<===>
Countess Crey glided into the room, casting sideways glances at the gurney to her left. Underneath heavy canvas straps, several oozing chunks lay on the cold steel. Standing over the gurney was a thin, mousy, little man with half-spectacles perched precariously on his hawklike nose. Behind his glasses were two bulging eyes that looked as if they might leap from their sockets at any moment. Dressed in a stained labcoat, and filthy scrubs, he regarded the hunks of meat clinically, and somewhat affectionately, while he poked and prodded at them with metal probes. To his right was a pedestal bearing a tray laden with all manner of probes, hooks, knives, and gouges. Most were covered in thick ichor, or bile. The Countess cleared her throat.
Your grace! the man said, bowing low, the top of his head covered in thinning, greasy hair that clung to his head like mold. I didnt hear you come in!
Professor von Richter, report she said curtly.
The man emitted a nervous, high-pitched giggle. Fascinating creatures, these Rikti. Where did you get one?
It was disguised as an employee. A routine scan found it. What was it doing here? Did it tell you anything useful?
Oh, it talked. He emitted the creepy giggle again. Or rather, it screamed. He then got a look on his face that was almost wistful. I think it cried at one point. I cannot be sure. The giggle again echoed off the stainless steel walls of the room.
The Countess shivered involuntarily. She had to mentally repeat the mantra she used to deal with this man. I let him live because he is good at his job. He works for ME. He takes orders from ME. I let him live because he is good at his job. He works for ME. He takes orders from ME. It was the only thing that kept the revulsion she felt to a minimum. Even so, the bile was rising in her throat at the thought of some of the things she had seen him do, and even more that she had only heard of. What did it tell you? she finally asked aloud.
It was sent to observe any advances in earth technology and report back. Toward the end, it mentioned something about an experiment that you had become interested in that was recently moved to an earth military facility from a human repair facility. He giggled that squeaky giggle again.
In English, she said irritably.
Umm.. I suspect it was referring to that boy you had me try to clone. Pity that. The DNA looked most impressive. Was my data useful, your grace? he inquired, a lascivious grin on his pockmarked face as he took a step toward the Countess.
She took an involuntary step back. Yes. Quite. What did the thing say about the boy?
It indicated that he was taken from the hospital to what I can only assume is a Vanguard lockdown. The Rikti are planning to assault it en masse.
Hmm. I guess we missed our opportunity, then. Very well, she said, waving her hand at the gurney. See that the remains are disposed of immediately.
The mans face fell. But we are still having such fun, the Rikti and I. He giggled once again. The Countess noticed to her lasting horror that some of the chunks were still twitching. Nearly retching, she nodded a hasty assent, and walked briskly from the room.
In the hallway was her associate, the same man that had attained the sample of Martins blood. Once the color had returned to her face, she spoke. Cain, it appears that Vanguard has Mr. Thorne in their custody. Did you have any trouble finding our contact?
No, Countess, he said, stepping onto a waiting elevator after her.
And you delivered the little care package to the individual in question?
I did, he returned as the elevator doors closed noiselessly.
And did he promise to test it for us, and attain what I asked for?
Eagerly, but he asked for more money, as you predicted.
And?
I confirmed the amount, as you instructed.
Good. At least the good professors experiments saw enough of a success that we might yet see a profit from this venture. Ill see no more resources thrown after a potential when there are so many positives available where it would be better used. The product we already have has enormous marketing potential. The 5th Column alone would pay a kings ransom for just a dozen of those resistant skinsuits.
Yes, Countess.
Circulate a memo. If this fails, he is to be regarded as a target of opportunity only. Not a dedicated op. Clear?
Very.
<===>
As Rikti troopers began to emerge from the portals, Dr. Stromberg turned to Martin, Martin! Dampen your power! Quickly!
As he did so, the people around him began manifesting all manner of abilities. The Sentinel hovered into the air, apparently itching for a fight. Marcus was once again sheathed in armor of stone. To Martins astonishment, Nurse Greys form began shifting and twisting. Gone was her uniform, and her salt-and-pepper hair. She stood revealed as a perfect, featureless, female form made of what looked like bright chrome. Immediately, she threw forth her arms, emitting some sort of force shield between them and the Rikti invaders. Major Davis was suddenly wreathed in an inky blackness, making his silhouette difficult to discern.
Even Dr. Stromberg burst into flames, and made ready to charge down the new threat.
Claude! No! You cannot! Nurse Grey shouted over the growing noise, youll kill yourself!
Ill be fine, Therese, returned Dr. Stromberg, suddenly holding a great, flaming blade.
The Scarlet Sentinel rushed to Martins side and whispered hastily as the Rikti fully entered the scene and the battle was joined, Martin. Quickly. Find a way out of here during the chaos. It is likely your only chance.
I cant just leave you guys.
Martin, in this situation, your power will be more of a liability than an advantage. Well need all of our powers to put them down.
Several bullets ricocheted off a nearby wall, causing the Sentinel to bear Martin to the floor for cover. Guns? What on Earth are they doing with guns?
Its Thorne! They know their weapons wont work on him, so they are using standard Earth tech! Men! Do not let them get to Thorne! Shoot him if need be! screamed Marcus.
Martin, run, growled the Sentinel, rising to her feet. Dont you think we have other, more pressing matter to attend to? she shouted at Marcus, as several bullets bounced harmlessly off her chest.
He is a threat! Marcus retorted.
So are they! yelled Nurse Grey as Dr. Stromberg charged the bulk of the force that faced them, swinging savagely with his sword. Those Rikti lucky enough to miss being caught in the wicked slash were still close enough to him to feel the embrace of his white-hot aura, and burst into flames. Blood was already trickling from Dr. Strombergs nose from the strain of using his powers. He wouldnt last long alone.
Marcus barked an expletive and turned to battle the Rikti.
The Scarlet Sentinel watched Martin dash down the hallway in the opposite direction, and also turned towards the Rikti, cracking her knuckles. All right, boys. Lets dance, she said merrily, and dove headlong into the Rikti squad. She grabbed the nearest one by his bulbous head and began swinging him like some kind of club, batting his fellows in all directions. Marcus swung a stone hammer as an advancing warrior tried to step around him. The Rikti was launched into the air towards the Sentinels back.
Sentinel! Behind you! he shouted.
She turned in time to spot the flight of the creature, clasped both hands together and made ready to swing. Batter up! she quipped as she connected with the things midsection, sending it soaring in the opposite direction, right toward a newly-manifested portal. It went through with a fwoop sound. They couldnt see, but on the other side of the doorway, the hapless warrior bowled into a dozen more that were waiting to step through, knocking them in all directions, and finally coming to rest on the portals controls, shorting them out. Back in the hallway, the portal winked out.
Nice shot, said Nurse Grey, as she sent out force-field bubbles to her allies.
Thanks. 3 years in the Connelly High School, Lady Wolverines. I was the shortstop, replied the Sentinel, battering a Rikti drone with another Rikti drone.
Dr. Stromberg was the first to fall. The strain of using his formidable powers was too much for his aging body. Coughing up blood, he fell to his knees. The Sentinel scooped him up and placed him behind Nurse Greys main shield, and charged back into the fray with wild abandon. Every Rikti that fell into Major Davis reach was immediately assaulted by cold, shadowy energy, as his hands dealt blows charged with energies from a dark place that birthed nightmares. The other soldiers fought with powers of their own. The troupe was doing well, but now that Martin was gone, the Rikti had discarded their conventional weaponry in favor of their more lethal and devastating Rikti blasters. All over the base, groups of heroes were being pushed back. Eventually, they all met up in the bases huge cafeteria, but it looked as if the base might be lost completely.
I don't know if anyone is still following this, but here is another part. We're coming down the home stretch, everyone. 
Martin ran through the hallways, dodging Rikti and base personnel alike. He heard the screams of the men and women from all directions, and felt that he should be helping in some way, even though that Marcus guy meant to kill him at the first opportunity. He did his best to remember the layout of the base, but the stress of the situation combined with the inner conflict of his instinct for survival and his responsibility to his friends was making it hard to think. He skidded to a stop just short of a Rikti portal just as it came into being in front of him. As the alien warrior began stepping through, Martin activated his dampening field and focused all of it that he could on the emerging threat. It was an act of sheer desperation, but it was a gamble that paid off. With a nauseating gurgle, the Rikti fell to the ground dead, sliced neatly in two as the portal winked out like a candle in the wind. This gave Martin the embers of an idea. The creature had dropped one of its bizarre blasters. The operation of the device looked simple enough, if a bit awkward due to differences in physiology. Martin dampened his power, aimed it at a nearby wall, and triggered it. The weapon spat multi-hued energy that exploded into the concrete, showering the area with sparks and hot chunks of stone. Activating his power, he triggered the weapon again. Nothing happened. The embers fanned into a flame. Martin remembered something in his flight and began working he way back down the corridors. Two Rikti came around the corner to block his path. Martin hesitated, but the creatures did not, firing their weapons at Martin. The energy bolts fizzled and died a dozen feet from him. Smiling wickedly Martin quickly dampened his field and shot back. The bolts tore through one of the things, dropping it immediately. The other dove for cover, and tore at a storage pouch on its armor. Martin moved forward, power active, preparing to drop the field and fire again. The Rikti popped out from behind cover, and was fumbling awkwardly with something small and metallic. Martin recognized the machine pistol in just enough time to hit the floor as it spat at him. Fortunately for Martin, the Rikti wasnt used to the weapons behavior, and the shots went wild. This gave Martin the precious seconds he needed to roll aside, dampen his field, and send a stream of destructive energy from his newly-acquired weapon at the creature. The bolts hit home on the things shoulder, sending it sprawling. Martin advanced on the thing, drawing a careful bead on it as he advanced. It struggled to bring its earth weapon to bear. Martin aimed and fired, separating its head from its body. Bending to retrieve the Uzi, Martin noted that it was plastered with stickers and logos typical of the Skulls. Apparently, the Rikti had relieved some gang members of their already stolen weaponry. So, Ill steal it from the thieves that stole it from the thieves that stole it to begin with, Martin thought to himself, chuckling.
Looking up from the dead Rikti, Martin noticed something in a small room across from the body that he recognized from his studies at Paragon ROTC. It was an advanced communications rig. Dashing to the unit, Martin dampened his power, stabbed at the button that closed and locked the door with a trembling finger, and turned to activate the transceiver.
Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Mayday! We have a situation here. Rikti have invaded the base! We need help! Please respond! Martin pleaded desperately with the microphone. He had hoped that the system was already configured to whatever emergency frequency it needed to be on. A heartbeat later, his prayers were answered as the speaker came to life.
This is Vanguard HQ. Who is this?
My name is Martin Thorne. I am a guest in the Paragon facility. Rikti invaders are all over the base, and we cannot hold out for long. They are teleporting in from all over. Please help us, Martin begged.
Look above your receiver and tell me what you see.
I see a small, black plaque that says XQ45TUY
That is the code for that base. Your transmission has been triangulated and verified. Okay, son. Heres what you need to do. Look to your left. Do you see a console marked Force Field Control?
Yes.
Okay. Every communications station has one. There should be a bright, red, button marked Emergency. Press it.
Martin smacked the button. There was a loud sound like a cannon shot, and a klaxon went off. Okay. What now?
That should keep any more Rikti from coming into the base. That button discharged the capacitors in the force shield, which sets up a scattering field of electromagnetic energy. It keeps the Rikti from getting a lock on any location within a few miles of it, shutting down their ability to port in. Were sending a call out to all available heroes to come to your aid. Just find someplace to hole up. Help is on the way.
Martin breathed a sigh of relief, and sat down in a nearby chair. He began surveying his surroundings. At the back of the room, he noticed a sign over a force field-covered doorway. Walking toward the door, he could hear the crackle of the field. Some of these fields gave one a powerful shock if touched when active. They were around some of the more sensitive areas that Major Davis had shown him. Martin activated his dampening field again, just near his body, and slowly reached out to put his hand in the field. The crackling energy parted before his outstretched palm. Pulling his arm back, Martin walked through the doorway marked BASE ARMORY", as the field collapsed to allow him entry, a wide grin on his face. The fire of an idea he had quickly became an inferno.
Just wanted to pop in to let everyone know that I am still around, and trying to get the rest of this finished. There will be perhaps three or so more parts and it will be done.
I just wanted to know what everyone thinks of it so far. Good? Bad? I welcome your opinions.
Thanks.
Lovin' it! Can't wait to read the rest.
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Lovin' it! Can't wait to read the rest.
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Wow... I started reading on page 3, not knowing it wasn't page 1. It makes a good "pickup story" trying to discern everythign that's going on. You're bringing in characters from the beginning (after I went back to page 1) and it's intriguing.
Perhaps reread it starting just from Page 3.. and let the past develop through dialog instead of just covering it all on a timeline type event. It has me on the edge of my seat though. =) More MOre MORE!
I'm still following your story from back on the beta boards. I remember the disussions about the value of a MAC-10 as the weapon of your choice in the first part of the story 
.
Still loving it and checking daily for an update. Now please don't tell me it will be over in just 3 more parts!
Great story, great writing style.
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I'm still following your story from back on the beta boards. I remember the disussions about the value of a MAC-10 as the weapon of your choice in the first part of the story .
Still loving it and checking daily for an update. Now please don't tell me it will be over in just 3 more parts!
Great story, great writing style.
[/ QUOTE ]
I actually saved the entire thread from the old boards. The discussion you refer to actually ended up sparking an additional idea or two that I ended up using. I wonder of the woman that initiated that exchange(I forget her board-handle), and Major Speed are still around.
A few miles away, in an abandoned dockside warehouse, Darla sat shivering, bound to a post with yards of duct tape. She was more terrified than she had ever been in her entire life, and thoroughly miserable. It had become evident that Dawg had slipped completely into insanity. She learned early on to do her best not to make eye contact, as he would fly into a rage and beat her severely for even the smallest glance. Only twice had he shown her any kind of compassion, releasing her from her bonds to relieve herself, and giving her a few sips of water. He had immediately taped her up again however, even tighter than before. At some point, he had decided that she was being too noisy. He had torn the tape from her lips, forced her jaw open, and crammed a rag of some sort into her mouth. He then taped her lips closed again over it, effectively reducing her sobs to nearly-inaudible mews. With her mouth now packed with the rag (that she prayed was some semblance of clean) her jaw was beginning to ache. Her shoulders were on fire with pain from having her wrists pulled too far behind her for too long. Her ankles were severely bruised from being bound too tightly, and she was literally starving, since she hadnt eaten in days. She kept her tear-streaked face perpetually downcast, lest she inadvertently meet Dawgs gaze, and incur another beating, risking only fleeting glances when she was positive he wasnt looking. Dawg had been talking to himself for the past two days, and they were definitely the ramblings of someone far from stable. Darla had seen him shooting something into his arm on a couple of occasions, and judging by the color and the odd glow, it was Superdine. Dawg had brought several members of the Freakshow in and they had pointed and laughed at her. On another occasion, a mad-looking doctor-type in filthy, blood-spattered scrubs had examined her in silence, and then conferred with Dawg under his breath. She had heard of the Vahzilok, and was numb with fear at the thought of what Dawg might have planned. The doctor had handed Dawg some vials, and left. Dawg later mixed the vials with the Dine, and shot it into his veins as well. Dawg kept a police scanner handy, and something about a disturbance at a local Vanguard facility came over the speaker, and Dawg seemed to be suddenly intent on the events.
Well, Darla, he said with a sneer, It sounds like Thorny is causing quite a ruckus at his new home. Why he assumed it was Martin causing the trouble, or even how he could know Martin was even there was beyond Darla. Dawg stared at Darla for a long moment, looking back and forth between her and an old, rusted-out bus nearby as if considering something. Dawg got up, and walked over to the wreck. He considered it for a moment, and then left the building. He came back a couple of seconds later with a couple of steel beams balanced on his shoulders. He shoved the bus over into a corner, and wedged it snugly against the concrete walls, under the upper floor, so that it could not move left, right, or back. Dawg hefted one of the beams, and lifted the bus with the other hand. Darla was amazed at Dawgs strength. He had never been this strong before, so she figured it must have been the suicidal cocktail of drugs he was giving himself. He shoved one of the beams under one of the buss front wheels. Leaving it balanced precariously for a couple of seconds, he then wedged the other beam under the opposite wheel, giving the setup more stability. Now the old vehicle was propped up at an angle, forming a sort of bizarre lean-to. Darla was baffled as to what Dawg was up to as he dragged an old piece of concrete about six feet across and 12 inches thick that still had several pieces of rebar sticking outover near the bus. He jerked a couple of additional lengths of the iron bars out of other piece of rubble, and rammed them into the slab at an angle.
Its time to dress you up for your boyfriend, sweet thing, Dawg said ominously as he stalked toward Darla. He tore the tape free that was anchoring her to the post and dragged her over to the slab by her hair, giving Darla a new set of scrapes and cuts, not to mention a raw scalp in the process. He grabbed a nearby roll of duct tape, and bound her arms to her torso. It was needless, as she had already been quite helpless, but Dawg hadnt really done anything sane in almost two days. Once he was done, Dawgs malevolent scheme began to take shape, to Darlas lasting horror. He stalked over to the end-section of the bus, and began tearing at the bottom of it, forming several jagged edges that were all pointing downward. Next, he walked over to Darla, and dragged her over the top of the slab. He then began to methodically wrap the rebar around her body. When he was done, Darla was anchored immovably to the slab, with iron bars encircling most of her body, including her throat and even her forehead. Darla couldnt move a muscle beyond wiggling her fingers and toes.
When Dawg started shoving the slab, and Darla realized that he was pushing her concrete, iron, and adhesive prison underneath the back of the bus, where the sharp-edged projections he had made would be positioned precariously over her, she started to cry and do her best to shake her head no, but the iron would not yield. She was held motionless, barely able to draw a breath, so compressed was her body under her bonds, and if the bus fell, not only would it crush her, the jagged remains of the undercarriage would slice her to pieces. Once she was in position, with no choice but to face the front of the bus, Dawg laid down so that he was mere inches from her. He ran his fingertip lightly down the bridge of her nose as he spoke, and she tried unsuccessfully to recoil from his touch.
Now, my sweet. Youll make a nice gift for our visitor. Hell be along soon, Ill wager.
It was obvious now that Dawg was laying some sort of trap for Martin with her as the bait, and her despair was complete.
The situation in the base cafeteria had gone from bad to worse. Groups of base defenders back into the area, forced there by growing Rikti battlegroups. The cafeteria was easily the size of a football field, and the soldiers had hunkered down behind overturned chairs, tables, snack machines, and anything else they could find to make a barricade. The room had four entryways, each in the middle of the four walls. Rikti poured into the only three that led toward the exit from the base. Rikti were stacked several deep, firing their weapons into the assembled heroes, and slashing at close combatants with their massive blades. The defending force of the base was formidable, but the swiftness of the sneak attack, coupled with the sheer number of the Rikti that had penetrated the base was wearing them down. Many soldiers and heroes alike had fallen, and many more were succumbing to exhaustion. Behind their makeshift barricade, the being that was Nurse Grey tended to Dr. Stromberg. The Scarlet Sentinel and Major Davis looked on.
There is nothing you can do, my dear. I have overdone things. I knew that if I ever used my powers again, it would be my undoing, Dr. Stromberg coughed. Smoke poured from his mouth and nostrils, and he wheezed and gasped for breath. He had grown too old and weak to control his power, and it was consuming him from within.
Hush now, Nurse Grey urged, pressing cold packs from a nearby first aid kit against his scorching-hot skin. Save your strength.
The Sentinel and Major Davis stood mute, grim looks coloring their faces. The Sentinel gazed around at the many wounded, and the remaining heroes fighting valiantly against increasingly overwhelming odds. Marcus, the base commander had just dove for cover behind the barricade, fatigue etching deep creases in his face. This base was not equipped to repel a force such as this. We are nothing more than a simple Vanguard presence in this area. Our military hardware is limited.
We have to get these wounded people out of here, the Sentinel said, gazing at the battleground.
How? All the exits are blocked, said Major Davis.
At least no more will be coming into the base. Someone activated the scattering field. We can expect reinforcements soon, gasped a nearby Vanguard soldier. I wasnt able to get to the activation switch at the armory, but judging by the crack sound we heard earlier, someone did.
Well, thats some comfort, at least.
A Rikti energy bolt struck the wall in the corner behind them, leaving behind a pitted crater. It wont matter. We wont last long enough against that force. Their weapons dont run out of energy, and we were utterly unprepared, said Marcus.
We HAVE to try. Isnt there ANY way around to the exits through that door closest to us? shouted the Sentinel over the din.
No. That door leads deeper into the living quarters. The doors to the north and east lead to the exits, and the southern door leads to the underground tram, said Major Davis. The doors all have hallways that meet up, of course, but the Rikti have fortified their positions very well. Wed never get through while carrying wounded.
Well, said Nurse Grey, moving to drag Dr. Stromberg, we can at least get them to a safe area than this.
Major Davis called to the rest of the survivors to fall back, and then moved to help her. They had just reached to the western door when Marcus intervened. Davis, we need everyone here, or the base will fall.
Marcus, look around you! The base has already fallen! We owe it to these people to try and save them!
Davis and the refugees were facing the cafeteria proper, so they didnt see what made Marcus eyes widen until they heard the unmistakable whine of an electric motor, and turned as one to see a figure emerging from the smoking ruins of the hallway. He was dressed in full Kevlar body armor, and had large duffel bags, obviously full of something strung on both arms. Strapped to his back was a huge pack, with a belt that ran from it to the large-caliber minigun in his thickly-muscled hands. The motor that drove the 6-barrells had already spun up to speed and the formidable weapon was ready to fire.
Everyone, get down, Martin growled and pulled the trigger.
let me take this time to say that the story had been amazing so far. Its been keeping me in suspense about what will happen this whole time. I first read you story before i ever had coh, i just came onto the forums and culdnt post so i just read threads and such. I lost this thread at around when the Sentinel woke up and i just finished up to the latest part of the story now. I must say bravo mord keep up the god work
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let me take this time to say that the story had been amazing so far. Its been keeping me in suspense about what will happen this whole time. I first read you story before i ever had coh, i just came onto the forums and culdnt post so i just read threads and such. I lost this thread at around when the Sentinel woke up and i just finished up to the latest part of the story now. I must say bravo mord keep up the god work
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Thank you for the kind words, WarriorX. And thank everyone else as well. Your encouragement means a great deal. More to come.
Martins weapon spat armor piercing ammo for thirty seconds, and Rikti dove all over each other to get to cover. Once the majority of the opposing force was forced down, Martin released the trigger and knelt near the assembled defenders. Okay, heres my plan. I found out that the Rikti tech is vulnerable to my dampening field. Their energy bolts just dissipate when they contact its borders about 12 feet away. This makes me invulnerable to their weapons, Martin began, however they also are using stolen small arms, evidently because of that very reason. Although I am wearing armor, I am NOT immune, and a headshot would take me out handily. Martin looked at the stunning redhead nearby pointedly. You, however, shrug off bullets like gnats, even though the Rikti bolts seem to harm you.
A wide grin split the Scarlet Sentinels face as the shape of Martins plan became clear to her. Tag team?
Tag team, said Martin, rising to his feet. Marcus stepped in front of him.
That would be all well and good, except that you are currently under arrest.
Without a word, Martin grabbed the smaller man by the throat and lifted him into the air, as Rikti power bolts splintered against his dampening field. Martin shoved the 6-barrel weapon into Marcus face and growled, get in my way again. PLEASE.
Major Davis had intervened by this time. Martin, put him down. Martin did not move, and kept his eyes locked on those of the base commander. Marcus attempted to return the stare, but the coldness in Martins eyes was uncompromising. MARTIN! Davis shouted. Martin turned to look at him. Stand down, Thorne. Now. There are others at stake, here, he said, his hands sweeping out to indicate the wounded, including Dr. Stromberg.
Ill see you in an execution chamber, boy, said Marcus once he was back on the ground.
Marcus, come to your senses. With Martin here, we have a chance to repel the Rikti. He could have saved himself, but he came back to help. We can settle other things up after these vermin have been put down.
Marcus considered this for a minute, and he and Martin exchanged glares for a long moment. Agreed, he finally said at last.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the Sentinel spoke up, okay, boys. Ready for round two?
Martin had already spun the barrels of his weapon up to speed. Time for pain, Martin snarled, as the six-mouthed dragon in his hands leapt to life again. For a full minute, Martin swung the weapon back and forth, chewing up flooring, ceiling tiles, and barricades. The depleted-uranium bullets ignored almost anything they hit, tearing through Rikti like angry hornets. Soon, the opposite concrete walls of the cafeteria were riddled with small craters. The Rikti regrouped quickly and began firing back with their stolen weapons. TAG! Martin shouted, as he dropped his field. An awkwardly-fired bullet or two glanced off his Kevlar armor before the Sentinel got into position, but that is all. She stood firm, and took all they had to throw. The bullets bounced off her hide like water off a ducks back, and she had nothing to fear from the minigun roaring in rage behind her. The Rikti were harming themselves more than the defending force, as ricocheting bullets buzzed by them, striking some of their drones. Martins stream of destruction finished off the damaged drones, and more of their number fell under the onslaught. Seeing the futility of this, they changed tactics again, and began firing both types of weapons at once.
DOUBLE-TEAM! shouted the Sentinel, as she stepped outside of Martins influence. No sooner had Martin re-asserted his field than the first bolts sizzled against it. The Sentinel had little trouble dodging the bolts, knowing that they wouldnt get past Martin. The Rikti tried forcing her aside with energy bolts to get a good shot at Martin with their conventional weapons, but their inability to effectively wield the earthbound devices, coupled with the Sentinels sheer speed meant that the base defenders had an unbreakable battle machine. Thats when they changed tactics again. The ceiling of the cafeteria was 20 feet high, and the alien soldiers began firing into it, even as the Sentinel started ripping up chunks of floor to hurl into their midst. What are they doing? shouted the Sentinel.
Theyre firing wildly, hoping to hit one of us, returned Martin, arcing his weapon upward to miss the Sentinels back.
Nurse Grey was the first to recognize the tactic, as the heavy ceiling began to crack, and several tons of concrete slab started to fall. Look out! she shouted, erecting a force field. Martin released the trigger of his weapon, and spun around to see the spectacle unfolding. The descent of the crushing weight was slowed by Nurse Greys field, but the strain on her face made it plain that she could do nothing to stop it. The only reason her force bubble worked in the first place was because she was outside Martins sphere of influence. The Sentinel dashed past Martin and positioned herself under the slab. Martin moved away so that he didnt dampen her power, and she caught the slab. With her formidable strength augmenting Nurse Greys bubble, the slab was held aloft, but Martins flanks were now exposed, and the Rikti were already firing their captured submachine guns. Martin dove to the floor out of reflex, and turned to get a bearing on the situation. As he faced the opposing force, a tall figure clad in a black trenchcoat leapt in front of Martin. Martin recognized him as Shuriken, Master of Blades.
Gleaming, arced blades grew from Shurikens palms as he began to weave them in complex, graceful patterns. The patterns grew quickly to a pace that no eye could follow, as Rikti bullets tinged ineffectively off of Shurikens whirling blades. His wall of steel was protecting Martin from harm. Now, Thorne-san. Fire your weapon. I will guard you. Martin couldnt help but notice that Shuriken was within Martins field. Hurry! I cannot continue this form for long! It is most taxing! The staccato pinging of bullet-to-blade was punctuated by the odd thunk, as Martin noticed Shuriken hurling the occasional steel throwing blade into the midst of the Rikti. Shouldering his weapon, Martin again began raining judgment on the Rikti force.
The Sentinel and Nurse Grey held the concrete slab aloft as the others moved the wounded, and before long, the way was clear, allowing the Sentinel to again take her place in front of Martin. Shuriken collapsed, exhausted. Major Davis dragged him aside. He had taken a couple of grazing hits, but nothing serious. He would recover from the fatigue soon. Working as one, the valiant group managed to force the Rikti back into the hallways. Even Marcus joined the fray, lending his formidable powers to the fight. The Rikti soon ran out of ammo, as their overconfidence had not allowed them to bring extra clips for their stolen weapons. Martins minigun ran out, also, but one of his duffels had two more ammo belts, and he wielded advanced combat rifles fitted with grenade launchers under the barrels, that he had procured from the other duffel. Once the pack was reloaded, Martin switched back to the minigun. Martin kept his power focused forward, allowing the rest of the assembled fighters to use their powers on any stragglers that snuck in behind them. Room by room, and hall by hall, they forced the remaining Rikti toward the front portion of the base. Martin had discarded the minigun once it ran out of ammo the second time, and was running low on what he brought. The other heroes were showing signs of fatigue as well. They had just forced the last of the Rikti force towards a base entry when an explosion of flames erupted from behind the alien invaders.
When the smoke cleared several heroes, including the War Witch, who was pulling her flaming blade from the back of a dead Rikti soldier, stood ready to join the battle. During the melee, Nurse Grey worked her way toward War Witch, and dragged her back to Dr. Stromberg. She explained the situation, and War Witch covered the good doctors body with ice, keeping his temperature in check. Shivering, he thanked her. With the Rikti all but defeated, Marcus again turned his attention to Martin, but Martin, as well as Shuriken, and the Scarlet Sentinel were nowhere to be found.
The trio had ducked out of the melee at the insistence of the Scarlet Sentinel as soon as the situation looked to be in hand. Creeping from shadow to shadow, they managed to avoid the soldiers. This wasnt so great a feat, considering that the majority of the ones they encountered had been wounded, and lay unconscious on the floor. Martin had protested at first, wanting to help them, but his companions reinforced the need to get him out of the base as quickly as possible. Still, they stabilized the ones that needed it with a little first aid just the same. Shuriken had kept them hidden using what he called Form of the Clouded Eye. Martin was confused as to why Shuriken's powers functioned within Martin's field of influence when no one elses seemed to.
My powers are not from the same source as so many others, Thorne-san. Shuriken began in a thickly-accented whisper. Under the tutor of my sensei, I learned to disrupt the natural balance of the metaverse without disturbing it. The powers of most break natural laws. I merely bend them a little. In the case of the form I am now using, our observers, even though they might be looking for us, are subconsciously expecting to see nothing. I am merely allowing them that illusion. As I understand it, your power dampens the powers of those around you, yes?
Yeah.
Well, I do not have powers. My abilities could be taught to any average person with the drive, discipline, and time to learn them. What I do is no more mystical than someone breaking a board with their hand at a martial arts show. It is just quite a bit more advanced.
I see, said Martin, thoughtfully. In truth, he was filing this information away for future reference, as it gave him some insight into the strengths and weaknesses of his own power.
I must drop this form now. I can no longer maintain it, said Shuriken, obviously fatigued. They had made it deep inside the base, and it had been many long minutes since the last time they had seen a conscious soldier, so there really was no need to keep it. My powers of stealth task me severely to hide others from view. Apologies.
None needed, returned the Sentinel, peering down a nearby hallway. She turned to look the other way, and tapped the others on the shoulder. At the end of the hallway, perhaps ten feet distant, stood Major Davis, his weapons laser sight painting a clear dot on Martins forehead as Martin turned to face him.
The three of them didn't say anything. Shuriken moved to attack, but Martin stayed him with an outstretched hand. No, he said, Ill not be responsible for hurting anyone that doesnt deserve it.
Davis didnt say a word to them. He touched the communicator in his ear and spoke. This is Major Davis to all troops. Concentrate your searches toward the front of the facility. Move in standard formation, and leave no room unsearched. Davis out. He paused for a moment, as if listening to a reply and spoke again. Yes, commander. I understand that despite your earlier truce, you want Thorne found and arrested. Yes, sir. I understand. I gave that order because Thorne is making for the exits. He couldnt possibly know where the underground tram back into the city is located unless he knows to follow the black paintline at the baseboard of the walls. Davis pointed at a solid, inch-wide, black line with arrowheads pointing down the hall on the baseboards about half an inch off the floor. Martin nodded. Davis continued, even if he found the tram sir, he still would need a keycard with sufficient access. Martin moved to take a card from a nearby guard. Davis snapped his fingers and shook his head. He pointed to the guard that was unconscious at his own feet. Shuriken moved to take the card, and Davis nodded. Shuriken handed Martin the card. Yes sir. If I ever see Thorne again, I will arrest him. Davis looked pointedly at Martin. I have a feeling that he is going to bring some kind of firefight down in the city if he gets out. Davis removed the communicator from his ear and addressed Martin finally. You could have left us to die, but didnt. Even at your own peril, you have been stopping to give aid to my men. I wont forget this. If things get straightened out, that position in Vanguard is still open, but I meant what I said to commander Stone, Marcus, as you know him. I dont see you again until such time, right?
Martin nodded gravely.
I know what its like to lose a loved one, Martin. Youre clear until the tram. Go get im, kid. With that, Davis turned and left.
It appears that you have made a friend, Thorne-san. I will take my leave now, and go aid in the cleanup, Shuriken said after Davis had gone. He began stripping off his trench coat. Martin now noticed that it had some type of odd lizard skin on the inside. The scales were the size of small dinner plates. No way could they be from any existing beast. My sensei gave me this duster when we parted ways. He said that his master gave it to him, and that I should present it to someone I found worthy. Your selflessness has shown me that you are that person. It will give you some small protection in your trials ahead. I understand you are on a quest for vengeance, something I do not personally agree with. Should you come back to us cleansed, I should like to show you a better way. I do hope we do not end up on opposite sides. It would not please me to have to battle you. With that, he gave Martin the coat, made some motions with his hands, and faded from view, leaving Martin and the Sentinel by themselves.
Well, its just you and me, tough guy, said the Sentinel, turning to favor Martin with a stunning smile. Martin nodded. She moved to unzip the back of her leotard. I guess since were giving you our costumes, I might as well peel this off and hand it over. Martins eyes got as big as saucers, and he blushed deep red. Gotcha! she giggled. In your dreams, pal, she quipped, zipping back up. But I will give you this. She moved to Martin and put her arms around his neck. At barely an inch shorter than he, she leaned toward him, and for a long moment she kissed him deeply and thoroughly. You seem a decent guy, Martin. Darlas a lucky girl. I would have very much liked to get to know you better, but I fear that the next time we meet, well be on opposite sides of the law. Be careful, okay? Without another word, she hovered a bit off the ground, streaked down the halls and disappeared. Martin could swear that he had heard a crack in her voice, and detected the hint of wetness in the eyes of the older woman. Martin was 15 years the Sentinels junior, and they technically really hadnt known each other more than a few hours, since she had spent the lions share of their time together unconscious. He couldnt imagine what he had done to impress her so, unless what they say about coma-patients was true, and she had sub-consciously heard some of his ramblings when he thought he was talking to himself.
Martin looked after her for a long moment, wondering what might have been, and what may yet be, either with her or with Darla. He looked at the black stripe near the floor, and then to the keycard in his hand. Slipping on the coat that Shuriken had given him, he sprinted in the direction of the tram. His time of reckoning was nearly at hand.
Great story! More more more!
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Great story! More more more!
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Thank you very much. I plan to post more in the very near future.
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Thank you very much. I plan to post more in the very near future.
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Bah! Now I actually have to work....at work... 
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Bah! Now I actually have to work....at work...
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Heaven forbid!!
Got hooked. Need more.
Okay, everyone. Once again, I must apologize for the length of time between updates. I thank you all for your kind words, your support, and your patience. I just wish real life would leave me alone to my fantasies.
The Sentinel glided down the corridor until she was fully out of Martins sight, and paused. She hadnt intended the kiss to mean anything more than good luck, but now she hovered here awash in emotions she didnt think she should have. Sure, Martin seemed like a good kid, but she had only known him for a few hours, what with being unconscious for so long. Still, although he had endangered her life accidentally, he had taken steps to save it deliberately, never leaving her side until she was better. Unknown to her, much of her attachment to Martin lay in her subconscious, along with the long hours he had spent talking to her about, well everything. At the edge of her awareness, she felt that she knew him better than she ought to.
Then there was the kiss. Invulnerability carries with it a certain curse. If you cant be hurt by anything, neither can you feel much. Shed had boyfriends before, so it wasnt like shed never kissed anyone. This time was different, though. She had been inside Martins field of influence, so her power had been dampened. Her nerve endings suddenly reacted with a clarity she had never known. Firm, invincible flesh became soft and feeling. She felt. For the first time in her life, she truly FELT. During the kiss she shared with Martin, she felt real, alive, and above all, vulnerable. And she LIKED it. There was nothing that could be done to pursue it, though. Martin had Darla, even now racing to save her life. Blinking back tears that she knew she had no tangible reason shedding, she continued down the hall, all the while, the unconscious reasons she knew nothing of swam around just beneath awareness.
<===>
Martin raced through the hallways. Doors and signs became a blur as he focused on the guiding line at the base of the wall. The line dead-ended at a door marked No Admittance. Martin touched the keycard to the access pad, and the door slid open. Inside was an impressive underground tram system. Thanks to Major Davis, the tram was unguarded. Quickly, Martin bounded toward the waiting car. He passed a control panel, and the map caught his eye. He paused and examined it more closely, finding to his relief that the map served to program the tram to take itself to any station on the map. He examined it closely and found that there was a station in the same district as his home, and stabbed the button. The button lit up green, and the running lights of the tram came on. He ran to the car and leapt aboard. At the drivers station, he started the vehicle.
After an uneventful half-hour ride, the tramcar pulled into the designated station. There were no guards. Major Davis must have come through again. Martin sprinted to the door exiting the station, and came out of a hidden door in the citys sewer. The door snicked shut behind him, leaving Martin on a service catwalk. He ran along the catwalk to an access ladder, and climbed out into the sun. Sliding the manhole cover back into place he dashed through alleyways and streets toward his home. He amazed himself at his stamina. Hed never been able to run this long before, and his legs seemed stronger than he remembered. He hadnt done any type of distance running since before the incident with the Scarlet Sentinel, and now all of a sudden, he seemed to be able to run for days. Martin was so lost in his new revelation that he didnt notice the oncoming truck until it was right on top of him. Desperately, Martin jumped out of the way, knowing he couldnt clear the trucks path before it struck him, but clear it he did. His uncontrolled leap carried him right into the side of a nearby building with a painful thud. Looking back, he realized that he had just made a 30-foot flatfooted leap from an off-balance starting position. He stared at his own legs in dumbfounded disbelief. Dr. Stromberg had said something about additional muscle groups, but hed never even hinted at anything like this. Martin eyed the top of the three-story tenement he was standing next to, and backed up. Crouching down, he jumped.
Martin cleared the roof by several yards, and landed hard. Elation flooded through Martin. Looking in the direction of his house, he took a running start and leapt again with all his might. Rooftops and streets flashed by beneath him as gravity rocketed him through the air. He landed heavily in an empty lot. It stung quite a bit, but his legs absorbed most of the landing like shock absorbers. He looked back and realized that he had just cleared four city blocks in one leap.
And me with no red S on my chest, he chuckled to himself. The sudden remembrance of his task at hand killed the buzz from his new discovery, and his face became set in an ominous scowl. Looking again in the direction of his home, he got a running start and jumped again. In just eight minutes, he covered the entire three miles to his house. The sense of urgency hot on his heels, he unlocked the door and ran inside. He knew exactly what items he was after. Running to his room he tore open his closet and grabbed his official Rambo collectors knife. It had been a lark, and the knife itself was a little cheesy, but functional. The waterproof compartment in the handle held matches and other small survival-type items, but the hardened steel casing and the foot-long, surgical steel blade would serve him well.
Next, he went to the living room where a sawed-off shotgun sat on a shelf above the fireplace. His father had worked his way through college as a bartender, and a very good one. Hed met his mom there, where she had been working as a waitress. The bars owner had kept a double-barreled Winchester beneath the bar as a precaution. The bar had closed just before his father graduated, and the owner had made a gift of the weapon to Martins father. For their tenth wedding anniversary, Martins mom had the weapon fully restored and fitted with solid mahogany woodwork. Engraved in gold gilt on the stock were the words, David, after ten years you still blow me away. All my love, Mary. Martins mom had an odd sense of humor, but his father had roared with laughter. Martin grabbed the weapon and pocketed it. Out in the garage, Martin rifled through the boxes until he found a box of shells. His father had taught Martin how to fire the shotgun, so he knew about where to find them. Martin also happened upon his fathers stash of Cuban cigars. Martin inhaled the aroma of the cigars deeply and tears began to come as Martin remembered the smell of his father after hed been working in the garage. The finality of his parents deaths came rushing upon him. He had kept the pain pushed way down deep for far too long. Martin sat down and wept bitterly for a long time. Emotion flowed out of him like blood from a wound. Martin wiped his stinging eyes and stood up, pocketing his father's cigars. His heart had poured out onto the floor of his parents garage until there was little left but anger and hate. The only light left in his soul was Darla, and all the fires of hell wouldnt stop him from getting to her.
this is a good story, I can't wait to hear/read the rest.
Nearby, his fathers car, the one referred to as Mary Ann in reference to Dawn Wells character on Gilligans Island, sat mutely under a tarp. No one ever touched the car. It had been his fathers vehicle all through high school and college, and remained his pride and joy. He had even proposed to Martins mother in it. The only thing Martin knew for certain was that his father had been restoring and tinkering with the vehicle for as long as Martin could remember. Martin needed transportation, and the car was the only thing available. His mother and fathers regular cars had been vandalized, and impounded respectively. Martin opened the box where his father kept the keys, and jerked the tarp away.
His breath went with it.
Under the tarp was a 1967 Plymouth Barracuda, with a pearlescent, white paint job, jet black interior, and chrome everywhere there needed to be. Martin knew very little about cars, but he did know that his father had dabbled in mechanical engineering in his college days, had a few engineering buddies that he emailed once in a while, and that even though the car looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor, the chrome intake jutting six inches out of the top of the hood was NOT factory-spec. Martin emitted a low, impressed whistle as his eyes took in the vehicle. He opened the door gingerly, and was immediately assaulted by the smell of his fathers cigars. Now he knew what he REALLY did out here when he locked the garage door. The cockpit was a mix between 60s muscle car, and something right out of a Jules Verne novel. The steering wheel looked like any other, and all the customary gauges were there, such as speed, engine temperature, tachometer, etcetera. The similarity ended once one began examining the dash further. Temperature readings for every fathomable component had been installed, including one for a gas injector, whatever that meant. To the left of the dash was a console with two more readouts, and a double row of four toggle switches each, labeled things like Fuel Preheat, Injector, and Turbine. His fathers notes on the car were on the seat, so at least Martin might get an idea as to how to use the car to its fullest, but for now he needed to get moving and get to Darla.
Martin put the key in the ignition, depressed the clutch, and tried starting it. The car sputtered like an old clunker and died. He tried again with similar results, and began to get discouraged. Perhaps his father was just another shade tree mechanic that really didnt know a whole lot about cars. As a last resort, Martin began thumbing through his fathers notes. After a few pages he began to understand. The engine in the car had been heavily modified. It was a prototype racer that his father and his fathers friends had been working on the design of for years. Martin divined from the notes that the reason the car had failed to start was because this car had an actual startup procedure that Martin hadnt followed. The engine was a heavily-modified racing engine, and it actually had a smallbore jet turbine married to it that provided insane amounts of acceleration and horsepower. Thats my dad, Martin thought, Let other folks mess with nitrous. Hell take something REALLY dangerous. To make matters even more complex, the car burned a mixture of gasoline and natural gas, to increase ignition efficiency. Martins dad filled the natural gas tanks right off the house. From the drivers seat, Martin could see the gas nozzle sticking out of the garage wall, with a hose attached. Martin shook his head, and wondered if he should even try starting the beast.
Martin ran through the checklist in the notes carefully. He flipped the Fuel Preheat switch, that the notes said increased the vaporization rate of the fuel. Next came the gas injector, then finally, the ignition switch. He turned the key, and the engine roared to life like a hungry lion. Once the car was started, he flipped the switch to start the turbine, and rumbling became a muted roar. It seemed awfully quiet for a jet engine, but the notes had said something about special mufflers, and baffles that kept the noise to a minimum. Martin hit the button for the automatic garage door opener, and rolled out into the street. He would make dockside, ten miles distant, in very little time at all.
Mary Ann purred like a kitten when idle and roared like an angry demon when Martin put his foot down on the accelerator. It was a good thing that Martins father had installed acceleration-style seats in the thing, or Martin would be nursing a pained neck for days. Martin parked the car in one of the many parking lots, locked the doors, and activated the alarm system. Martin hoped it would do more than simply sound a siren, or there wouldnt be anything left of the car when he returned.
Cautiously, Martin walked the concrete between warehouses. Darla and Dawg could be anywhere, not to mention the roving gangs of thugs. Martin was low on ammo for the multi-purpose combat weapon he brought, his pistol had only a single clip left, and his fathers shotgun had perhaps a dozen shells. He didnt want to get into trouble. Unfortunately, trouble was exactly what he found. The Hellions saw him before he saw them, and immediately began closing in and shouting taunts.
Hey, fellas. We got us a trespasser, a thug holding a battered sledge hammer snarled.
Yeah, barked another, this one with an Uzi, lets skin im.
Martin assessed the situation as quickly as possible. These guys all had conventional weaponry, so his power would be all but useless. He would have to rely exclusively on his weaponry to get away from them. Perhaps he could talk his way out of it. Going the tough guy route would likely be the best bet. Martin produced his advanced combat rifle, and his pistol. He pointed each at a different target, and growled, I dont want any trouble. I am just here looking for a friend, and a dead man.
Dead man? Dead man? Whatre you? A Vahzzy? You work for the doc? You lookin for more zombie parts, dweeb?
Martin was backing slowly away from the group, trying to keep them from noticing until he could put some distance between him and them.
Why you want a dead man, dweeb-boy?
Hes holding a friend of mine.
I thought he was dead. He a Vahzzy?
No, hes just a corpse. Martin pointedly cocked his weapon. He just dont know it yet.
The thugs laughed. You dont understand. Nothing happens here without OUR say-so. And we might just not say so, said one of them, armed with a large-caliber revolver.
But I think well just test you. Turn around and start walking. Walk, dont run. Well give you until the count of twenty to walk as far as you can, then were going to open fire. If you can get away, you can find your dead man. One.
Martin turned around and began walking, tensing for a jump.
Two.
Martin took a few steps, gauging the distance to the nearest rooftop.
Three.
Hey, Blazer. You reckon he might be talkin bout that dude over on the southside that has that chick?
Martin stopped. The grenade launcher under his weapon suddenly felt like it deserved a workout.
< === >
Darla was so terrified she was almost numb. Cruelly silenced, immobile, and desperately weak from hunger and lack of sleep, she fought to hold onto consciousness, when all she wanted to do was let go and slip into oblivion. She knew Dawg had dark plans for her, and she truly didnt want to be awake for them. Her will just wouldnt let her give up.
Dawg was pacing impatiently, angrily having some kind of argument with himself about Martin. It was surreal to Darla to hear someone arguing with himself whether he should kill her now, or wait for Martin, or kill Martin, and keep her. Dawg turned angrily on Darla, and talked over to her prostate form. He called her a dozen filthy names and raised his fist. Thinking that this was it, she closed her eyes tightly, and braced for the end.
The blow never fell. She opened her eyes, and Dawg was still frozen in the same position, except that he was staring off into the distance, as if listening to something.
Darla heard it too. Gunshots and explosions were going off nearby. Dawg leapt to his feet and ran to the door, peering to the north. Hope blossomed in her as she thought perhaps that she might yet be rescued.
< === >
Later, the police found the Hellions that had accosted Martin. They were still alive, but only just. One of them was bound in steel cable that had been ripped from a nearby security fence. He was the worst off. Dave, look at this guy. Someones been carving on him. You see any Vahzilok around?
No, I dont. What do you imagine happened?
No clue. Call the infirmary and tell them to expect these guys. These wounds arent characteristic of the Vahz. They arent that deep. It almost looks like he was tortured or something.
Well, if he was, he talked. Believe you me. Just look at the guy.
< === >
Martin walked toward the warehouse that the thug had told him about. He wiped his knife on his pants, and cut a mark in the stock of his fathers shotgun for each Hellion. Seven so far. There will be more, he told himself with a grim smile.
< === >
Dawg rushed back into the warehouse, talking to someone on a cellphone.
Get over here. Hes coming, he barked, and then hung up. He fished a device out of his pocket and pressed a button, then threw it away. Darla vaguely heard some kind of shuffling behind here in another section of the warehouse, and it unnerved her. Then, he stalked over to the beams that help up the bus over Darlas helpless form. Lifting the bus with one hand, he used the other to throw both of the supporting beams as far away as he could, and just stood there holding up the hulk, facing the only door into the warehouse, as if waiting for something. Darla didnt have long to wait to find out what, for shortly after that, Martin stalked through the door, a newly-acquired Uzi in his fist. He pointed the weapon at Dawg, and snarled, Youre dead. From his angle, Martin couldnt see Darla, for she could just barely see him over the rubble, from between Dawgs feet. She couldnt even make any noise to warn him. If he killed Dawg now, she would die when the bus fell, but if he didnt, she was certain that he was walking into a trap.
Hiya, Thorny! Dawg said with a sneer, come here often?
Martin said nothing, raising his weapon so that there was no mistaking that the barrel was pointed squarely between Dawgs eyes. Dawg reached up and pulled some kind of form-fitting hood over his head, totally obscuring his features under a black, latex-like material. Upon closer examination, Martin saw that Dawg was, in fact, wearing a body-suit made from the same material under his street clothes. Warily, Martin moved inside the warehouse, stepping to the side to get his unprotected back away from the door, and against a nearby wall.
Welcome to the party. I was just pumping some iron, Dawg said, lifting the bus up and down a couple of times. This elicited a muffled squeal from Darla, as the protruding jagged edges of metal came dangerously close to her unprotected body. Why dont you put your little popgun away and come on over here. Fight me like a man, monkeyboy.
Martin didnt lower his weapon. He wasnt stupid. However, he did begin advancing on Dawg. As he closed the distance to just within his field of influence, Dawg began moaning, and acting as if he was about to drop the bus. Oh. No. I think I am going to lose my powers. Oh, woe is me, he said mockingly. He was shaking and staggering in an exaggerated manner. Martin finally noticed Darlas helpless form and ran to her side. Just as he reached her, Dawg moaned again out loud. Oh. No. I am dropping this big, old bus. I hope no one is underneath it. Martin worked out Darlas predicament instantly. Dawg was going to drop the bus regardless and kill her, Martin too if he could. Martin backed a step or two away, dropping his weapon in the process which dangled loosely on the strap around Martins arm, and lifted the bus on straining arms as Dawg ducked out from underneath it. Martin stood facing Darla mutely, his whole body trembling from the strain of holding the hulking scrapheap aloft and off of the young woman. Because of the way Dawg had positioned the bus, Martin could neither shift it, drag it, nor push it in any direction in order to get it away from Darla. He was stuck where he was, holding the thing up.
Dawg whooped from behind Martin, leaning on Martin's back, and looking down at Darla from over Martins shoulder. Youve been working out, Thorny. I figured on just dropping the thing on sweetie-pie over there, and then killing you with my bare hands when you fought me, but this is even better than I dreamed of. Oh, by the way. I know all about your little power there, tough guy. I was in no more danger of dropping the bus than I was from suddenly turning into a toaster, thanks to some help from some friends of mine. Martin heard someone come into the warehouse, and Dawg moved away from him. Speaking of friends of mine, Id like you to meet one. I think you know him. Cmon over here and say hello, Dawg said as he pulled his hood off again.
Already drenched with sweat from the strain of holding up his burden, Martin turned toward the sound of Dawgs voice. Dawg led the new visitor over into Martins field of vision. Standing at Dawgs side was the very Freakshow wannabe that had murdered Martins mother. sup, dweebie? sneered the freak, hows mommy?
This young gentleman made quite a name for himself when he nearly offed that hot redhead the day he got your mommy, Thorny. I just wanted to shake his hand.
Dawg shook the freaks mechanical hand in front of Martin, and then suddenly grabbed the wrist of the freaks other hand. Twisting the arm with the blade behind the freak, Martin watched grimly as the tip of the blade erupted from the sternum of the shocked thug, as Dawg plunged it into the freaks back. Dropping him to the ground, Dawg spat on the body, and snarled, Thorny is MINE. His family is MINE. NO ONE touches them but me.
Martin closed his eyes, and tried to concentrate on breathing. There was no way he could handle the strain for long. Opening his eyes, he saw Darla regarding him sadly. Her dirty, tear-streaked face belied a sorrowful affection for him. The defeat in her eyes betrayed the fact that she thought that this whole thing was her fault. You didnt do this, Martin whispered to her.
On the contrary, Thorny. She was positively vital. I couldnt have pulled off getting you here without her. But wait! You havent met the rest of our cast of characters. Some other new friends of mine helped me get them together for you.
Martin turned to look toward the darkened alcove that Dawg was indicating. He fought back the urge to wretch in disgust as the first of the necromantic horrors shambled through the doorway. I think you know them, actually. Its amazing what you can do with the help of some new friends, some shovels, and a dead morgue night watchman. The first one to appear had lopsided arms. It was obvious that whoever had reanimated Dawgs father had been unable to find a large enough arm to replace the confiscated cybernetic one. I have this new buddy, you see. Hes a doctor, and in return for the promise of four freshly-dead metas he helped me gather the old gang for one more party, laughed Dawg. The sheer madness in his voice was almost gleeful in its intensity. As the undead forms of Zapp and Duke shuffled stiffly into view, Dawg skipped over and placed an arm around either ones shoulder. They were reluctant to follow me in my quest at first, but the doctors miracle treatment soon changed their minds. The sight of Dawgs vibrant, living face between the death-pale, slackjawed, drooling countenances of Duke and Zapp was positively surreal. And last, but certainly not least. Back by popular demand from an extended tour in the afterlife.. They need no introductions!! The awkward angle of his head, and the ugly gash in her throat threw the aim off as they came out immediately belching their acidic bile in Martins direction, but the fact that they were once Martins mother and father was unmistakable, as the shambled forward jerkily.
One of the men with Davis was a severe-looking sort, in an immaculate suit and tie. He had small, wire-rim glasses, and a neatly-trimmed goatee. His face showed that he had all the warmth and humor of an industrial refrigeration unit. The quartet entered the room and the suit addressed Martin directly. Mr. Thorne, what is going on here?
Were leaving, the Sentinel interjected.
I wasnt addressing you.
The Sentinels mouth opened and closed as the man again turned to Martin. Well?
I dont know what you mean. The Sentinel is up and around. There is no longer any reason for me to stay here. I have things to take care of.
Ill bet you do. Got some Dine friends you want to hook up with, do you?
Major Davis piped in, whoa, sir. Hes never shown any signs of Superdine use, either in his medical scans, or through manifestation.
Major Davis, no one was addressing you, either. Unless youd rather see if you can better follow orders as a captain, I would keep my trap shut, if I were you. Again, the man turned to face Martin. I still have yet to hear from you, Thorne.
Just who are you? Martin said, an unmistakable hint of irritability in his voice.
I am the one whose hospitality you have enjoyed these past few weeks. I run this base. Now Im asking you again. What do you think you are doing? You were ordered to keep the Sentinels powers dampened.
Hang on, a minute, pal. This is me were talking about, and.. the Scarlet Sentinel began.
The suit turned on her and spat, I thought you were leaving. Why are you still here?
WE are leaving, the Sentinel returned.
This boy is not going anywhere. He is a menace.
I am no such thing! Martin yelled, his temper rising.
YOU, are a Rikti experiment gone awry. You are as much a threat to National Security as a 5th Column commandant with a nuke. You are here at this facility until I say otherwise. Do I make myself CRYSTAL clear? If you make any move to leave this facility or otherwise interfere with our operations, you will be dealt with swiftly and with extreme prejudice, the man growled as he was advancing on Martin. Major Davis face was darkening as the scene wore on. The Sentinel grabbed the mans shoulder and made to move him back away from Martin. As the Sentinel touched the mans suit, he suddenly appeared to be made entirely from granite. He whirled on her, and before anyone could blink, he had her by the throat, and was holding her a foot off the ground in one hand. Major, corporal.. Get this.. woman.. off my base. Now.
Marcus!
The man holding the Sentinel turned to face the voice. Standing at the end of the hallway, arms folded across his chest, was Dr. Stromberg. At his side was Nurse Grey, and they didnt look the least bit happy.
Claude. How good of you to pay us a visit, the man remarked as he eased the Scarlet Sentinel to the ground. He whipped his head back to face the Sentinel and growled, get out. Now. Turning back to regard Dr. Stromberg coldly, he began calmly, this has been discussed. At length.
It has.
And it is your intention to defy Vanguard, even after a vote has been taken?
Your crusade against a newfound power is at an end. I have been on the phone with the other members of the board all morning. We have gone over Martins file at length, and they have found that he is without blemish. He is to be released at once. You managed to blind them with your paranoid fear, but once the facts of the matter were in their hands, they changed their minds. Even your own security cameras showed them that Martin has done admirably.
You and that..THING..next to you voiced your concerns over him at the meeting. I knew then that you would coddle a potential Rikti threat. Now I know for sure. The one thing you have overlooked is that I am in command of this facility. What I say, goes here, until I have orders from the directors, which I sincerely doubt that you were able to procure, even with your considerable pull. I could have him shot, right here, right now, and I would be entirely within my authority.
I think youll find that more difficult than you suspect, Marcus, said Dr. Stromberg, advancing toward them.
Youve not used your powers in some time, old man. Dont challenge my authority here. Youll lose.
Throughout the exchange, Martin had been getting progressively angrier. He had been tormented by metas. His parents had been murdered by metas. His potential girlfriend had been kidnapped, and was enduring heaven-knows-what at the hands of metas. Now, here he was, his entire existence being manipulated by metas.
Enough! Martin screamed. I am leaving. Now.
Youre naïve, boy, Marcus chuckled.
Please. Get in my way.
The granite man stalked toward Martin slowly, clenching and unclenching his fists. No one even had a chance to react, as he drew back to strike Martin. Martin was the fastest of them, catching the blow in an inside block. The disbelief on the mans face as his granite armor faded into nothingness was apparent, even as Martins palm-strike connected with the mans sternum, launching him 20 feet down the hall. A full-scale fight appeared to be about to start, when warning klaxons began sounding all over the base. The group looked at each other nervously as the man scrambled to his feet. He had just managed to get the word Rikti! out of his mouth as the first of the reddish, glowing ovals appeared behind him at the end of the hallway.