Dead Ringers *HF*
By Daemon
~~Prologue~~
"Is this really necessary?"
Gomurr chuckled to himself as he watched Daemon step tentatively from behind a white curtain wearing only a blue hospital gown and his ever-present shades. "I never realized what nice legs you have," he said with a wide grin.
Daemon tugged at the hem of the paper gown as though trying to cover his exposed legs. "Chill with that, little man."
"It is proper procedure that you have a full medical examination as well as undergo several other tests."
"I hate doctors almost as much as I hate these thin-ass gowns," Daemon replied.
Gomurr snickered. "I don't think you will have a problem with the BHC physician."
And right on cue, a lovely Chinese woman stepped into the room. Her white coat bore a nametag just above a large embroidered BHC symbol. She sauntered over to the waiting men giving a customary bow to the small mage and extending a hand to Daemon. "Dr. Dei Lu Zhang. And you are...?"
"Daemon," the young alien said taking her hand. "It's a pleasure, Dr. Zhang."
The doctor looked him up and down quickly. "No, the pleasure is all mine. And call me Dei Lu."
Daemon leaned over to Gomurr and whispered, "Is it a requirement to be beautiful to work here?"
Gomurr snickered again but did not answer as he backed out the door. "I will leave you to your business Dr. Zhang."
"Shall we proceed with the exam?" Dei Lu asked as she placed her stethoscope around her neck.
Daemon gave a thin, pained smile.
***
Six Years Ago
A circle of smoke floated unsteadily outwards, it's white ring dissipating slowly into nothingness. The young man took another puff of his cigarette as he wiped a strand of his platinum hair out of his face. Across the small room, an elderly, dark skinned man sipped at a glass full of a rare liquor from the Tulafk System.
"Is that drink all you needed from me, Professor?" the young man said, breathing out another stream of smoke.
"Certainly not, good sir," the other said with a smile that was lost to the shadows in which he sat. "I called you here for more than a social call. I have...a proposition for you."
"Another?"
The Professor only smiled. "While I am quite pleased with our previous arrangement, I have something new for you and I."
"Well? What are we talking about here?"
A thin, wrinkled hand reached into one of the pockets of the old man's white lab coat and pulled out a small, emerald cylinder. The blond-haired man sat forward in his chair, mouth agape. "Tell me, child," the mad scientist spoke softly, "would you like to see the most powerful substance in the universe?"
***
Dr. Zhang wrote another line on her clipboard as Daemon stepped off of the scale. "Three percent body fat," she mumbled. "Impressive."
"What was that, Doc?"
Dei Lu placed her notes on a nearby tabletop and grabbed the chair that sat there. "Just commenting on your amazing physique."
Daemon opened his mouth to reply but stopped as he noticed Dei Lu pull the chair in front of him. "What are you doing?"
The young doctor smiled as she sat in the chair and placed her hands on his hips. "Trust me," she replied with a grin. "I'm a doctor." She could feel him tense just a little as she reached under his gown.
"I don't...WHOA..."
"Are my hands cold?"
"It's impossible for me to get a hernia so there's no need to check."
"I know. But I LIKE this part."
Daemon pushed her hands away. "I have a girlfriend."
"Poor baby," the doctor cooed as she reached for another medical instrument. "We'll have to discuss a way around that little problem. Now sit on the examination table and fill out this questionnaire."
Daemon sighed. "I hope Lydia gets back from her Mom's soon," he thought.
***
Douglas Walsh, to most people, was just your average man. Though he was perhaps the most successful practicing physician in the New York metropolitan area, loving husband and father of two decorated military officers, he was still just another man in a city full of them. But Douglas kept a secret he has lived with since his sophomore year in high school – that he is a mutant.
With the ability to see and interpret biosignatures as an aura of color around all living things, Douglas began to see the world in a whole new light, literally. From the swirling rainbow streams, Douglas could discern the regularity of bodily functions or diagnose any and all diseases. But explaining his gifted sight to others would prove impossible. His worried parents had him tested for eye infection, for head trauma. They even tested his sanity on more than one occasion. Eventually, Douglas realized that no one would understand. So he buried the truth, using his amazing abilities to help him through college biology and then medical school, and into one of the most successful private medical practices in New York City.
His briefcase in hand, Dr. Walsh closed the door of his office on his way out. His secretary looked up from her desk as she watched her boss walk by. He gave her a pleasant smile as he approached. Her aura glimmered around her. The recent changes to its patterns bearing good news. Should I tell her she's pregnant? he wondered, but quickly decided to let her find out on her own. "I'm on my way home, Mrs. Drummond."
"Goodnight, Dr. Walsh," she said.
"Have a wonderful evening."
It was dark already, but Douglas never found the dark streets of New York uncomfortable. No matter what the light conditions, he could always see auras. It'd be unlikely for someone to sneak up on him. But as it were, he was on the street alone this evening anyway.
As he rounded the corner towards the parking structure at which he had deposited his BMW, he noticed a man lying in the street covered in nothing but a thin, dirty blanket in the bitter cold of the snowy winter. As Douglas reached out to give the man money, he noticed something odd about his aura. While he saw the expected approach of frostbite on his fingers and toes, as well as the invasion of his body by a strain of flu virus, there was something he couldn't quite place that was...different. As he approached, he concentrated hard on the man's aura, looking closely at the defect. "That's not possible..." he thought. Suddenly the man stirred, startling the doctor and sending him running away towards the parking lot, the twenty-dollar bills he had in his hand floating to the sidewalk.
As Douglas settled into the warm leather seat of his car, he couldn't help but shiver. What exactly was it he was looking at on the street? It was deceptively human-like in appearance and even in most aspects of its biosignature. But there were minute details that just didn't fit. They weren't human readings for sure. They weren't even remotely similar to any other animal he had seen, nor any plant. His mind reeled with the reality of what he had just seen. If it was neither plant nor animal, what was it and where did it come from?
***
"Increasing to 150 metric tons," Monet said as she calibrated the controls of the Danger Room. "He's quite...strong," she added, trying not to sound too impressed.
Gomurr nodded. "Indeed." Pressing the comm-button, he then spoke to Daemon. "How are you holding up?"
Far below, on the floor of the Danger Room, Daemon stood in his black trench coat and wrap-around shades. Above his head, supported only by his muscular arms was a large rectangular slab of advanced technology. Gravimetric field generators hummed as they gradually increased the total weight of the object in response to Monet's computer commands. Daemon yawned and brought one hand down to scratch at the tip of his nose, holding up the tremendous mass with one arm for a short time.
"Are we done yet?" Daemon responded.
"Increase to 200 metric tons," Gomurr said to Monet. "His strength is amazing," he thought inwardly as Daemon continued to shrug off the added weight.
Monet spun in her swivel chair and faced Gomurr after the command had been laid in. "His strength levels have already surpassed those of any superhuman on file. I suggest we simply move on to the other tests and mark the limits of his strength as 'unknown'."
Gomurr nodded again. "Very well. Prepare a combat droid and inform Daemon that I will join him below shortly."
Monet turned back to the observation window as Gomurr stepped into the lift. "Daemon," she said through the link, "You can put down the 200 metric tons now. Gomurr will now observe you in combat." As she powered down the gravity generator, Monet couldn't help but notice Daemon flinch, arms buckling slightly upon hearing the weight that he had been holding. "Curious."
***
Exactly 32.8 Seconds Later
"Was that it?" Daemon asked as he brushed off his coat.
Propping himself up on his staff, the ancient mage looked about the room at the many scraps of sizzling metal scattered about. Gomurr had barely made it off the lift before the battle was over. A burst of super speed had helped Daemon cross the wide expanse of Danger Room floor that separated him and his adversary. The droid had reacted immediately with a barrage of energy beam fire that Daemon had dodged easily with his amazing agility. Jumping at the eleven-foot robot, Daemon tore off one of its limbs. Its sensors reeling from the inhuman motions of its seemingly human target, the metal behemoth turned to counter attack. It was met with a jump-spinning back kick, knocking its head from its shoulders. With the flash of a smile Daemon had finished it off by cracking its chest with his fist and blowing it apart with what appeared to be an energy burst. Gomurr was lucky to have caught the spectacular sequence before the whole thing was over.
"You know Gom," Daemon said as he began walking out, "I'm tired of all these 'tests.' Go get some one else to play with your little metal dolls. I've got school tomorrow."
Gomurr gave little argument as he poked at the twitching limb of the combat droid. "See you tomorrow, Daemon."
As the Danger Room doors closed behind the departing Pharaohan, Monet emerged from the turbo-lift. "I think you should take a look at Daemon's power questionnaire, sir," she said, handing the slip of paper to the wizard.
Gomurr frowned as he scanned the document. The first question asked for the subject to check the box next to each of a list of powers that applied. Daemon's sheet had a check on almost every line. Gomurr looked up at Monet who only stared back.
"Do you think he was just kidding? What did his gene scan turn up?" he asked in quick succession.
Monet shook her head. "Dr. Zhang was unable to get the traditional blood sample because of his impenetrable skin. But I think it is unlikely that Daemon lied about his abilities."
Gomurr glanced again at the sheet. "Super strength, invulnerability, super speed, energy projection, superhuman senses, invisibility... What CAN'T he do?"
"That, sir, remains to be seen."
~~End Prologue~~
~~Chapter 1~~
The Substitute
As the bell sounded, announcing the next class period, the students of the Black Hellfire Academy filed into the main lecture hall. There was no instructor among them, however. These last two periods of the day were originally intended for the Xenobiology and Astrodynamics lectures. But recent events had kept the teacher of these classes away from his duties (and often away from the planet altogether). So for several weeks now, the two combined periods served as little more than a study hall to the rambunctious students.
A paper airplane, buoyed by Nate's telekinesis flew an intricate aerial pattern as DarkWolf attempted to shoot it down with rubberband-launched paperclips. Most of the girls talked and laughed loudly about a myriad of subjects while Demona sat quietly in a corner (as usual) studying the many texts on advanced martial arts techniques she had borrowed from Gomurr's library. Black Beast and Beast Charming discussed the finer points of codename selection as Abyss listened in. And like always, Bastion observed his human compatriots, attempting to analyze their behavior. None seemed to notice as Daemon walked into the room reading from a clipboard and stood behind the front desk.
Daemon had never been one that liked being ignored, especially in a case like this, so it was not unusual for him to have gotten a little upset. Concentrating on his rarely used energy powers, he shot a tiny electron beam at Nate's airplane, igniting it into flames and sending it crashing to the floor. Bastion immediately registered the energy discharge and turned his attention towards Daemon.
"Greetings," the android said loudly over the noise in the room.
Watching as heads turned to him and silence spread across the room, Daemon spoke with a half-smile. "Hello class. My name's Daemon and I'll be your substitute."
***
Egypt
"Oh please, Tom, really."
"I'm serious, Mel. The Eye may be the key to a whole component of Egyptian civilization that NO one has explored yet. We're on the verge of the archeological discovery of the decade, maybe the century."
Melissa Vargas rolled her eyes. "When I met you, I thought you were one of the most brilliant archeologists in the world. Now I know better. The Eye is nothing more than a legend just like Ra himself and all the rest of Egyptian mythology. They're all myths Tom. Why can't you see that?"
"People used to think the tablet I found didn't exist either, or the altar on which I found it. I'm too close now to just decide it doesn't exist. I've dedicated my whole life to finding the Eye, Mel."
She turned abruptly away from him walking to the other side of the tent. "I know that fact all too well, Tom. Believe me."
Taking off his glasses, he stared at his former lover who only stood there with her arms wrapped around herself. Was she sobbing? "Mel?"
"Why did you ask me to come? Why did you specifically request me?"
"I..." he couldn't really answer. Though the excuse he had used to all the others that had asked was that she was the best materials analyst he knew, that was not the real reason at all. "I guess I need to see for myself how you are."
"That's a shock," she spat. "You never seemed all that concerned while we were married."
"What are you talking about? Of course I was concerned. You were the world to me."
"No. Your precious Eye of Ra was the world to you. You spent hours in the library, in the archives searching for clues to where to find it every night. And every night I sat in our bed alone."
"I didn't know it made you so upset."
Melissa turned sharply towards him, tears having run their course down her cheeks. "Didn't know?! Tom, I pleaded with you everyday to give up this pipe dream of yours, but you always blew me off like I was just another critical voice among your peers. But I didn't really care whether you found the damn thing or not, Tom. I just wanted my husband."
Tom went to her with arms open. Melissa recoiled at first but then surrendered into his loving embrace as she continued to sob. "I'm sorry," Tom said over and over as he stroked her hair. "I'm so sorry."
***
"Back to the spandex," Storm! complained as she tugged at the stretchy fabric in odd places.
"Actually," the Iceman said as he ogled his new classmate, "I don't much mind YOU in spandex."
Storm! just rolled her eyes and walked away.
Nate laughed, placing a hand on the Iceman's shoulder, "Now THAT'S a cold shoulder."
The Iceman met Nate's crack by dropping the temperature of his hand to -10 degrees. "Yowch," the young mutant cried as he pulled his hand away.
Daemon frowned at the assembled group of young superhumans. So THIS is what he had to work with... "If you're all done with your puberty-induced bullshit, we can get started," he said loudly just as Meltdown and Shifter made their way through the Danger Room doors. "You two," he said without hesitation, "five laps around the Danger Room."
"What?? That's not fair," Meltdown protested.
"I said five minutes to change and get here. It's been six so take your laps."
Grumbling, the two began jogging along the walls of the large room.
"No jogging," Daemon called after them. "Pick up the pace, I don't have all fucking day!" Finally Daemon removed his shades, bringing his attention back to the majority of the class. "Lateness will not be tolerated. It's shit like that that can get people killed in the field. If you get an order, you follow it like your life depended on it, because there WILL be times that it does." He glanced down at his clipboard and then up again. "I'm supposed to take roll but screw it," he said, tossing the clipboard across the room. "If you're not here than you don't care about your grade, so I can give you whatever the hell I want. Only notes from Inner Circle members or a BHC doctor will count. There's some Academy regulation that won't let me make this a pass/fail class, so the grading policy is now A or F. You participate, you listen to orders, you give all you've got...you get an A. Otherwise I fail your bitch-ass back to grade school where you belong. You can bring your textbooks back to the supply room because we won't use them. All classes will be held here in the Danger Room. There are no bathroom breaks so go before or after. There will be no ten minutes between the two periods to jack off. You stay until I dismiss you. You speak only when spoken to, and you hustle wherever you go. Are there any questions?"
The students stood silent, some of them with their mouths agape, most simply staring at this new teacher who seemed more like a Marine Corps drill instructor.
"Good," Daemon said after a short silence. "Then we can get started with your evaluation exam."
Suddenly, life seemed to return to the group of students as they began to murmur. An exam? Already?
"Hey!" Daemon yelled, silencing them once more. "Like I said. This is an evaluation exam. I just want to see what you got. So let's begin. Attack me."
No one moved. Catana turned and looked over her nineteen classmates. "All of us?" she asked with confusion written on her face.
Daemon smiled. "All of you. I'll give you two minutes to take me down."
Bastion was the first to act, just as Daemon expected of the synthetic man. His boot jets ignited and sent the android to the air, energy beams erupting from his outstretched palms. Daemon dodged the pulses, rolling to his left, and then released an electromagnetic pulse wave that spread across the entire room. Unshielded from the electronics-disabling cascade of energy, Bastion's sensors scrambled before giving out completely and he flew into a wall. So powerful was the EMP that it actually affected some of the other students' balance and nerve centers. But that didn't keep some from jumping into the fray.
Meltdown launched two plasma bombs from behind her new instructor, still somewhat upset that he had made her run around the large room. Sensing the balls of explosive energy, Daemon stepped just out of the way of their impact, using the force of the resulting explosion to launch himself over the heads of his students. As he touched down, Puma and Catana immediately pounced on him, both in transitional forms. With a swift backhand and a right hook, he took the pair down in a matter of seconds. While their enhanced feline abilities were formidable, they could not compare to Daemon's immense strength and speed. As FX and Darkwolf closed in on Daemon, the Iceman attempted to aid his comrades from afar, creating a sheet of ice beneath Daemon's feet in the hopes that it would throw him off balance. The former Mossad agent's plan went for naught though, as Daemon maneuvered Darkwolf onto the ice and right into the path of FX's TK blast. Taking the brunt of the blast's force in the mid-section, Darkwolf slid all the way across the ice sheet and into the Iceman with a loud thud. Though discouraged by his misplaced attack, FX charged forward nonetheless. With his internal energy feeding his enhanced musculature, FX was perhaps the only one of Daemon's students that could even hope to match his strength. As the powerful mutant kicked and punched at the elusive Daemon, Darkclaw attacked from behind. But Daemon, as always, seemed one step ahead of his pupils. Sidestepping Darkclaw's slash, Daemon caught his arm and used him like a human club, swinging the large Texan into several of the other students, including FX.
"Stand clear," Demona cried from the other side of the room. Having absorbed all the high emotion present in the room, she was virtually brimming with psionic energy. Expending all the power she had absorbed, Demona let loose a wide beam of telekinetic force that tore into Daemon's body, sending the Pharaohan flying into the opposite wall.
The other students (the ones still standing that is) almost cheered as Daemon impacted the wall and fell to the floor. They didn't say anything, though, as they saw that he landed on his feet and was coming towards them once more. They attacked him en masse, trying to use their numbers to overpower him. Daemon simply shrugged them all off, throwing the entire group backward with one arm motion. They attacked again and again without success. Daemon was still on his feet. Across the room, Avalon sat up holding his head. With electrically based powers, he was the most susceptible to Daemon's initial EM pulse (besides Bastion of course). Despite his throbbing headache, however, the young Black Prince stood and charged his body with as much energy as he could. Thick, blue-white sparks of electricity crackled about him in a torrential dance of power. Propelling himself forward at tremendous speed, Avalon raced towards his adversary. Daemon's attention seemed completely occupied with holding off the others and Avalon was confident that his attack would meet success. Hearing the thunderous sound of Avalon's approach, the other students backed off, giving him a clear shot at Daemon. Avalon drew back his fist as it glowed white hot with power. Daemon turned just as Avalon was only a foot from making contact and stopped him with a force field. Avalon slammed into the invisible barrier with an explosion of released electrical energy and fell to the floor.
DING!
"Time's up," Daemon said as he helped Avalon to his feet. "Not bad, kiddies. But not good either. You've just become acquainted with rule number one in Daemon's Book of Combat - "Know your enemy." None of you knew squat about the full extent of my abilities, my fighting style or tactics. Today, I'm making it my job to teach you how to fight as a cohesive unit, communicate on an almost instinctual level, evaluate battle scenarios and adjust to new situations so that you can handle anything that may come your way. It's gonna be YOUR job to learn all that. Are you up to it?"
Everyone nodded silently and paid close attention to the rest of the day's lesson.
~~End Chapter 1~~
~~Chapter 2~~
Querie
The ancient wizard known in this and many past lives as Gomurr sat at his desk in his large office. Papers abounded on the desktop. Charts, lists and a myriad of computer-compiled reports lay spread across the polished oak. And there they had been for the past hour, untouched as the small man sat back in his plush chair, hand on chin, pondering the enigma called Daemon.
At last, he got up from his seat and walked to a mat which stood rolled up in a corner. Unfolding the centuries old weave of hand-made fabric, Gomurr sat upon it and folded his legs. With the wave of a magical hand, several candles lifted from a receptacle across the room and floated into place in a circle around him. Another wave of the hand and whispered words in a foreign tongue lit the candles and dimmed the electric lights. The room glowed warmly in the flickering light of the candles as Gomurr began to chant softly. Though outwardly he appeared as calm as a windless sea, within raged a storm of thoughts.
"What ARE the limits of his power?" he thought. "How can it be that nearly every physical or energy based power resides in the form of that brash young man? Could HE possibly be the Ascended One? He is by no means human, but the prophecy says nothing to the contrary, and he WAS born on earth or so he claims... But still I cannot bring myself to neither believe nor disbelieve these suspicions." The sound of his door opening returned Gomurr's attention back to the real world as Monet stepped into his office.
"I'm sorry," the young woman said bowing slightly, "Shall I come back later?"
"No, no," Gomurr said standing and walking back to his desk as his carpet was magically wrapped back into a roll and placed in the corner. "Please come in. I was expecting you."
Monet closed the door behind her and seated herself in front of Gomurr's desk. "I was reviewing the Danger Room data as you requested and the external gene scan turned up nothing. Daemon's abilities are NOT genetic."
Gomurr remained silent for a second. "Did not the text say he would be born into power?" he thought, "Perhaps I was wrong in thinking he might be the Ascended One." Then aloud, "Go on."
"Energy scans did, however, turn up unheard of power readings emanating from every cell in his body. My hypothesis is that he was somehow infused with cosmic-level power on a molecular level. Exactly how that occurred is still a mystery, however."
"The Demon that Walks Among Us is definitely one for his secrets I suppose," he said almost to himself.
"Sir?"
Gomurr looked up at her as though shaken from his thoughts. "Oh...it is a reference to Daemon I had heard once before. One of the many names he had picked up as a mercenary. It's a rough translation of an alien name."
"You've been in contact with alien races?"
Gomurr smiled. "I get around..."
Monet smirked.
"Is there any more you can tell me about him?" Gomurr said quickly, changing the subject.
"Just something I noticed during his Danger Room evaluation, though it might be nothing."
"Yes?"
"Well, when I informed Daemon of the weight he had been supporting in the strength exercise, he seemed to...grow weak suddenly. One minute he was holding up 200 metric tons without breaking a sweat and the next, his arms were buckling under the weight. It just didn't seem right. Do you have any thoughts on that?"
"Curious," was Gomurr's only response.
***
A Small Gymnasium at the IHFC Mansion
The reigning Red Queen of the International Hellfire Club swung her broad sword again and again in coordinated movements at her opponent. Sweat beaded on her forehead, making a few hairs that had come loose from her high ponytail stick to her face. Her breathing was labored but still under the young woman's tight control. Wearing a blood red exercise uniform of a skin-tight material, her well-defined muscles flexed as she pressed onward.
"You're not concentrating," Sabre said as she blocked her opponent's thrust. "I almost got you that time."
Daemon sighed as he thrust again. "Sorry. I'm just...um...a little tired. It's nothing."
Sabre stopped after blocking Daemon's thrust a second time and let the tip of her sword rest on the matted floor. "You're joking," she said through deep breaths. "Since when do YOU get tired?" While Daemon had only been back on earth for a short while, much of his time had been spent in the company of many personalities among the rival Hellfire Clubs. One friendship in particular, with the Red Queen Sabre, was forged in battle, as it was she among certain other Club members that had first encountered the alien mercenary [in Daemon's self-titled intro story: Daemon]. Since resolving that volatile situation many months ago, he had taken time every evening to spar, sword to sword, with Sabre. And in all those matches over the past few months, Sabre had never seen Daemon get tired.
Daemon lowered his sword as well, leaning on the hilt of the blade. "It's just that way with some of my powers," he said after a brief silence, "mostly my energy powers. I burned a decent amount of energy in my first training session with the kiddies over there."
Sabre smiled. "So you're teaching at the academy now. Are you gonna survive the experience?"
It was Daemon's turn to smile now. "I'll be fine. It's those kids I'm worried about."
"You should give them more credit than that. They've all been through a lot. You'd be surprised."
Daemon shook his head. "Maybe. But enough of that," he said raising his Spanish style rapier, "en garde."
Sabre didn't move. "What ever happened to that sword you fought me with the first time we met?"
Extending his hand outwards as though reaching for something unseen, Daemon retrieved his sword from the pocket dimension in which it resided. A flash of light and the dissipating particles of other-dimensional energy accompanied the blade's arrival into this plane of existence. "You mean this one?"
Sabre smiled as she reached out to the sword. "It's beautiful."
"NO!" Daemon shouted, pushing her hand away. "No one can touch it but me. It might kill anyone else that tries to hold it."
"Oh..." she said, staring again at the beautiful curved sword. "What do you call it?"
Daemon looked at her strangely.
"What? You didn't name it? Hmph. It sure seems like a blade that deserves a name to me."
Daemon looked down at the alien blade he held in his hand. Though he did not use the sword much, relying more on his super strength and invulnerability, it had been his most trusted weapon since it was presented to him as a gift too many years ago...in another lifetime, it had seemed to the young warrior. But Sabre was right. It surely deserved a name. And as Daemon pondered the question, he couldn't help but think of an ancient Pharaohan warrior. He was a man whose reputation as general of Pharaoh's army earned him a name that struck fear into all his enemies, a name whose legend reached all the way to the land of Egypt where he was worshipped as one of their gods, a name that means Lord of the Dead. Lifting the sword to his face in a salute, Daemon spoke. "I will call you...Anubis." And the sword seemed to glow in response.
***
It was nearing five o'clock in the evening and the streets of New York were already clogged with vehicles and pedestrians, most of them wanting nothing more than to return home from a hard day's work. 'Rush hour' as it was referred to, was Dr. Douglas Walsh's favorite time of day. While most others simply saw a mass of people pressed against each other on the wide sidewalks, Dr. Walsh, because of his mutant powers saw something entirely different. Regarding the throngs of people below from his third story office window, Douglas saw a sea of color, moving and swirling in the most beautiful dance of light anyone could ever see. Biosignatures coalesced into spirals of every color in the rainbow. It was times like these that the good Doctor was reminded of how truly blessed and gifted he was to be a mutant. So again, like many times over the course of the last couple of years, Dr. Walsh wondered whether it was time to tell his family of his secret.
About a half-hour later, having been told that he had no more appointments for the day, Dr. Walsh joined the masses outside his office and walked towards the parking garage around the corner within the stunning array of colors he had just witnessed from his office. As he had done almost every day ever since he moved his office to this area, Douglas stopped at the vendor on the corner to get a danish and the evening paper. "Hey Chris," he called as he stepped up to the newsstand pulling money from his pocket. "Can I get the usual?"
Chris reached out to take his best customer's money with danish and newspaper already in his other hand. "You know I always save the best danish and the unwrinkled paper for YOU, Doug."
Douglas looked up, money in hand and suddenly leaped backwards, tripping over a stack of magazines and falling to the concrete, knocking over a comic book display. His eyes were wide as he stared unconsciously at his old friend's biosignature. He swallowed hard as that same defect he had noted in the homeless man the other night was present here. But how could that be? Did he not just see Chris two days ago? How could the defect had appeared just today?
Chris came from behind his stand and helped Douglas to his feet. "Are you OK, buddy? What happened?"
"I...I...*ahem* I'm fine Chris. Th-Thank you," he managed to stammer, trying to tear his gaze from the alien presence that appeared in the man's aura.
"You sure, Doug? You look kinda pale."
Douglas shook his head vigorously, wanting nothing more than to leave this THING. "Nope. Feel good. Umm..thanks for the paper. Bye now." Douglas walked away quickly, losing himself in the crowd before Chris could say otherwise. His heart raced and his mind felt numb from what he had seen. "Aliens?" he thought silently. "But how is that possible. It sounds like a bad movie." Douglas shook his head, as he pressed his way to his car.
Behind him, Chris' mind also seemed to go numb. Douglas' actions had made something click in his mind. It was a strange sensation, like suddenly completely recalling a half-remembered dream. While in his heart, he wanted no more than to keep selling his newspapers and snacks while multitudes of prospective customers passed him on the street, he felt compelled on a subconscious level to close shop for the day...and to make a phone call to a number he did not recognize.
~~End Chapter 2~~
~~Chapter 3~~
First Impressions
"What's with that guy anyway?" Shifter asked of his peers.
"You're just mad 'cause he made you take laps," Darkclaw said as he snacked on the huge bowl of popcorn and continued watching wrestling on TV. Unfortunate for some, Darkclaw was first to grab the remote to the big-screen TV and was thus in control of what they would watch this evening.
The others grinned and looked at Shifter, who sank into his armchair. The BHC Academy's 'lounge' was packed to capacity by most of the student body. It was a somewhat regular ritual to come here and relax in the early evening, sometimes to eat take-out for dinner, but mostly just to socialize.
"He DOES kinda give me the creeps though," Roulette interjected, "dressed all in black and wearing those sunglasses all the time."
"What's wrong with wearing sunglasses?" FX asked from a corner of the room.
"You know what I mean," Roulette said. "You've got a reason with that...umm..'fear stare' thingy..."
"I think his style is pretty cool," Byron added.
"I don't like him," Darkwolf said flatly with arms crossed. "I was one of the first ones to run into him when he came to earth. He's a dangerous man and I don't like having to take orders from him."
"I agree with Darkwolf," FX spoke again. "I'm the most powerful of all of us and he surpasses even MY abilities."
The students were quiet for a moment, somewhat irritated by FX's boastful statement. But they knew that in many respects, he WAS the most powerful among them and that it was quite clear from their initial danger room battle with the alien warrior that Daemon was quite dangerous indeed.
"That still don't explain why he has to be such a meany?" Rogue said, breaking the silence. "My head's still ringin' from that EM pulse he hit us with."
"Yeah! Who is this guy to come in here and beat up on us and call it 'training'?" Psishot said.
"Don't even get me started on the bruises," Storm! said, displaying a bluish-purple area covering most of her shoulder. "What could he possibly teach besides the fact that he's stronger than us."
Demona spoke from a small desk on the other side of the room where she was reading. "He can teach us plenty," she said. "He's been an intergalactic mercenary for six years, creating a reputation across the Milky Way that borders on legendary. I think he might have a thing or two to show us. You all should have more confidence in our Headmaster and Headmistress to provide adequate staffing."
"How did you find out all that?" Storm! asked.
Demona ALMOST cracked a smile. "Research."
"Well I think he's kinda cute," Puma purred as she lounged on the couch.
Everyone stared at her for a second, before each grabbing a handful of popcorn from the large bowl and throwing it at her playfully.
***
Deep Beneath New York City
"Come on, Matt," the youngest of this particular pair of boys said to the other, "We have to get back soon."
Matt virtually ignored his companion, instead focusing on finding his lost ball. "I have to find it before we go, Sam," he finally replied.
Sam stood in the dim light of the dark tunnel, turning his flashlight this way and that sporadically. "I don't like it here," he said as he jumped at a shadow. "We should go back."
"I think I see it!"
Sam sighed. His older brother was never one to pay much attention to the rules. But then again, Sam could understand Matt's need to find his lost ball. The small red orb was the only toy the boy had ever had to call his own. Sam jumped again. There was a sound behind him. He turned his flashlight to his left, peering into a crumbled hole in the wall of the tunnel. Suddenly, there was a cold breeze that swept through the area. Sam shivered a bit, his tattered clothes unable to hold in much heat. "Matt, is it colder in here?"
Matt at last emerged from a black corner of the tunnel wiping mud from his precious sphere. "I got it!" he exclaimed joyously. But his smile faded as he turned to Sam and saw the huge creature creep from behind his little brother. "Sam!"
Sam spun his flashlight behind him, but it was quickly smacked from his hand, torn into pieces by powerful claws.
"Run, Sam!" his brother shouted, and indeed Sam ran. Matt froze as the beast turned to him. He was trapped by the three walls of the recess in which he had been searching for his ball. Breathing hard, he stared at the oncoming creature. It lumbered towards him, a long tail sweeping back and forth behind it. Frightened more than he had ever been before, Matt felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. But was that just the fear, or something more? A spark jumped between his fingers, flashing a tiny bluish white glint in the tunnel. Another, more prominent stream of excited electrons bounced across his arm. He had been told he may one day develop powers - strange abilities granted him by his tainted genes. Matt had always dreamed of the day he would find out the nature of his mutation, but this was far from what he had imagined.
The creature closed in, standing over the boy, bigger than life. But Matt pushed aside his fear for just an instant, a short period of time that would mean his survival. So for the next eight seconds the boy stared death in the face, drawing on a power he had not known until this moment. Bolts of electricity spun about him in a deadly spiral. Punching forward with both fists, he released a beam of energy hoping he would hit his mark. Unfortunately, he missed, and the beast pounced. A large, three-fingered hand grabbed the boy by the throat and lifted him into the air close to the creature's jaws. Matt felt the chill air escape from it's mouth carrying with it the foul smell of the sewers. Matt wondered what it felt like to be dead just as the monster moved to bite down on the child's leg.
Much further down the tunnel on the way back to the collective, Sam could hear Matt's screams echoing throughout the cavernous underground. Tears streaked down his face, blurring his vision, but he continued on. He would at least honor Matt's last wish for him to run away. Sam pushed himself beyond the levels of his young body's endurance to return home. He knew that Callisto had to be told what happened.
~~End Chapter 3~~
~~Chapter 4~~
A Difference Of Opinion
The air was cool and crisp on this alien world. Though, the seemingly unspoiled landscape teamed with life similar to that found in the woodlands of Earth, the light indigo of the sky told a different story. Strange creatures scurried through the thick underbrush, fleeing from the disturbing sounds of intruders upon their territory. Nate smacked at a large insect-like creature from his shoulder as he surveyed the unfamiliar terrain ahead of him. There appeared to be nothing but the oddly shaped trees around him and his squad of young superhumans as they moved at a steady pace towards their goal.
"Bastion," Nate called softly as he gave the 'down' hand signal to the rest of the team, "How far?"
Bastion moved into a crouched position as he was instructed, as did the others. Advanced scanners swept the surrounding area on multiple spectrums. Inhumanely sensitive eyes scanned forward a hundred yards in every direction for a brief instant. "Our objective lies approximately 75 yards from our current position, straight ahead."
Nate turned towards the direction Bastion had indicated. The tree line ended about 25 yards ahead, leaving 50 yards of open grass between his team and the downed enemy spacecraft. The oddly shaped husk of alien metal was said to contain a shipment of advanced weapons components. Letting them fall into the hands of the enemy would mean a terrible blow to the liberation army for which they fought. Nate turned back to Bastion. "Any bad guys out there?"
"Scanning," Bastion said as he repeated his sensor sweep with a bio-reading beam. "There are no anomalous life signs within sensor range."
Nate raised himself from his haunches and stood in a crouch, looking over the thick underbrush. Two hand signals and the team was making a mad dash towards the ship. They had barely broken through the tree line when the attack came. They seemed to appear out of thin air, brandishing energy rifles and ionized maces. Nate's TK shield flared a bright yellow as a photon pulse impacted his stomach and sent him to the ground. Looking up from the soft grass as beams of energy criss-crossed all around him, he saw dozens more werewolf-like creatures emerge from inside the space ship's wreckage as well as from covered foxholes in the field. They were surrounded and hopelessly outnumbered.
"NOOOOO!!!" came an aggravated cry that sounded over the battlefield noise. "Computer: Freeze program." Daemon walked from amidst the trees, most of the scowl on his face hidden by his black shades. "What the fuck was THAT?!" He removed his sunglasses with an angry jerk and walked towards Nate. "Nate, you walked your team right into a fucking ambush!"
Nate scrambled to his feet in protest. "But Bastion said it was all clear!"
Daemon stood next to one of the frozen Ba'roof warriors, pointing to a small rectangular box on it's utility belt. "Bio-stealth unit. It makes your bio-signature look like that of one of the local plants or animals. Never rely on technology alone because it can be manipulated to work against you." He turned to the other students. "Combat Rule #2: ALWAYS expect an ambush. If you go into battle expecting the enemy to jump out at you at every turn, you'll stay alert and prepared if it actually happens. If you go strolling along like your out pickin' daisies, you're gonna get fucked up, like what happened here." Back to Nate. "If this were real, boy, you'd have gotten yourself and everyone here killed."
Nate cast his eyes downward. Not until recently had he taken seriously the responsibility of his position as leader of one of the two BHC Academy teams. And with the leadership position of the other team still unfilled, he suddenly found himself as the sole commander of his fellow BHC students under Daemon. All the time he had spent as a loner had done more harm than good in preparing him for this role. Nate began wondering then whether he had what it takes to be a leader at all.
Daemon turned again to the other students, satisfied that Nate had learned his lesson. "None of you did any better." He began making his way around the class. "Rogue. Why the hell are you still on the ground. Use your flight to your advantage. Darkwolf. Why are you playing back there with one Ba'roof when Storm! is getting flanked by THREE? Combat Rule #3: Watch each other's backs. Don Juan," he called to Beast Charming, making fun of the 'Charming' portion of Peter Katz's codename, "Stop swatting at your opponent like a little girl. Remember your training. And you Princess..." Daemon was particularly belittling of the young mutant known as Avalon, using the nickname 'Princess' to make it clear to him that his title as Prince of the Inner Circle meant absolutely nothing in this room. "Are you over here trying to get this Ba'roof's phone number or are you trying to kill it?" Daemon balled his hand into a tight fist, circulating a dense cloud of electrical energies (similar to Avalon's). "Be aggressive with your powers," Daemon instructed as he punched the unmoving Ba'roof in the midsection, the energy in his hand released in a blue-white explosion. The Ba'roof's sizzling entrails burst through its back, his red-black blood flying in many directions. "Combat Rule #4: Don't hold back." Daemon stared into Avalon's eyes, and flicked the blood on his hand onto the young man's face. "Don't be afraid to get a little blood on you, kid."
Avalon's mind reeled as he felt the thick, warm substance run down his face. It had not been too long ago that he faced a murderous super-villain called Blood, and the damaging memories were still fresh. But he pushed his apprehension aside and nodded wordlessly to his instructor.
Daemon's gaze finally left him as he walked back to the observation deck. "Do it again," he shouted. "From the beginning."
"But there's only fifteen minutes left in class," Meltdown whined.
Daemon stopped and turned sharply, his shades returned to his face. "I said DO IT AGAIN! And you'll do it until you get it right!"
Though they were quite wary of this harsh new instructor, most of the students respected Daemon (some grudgingly so) for his knowledge and prowess in the art of warfare. And in many ways, Daemon had become both an insightful big brother and the evil gym teacher all rolled into one. So all of the students silently obeyed, taking up their positions where the simulation would begin. It would be another hour before they would emerge from the Danger Room, battered and exhausted.
"Tomorrow we increase the difficulty level by 50%," Daemon said as his students limped through the sliding doors. "Get a good night's rest, kiddies."
***
The door to Gomurr's office burst open unceremoniously as Daemon strolled through. Startled, Gomurr accidentally knocked a dozen or so papers off of his desk into a scattered jumble on the floor.
"You wanted to see me, shorty?"
Gomurr let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Daemon. Please have a seat while I clean up this mess."
"Don't bother," Daemon said, barely finishing the phrase before he had collected the papers into a neat stack with his superspeed. "Now," he said, placing the stack on Gomurr's desk and sitting down, "What's up?"
"Exactly what are the extent of your powers?" The ancient sorcerer said curiously. "I've seen you use quite a few individual abilities."
Daemon simply stared at him.
Gomurr leaned back in his chair. "Tight-lipped about it, eh?"
"Knowledge is power, old man. And my secrets are my own."
"Then I suppose asking how you got your powers would meet an equally evasive response."
"You're swift for a garden gnome."
Gomurr shook his head at the impetuous young man. "No matter. That wasn't my true reason for this meeting. But your conduct is."
"Oh really."
"Dr. Zhang has come to me with concerns for your students. She says visits to the infirmary have quadrupled since your class began." Gomurr rifled through Dr. Zhang's medical files on his desk. "Concussions, sprained ligaments, third degree energy burns, temporary blindness…"
"And bumps, bruises and scrapes," Daemon interrupted, "What's your point?"
Gomurr's eyes narrowed. "The point is that Dr. Zhang believes you are pushing the children too hard. And I must say that I tend to agree with her."
"It's my class, Gomurr, my rules. I'd rather they get a little tossed around in the Danger Room, than get killed in the field. But if it makes the good doctor feel better, I'll let her sit in on one of my sessions."
"Actually I don't think that's quite what she intended," Gomurr began as he watched Daemon get up and move towards the door.
"Tell her not to be late or I'll make her do laps," Daemon said, ignoring Gomurr's objections.
"But…"
SLAM!
Gomurr hung his head in frustration. Though he knew the pressures of being headmaster would be substantial, he never imagined that one of his staff would be more of a headache than all of his students combined. Daemon was certainly an enigma that sorely needed to be solved and someone to be watched. Gomurr found himself wondering whether to attribute Daemon's attitude and teaching style to his life as a mercenary or whether the young alien was grooming a personal army of superhumans for his own purposes. The master mage hoped it was the former, but would be prepared if the latter turned out to be true.
***
Daemon held onto the two glowing control orbs of his stolen craft, pushing the engines to the breaking point. The call to his wrist-mounted communicator had come in the middle of the third round of galactic arena games. Though Daemon would have rather stayed at the base and prepared for his next mission on the docket, his partner, Charlie, had convinced him to go and enjoy himself. As the Pharahoan eyed the priority-one distress call, he had regretted letting himself get talked into it.
Having pushed through the crowds of spectators from a dozen races, Daemon had made his way to the hangar bays where he "borrowed" a medium-sized attack craft. He had told himself he would try and return it as undamaged as possible, though that wasn't the foremost thought in his mind.
"Come in Charlie," Daemon called through the communications array, but there was no answer. "Answer me, blondie!" he screamed in desperation, still to a silent reply.
Through the forward observation screen, he could see the streaks of green energy beams and red explosive bursts – signs of the battle that raged at the doorstep of what was essentially his home. Faster. He had to go faster, but the tachyon drive was at its limit. Glancing at the tactical display, he saw that he was nearly in weapons range but still too far to do anything but watch. It was then that the armory section of the base was struck and exploded in a brilliant eruption of fire and debris. Daemon's eyes grew wide as his gaze met the crimson fireball, his heart sinking in his chest.
"NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"
Daemon sat bolt upright in bed as he woke from his deep slumber. The light of the moon made a finger of luminescence stretch from his partially covered window across his king-sized bed. It was indeed a dream that had so disturbed him. But it was more so a midnight flashback of an event that would forever haunt him, than the results of an overactive subconscious. That was the night his friend was killed. That was the night Daemon failed to save the man whose kinship was as close to brotherhood as it could be without the bond of blood. It was a failure that stood out among many in Daemon's days as a starfaring soldier, and one he could never forgive himself for.
"I'm sorry, Charlie," he whispered, as he buried his face in his hands, "so sorry..."
~~End Chapter 4~~
~~Chapter 5~~
Replicas, Rumor and Resurrection
Dr. Walsh took several deep breaths as he watched himself in his bathroom mirror. Cool water ran down his cheeks and into the sink over which he leaned. "Get a grip," he said quietly to himself, noticing his own lower lip tremble as he formed the words. His encounter with that...thing posing as one of his good friends [see Chapter 2] had shaken him to the core. Having seen the anomaly so close on two occasions, Dr. Walsh was sure this time that both creatures were not of this world - a personal revelation that was, in itself, hard so swallow. Wiping his face with a towel, Dr. Walsh returned to his desk. Clearing his throat, he called through the intercom to his secretary. "You can send the next patient to the examination room, Mrs. Drummond."
"She's on her way, Doctor," came the reply.
Wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, Douglas Walsh made his way into the examination room. He scanned the chart left in the bin outside the door which briefly described the medical history of his next patient - 7 year old Suzanne Torenski. The collection of papers described her physical characteristics such as height and weight, her allergies to pollen and seafood, as well as the reasons and conclusions drawn from her most recent visits. What the chart neglected to mention, however, as Dr. Walsh discovered upon entering the examination room, was that THIS Suzanne Torenski was an alien copy of the one he knew.
The strange biosignature assaulted his senses with its subtle differences from human biosignatures as well as its stark similarities to those of the other two he had seen. Dr. Walsh nearly choked as he swallowed hard. The counterfeit young girl looked up at him with an awkward smile on her face. "Hi, Dr. Walsh," she said cheerfully.
"H-hello, Suzy. How are you feeling today?"
The false Suzanne continued to smile, as she watched the doctor fumble with his instruments. Dr. Walsh turned his back to his small patient. It was starting to drive him mad - the way her biosignature floated defiantly above her head, the way she grinned incessantly as though she didn't notice how strange he was acting. Why was this happening to him? It was enough to drive a man insane.
Dr. Walsh, smoothed back his hair, taking another deep breath, and turned back to face Suzanne. "OK. Shall we begin?" he asked, wondering why she stared at him so intently.
***
BHC Academy - History Class
"I can't take it anymore," Peter Katz whispered to Puma as Gomurr turned his back to write on the blackboard.
"Daemon's class isn't all that bad," she responded. "It's kinda fun actually."
The young man known as Beast Charming made a face. "I'm sorry but getting beat up everyday for two hours or more, is not my idea of fun."
"Ahem!" Gomurr grunted from the front of the room, having heard the two students whispering behind his back.
"Wuss," Puma whispered with a playful smile.
Metldown passed a small piece of paper ahead of her to Storm!, dropping it quickly over her shoulder so as not to draw any attention. Storm! opened the intricately folded note. 'So what's up with you and Avalon?' it read. Storm! blushed slightly and wrote her response on the note and dropped it behind her head onto Meltdown's desk. 'Nothing. We're just friends.' Meltdown returned the note with a scrawled drawing of stick-figures in a clearly intimate position - one of them marked Storm!, and the other marked Avalon. Storm! nearly burst into laughter, having to cover her mouth to hold it in. Gomurr ceased his lecturing and turned to the pair.
"Storm!," he called in a reprimanding tone, "Do you find World War I an amusing topic?"
Storm! glanced at Avalon in the next row of desks, and convulsed with the laughter she struggled to contain, some of it sneaking out as a snicker now and again. "No, sir," she replied.
"Then may I continue?"
Storm! nodded, still holding her mouth.
As Gomurr renewed his lecturing, Meltdown sent a folded note sliding across the floor to Avalon. He opened the note curiously and read the message. 'Doesn't Storm! look great today?' Avalon turned to look at Meltdown, his brow furrowed in a questioning gaze. Meltdown made a face as to say, "Well?" Avalon's eyes shifted to Storm! who sat directly in front of her. Then he nodded. Meltdown quickly retrieved the note with the stick-figure drawing and wrote a new message, giving it back to Storm! 'Avalon likes you!' it read in bold, script letters. Storm! turned completely around to Meltdown. "Really?!" she said.
"Storm!!" Gomurr said, catching the girls' attention. Noticing the note in Storm!'s hand he levitated it away from her and to the front of the room. "What do we have here?"
Storm!'s face dropped into her hands. "Oh no."
Gomurr took a fascinated glance at the note, intent on finding out what had made these two students disrupt his class. With all seriousness written on his face, he examined the picture, folded it in half and half again.
"Storm! and Meltdown," he said, now trying desperately to hold a straight face, "I suggest you both keep your artistic expressions and whatever other extracurricular activities you enjoy outside of my classroom from now on."
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
"Thank you," he said, still holding back a smile. "Now turn to page 367 in your text," he stated firmly, turning to the blackboard where a wide grin grew on his face.
***
The ball arched through the air, back-spinning perfectly as it slipped smoothly through the hoop. Daemon retrieved the ball and shot again for another swish. He had been here on the lighted basketball court near his old neighborhood for at least three hours, shooting one flawless basket after another. He knew it was his enhanced coordination that gave him a jump-shot greater than Michael Jordan's, which made him just a bit saddened that he would never be able to see what his natural abilities alone could accomplish. But it was not this that troubled him so, but memories of a lost friend. Charlie had always had an insatiable thirst for the game, though it wasn't often he was able to play or even watch the sport. Daemon reminisced about how he and Charlie would talk about visiting earth again and walk the streets of New York City. Daemon had even discussed bringing him to this very court where, as a boy, he was first taught how to play. Charlie had challenged him to a game of 1-on-1 whenever they made it back to earth. But that game would never take place, and Daemon believed himself to blame.
The man also known as Gabriel Strong shot once more, the ball passing gently through the chain mesh net and bouncing to a shadowed corner of the empty lot. A man in a short jacket and jeans stopped the rolling ball with his foot, picking it up and spinning it on one finger. Daemon took a few steps forward.
"Hey, man. Could you pass me that ball?" he asked, reaching out with one hand.
The man flipped the ball from one hand to the other. "You got a nice jump shot, partner. Ever think about a change in profession?"
The voice was extremely familiar, as was the man's scent as Daemon zeroed into his super senses. Peering into the darkness beyond the reach of the court lights, he recognized the man's face. His eyes grew wider and his jaw became slack with shock and disbelief. The man smiled, his white teeth appearing even in the shadows, and he walked forward into the light. His near-platinum blonde locks came into view as his ice-blue eyes stared into Daemon's.
"Long time, no see," he said tossing the ball back to Daemon. "How about a game of 1-on-1?"
"Ch-Charlie?!"
~~End Chapter 5~~
~~Chapter 6~~
Down in the Dumps
All night they had talked together in Daemon's apartment at Strong Towers. No subject was too small for them to laugh and joke together about. It had been over six months since the tragic attack on the Rezona Base [see Chapter 4] where Daemon thought his friend lost forever, but here the man was, in perfect health sitting before Daemon's eyes. As a passing notion, Daemon thought what his students would think if they saw their normally hard-edged instructor carrying on like he was.
"I still can't believe you're here," Daemon said for maybe the eighth time.
Charlie smiled. "I'm harder to kill then one would think."
Daemon smiled back. "Why didn't you contact me until now?"
"Well it wasn't exactly like you were listed in the Yellow Pages. But after my escape pod was picked up by Paralus Authorities, I found out about that job some guy calling himself 'the Master' had planned for you. I knew you couldn't resist the chance to go back to earth so I managed to sneak myself onto a transport ship to get here. Don't get me started on how hard it was tracking you down on this mud ball."
"Hmph. You just might live up to your reputation as one of the best hackers in the Milky Way."
"THE best hacker," Charlie corrected him.
The rattling of keys at the front door caught their attention. Daemon was instantly on his feet. Lydia was back? How much more good news good he take? The solid oak door swung open and the young woman stepped through. Charlie's jaw dropped as he stood to his feet as well.
Daemon ran to her with arms open, catching her in a tight embrace and swinging her around with joy. "My baby's home, my baby's home," he chanted like an excited child, not quite aware that Lydia did not return the embrace. "Charlie," he said after setting her down and regaining his composure, "this is Lydia. Lydia, meet Charlie. We used to work together."
Lydia extended and hand to him and half-smiled out of politeness. Charlie locked eyes with her as he bent to kiss her hand. "A pleasure," he said. Lydia stared back, not quite sure why his piercing blue eyes seemed so familiar.
Daemon pulled her hand away from his. "That's enough of that," he said jovially. "Can I catch up to you later, Charlie?"
Charlie winked. "I got you, man. I'll give you some space. But I'll be back in five minutes when you're done."
Daemon gave him a good shove as he moved towards the door. "Get outta here, ya scoundrel!"
Lydia was already seated on a chair near Daemon's study area when the door finally closed behind Charlie. Daemon almost skipped over to her. At last, he noticed her expression. "Why the long face, boo? Didn't you miss me?"
"I did miss you, Gabe," she responded, "very much. But there's something we need to talk about."
"You know you can tell me anything. I've got a lot to tell you about too."
"I - I think you should sit down."
Daemon was almost worried then as he took her hand and pulled up a chair in front of her. "What is it? Is there something wrong with your mother? You were out there pretty long."
"No, no. She's fine it's something else. I've pretty much known about it for a while now, but I wanted to be sure. And I needed to talk to her about what I should do next, and..."
"Baby," Daemon interrupted, getting slightly anxious, "What is it? What's got you so upset?"
"Gabe," she said almost in a whisper, "I'm pregnant."
Daemon turned her hand loose as he stood and walked away a few steps with a hand at his forehead.
"Please don't be mad," Lydia began to speak swiftly with concern. "I've been taking birth control ever since that first night..."
"Lydia..."
"...and I'm sure I was following the directions properly..."
"Lydia..."
"...but when I think about it, I might have missed taking it one day, but..."
"Lydia!"
Her head snapped up at the sound of Daemon's angry shout.
"I'm sterile, Lydia," Daemon said softly as he began to crush the back of a wooden chair in his super strong grip.
"What?" she questioned in complete disbelief.
"I said," speaking in a stronger tone, "I'm sterile. Whoever's baby you're carrying, it isn't mine."
Lydia's eyes seemed to glaze over as she stared into space. "But I don't understand..."
"Get out."
"But Gabe," she protested in desperation.
Daemon turned to face her, his eyes glowing with energy, a definitive scowl distorting his face. "GET OUT!" he commanded as he dropped his fist on the edge of his desk, breaking it off.
Lydia flinched as she watched the large chunk of the solid cherry desk fall to the floor. She had never even seen Daemon angry, let alone to the point of violent action. With tears now streaking down her face, she quickly snatched up her purse and hurried out the door and out of Daemon's life. The former mercenary stood there a few minutes after she had gone, thinking back to when the elemental being known as Ra left his body. It had cursed him that day, leaving him unable to father children. Anger suddenly began to well up inside him again. With the rage now at its peak, Daemon let out a cry of pain and frustration as he hurled his desk through the front door of his apartment.
Down the hall, the manager of the building approached what was left of Daemon's door. Stepping through the broken frame and over the shattered remains of various pieces of furniture, the manager called after his employer.
"Mr. Strong?" he said in a meek voice.
"What?!" Daemon answered as he hefted his solid cherrywood desk over his head.
The manager suddenly found it hard to swallow. "Uh…S-sir," he began, taking a large gulp of air before continuing, "the tenants below you are complaining about the…err…noise…sir…"
"If they don't like it, tell them they can go live some where else!" Daemon replied as he hurled the desk into a wall across the room, shattering it into a million splinters of wood.
"Yes, sir," the manager said quickly as he retreated back down the hall.
***
The knocking, or more appropriately, the POUNDING came at about 3:00 AM. A soft white hand shot out from beneath silken sheets to a bedside clock. The reigning Queen of the Black Hellfire Court stirred drowsily as she stared at the digital display. Someone had better be dead or dying for the powerful telepath known as Nemesis to be roused at such an ungodly hour. Wrapping a soft robe over her nakedness, Nemesis went to the door of her suite of rooms in the Black Hellfire Mansion.
"This had better be good," she snapped as she pulled the door open. She was indeed surprised to find a downtrodden-looking Daemon behind it.
"Can I spend the night?" the young Pharaohan mumbled.
Claudia Sandubal leaned against her doorpost with an amused look on her face. "Aren't YOU the eager beaver," she said with so much sarcasm.
"To SLEEP, Nemesis. I kind of…trashed my apartment. I didn't know where else to go."
"So you came here. PERFECTLY logical," again with the sarcasm.
Daemon let his body fall into a loveseat with his head down, looking at his folded hands. "She cheated on me, Nemesis."
Like there's any OTHER reason why a man would look like THAT. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said as she sat next to him.
A huge diamond ring, hand-made by the greatest of Pallan jewelers, sat in his open palm. "I was going to marry her. I thought I could finally have a regular life."
"You sound like you're in a lot of pain, Daemon," Nemesis said as she moved closer. "I can…help you with that, if you let me."
"Nemesis…I…"
"Shhh…" she said softly as she petted his head and continued to move closer. "All I have to do," she whispered now, "to help you forget all about her, is reach into your mind…"
With the flash of extradimensional energy, the dreaded sword Anubis was at Claudia's throat as Daemon pinned her down beneath powerful arms. "NEVER!" Daemon shouted viciously. "Never use your telepathy on me, Nemeis. I'll slit your FUCKING throat first!"
The former mercenary stared at Nemesis with a deadly serious expression hidden in the dark brown pools of his eyes. Nemesis stared back with just as much intensity. Daemon sighed and released his hold on the Black Queen and sheathed his sword within its pocket dimension. Nemesis rose from the loveseat and straightened the belt of her robe.
"You can sleep here if you like, but do NOT bother me again," she said in even tones.
Daemon only nodded, again hanging his head.
"Goodnight, Daemon."
Daemon leaned back in the loveseat and stared at the ceiling. "What's so good about it?" he mumbled.
***
"This really stinks," Vince said as he swung his flashlight back and forth across the interior of the tunnels.
"Duh, Vince," Tony commented. "We're in the freakin' sewer ya meathead."
"I meant that we had to come down here so late at night ya bunghole," Vince responded. "Couldn't dis wait till mornin'?"
"Nope. The suits in the buildings across the way there can't flush their toilets cuz there's a block in the main pipe. We gotta clear it by morning."
"Lovely."
The pair of city workers ventured further into the dark, dank reaches of the labyrinth beneath the city of New York. Glancing at a schematic of the tunnels ever so often, they weaved their way through the twists and turns of the sewers. At last they came to what was marked as their objective, regarding the large, wide pipe. Vince tapped on the pipe with a large monkey wrench, listening for the dull sound of a lump blocking the flow of water.
"Nothin' wrong here," Vince concluded. "Let's move further down."
A sharp, cold wind greeted them as they entered another section of the tunnel, having followed the main sewage pipe further downstream. Having pulled slightly ahead of Tony, Vince was the first to note the strangeness of this particular area of the tunnels.
"Tony, you ain't gonna believe dis. There's ice on the pipe. In fact, the whole line over here is frozen solid."
"You're kiddin'. It ain't cold enough for ice."
"I'm serious. Come here."
As Tony moved towards the sound of his partner's voice in the darkness, he tripped and fell, a hollow rattling noise accompanying his own pained groan as he impacted the cold floor. Vince turned his flashlight to him.
"What happened?"
"Musta slipped on some ice or...JESUS," he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.
"What?"
"Vince...those're bones, man."
Both men regarded the remains in the light of their large flashlights, discovering in horror as they investigated further, that they were human bones. So frightened were they upon this realization, that neither man recognized the large unearthly shadow moving behind them. Perhaps if they had seen the creature coming...
~~End Chapter 6~~
~~Chapter 7~~
The House of Pain
The air was thick with smoke as thunderous explosions bellowed all around them. Energy weapons fire sliced across the darkened sky in streaks of eerie light and pulses of crackling force. The students of the BHC Academy moved in zigzag patterns from one safe position to another, avoiding the searing beams of enemy lasers as they advanced towards the bunker. Several students clutched their alien rifles as they maneuvered through the hail of fire, the lights on their mutant power dampening collars flashing in the dust-filled darkness. A large concussion pulse impacted the ground in front of Psishot as he rolled from behind one concrete blockade to another, sending him flying backwards and into the open. Immediately, energy beams erupted from multiple positions on the enemy side, all of them striking in the vicinity of the fallen mutant. As he scrambled to his feet, two beams connected, punching a hole through his right thigh and his lower left shoulder, dangerously close to the vital organs in his chest.
"Computer: Freeze program," came the female voice from the control room. Within seconds, Dr. Dei Lu Zhang was running across the simulated battlefield towards the injured student.
"Computer: Resume program," Daemon countered as he walked towards the scene. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asked over the ear-piercing sounds of warfare.
Dr. Zhang flinched as an energy beam streaked by her head, despite her knowledge that the program was set specifically not to affect herself and Daemon. "Are you crazy?! Computer: Freeze program. You have an injured student here, Daemon. He needs immediate medical attention."
Daemon stared at her through his shades. Dr. Zhang almost shuddered under his intense gaze. He had become so cold since last she had spent any significant amount of time with him. The students had also noted a change in their teacher since yesterday. "Indeed he does need help, doctor. But the battle doesn't stop when someone gets hurt. There's no pause button in real life. Computer: Resume program."
Dr. Zhang knelt over Psishot as he writhed and moaned in pain from the burned holes through his body. "This is too much for them, Daemon. I'm putting a stop to this right now. Computer: END program."
With the sparkling dissipation of solid photons, the images of a war-torn countryside vanished into thin air. The other students stood up from where they once had crouched behind cover from enemy fire. They all were worried for the fate of Dr. Zhang. Daemon was not one to be questioned in such a manner without dire consequence.
As Dr. Zhang reached to treat Psishot's wounds, Daemon snatched her upright by the scruff of her lab coat. "How DARE you," he said through clenched teeth.
"I couldn't just stand there while this boy was in pain. I'm a doctor, Daemon, and an empath. That's what I do."
"Well you know what, doc? I am a warrior. That's what I do. And that's what I'm teaching these kids to be. No matter how peachy keen everything is on your side of the tracks, people like us have it just a little different."
"I think you should put her down...sir," Darkwolf said as he stepped forward from the group (or perhaps the other students were backing away from him).
Daemon's head snapped towards him as he dropped Dr. Zhang. "Come here, boy." Darkwolf walked over to Daemon, standing on his right side while Dr. Zhang stood on his left. Daemon looked at Dr. Zhang as he spoke. "This is why people like you shouldn't be allowed in this room. All your bleeding heart, "help save the children" bullshit makes my students get soft in the head. If you weren't here to screw with the way I run my class, someone might've figured out in the confusion to go drag their teammate out of harm's way while someone else laid down the cover fire. Or maybe they would've left him to die in the line of fire and I would've pound into their heads that they NEVER leave a comrade in the open like that. Maybe one of the little turds would've used some of the first aid techniques I taught them yesterday. Maybe...just maybe, today's lesson would've been learned." With a swift backhand, Daemon smacked Darkwolf in the face, causing the young mutant's nose to bleed profusely. "People like us can't escape the pain, doctor. There won't always be someone there to kiss it and make it better. We just deal with it and continue. Pain is only your body telling you that you have to fight harder to survive."
Everyone stood there for an infinitely long few seconds of silence as Daemon looked over the group through his darkened glasses. "Computer:," he said as he walked back towards the control room, "Begin program - Battlefield Alpha 3. And Dr. Zhang, don't trip up any of my students on your way out."
***
To those who know him well enough, he is one of the most subtly evil men ever to live. But in truth (at least in his mind) he was a man that had simply mastered the practices of any well-known businessman around. It's no myth about the lying, back-stabbing, heartless manipulations that occur in the upper echelons of world business. He had just perfected the techniques used so often to get ahead in the 'eat or be eaten' corporate jungle. It is the American way after all, isn't it?
Ryan Jensen stood as still as a stone statue as he gazed out of the huge bay window of his Las Vegas apartment. The gaudy, decadent city below lit up the night sky with outlandishly large lighted signs. The Red King cracked a thin smile. He liked Las Vegas.
But the smile disappeared quickly as the clap of hoofed feet caught his attention. He didn't bother turning as the Hellgoat finished making the dimensional transition into this plane of reality. The incessant intrusion upon his life by the demon had made the Red King often wonder if his dealings with the nightmarish creature had been worth it.
"Will I never be free of you?" Ryan asked as he took a sip of bourbon.
Hellgoat went and stood next to Ryan at the window, his gaze also directed at 'Sin City' below. "The time when your debt to me will fully be repaid may yet come, Jensen."
Ryan stared at the Hellgoat with a mixture of surprise, confusion and hope written on his usually rigid façade. "And what do you mean by that?"
The former denizen of Hades ignored the question. "The Gathering approaches, Flesh Child."
"What are you babbling about, demon?"
Hellgoat finally turned towards him, a gray cylindrical canister revealed to be in his other hand. "I am about to ask you to do something for me, Jensen. And completing this task will bring you that much closer to being rid of the debt you owe me."
"And it's in that canister then?" Ryan snatched it from Hellgoat's grasp. Hellgoat simply looked on with a strange intensity in his eyes as Ryan looked over the large papers he had taken from the case. "Blueprints?"
"Build it, Jensen. The map to the construction site is there as well."
"It's huge," the Red King commented as he flipped through the several pages of design plans.
"Indeed," Hellgoat responded with a sinister smile. "Use every resource available to you, Jensen. It MUST be completed by the time of the Gathering."
Ryan looked up from the blueprints. "And what is this Gathering you keep mentioning?"
With the wave of a fiery hand, a dimensional gate appeared out of thin air before the Hellgoat. "You will find out soon enough."
Ryan Jensen watched as the demonic creature disappeared and then returned his eyes back to the set of blueprints given him by the Hellgoat. He let his mind wander idly to the time when he would be free of the Hellgoat's influence, and the time when he would see the demon destroyed for ever having tried to manipulate the Red King.
~~End Chapter 7~~
~~Chapter 8~~
Lights, Camera...
Daemon lay on his back on the large bed in his temporary quarters. The Black Queen Nemesis had arranged this large guestroom in the Inner Circle Mansion for him while repairs were being made to his apartment at Strong Towers. The man known to some as Gabriel Strong stared up at the mirrored ceiling, at his own reflection, letting his mind roam free and hopefully away from his grief. Though an amazing man in many aspects, Daemon suffered from a fear of failure that had plagued him from the time he was an over-achieving adolescent. The recent failure of a relationship he had hoped would lead to marriage [see Chapter 6] was no different in his mind than any other task that he had fallen short of accomplishing. So he simply lay there on his bed with arms behind his head, placing blame on himself for what had transpired.
The phone rang, giving him a brief respite from his own self-destructive thoughts. "Hello?" he answered.
"Big D," Charlie said on the other line, "I heard about Lydia, man. I'm really sorry."
"No biggie," Daemon lied.
"I think I got an idea though that just might take your mind off it for a while."
"Yeah?"
"I was just watching a very interesting report on the news about a couple of dead sewer workers. How would you like to take your class on a little field trip?"
Daemon sat up on the bed and his lips curled into a smile.
***
Douglas Walsh was out of breath when he burst through the front door of his suburban home. He had left work early this day, overwhelmed by the information he now carried. After having his suspicions of otherworldly duplicates roaming New York City confirmed upon examining the alien copy of one of his patients a day earlier [see Chapter 5], he was desperate to tell someone. He knew it sounded crazy, especially given the fact that he had made this discovery due to mutant powers he had kept a secret for several decades. This was the biggest reason why he had waited until a full day had passed before he made the decision to reveal his knowledge. It was killing him to hold in this news, and if anyone would believe him (or at least give him the benefit of the doubt), it was his wife.
"Jenny?" he called as he walked into his living room.
"Doug?" came the muted response from upstairs. "You're home so late. I was worried."
Dr. Walsh ran up the stairs towards the sound of his wife's voice. "Where are you?"
"The bathroom."
"Honey," he said as he fell into a seated position outside the bathroom door, "I have to get this off my chest."
"Yes?"
"I'm a mutant, sweetie," he began, "I have the ability to see everything that's alive as though it were a tapestry of colors. I'm ashamed to say I've hidden this from you all this time, but I didn't want you to think I was crazy like everyone else. But that's not all. Lately I've been seeing people that weren't people. They were like these expert forgeries of human beings. I think they're aliens. That's the only way I can describe what I see in their auras."
There was a short silence that made Douglas very uneasy. Would she believe him? Would she laugh? Would she deem him a lunatic and leave him? Finally, he heard the latch on the door come off and his wife stepped through. "Honey," she said, wiping her hands on a towel, "Are you feeling alright?"
Douglas had already descended the stairs and was on his way out the door by the time she had completely emerged from the bathroom. He couldn't even scream, he was so shocked at what he had seen. All he could do was let the tears flow down his cheeks and run away into the night. Whoever was replacing people with alien duplicates had gotten to his wife. For all he knew...she was already dead.
***
The next day
The students of the BHC Academy filed through the Danger Room doors as they have everyday since the initiation of Combat Class, anticipating exhausting physical exertion and the vehement instructive screaming of their teacher. This day would prove to be a somewhat different experience however. And as they noticed Daemon standing near the center of the room with a blonde young man they did not recognize, they began to realize this.
"Good afternoon class," Daemon said in an unusually chipper tone. "I have a treat for you today. We're going on a little field trip. Last night two city workers were found dead and in pieces amongst the remains of several other people in the sewers. It has come to the attention of myself and my colleague Charlie here, that there is a prominent alien presence beneath the streets of Manhattan. And we have a pretty good idea what to expect. Computer: display alien 1218."
Spinning photons tugged along by invisible force fields were forced into the image of a large, black-skinned creature, surprisingly reminiscent of the creature from the popular Alien movies. The beast stood tall over all of the students, it's teeth bared in a vicious snarl.
Daemon stood next to the image. "This is a Kourgan. As you can see, the adult Kourgan can get very large. Up to fifteen feet from nose to tail and 1000lbs. of nastiness. It's got stone hard bone armor running the length of its spine including these curved horns on the sides of its head and this long spike at the end of its tail. It's hands and feet are equipped with large talons of the same material. This sack under the throat holds liquid nitrogen, which it can spit accurately to a distance of 50 feet. These jaws are used to crush rocks, so make sure you stay away from them. Kourgans have no eyes, so they use a combination of sonar and heat detection. They can mask their own heat signatures with their armor so be wary when using tracking equipment. The primary and secondary mission objectives are pretty basic. Get rid of these fuckers and try and find out where they came from. We're going to be using a two-team format. We'll move in low and fast in stealth mode and insert about three blocks downwind of the crime scene where we begin looking for Kourgans as we move north. Alpha squad will go in first while Bravo squad monitors our progress from transport 20 feet above street-level. If things get too hot for us below ground, we'll either call for full breach or immediate evac. You maggots got any questions?"
More silence from the group. They seemed as though they would explode if they couldn't get going right that second.
"Good," Daemon said. "Then get geared up and ready to move out in 5 minutes."
Almost before Daemon had finished the sentence, the students were on their way to the armory. As the last of the young mutants passed through the doors, Daemon's gaze lingered on the hologram of the Kourgan. "You really think they're ready?" Daemon asked of his friend.
"Beatin' them up in here has its benefits. But you can't compare to real life."
Daemon smiled as he deactivated the image. "You're right. And besides...I'm curious to find out which mother fucker was dumb enough to bring the Kourgans to my planet."
Charlie smiled suspiciously. "The answer might surprise you, my friend."
Daemon looked at Charlie curiously. "What'd you say?"
"Nothing, Daemon. Nothing."
Is it possible...? Daemon thought. No, of course not...
~~End Chapter 8~~
~~Chapter 9~~
Into the Lion's Den
The nondescript building looked like nothing more than a condemned warehouse from the outside. Crossed wooden boards over the windows and the fading red brick walls were indeed a testament to its age. But as any mutant can tell you, looks can be deceiving. Within the long abandoned building was a laboratory, the likes of which few have been able to glimpse. Wires from strangely gothic-looking technology hung all about in a web of electrical pathways. Tubes pumped odd liquids from one side of the building to the other. And most prominently in this facility were the huge vats of green gel, having a peculiar glow in the dim light. Amidst this labyrinth of Frankenstein-like machinery a single man toiled. But his work was to be interrupted this morning.
BREEP
The young man stepped away from the microscope, through which he had been looking, and went over to a large view screen. Tapping a button, an image appeared on the screen. "Good afternoon, child," the deathly pale man said, greeting the far younger scientist at work.
"Indeed this afternoon is a good one, Essex," he said as he tossed his blond hair out of his face.
"Then our plans are thus far successful?" the man known as Sinister asked in a pleased tone.
"Daemon will come."
"And what of his woman?"
"She has played her part in the plan as well. You will have what was promised to you, as will we all."
"Does Scarab know of your modifications to the plan?"
"So that's what he's calling himself now?" he said in passing. "No. The Great Professor of Pharaoh knows only what he needs to. Daemon will fall into the trap he and the demon are preparing for him.
"Then you were correct in your original statement. All of us will get what we want."
A flash of light at a teleport platform across the room caught the young man's attention. A single metallic container about the size of a man was all that appeared upon the glowing stage. "We will have to continue this conversation at a later time, Essex. I've just received a package I've been waiting for."
***
"We're in, Nate said through the communications headset, as he finished his telekinetic decent to the sewer floor.
"Copy that," Darkwolf replied from his seat aboard Daemon's modified shuttlecraft. "We've got a lock on your transmitter signals."
"Good," Nate said. "Maintain position overhead. We'll see you on the other side. Alpha Squad out."
"Copy, Alpha. We'll just be waiting up here...twiddling our thumbs...maybe catch a flick on the satellite and play some Monopoly..."
"I said 'OUT', Darkwolf."
"Just letting you know what we're doing up here...on the boring old ship...with nothing to do..."
"Darkwolf."
"Right, right. Bravo Squad out."
Nate shook his head as he moved into position next to Daemon near the mouth of the first section of tunnels to be patrolled. Darkwolf had been sorely disappointed that he was not chosen for Alpha Squad, but was instead placed in reserve with the rest of Bravo Squad. Nate had promised him first dibs on the next field mission, but it did not keep the young mutant from reminding Nate as much as possible how bored he would be. A hand gesture from Daemon brought the group together in a tight circle.
"You've done a good job up to now," Daemon began, addressing Nate, "but from here on out, I'm taking full command. Charlie and I will take the point since we're more familiar with our quarry. Avalon and Nate take the rear. Psishot will keep us all in constant communications with a superficial psi-link." Daemon quickly snatched Psishot close and whispered, "Superficial, boy. No deeper," in a threatening tone. "Everyone stay sharp, remember your training and try not to get killed."
With that, the small band of super-powered beings took their first tentative steps into the dim light of the tunnels even as a pair of eyes watched from the shadows.
***
Darkwolf spun himself in the swiveling command chair on the bridge of the alien shuttlecraft.
"This is the song that doesn't eeeeennnnnndddd," he sang loudly and slightly off-key.
"Would you quit it already?" FX finally asked in an annoyed tone.
"Lighten up, big boy. I'm just trying to keep everybody from falling asleep from the boredom."
"Hmph. More likely you'd put us all into a coma with singing like that."
Darkwolf stopped spinning and faced FX with a half-smile. "Was that a joke? Tell me, was the stick surgically removed from you're ass or did you just pop it out yourself?"
FX smirked. "I bet it took you all afternoon to think of that one."
Darkwolf's smile grew. "You know, you're not the stiff I thought you were."
Meltdown interrupted the exchange as she glanced at the mission-tracking monitor. "It's been like an hour and a half since they went down there. Shouldn't we check on them?"
Puma, sitting at the helm, turned to the communications console on her right. "I'll make contact," she said as she made the call. "Alpha, come in. This is Bravo. What's your status?"
Several hundred feet below the hovering transport, the other half of this well-trained team moved into another section of the tunnels. Greenish mold grew on the stone walls of this obviously older portion of New York's sewers. Cracks abounded over this section that creaked and moaned with the strain of maintaining its support.
"I read you Bravo," Nate responded through his headset. "Looks like we've moved into an unstable portion of the tunnels. We're getting real close to the site of the killings now, but we haven't found anything yet...." The sound of movement behind him caused Nate to pause for just a second. "Scratch that previous statement." Before Nate could give adequate warning to the others, a creature looking much like a misshapen man pounced on Avalon as more grotesque monsters emerged from the surrounding area.
"Ambush," Daemon announced not only to his own group, but to inform the other squad as well of their situation. A man that had claws as hands attacked him, but was easily dispatched with a single punch by the super-strong soldier. Daemon sniffed the air as he surveyed the brewing battle. They smell like the rest of the tunnel, he thought. No wonder my super-senses didn't pick them up. "Zero body-count people, we don't even know what these things are."
Psishot stunned one of his opponents with a psionic dagger as he took a defensive position against the next. "So you are a mind wizard," the scaly reptilian man hissed. "Well we have a mind wizard as well."
"I bet you do," Psishot said as he moved to attack. But he was cut short as he felt something akin to a thousand needles prick his mind. As he finally zeroed in on his attacker among the herd of enemy minds, he let out a cry for help on this plane as well as another.
***
Everyone aboard the shuttle had heard the initial commotion of the battle before Nate stopped broadcasting and were, not surprisingly, put on edge by the sounds. They also heard Daemon give them confirmation that they had been ambushed through his own comm-link. It was the telepathic shout for assistance that had touched them all that forced them to act, however.
"We gotta go down there," Roulette said, voicing all their concerns.
"Hold it," Demona said, moving to stand in the doorway of the shuttle's hatch. "Nate said the section of tunnel that they're in is unstable. If we go full breach so close, we very well may bring the whole place down on top of them." All of Bravo Squad paused then as they took in the advice of their levelheaded teammate.
"Then we back track along the route they followed and go silent through the nearest manhole," Darkwolf said to the surprise of many. While this boisterous young man, known for his bad jokes and all around silliness, could often become violent and deadly serious in battle situations, none had considered him a tactician. But his logic was sound and the others couldn't help but agree.
Down below, the battle pressed onward as the seven-man team of Daemon, Charlie, Nate, Avalon, Psishot, Storm! and Beast Charming fought tooth and nail against over a dozen deformed adversaries. The young mutant, Peter Katz, backed up from an oncoming foe as he readied his every-present glue gun. Not noticing a large fallen rock behind him, he tripped and fell onto his back on the cold, wet floor, his glue gun firing a ball of the sticky substance to the ceiling as it struck the ground. The creature rushed at him, seeing his opening. But Beast Charming's quick reflexes and acrobatic prowess gave him a decided advantage. Catching the attacker with his feet, he launched his adversary straight up and right into the patch of glue on the ceiling.
"Better than wet toilet paper," he commented on the suspended monster as a woman with tentacles for arms grabbed him around the throat.
A quick jolt of electrical energy from behind swiftly dropped the woman as Avalon came to Peter's aid. With the fact that his powers were considered one of the more volatile types of his class in the BHC Academy, Avalon was not originally intended to be on Alpha Squad. But the minute he found out Storm! had been chosen, he would not let Nate keep him in Bravo. It was certainly something that would be discussed widely among the rest of the students along with the other rumors flying around.
Storm! was holding her own on the other side of the tunnel, using her rifle as a blunt object to pummel whomever would get too close. She wouldn't have to fight much longer, though, as the creatures began to pull back.
"Why are they retreating?" Nate asked.
A shout from an elevated platform near the exit to this section of tunnels answered his question. "Because they were simply a diversion until I arrived," the odd woman with the patch over one eyed stated, adding, "...with reinforcements." At her word, several dozen more monster-people made their presence known, from the catwalk along the upper walls, to the shadowy crags in the cracked stone floor. Alpha Squad flexed their collective muscle, taking up battle-ready positions, but Daemon raised a steadying hand to their eagerness to fight.
"Are you the leader here?" he asked of the woman.
"Indeed I am, surface-dweller," she responded. "I am Callisto and these are the Morlocks. You have invaded our home and we demand your surrender."
"You gotta be kidding?" Nate began in anger as he powered up his TK, but Daemon again gave a silencing hand gesture.
"You have our compliance, Callisto. We surrender," Daemon said with hands raised and to the rest of the group's surprise.
~~End Chapter 9~~
~~Chapter 10~~
When Animals Attack
Bravo Squad was moving swiftly through the underground labyrinth beneath New York City. With a hand-held tracker and a schematic of the tunnels, Darkwolf and Puma led the charge. At a steady pace following behind them, the rest of the group moved in coordinated patterns. It seemed second-nature to them now - the skulking into the dark unknown with weapons at the ready, moving through possibly deadly terrain with eyes and ears open to the danger that may lie around the next corner. While they had played the "war games" in the Danger Room time and time again, they never imagined how effective that training would be in preparing them for the field. Had they not been so focused on the mission at hand, these students of Daemon's combat class would've been brimming with pride.
Bastion followed closely behind Darkwolf and Puma, utilizing his internal scanners to keep the team abreast of any would-be attackers lurking in the darkness. But even as he swept the area with an array of detection equipment, the android's digital mind pondered other things. While his artificial intelligence granted him by the advanced technology in his brain made him self-aware, and then by definition, sentient, it could not be said by any psion that he was anything but a high-tech illusion of humanity. With no psi-signature or true astral essence to speak of, he was as alive to a telepath as a rock. Yet in some small way, Bastion had heard Psishot's mental cry. Though he could not be certain he had heard the young mutant's literal voice in his head, Bastion had felt something when the others did. It was only a dull fuzziness tickling his mind at the very edge of his consciousness, lasting only a fraction of a second, but still he had felt it.
Suddenly a stream of liquid nitrogen struck the prime sentinel in the shoulder, instantly freezing his poly-alloy shell straight through to his circuits. Turning his attention downward, he saw the motion of the bony creature as it stood from its hiding place, having used its armored back to mimic the stone floor. And just as quickly as this Kourgan had emerged from seemingly nowhere, others appeared before the startled teens. One of them attacked Bastion, taking a bite into the frozen section of his body and tearing through the brittle exterior. Though seriously damaged, Bastion managed to tear back the armored bone skull plate and fire a repulsor blast into the creature's exposed brain, frying the soft matter in an instant. Rogue flew into another Kourgan as it bore down on one of her classmates, slamming it into a wall. With a quick jerk of its huge head, she snapped its neck and the creature fell. Darkwolf leaped onto one of the Kourgan's back, distracting it long enough for FX to get a clear shot to blast the monster's head off with a concentrated ion burst. But as quickly as those Kourgans were dispatched, more arrived to take their place.
"Form on Bastion," Puma screamed over the noise of the Kourgans.
Bravo squad immediately collapsed into a tight circle around their fallen teammate giving Darkwolf the chance to inspect the damage. Sparks flew from the open "wound" through which Bastion's circuitry could be seen. The android's head jerked back and forth erratically as he struggled to manage his damaged systems.
"How're you doin', tinman?" Darkwolf asked.
"P-p-primary power offli-offline. Auxiliary power at f-f-f-fifty-two percent. Weapons s-sys-system offline. Prop-prop-propulsion system off-offline. Auto-repair systems mal-malfunctioning. Initiating emergency shutdown." Bastion was in bad shape indeed and Darkwolf knew it. Emergency shutdown was only necessary if there was the danger of his primary memory core being erased. But as Bastion looked about at the overwhelming challenge his classmates were facing against the Kourgans, the choice had already been made for him – by his conscience. "Emergency shutdown halted. Rerouting auxiliary power to tactical systems only."
"You're a better man than I am, Bastion," Darkwolf said as he hefted him over his shoulder. "We're getting out of here. Fall back. We regroup with Alpha Squad and make our stand there. I just hope they're ready for trouble."
***
Surrounded on all sides by Morlocks, Daemon and his Alpha squad marched onward through the dank tunnels beneath New York City, the unconscious Psishot carried by a large Morlock. While Daemon seemed as though he were simply on a stroll through Central Park, his students had an altogether different view of the situation. How could they simply give up like they did? [Chapter 9] Surrender had never been a part of the lesson plan in the Danger Room scenarios they had run time and time again. What were they to think of Daemon now? All of this was running through the confused students' minds as they trudged along in the muck and mire on the tunnel floor.
"Why did you do that?" Nate asked of Daemon in a malicious, hushed tone. "Why did you surrender?"
Daemon glanced around to check if the Morlock guards had heard. "Think, son," Daemon began. "By letting ourselves be captured, we get an unknown enemy to lead us to their base where we gather intelligence and wait for the cavalry to follow the tracking beacons in our equipment."
Nate contemplated the situation and realized what Daemon had apparently seen right away. "Oh," he responded almost embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it before. "You really think Bravo Squad is on its way?"
"If neither my announcement about the ambush, nor Psishot's telepathic shout made them come down here after us, I don't know what could. But we won't know for sure until our resident psi wakes up, so sit tight and follow my lead."
"Surface-dweller," Callisto said finally to Daemon as they reached the main area of the Morlock settlement. "You appear to be the leader. Before you are executed, tell me why you invaded our tunnels."
"First, the name is Daemon, not surface-dweller. Second, we came here hunting monsters not of this world. And third, none of my people are going to die today. None."
Callisto raised an eyebrow, not so much at Daemon's posturing, but at his mention of the monsters. Very recently, a young Morlock had claimed a giant shadow monster had taken his brother from him. While she felt the boy's pain at the loss of his sibling, she strongly disbelieved the boy's tale. With the appearance of these surface-dwellers supposedly hunting the creature, however, she could no longer simply dismiss the boy's warnings of the terrible beast in their tunnels. "Bring the boy," she commanded to a furry hunchback. Then she turned back to Daemon. "This child may very well be your only hope of surviving this encounter."
Daemon's eyes narrowed. "We will see, Callisto."
After a short wait, the hunchback returned with a small child following closely behind. He was a gangly thing with a head full of mottled brown hair. But beneath the dirt on his cheeks was the face of a quite human-looking boy. "This child claims to have seen a monster in the tunnels. One of which he claims took his older brother. If your monster is indeed the same as the one he saw, then you will be released. If not, we kill you...slowly. So tell me what this alleged monster looks like."
"I could do better than tell you if I had a certain piece of my equipment you confiscated." Callisto eyed him suspiciously and shot a glance at the pile of hardware that had been liberated from Daemon's team. "It's the small rectangular device right there," Daemon said pointing to his holo-imaging tracker.
Callisto nodded reluctantly to the hunchback to retrieve it. Daemon took the black box and tapped in a few commands bringing a small holographic image of a Kourgan into view. The boy looked up at the image and immediately screamed bloody murder, running behind the hunchback and crying profusely. Daemon looked up to meet eyes with Callisto.
"It seems we now have a common enemy," Daemon said.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend," Callisto responded, agreeing with Daemon's implied proposal of an alliance.
"I see your weakness as leader has even brought you to befriend the up-worlders, Callisto," a young female voice interrupted from across the cavernous dwelling. Everyone looked up to see her standing in one of the three entranceways with several others, daggers seemingly made of bone in each hand. "You can bring every pretty-pretty mutant down here to stop us, but Marrow and the Unforgiven will gut every one of them and hang their bones out to dry."
~~End Chapter 10~~
~~Chapter 11~~
The Enemy of My Enemy...
Dr. Walsh sat in the far corner of the café with his face buried in the steam rising from his cup. In the last few days, what had been a life of success and happiness had suddenly taken to a downward spiral. In a way, he blamed his mutant gift to discern biopatterns for his life's present state of ruin. Without it, perhaps he wouldn't have been so wary of the slight changes in behavior of those that had been replaced. Perhaps he would've gone about his life as normal, blissfully unaware of the possibility of the alien infiltration of humanity. But what could he do to prevent more people from meeting the same fate. Whatever it may be, of those who had disappeared from his life?
The ring of the bell hanging at the front door to the small coffee shop brought Dr. Walsh's attention from his latte and to the pair of tall men in white hospital uniforms standing there in the doorway. "Dr. Walsh? You have to come with us now," one of them said, as his tainted life aura hung in the air above his head.
Dr. Walsh had known what was going on the minute they walked in. Flipping over his table and throwing the scolding hot drink at the men, he attempted to make a run for it towards the back of the store. The men scrambled after him, hurtling the overturned chairs the Doctor left behind him. The chase was cut short, however, as the counter clerk stepped into his way, grappling him to the floor. The white-coated men stepped in, lifting him from the floor.
"No! You don't understand," Douglas screamed at the surprisingly genuine human clerk. "They're aliens. They're trying to replace us all. I'm a mutant. I can see it. Please. You have to believe me."
The clerk simply smirked and rolled his eyes as he set a table back onto its legs. "Is somebody going to pay for all this?" he asked, addressing the white-coated men who ignored him on their way out.
Pushing past the small crowd that had assembled outside the café, the men dragged the ranting Doctor towards a waiting truck. Catching his second wind, Douglas renewed his struggle, bucking and kicking his way gradually loose. But the men held firm, despite the one good punch Douglas was able to land.
"Douglas, please cooperate with them," said his counterfeit wife as she dabbed tears. "It's for our own good."
"Go to the devil," Dr. Walsh screamed at the woman before renewing his struggles. "They're coming for you," he ranted to the small crowd of curious on-lookers that had gathered. "They'll replace your friends, your family and even you. Don't let them steal our world from us."
Suddenly, he felt a needle plunge into his arm and the heavy sedative took effect immediately. After tossing the Doctor's unconscious body into the back of the truck, the two men drove off towards St. Joseph's hospital, a single implanted directive at the front of their minds. Dr. Walsh wouldn't live to see the next day.
***
"Hello, Sarah," Callisto said with an almost motherly tone. "So you have returned to the lead the Unforgiven I see. What of your membership with the X-Men?"
"The X-Men," Marrow spat. "They fight for a lost cause - the so-called "Dream" of Xavier's. Peaceful coexistence is so far-fetched that even baldy himself no longer truly believes in it. My time with the X-Men has taught me only one ugly truth," she said as her hand idly touched the jagged growths in her face, "that some dreams were never meant to become reality."
The others watched on curiously. Daemon had read something of this young woman, Marrow, in BHC files. As the leader of the mutant terrorist group, Gene Nation, she had murdered a dance club full of innocent partygoers - an unforgivable act to her Morlock brethren; thus the obvious name change. As an X-Man, she had seemingly turned over a new leaf, fighting alongside those well-known heroes against one evil threat after another. This reversion back to type was surprising to some, inevitable to most. Daemon wondered if her time in Xavier's lap had changed her any towards the good. He also debated whether to kill the murderous witch now or later.
"You're a fool, Callisto," Marrow continued. "You allow yourselves to stand by complacently while we barely survive on the refuse of the surface-dwellers. You are leading the Morlocks to extinction ever after we've come back from the brink."
"Marrow...Sarah, you were a child when the Great Massacre occurred and you are STILL a child, only angrier and violent. Your hatred will only consume you and everyone around you. So, until you come to realize this, you and the rest of the Unforgiven are banished. Leave my tunnels, exiles."
Marrow's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed into vicious slits. Callisto stood firm, her hand slowly moving towards her bow staff. The Morlocks and Unforgiven eyed each other suspiciously. Daemon could smell the sharp sting of endorphins fill the air, and the tension alone was thick enough to cut with a knife. In the long pause, everyone could feel that a fight was brewing. The only question was who would be the first to draw.
Incidentally, it was Marrow that attacked first. With a smooth throwing motion, she released several small bone blades into the crowd of Morlocks and most prominently in Callisto's direction. The woman warrior easily blocked the small, calcified fragments with her bo staff as Marrow quickly followed up on her initial assault. The rest of the Unforgiven pounced only a fraction of a second afterward, fighting their own family as though they were the bitterest of enemies.
"Take cover and stand fast," Daemon ordered his team, wanting to keep them from getting in the middle of this civil war.
Marrow and Callisto continued to go at it as though they were all alone in the tunnels. Callisto spun her bow staff deftly in her hands as she blocked two strikes of Marrow's daggers before catching the young mutant in the mouth with the end. Marrow recoiled for a second, spitting blood before she lunged again, this time cutting a deep gash in Callisto's arm. A swift spinning back-kick disarmed Callisto completely and knocked her to the ground in one motion. Marrow was quickly on top of her with daggers at her temple and throat.
"Well it seems," Callisto said through labored breaths, "that you learned SOMETHING with the X-Men after all."
"I WILL kill you if it's the only way to ensure the Morlock's survival," Marrow said through clenched teeth, pressing the dagger at Callisto's throat dangerously hard to her jugular. A flash of light accompanied by the high-pitched whine of a blade being unsheathed caught both their attention, as they saw the tip of the sword called Anubis appear between them.
"Back off Marrow," Daemon said with authority, his voice actually stopping the others from fighting as the drama between their leaders unfolded.
"Please," Marrow almost chuckled. "You think you're fast enough to strike me down before I slit her throat?"
Daemon's eyes flicked towards Marrow's daggers and as she moved them, the sharp-edged blades fell off only two inches above her grip. Daemon had already sliced them in half before she had even formed the sentence. Needless to say, Marrow backed away. "There are obvious issues that must be dealt with between you all, but I am NOT Jerry Springer and this is NOT the time. We have alien monsters to deal with right now."
With a nod of agreement, the fighting ended and the preparation for a new battle began. As Daemon and Callisto ran down the situation with the Kourgans, Charlie remained seated in a corner where he had been for the past several minutes. We are coming for them, the voices told him. Was he hallucinating? The invasion of his mind by such malevolent, alien thoughts had begun the minute he had entered the tunnels, which was one of the reasons he had been so quiet during the entire mission. The second reason for his silence was the strong feeling of déjŕ vu that accompanied the voices, a feeling that he knew these tunnels intimately from experience. Even more disturbing were the prescient visions of his own death in this dank underground complex.
"Daemon," a groggy Psishot called as he began to sit up. "They're coming."
"Who's coming? Bravo Squad?"
"Yeah...and they're bringing company," he responded. And right on queue, Darkwolf and the others burst through the south entrance.
"We've got wounded," Darkwolf reported to Daemon, motioning towards Bastion and some of the others that had been hurt in the previous skirmish. "And there are about 25 or 30 Kourgans close on our tails. I give us 60 seconds before they're right on top of us."
Daemon thought on their current circumstances for only a second before formulating a battle plan. "Callisto," he began, "Is there a way to seal those entrances?"
"No. There's nothing large enough to completely close off the entranceways."
"Meltdown," Daemon commanded, "close off the area. Avalon, you and FX see what you can do for Bastion. Use any components from our equipment you need. Roulette and Iceman, I want all weapons at maximum capacity and distributed to those with short-range powers. The rest of you, Morlocks, Unforgiven and all, prepare yourselves for a really good fight."
Upon receiving their orders, everyone moved immediately to their tasks. The ear-piercing explosions of Meltdown's bombs filled the tunnels as she set at blasting the three entrances to the area closed. Roulette and the Iceman checked and double-checked each assault weapon they had brought with them for later distribution. Avalon tinkered with components of both team's communications and tracking equipment, attempting to salvage parts for his fallen teammate, while FX maintained a steady power feed to help maintain Bastion's remaining systems. Everyone worked in unison, pushing away the decrepit furniture and helping the children and elderly into hiding places.
Surveying the action around him, Daemon noticed Charlie sitting in his corner on the damp floor of the sewer. The tall young man sat with his knees pulled up to his chin, rocking back and forth. "Charlie?" Daemon called as he approached and squatted next to him. "Dude, I've never seen you like this."
Charlie continued to rock, slapping away the comforting hand Daemon had offered. You are a part of us, the voices said. We are coming. And indeed they were. Just outside the rubble barricade at all three entranceways, everyone heard the snarls and clawing at the fallen rock barrier.
Daemon also heard with a keen sense like none other present. He listened intently at the movement on the other side of the fortification. It started with the shrill scrape of razor claws against stone and the slight crackle of small pieces of rock breaking away from the pile. But as frustrated roars erupted from among the Kourgans, Daemon made out the distinctive tinkling of rock instantly frozen with liquid nitrogen and then smashing away into a million shards of ice. Just as he had planned. While it would have bought them a few more minutes if the Kourgans had relied completely on their strength and claws to get through the wall of rocks, Daemon wanted them rather to deplete their liquid nitrogen reserves. This would eliminate one of the more potent weapons in the Kourgans' arsenal and thereby give his patchwork assault force that much better a chance in the coming battle.
"I give us two minutes before they're through," Daemon said to the group. "Get ready everyone." And everyone did, focusing on one of the three break points with weapons trained and powers at the ready. Charlie was the exception however. Still he sat in his corner, thinking - or at least attempting to. His mind was a jumble of incoherent thoughts and images - a laboratory, the Kourgans, the sewers, an identical man standing over him and his own death. What he knew for sure was that his job was to lead Daemon and his students here, and with the aid of the Kourgans, destroy them. But suddenly he had developed some type of link with the creatures, and these visions of Daemon killing him had complicated what was to be a simple operation. He sensed the Kourgans nearing and flinched as they spoke to him again. We're coming. The situation was spiraling severely out of his control. Would Daemon realize his intentions and kill him after the battle? Was that what the visions were warning him of? He couldn't take that chance. If anything, he had to survive.
"Hey!" Storm! exclaimed as Charlie quickly stood and put her into an unusual arm lock.
Pulling his bowie knife to her throat he had suddenly shown his true colors. "Stay back," Charlie commanded as he shuffled backwards with Storm! in a tight grip.
"Charlie, what the fuck are you doing?" Daemon demanded of his one-time partner.
"Piss off, Daemon," Charlie said, pulling Storm!'s arm into an even more uncomfortable position. "I said stay back!"
With a flash of light, Anubis was in Daemon's hands. "I don't know what the fuck is going on with you man, but you BETTER let her go."
"Uh, Daemon?" Meltdown interjected, pointing at the north entrance's deteriorating barrier. "I think things are about to get even MORE complicated."
~~End Chapter 11~~
~~Chapter 12~~
Ashes to Ashes
Had he been anyone else but the hard-as-nails man he was, Daemon most certainly would've lost some of his composure due to the recent turn of events. The fact that there was a good many killer alien monsters called Kourgans about to penetrate the area was bad enough. And the injury of several of his students, one very seriously, made things worse. But what was truly a major shock was how Daemon's one-time partner and best friend had suddenly turned on them and held one of his students hostage. Basically, things had gone to hell in a hand basket.
"Shit, Charlie," Daemon said in frustration, "Please tell me you've been brainwashed or something."
Charlie wanted to curse him again but instead he found his mind all in a jumble. The images that plagued him from the start of this mission returned with a vengeance, nearly superceding any independent thought he might have had. The feeling to admit being under the control of some mysterious force was weighing heavily on his consciousness, despite the self-assured knowledge that this was not the case. His mouth gaped as he struggled with himself as to what to say. "They came for me already, Daemon. Now they are coming for you," he said finally, wondering where that had come from and what it meant.
Across the cavernous Morlock living area, the west entrance began to give way. A hole the size of a baseball opened up to reveal the tooth-filled mouth of a Kourgan. The Unforgiven that had been designated to serve as lookouts jumped back as the alien creature let loose a strident roar. Daemon shot a glance in that direction.
"Keep a safe distance from the doors," he advised, even while he held Charlie at bay with his sword. "Take them out where they stand. Don't let them penetrate further than the entrance."
All braced for the oncoming enemy as they growled and snarled, clawing their way through. Daemon gave each of his students a look that let them know their main priority was the Kourgans and that he alone would handle the situation with Charlie. Though most were reluctant to do so, especially Avalon, they obeyed as any good soldier would. They all struggled, however, to focus on the enemy in front of them instead of the enemy to their rear.
"I swear I'm gonna break your friggin' neck if you don't back off," Storm! threatened.
"No," Daemon commanded. "Stay right where you are, Storm!." Again, Daemon had given an order that met with contention in the mind of his young charge, but as always it was obeyed, doubts and all. Storm! trusted this man with her life as all the others did, despite their short association with the former mercenary. And Daemon indeed had his reasons for having her remain motionless. While Storm! was a deadly fighter in her own right, Daemon knew Charlie's abilities. Were she to move against him, Charlie would easily have killed her, it was something he had taught the gunrunner years ago. "I swear, Charlie, I'll free you from whatever control you're under," Daemon said in a reassuring voice. "But I need you to let Storm! go first."
"They're coming to protect me," Charlie said as he inched towards the south entrance. He paused for a second mouth open as though about to say something else. He turned his head slightly and listened to the walls, eyes wide. A smile grew on his face. "They're here."
Immediately, the ramparts of stone fell at all the entrances simultaneously and the fight began. The Kourgans held back from coming all the way through as the first barrage of weapons fire came. It was as though they knew Daemon's strategy, but how? The next thing to come from the dark recesses on three sides of the area were streams of liquid nitrogen, apparently conserved for the battle by the clever beasts. This unexpected tactic put just enough distance between the Kourgans and their attackers to let several through past the dangerously meager openings in the walls. The fight began in earnest then as the Kourgans cut across the lines of Unforgiven, Morlock and BHC forces. But even as the melee thundered about him, Daemon held firm against his errant friend.
"Somebody's going to get killed if this doesn't end now," Daemon said, attempting to reason with Charlie.
Charlie gritted his teeth and shook his hand at the chaos that abounded in his mind. He had been losing control of himself more and more as the minutes went by, and the flashes were becoming more frequent. It was as though someone else's thoughts were being super-imposed on his own, causing a hazy buzzing in his brain. While he wanted it to tighten his grip on his young hostage, he felt his arms begin to loosen slightly from around her. Charlie wanted to back out of this area to make good his escape, but his legs refused him.
"Please, Charlie," Daemon pleaded.
Suddenly an immense pain gripped Charlie's stomach. Releasing Storm! and dropping his knife, he fell to the ground holding his abdomen. Storm! turned and was about to deliver a vengeful blow, but was waived off by Daemon. Though she wanted very much to at least get one good kick at this bastard, she knew she was more needed to help finish the battle with the Kourgans. As she went, Daemon moved towards Charlie, a look of concern on his face, and knelt beside him on the ground.
"Fight it, Charlie," he said, knowing in his heart that his friend struggled against some sort of outside influence.
Charlie cursed again in his mind, what little of his own will that remained fighting a losing battle against the flashes. He felt himself preparing to speak; wondering what words would be put in his mouth THIS time. "Kill me," he said. What?!
"Don't say that, man. You're going to pull through. Just hold on."
"I can't. Please kill me before I really hurt someone." NO!
"Charlie..." Daemon began, his voice reflecting his growing dismay. "I have resources now. We can beat this thing."
"Do it. Please." Charlie pulled Daemon's sword hand towards his chest. NOOO!!!
"I WILL avenge you my friend," Daemon promised, as he used his magnetic powers to put Charlie to sleep. With a gentle hand, he helped his eyes closed as he generated a forcefield over his nose and mouth. The BHC students gathered around Daemon, having dispatched the last Kourgan. They watched in solemn silence as Charlie died quietly of asphyxiation in Daemon's arms. "Rest now," Daemon whispered after the young man had finally expired, a single tear escaping from under his dark glasses.
"Sir?" Psishot said softly.
Daemon looked up somewhat startled out of his mourning. He quickly wiped away the tear and blinked away the others that had begun to build in his eyes. "Yeah, soldier?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be." And with those two words, Daemon made it clear that this was simply a part of the world they lived in, where sorry didn't count.
Suddenly, Daemon felt a strange heat begin to build in Charlie's body, brought on by an unusual energy signature. Daemon looked down again at the body he cradled as the heat continued. The Iceman too saw the unexpected increase in temperature in what should have been a cold body. Without warning, the body ignited into white-hot flames, reducing it to ashes. Daemon watched stoically as the ashes slipped through his fingertips and noticed an unusual weight in his hand on which Charlie's head had rested only moments ago.
"What the hell is that?" Darkwolf asked looking over Daemon's shoulder.
Daemon let the rest of the ashes fall to the ground as he concentrated on the four objects he found in his hand. "Ocular implant," he said, placing the silver orb next to him on the floor, "neuro-transmitter/receiver," a wiry gray-black contraption, "miniature fusion incinerator," a another silver device was placed on the ground, and then he clutched the last with thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the dim light.
"And that?" the impatient Meltdown urged him on.
"This is a Pharaohan audio messenger. And it's about to start playing."
The blue-green surface of the small cube seemed fluid as the colors moved in waves across each face. After a brief stint of staticy noise, the message began. "Hello, Daemon," the digitally altered voice said. "If you are hearing this message then you have survived my Kourgan pets, but your dear friend Charlie has not. Such a shame isn't it...and after he had seemingly returned from the dead. If you're looking for more answers than I'll be happy to oblige. You can find me with no trouble at all. I've been right under your nose the whole time, and a thorn in your side for longer than you can imagine." The odd message ended in another static filled hiss that echoed across the chamber.
Daemon stood, dusting off the ashes that had once been the body of his best friend. The BHC students stood around him, pure confusion written on each of their faces. What in the world had just happened, and what did it mean? Daemon's expression remained just as solid and grim as it had been since Charlie's silent passing as he scanned for the Unforgiven. Fortunately for Marrow and her mob, they had made their escape while he and his students were otherwise occupied. It was of no concern at this time, however. While he wanted to make sure the mutant terrorists paid dearly for their actions, he had another foe on his hit list that required immediate attention. With little more than a hand gesture, Daemon motioned his troops back to the waiting shuttle.
"You have made an ally this day," Callisto called to Daemon as he left.
Daemon stopped and turned to face her. "As have you Callisto," he responded. "Call on us whenever you need help."
"Where do you go now, warrior?"
"To find the one responsible for all of this misery, and skin them alive."
~~End Chapter 12~~
~~Chapter 13~~
Bitter Revelations
Deep in the bowels of a condemned building in Manhattan, a young man laughed almost maniacally as he turned off the feed from one of his subject's ocular implants. He knew it would pay off to have that particular piece of equipment added to his little puppet. The look on Daemon's face as the body burned to ashes in his hands was priceless. And now, as planned, the former-mercenary was on his way to this very location with his little army of mutant children. It was so deliciously entertaining.
BREEP
He punched a button at the console at which he sat and called up the image of the caller. "How wonderful to hear from you at last," he greeted cordially. "Would you like me to call you Scarab now?"
"Do not trifle with me, child," the dark-skinned man scolded in a voice that sounded older than his face appeared. "I have spoken to Sinister recently, and he tells me you have modified my plan. You dare do such a thing with MY resources?!"
The young man sat up in his chair, his jovial expression unmoving. "Please, Scarab. First of all, the resources I use are my OWN as was part of our original deal six years ago [see Prologue for clues], and secondly, I haven't changed anything. Daemon will still be yours."
"You speak too liberally with me, boy. I am NOT one of your peers, and far from it. Your part in my grand scheme was to lay pieces of the puzzle in his path and lead him where I would have him go, not play your own little mind games."
"Yes, you DID want me to lead him on your path, which is what I am doing. I am simply letting MY agenda fall into place with YOURS. Is this so wrong?"
"And I suppose you think you will survive an encounter with a man that was once one of the most powerful beings in this and many other galaxies?"
"I have my means," the blonde scientist said as he unveiled the contents of the package he had received the previous day [Chapter 9].
"You ARE a cunning one, aren't you... Very well. Have it your way. But be warned, it will not be THAT easy to toy with him while you stand within arms reach as it is from afar."
The image disappeared and the man was left alone with his thoughts. He knew Daemon as well, if not better, than anyone did, and he was confident that he would survive. But contingencies must always be made for the contrary... Also, there was the matter of Daemon's super-human students that he was bringing on this insane ride. He would not have time to deal with both them and the former-mercenary. His eyes turned to the three vats of dimly glowing gel and a smile grew on his face. With the push of a button, they were lifted to the rafters of the building's high ceiling. "The trap is set, Daemon. You are mine."
***
Daemon piloted the shuttlecraft towards their destination only a few city blocks across town, not bothering to look away from the forward observation window as he briefed his Upstarts and Marauders. He explained that they would go in together in what was called a 'blind breach'. In other words, they would have no idea what to expect. This situation would be even more dangerous then their previous battle with the Kourgans, but it was now or never to catch the villain responsible and make them pay.
Avalon stood just behind Daemon, looking over his shoulder at the navigation panel. "How do you know where to go?"
"The message was a play on words," he responded in an emotionless monotone. "The phrase, 'right under your nose' was almost literal. There's a big billboard for an optician with a giant pair of glasses perched on a freestanding nose. The part about being a thorn in my side had two meanings; 1) that we would find them in the old Thorn Chemicals factory building near the billboard and 2) that the building lies one block from Strong Towers, facing it's left side."
"Clever," Avalon commented.
"The guy sounds like a real prick to me," Darkwolf called from the rear of the shuttle as it slowed to a stop near their destination.
Daemon finally turned in the swiveling chair and faced his team. "This is it, people. Cover of darkness will sufficiently mask our entrance from onlookers. There's only one entrance, so we're going through the front door. Scope the place quickly and take out anything that moves."
Darkwolf raised his hand, waving it briskly in the air. Daemon nodded to him as to say, "Yes?" The young mutant lowered his hand and scratched the back of his head. "You DO know this is a trap, right?"
"Indeed I do. Now move it."
***
Dr. Walsh blinked with heavy eyelids, his vision still blurred by the heavy drugs he had been pumped with. It was almost two minutes before his eyesight was clear enough to focus on the white ceiling above him. He groaned audibly as he moved to sit up and hold his throbbing head, but he soon discovered the leather restraints that held his body on the stiff bed. Douglas turned his head to the side, trying to glimpse the rest of his surroundings, his efforts seemingly for nothing as he eyed the empty, plain white room. As the bodily numbness of the sedative wore off, Dr. Walsh felt a strange, almost wet tingling in his flesh.
The latch on the heavy, metallic door was removed with a heavy clang and the two men from the coffee shop stepped into the room. "Damn it!" one of them cursed. "He wasn't supposed to wake up. Didn't you give him the correct dosage?"
The other man scowled at his partner and then at Dr. Walsh. "Maybe his mutie powers helped him. Doesn't matter anyway. He's going bye-bye soon enough."
Dr. Walsh stared at them both his eyes growing wide as they approached. In one of their hands he noticed his own shoelaces tied together in a noose. Of all the ways he had envisioned his death, even under such strange circumstances, something that looked like suicide was the worst he could imagine. That was not the legacy he wanted to leave his children.
Not bothering to give him another sedative, one man unlatched the doctor from the bed while the other held onto him firmly. To their surprise, Dr. Walsh did not struggle. He was tired. He was tired of running from the ghosts he saw in stranger's faces. He was tired of fighting an apparently undefeatable foe. And with his wife's fate unknown to him, replaced by an alien duplicate, he had nothing to fight for anyway. So he surrendered into the harsh grip of the men as they prepared the scene of his suicide.
"What's going on in here?" a man said as he walked into the room. Dressed in a white hospital gown, the man looked about the room with a confused look on his face. Dr. Walsh, perhaps, would have dismissed him as just another mental patient if not for the familiarity in his voice. Looking over the shoulders of his captors, he locked eyes with the man and realized he was looking at his OWN face.
"Shit," one man cursed. "You must've given the dupe the same dose of sedative and it wore off just as fast. Get him outta here."
But before the man's partner could act, Douglas grabbed the taser weapon the man carried at his side and shocked the other. Maybe it was the feel of the noose tightening around his throat, or maybe it was the sight of the thing that would replace him that stirred Dr. Walsh to action. In any case, he realized that death was certainly not as inviting a proposition as he had thought and that as long as he COULD fight, he WOULD.
Seeing his partner down, the man lunged at Douglas as he tried to make for the door. The other Douglas walked further into the room and was immediately drawn into the conflict. Bodies flew in every direction as they all wrestled for the taser. The second man soon recovered from the stun he had taken earlier in the fight. Standing near the middle of the room, he pulled a small pistol he had hidden in the belt of his pants and fired a shot into the ceiling, making everyone freeze. His partner backed away from the two Douglas', snatching the taser from one of them. The man with the gun brought it down to eye level, moving his site from one Dr. Walsh to the other. Indeed the duplicating process was precise, as he couldn't tell one from the other. The fact that they wore the same white gown further complicated things.
"Which one is the real McCoy?" the men asked of each other.
"He is," both Douglas' said, pointing at the other.
The man continued to move his gun back and forth. "I can't tell the difference!"
"You gotta take out one of 'em," his partner said. "The boss wants the original dead and the dupe in place by morning."
"I know that, idiot! But if I cap the wrong one, than all the boss' programming will be for nothing and we'll have this hero-wannabe out on the street again."
"Shoot him," the Douglas' said in unison, again pointing at the other.
"You gotta pick!"
"I know!" His gun seemed to pause on one of the doctors as the man finally came to a decision. He may have been right, but he would probably never be sure as both men made a dash for the door at the last second and he lost sight of his original target. One shot was fired. One man died.
***
The big double doors of the Manhattan factory building opened slowly as Darkwolf pried them open with super-strong arms. The strike force moved through the small space two at a time, spreading out over the floor in a coordinated formation. Daemon walked in last, his enhanced eyes piercing the darkness. Without any audible communication, the team systematically investigated the area. Daemon separated himself from the group, taking to a nearby catwalk to get a bird's eye view. They weren't in the building more than a few minutes when the lights suddenly went on and a voice echoed across the expansive structure.
"Welcome to my parlor said the spider to the flies." Everyone looked towards the source of the strangely familiar shout. A man stood in a dark cloak from head to toe amidst a tangle of wires, tubes, computers and various evil-looking devices. He continued to address them almost cordially as they powered up for the imminent attack. "So you have found me at last. I was wondering when you'd realize I was here."
"Yeah," Daemon growled, "Right under my nose right?"
"Is that bitterness I hear in your voice?"
"You killed my best friend, bastard. And I'm here to make you pay."
The man laughed as he tore away the hood of his cloak, revealing his face. "Wrong again. You killed someone that THOUGHT he was me." Everyone stood in shocked silence; most especially Daemon as they saw the soft boyish features and near-platinum blonde hair of a man whose death they had just witnessed.
"I...I don't understand..." Daemon stammered, his heart sinking even deeper into his chest than it already had.
"Of course you don't, but I'll explain," Charlie said as he pushed a button on a nearby console that released the green liquid stored in the vats above the factory floor right over the heads of Daemon's students.
The strange glow of the thick gel immersed the students in a world of green. But as they held their arms over their heads to try and shield themselves from it, the material seemed to cling to their bodies, covering them from head to two in a wet embrace. It tightened it's grip, even as they struggled, and began to seep into their very pores, touching each cell, gleaning information from every molecule until it finally retreated into a pool about their feet. But the ordeal was certainly far from over, as the students became aware of the liquid's continued movement. The eerie glow increased in intensity as the gel divided into individual puddles that stretched upward from the floor. Though this eclectic group of young mutants had all had their fair share of strange supernatural and superhuman adventures, none of them had ever seen anything like this. Even as they watched, the short towers of gel changed shape, color and texture, until what stood before them was an assembly of exact duplicates - perfect copies down to the very molecule.
Charlie smiled as the BHC students stood in complete and utter shock. "You see, six years ago I struck a deal with a man you may be familiar with, and came into the possession of a substance you have only dreamed about."
Daemon took several deep breaths as he looked down from the catwalk at the one assembled strike force of his own students, and at the other group of teen duplicates. The memory of having heard whispers of such a thing hit him and it became clear. There was a name for the creatures that emerged from the green liquid - dead ringers.
"Not only does the gel mimic their looks, but it copies their powers and their memories as well. The best part, my friend, is that they can be programmed to do only the bidding of a single person." Charlie grinned even wider than before as he spoke to his alien minions. "Destroy them all except for Daemon...save THAT one for ME."
~~End Chapter 13~~
~~Interlude~~
It sits on the very edge of our galaxy, in a small obscure solar system called Novita, consisting of only three planets. The star is exceptionally small for a solar system and is extremely ordinary for this part of space. Yet in the midst of its cosmic mediocrity, Novita has become the center of attention to the scientific community of the Milky Way.
A small craft approached the system in hyperspace carrying a crew of three and a being of immense importance to Novita and the galaxy in general. As the ship drew closer, a subspace beacon transmitted a warning in every known language that a hyperspace disruption field would destroy the ship if it continued in hyper drive. The shuttle's captain and pilot silently obeyed and returned to normal space, continuing on using tachyon drive. Just outside the orbit radius of the last planet in the Novita System, the largest blockade of starships ever assembled, forced the craft to an abrupt halt.
"This is restricted space," the harsh voice of the Rathian guard declared over the comm-system. "Transmit appropriate security clearance data or leave immediately."
Again, without a word the shuttle's captain complied. He was a regular to this part of space, running diplomats or science officials back and forth through Novita. At first he found the impersonal way he was 'greeted' each time he made the trip to be quite disturbing. He knew the high-ranked security officers by name now. But as he came to appreciate the severity of the responsibility of the job, he cut them some slack.
"Security clearance accepted," the Rathian responded after a few seconds of verification. "We are transmitting mine codes now. Please await your guide-ship."
The captain sat back in his command chair and relaxed. The mine codes his computer was downloading was half of the key to safe passage through the heavily mined expanse of space between the edge of the system and the planet of interest - Novalus II. The second half was the guide-ship, a medium-sized attack craft that would fly with the shuttle through the minefield. Only simultaneous transmission of security codes (which were changed at random each cycle) would allow the ships to proceed.
After crossing the minefield and meeting the second starship blockade around the planet, the shuttlecraft docked at the space station Novalustia, orbiting high above Novalus II. The shuttle's passenger exited the craft, a cane of alien wood guiding his steps. A velvet coat of smooth brown fur covered him from head to toe. A single, braided ponytail of a lighter shade rested on his shoulder, as was the traditional hairstyle of men of his stature. He was quite old for his race, but he was indeed as strong and lucid as his much younger colleagues. In fact, his brilliance and razor sharp wits were some of the key factors in his appointment to being overseer of the entire project - this in addition to the fact that it was his science mission that discovered Novalus II and first sought to uncover her mysteries. Looking to his left out through the large row of observation windows on the promenade, he stared thoughtfully at the planet below. Thousands of satellites connected by a network of energy beams surrounded the spinning orb in a blue haze of the force field it created. There was only one small sector of the shield, no more than a mile in diameter, which could be opened for transport between the station and the surface. Hundreds of miles below lay the dusty red rocks of the three continents and the vast seas of the green liquid.
A detail of all the department heads of research on the station greeted him as he entered the main command area. They applauded loudly as was customary of his race to greet a civilian superior, and welcomed him to his post at the head of the main access terminal with the cry, "Aloma Sherakk", the formal version of his name.
"Thank you all for the warm welcome," he said in his deep baritone. "I look forward to taking note of your most recent breakthroughs."
As though on cue, several younger scientists quickly went to his side with reports in their hands. One of them began to speak first, bringing his data into Sherakk's view. "As you can see, sir," he said almost reverently, "We have kept the samples brought off planet to a bare minimum as you requested. Also per your instructions, except for very small amounts, we have returned most of the samples back to the habitat."
Sherakk scanned the data quickly and stopped his gaze on one of the lines towards the bottom. The vertical pupils in his eyes grew wide with worry. "What is this discrepancy?"
The scientist leaned forward and looked at the line Sherakk's clawed finger indicated. "Oh that. Uh...I had assumed this to be a digital measurement error."
Sherakk's ears fell back and flattened against his feline skull. "Sir, this report tells me that 2 lokats (or 1/2 an ounce) of material is unaccounted for. Why wasn't I contacted immediately about this?"
The scientist gulped hard in his amphibian throat. "I thought the discrepancy to be a negligible amount."
The elderly man stood finally, forcing the other scientists that surrounded him to retreat backwards. "Young one, you know nothing of the power of this material. With the right tools, the fluid can make an exact duplicate of anyone it touches - memories, gene imprint, bio-signature; even psi-signatures are exactly the same as the original. But the newly formed being would be susceptible to ANY outside influence. Imagine it in the hands of a terrorist. He could conceivably replace beings of influence all over the galaxy and have the seat of every major planetary government under his thumb. Duplicates could be made of all of US, giving this madman access to an entire planet full of raw material. Imagine if a being of natural super-powers were duplicated not once but a thousand times and turned against us. And what is worse is that with enough biomatter to break down, two lokats can replicate into two katins (or 4 tons)." Sherakk moved further out from the group that still somewhat screened him from the others in the cavernous room. "All of you listen carefully," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner. "I am now suspending all operations. All samples of the fluid not in time sensitive experiments will be chronicled and returned to the surface. Resources will now be used to locate 2 lokats of the fluid that is currently unaccounted for." His tone took on a grim feature as his brow furrowed in thought. "And if need be, we will employ a strike force to find and eliminate the thief and any 'dead ringers' he or she has created."
The station went on red alert and all travel into and out of the system was suspended for as long as supplies would allow. Sherakk would make sure the status quo of the galaxy as it stands does not fall to a madman with a test tube full of HIS liquid.
***
The official report had come the night before. As always, Dr. Dei Lu Zhang had followed the proper protocols to the letter. The ancient mage known THIS lifetime as Gomurr expected no less of the beautiful physician. And what the report spoke of was no more than Gomurr could have expected of the growing problem that he calls Daemon. The young Pharaohan had begun to prove more trouble than he was worth to the Academy almost immediately after he was brought onto the teaching staff as Combat Instructor. It seemed the former mercenary was not only rude, irreverent, foul-mouthed, disrespectful and secretive, but he was violent as well. Though Daemon's behavior during his entrance examinations had given Gomurr some warning to the potential of the brash alien, he had given him the benefit of the doubt. Gomurr hated being wrong. So he would give him one more chance – only one, to prove himself worthy of the position to which he has been appointed. But not until after he has yelled at him for a bit.
"Computer," Gomurr prompted of the ever-present ears of the BHC network system. "Please page Darkwolf and Daemon to my office."
"Darkwolf is no longer in the compound. Daemon is no longer in the compound," the female voice responded.
Gomurr glanced at the clock on his wall and double-checked the time and it was nearing 10:30PM. Gomurr expected Daemon might be out somewhere, but Darkwolf should be in his dormitory as 10:00PM was the curfew for school nights. "Computer: Where was Darkwolf last?"
"Darkwolf was last located in hanger bay 4."
Gomurr was becoming suspicious now.
"Computer: Are there any transports missing from hanger bay 4?"
"Non-BHC registered transport is no longer in hanger bay 4?"
Gomurr was almost afraid to ask the next question. "Computer: Where was Daemon last?
"Daemon was last located in hanger bay 4?"
Gomurr immediately stood from his desk, mystically drawing his staff to his hand. "Computer: Locate Silver," he said hurriedly.
"Silver is in his office."
Without another word or any hesitation, Gomurr slid into the shadows, using his powers as Proctor of the Crimson Dawn to move teleport from place to place. He hated to barge in on Silver this way, but this matter was becoming far more serious by the minute. Gomurr was beginning to regret the day he ever met Daemon. And he was about to make Daemon feel the same way about him.
~~End Interlude~~
~~Chapter 14~~
Body Doubles
The dead ringers attacked immediately upon their creator's word. The BHC students were quickly forced on the defensive as all too familiar power signatures bombarded them. Daemon took notice of their unusually timid response to the ringers' attack. It was totally unlike his students to be this withdrawn in a fight. If nothing else, their Danger Room battles have proven that they are just as aggressive as Daemon himself. This fight was different, however, in that their opponents wore human faces...THEIR faces.
"Don't think!" Daemon shouted to them. "They're just dupes! Don't hold back!"
The students regained their composure, as Daemon's voice brought them out of their own conflicted thoughts and back to the automatic battle sense they had honed in Combat Class. They had only minimal experience in kill scenarios involving opponents that were even remotely human, so the prospect of cutting loose completely still echoed strangely in their minds. While they did fall back into true BHC form and took the battle to the ringers instead of the other way around, it would be difficult for sure to bring themselves to killing Charlie's deadly creations.
Daemon swan-dived into a front flip from the aerial catwalk, landing in a kneeling position a few feet from Charlie. His brow was furrowed into a vicious scowl and his eyes narrowed behind his dark glasses. He had been betrayed by the only man that he had ever truly been able to call friend. Flashes of the past bombarded his mind. Time and again they traveled from one end of the galaxy to the other, one relying on the other for life and limb on many an occasion. They shared everything, from the meager living spaces they found themselves occupying, to the profits from Daemon's jobs. For close to 7 years, Charlie was Daemon's Runner - he was in charge of finding suitable jobs, arranging for payments, setting up living spaces, acquiring mission intelligence and procuring weapons and equipment. Daemon was still finding it hard to believe that the man he knew from those past years, the man that had watched his back for that long, had suddenly turned.
"I don't know what's going on, Charlie, but if I can save you, I WILL."
Charlie chuckled as he threw off the rest of his cloak, revealing a metallic suit of alien armor. "You still don't get it do you? This is ME, Daemon. The same Charlie you've always known. The only difference is now, I don't need YOU. And someone is willing to part with a whole LOT to have your head on a platter."
Daemon eyed Charlie's armor carefully. The flexible, yet tough-looking frame of the suit began to glow a soft shade of dark yellow, the sight of which seemed to cause a buzzing in the back of Daemon's mind. The markings were sharp and angular, similar to Shi'ar but more cold and machine-like. So Charlie had somehow acquired Vreel psi-armor. Daemon wasn't very surprised. Word that the Vreel were on the verge of creating a mechanism that touched the very edges of the astral plane had been circulating through the galactic underworld for years. It was only a matter of time before the Vreel lived up to their reputation as master weapons craftsmen and adapted this technology to warfare. And it would only take one of the greatest weapons dealers in the galaxy a few days to get his hands on that new weapon the second one was built.
Charlie was one of the few people alive that knew of Daemon's weaknesses. Anything inherently mystical would hurt him as though he were any mere mortal Pharaohan. Also, Daemon's super-strength and invulnerability are inversely proportional to his use of his energy manipulation powers. The more energy he expends through the use of those powers, the more vulnerable he becomes. Lastly, and most importantly for the battle this day, Daemon is completely unprotected on the astral plane. Any attack of a purely telepathic/psionic nature is potentially lethal. Charlie was indeed just as resourceful as when Daemon had seen him last. He should have known that if the clever young man lured him into his lair that he would be more than ready.
"If you never wanted to work with me," Daemon stalled as he carefully measured his situation, "then why did you seek me out? Why did you make such a great case for us to become partners so many years ago?"
Charlie pulled a short rod from a latch at his belt and it quickly extended into a glowing staff of the same composition as the armor. "I was virtually an unknown as a gun-runner when I arranged for us to meet that day. And you - you were the new kid on the block, the rising star among mercenaries. If I was ever going to be in any high demand, than I'd have to ride the coattails of the most highly demanded mercenary. That just happened to be YOU."
Daemon watched as Charlie postured with his psionic bo-staff. His right hand stretched out slightly and he gripped the air as though taking hold of something unseen. But when normally the dreaded sword known as Anubis would appear from its dimensional sheath, nothing happened.
Waving his finger back and forth and shaking his head, Charlie flashed another evil grin. "No, no, no. This building is equipped to block any and all dimensional passages from being opened within the disruption field. I thought of everything already, Daemon. I know you better than you know yourself."
Taking an aggressive fighting posture, Daemon motioned with an extended hand for Charlie to attack. "We'll just see about that."
***
Avalon caught a wide focused electrical beam in the chest from his counter-part and was thrown hard into a wall with a loud thud. Iceman landed almost right on top of him after having been knocked senseless by his own doppelganger. Nate surveyed the battleground with growing apprehension even as he just barely held off the massive TK attack of his dead ringer. While they had shaken off the initial impact of facing off against themselves, it was still difficult to focus their energies to destroying these unholy creations as Daemon had commanded them to.
The Nate dupe cut across in front of the real one with a telekinetically enhanced punch across his chin. Caught off guard, as he was lost in his own thoughts, Nate fell prey to his evil copy's attack. He fell straight down to the hard concrete floor, blood gracing the edge of his mouth. We're getting our asses handed to us, Nate cursed at himself as he struggled against further pounding against his TK shields.
"Psishot," Nate called his teammate. "We're fighting them all wrong. Switch up opponents and spread the word."
"I'm on it," Psishot responded, having barely heard Nate's voice over the white noise of his doppelganger's psionic attack. Pushing past the white hot needles at the edge of his brain, Psishot contacted the rest of the Upstarts and Marauders.
It took only a few minutes for the tide of the battle to turn. Meltdown ignited a barrage of plazmoid grenades all around the Iceman copy, making it difficult for the former Mossad agent to maintain his ice form in the intense heat. Left vulnerable, he was an easy mark for FX's energy blasts. Psishot reached out with his telepathy and touched the mind of Nate's clone. It was a strangely familiar landscape of mental images – a nearly perfect reflection of the REAL Nate with but the smallest of blank spots where his bond master's influence fit perfectly. Psishot hesitated before acting any further for only an instant, but quickly remembered his duty and jumbled the Nate clone's mind. The glistening TK shield dropped and the duplicate fell to the floor in a clump, holding his head. Puma seized the opportunity and drew a vicious claw across his throat, spilling his blood all over the floor. The feeling was odd and intensely stimulating to everyone on the team to kill what appeared to every sense to be a friend and teammate. But they pushed onward to a victory they knew they must have.
Across the room, Daemon and Charlie fought a swift, fierce battle. Daemon ducked, spun and dodged his way around Charlie's punches and kicks trying desperately to avoid contact with the psionically charged armor. Feinting with the bo staff, Charlie backed Daemon into a waiting roundhouse that cut sharply across his jaw, sending him back with a flash of discharged psi-energy. Charlie took a step back and struck a cocky pose with his weapon as Daemon recoiled. Touching a finger to his mouth, he felt no blood, but still a tingling of a thousand knives beneath his skin from the psi-attack. The Vreel were true masters, constructing a servo reactive exoskeleton that increased the wearer's speed and strength a thousand fold as well as endowed him with the ability to channel the very essence of the astral plane. Daemon doubted his ability to go toe-to-toe with Charlie in that armor for very long…without a weapon.
"I'm going to make you suffer, Daemon," Charlie taunted as he advanced, "just because I CAN."
Daemon simply sneered at Charlie as he reached behind him and grabbed the railing behind him. With a powerful tug, Daemon pulled a section off and spun it in his hand, getting a feel for his new bo staff's weight. "Keep telling yourself that, little-engine-that-could. You THINK you can, you THINK you can…"
Daemon attacked furiously with his staff as Charlie struggled to block. Each man moved with a speed and grace rarely surpassed by mortal men. Psionic staff impacted steel rod again and again, sparks of astral energy lighting up their make-shift arena. The two gladiators dueled with death in their eyes. The one looked on the other with an unfounded hatred and a contempt that knew no reason. And one looked on the other with the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth and scorned vengeance in his foremost thoughts. The gods of war would be appeased this night and blood would be spilt in anger.
As Charlie began to show signs of fatigue, Daemon got his second wind, pushing harder and faster. The thick steel rod slammed into Charlie a dozen times in his chest, his side, his head, everywhere. Daemon spun backwards and struck with the bo staff to the face and then a kick to the stomach. Charlie spit out a mouthful of blood onto Daemon's boot, coughing up more as he held his broken ribs and backed into a defensive position.
"Where are your smart ass remarks now," Daemon jeered, knocking Charlie's staff from his hand. "I thought you were a friend." A sharp downward swing of the staff sent Charlie to the floor. "I trusted you with EVERYTHING." Another blow to the back. "EVERYTHING!" An upward strike sent Charlie to an adjacent wall.
Suddenly, a blue magnetic field erupted around Charlie and held him to a metallic support beam. Daemon moved to strike again with his staff, but a powerful hand held his back. He turned to see his students gathered around him; some covered in the blood of their duplicates.
"Let go of me," Daemon ordered FX slowly and deliberately.
"It's over," Nate assured him in a non-aggressive tone. "We've won already."
Daemon relaxed, letting his weapon fall to his side, and breathed heavily as he stared at his former ally. He walked over slowly, making his students somewhat nervous as to the next action of their obviously agitated teacher. A swift motion disengaged the fusion generator at Charlie's back and the soft glow of psionic energy left the Vreel armor.
"It's over, Charlie."
Charlie tried to adjust himself within Avalon's holding field but simply let out a pained grunt. He laughed insanely, coughing and sputtering bloody flecks between chuckles. "It's not over, Daemon, not by a long shot. You think I was in this alone? You think I was the one callin' the shots? You don't know shit! I just hope I get to see the look on your face when it all hits the fan and you find out EVERYTHING."
Daemon slammed an angry fist against the magnetic field. "What the fuck are you babbling about? Tell me what's going on, damn you!"
"Or what?" Charlie laughed again. "You gonna torture me? I know you wannabe hard-asses in the Hellfire Club. That's not your style. You're just gonna lock me up and hope nothin' bad happens." Charlie looked Daemon dead in the eye and grinned, showing a mouthful of bloodied teeth. "You don't know shit," he whispered to Daemon.
Daemon turned his back on Charlie as the gunrunner continued to laugh and prod. "You have a lot to answer for, Charlie."
Charlie laughed louder, coughing up even more of his damaged insides. "Oh yeah? What are you gonna do then, tough guy? Just face it. You can't stop me. I'm everywhere. As long as I'm alive, you're surrounded on all sides."
Daemon gripped his bo staff tightly as he listened to Charlie's taunting laughter from behind him. His students watched on as Daemon's already grim features furrowed into a terrible scowl. Even though they all probably knew what was about to come next, they all still flinched when Daemon spun around and maliciously buried the steel rod in Charlie's chest and through the support beam. Avalon dropped the holding field and Charlie simply hung there, pinned to the beam by Daemon's weapon. With his arms now free, Charlie reached for the rod, clawing at it with ever weakening hands, watching the blood gush from around the large wound. Daemon turned his back on him once again as he mouthed some last few curses on Daemon and everyone he knows. Daemon just stood there before his shocked students, a former friend slowly dying behind him.
"Combat Rule #5," he said flatly, "Take no prisoners."
~~End Chapter 14~~
~~Epilogue~~
"And that's when he stabbed him with the rod," Demona said, glancing towards Daemon.
The main conference room of the Black Hellfire Club's Inner Circle appeared much like an odd courtroom that afternoon. Gomurr the Ancient stared at Daemon from his seat at the end of the semicircular table at the front of the room. Daemon stood silently on a small platform ringed with a short banister, while Demona stood a few feet to his right, their places straddling the focus of the arc.
"Continue child," Gomurr urged. "What happened next?"
"As Charlie succumbed to his wounds, Daemon ordered the factory destroyed. Meltdown planted a few dozen of her time delay plasma bombs, which she detonated after we had all gotten out. Nate and FX contained the fire and debris with a TK bubble around the building. After Daemon was satisfied and we were all strapped into the shuttle, we returned here. Daemon elected against an immediate debriefing and told us all to shower and get some sleep."
"Demona," Silver began, breaking his long-standing silence during these proceedings. "What did you think of Daemon's actions when he murdered Charlie?"
Avalon looked at Silver and blinked slowly, displaying uneasiness at the Black King's words. For one, Jack Silver was usually an even-tempered man. The tone with which he asked the question and the fact that he used the provocatively strong word, 'murder,' betrayed his emotions and perhaps a rising enmity for the former mercenary he had allowed to be brought into the fold. The other half of Avalon's mind was swimming with the very possibility that he was an accessory to a murder. It was his electromagnetic powers that had held Charlie motionless and defenseless against Daemon's fury. The young Black Prince, while conscious of the loss of life that occurred that day, hadn't considered any of it criminal. If Daemon was a murderer, was he any better?
Demona opened her mouth but said nothing as she formulated a careful response to the loaded question. "It would be blatant speculation to give my opinion on the events of the mission."
"This isn't a formal court of law, Demona," Silver said, intent on bringing this issue to bear. "Please answer my question."
Demona glanced at Daemon and sighed. "I...At the time, I felt his actions might have been somewhat hasty and charged with too much emotion," she admitted finally. "But in retrospect..."
"Thank you, Demona," Gomurr interjected before the young mutant could finish. "You are dismissed."
A pale skinned hand pushed a lock of Demona's blue hair over her ear. She wanted to say something, to explain herself, to qualify her previous statement. But Gomurr seemed adamant in his request for her to leave the room. Demona sighed again softly and stepped down from her place.
"Don't worry about it, kid," Daemon whispered to her as she passed him.
As Demona closed the large double-doors at the conference room she was immediately bombarded with questions from the group of Academy students that had gathered at the entranceway.
"What'd they ask you?"
"Did you tell them anything?"
"Are they gonna kick Daemon out?"
"Are we in trouble too?"
Demona held up her hands to the crowd in a silencing motion. "Calm down," she said in her strictly controlled tone of voice. "The questions were about Daemon's conduct in class and most importantly, what happened on the mission. It doesn't look good for him and I can't say we're in any better shape either."
There was a collective groan that washed over the group. Most of them had grown at least accustomed to Daemon's tough love, if not completely attached to their combat instructor. And they most definitely did not wish for a punishment from the Inner Circle to fall on themselves either. The situation didn't look good.
***
The building, only last night, had been the sight of a terrible battle. Many bodies littered the expansive floor of the warehouse when it was over, as did the residue of an alien bio-mimetic fluid and processing technology not of this planet. So the building was destroyed – burned from the inside out and demolished into a pile of so much smoldering rubble.
The police and the fire department would both wonder at exactly what transpired at the abandoned structure, as there were no telltale signs of any discernable cause to the blaze. Nor would there be evidence to explain why the neighboring buildings went untouched by a fire hot enough to melt even the steel girders and doors. But the most baffling of this case would be the strange device that survived amidst the flames. Resembling a pace-maker, the small black object would find its way into the local police district's evidence locker.
No one could have possibly known it was an alien heart monitoring device. No one could have ever found that it was set to transmit an encoded activation signal to a remote station in a secluded house in the woods of Westchester County. And certainly no one would have known that the signal would tell a computer to call and deliver recorded messages of Charlie's instructions to each and every one of his planted dead ringers all over the country at exactly 4:00AM eastern time every morning until it is answered.
In Houston, Texas, the limo driver of a successful oil tycoon rolls over and answers his phone to the voice of a stranger that he cannot ignore.
In Los Angeles, California, the producer of some of Hollywood's best films wakes to the ringing of his telephone.
In New York, New York, a pregnant young woman rocks back and forth in her mother's rocking chair, staring out the window as she does every night. Her thoughts are lost to the man she loves, who rejected her for reasons she still doesn't comprehend. Her phone rings and she answers. "Hello, Lydia," the stranger's voice says.
***
"Murderer, huh?" Daemon sneered at Silver after the door had finally shut.
"You took the life of a man who could not defend himself, Daemon," Silver shot back. "What am I supposed to think?"
"You could think I did what I thought was necessary. I'm not a fucking amateur and I sure as hell ain't some damned murderer no matter how bad you want me to be."
"Daemon," Gomurr said in even tones, trying not only to calm the two other men but himself as well, "As Headmaster, I am responsible for the student's well-being, just as Silver is as King. We are only concerned that your actions in and out of the classroom will send the wrong message to the students."
"You're saying I'm a bad influence then…"
Silver recognized Daemon's sarcasm and reacted far more violently than usual, standing and slamming his fist on the table before him. "This is not a military school and we are NOT training some type of private little army of superhumans. And we're certainly not going to stand by and watch you turn MY students into little versions of YOU."
"Fuck you, Silver," Daemon spat, finally raising his voice. "You and the midget tip-toe around your students like they're made of fucking glass. When are you going to wake up and smell the world burning? If you haven't noticed, it's not all peaches and cream out there. I have fucking 15-year-olds come into the Danger Room with almost as many battle stories as ME. Avalon has been attacked on NUMEROUS occasions out of the blue, Darkwolf was a mercenary BEFORE he came here and every other student has a story of their own. And it doesn't help that this very compound is a hotbed of superhuman and mystical activity. How can you MAKE your students targets and try so damn hard to keep them from the knowledge I want to give them?"
"The training of our students was just fine BEFORE you got here and it will be just fine AFTER you are gone," Gomurr countered, a little more spiteful than he originally intended. "But our policies in regards to the education of our students is NOT in question. Your methods and conduct ARE." The ancient mage opened a file in front of him. "On your first day as instructor, your first act was to physically assault your students [Chapter 1]. You consistently worked them into exhaustion everyday of class, often running your exercises well past the allotted class time. When Dr. Zhang interfered with a danger room session in order to treat a wounded student, you not only neglected the student's injury but you assaulted both Dr. Zhang and Darkwolf [Chapter 7]. Then you proceed to take the better portion of your class on an unauthorized field mission [Chapter 8] on which you killed a man in front of their very eyes [Chapter 14]."
Daemon almost growled audibly. "Are you finished?" he asked through clenched teeth. "I have a class to prepare for."
"You presumptuous bastard," Silver blurted. "You think we're going to let you get off with a slap on the wrist and go on your merry way? You're lucky we don't skip the trial and just throw you into a cell right now!"
"Bring it then, Silver. I've always wanted to see how tough you really are."
Silver raised a glowing fist and the metallic frame of Daemon's witness stand burst from the floor and wrapped around him. Gomurr was taken aback by the display but did not move to stop Silver. In many ways, the mystic master wanted to see Daemon get a sound beating. Avalon sat, dumbstruck as he had the entire time, unsure of what to do. Daemon flexed his powerful arms and snapped the bonds as though they were nothing. Silver didn't stand down, but instead drew the metal from the table in front of him to his arms where they formed two pair of deadly wrist blades. The silent Claudia Sandubal had finally had enough when Daemon stepped down from what was left of the witness stand and took an aggressive fighting stance in front of Silver.
"Stop it!" Nemesis yelled aloud, backing her words with a telepathic command that froze all of the men in their tracks.
"You know how I hate psionics, Nemesis," Daemon struggled to say through frozen lips.
"I know and I don't care," she said without missing a beat. "When you first threatened me with bodily harm for my telepathy [Chapter 6], I let it go. Maybe I was tired or I was feeling particularly generous that night, but you were lucky not to be lobotomized right there. I will not tolerate anything of that sort again. Now sit and be quiet." A psionic push sent Daemon to the floor, his mouth firmly closed against his will.
"Thank you Claudia," Silver intoned, but was quickly prevented from saying anything further.
"Your displays leave just as bad a taste in my mouth, Jack. I'm surprised at your lack of restraint. I'll need you to sit and keep quiet as well."
Silver's body immediately dropped into his seat, his mouth also psionically impaired. Gomurr glanced sideways at Nemesis, who only shook her head at the diminutive wizard and psionically sat him down as well.
"This is the judgment of this court," Claudia began in an official tone. "Daemon, you will remain as Combat Instructor on a probationary basis. You will strictly adhere to all Academy rules as instituted by your Headmaster Gomurr, including class time limits and field mission protocols. Now get out before I decide to mind wipe you anyway."
Daemon leaped to his feet and left the room under his own power. He didn't close the door without a final glance back to Nemesis, who simply stared back.
When they were alone, Nemesis finally released Gomurr and Silver from her powerful telepathic grip. Both men breathed a deep sigh of relief as they felt their muscles relax into their own control.
"I understand your desire to bring the situation under control given the circumstances, Claudia," Gomurr began, "but I don't understand why you let Daemon go virtually unpunished."
Nemesis leaned back in her leather seat and crossed her perfectly shaped legs. "I looked into Daemon's mind without his notice while you boys were having your little pissing contest. It turns out the dead man in question, if left alive, could conceivably have sent an army of alien duplicates to our doorstep. He did the right thing. As for why I'm still going to let him teach here, that's simple. Daemon is a tool. One which I plan to use to the fullest."
Silver shook his head and gripped the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "I still don't trust him. How can we leave our students in his hands? How can we keep him under our roof?"
Claudia placed a comforting hand on Silver's shoulder. "What better place to watch him, then beneath our thumb?"
***
He woke up screaming. Cold sweat made a slick layer of moisture on his skin that glistened in the streetlight that filtered through the window. Next to him, his wife stirred and turned to the other side of the bed. With intense concentration, he examined her biosignature expecting the worse. He was pleasantly surprised to see the warm, healthy glow of his entirely human partner. A worry-laden sigh escaped his lips and he fell back onto his pillow feeling as though he were on top of the world.
All of the motion woke his wife and she turned over again to face him, sleep half asleep. "What's wrong, dear?"
Douglas Walsh put both arms around her and held her close to his chest. "I just had a terrible nightmare, honey. That's all."
She made a question-marked grunt as she buried herself further in his arms. "Me too. I was…strapped to a table in a dark room…and you saved me…"
Dr. Walsh wondered at the odd reference to a part of his own dream that sounded vaguely familiar but was startled out of his thoughts by the telephone at his bedside. He glanced at his clock-radio and saw that it was exactly 4:00AM. Who could be calling at THIS hour? he wondered before picking up the phone.
"Hello?"
~~End Epilogue~~