The Night Before - 5

<-Previous
~*~
The Skull turned to the man standing on the panel, an expression of awe flitting across his face before he set his jaw and furrowed his brow. "Scourge. Super-strength, teleportation, flight."

"Ah, the Stone of Gethsemane," said the man, brushing dust from his jacket. "And I take it this is some form of time travel. I appreciate the rescue. I could have been killed back there."

Both men sprang from the control nest, dashing along opposing sides of the room.

"You were, once."

Scourge wavered silently in the air for a moment, before bursting into laughter. The noise curled through the entire building, cold and sharp.

"Andrew Bristle! Why I never dreamed I'd get the pleasure of defeating you again."

"Watch for sparks," Bristle called to the Skull, "and hit him hard."

The Skull propelled himself into the air, and flew towards Scourge. Scourge disappeared from beneath the Skull's thick leather boot with a fraction of an inch to spare, only to find Bristle's elbow quickly bearing down on his new location.

Scourge blinked from place to place, each time a fist or a foot immediately bursting through the cloud of sparks he left in his wake. He began to gasp and shake, his breath cut short as he vanished and reappeared as rapidly as the Stone could manage - everywhere the pair of Skulls right behind. The dance continued across the room until Bristle's fist finally collided with Scourge's head just as it burst back into space.

Scourge fell to the ground, blood streaming from his face. The Skull's shadow blanketed Scourge's prone body as he quickly followed. Moments before the Skull reached the floor, Scourge's yellow eyes opened and disappeared.

The Skull slammed into concrete. The surface heaved and cracked, but the Skull returned to his feet unharmed. Above, he saw Bristle snatch Scourge from the air, this time tearing the pendant from around his neck.

"No! I rose from the grave!" said Scourge. "I have become death itself!"

"I have seen Death," said Bristle, the Stone crushed in his palm. With a shake of his arm he threw Scourge at the control platform and leapt after him.

"I tore this mask from his face."

Bristle seized Scourge by his tattered jacket and smashed the thin body into the machine's console. Lights flared and died; the metal plate let out a thin stream of smoke.

*

"Bad guy?" asked Blink.

"Dealt with," said the Skull, passing the speedster into the bunker. The underground structure extended in every direction from its entrance, including down. The Skull strode towards one of the rooms that opened into the main lobby.

"Look, we have to get to a hospital or something," Blink said, following behind. "That kid is hurt real bad."

"Yes," replied the Skull. "So bad that no conventional treatment is going to cut it. Only one thing can save him now."

"And you've got it, right?"

The child was lying on a table, surrounded by laboratory equipment. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. He let out a muffled groan as the Skull swept through the mess, glass beakers shattering on the ground.

The Skull pulled an ornate wooden box to the edge and withdrew a small glass vial.

"The Skull Formula," he said, holding it to the light. Shapes swirled and dissipated in its crimson contents.

Blink buzzed around the table as the Skull removed the tube's metal cap and began to pour the liquid into the boy's unconscious lips. "The same stuff that turned you into a car-tossing vigilante? Is this safe, Don? You don't even know this kid."

"I know him. Scourge pulled him here from 1930 to use as a hostage. His name is Don Daysdale. This is how it happens. This is how I became the Skull."

The child spluttered and shook, his face flushed and fists clenched.

"What?"

"I had a complicated childhood."

"No, what - you're fifty?"

The table rattled as the boy's legs began to kick. Blink placed a hand on the child's shoulder.

"He'll be fine," said the Skull. "I never remembered any of this. One day I just woke up in Metro City in 1971 with superpowers and some weird old guy in face-paint yelling at me."

The boy's feet stopped and he came to a still.

"It was a hell of an improvement from what I was used to," the Skull added.

"Wait, you were your own sidekick?" said Blink. "Oh, man. What did they call you?"

"Guess."

"If you say 'Bones' I'm going to-"

There was a rumble from the lobby as the elevator began to move again. Blink was already at the bottom of the shaft when the occupant came into view.

"Do we have trouble?"

"It's quite all right. My name is Andrew Bristle," said Bristle, stepping off the moving platform. "Better known, I expect, as the original Skull."

"Oh, fantastic," Blink said. "I was just thinking that what this city really needed was a few more Skulls. Three should really do it, yeah."

"Let's just hope it's enough," said the Skull as he closed the door to the lab. "It's hazy, but I can remember the next eight years. We've got our work cut out for us."

"You do call him Bones, don't you?" said Blink. "God damn it, you do."

"Is it really that important?"

"This is the end of our working relationship. I am not appearing alongside 'the Skull and Bones'. That is not a thing that is happening here, Don."

The Skull smiled. He'd reached it - the point where he started living things a second time. He'd spent almost a decade in the future as Bones before returning to his own time. The next eight years should be the easiest of his life.
~*~
Next->

The Night Before - 4

<-Previous
~*~
"I am a man of many terrifying achievements," said Scourge. "But even you, Skull, must admit this towers over all others."

He swept an arm over the console in front of him. The tall, spindly man wore a perfectly fitted suit, black and utterly unblemished. The top of his face was covered with a dark mask, the lower half was sickly pale. It was a face the Skull had seen too many times before. The last time, he had seen it die.

"A device that can snatch objects - people, technology, weapons - from anywhere in time," Scourge continued. "All of history is at my fingertips. The man who designed it was an unparalleled genius. It was unfortunate he lacked the vision to see the consequences of his invention."

"You're taking a lot of chances for a guy the entire Society is going to be after once they find out you're alive," said the Skull as he made his way across the walkways criss-crossing the room. "You think some ray-gun from the future is going to save you this time?"

Scourge began to type on the panels that surrounded his perch, blue light spearing from one end to the other of the machinery surrounding him, that distinct hum penetrating the air. "You've always been stuck on the street, Don, with the bank-robbers and the mutant muggers. You've never been able to see the bigger picture like Elizabeth could."

The Skull paused for a second at her name. He had made it to the highest level of the structure and stood opposite Scourge.

"It wasn't the Society who stopped the Third Reich," Scourge said. "Hitler blew his brains out after he saw the power of the nuclear bomb in Dresden, not the power of some man in a cape. Technology has always shaped history, and with this technology I will shape it. Forever."

The hum was again becoming a roar, and the air above metal plate at Scourge's feet began to crinkle and wave. The Skull broke into a run, hurdling over railing and leaping from one fragile platform to the next. He was halfway across the room when there was a plume of light and something appeared beside Scourge.

"I'd stop there if I were you, Don. I've found myself a hostage. Do you recognise him?"

"Jesus Christ, not here," whispered the Skull as he skidded to a stop. Scourge pulled an unconscious figure to its feet.

"Your eleven year old self, from 1930, long before you took the Skull formula. When you could die."

Scourge wrapped a glove-clad hand around the boy's throat, lifting his feet from the ground. With a sickening click he drove another hand into the child's spine.

"And when he dies, so do you."

"Did I miss anything?" Blink said as he snapped into place beside the Skull, tossing a long boomerang casually over the rail. "I've missed something, haven't I?"

"Grab the kid," said the Skull, "take him to the Skele-bunker, and wait for me."

"You sure?"

"Do it."

The atmosphere rippled for a moment, and the sound of glass shattering rang from the bottom of the building. Blink and the child had disappeared, leaving Scourge, for a rare moment, looking stunned.

"It seems I've underestimated our friend Blink's development during my absence," said Scourge, pulling his glove from one hand and then another. "I'll have to subdue you more traditionally."

The Skull had opened his mouth to reply when Scourge appeared in front of him, his white fist at the Skull's chest. The blow sent the Skull hurtling towards the back wall. Skull felt his vertebrae shocked out of place as he slammed into the concrete and dropped onto the grating below breathless and in agony.

"The Stone of Gethsemane," Scourge said, the dull orb around his neck now hanging outside of his ebony shirt. "It has a fascinating list of effects on the wearer. None, however, like the regenerative abilities you possess."

Scourge jumped in space again, arriving in front of the slumped Skull. This time the Skull caught the fragments of light that scattered before he appeared, the whine on the edge of hearing. Teleportation, he thought.

"You give me the Skull formula, and I'll let you walk away from this. Hell, I'll let you keep the rest - I only need the one dose," said Scourge as he hoisted the Skull into the air by his collar. "Oh, and you were wrong before. When you said the big bad Society would be coming once they heard I was alive?"

He leaned closer, his mask almost against the Skull's face. "I assure you: I'm still quite dead."

"Don't care," choked the Skull. "Look down."

Scourge glanced down quickly enough to see the icicles growing from the metal, spiking around his polished shoes. The Skull forced his own boots down, hard, breaking the grate the two men stood on from the wall. With another kick, the Skull threw himself across the gap to the next walkway and sent the panel spinning towards the ground.

Scourge fell silently, tangled in metal and ice.

Still wobbling, the Skull ran along the pathways, their frames now rattling uneasily. He'd made it to the glowing console when Scourge floated back into sight. He was suspended in the air, arms spread and bare footed, while the Skull hammered rapidly at the switches and keys.

"You're outclassed, Don. There's nothing you can summon in time."

The silver plate began to pulse.

"You know what they say, Scourge?"

A shadow shot from the ground and swelled into a shape. Beams of light encircled the figure, painting it black and white.

"Two Skulls are better than one."

~*~
Next->

The Night Before - 3

<-Previous
~*~
Blink zigzagged through the boomerangs as they floated softly in the air. There were more of them than usual, and they moved a little faster, but they followed the same familiar arcs as always. Some of the projectiles crackled with electricity, others pulsed with green light or dribbled dark liquid, but Blink was never close enough for them to unleash their payload.

He saw Boomerang Kid's face begin to tense and adjusted his temporal field.

"You always put on a show, mate," said the Kid. "But I've got a satchel full of glowing rocks here I'd rather unload away from my testicles, so we'll have to wrap her up tonight."

The Australian rummaged in his vest and withdrew another weapon, this one much smaller than the others. It was bright purple and impossibly sleek, shining even in the dim light.

"Tachyon glass, mate. I picked this one up just for you, and I'll note it's worth a bloody fortune anywhere in the timeline."

Blink accelerated his perception and watched the flick of the Kid's wrist in slow motion. And watched the purple boomerang accelerate with him.

The boomerang shot through the air as if Blink was still sitting on the surface of the time shift. With a crack, it struck him across the forehead before zooming onwards. Blink was reeling backwards when he felt a second jolt of pain on the back of the head, and saw the weapon curling back towards Boomerang Kid's outstretched arm.

The speedster crumpled face down into the wet street. He heard an Australian cackle followed by footsteps retreating down an alley, then silence.

Then the thump of someone landing disquietly close to his head.

"We should be able to follow them back to their base," said the Skull. "I planted a tracing device on Plasma and let him go."

"Funny," Blink said, head raised from the ground. "I did something similar."

"What do you think? Some sort of time travel?" said Skull. "June, 1971... I guess it fits."

"Either this head injury is more serious than I thought or what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Nothing. Let's roll."

*

The office building looked fairly normal. Maybe unused, with grubby windows and rubbish piled at the entranceway, but more low-key than most super-villain hideouts. More low-key, certainly, than expected for the man wearing a boomerang hat and the ever-theatrical Captain Plasma.

The Skull and Blink crouched below an outside window that had been left cracked open an inch, backs pressed to the off-white wall. Up close, they looked nothing alike - Skull dressed like a ghost of the battlefield, Blink in casual civilian clothes. Blink bounced back and forth to the corner of the building as Skull eased his head upwards to look through the window.

There was nothing in the room, though a bright light pulsed from further inside the building. An unearthly hum began to build, the glass vibrating sporadically.

"Looks clear. Get us in there quietly."

Blink had the window closed the instant the two were inside the room. Skull's ivory face-paint glowed in the increasingly strong light from the hallway. The hum had grown into a loud buzz, loud enough to muffle speech. Skull had gestured to the direction of the noise when Captain Plasma waddled into the room.

The complex machine suit was buckled and torn, his naked chest exposed but his lower half still trapped in the barely functioning armour. Plasma glanced up from the mess surrounding his body and regarded the pair with terror, his mouth opening but no noise registering over the droning racket.

The Skull's fist collided with Plasma' face as the sound came to a peak and began to subside. Plasma fell awkwardly in a broken pile a split-second before silence returned to the building.

"You know I don't think that guy was even a real Captain," said the Skull, stopping as a voice boomed from another room.

"Closer, always closer. Next time we'll find the bomb and then - the Skull formula."

Blink turned to the Skull inquisitively. "You have any idea who that is?"

"A dead man," Skull replied, his voice hushed.

The Skull stepped out into the hallway, its walls covered and grime and the carpet in dust. They were close enough to see the entrance to the room that must have taken up most of the building - and more, as it descended below out of sight. The room was all concrete and metal railings, walkways suspended high above the ground and everywhere that rippling, silver light. The voice came again from inside.

"Boomerang, attend to our guests in the hall, would you? I think I can smell a skeleton in the air."

"Right you are, mate."

Boomerang Kid rounded the corner, the light spiking through the mass of boomerangs spread across his back. He stumbled for a moment, only to grin and pat at his chest.

"Blink, mate! You came for some more of the good stuff?"

"You mean this?" said Blink, holding the purple boomerang aloft. "Thought I'd grab a souvenir."

The Kid sneered and reached behind his back. When his hands came back into view, he had a long boomerang hooked under between each finger, eight in all. He crossed his arms in front of him, the boomerangs fanned to each side.

"I won't need it when you're dead, Speedy Gonzales. Let's see ya both dodge these in here."

Boomerang had drawn the weapons back when a Blink-coloured blur shimmered in the air. Suddenly, the Kid crashed into the far wall, boomerangs clattering to the ground.

Blink reappeared beside the Skull, gasping for breath. "I'll hold him off. You find out what the fuck is going on here."

The Skull nodded and stepped into the doorway of the bunker. He didn't need to look at the man standing on a balcony far above to know his name.

"Scourge."

~*~
Next->

The Night Before - 2

<-Previous
~*~
As a registered cape, Blink's official file in the Pentagon catalogued him as a Level H Temporal Displacement Projectionist (Form-Based), with advanced phasal control and unusually stable bioelectrical field maintenance.

In layman's terms, Blink ran really, really fast. He could run a mile in seconds - even dodge bullets at a sprint. Without the right anti-speed technology and a week's worth of preparation, few powers could hope to touch him. Most literally never saw him coming. As far as meta-abilities went, Blink was one of the most powerful human beings on the planet. After his death, people would call him one of the most important superheroes in history. After the summer of 1984, many would call him a god.

In the early hours of June 19th, 1971, Blink was waiting on the side of a dimly lit road in Metro City. What little movement there was on the street - the occasional drop of water from the awnings, the rustling of what few leaves remained on the pavement's sole tree - was slowed to the smoothest crawl, like watching the moon cross the sky. He'd started to find it more comfortable down here, at the lower phases of the temporal shift.

It was with a wince that Blink decelerated his personal field to greet the man in black who had dropped from the sky.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said the Skull. "Who are we knocking out tonight?"

"The nutter with boomerangs and Captain Plasma. Apparently, Plasma's got himself a powered tin can," Blink replied, his words still too fast for the untrained ear to disassemble. "If the cops are worried enough to call in a cape for those two, something must be up."

"Worried enough to call in an unregistered vigilante, too?"

"Worried enough they won't shoot you on sight when I take you as backup," Blink said. "Hopefully."

*

"Strewth, bunch of bloody capes here already, mate," said Boomerang Kid. He nodded at the pair stepping through the police blockade, sending the miniature boomerangs attached to his slouch hat in place of corks into a swaying dance.

"I do not require your illiterate commentary," said Captain Plasma as he scanned the street in front of the bank from within his unwieldy helmet. "I was aware of their presence well before you were."

Boomerang Kid rolled his eyes. He was still somewhat chafed that Plasma had gotten to wear the power armour. Admittedly, the selection of new boomerangs that hung from his back was an impressive consolation prize.

"Let's just get this bloody ore back to the lab - oh fer Chrissake, not these tossers again."

The Skull and Blink stood at the bottom of the large flight of steps that led to the bank's entrance. Blink blurred subtly from spot to spot as the Skull stepped forward and spread his arms.

"Good evening, gentlemen, I'm sure you're familiar with the process we'll be going through tonight," he said. "Though I have to ask, Plasma, what on earth have you gotten yourself trapped in?"

"Enough with the bloody talk, mate, me and the Sheila've got a date to attend," said the Kid, a long, metallic boomerang held above his head.

"Oh, wow," said the Skull. "He's actually using boomerangs. Yeah, I think I've got this one." He'd thought of Boomerang when he fitted one of the night's new gadgets to his arm.

A dart arrowed through the air, too fast for anyone but Blink to see it. As the silver boomerang swung towards the Skull, a crystal maze of frost climbed from one end to the other. In a second, the weapon was encased in thick, heavy ice.

It kept flying.

Two loud crunches echoed down the street - the first as the boomerang slammed into the Skull's shoulder, shattering the sheathe of ice - the second as he hit the ground.

"Geo-magnetic gyroscopes, vintage 1998," yelled Boomerang Kid, the device returning to his hand as he spoke. "Nothing'll stop one of these bastards when they're in the air. Bloody marvellous, mate."

"Yeah," said Blink, "no, you really had that one, Skull. I'll take the Aussie, you handle Tin Man."

"Jesus. Right," said the Skull, his breath forced heavily with each word. "Just leave the boomerang thing out when you write your report."

Blink blurred out of sight as Boomerang Kid dove from the staircase, two more boomerangs clasped in each hand. The Skull had almost returned to his feet when a metal fist connected with his abdomen. The force of the blow sent him hurtling back, skidding to all fours.

"Things have changed a little since last time we met, Skull," said Captain Plasma, withdrawing the suit's lengthy right arm with a mechanical purr. "I really think I've found my calling."

"I don't care if you've been shopping in the 22nd century," Skull said, one hand steadied on the pavement. "That is the last time I'm getting dropped tonight."

Plasma launched himself at the Skull, speeding towards him as if on tracks. Skull braced himself low and caught the hit head-on; his boots scraped hard against asphalt before he felt himself gaining traction. Leaning low, he shoved Captain Plasma back, nearly toppling the armored villain. Without missing a beat, the Skull stepped forward and began leveling hit after hit at him.

It took three blows before the Skull came to two deeply concerning realisations. The suit Plasma was wearing had barely taken a dent, and worse, the Skull's hands hurt. The Skull could punch hard - really hard. A non-power like Plasma had never stood up to that sort of force, no matter what they were wearing.

"An amazing piece of technology, is it not?" Plasma said, adjusting his gauntlets at he turned his body towards the Skull. "The future is truly an inspiring period."

"Maybe," said the Skull, "but if you can't turn your neck, I'm going to guess they still haven't figured how to make a flexible suit of power armour."

The Skull pounded his legs into the ground with all the superhuman strength he could muster. Before Plasma could react, The Skull had whirled over the suit's helmet and wrapped his arms around the plated torso. Captain Plasma swiped at the Skull, but his arms fell short of landing any damaging blow.

"Rather cliché," Plasma said, "and of little consequence. Allow me, if you will, to demonstrate the means of your destruction."

An engine began to whine in the depths of Captain Plasma's contraption, and a light sputtered to life on each armoured hand and foot. Thick spears of flame belched forth from the thrusters hidden in each - with a roar, the pair were catapulted into the air, rapidly gaining altitude. By the time the Skull had adjusted his grip to grab one of the myriad pipes lining the suit's back, the city was sprawled below them. The Skull flexed his right wrist and a wave of frost began to spread from his glove over the tubing that fed the thrusters.

Over the sound of the jets Plasma heard a distinct crystal ringing, followed by a sharp crack. The propulsion outlets wavered and crackled to a stop, the metal suit coming to a silent halt high above the skyline. Captain Plasma lurched forward as he felt the Skull kick off into the air.

"You fool!" screamed Plasma over the wind that whipped past them. "You've doomed yourself, but I'll almost certainly survive the fall! Once again, you've failed to out-think Captain Plasma!"

The Skull grinned as he tumbled back, pulling the ripchord secreted at his waist.

"... God damn it," muttered Captain Plasma as he plummeted to earth, the familiar visage of a skull blooming across the parachute above.

~*~
Next->

The Night Before - 1

<-Previous
Non-Author's Note: The following bit is not actually my work--but the writing of a friend who was interested in continuing the stories of the previous Skulls. This story concerns Skull #3--Sue Daysdale's grandfather--working in the 70s and dealing with various criminals who are showing up only now to make Sue's life miserable. I plan on making this a standard thing--glimpses at the previous Skulls' pasts, as well as the gallery of rogues and allies they've met.
~*~

The miniature car was the only dash of colour in the industrial district. The city was gloomy here, full of dank buildings and deep, ever-present mud. The clowns didn't like it at all.

Rainwater billowed across the parking lot as they came to a slow. A door cracked open and immediately the group poured from the car. They were peppered with poorly applied make-up and crooked neon wigs; their ill-fitting clothes hid guns, blades and heavy pipes.

The clowns meandered outwards, a rainbow pool of oil across the filthy asphalt. They had made it across the lot when they noticed they were one short. A few of them made their way back to the car.

One clown pulled his head back from the rear window.

"This thing was always a little small for twelve," he said, "It's Frank."

The clowns did their best to look sombre.

"We'll give him a decent burial," said one. The only response was a sort of awkward shuffling.

"Well, we'll definitely get rid of the body," he tried again, "next time we clean the car."

The fools murmured in agreement. They were pleased to have made a decision, though some of them already struggled to remember what it was.

Another car pulled alongside the procession with a shriek of rubber. The driver, a short man wrapped in a musty tweed suit and bow tie, stumbled from the vehicle and balanced precariously, the bulging bags he'd hauled out with him clutched to his chest. People called him the Toy-Master, primarily at his behest.

"Where the hell have you idiots been?!" said the Toy-Master, "I've been driving around the block for half an hour!"

"Sorry, boss," came a voice from amongst the painted faces, "we got a little lost."

The Toy-Master sighed. He'd long learned there was little use in scaring this group. You had to run with what they gave you.

"Let's get going, we've got to haul down the street," he said, as he secured a tubular container over his shoulder.

"We're walking in? We brought the car. For effect."

"Ah, yes. Should have mentioned -- you don't need the car tonight. My mistake," replied the Toy-Master. The clowns shuffled.

*

A smiley face grinned at the guards from the yellow ball as it rolled towards them. They had barely drawn their guns when the Toy-Master stepped from the shadows and mustard-coloured smoke began to billow from the sphere.

"Don't worry," said the Toy-Master, "be happy!"

He'd made a fast-acting blend for tonight especially. The guards laughed for a moment and slumped to the ground unconscious.

Traces of yellow mist swirled behind the Toy-Master as he swung open the heavy doors to the warehouse and gestured dramatically at the room's contents. Rows upon rows of toys -- teddy bears, flamboyantly dressed Barbie dolls and more flamboyantly dressed superhero dolls.

"Everybody grab a sack and make like Santa," called the Toy-Master.

The clowns entered the room and began to sweep the toys from the shelves. Electronic sheep bleeted lamely as they toppled on top of taut Action Guy figures.

There was a time not long ago when the only reason Toy-Master would have had to break into such a warehouse would be to swap the contents for gruesome replacements, or hide canisters of laughing gas inside the stuffed animals. For a while the Toy-Master, the Geppetto of Crime, had occupied all the biggest headlines, alongside all the trendiest names in super-crime. But he had spent the better part of two decades working through the extensive family fortune that had funded his exploits. The gang had less time to seek media coverage now that they had to scrape together the funds for bullets, chemicals, rent and gas for the clown car. These days, Toy-Master and his clowns stole more than they shocked.

The moon flicked shadows across the room and the clowns worked in silence. Many of the shelves were emptied before one of the clowns spoke again.

"So... there a lot of money in toys, boss?"

"Well, you know what they say about the toy market --"

The rest of the Toy-Master's reply was obscured as he coughed into his sleeve. He wiped his mouth and looked at the clowns hopefully. They stared back.

"It's... up?" he ventured.

The clowns peered at each other through domino masks and smeared mascara.

"Look, you deformed oafs," said the Toy-Master, "This joint is one of the only buildings in the county that isn't swarming with queers in tight pants and capes. If you want to go jack an armoured car and introduce yourself to the latest pretty-boy with superpowers, be my guest. I, for one, do not want to break a limb tonight."

"I expect we won't be getting along, then," said the man in the rafters, "As that's kind of my thing."

Toy-Master spluttered into silence for a moment and the clowns shifted their gaze in unison to the ceiling. A black-clad figure danced from one beam to the next.

"Oh, a playmate! What took you so long?" yelled the Toy-Master. He slid open the cylinder on his shoulder and grabbed at the rocket launcher inside.

"I was waiting for you to all sort of cluster together, actually. Apparently the bomb has a rather small radius."

Toy-Master almost managed to get the first syllable of "What bomb?" out of his mouth before there was a blinding flash and a high-pitched hiss. When he reopened his eyes the launcher was gone from his shoulder, and half of his clowns were splayed groggily on the floor. The other half had their heads locked upward, their garish colouration now dimmed blue, frozen noses glittering in the moonlight.

"I spent this evening clearing out an old Professor Freeze Ray hideout," said the man in black, "I came across a few new toys of my own."

The man dropped to the ground beside the frozen fools. His heavy boots sent a fine shower of ice into the air. He wore what might have been military gear, many-pocketed clothes with a high collar and tightly-fastened straps, but for its hue. It was a gleaming jet black, a darkness that managed to shine at the edges and shimmer with his movements. On his head he wore nothing other than an earpiece, and even his exposed skin was painted black, except for the bone white motif drawn across his face. People called him the Skull, but he never had to tell anyone the name.

The first pair of unfrozen clowns leapt at the Skull. He left them crumpled on the ground one after the other, his arm subtly thrust only twice. He'd have to chase the rest. One might almost make it to the door.

Toy-Master was flat on his stomach, arm stretched under a set of shelves. With a grunt, he withdrew the weapon that had skittered out of reach. He didn't put a lot of work into these, he'd freely admit. A 'Happy Rocket' launcher was suspiciously similar to a Soviet RPG-7 with a small red nose stuck on the tip and a grin painted on the head of the rocket. It was, nevertheless, devastatingly effective.

The Skull's knee crunched into the final clown's spine. The crack of a jaw shattered on concrete echoed through the warehouse, and the Skull had already turned to stride towards the Toy-Master.

"I thought I'd already warned you about late-night shopping, Toy-Master," said the Skull.

"I was only browsing, really," said the Toy-Master, "I picked up a little present for you."

The recoil broke Toy-Master's stance as the rocket spun out towards the Skull. It was closing the gap quickly when the Skull raised an arm and a tiny dart flew from his wrist. Immediately the missile was caught in a crystal case, the nose weighted heavily with ice. It fell to earth with a crunch.

"Ah. I'll just be going to jail now," said the Toy-Master.

*

"Busy night, Skull?"

The words came crackled over the radio. The Skull twisted a knob at his waist and held a hand to his ear.

"I've barely gotten out of bed. Please tell me you have something more interesting than the Toy-Master," said the Skull, perched high over the city.

"I'll give you interesting once you stop brooding on rooftops and meet me on 57th Street. You started being late three seconds ago."

"You're an impatient man, Blink. Don't move."

The Skull leaned forward, clicked the dial back into place and fell into the night sky.

~*~
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