John Cobb was a big man. Being a Scrapyarder meant hard work and usually big muscles, but Cobb was bigger than most. Some say he was smarter too, but Cobb often referred to himself as not too bright or slow. Regardless, he was the man often chosen to get the job done, because he was one who could. Now he was under the rock some two hundred feet near the shore of Sharkshead island. The job was mining. It was dirty, dangerous work, and thats why they called John Cobb.
Lativ wasnt anyone Cobb had worked with before. He was an ex soviet military explosives expert and he came highly recommended. Along with Scott Zim, who would be running the thirty workers directly, they had to make sure the entire thing went smoothly.
Day one was setting up camp. Cobb, Lativ and Zim met with this guy who went by Dee. He looked like a cross between a Hollywood agent and a Tai Kwan Do instructor. He always had some muscled beach boys hanging around him, acting tough and staying quiet. They didnt try to intimidate any of the crew, which was a good thing, cause Scrapyarders dont take kindly to that. They also dont scare easy. This Dee guy just explained how things were going to be.
The main camp is to be here, in this cave, where we will be digging in these four tunnels simultaneously. The air shafts are to be set here and here, with tributaries running off as you see fit. This is the progress wed like to see in the first week, this in the second, this the third. Is this clear? And save the explosives, well need them later. Call me if you find anything. Dee was pointing to a map laid out on the hood of Cobbs pickup.
Cobb looked impressed for a second, but kept rubbing his bald head wondering what he was missing. The plan looked way more professional than most clueless money types would have, but something truly should have been there that wasnt. Then it hit him. How do you want to handle extraction?
Extraction? Dee looked puzzled.
Of the color, sir. The gold?
Oh, however you see fit. If you need more supplies call me at this number. Dee handed him a card then left the map on the truck and moved to his Corvette. His toughs got in with him, quietly, without making much eye contact.
Zim stood next to Cobb as the car pulled away, the ocean lapping against the rocks in the background. Well, at least that wasnt all strange and creepy.
Lativ looked down to the rocks where the cave was and the water crashing against them. I too have a not so good feeling about this.
Cobb sighed and turned to face Lativ, well, what do you want to do about it.
Lativ sighed heavily as he looked out on the ocean then turned around and threw his hands into the air. Vat is there to do? We do job.
Yeah, I guess we do. Get em started, Zim, Im going to check out the shaft. And with that, Cobb donned his hard hat and headed toward the crashing water.
[ QUOTE ]
"I don't believe that we intend to simply cast them aside. For whatever reason, our attempts at revival have failed. The Avatar is much better at this than we are. If he is not capable, then it is likely the wand that interdicts. We may have just found a new weapon."
Sword stood by, as invisible as he could while Cold did his work.
[/ QUOTE ]
Cold Heart stood a few moments later. That should do it, he said with satisfaction.
This is a strange world, Cold Heart said to his fellow Lacerta. It is still difficult for me to think of these humans as sentient. The human-like creatures we keep in the stables on Temple certainly are not sentient. Most mammals Ive seen are not.
Sword shrugged, "to hear the elders tell it, they were all sentient long ago, though very stupid. They would destroy each other to try to rise above each other, even if doing so only brought them down. They would mate indiscriminately, abandon their young and believed in gods that never helped them once. Creatures ruled by their instincts to breed and dominate each other, they would spend most of their time trying to accumulate wealth and impress each other.
As they walked back from the final seal, Sword recounted some of his experiences with Arachnos humans and how they acted. It doesnt seem to me that they have changed much in the last two thousand or so years.
Cold Heart shook his head, trying to imagine the meat as sentient. "You're right, Sword. They don't seem to have changed much at all."
They walked a few more steps. "Then why does the Avatar put up with humans like the Eviella family? Do we really need the humans?"
Sword labored over the smithing of his answer as they approached Point-Defense. When he finally did answer, he was very deliberate to let Point know that he was included on purpose.
"I question Consort-Inquisitor's devotion to the cause, but I would never question the Avatar's judgement with regard to this invasion. There's billions of them. Any bolstering to our numbers is a smart move. Besides, or ancestors have been using humans for a very long time. This isn't a purist war, it's a reclaiming of our birthright."
Once they were convinced that the area was secured and they were properly relieved, Sword and Shield decided that they were going to take the lead in exploring the next chamber. Sword asked for volunteers before moving to the end of the tunnel and stepping through the transportation circle.
[[Heya guys and gals... Averick gave me permission to repost this origin, since I hope to take more part in the Cult of Mu on Virtue with this villain [already in, just not too active yet]. Sorry it's so long. Will post more current events after this.]]
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Early morning. Several years ago. The second week of September.
New York City.
Dennis Corvus pushed the wheeled cart down the long hallway. Its front left wheel squeaked annoyingly, wobbling around and misaiming the cart. Dennis struggled to keep the thing pointed toward the magnetic doors ahead. A guard in a blue uniform stood against the wall, an M16 hung neglected at his side. The man was bored; Pat, was his name? Dennis could never remember. There were many guards here at Vortex-Kaiman, who rotated their shifts often. Given the nature of the work that went on here, the storage and destruction of artifacts and technology deemed too dangerous to reverse engineer or disassemble for study, management didnt want the same guards knowing the daily routines, lest they let something slip and invite theft. The government paid big money to Vor-Kaim to get this kind of stuff out of circulation, and to make absolutely, positively sure, that nobody else got access to these things. Ever.
There was literally a multi-billion-a-year industry in smuggling of such items, and Vor-Kaim was kept rich by being spotlessly honest about its dealings.
Naturally, Vor-Kaim did not believe in the trickle-down effect much. It had in its employ a legion of drones, such as Dennis, who shuffled items of incredible power around the hallways here, high up in the North Tower. A lot of these items went into a private express elevator to a lower level of the parking garage in the sub basement, to be whisked away in the dead of night or early morning [since Vor-Kaim did its work while the world slept] in an armored convoy, to one of Vor-Kaims deep-earth storage vaults. The rest, like the item on Dennis cart, went into a variety of specialized destructive devices, rendered down into powder where possible, and likewise buried en masse at the end of each month.
The item Dennis was pushing towards its doom, was headed for Disintegrating Centrifuge #1.
Naturally, Dennis did not realize, that while he was accompanying it to its doom, it was accompanying him, to his.
Dennis made his dull way toward the maglock door ahead of him. He was rather nondescript, five foot six, reddish auburn hair, combed back. Nobody had ever been intimidated by his slim frame, nor had he ever really tried to do any intimidating. He was the type who did his job, not unmotivated but certainly no go-getter, looking forward to the day when he could retire from a calm, undemanding corporate technicians position and buy some cabin in the woods and get away from the bustle of New York, and all the people in it, forever. And not do much of anything, else, really. Maybe do some fishing, maybe raise bees, shoot at squirrels with a rifle he didnt own yet nor really knew how to shoot.
He would never see this day he dreamed of.
The key card hanging from his neck let him into the restricted disposal suite. The door shut behind him. It was the last time he would ever see Pat the guard alive. He wheeled the squeaky cart around the separate rooms to the one with the centrifuges, card-accessed that one too, slipped inside.
There, he slid his keycard into a special slot which would clock his time in the chamber. He took off his labcoat, opened a shirt button, and got to work, unveiling the clear poly case in which hung suspended the menu item of the day: the Eye of Mu.
Unearthed by Crey company divers, the Eye had passed several sets of hands before being captured in a raid on a Circle of Thorns stronghold in Longbranch, New Jersey. After a long period of study by several agencies, it had been sent to Vortex-Kaimen and was slated for destruction. Its crystalline composition had resisted various other test methods, and so, into the centrifuge it would go, spinning until its own mass chewed it to pieces. For safety, Centrifuge #1 had technological gravity inducers which magnified the spinning effect of its interior cradle many times. This kind of technology was the type Vor-Kaim often had to destroy, coming as it did from alien dimensions, but, a few such odds and ends wound up in Vor-Kaims arsenal, for use on itself, in a sense.
With heavy leather-palmed gauntlets on, Dennis unlocked the bulletproof case, lifted the Eye [it was unusually heavy for its size], and prepared to fit it into the centrifugal cradle. Like most things that passed through Dennis area, this one had with it a file of preparations and precautions to be taken and any other information higher-ups deemed need-to-know for people handling it. The most obvious were always printed and stuck out in the open. In the Eyes case, the label on the folder read DO NOT UNWRAP. DO NOT EXPOSE TO EYES. DO NOT DROP. DO NOT DISPOSE OF IN FIRE.
The Eye had been almost entirely mummified in dispersion bands appropriate for itself. They appeared to be linen-covered, and had inside them strips of lead and other esoteric substances that allowed it to be stored harmlessly. As he moved it, Dennis took absent note of its odd weight [it would have fit inside a typical bowling ball, but felt like it massed in like two of them], was a bit warm even through its encasement, and vibrated slightly. A wan, weak red light leaked out from its wrappings, but Dennis knew better than to go looking for a source. Using a pair of snips he clipped off the attached ID band without damaging the wrappers, tossed the tag in the normal trash, and got to work.
He took several minutes to make precise balancing adjustments so that the liquid levels showed equal all around and the cradle would spin true. When the control console showed all was set, Dennis locked the case, activating the software and beginning the gravity induction sequence. Without a cup of coffee to mull over while it happened, he hummed to himself dully, only vaguely annoyed at the restrictions that kept the room safe and clean, and deprived him of something to do during the intolerable moments when having little personal action bored him. He wasnt overly interested in reading the rest of the file [not much of a reader, was Dennis], and might have been only slightly worried if he had. He watched the countdown indicator lights, feeling the slight humming the centrifuge emitted while it warmed up.
It was 8:45 AM.
Finally the software had increased the G-forces inside the canister, and the motors began their slow wind up to, as Dennis and his fellows referred to it as, killing speed. Dennis continued leaning on the desk, ten or so feet away. He was not cognizant of the extra, faintly, subsonic rumble also being felt throughout the building at this height, noticed only by a few persons on this and other floors so far. This extra rumble was caused by the four turbo jet engines of a full-sized jetliner, its throttles wide open, as it approached from over the Hudson River.
When 8:46 AM arrived, a great many things began happening.
Dennis noticed that the Eye, spinning along so that soon, its surface would be a blur to him, had begun to glow. This despite the presence of the restraining bands the thing had been cocooned in, preventing any of its emanations from affecting Vor-Kaim personnel. He leaned forward a little, not sure what was up, but pretty sure this wasnt supposed to be happening. He made mental note of the alarm button on the desk, and how quickly he could get to it, if it came to that.
People outside the disposal suites, those with windows looking toward New Jersey, had also noticed something that wasnt supposed to be happening. Many of them had begun to scream.
When the jetliner struck, its normally rather bendable fuselage pierced the outer skin of the building, like normally weak plywood planks or drinking straws sometimes do to park benches, trees or bricks when driven by tornado winds. Its wings werent as fortunate, and they crumpled outright as they were dragged inside. Jet fuel by the ton spewed into the building along with the jet itself.
At that instant, the Eye of Mu had been nearing its terminal velocity. Between ticks of Time, the bands restraining it had succumbed to gravitational forces shortly before the crystal itself had been in jeopardy, flying to tatters inside the Eyes death chamber, allowing the artifact a brief moment to assess the entirety of its situation, abruptly aware of many things that surprised the odd intelligence it possessed. Bursting from its restraint-induced somnambulence, it had less than seconds to react before destruction came for it.
A brief moment in Time, between ticks of the clock; one moment, and an infinity of events.
The jet has smashed its way through the building almost to the center, doused in its own fuel which is in the process of full ignition. People are dieing by the hundreds, others soon to follow as this clock tick passes by. The death all around it has awakened the orb completely, succoring it, and yet, informing it as well. The remnants of the front of the plane are passing directly under Dennis room. The Eye of Mu is at the moment of its own death, for gravity has won and the matrix of its crystal can hold together no longer, even with the immense boost of its power and will, desperately clenching itself to the physical world. In this brief instant of Time a coruscating bolt has bridged the gap between the Eye and the closest living sentient organism, that being Dennis Corvus. The bolt is red, much like the pure color of the Eye of Mu when lives, blood and souls had been given to it in ecstatic worship, long ago. The bolt has reached across the room, and fixed itself on Dennis face. It is invading him, as horribly and finally as the jet has the North Tower. The force of the impact of the bolt alone has cast Dennis head slightly backward. Had he merely been standing there in a calm environment, the bolt would likely have put Dennis through the wall and burned a shadow of his skeleton permanently in the paint that had been left behind him. However, when this tick of Time passes on, the wall will no longer be there, for a shockwave is leaving the jetliner below the room, pulsing outward, and it will travel faster than Dennis will. Dennis mouth is agape in a scream he will never give voice to. This particular scream, in any case. The wall to the West, as well as the floor under his shoes, are bulging inward, and have just begun lifting Dennis toward the ceiling. The shockwave from the jet is so severe that its soundwaves alone would have burst Dennis eardrums and eyes, invaded his sinuses and pulped his brain, not even mentioning the damage it would have done to his bones, skin and other organs.
None of that matters now, though.
The tick in Time passes on, as it must.
Many people die.
Dennis does not.
Encapsulated in the power matrix of the Atlantean artifact, Dennis is shoved upward two stories as the building shatters in his general area. Flame roars through the gaps, fanned and driven by the hurricane blast of the shockwave. Fire and detritus burst from the building along the jets path almost all the way out the other side. The magnitude of the event is being made known to many witnesses and victims, but Dennis is firmly grasped by the Eye of Mus awareness. It remains coldly aware of every nuance of the experience for it must cling to Dennis for all its worth. To lack physical form is to cease to be. He is the only anchor left to it, for the destruction around it confounds it and it cannot fasten itself to any other living thing amid the turmoil. Dennis is all it has, so even as the human undergoes trauma that would kill him many times over, it keeps him alive. His soul melded to its alien soul matrix, Dennis, also, is fully aware of everything.
His body is smashed through layers of ceiling, insulation, cabling, steel and concrete, bent into a slim shattered rag of jellied bones, and yet, he lives and knows. He is scalded in an inferno, and cannot cease experiencing it. Parts of him come away and are shoved rudely back into place, though not fully repaired; the Eye of Mu is merely keeping its vessel as intact as it can, given the circumstances. Bones and organs precede skin in importance at this moment. When he comes to rest two floors above the labs he occupied, it is in the chimney of Hell, and yet, the Eye of Mu forces his body back together with enough cohesion that he crawls, a salamander thrown on a griddle, seeking in any direction for surcease that he will not find. He cannot scream, he cannot think, for the agony he experiences is beyond human comprehension, He Should be dead, but he is not. No-one has gone through this before.
Unrecognizable, this new vessel of the Eye of Mu crawls, dragging itself up through the angular wreckage to the third floor above where Vortex-Kaiman is no longer. Waterfalls of jet fuel, alight, pour back down into the void that spewed it up, sluicing around the monstrous thing that cannot live, and does. There are no witnesses. The things mouth vomits burning fuel, blackened and crisp skin stretches over clasping muscles and shriveled tendons. It makes its way toward the corner of the building where the heat is least, wreckage as its staircase, now five stories above the labs. Visibility is zero, death all around, agony driving the human soul inside beyond madness. And riding there amidst it all, is the Eye of Mu.
Many ticks of Time pass by now while the vessel pauses, too stunned to move; the Eye of Mu gives it a brief respite as the alien construct gains its bearings. Events play out here and nearby while both rest. Many more are already dead, and a countdown to additional slaughter has begun.
Dennis comes to.
He is naked, his clothes blasted away. His skin feels as if its still burning. There are open wounds down to the bones in several places, but the bones beneath are somehow intact. He cries out and rolls over. Debris bites into his skin, which he sees now, is burned black. He doesnt have much room to roll within, for objects hem him in on all sides. He is conscious at a time when no human could be. And his mind is reeling from the onslaught of sensation and agony he has just undergone. It is like the exact opposite of an orgasm, the antithesis of rational experience, and he pauses to gulp acrid smoky air. He can smell things that will linger over the city for weeks, for the smell is coming from where he is. He can see light through the smashed material around him, a brief draw of clear air quickly covered again by the pall that crowns the North Tower. There are human noises near him, horrible sounds.
It is 9:59 AM.
The horrible human noises near where he is, rise suddenly as the South Tower, visible to many survivors who are trapped at this altitude, collapses in thunder and other noise. To have the twin building perish before them throws survivors here who have seen it, into understandable panic. The sun is blotted out. Hope evaporates for most and the air in the building becomes a miasma of pitiable emotion on top of everything else, felt especially strongly by the Eye of Mu.
For the first time, the entity that holds Dennis Corvus life within itself, speaks to him.
Vessel. Arise, it commands. Like a puppet, beyond shock, Dennis must do so. He stands on wobbly legs, arms reaching out to brace against closing walls of rubble. With the Eye of Mu gazing out through his own eyes, Dennis clambers through the detritus of lost lives and makes his way to the gaping hole in the side of the building. It takes him a long time, for things must be moved out of the way with little room into which to cast them aside. Many times he sustains injury, is briefly buried, burned. Fire is climbing from below them and the temperature is rising. Finally though, as impossible sounds drift upward from the cratered street below and all that is occurring, the dual being comes up into a passable space. Someone runs by in the darkness and smoke, screaming and crying, but Dennis cannot see who it is or what shape they are in, nor answer their cries. They do not come to the space where he is but have run away from it, or him. Standing at the precipice with one hand grasping the window frame so strongly that the shattered glass digs into his palm, bare toes clasping at the flooring to steady him, he and it together survey what lies below.
Inside his own mind Dennis is gibbering.
Omygodwhatishappeninghowcanthisbeicantprocessthisi tsimpossibleimpossibleimpossible!
Silence! I must gather strength. There is something to come and we must weather it, Vessel of Mu. We must go down.
Dennis gazes out and understands the shared thought that they are about to jump.
NO! Dennis is shrieking into the echoing depths of his now-shared mental landscape, to the horrid thing that lurks there. He battles with it, in a sense, struggling to pull himself back from the drop. He will do anything, say anything, rather than face what lies outside that window. Beg and offer anything.
His permanently altered mind finds a rational possibility, for he is becoming a new animal inside his own impossible skin. He is somehow possessed, but the enormity of what he has already undergone had burned away much of him; some of what was lost would have caused him reasonable fear at this point. What is left of him attempts to be smart and analytical.
There is a way down! The private elevator, the private elevator!
There is a pause in the nothingness. Where is this thing? It will take us down?
Its near the middle of the building! Back down there. The motor room is on this floor! We can climb down to the car and use it if its working! At this point the rule of using the stairs in such a fire emergency have naturally been discarded. Dennis is trying to reason with what must be a demonic entity that has taken hold of him! Anything to placate it and keep it from making him jump from the tower. He simply cannot do that. Even after what he has seen happen to himself, even despite this, he cannot jump from here and watch the street come rushing up. As he moves backward, some poor soul from above does so, but with a goal in mind the Eye of Mu cares not a whit.
Grunting and bloodied again, his scalded burns gone and not even considered anymore, Dennis clambers toward the area where he knows the elevator motor room would be.
Time is passing. Things are rushing to a conclusion that has been already been demonstrated.
Somehow, the Vessel of the Eye of Mu finds the shattered frame of the elevator anchor and motor room. This shaft it sat upon reaches all the way to the third sub basement in a single throw, and Dennis can see as he approaches that the car is gone. Through the smoke billowing upward, the shaft a chimney funneling it up from the conflagration below, Dennis and the Eye of Mu can see the tattered ends of several sheered-through steel cables rocking back and forth, supporting nothing. Nonetheless, even as Dennis tries in images rather than words to convey that the car is useless, that they can try the stairs, please please anything but jumping, the Eye of Mu takes him to the brink. It looks in a casual way, hijacking his movements, all around at the interior of the shaft and the hellish drop at its feet. It also notes that the dangling cables are shifting as it watches.
With senses Dennis cannot grasp, it knows what this means.
Dennis only notices after it does, in the wan apocalyptic darkeness, that the cables are moving, all of the bunch stretching toward the right side of the shaft wall as if a snake charmer were calling them with an ill-tuned flute in some cartoon. He only notices the sensation in his inner ear secondarily, the canting of the floor, for the Eye of Mu has asserted itself treacherously, suddenly.
At 10:28 AM, the Eye of Mu steps its suddenly screaming Vessel over the brink and into the elevator shaft. Dennis is wide-eyed as he drops into the dark hole, his eyes burning from the smoke and very soon after, from fire. He passes floors below that are an inferno, and is flash-baked as he does so, fully aware. He is tumbling in darkness and agony, striking an incursion into the shaft and bouncing back into it, and as if his ragged body is a tossed kerchief or a starters pistol, the building above sags behind him. The roof and its broadcast mast sink into the wreath of smoke, and everything ahead of it joins in, in a domino effect. The collapse follows Dennis all the way down, until this new shockwave catches him in its tumult, a detonation chasing an overeager bullet down the barrel of a rifle. He is propelled down toward the depths of the earth by blast, fire, and the dust of inconceivable loss.
He is aware, all the way down.
He is held together by a power determined to not cease, as it surely would if this vessel were destroyed at this moment. When he would be pulped, he is kept together, surviving the horrid blender that the collapsing building becomes. He is bent but again not broken. The impact is not a single event, for by the time he reaches the ground there is so much debris in which he is mixed it is a kind of settling. He is the pea sandwiched in the mattresses. And he is alive, somehow. The agony and its duration are beyond reason.
Hours later. Efforts unlike any ever seen have begun pulling apart the still-hot pile above.
Earth movers cause the rubble to shift, and the Vessel of the Eye of Mu moves deeper as the wreckage of two buildings settles. Many times small movements happen. Soon, he is cast out onto the cold tile of what used to be the extensive subway station beneath the tower in a shifting avalance. His body moves, wrong angles and damage molding back into correct shape. Dennis is gibbering again because he feels it all, unable to pass into unconsciousness, again spitting out the plug of dust and blood that has filled his mouth countless times. He gives random cries, until he finally climbs to his bare feet, covered by more grey dust and dried blood [not the majority of it his own], in the blackness of the railway mall. Without Dennis own real awareness the Eye of Mu has wormed him through the rubble bit my bit, down and to the edge of the towers footprint. Though clogged completely at a certain point [essentially, directly behind him/them], the New Jersey transit tunnels are intact.
Tearing his bare feet on the track bed, Dennis slogs away from the disaster behind him. He passes under the Hudson, along the tracks which have been shut down. In the incredible silence deep in the earth, he speaks to his puppetmaster once again.
Who are you? What do you want? Please, get out of my head!
I cannot, Vessel. I must return to my people. I cannot end. You do not command me; I am the Eye of Mu. We will move forward and return to my people.
Your people! Who are
The Eye of Mu shows him and he freezes midstride. He saw, heard, smelt, tasted, lived it. The Lacerta, through their glory and their fall, and the Eye as ritual witness. They were here now, they were searching, he could feel the longing reaching out, even here sheltered in the bedrock. It was somewhere to the north. Very close, in terms of the size of the world.
There are my people. We will go to them. No-one will stop us, Vessel of Mu.
What will you do with me?
You are the Vessel. To continue, you must live. We will return in glory to my people and bring about the glory of Mu.
This time, Dennis got no inner image to define what this meant. That should have disconcerted him, what was left of him, but at that moment, there was movement and noise ahead in the darkness.
The mouth of the tunnel would emerge near the Hoboken station, and the entrance, set below street level, was frequent home to the areas homeless population. Most of these pitiable people had taken to the shore to witness the horror unfolding across the river. Some though, had remained behind.
One of them, a huge-bodied indigent man, watched the naked skinny Dennis emerging from the tunnel and saw, not a dust-covered victim in need of aid, but a helpless target on whom to vent the unease and agitation the disaster in New York was raising in his schizoid mind. With an inarticulate roar he bore down on Dennis, huge meaty hands grasping and ready to pummel.
Dennis felt only a shadow of fear, for after what hed just been through, a simple beating was almost a nonevent; and yet, instinctual reaction to threat crept forward. He tensed, ready to defend himself in his vulnerable naked state.
The Eye of Mu struck first.
It knew Dennis would be no physical match for this other human. Instead, it reached with a clawed simulated hand deep into Dennis consciousness and took what it could. With a mental mitt aglow with collected imagery, it flung the sum of Dennis experiences that day at the homeless mans formidable damaged psyche.
Compressed into a matter of seconds, the agony, fear, the ride through the collapse, the entirety of Dennis repeated conscious death that day bored like a diamond undergoing fusion into the mind of the homeless man. With a guttural animal shriek, the attacker gripped at his temples as the information, relentless, merciless, impossible, flooded into him. He scraped his nails down the sides of his face trying to stop the influx, skin peeling away in curlicues, but it would not stop.
The structure of his mind melted under the onslaught. The railway tunnel walls lit with a sodium white light, and then, the homeless man keeled over, stone cold dead, body spasming.
Dennis staggered. The Eye of Mu had overextended itself in its viciousness. For a moment the great entity itself was stunned, and Dennis reasserted control over his body. He could feel the entity inside him now, clearly and with no imposed filters. He also felt his body, made whole by its presence. He was shaken, trembling, exhausted
but he was alive. Able to think completely on his own for the first time in what was happening, the tattered remnants of his Self suddenly back in control and knowing it could not last, he made a decision all by himself.
He knelt over the corpse before him, and began taking its clothes. The Eye of Mu, quiescent, nonetheless approved. The rags stank, and wouldnt fit, but he needed to get away from here. His small apartment was a few miles away up the coast in a small suburb. He lived alone, had no family whod be calling for him to see if he was safe. His life had been work, and everyone hed known, were they all dead? He needed to know. He scrubbed his face in a dirty puddle and lurched off to gain the street above, and find his way home, because at this instant, that was all he could think to do.
What exactly was wrong with Thorpe was anyones guess. He was stretched out, just inside the mouth of the cave, his eyes wide open and looking around like a terrified animal, but his body wasnt moving.
When Zim approached, Ted Johnson was kneeling next to Thorpe, with two others standing by, one with the first aid kit open. Thorpe was a big man, late thirties whod worked all his life. His skin was tough and leathery and he always seemed to have dirt on him, no matter how much he cleaned. He had a small beard, normally peppered, but now it shown entirely white.
What the hell happened? Zim knelt next to Thorpe, across from Johnson. Ted, what happened to Thorpe?
I, I dont know exactly. Ted looked completely confused and near panicked.
One of the workers standing there, Kyle Green, spoke up in his usual quiet voice. We heard him and Jake calling for help, so we picked up our shovels and came runnin. We found him like this.
Zim looked back at Kyle over his shoulder. Wheres Jake?
Ted shrugged.
Zim stood up, damn it! He stormed into the cave and picked up a safety light on the way in. He stopped at the mouth and yelled back at the others, check him for injuries and get the doc up here quick. With that, he disappeared into the poorly lit cave.
He stalked in only a little ways before he noticed that the other worker, Wil Baker, was following him. When Wil noticed Zim looking back, he pointed. South six, near the second junction. They were in shaft forty one. I guess it broke into a cavern and they were checking it out.
Zim didnt make it to the shaft. As they rounded a corner, they could see a dark lump in the tunnel ahead. Were this anyplace but the Rogue Isles, theyd have immediately assumed it was their missing crewman. This being the Rogue Isles, though, they hesitated as Zim shined his light on the form.
As they approached, they didnt recognize Jake at first. His eyes were swollen shut, and his skin was pale and blue where it bulged from his clothes. The sound he made sounded like a steady hum, as his throat was all but closed and he was doing all he could just to breath. His right arm was blackened and trailing blood. The blood stretched some eight feet back to the shaft.
Wil started forward but Zim held him back. Jake, is that you?
Jakes arm came up toward Zim, and Zim lunged forward, grabbing Jake by the jacket and dragging him down the tunnel a ways. Get his legs Wil.
Wil moved to grab his legs and recoiled in horror. Hes missing one.
Well grab his jeans! Zims hard hat fell off, but he didnt retrieve it, he just hoisted Jake up and waited for Wil to do the same. Once he did, he started running down the tunnel.
Out near the front, Doc Masey was trying to take Thorpes pulse, but his hand was wrapped tight around something. Doc finally pried it open, and a small, stone figurine fell out and into a shallow crack in the ground. Ted made a note of it but didnt touch it.
Thorpe started screaming like he were on fire, and flailing his arms. Hold him down! Masey started talking really soothingly to Thorpe, and eventually he calmed down. Well, after the shot anyway. Once Thorpe passed out, the doc could check him for wounds. Not finding any, he just called for a stretcher to be brought down to the cave entrance. It looked like the crisis was over for a bit.
That is
until they brought Jake out.
Dennis' trip through the streets to Rutherford was relatively uneventful. With Manhattan in turmoil and events being broadcast live, almost nobody was on the streets. Police and Fire vehicles sped by him, the air was filled with wailing sirens and the smell from the destruction across the Hudson. Dennis could really only smell himself, though. So no-one passed Dennis before he reached his little walkup and staggered up the stairs, slamming his apartment door behind him.
He leaned there, panting a second, before divesting himself of the hobo's stinking clothes into a fetid pile right at the doorway. He then lurched into his bathroom and turned the shower faucets on.
Then, he leaned back and looked into the mirror.
His eyes were glowing like red suns.
In a vicious psychic feedback loop, his eyes fed themselves through his reflection. Suddenly, all reality around him wiped out, he sped fast-forward through the events in the Tower. With a scream he flung himself away; it had only happened for a second, not even a full one, but the contact had been a hint of what had blasted the homeless attacker's brain.
He retched all over the tiles, moaning and crying in between bouts. He had been a hair's bredth from utter mental ruin. It took him nearly ten minutes to compose himself while steam from the running water clouded over the glass and made the room humid and thick. Finally, he crawled into the water and lathed everything off himself; the day, the vomit, the dust and blood and stink. Even once cleaned, he lay in the water for minutes, not moving. Through all of it, the new internal voice was silent, as it had been since the tunnel.
Almost an hour passed before he crept back out and toweled off. He did so sitting on the floor, afraid to rise enough to come level with the mirror. He slipped into his white robe, stolen from a hotel in Atlantic City, while still crouched on the floor, then experimentally tried rising at a creeping pace, to see if he could risk the mirror. But the red glow came up even before his eyes, so he stopped, gasping, and decided to cease trying for now altogether.
He stuffed the hobo clothes into a garbage bag using smaller shopping bags as gloves, then tossed the things into the incinerator shute in the hall. He returned to his small, drab living room, switched on the TV, and lay on the couch watching the afternoon being rebroadcast again and again, until night fell and he passed out.
He dreamed.
He was in a version of his own apartment, sitting as he'd been falling asleep. But the place was drab. No, it was beyond drab, it was decrepid. Everything bore a dull soil. It made him not want to be there, it made him want to jump off the tattered couch and wash it's taint off himself. As he rose, he realized the TV was on, and the screen was filled with a red eye.
It was the Eye of Mu, that conclusion came to him instantly. Sized as it had been in its wrappings in the lab, but now revealed, shiny and aglow. Aglow with red light, like his own eyes.
"What do you want!" he shrieked.
From the TV speakers, the Eye replied, "I must return home."
"What about what I want," he asked back.
"You want this too," the Eye said conversationally. "This place is no longer your home. Look at it. It is mean, poor. Let us travel to my people and we will be enshrined as earthly kings, as we deserve. We are the Eye of Mu. Our fates are now as one. I am important to my people. Now, you are as well. You are the Vessel of the Eye of Mu. I will be honored and you will be also. Sacrifices will be given me; also to you, for we are now one."
"What kind of sacrifices," Dennis hesitantly asked.
"Although in ages past I subsisted on souls and flesh, I understand through you that things are not as they were, here. My people will provide for your human needs. Food, shelter, warmth -"
"Money." Dennis piped up suddenly. He was finding a new Him, slowly, as his mind adjusted to everything. having been a nothing for so long, living alone, in an apartment the Eye's subtle shading was painting as rather loathesome, there had dawned on him a chance for a complete remake of his entire life. He understood this is what the artifact was offering him, and with much of the old Him shorn away by what had happened, the offer was enticing. There was very little civilized that was left of Dennis; agony and horro had burned much of hima way in its literal and figurative fire.
"We will have no need of money," the Eye began.
"No, I need money." Dennis said as he rose to his full height in the dream. "I WANT money. I wanna be able to buy whatever I want. A better house than this," he waved his hands around the drab illusion of his lodgings, "Clothes, good food and booze, women, cars. I want it all!" He clenched his fist at the TV. "I'm tired, and I've BEEN THROUGH HELL FOR YOU! So you're gonna pay me back!"
"I do not need you," the Eye wanred menacingly.
"Oh," Dennis cooed, crouching next to the flat Eye on the glass. "I think you really do. I'll take you to your people, no problem. But you need me to get there, passed all the people and the checkpoints and the cops. The world's falling apart right about now, haven't you noticed? We just watched it happen on the TV, all night. You saw it! It's prbably the end of the freakin' WORLD and it started TODAY!" Visions flooded the dreamscape of the US going nuclear on whoever did this, al Queada or whomever it was as the news had said. Precipitating a nations-wide calamity.
The Eye had to admit tht this was possible. It had seen simliar things before, hadn't it?
"Today, I have a chance to get away clean!" Dennis hissed to his most unwelcome partner. "No trace of me, I'm dead now. No bills, no rent, no debt." He looked aside as he tallied how much he could get free of in an instant in this insane moment. "I can pack tonight. Just take a few things, get the rest of what I need later. We're going north, right? I've been up in Vermont a few times. There's bed and breakfasts we can stay at, or just camp. I'll need cash. And a car. I can... I can do, what we did to the homeless guy, get money or whatever we need, as long as we leave no trace. Avoid cameras and banks. Banks," he paused. "I got about six grand in the bank down the street. We can use that till it runs out. Then, ah.. I dunno, steal some more."
"We can easily overpower other humans and take their gold, yes. You will have all you need. But take me north, to where my people are." There was a plaintative quality to the Eye now; it was begging him to agree, almost.
Dennis understood, he'd need to be wary. There, in a part of his own mind, the Eye heard him warn himself, and it agreed with the assessment.
"You got yourself a deal. I gotta wake up and pack and we need to get to the bank at first light, and get the hell out of here."
In minutes Dennis had woken up, and cast about his apartment grabbing and packing his utmost essentials. He did, however, leave enough behind to make it appear to the police that this was the apartment of yet another working man who'd never be coming home again, and whose body would never be pulled from the wreckage across the river.
Just before he headed out and down the steps to his building for the last time, he went down into the basement and raided the super's tool room for a pair of welding goggles. With these on, he was able to actually check his reflection in the flat glass of the first floor apartment outside. He smoothed back his hair, hefted his lone bag of clothes and things, and headed down toward the bank.
In a hooded sweatshirt and his goggles, Dennis waited across the street from the Bank of Rutherford for the clerks to arrive and open the doors.
Jets patrolled overhead in an otherwise unoccupied sky. Once the place was unlocked, Dennis counted three bank personnel and one security guard entering. He crossed after they'd gone in, slipped inside the quiet bank.
Only a young clerk and the guard were now visible. Both appeared haunted, still in shock from what had happened the day before.
Dennis scribbled a withdrawal slip with his left hand [to disguise his handwriting if it were ever scrutinized], and hurried to the counter. The guard slipped inside a room he'd unlocked; probably the security room, somewhere off behind Dennis.
"Hi," Dennis said nervously to the clerk as he haded her his slip over the open counter," Need to take this money out. Gotta get away from the city, get away from here."
"Oh my god, I know," the clerk said, going through her motions with jangled nerves, "if i could I'd do the same, oh my God, it's so horrible." she was on the verge of tears. As she handed him all but the last 50 dollars from his account, she noticed for the first time the heaviness of his eyewear. And his gloves. "So many people dead... did you lose anyone? Did you get hurt, Mr. Corvus?" She seemed to be coming to some unfortunate worrisome conclusion about his clothes.
"Yeah, I lost someone," Dennis turned to see the guard coming back out of the locked room. Nobody else appeared to be on this floor of the bank. The stairs leading down to the vault were quiet. He pulled his goggles off and turned back to her.
"I lost me."
A bolt of psychic horror flowed out into the bank teller's eyes. For a brief second she was transfixed at what was being forcefed into her mind; then, with barely a whisper of a gasp, she collapsed behind the counter.
Dennis turned purposefully around as the bank guard was clearing leather and shouting "Hey!", but the flow anchored itself to his eyes now. With an animal sound, he fell flat on his face, gun sliding right acrosst he floor to Dennis' feet. Dennis maintained eye contact as the man went down.
He stood there several more seconds, seeing that the guard was not moving at all, and listening for movement from downstairs that was not coming. In haste he grabbed the pistol up and darted, not over the counter, but directly to the guard's belt. He grabbed the entire holster and set of reloads off him, then fumbled the keys into the lock of the room he'd vacated. Inside it, he pressed buttons ejecting tapes from all the VCRs he'd been praying were there, and stuffed them all into his bag with the money. The blue light of the monitor rack was overshadowed by flickering red from his searchlight eyes. Next he killed any power switches he could see in the dim room, disabling the camera system and a few other unrelated things besides. He dragged the guard's corpse into the room and shut the door behind him.
Only then did he vault the counter, grab all the cash in the single open drawer, his withdrawal slip and any other papers that had been in front of her, slammed it all into his bag and tore [censored] out of there before anyone else came.
The Cold Heart of Mu followed Sword and Shield to the portal room. He wasnt sure if he really like Sword; he was ambitious and opinionated, and that was frequently a dangerous combination.
Yet he was Cold Hearts brother in faith, so he considered what Sword had said very carefully.
He knew that Sword was treading on very dangerous ground. While he was able to rationalize the turning on the Consort not being an attack on the Avatar, Cold Heart wasnt sure that the Avatar would see it that way.
Cold Heart knew that he would have to observe the Consort and decide for himself whether she was ineffective or not.
Where to, Brother Sword? Cold Heart asked, pushing his hood back. He turned his single eye on the warrior-priest.
Where to, Brother Sword? Cold Heart asked, pushing his hood back. He turned his single eye on the warrior-priest.
Sword thought momentarily before responding, we travel to retrieve the Eye of Mu, whatever that is. I thought it would be prudent to have a priest along with me during the process.
He led them through the twisted caverns of ancient Orenbega, to a disused transportation circle and placed the missing runes on the dais in the spot that had worn free. One small incantation later, the gate sprung to life.
Sword Cloaked and Shield raised his defenses as they stepped through. They found themselves below New York, far underneath the city in some abandoned train tunnels. Shield had to clear out a way for them to get into the main tunnels as the room they appeared in had been sealed for decades, and the air was quite stagnant. Once they could breath fresh air again, well more fresh, then they were at ease in the darkness.
Sword knelt next to the train tracks and inspected markings along the ground, then tracked them up the walls of the tunnel. Were not alone down here, but we dont have time to kill everything, so we should direct our efforts in finding this Eye and be gone before they know were here. The Avatar wishes to use it to bring a Champion through the gate. I must admit, I am curious to see what a Champion of Mu would look like.
Meanwhile
John Cobb could barely contain the rage within himself as he stared down at his dirty work boots on the nice carpet under the swank chair he was sitting in. Azemandiss office was on one of the higher floors, meaning it was better decorated than any room hed been in for any length of time. He sat on the couch, next to Dee, who smelled strangely like the sea, even though he was dressed like a Hollywood producer. Azemandis sat behind his desk, and after nearly a half an hour of silence, Professor Eviella finally walked in, dressed in something exceedingly expensive and entirely too revealing.
She looked like she were here to receive an Oscar, and truth be told, she might deserve one.
Are you mister Cobb? Oh no please dont get up. I just wanted to say, before we started this meeting that were terribly sorry about your men and were going beyond mere words here and directly getting involved with the medical care for your two injured people. My sister, who is a doctor of some renown, is personally looking in on your friends. She shook his hand and looked over her purple tinted glasses at him.
She held his gaze long enough to make him feel slightly uncomfortable, and when Cobb looked down, to break eye contact, he became even more uncomfortable and had to turn his head entirely.
Its alright, Mr. Cobb, I get that a lot. I wouldnt have gotten as far as I have if I were all hung up on the realities of life. Breasts attract attention. Usually away from how smart a girl is. That works for me. And I suspect you arent someone who gets all hung up on the realities of life either. The professor stood up and walked to a chair opposite the couch where she plopped down and crossed her legs, causing her tiny skirt to ride up even further.
Azemandis stared at the professor intently, though not with the usual lust in his eye. This was more fear. Ahem. He looked away immediately once she turned at his clearing his throat. I believe, what were here to talk about today, if I may, is the injury of two of our workers on your site.
A puzzled look crossed Eviellas face. Thats what I was talking about.
Azemandis looked even more uncomfortable. I
I know. Its just that
I mean
I was trying to formally broach the subject of the
accident
Accident nothing. Theres some kind of beast down there and my men arent going a step further until
Cobbs outburst was only silenced by the Professors nodding and holding her hand up.
I agree wholeheartedly with Mr. Cobb. We did not intend to create a dangerous work environment, or send you into harms way.
Cobb burst out again, but you did, thats exactly what you did and now
Yes, two of your men are injured. I understand that the rest are apprehensive as well. Eviella leaned forward.
Well
Yeah. And they have-
Good reason, she finished his sentence. I wouldnt expect that your men return to work without a fifty percent raise in salary to compensate for the danger they will be facing.
Well
yeah John started, but the professor continued.
And I would expect nothing less than a full compliment of Cage security to help assist in keeping your men safe, which my corporation will pay for at our own expense, as well as professional medical care to be provided at the site and a more comfortable workspace outside of the mine, say a prefab building being flown in by helicopter or brought in by boat. Well hire a cook for your meals and well provide lines for your men to stay in contact with their families if it becomes difficult for them to make it home nightly. Does that sound acceptable? The Professor put on her poutiest business expression.
I
I
John thought about what she was saying for a while. He hadnt really come with a list of demands, but he wasnt about to turn down what she was offering. That will do, I suppose. Though I think wed also like a taco bar. He couldnt let it go without trying to get her to sacrifice in some way to show that she was willing to do whatever it took to say Im sorry, sadly with all that shed already put on the table, the taco bar sounded lame and petty.
Taco bar? Ill see that its done. You can resume work in two days? She smiled.
I
uh
Azemandus began but was cut short by a look from the Professor.
Yeah, I suppose two days is enough. John answered, standing up to follow the Professors lead, who had just stood herself. Dee remained seated while Azemandus seemed momentarily unaware of what was going on and quickly rose to his feet.
It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Cobb. I hope that this unfortunate incident will not impede our work together. With a quick handshake, she was gone and only the hint of one of the most expensive perfumes made was left to mark her passing.
Dee stood up after she was gone and said, now, lets talk logistics.
[ QUOTE ]
Sword thought momentarily before responding, we travel to retrieve the Eye of Mu, whatever that is. I thought it would be prudent to have a priest along with me during the process.
[/ QUOTE ]
I will be honored to assist you, brother Sword, Cold Heart said, bowing low.
[ QUOTE ]
He led them through the twisted caverns of ancient Orenbega, to a disused transportation circle and placed the missing runes on the dais in the spot that had worn free. One small incantation later, the gate sprung to life.
Sword Cloaked and Shield raised his defenses as they stepped through. They found themselves below New York, far underneath the city in some abandoned train tunnels. Shield had to clear out a way for them to get into the main tunnels as the room they appeared in had been sealed for decades, and the air was quite stagnant. Once they could breath fresh air again, well more fresh, then they were at ease in the darkness.
Sword knelt next to the train tracks and inspected markings along the ground, then tracked them up the walls of the tunnel. Were not alone down here, but we dont have time to kill everything, so we should direct our efforts in finding this Eye and be gone before they know were here. The Avatar wishes to use it to bring a Champion through the gate. I must admit, I am curious to see what a Champion of Mu would look like.
[/ QUOTE ]
Ive heard tales of their prowess, Cold Heart said. Which of the planets do you suppose produced the Champion? the priest asked. He threw a quick glance at the other two Lacerta. What are your home planets, brother? I, personally, am from icy Temple.
We are from Hope, both of us. The tropical belt. We admire the hardships of Temple and those who survive there. Your faith in the Dark God is unquestioned. Where our main eliminating factor is competition, yours was survival. I was lucky enough to have time to learn about humanity and its technology while you were doubtless learning to control the elements to survive. I hope the marriage of these backgrounds will assist us in finding this Eye of Mu quickly and without attracting much attention. Sword spoke like a mid level officer, not too presumptuous, definitely thinking of himself as a decision maker and task driven.
Up ahead in the tunnel there was a cave in that blocked most of the passage. They had to pick their route carefully, trying not to disturb the wreckage of the tunnel. This was particularly difficult for Shield, whos massive girth presented a problem in small spaces. Once they were nearly clear, Sword stopped them with a hiss. His reptilian eyes stared down the tunnel ahead, and he quickly vanished from sight.
Shield whispered to Cold Heart, he does this when theres prey ahead. We should get a good vantage point in case he gets hunters vision. Shield had seen him too many times get his sights set on one target without noticing even large numbers of re-enforcements.
[ QUOTE ]
Up ahead in the tunnel there was a cave in that blocked most of the passage. They had to pick their route carefully, trying not to disturb the wreckage of the tunnel. This was particularly difficult for Shield, whos massive girth presented a problem in small spaces. Once they were nearly clear, Sword stopped them with a hiss. His reptilian eyes stared down the tunnel ahead, and he quickly vanished from sight.
[/ QUOTE ]
Of all three, it was easiest for Cold Heart. He was much slimmer than either of the Hope natives, and he was able to use the elemental magics at his command to float easily through passages. On icy Temple, he had spent much time navigating the crevices of their home, making sure none of the Caxat got in.
[ QUOTE ]
Shield whispered to Cold Heart, he does this when theres prey ahead. We should get a good vantage point in case he gets hunters vision. Shield had seen him too many times get his sights set on one target without noticing even large numbers of re-enforcements.
[/ QUOTE ]
Cold Heart nodded, feeling the excitement build in him. While there were many things to hunt on Temple, and the Caxat were an occasional threat, most of the time he and his brethren battled the weather. Hunting something alive was still a relatively novel experience, and, foolishly, he found himself relishing the feeling.
He nodded to Shield to take the lead, and the one-eyed priest of Mu floated up behind the much more massive Lacerta man.
Im looking for work. The ad says that you have work here. Alan Thomas was not his real name, nor was he really looking for work, but this is all he was thinking about as he spoke to the woman behind the desk. Alan was told that there were strange things going on, so he was prepared for anything, even psychic mind reading. He kept his thoughts on track and didnt deviate. Hed mastered the unthinking stare for a while now. He would joke that his ex-girlfriend taught it to him, like some Tibetan master.
Behind the desk sat this incredibly beautiful woman, which was uncommonly common for the Rogue Isles. In the last month that Alan had been here, working undercover for Longbow, he could swear hed only seen a handful of average looking girls. She looked up at him from behind her glasses and finished straightening out the sleeve of her suit jacket. Jobs? Oh yes, jobs. We have jobs. What is it youre good at.
Well, the ad says construction, but mostly Im good at getting things done. Alan didnt look like an undercover agent for Longbow, which was why he was good at it. Truth be told, he was a mutant, but his level of mutation made it under the screening at Longbow, so he wasnt selected for any of the Warden training. He was just a regular soldier, until his entire group was wiped out during a raid and he had to blend in with the locals for five days until he could make it back to his outfit.
In those five days, Alan participated in a number of scuffles, one of which resulted in someones death. This was nothing new to Alan. He had joined Longbow as a way of cleansing himself from his past. He was about four hits of Superdine away from never looking back. But something about his mutation didnt agree with it. He could still see that what he was doing was wrong, he could still feel guilt as he hurt people. So he set out to set his record straight with whoever may be watching. In this case, it was Longbow.
So now, a criminal was captured and squealed on this place which didnt even have a name. The building was listed as being owned by John Doe, a cute little habit Arachnoss bureaucrats have of letting people sign whatever they want and then if something goes wrong, they can make them come up with documentation to prove that theyre John Doe. Depending on the bribe, they might accept the ID.
I can see what we have available. Right this second theres a small errand that needs to be done right now, if youre interested. It pays $400 and should take you about an hour. But I have to warn you, the boss doesnt care for excuses, she expects results. So if you cant get it done-
Oh I can get it done. Whats the job? Alan took a risk at offending her by cutting her off, but tough guys didnt like to be talked to like this. It wasnt some training he received in the academy, he was a tough guy. Hed taken on some lower level heroes before they became the bigshots that they are today. In some cases he won. In others, he gave them a run for their money.
The woman ripped a small slip of paper off of the single white notepad on the desk. The desk that had a phone, a pen, and a single white notepad on it. The only desk in the very large, empty room. The desk, the chair and the girl were the only things in the large, empty room before Alan arrived. They were the only thing there again as he headed into the small entry area to leave.
He paused at the archway and looked back at her. Dont you wanna know my name?
She shook her head. Alan Thomas, or your real name? Dont worry, Mr. Thomas, we know everything we need to know about you.
He was shaken. Identity is everything in this business. He had three layers of fake ID, Thomas was just the first. After that he was Kevin Solonjo, a two bit hood out of Skyway City looking to lay low and earn some cash to pay back some guy named Big Vinnie from Independence Port in Paragon City. If that failed, he was a spy for Arachnos. One of their infiltrators would forge a bunch of paperwork vouching for him, but if it came down to finding the officer who signed this paperwork, the game was up. They wouldnt risk two operatives for one cover. On this very thin string hung his life, and every quick move tugged at it a little harder than was comfortable.
He was tough though, so he smiled and walked out, shaking his head.
Jane, youre getting too far away from your Mentor. I cant help you if I cant see you. The voice in her earpiece was scolding her, but this was her first big arrest.
Stop! She tried to use her mental powers to stun the fleeing Lost Gang member, but missed and stunned a slab of concrete instead.
Concentrate, try to lead him some more. The earpiece rang out, guiding her with his experience.
Right, Fog, gotcha. Its just if he makes it to that tunnel then
Insane Jane ran fast after gang member, but he had the advantage of superior physical strength and knowledge of the terrain. Mystic Fog called out from behind them, as he struggled to keep her in sight so he could give her the benefit of his mentoring.
Jane had been diagnosed schizophrenic at a young age, when she started hearing peoples thoughts and thought that there were voices in her head. After several psychological evaluations she was always let back into school, only to be committed years later when the voices she heard finally caused her to have another breakdown. Her classmates were nice enough to give her the moniker. She chose to wear it as a badge now, as it represented what she suffered through, but was right about even though no one believed her.
It was this persistent spirit that led her to Paragon, and was leading her further away from her mentor as they continued down the tunnel.
Finally the gang member leaped from the tunnel they were in, down to a railroad platform in the old tunnels. He looked left, then right. There were cars sitting on the tracks and a shack that had been abandoned sixty or more years ago. He ran right past Sword, who drew his blade slowly and waited.
The trap had been sprung above, four Lost Rectors had appeared from nowhere and attacked Mystic Fog and Insane Jane, but Jane had not noticed the attacks, as she was focused on her prey and had followed him to his hole.
Jane! Stay close to your damned Mentor. You KNOW what can happen. But the transmission was garbled and Jane was on a mission. She landed with a CLUNK on the wood of the platform. She stood up and fired off a single mental bolt toward the Lost member. It hit him, but without Fog augmenting her powers with his, it was entirely ineffective.
She started to run, and felt a burning sensation in her chest. She made it three steps before she stopped and looked down. Blood was pouring from a two inch cut in her chest. It was staining her costume and running down her leg. She could feel something warm and wet on her back, and a pressure building inside her chest. She looked up to the faint light above where Fog was using his air powers to defeat the Rectors handily.
She reached up toward the light, with her bloodied hand and collapsed on the train platform.
The Lost was panicked now, looking over his shoulder. Something even more dangerous was in the area. He ran straight into Shield and Cold Heart.
Go ahead, priest, Ill back your play. Shields offering of the prey was a sign of respect, and he hoped that it would be taken as such.
[ QUOTE ]
Go ahead, priest, Ill back your play. Shields offering of the prey was a sign of respect, and he hoped that it would be taken as such.
[/ QUOTE ]
Cold Heart nodded thankfully to Shield, and then snapped his head towards the human. All the moisture from the ground and his clothing instantaneously cracked up around his legs. Using the mans own sweat, Cold Heart bound the mans arms to his side. The priest reached out his hand and formed an icy blade from the dank air. Into your cavernous mouth I send this lost soul, Great Mu! Cold Heart intoned.
As he approached, the Lost Rectors eyes glowed, and Cold Heart gasped as pain flooded through his entire system. He understands pain! Cold Heart crowed, his eye widening. Truly, a fit sacrifice!
The Rectors eyes widened as his attack seemed ineffectual. A moment later, the Rector was watching his own bright red blood spurt out, splashing the robed priest with it. Your death is not in vain, human, Cold Heart said calmly, leaving the ice sword embedded in the mans neck. You go to the Dark Lord and his greater glory.
For a little while now, something had been nagging at Dennis.
A few things, actually. Given his last day or so of life, this wasn't surprising, really.
He was headed north on the Saw Mill River Parkway, hoping to reach the interchange for the Taconic Parkway before dark, and perhaps make it all the way to Albany before it got too late. It had taken him the better part of the day locating a used car dealership that was shady enough to give him a car with no identification. He'd lost a huge chunk of his nest egg convincing someone in Lodi to sell him what had to be the most beaten-up AMC Javelin on Earth, give him the plates on it, and ignore all the details he was missing for a legit sale. And there had been too many mechanics and other salesmen around for Dennis to simply unveil his dreadful gaze and kill the guy. Had he been able, this would have been the last car he'd chosen from the lot's fare.
Dennis didn't like this car. It's last owner had been a smoker, and the upholstry reeked of it. It also stunk of its own exhaust, which was seeping into the passenger area somehow; likewise a whiff of antifreeze. It chugged reluctantly down the road as if any yard would be the last it ever crossed. This combined with the severity of official patrols on the road had Dennis very nervous. Hence the Taconic; it was a four-laned, twisty road with no shoulders that wound its way through mountains and parks all the way to the state capital 200 miles to the north. It was practically a local street, which was what Dennis wanted, so as to avoid any cops stopping his illegal vehicle and forcing him to expose his eyes on someone who would be missed. Someone who had organised friends who would hunt him.
New York city itself was still locked down. No traffic in or out. Had Dennis not began his journey on the Jersey side he would have been on foot. The way the Javelin sounded, he might still be, soon.
He tried taming his own nervousness with repeated musical riffs [the car's radio did not work] and chuckle-inducing lines in his head. The one making the rounds right now: Javelin, the kind of car you wanna chuck.
It was the car that chucked him, though. The engine gave out with a rattle and puff of smoke on local streets just short of the Taconic interchange. Dennis, swearing blue murder at the thousands this 30-mile journey had just cost him, rode it to a halt near a greasy spoon called the Red Apple Rest. After fuming in silence for two full minutes, Dennis left the AMC where it lay, with a distainful kick, and slunk into the 'Rest to get a burger and a beer.
Over his food, the other thing nagging at him rose to the fore. He'd had the feeling he was being followed.
It made literally no sense. He was being cautious as it was, and the creepy 'watched' feeling made him doubly so. No-one at the diner posed him any threat or looked like they'd even been out of this podunk portion of upper Westchester since Roosevelt was President. No-one else passed the diner while he was in there. Nobody was even looking at him too hard, even given his goggles.
And that was the other thing. Not his eyes, the voice that had come with them. The Eye of Mu had been silent since the dream he'd had last night. Nothing from it at all. he'd even tried addressing it directly, but got back nothing, not even echoes in his make-believe mental landscape.
That absense more than anything was making him nervous.
Grabbing a second beer, he wandered up the road a bit, and by the time the second brown bottle was emptied he'd paid forty dollars for a room in a run-down motel, flopped onto the bed to rest a second, and dropped off into a deep sleep.
It was a rainy little rock, far from Talos Island, and well outside the war walls. It had been spared the ravages of the Rikti invasion for its sheer lack of importance. Whitedock was a community of a couple hundred, with a neighboring island of Drentcliff that had near a thousand before a terrible incident during the Rikti war.
The big event that catapulted several mutants from small town heroes to Paragon heroes had come and gone. There were no more pools of mutagens or mad scientists, and all the crazy mages had been run off. The town was much smaller, with a large elderly community just making their way on the island. Kelly Tanner was happy to leave Paragon city police for a quieter, happier place.
Whitedock was a success story. Statesman and the heroes cleaned up the island completely and left behind a slice of Norman Rockwell when they went. Occasionally, some Longbow will fly out to the island to vacation or just to check up, but mostly there is no need for a sheriff at all. That is, unless a little, twelve year old, boy gets lost.
That was what was happening today. Sometime about sunup, an eight year old boy named Jacob, took his fathers outboard to the neighboring rocks to go looking for Rikti tech salvage, what the boys called the bits of melted metal that hit the ocean near the rock outcroppings and then cooled in the water. He was trying to get them for a seventh grade science project.
Sheriff Tanner rolled up in his H2 and parked it next to the deputys Escalade in the parking lot overlooking the docks. He disembarked and carried his clipboard down several flights of steps. He still put his hand on his nine millimeter out of habit as he walked. His light green uniform marked him, but his blue PCPD jacket almost drowned it out. Darren Wall, his deputy was out at the end of the dock with Brian Venderson, the boys father and Walt Whitney the harbormaster.
Walt. How you holding up Brian? Tanner didnt wear a sheriff hat, he thought they looked stupid, and he never ceased making fun of Darren for wearing one.
The father looked stoic, trying to hide any worry from his face. Just looking to get Adam back home to his mother before she kills me.
The sheriff looked down to the end of the dock where his deputy was kneeling over a boat, holding a pen and notebook, and wearing a deputy hat with no jacket whatsoever. Darren was used to the weather on the island. Darren, what did you and your magic hat dig up so far?
The deputy smiled a gentle smile and looked back at Tanner. My magic hat tells me that the boys alright, but probably wet and cold.
How? How do you know that? Brian Venderson stepped a step down the dock with a puzzled look on his face.
Well, the deputy started as he stood up and began walking back, theres a clear shoe mark on the boat, near the stern. It matches in size and type something consistent with that of a twelve year old boy. Theres no blood or sign of animal attack in the boat, and theres several hunks of metal in the boat. All in all Id say that he went out to get some metal, found a secret stash that was hard to get to, and accidentally kicked his boat away when he was salvaging. Im going to take Crockett to the closest couple rocks and see if I can spot him.
He did this last year. Brian shook his head.
Yeah, well, if he does it again, were going to have to charge you for gas.
Darren got on board one of the two wavejumpers the Sheriff department had and started her up. Ill see if I cant get him back by noon. Tanner untied him and tossed the rope aboard.
Dont go sight seeing. Theres extra blankets in the storage area and the heater works. Tanner waved at Darren as he sped off toward dark images on the horizon.
Walt was in his late fifties, but could have been mistaken for over sixty easy. He was a little heavy set, and definitely loved to dress like he did in the old days. His voice was reassuring when he told Brian, theyll find him again, and you give him a real good talking to when they do.
Brian just shook his head and started walking back up the dock to the dockhouse to wait for Darren to return with his son.
Sheriff Tanner was drinking coffee with Walt and Brian for about forty five minutes while waiting for Darren. They were watching the clouds roll in toward the shore and talking about the worst thing they ever did as a child to give their parents heart attacks.
Brian was describing a scene using both hands parallel to each other as he leaned forward out of the old, wooden chair and toward the table they sat round on the deck.
on each side of the cave. We thought it would be the most awesome prank ever, and the two of them would come screaming out of there. But instead, when they saw all those drawings in chalk and crayon, they laughed themselves silly and told all their friends about it. It kind of became an attraction.
I noticed all the kids going down there to boat all of a sudden. Kind of a maritime lovers lane. Walt thought back. That was you and Tommy Philips that did that?
Tanner had gotten up to go get some more coffee. Hed become addicted to it after he joined the PCPD and had vowed to lay off the stuff, but he was in his mid forties now, and couldnt do without it. The radio came to life, and the first thing Tanner noticed about the chatter from Darren was his voice. There was a strain in his voice, something hed heard over the radio a number of times in Paragon City, but never in the little town of Whitedock. Sheriff, come in, Sheriff are you there?
Tanner turned the volume down from the coffee room and put is body between the radio and the two on the deck. He pulled the mic closer to his mouth from where it was clipped on to his jacket as he put his coffee down on the counter. Go ahead Darren. Take some deep breaths.
Sheriff, you better get in Tubbs and get out here quick. The boy is
I dont know how to describe it. Ive never seen anything like it. Just get out here quick! Darren was on the verge of panic.
Slow down. Is the boy alright? Tanner was acutely aware of the time, and how loud the first radio call came in. It wouldnt be long before Brian wanted to know about his son.
No! God damn it hes not alright! Hes in [censored] pieces! Darrens voice sounded unfamiliar and terrified.
Tanner turned his radio volume down and walked quickly out of the building past the two men. Stay there, Im on the way.
Brian was instantly on his feet. Whats wrong, sheriff?
Call your wife, Brian, prepare her for the news. With that he was out the door and down the steps to the second sheriffs department boat. He began speeding along, looking at the GPS for Crocket and homing in on him. He was only ten minutes away in some rocks you could almost see if you were high enough on the island.
Darren was drinking bottled water and sitting on the starboard side of his boat, floating a few meters away from the edge of a rock outcropping some three thousand square feet in size. The rock was grey and black, like lava rock, and worn smooth by the tides, with tiny arches where the tubes met the surface of the rock. It was a great place to go exploring and spelunking, if you werent afraid of the ocean. Most times, there wasnt a reason to be.
As Tanner pulled up, he could see past his deputy and into an alcove where the boys remains were. Someone had pinned his arms and legs to the rock with iron spikes, and something else had torn the boy apart. His left arm dangled from a spike, gone from the elbow up. His right arm, part of his shoulder, and his head were still attached to a spike on the opposite side. His mouth and eyes were wide open, as if he were still screaming. His legs were all but gone, all that remained were his ankles where the spikes held them in place and his little shoes. Bits of blue jeans covered the remainder of the stumps, though they were soaked through with blood.
Tanner had seen worse, but those were people he did not know. In Paragon City, you had to be tough enough to handle seeing anything, officers didnt get sick or cry or even break down much. Darren was barely holding it together. His signature hat was in the drivers seat of the boat. His fingers were pushing bottled water through his hair now and again. Slowly, he turned toward the sheriff. Who would do this? What kind of monster?
Hand me the forensic kit and get back to the dock. I want you to stay with the vic-, stay with the Vendersons tonight as long as they need you. Try not to ask them a lot of questions, just stay with them and help them out. They arent going to be much use. And dont tell them how, just that hes dead, were sure its him, and its going to take some time to recover him. Tanner kept his voice calm, to let Darren know that he was aware of how terrible and somber a moment it was, but he left the steel in it to remind him to do his job.
Darren wiped a tear away from his eye and took another swig from the bottle of water. Then he put his hat back on and put the bottle on the dash. Right, right. He fetched the forensic kit out from a storage bay. Then he handed the big, orange box to Tanner. Im going to head back straight away, if thats alright with you, boss.
Keep your radio on. I may need you again. Tanner set down the box and opened it up.
As Darren left, Tanner wondered if he was doing more good than harm by letting him be with the family. That and kicking himself for flipping back into PPD mode and nearly calling Adam Venderson the victim by way of his family. He pulled the camera out and began taking pictures of Adams body. Then kicked on the engine and got closer, taking note of other clues.
Wrought iron spikes
probably salvaged from somewhere then. Rock fragments and dust on the top of the spikes, didnt use a tool, just pounded them in with rocks he thought. But how? He looked under the boy and saw nothing but clear blue water mixed with hundreds of fish feasting off of the tiny remains, and blood that had dripped down into the tide. Where did they stand? He looked around on the rocks for signs of foot prints or climbing tools. There were no abrasions on the rock that might have been caused by ropes. The flesh looked cut, but upon closer inspection he could see an uneven pattern in the skin that indicated it might have been teeth, or a serrated blade. The bone looked snapped, not sliced through. There was blood spray around the childs mouth, indicating he was coughing blood, or perhaps screaming with lung damage. Oh my god, you suffered didnt you?
Once he had taken all of the pictures he figured he needed, he pulled a set of work pliers and went to work on the spikes. He had to wiggle too and fro, and back and forth, and to yank and to yank for five minutes, before he got the one through the boys left ankle loose. Then it was another ten to get it out. He almost dropped the foot into the ocean to be lost forever when it finally did come free. Instead he placed it in an evidence bag and slid it into a black bag marked human remains.
He heard a noise from near the body. Tanner moved back to the starboard side of the boat, reflexively putting his hand on his pistol, then leaned over and looked into the water. The fish were gone. Tanner got an eerie feeling. The blood began to rush to his head, sounding like waves pounding on a rock. The only accompanying sound was his pistol finding its way free from its holster. He stared into the water, being able to see some fifteen feet down here, and saw something white rising toward him. He backed away and raised his gun toward the water as the bubble came to the surface and broke the placid skin of the ocean. A smell overtook Tanner and he rushed to the port side to throw up over the side.
Two great heaves, and his lunch and coffee went splashing back into the ocean. He slipped back into the boat and coughed, with his hand over his mouth, his pistol dangling from his grip. Everything started to go dark, but he fought back the blackness. His skin was on fire, his eyes and flesh were turning bright red. He heard something near the aft of his boat and used every ounce of energy he had to turn his head in that direction.
A shadow was rising out of the ocean, and creeping across the aft of his boat. Everything was beginning to spin around, he had to force himself to breath in. The smell of dead flesh was in his nose and the taste of rotting corpse was on his tongue. He raised his weapon and fired two shots. A high pitched noise stabbed at his brain through his ears and he screamed and dropped his pistol to the deck. The darkness of the ocean rose up around him and he fell into it completely.
This is the part where the rubber meets the road. Alan Thomas was now walking into the store of the man who he was supposed to extract the money from. It was going to be difficult hurting this man. Doubtless he was innocent of any crime worthy of the beating that Alan was going to put down on him, but it needed to be done for the greater good. These people were killing people, and into something very sinister. Longbow is never this wrong about something this important.
He knew this time was going to come, and probably sooner than later. He steeled himself and walked into the antique bookstore. There werent any customers, the store was small and smelled of dust and something strange to him. He had his hands in his pockets of his jeans and his jacket was scrunched up around his wrists.
The store clerk sat in the back, behind a wooden counter and in front of a wooden door that presumably led to the rear of the store. He was easily sixty, only five foot seven and probably weighed in at a grand total of one hundred forty pounds. He wore a sweater and glasses, and a pipe dangled from his mouth. He placed the book he was reading on the counter and stood up from his stool. Can I help you find something?
Yes, Alan walked quickly to the counter, then around it to the alarm of the old man. You can help me find that package you owe the professor. You can help me find that right now!
Alan balled his fist up and the strength came to him. He was going to hit the old man right in the face. He had to be careful not to kill him, but he had to hurt him, even if he rolled right now.
Only, the fear drained away from the old mans face. His expression went placid and he rose to his full height. He took off his glasses and faced Alan. If youre going to try to hurt me, go ahead and do it now. I wont be giving you anything today.
Alan let fly with a punch to the old mans face. His body slammed into the wall near the counter, knocking the register off of it and sending pictures and books flying. The old man crumpled to the floor in front of him, before picking his head up and looking up at Alan. Blood was streaming from the old mans nose.
Alan held his hand up menacingly. Look, old man, you got what I came here to get, so Im going to leave with it.
The old man stood up, using the counter for balance with his bloodied hand. Oh I dont think you will be. Alan slammed him with another crushing blow, but this time the old man didnt go down. He held onto the counter and swung into the wall again. This time a cup full of pens went over and some papers fell from a mail slot under the counter. The old man spat blood on the papers near his feet and started to laugh. Really, Kieth, is that any way for a Longbow agent to act?
He stepped away from the old man. He needed out more than anything else in the world. This was all wrong. There was no way this old man could take punches like that. Hed been suckered in. This was his world coming crashing down around him. He looked for the front door but there were suddenly people there. He opened the door nearest to him, and recoiled in horror. There was no other side, no room, no drop to the construction site out back, only blackness and an odd noise.
The old man leaped forward and grabbed Kieth by his arms. They struggled for a moment, then the old man picked him up, and pushed him toward the door. Keiths feet touched something in the archway, like a giant tongue. It wrapped around his ankles and began pulling him in. He held on to the old man for life, but the old man was busy grabbing his index finger on his left hand, and removing it not only from his shoulder, but from Keiths hand as well. Keith screamed and let go, grabbing the door frame as the sound of rushing air became impossibly loud in his ears. No! NO!
Keiths hands clawed at the wooden frame, as the dark mass of flesh swirled up around his waist and began sucking at him. The old man laughed, and the figures in the doorway turned, and left. As the old man watched Keith hold on to the door, he moved over to the counter and pulled a towel from a shelf underneath. He used it to wipe his face of the blood.
When the towel came down, the old mans face was gone. It was replaced by a reptilian face. With cold, unfeeling eyes, it regarded Keith, as the blood from his finger sped down the wall, and his grunts from struggling for his life filled the room. His body began to feel cold, like the temperature of the ocean floor. The pressure around his waist was increasing. His fingers were slipping.
The old man pressed the towel against his face for a second more, and when he withdrew it this time, he had the appearance of an old man, who had not been punched twice in the face recently.
You still here? Go now. Go to your grave and make us a good servant. The old man kicked Keiths hands, causing him to cry out and let go with his wounded hand. The pressure moved up to mid chest, and the cold followed. He could smell it, whatever it was, and it smelled awful. There you go, let go.
Keith cried out NO! once more as his fingers gave way and he began twirling about into the black mass of flesh. His cries became muffled and he disappeared. The old man tossed the finger in, and then shut the door.
You two, clean this mess up. The old man moved toward the front of the shop as two young men stepped from hiding places and began to tidy things up. I have to go tell the Avatar of the latest attempt to infiltrate us.
Dennis woke in a sweat. His head was muddled, he thought the room he was in was filled with a hellish red glow.
No, wait, that was normal. At least, it was normal now. His groggy blinking strobed the room with red. He could see his body on the bed clearly, lit up like it was as if he had infrared vision.
He looked suddenly toward the door to the ratty motel room with a gasp, gripping fistfuls of the sheets, remembering his dream. He'd answered it, and there had been these.. lizards, hiding under the doormat, and they'd wiggled up from under it suddenly and grabbed at him, crawling up his body, and somehow one had gotten into his pant leg, he could feel it writhing up his leg toward his vulnerable crotch and everywhere its little hands came down there were sharp pricks from claws. He had shrieked, and awoke.
He turned toward the door as the sound of a passing car faded to reveal a more urgent patter that headed right at the wooden portal. His door thundered with impact, and burst in, splinters flying.
There were lights in the colors of blue, pink and white. There was a loud echo, like the tide bashing against rocks with incredible power. Tanner felt his body moving, but had no idea of direction or distance. He could hear the rush of air overhead, and then the steady thrum of machinery, before he felt the cold grip of steel on his arms and legs. There were strange noises, and an odd, robotic looking arm, that was made of seashells. In the echoing distance of the moss covered stone walls he could hear the sound of human voices. Near him, he heard only the sound of the tide, boiling up through cracks in the rock as it came in again and again.
There was chanting in the other room. He could feel his chest being pushed on, and looked down to see swirling blackness being placed inside him. Then he looked up into the white light and could see a face, not human at all, staring down at him. Sleep. The voice was raspy and full of water, and Tanner tried to scream, but as he opened his mouth, a wave of nausea and heat washed over him, and he was once again swallowed by blackness.
The blackness lasted only a second, before he could hear the thunder of waves, steadily beating behind him and he could feel the cool, ocean air on his face. For some reason his eyes were closed, so he opened them and the sound of the waves fell away, to be replaced by his deputy standing on the dock as he sat in the drivers seat of Tubbs.
Youre starting to scare me, sheriff. You alright? Darren was illuminated by one of the dock lights. Tanner had one hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle and the engine was off. Darren stared at him with wide eyes. Mike? You OK?
What? Yeah, Im just
Tanner shook his head and stepped off the seat. His legs held underneath him, as he wasnt sure they would. He looked back behind where he was sitting and found a body bag, tagged and marked for the morgue. His hand went to his sidearm with a start, and found it in its holster. Darren mimicked the action and looked around.
What the hell is a matter? Darrens face showed his puzzlement as he slid his pistol from his holster and began looking around.
Tanner let go of his pistol and waved him off. Nothing, nothing, I just
Where the hell have you been? It took you four hours. I was contemplating coming back out there. Darren put his pistol away and took the rope that the sheriff was now handing over. The deputy set down his flashlight and tied Tubbs off.
I dont know. I guess it got a little strange. Four hours? Tanner picked up the evidence bag and handed it to Darren, who placed it on the dock. Then they gently took the remains off of the boat together.
Once they placed the remains of the little boy on the gurney that Darren brought down, he looked at the sheriff. Yeah. Four hours. The ambulance drivers have been here for the last two, waiting for you. I dont know how Brian is going to take it. The bag looks mostly empty, maybe we could put something else in there with him to make it look more like a whole kid.
Tanner gave him a significant look. You want to open it up?
Darren looked away toward the dockhouse. Maybe we could just take it around the side.
Yeah, lets go around the side. Tanner put his evidence under the gurney in the basket and they began pushing up the dark dock. The whole time, the sheriff kept asking himself, where did the sun go?
They loaded the body in the back of the ambulance, and took the evidence to the deputys vehicle. Darren drove off to prepare the evidence for its flight to Paragon to be looked at by the top forensic specialists there, while sheriff Tanner went back inside to console the family and give them the bad news from his own mouth. Everyone already knew, but being a sheriff in a small town, theres a certain ceremony to tragedies such as this. Theres a finality, a peace, a closure thats reached when someone speaks for the whole town and says, we condemn this, and we share your loss.
So thats what he did. And then, he did something he hadnt done in the seven years hed been in Whitedock. He went to Jaspers and sat down at the bar.
Shield entered quickly and overpowered the man on the bed. Sword rushed in and mesmerized him while Cold Heart did his part to keep him from igniting the power within him. Dennis did little more than gape, as his dream became mirrored in real life. The first lizard in the room even grabbed at his leg, piercing his quad with slim claws. His surprise was so great that he didn't even get the chance to test the new aggressiveness in him; a darkness emanated from one of the figures, he lost the ability to see the figure and then the room, a white halo of light filled his 'vision', he felt a 'beat' or pulse against his brain pan and a hot finger poking him between the eyes, and then he was out.
Shield looked at Sword, and this human will lead us to the eye?
I guess so. Sword shrugged.
He is the eye. Cold heart spoke from behind them. They turned to face him.
By the time the detectives got there, it looked like a break in to them. They couldnt explain the traces of sea water in the carpet or the lingering smell of death, but they just chalked it up to crazy stuff that happens in the city and moved on. A little vacuuming, a little air freshener, a new door, and itd be good enough for the owners again. Better, as even the cockroaches seemed to avoid that room now, at least for a little while.
It does seem odd to not bring Fusion back, Cold Heart said as he followed Sword. There are so few of us.
Sword looked back at Cold for a second. "I don't believe that we intend to simply cast them aside. For whatever reason, our attempts at revival have failed. The Avatar is much better at this than we are. If he is not capable, then it is likely the wand that interdicts. We may have just found a new weapon."
Sword stood by, as invisible as he could while Cold did his work.