Lazydragon

[ QUOTE ]

She paused. "I ramble. What I believe I can provide is a maturation chamber that is more reliable thanthe Arachnos versions...and one which will reduce the incubation period by a factor of four, in conjunction with the growth hormone. I'll need three days and considerable medical input. Can you give me both?"

[/ QUOTE ]

Jack checked his watch. His contact was late, but that wasn't unusual. Longbow had always treated him with spurious contempt ever since he wriggled his way out of going to the Zig, and being late was one of their many consistent, if tediously juvenile, ways of reminding Jack that he was less than nothing.

But he had orders to keep his ears open. Above and beyond his duties involving his former mentors in the Circle of Thorns, Freedom Corps. wanted him to be one of their many eyes and ears, and they didn't care if was willingly or not.

The cat-lady spoke with surprising competency, and with an anunciation so clear and sharp that Jack had very little problem listening to the entire conversation, even if most of it was over his head. And anything dealing with Arachnos, well, that had to be a concern for Freedom Corps.

But hey, he didn't owe FC anything. Let them choke on whatever plots Arachnos was cooking up. Except...maybe people would get hurt. Innocent people. Jack cursed into his ebbing whiskey glass. This wouldn't be the first time that having a conscience bit him in the backside.

He'd listen further. If it sounded nihilistic, he'd follow them, or at least one of them.

Sure, the sound was near deafening, and the lights glaring beyond the capacity of most people's retinas, but the whiskey was good and Mia didn't water it down.

Jack Banshee watched the spectacle on the floor. Then he watched the spectacle at the bar, then by the rails, on the stiars, and floating near the ceiling. Yes, Pocket D was rife with spectacles, all beautiful beyond imagination and powerful beyond...well, beyond him, by the looks of it.

He thumbed a cigarette, lit it, took small puffs as he observed what he could. The smoke curling from his mouth shurnk and warped and flipped inside out to form the image of a hula girl slowly dancing her way to the ceiling with come hither, flowing hips.

Despite having lived in Vegas, he felt out of place. He blamed it on his attire...a black jacket and slacks just didn't fit in this wardrobe of primary spandex. Hss burgundy die-cut mask held some resonance, but Jack thought it looked ridiculous. If he wasn't under Freedom Corps.'s thumb, it would have seen the bottom of a dumpster very quickly.

Part 2

Doctor Laura Sailee snatched a cigarette from her purse and brought it to a mouth heavy with lines. She stilled trembling fingers long enough to light the thing, and then marched out of the airport concourse, hand bag in tow. Under normal circumstances the flight would have been considered pleasant. Funny how having a death sentence on your head robbed the luster from life’s little pleasures, wasn’t it, she thought to herself with a grim chuckle.

They would have realized she was gone by now, naturally. She could only hope that the fake identities and convoluted contingency plans provided to her by her real backers were complex enough to throw her pursuers off the trail. Hey, not all was lost, she thought. She was almost at the rendezvous point. A good hour ride in a taxi and she’d be home free.

Puffing madly, she hailed a taxi and slipped deftly into the backseat. Her Italian was rusty, but after a few minutes of stammering and wild gesticulations toward a map of Rome, the light of understanding fell across the cabbie’s eyes and he nodded. “Yes, American woman,” he said, “I take you there.”

“Prego,” she said lamely, chaining a second cigarette. She shrunk down in the backseat and clasped her tote bag close. Besides a carton of smokes, it held all the latest information on the Daggerback Files. It was incomplete though, and that worried her for several reasons. Firstly, the full scope of the subject’s abilities was unknown to her, and if she didn’t know them, then the people who were paying her to act as a spy didn’t know either. Secondly, and far more importantly in her eyes, it meant she had been kept deliberately out of the loop. Which meant people didn’t want her to know things. Which meant she had been a suspected double-agent for…well, god knows how long, but long enough. And how much did Dr. Geoffe factor into this whole thing? He practically chided her for not reading the report from the ND division concerning the night-lens change, significant in every respect. Well, guess what Dr. friggin-Geoffe? No such report ever showed up on her desk, or in the data archives, or in ND’s database. Not the database she had been allowed to access, anyways. God, she hated this. If she had to do it all over again she’d have told that arrogant SOB Novaman to stick it.

“I make good time for you, American woman.” In the rearview mirror she watched the cabbie’s eyes flick to the no smoking sign in prominent display.

She looked him right in the eye and chained a third. “Prego.”

_______________________________________________

The alarm system hadn’t been an issue. It didn’t take long for him to understand that not all his training in The Domicile was a wasted effort at simulation. He could unlock and deactivate most security systems, and a few of the high-tech ones as well, so breaking into the corner deli last night proved miraculously easy. He wasn’t built to be a thief, but his education on the world outside had been broad and varied. They had told him less about himself, but he knew hunger, and he knew not listening to it proved far more devastating to him than simple lethargy. His hyper-constitution required constant energy, and when it was denied such nourishment his recuperative powers shut down. Under normal circumstances, this wasn’t necessarily a tragic thing.

Unless you could cause your body to explode in spires of bone. Then things became messy.

Crouched down behind the counter he glutted himself on cheese and meat and bread. It tasted different than the food at The Dom; more robust, earthier, less…less drugged, he decided. He stood, bits of parmesan and scraps of turkey spilling from his chest, and looked at the clock hanging over the cash register. 5 in the morning. He’d need sleep in a little bit, but not until tomorrow maybe, at the latest. So that meant he’d need to find a good hiding place. His personal cloak was powerful, true, but anything can be found if you have enough resources, and The Dom had nothing if not vast resources. They’d be looking for him.

As if an omen, he watched a man in an armored suit float to the ground, little concentric circles of blue flame spamming out on the pavement as his feet touched earth. A Watchdog. He had seen them before in the Dom, had been forced to fight them. He had won handily at first, but with whatever data they mined out of each combat session, his victories had become less frequent and harder won, until he could no longer manage against a single Watchdog.

He ducked as the Watchdog turned, a strange green light in his hands scouring over everything as it scanned and pulled data. He trusted his natural powers of stealth, yes, but it would be foolish to test it against such an adversary.

He waited until the green light had passed, then slunk carefully around the counter. The Watchdog had his back turned and was speaking into his helmet. Daggerback closed his eyes for a brief second, willing his body to grow a wicked, 3-foot barb of bone from his forearm. His costume opened obligingly for the lance, and his regenerative powers healed the rift in his skin.

He crawled now, submerged in his element. Perhaps he hadn’t been trained to be a thief, but this was better. The shock of plunging through bone and flesh had become addicting to him, and in the back of his mind he knew this made him little better than an animal. Fine. So be it. An animal they had made him, an animal he would be. He crept up to bask in the early morning shadow of the man sent to kill him. His arm pulled back. A crow cried in the wind.

The rugged blade plowed into the carapace, shredding important looking cables and lighting the deli storefront with a shower of orange and blue electric spats. Daggerback followed up with a hard spine jutting from his palm, but the man had turned by now, with a speed that was all too frustratingly familiar to Daggerback. The spine glanced off the heavily armored chest, barely even scratching the emblem of a bulldog’s face complete with eye patch.

The Watchdog gestured with his hand, and a bright globe of light blazed all around Daggerback before he felt his body leave the ground and hurtle into the side of a building. As he scrambled to his feet he heard the man talk into a receiver.

“Found him. Yeah, he’s a Class A like the file said. Not really, just some minor damage to my gravimetric stabilizers.” He laughed. “Yeah, I know you have to obey protocol, but believe me, there ain’t going to be anything left of this one when you guys get here. It’s all she wrote, baby.”

He was on him again, but the armor flustered every swipe and lunge. The man laughed again. “File says you fought us before,” he said, calmly leveling his blaster again. “You’re either desperate or stupid. Either works for me.” Again his world turned into a violent bloom of orange and green globes, and he felt himself get punched through a wall. He burned. His body was screaming, running to douse the pain and restore damaged tissue. He couldn’t win this, not playing like he was now.

“Playtime is over, little guy. C’mon out and let’s get ya back to the cage, huh? I’ll give you a nice rubber ball to chew on!”

Daggerback sprang to his feet and dashed to the rear of the deli (which now sported a second entrance in the brick facade).

“Running won’t save you, this time. I’ve got you scanned, you SOB. On all wavelengths and all telemetries.” He stalked through the wreckage of the deli and into the narrow alleyway. “Only one way to go. Uncle Chester’s got some loooove for you. Hmm.” The Watchdog scanned the alley. It was open on only one side, and he didn’t see anything. And no catwalks meant there was no way to climb out of this place. Unless… “Holy sh…”

He looked up just in time to see two jagged spines tear into the seal around his helmet.

Daggerback dropped and locked his legs around the man’s neck. He jammed his weapons into the grooves and pried. He felt his ligaments pop, he felt his muscles shift, strain, and finally tear. His body was turned into a living conflagration as the Watchdog popped plasma sphere after plasma sphere onto his assailant. But the miscalculation was apparent. Built to subdue Class A melee targets, the suit wasn’t designed to resist energy, especially not energy as volatile and constant as the suit’s plasma discharges. The suit gave way, malfunctioning under its own firepower, melting seals and locks and safety gauges.

The spines he had jammed in the Watchdog’s suit broke, and sent him sprawling down the alley. A ferocious, overwhelming pain cascaded through his system. He had never broken one of his bones before. He couldn’t imagine anything feeling worse than this. He spared a glance at his enemy. Transformed into a tortured pillar of flame, Daggerback grinned as he watched the man wither and burn to a blob of protoplasm on the alley floor.

He had to leave now. He had to force his body up, move it away. Anywhere would work. He lifted up on his arms, and fell back down. Quietly he willed his nightmare shroud back over his body. Maybe that would be enough.

______________________________________

“Enough, American woman!” barked the cabbie. “No more smoke, eh?”

“Go to hell, Mama Celeste,” she mumbled. Then the explosion hit.

One second she had been rummaging through files on regenerative rates versus wound types for a fifth cigarette, and the next she was awash in ear-piercing screams, gouts of thick, cloying smoke, and flames dancing brightly on shards of twisted metal. The cabbie was dead, his eyes rolled blankly to the back of his head. The non smoking sign had, in some bizarre stroke of surrealism, landed in hands facing her as a ludicrous reminder. Smoking can kill you, she thought, and then burst out laughing as tears wracked her face.

Something grabbed her arm. It was a remorseless grip; unforgiving and hard, and she was yanked violently off her feet. She coughed. Her eyes teared with smoke and grief and something bordering lunacy’s threshold. A bag was pulled over her head. Her tote was ripped from her, and she thrown roughly into what she could only imagine was a car.

“Don’t scream, don’t move, don’t even say a word. Do we understand each other?” She didn’t nod, didn’t speak, just lay there trying to digest her new situation.

She lay there, numb and still for what she figured was a good hour. The noise of the city receded and more pastoral sounds took their place. She heard birds singing, the gruff crank of an old motorcycle, the breeze moving across fields of grass. In other words, she was being taken to a place where no one was likely to find her. Wonderful. And she hadn’t even a chance to eat a final meal of lasagna.

The vehicle stopped. Her shroud was ripped from her head, and she blinked back against the bright sun as it hammered down on a field bereft of life except for the vast patches of wildflowers. They grew in thick, odd tufts. There was no symmetry and it looked, despite the idyllic weather, a tad garish.

“Doctor Sailee, tsk tsk tsk.” She turned to find a huge, muscle-bound man, broad across every imaginable plane, grin at her through ridiculously tiny frame wire glasses. “You should have known better. Or planned better.” He pulled out a cigarette from her purse, grimaced at it, and then threw it away. “These will kill you.”

“What do you care, Burke?” She looked glumly out at the field. “This is where you’re going to do it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Choose a plot, any plot.”

She surveyed the field, and pointed to a nice shaded thicket that grew beneath a striving mahogany. “How about there?”

Burke turned. “What, over th-” His question was cut short as the good Doctor Sailee smashed her open palm against his jaw. It felt like hitting a concrete slab, though. Still, he was stunned enough to allow her to jump from the Jeep (of course, she should have known it was a Jeep) and thresh through the overgrowth.

“Bad move, Doctor,” stormed Burke’s voice behind her. “Now I’m going to plant you in the road.” She turned to see what he was doing, tripped on a sudden root, and lay supine against a cavalcade of swaying reds, green, and yellow flowers. Burke had readied a monstrous pistol and now trained it upon the prone woman. “Any last words?”

“*&#@!! you!”

“Right then.” And he pulled the trigger.

Laura was proud of herself. She didn’t scream. She flinched though, flinched hard, and threw her hands up in a futile gesture. She heard the bullet whine off of something, listened to Burke curse a bluestreak, and slowly opened her eyes.

She had been enclosed in an effervescent bubble, the force field doing strange things with the light as it filtered through the barrier. She watched as Burke was flung from his perch by a jagged bolt of energy, and then violently lifted off the ground to be held by some constricting, invisible force.

In a flash she was surrounded by Novaman and his crew of supers. Shunt, the scrappy, dark haired woman who had flung the force field around her; Riftwalker, the solemn, quiet caped master of gravity who was now holding Burke; Balisong the sword-wielding acrobat who hailed from the Philippines, and Lady Psiren, the powerful Brazillian telepath who had probably been tracking them since Rome. And, of course, appearing in his typical pretentious burst of scintillating light was the overbearing Novaman, clad head to toe in a grandiose, eye-gouging costume designed to generate the attraction an aplomb his massive ego required. They were all gorgeous, paragons of utter beauty. She hated them, hated them all.

“We’ve been tracking you since Rome, Doctor,” preened Novaman, surveying the landscape as if he was the only reason it was there. “Naturally there was some concern after the explosion, but we felt-“

“%$@#!* you! %@$!$ all of you! I could have died back there!” She began to shake suddenly, gripped by exhaustion, fear, and hatred. Lady Psiren crouched down and put a hand on her shoulder. Laura shrugged it off, not entirely spent from her tirade. “You could have met me at the airport at any time! Hell, you could have intercepted the #$@!ing plane mid-flight!”

Novaman gave that plastic smile and laugh he saved for the cameras. “Oh, I think we know what we’re doing a little better than you, Doctor. Never fear, we had everything under control. Besides, we have someone I think you should meet.”

“Here?” Laura looked around incredulously. “In the middle of nowhere? Now?”

“Indeed,” he sniffed, and then nodded to Riftwalker. The master of gravity returned a nod, and held his hand out, palm open. Energy began to crackle and spit around it, and as he closed it into a fist, Laura felt the pulse of space being turned upside down. Teleportation never left anyone feeling well, but her stomach flipped itself when the man Riftwalker summoned finished materializing.

“Laura, it’s good to see you again,” said the man known to the world as the hero Daggerback. He didn’t know whether to hug her again or shake her hand now that things were…different. But he was spared the choice.

Doctor Laura Sailee had fainted in the remote Italian countryside.

(to be continued..feel free to jump in if any of this interests you. I’m not sure where it’s going, but the journey’s half the fun)

The figure leapt from the rooftop; a twisting, feral silhouette of lethal athleticism. It seemed to miss the adjacent building, but before the thing plummeted to the wet, slick maw of the alley far below, a hand shot out to catch the edge and swing itself gracefully on to the roof. Despite the thing’s apparent bulk, it stole over the roof with startling agility.

The clouds had scattered quickly that evening, and a waxy moon shone in the sudden berth. It’s soft, incandescent fingers groped blindly for the creature, failing to penetrate the turmoil of shadows that gathered and hung about his frame like a shroud of nightmares. But less celestial eyes also sought the elusive creature, and with far more success.

“Dr. Geoffe, are you positive that drone is on infrared imaging?” Doctor Sailee leaned forward, squinting at the screen through her glasses. “Is something interfering with the transmission?”

A tall, thin man, rendered gaunt in the impersonal light of the vid-screen, coughed and shuffled as he turned to his superior. “Yes, and yes, Doctor. The drone is not only in infrared imaging mode, it’s also cross-referencing air displacement algorithms, and ever since the storm passed we’ve also patched in a passive night-sight, and run an echolocation sonar screen.” Here he sighed. “The drone is maxed out, Doctor. It cannot possibly survey anymore than what you are seeing now.”

Laura Sailee removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. This whole project had been frustrating from day one, and now, when they were at last in the home stretch, things had only gotten more difficult. She felt a headache coming on. “Then why, Dr. Geoffe, is he little more than a blur? What is fouling the transmission?”

Her colleague turned back to the screen, following the amorphous wrap of shadow as it bounded through the rooftops. A sliver of fearful awe crept into his voice. “It’s him. It has to be. He is blocking the transmission.”

“That capability was NOT in the specs, Doctor Geoffe!” Laura felt her fingernails dig into her palm. “It was the express concern of our benefactor to ensure his photo-dampeners were limited to certain wavelengths. What happened, Doctor Geoffe? I demand an answer.”

But Geoffe had long slipped into his morbid rapture with the Daggerback experiment. He stood transfixed as the nebulous patch of darkness slipped further into the city.

“Doctor Geoffe!”

“I…what?” The befuddled doctor stumbled as he spun around.

“The photo-dampeners, Doctor Geoffe.” She jabbed a finger at the screen. “There were supposed to be very obvious visible spectrum limitations. And at the least the sonar should be tracking him superbly. As it is, it can barely keep up.”

“Oh. OH. Yes, well, can I take this to mean you didn’t read the latest report from the Null-Detection division?” He paused just long enough to spare her the agony of drawing a complete blank. “Well, we couldn’t abide by those parameters without impugning on the core invisible spectrum requirements. We switched to something Johnson called night-lenses. It’s more core to his biology, but…”

Doctor Laura Sailee desperately needed a drink. That the experiment had escaped on its very first environmental test run was unconscionable alone, but to lack the means to track it meant she will be classified as a security liability. There had been a few of those these past ten years, but they were always handled promptly. Security liabilities were never a problem two bullets in the head couldn’t solve. “But what, Doctor?”

“His enhanced regenerative properties acted to super-charge what was now indistinguishable with his own physiology. The lenses were…biologically magnified and altered to align to hide from whatever he could perceive, along with those wavelengths already pre-built into the technology.”

That made him virtually undetectable. Wonderful. Along with his other monstrous gifts, it was possible they may never see him again. She felt a sudden urge to flee the country. She followed that urge. Italy sounded nice. Italy sounded like a place where security liabilities could hang their hat safely.

“Dr. Geoffe?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Activate the Watchdogs. I’ll see you in the morning. I’m grabbing a late lasagna dinner.”

________________________________________

Free!

He knew the word, but had never understood it until now, never understood how it sang in your veins and coursed like fire in your heart and mind. Muscles coiled and sprang, lungs turned the cold February air into heated blasts of exultation, and the man who only ever knew the name Daggerback plunged with wild ferocity into the heart of his own life, his new life.

The staid and antiseptic training room back in The Domicile could never compete with this…visceral abandon. The only thing that was real back home was the pain. That, he thought, was the only thing honest and true about The Domicile. He would never go back to it. Never. Not for fear of pain, but for the lack of control over how it was administered. A snarl gripped his face behind the lightless reaper’s shroud he wore. Never again. From now on, anything that would hurt him would bleed.

He dipped down to street level. He prowled now, a hunter unleashing his senses and passion against a jeweled animal that thrummed with the life of thousands, hundreds of thousands. There was blood here, blood and meat and pain. The holograms he sparred with didn’t bleed. When a daggered spine passed through a predetermined vital point, all that would happen would be a short burst of ozone as the hologram snapped off.

He prowled, invisible, into the center of three men. Their clothes were ragged and stained, and one had singe marks wafting from his fingertips as he rolled a pair of dice against a dank and forlorn doorway. He reveled in the abject misery. It was fascinating, this slum of trash and indifference, the stink and sweat of real people doing real things. His excitement flowered, and he shed his cloak of shadows, howling to the sky as his body erupted in bolts of jagged bone.

________________________________________


Above him, a cloud of silent, cyclopean drones spied upon their quarry. The non-reflective lenses caught the bloodshed in high resolution. Nanite recorders stored the grisly scene of wholesale slaughter in disturbing detail. When the bodies lay still in their own blood, when the burns and wounds of the survivor closed with uncanny speed, that strange, wonderful miasma of shadow bore him out of the surveillance range of the drones.

Dr. Geoffe smiled. What a fascinating creature. In the context of superbeings, of course, perhaps others would see him as mundane. But not him. No one knew Daggerback better than he did. He clicked a stud on the desk and a private line opened.

“Yeah?” The voice was rough and guttural. It seemed to Dr. Geoffe that all the Watchdogs spoke in that same manner.

“This is Dr. Geoffe. We have a 10-80 that needs attention.”

“Location?” grunted the voice.

“Transmitting.”

“All right, Doc. Anything else?”

“Yes. I want Burke to book a flight to Italy. He has a dinner date.”

To be continued