he on saving his own ass, Agent Crass failed to notice the shadow in his office until it was too late. Michael Morbius had recovered, as living vampires are apt to do, and his hands are on Agent Crass' neck.
"For what you've done to me," Morbius hissed. "This will by no means be swift!"
Bared fangs pierced soft skin, and Agent Crass screamed.
# # # # # # # # # #
Epilogue
The call came to Justin Hammer's phone, on the line reserved for only that operative. Seated behind Hammer's desk, Baron Zemo activated the image inducer and took on the deceased industrialist's image.
"Yes Beck," answered Zemo with Hammer's voice. "How went the operation."
That Mysterio did not immediately respond with groveling was a good sign. "A complete success, sir. Even as we speak, Mathematic has him trapped in an electromagnetic field that reboots his mind at precise intervals."
"Excellent. Await further instructions." Zemo broke the connection, shed the disguise, and allowed himself a small grin beneath his mask. The operatives in London had captured Scourge, formerly the Fixer. Soon, he would once again do Zemo's bidding!
# # # # # # # # # #
Issue: We flash back 48 hours to see the attack on the Scourge by Zemo’s Mindfuck Force – Mentallo, Mysterio, Mathemanic, and Mesmero – before unleashing their secret weapon upon the killer. What’s scarier than a Darkhold-empowered Scarecrow? Absolutely nothing!
# # # # # # # # # #
RAP SHEET
So there are two things you may have noticed with this issue.
First off, this is the first new issue of Thunderbolts in over a year, the last being the Baron Zemo spotlight issue of late 2005. The second is that this issue was, well, not written by me. Steve Crosby, he of such fame as Captain America and an upcoming run on Avengers, has taken on the scripting chores for this book, and I couldn’t be happier with the results. I mean, just go back and LOOK at this monster of an issue! The man has come on board, saved my ass after I lost my scripting mojo, and straight-up knocked shit out of the park.
Thanks, Steve. Welcome to the family.
Chris Munn
04/21/07
“Well,” remarked Blizzard as he cocked his head and stared forward. “It is an ugly piece of shit. I’ll give you that.”
The two men, along with their third associate Boomerang, stood atop a hill and looked down at a building of glassy plastic and obtuse angles. Parts of it was built into the hill, but not in the traditional sense of a fourth wall. Arcing columns actually jut down from the hill and sideways into the compound, almost like bridges that spanned two separate buildings.
“Maybe the whole point is to confuse guys like us,” Boomerang pointed out. “Really, who the hell would guess this place housed a government prison? If I hadn’t played first-hand in some fugly stadiums, I’d be flaying that vampire fuck some more for pulling a prank on us.”
“Speaking of that thing,” cut in Blizzard. “Are you sure he’s not dead? Because even before I staked him to the ground with ice, it looked dead.”
Boomerang shook his head though. “The other night I saw that thing get shot up more than a nigger trying to surrender.”
“Hey!”
Boomerang looked at Blacklash. “What?”
“You can’t use that word!”
“Why not? Who the hell am I gonna offend here? Or are you going to tell us you chose your name out of some mixed heritage?” Boomerang then turned to Blizzard. “And did you suddenly turn another color under the mask.”
“Well, no, but-”
“It’s a hate word,” protested Blacklash. “You just can’t use hate words.”
“I’m a villain,” replied Boomerang. “I hate everybody. Besides, the analogy’s apt.”
“Do you even know what that means?” asked Blizzard.
“Sure, I heard it on the Simpsons.” Boomerang threw his hands up. “Anyway, if the vampire freak survived that, he could definitely survive anything we did to him.”
Blizzard was suddenly getting worried. “How do we know he won’t be coming after us then? We’re in the middle of business here and suddenly boom the freak ambushes us.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Boomerang rolled his eyes. “Maybe because it’s almost dawn and on yeah we staked him to the fucking ground! That’s supposed to bind him to that spot or some shit, least that’s what that vampire flick I saw said. Course that was a porno, so it was a different kind of wood, but still. Principle applies.”
Blacklash looked sideways at Boomerang. “Sometimes I’m ashamed to say I know you.” To Blizzard he added, “Donny, you saw what we did to the guy. We know he’s not getting up for a while. But then, you never know, so can we all just shut up and do this thing?”
The man with the boomerangs on his body, and hence was called Boomerang, shrugged. “Find by me. How do you want to do this?”
The man in the blue and white costume and was hence called Blizzard spoke up. “I vote we blow shit up and then just search for Mr. White through the rubble.”
But the third man, established as having a whip and hence was called Blacklash, shook his head. “Nah. White could just go intangible and sneak away. I’m all for the blowing shit up, but we’ve got to make sure nobody gets past us. Boomerang, you got any eye-spy ‘rangs?”
“All but the ones in Moonstone’s bathroom. Let’s go kill some government pricks.”
# # # # # # # # # #
Security rooms have two things: a wall of monitors and men to watch them. Usually it’s two, except at shift change when it’s none, because in the coming and going they pass each other outside. A dawn the room was empty for a brief time, and nobody saw Blacklash’s approach. He had several seconds even after the room was occupied, as men fresh on the shift don’t expect trouble at the beginning.
“Hey! We have an intruder!”
For Blacklash’s whip, seconds was enough. Three cameras out before anyone noticed, and when the control board started to spark, they certainly noticed. One reached for the button, to sound the alarm, but a spark jolted him clear across the room. The other ran for the door.
“Send out the alert!” he shouted to the relieved security as they were walking down the hall. “We’re under assault!”
He turned back to the monitors, and saw that all but three had faded. Three monitors showed three different men. Boomerang and Blizzard, approaching from opposite ends. And Blacklash, who was already inside, captured by the camera just outside the security room. On the floor just behind him were two men. Those same men the security guard had just called to.
“We can’t have people know they’re going to die just yet.”
Something lashed against the security guard’s back, and before he mercifully passed out could smell burnt flesh. He fell against the control board and then onto the floor. More lashes, and the smoking control board soon burst into flame. Blacklash turned from the room and the dead men inside, stepped over the dead men outside, and turned the corner to find more men he would kill.
So it would go, for him and the other two, until they found the one man they wanted dead. Mister White wasn’t getting away.
# # # # # # # # # #
The security room wasn’t the only place to have monitors. Seated behind his desk, Agent Crass observed as the three criminals infiltrated his compound, the property of the United States government. None of it was supposed to be like this, he knew. The Thunderbolts should have been dead at the hands of his operatives, not at their doorstep, killing loyal American patriots.
Three monitors displayed frozen scenes of carnage. Pieces of men littered the floors, all covered in ice. Some men appeared to be skewered through, while others appeared to be trapped screaming inside solid blocks of ice. The instrument of such destruction, Blizzard, walked the halls, his every move visible to Agent Crass. Every closed door he came across, Blizzard would touch it frozen, then shatter it with a kick. If empty, he would move on. If occupied, he dealt with the occupants. No room seemed to have what he wanted.
Then there was Boomerang, who seemed to be taking great glee in his acts of violence. Agent Crass saw the criminal juggling – juggling! – his boomerangs as he approached armed guards. Bullets were being fired at him, and Boomerang smiled. Idly he threw the boomerangs, razor sharp and explosive and so many other varieties, types that deflected the bullets and types that incapacitated the shooters and types that blew them into tiny bits. Men died at his hands, and Boomerang was smiling about it.
Then there was Blacklash, who knocked out cameras everywhere he went. Soon he wouldn’t have to, as power in the compound was beginning to fade. The monitors were starting to flicker, and the last one that went blank had Blacklash moving towards Agent Crass’s office.
Agent Crass pressed a button on his desk. “Let him out.”
“But sir!” a voice on the other end exclaimed. “You said he was too dangerous to-”
“That was then.” The voice of Agent Crass was tight with fear. “This is now.” Fear of his attackers, and of what he’d have to unleash to repel them. “Let him out. Now.”
# # # # # # # # # #
In his cell, Mister White raised his head at the flickering lights. That, and the activity of the security guards, told him that something was going on. An opportunity, perhaps.
“You men seem to be having some trouble,” Mister White informed the security guards stationed outside his cell. “Release me, and I’ll see what can be done about it.”
“Quiet down, freak,” ordered one of the crude guards. The other guard had started down the corridor, towards another specialized cell that was out of Mister White’s vision.
But Mister White could hear the fear in the man’s voice, and couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I don’t think I will. Why don’t you come over here and do something about it? Make yourself feel like a man, while your friends are all dying upstairs.”
It’d been a guess, but apparently Mister White was correct. Because the guard marched towards his cell, baton raised. If the act was mean to be intimidated, Mister White did not act as though it were. He simply raised an eyebrow. Off in the near distance, a man screamed, but the guard didn’t seem to take note of this. Mister White shifted his eyes in that direction, where the other guard had walked a short time ago.
“You shut the hell up or-” the guard started to yell, less than a foot from the outside of Mister White’s cell. At that moment, the lights flickered again. Suddenly the guard’s breath was caught in his throat.
In the space of flickering lights, Mister White took a chance and made his move. Power disruptions meant security disruptions, and sure enough the power neutralizer had been briefly disabled. Outside of normal space was something else, and Mister White stepped sideways into it and through the clear plastic wall of his cell. His hand passed into the security guard’s throat, caught the air and held it.
“No, I think you’ll shut up,” uttered Mister White softly. Nearby explosions began to shake the room, and Mister White then sighed. “Unfortunately, much as I would love to inflict the pain of suffocation on you, time seems to be of the essence. So I sincerely hope this hurts a great deal.”
A chalk-white hand entered the guard’s chest, and he felt his heart tighten. The pain was excruciating, and if he could have screamed it would have been music to Mister White’s ears. The look on his face was more than enough, however.
“Oh, thank you so very much.” Mister White stepped a little further into the outside space, becoming a little more transparent in the process. A man that was dead passed through a man that was nothing, but when the dead weight hit the ground Mister White had stepped back into being something. “Escape is what I should probably do, but I can’t help a little curiosity. Just one peek.”
# # # # # # # # # #
The ground rumbled at Blacklash's feet. Some feet ahead of him, the floor ripped apart and something rose up from it. With the dust blurring his vision, Blacklash could only make out a large shape, nearly as wide as the entire hallway. Not one to be intimidated, Blacklash cracked his whip, and stood to face down this new obstacle.
"Rrrrr."
The shape lunged forward, and Blacklash saw that it wasn't nearly as wide as first appeared. Skinny thing actually, all skin and bones. Especially the wings, big leathery flaps attached to its arms. A big greenish-grey monster with an elongated head and beakish face, but there was more to its features. Blacklash could have sworn the skin looked like circuitry, but there was no time or desire for a closer look.
Out in a flash the whip cracked, its tip meant to take the monster's eye and maybe give the brain a jolt. But not only was the monster big, it was fast as well. One long bony hand snatched the whip from the air. This wasn't the worst of it though. On contact, Blacklash could see his whip start changing, it's color began to match the creature, take on that same circuitry appearance, and it was spreading down the whip toward his arm.
Just in time, Blacklash let go of his weapon and fell back. The whip didn't fall to the ground, however. Once the transformation was complete, the creature drew the whip into itself, and roared in triumph. It's screech hurt Blacklash's ears. Like a tortured animal with rusted metal in its mouth.
"Goddammit!" yelled Blacklash. His main weapon was gone, and this thing could do worse than kill him with a touch. "What the hell are you?!"
"You've probably never heard of Sauron." The voice came from a speaker box on the wall, near Blacklash. He didn't recognize the voice, but it belonged to Agent Crass, and was full of gloat. "He traveled in different circles, and hasn't been active in a while besides. What he has is a techno-organic virus that was apparently altered by his bizarre physiology. You and your friends aren't long for the world, Mr. Scarlotti. Unless, of course, you're willing to make a-"
"I'm not a weak traitor like White!" hissed Blacklash.
Sauron advanced, but there were other weapons on Blacklash's person. It was the bola that he unfurled and threw at the techno-lizard freak. Aimed low, it wrapped around Sauron's legs and the monster crashed to the ground. Claws ripped at the floor, which like everything else in the compound was made of specially-treated materials that were immune to the techno-organic virus. Soon though, the bola would succumb. Still, Blacklash had time to turn and run.
Satisfying screams echoed behind Blacklash, as well as the sound of metal and bone snapping at once. Good, Blacklash thought, his bola had at least been able to raise the immediate area's gravity. Maybe that thing would get sucked back into Hell were it belonged.
Never the optimist, Blacklash turned on his radio. "Donny, Fred, we've got some serious trouble. Another one of those freaks the government sent after us is here. My whip's gone. I need you guys at my location now!"
Before a response could be made, shrieks of rage told Blacklash that Sauron was back up and bearing down on him. He risked a glance, and saw that the monster was airborne, flapping those wings in a space that was almost too slow to allow it. As it was, Sauron was banging against the walls and ceiling as it attempted to fly at Blacklash. There was no way he could outrun it, but Blacklash ran anyway.
Turning a corner without slowing down cost Blacklash a pained shoulder, as he couldn't avoid a smash against the wall. He managed to keep the pace though, and hoped that when Sauron crashed into that same wall seconds later it would be slowed down some. No such luck, as Sauron soon seemed to be gaining by the inch.
The air up ahead, at an intersection, looked a little murky to Blacklash. He hoped it wasn't the hits he'd taken, and dove when he was about to hit the intersection. Sure enough, the air felt a little chilly. Out of the corner of his eye, Blacklash saw Blizzard several feet down the adjacent hallway. A few seconds after diving, Blacklash heard the sweet, sweet sound of a head colliding with a thick bar of ice.
Sure enough, when Blacklash rolled out of his dive and turned around he observed Sauron on the floor, dazed. Broken pieces of ice lay scattered around it, and they were still ice. Water was apparently something that couldn't be infected.
"Skewer this freak!" Blacklash yelled, and Blizzard was more than willing to comply. His arms threw outward, and in the air there appeared large icicles hurtling towards Sauron.
"Graah!" the monster bellowed in a pained rage as the sharp ice jammed into it's body. Had he been flesh and blood, the ice would have torn his leathery wings and spilled his blood. But the techno-organic virus made Sauron much more. Any minor wounds inflicted healed almost immediately. "Your meager life shall become mine!" roared Sauron. He tore a long piece of ice from his body and hurled it back at Blizzard.
"Oh crap." He tried a form a wall of ice in front of him, but Blizzard had already leeched most of the moisture from the air. Blizzard's own icicle pierced his armor and into his side. "Aaahhh!"
Blacklash was the closer of the two, but Sauron chose to move past him and towards Blizzard instead. Weaponless, Blacklash was helpless to act as his wounded friend was faced with impending death. "Dammit Myers!" he screamed for Boomerang over the radio. "Where are you!"
It seemed as though Boomerang was waiting for just that moment to act. An explosion caved in the ceiling, showering debris just feet away from Blizzard. Hanging out in the mid-morning sky was Boomerang, kept aloft by rockets in his boots. He held in front of him a boomerang so long it required both hands, and it bristled with energy.
"Hey Dino," quipped Boomerang. "Why not come try me for size?"
Sauron opened his beaked jaws wide and bellowed that horrendous screech. His arms - and wings - spread wide. "In the air, you will be easy prey!"
However, Boomerang just grinned. "Good thing you won't be making it to the air then."
The distraction had paid off. Blizzard managed to regain his bearings, and the air around Sauron had suddenly dropped at a rapid rate. "What is this?" roared Sauron. Already his legs had frozen, and ice was creeping up through his body. "You think this can hold me? I'll break free and leech you all dry!"
"Maybe," admitted Boomerang. He started to rap his boomerang against his other hand. "If we were just going to hold me. My friends and I may not look it, but we're monsters too." Boomerang raised his weapon to throw. "And this is what monsters do."
*kksshh* Frozen and brittle, Sauron shattered into a billion tiny pieces once the boomerang struck him. Blizzard, Blacklash and Boomerang were so fixated on the glittering fragments as they danced across the floor, that they failed to notice an opaque white shape going through a dead guard's pockets.
"Okay." Blizzard nodded his head. "Crisis averted. Lets get back to finding..." But his voice trailed off. The tiny frozen fragments hadn't stopped moving. In fact, they were slithering across the floor, coming closer together.
Boomerang found the words first. "Oh shit. He's pulling a T-1000 on us."
Blacklash flicked his eyes up toward Boomerang. "No time now, but I will mock you for that later."
Almost faster than anyone could react, Sauron was whole and on the move, rushing again at Blizzard. There was nothing Blacklash or Boomerang could have done. Their friend was about to die. Blizzard realized this as well, and his eyes widened with fear.
"Grraaahhh - urk!"
Sauron halted mere feet from his intended target. Another man had stepped into his path, a man with chalk white skin and dressed in a black suit, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Like a ghost, Mr. White had appeared before Sauron, allowed one scaly/circuitry hand to clasped around his throat. Mr. White had a hand of his own pressed against Sauron's chest, and there was no fear whatsoever in his expression.
"You drain life," declared Mr. White. "By all means, try that on me."
Sauron complied, not infecting Mr. White with the techno-organic virus but instead tried to leech the life-force from Mr. White's body. Nothing happened, and Sauron's eyes widened as he felt the strength start to fade from his own body. His suspicions confirmed, Mr. White raised one end of his mouth and exhale a plume of cigarette smoke.
"Sorry, you'll find there's nothing left in this husk to take. Now that I've taken you're attention, I should inform you of a very important thing. You're free. So, instead of trying to kill the men that are here to give your captors gruesome deaths, maybe you should leave. Find some easier prey."
Sauron's eyes were locked on Mr. White's. He tried to use his other power, to hypnotize Mr. White into doing his bidding. But though their eyes met, Sauron had no connection to the other man. It was as though Mr. White weren't entirely there, that most of him was somewhere else completely. His powers completely useless against this thing, Sauron hated. Hated the nothing man who faced him, hated more the three costumes who'd tried to hurt him. But most of all, Sauron hated the suits who'd held him captive, and if these men were there to hurt those suits….
The hand broke away from Mr. White. Sauron needed it, and spread his arms out. He took to the air, through the hole in the ceiling and past Boomerang. Sauron hissed at the airborne man, almost hoped he'd try something. But Boomerang just backed up several feet, giving Sauron space. Reluctantly, Sauron flew off, a monster free to do as it pleased.
Having just been saved from certain death, Blizzard unsteadily rose to his feet. "Thanks for that, White, but it doesn't change anything. You're gonna die he-ukk!"
Without turning around, Mr. White raised his leg and kicked Blizzard high in the chest. The man was forced back several steps, and he would have fallen if Mr. White wasn't suddenly there to catch him from behind. In Mr. White's hand was another shard of ice.
"That wound in your side looks pretty serious," Mr. White hissed. Ashes from his cigarette dropped onto Blizzard's armor, started burning tiny holes. "Could I do any worse?" Then he jammed the shard of ice into Blizzard's other side, and twisted.
"Aaaiiieee!" Blizzard was shoved forward, and his head smashed against some the debris made when Boomerang blew a hole into the ceiling.
"You son of a bitch!" roared Boomerang. There were no weapons in his hand, but the man rocketed down at Mr. White. He intended to just hurt the traitor with the impact.
"Stupid, stupid," chided Mr. White. He made no effort to avoid Boomerang; simply turned immaterial so that the man passed right through him. Boomerang hurried to stop, and managed to slow himself enough that crashing into the call didn't hurt too much. But before he could recover, grab a boomerang, Mr. White grasped both hands to his head. "Maybe it would help if you knew why I've been working for Baron Zemo. What he saved me from a permanent existence of."
For a brief split-second, both Mr. White and Boomerang became opaque, immaterial and cut off from that plane of existence. For what seemed much longer, Boomerang screamed as though his soul was being torn from his body. When they again aligned with reality, Mr. White released Boomerang, and the man dropped to the floor. Breathing unsteadily, trembling throughout his body, and drooling from the mouth.
"That was only a fraction out of time," Mr. White stated as he turned around. "Imagine what I've been through, trapped there for years and still not entirely free."
Blacklash didn't care about imagining. Mr. White had just hurt his two best friend, and betrayed his teammates to an attack that cared several. Weaponless, he ran at Mr. White, and the two collided.
"You're going to die slow, you sick fuck!" screamed Blacklash. He raised a fist and dropped it at Mr. White's head. But the man had gone immaterial and Blacklash collided with the floor instead. "Aargh!" Mr. White was no longer underneath him, and Blacklash felt those cold but strong arms wrap around his neck. "Oh no you fucking don't!"
Taking a step back, Blacklash bent over and threw Mr. White over his head. The man crashed to the floor, but was quickly on his feet and facing Blacklash as he rushed again. This time he was prepared, and plunged his arm into Blacklash's chest. He stopped cold, feeling pressure on his chest.
"What do you think would happen if your blood suddenly dropped out of your body?" Mr. White hissed. "I've never thought to wonder, and I've had these powers for years. Instead, like you, I relied on weapons. Something that made killing so easy, I took it for granted and died myself. Now," his grip on the heart tightened, and Blacklash gasped in pain. "now it's harder, more personal, the way it should be for monsters like us."
"Gonna…rip your heart…out," swore Blacklash.
Mr. White shook his though. "Not likely. I would need to have one first. That is why I want Zemo dead. This artificial body he gave me, back when he freed him from a life in limbo, it's breaking down. Suddenly there's a deadline for him to give me a real host body, and I intend to make sure he pays up."
"What do we…have to do…with Zemo?" asked Blacklash. Mr. White seemed eager to talk, and Blacklash wasn't about to stop him.
"You don't know where's he's hiding, do you?" Mr. White smiled, and spat the spent cigarette into Blacklash's face. "Why, he's right in plain sight, disguised as Justin Hammer! It's about time your eyes became as open as mine. Oh, I hated being his lackey, but I put up with it because of what he did, and for what he promised me. That's done now."
The grip on Blacklash's heart was released, and he slumped to the ground. Mr. White stood over his semi-conscious form, triumphant.
"Maybe he thought you could kill me, or this could have been his way of removing you from his service. With Zemo one never knows, and I won't risk even inadvertently doing his bidding. So you'll live, Blacklash, you and your friends. With your pathetic weapons and ridiculous costumes, go and tell Zemo who's coming for him. Not Mr. White, that name he forced upon me. Once and again I am the Death-Stalker, and my actions live up to my name!"
Beaten and weak, Blacklash opened his eyes, but the former Mr. White had vanished. He was alone, with a seriously injured Blizzard and comatose Boomerang. Slowly, Blacklash rose to his feet, and adjusted the radio until he found the correct frequency.
"Quantum…we need Quantum to get us. Now." Fire in the building was spreading fast, and an explosion almost made Blacklash lose his footing. A strong hand grabbed his arm to steady Blacklash however. He looked up at the silent Quantum. "What took you so long? Get us out of here. Blizzard and Boomerang need medical attention now. Then I want to talk to your boss."
Quantum didn't say anything, but the four men vanished, teleported by his power. Flaming debris crashed down on the space they previously occupied. Where monsters had dwelt, only destruction remained.
Alone in his office, the only room untouched by the devastation, Agent Crass sat behind his desk. Serious damage had been done that day and two prisoners had gone free, but perhaps there was something he could salvage something from it. If Agent Crass thought long and hard enough, there had to be something to benefit him.
So concentrated was he on saving his own ass, Agent Crass failed to notice the shadow in his office until it was too late. Michael Morbius had recovered, as living vampires are apt to do, and his hands are on Agent Crass' neck.
"For what you've done to me," Morbius hissed. "This will by no means be swift!"
Bared fangs pierced soft skin, and Agent Crass screamed.
# # # # # # # # # #
Epilogue
The call came to Justin Hammer's phone, on the line reserved for only that operative. Seated behind Hammer's desk, Baron Zemo activated the image inducer and took on the deceased industrialist's image.
"Yes Beck," answered Zemo with Hammer's voice. "How went the operation."
That Mysterio did not immediately respond with groveling was a good sign. "A complete success, sir. Even as we speak, Mathematic has him trapped in an electromagnetic field that reboots his mind at precise intervals."
"Excellent. Await further instructions." Zemo broke the connection, shed the disguise, and allowed himself a small grin beneath his mask. The operatives in London had captured Scourge, formerly the Fixer. Soon, he would once again do Zemo's bidding!
# # # # # # # # # #
Issue: We flash back 48 hours to see the attack on the Scourge by Zemo’s Mindfuck Force – Mentallo, Mysterio, Mathemanic, and Mesmero – before unleashing their secret weapon upon the killer. What’s scarier than a Darkhold-empowered Scarecrow? Absolutely nothing!
# # # # # # # # # #
RAP SHEET
So there are two things you may have noticed with this issue.
First off, this is the first new issue of Thunderbolts in over a year, the last being the Baron Zemo spotlight issue of late 2005. The second is that this issue was, well, not written by me. Steve Crosby, he of such fame as Captain America and an upcoming run on Avengers, has taken on the scripting chores for this book, and I couldn’t be happier with the results. I mean, just go back and LOOK at this monster of an issue! The man has come on board, saved my ass after I lost my scripting mojo, and straight-up knocked shit out of the park.
Thanks, Steve. Welcome to the family.
Chris Munn
04/21/07