Nemesis - 14

<-Previous
~*~
I was told her name was Agent Inessa; they never gave me her last name.

The train station's office had been turned into an information network. Metal suitcases with computers inside sat on the desks, monitors buzzing with a constant flow of information. Agents--men and women dressed in sharp black suits--occupied several terminals, typing away steadily while issuing orders into their headsets.

Inessa looked like she was in her forties or fifties; her hair was a tangle of rust-red barbed wire. A streak of gray started at her temple and wove its way to the back of her skull; her nose was a misshapen, doughy lump--like it had been broken several times over and never set right. She wore a suit that did nothing to flatter her and kept her hair bound up in a tight, conservative pony-tail--but she still exuded the sort of feminine charisma that seized you by the throat and refused to let go. When she smiled, people watched. When she talked, people listened.

I was listening right now.

"The mask," she said as I entered, flanked on either side by agents. "Take it off."

"I'd rather not," I said.

"Your name is Sue Daysdale. You're a sixteen year old student at Brynswood High. You live on Montgomery Street, and your interests include cars, ridiculously bad movies, and collecting stuffed unicorns."

"I--I don't collect stuffed unicorns!" I said. How the hell did she know about Mr. Sparkles?

She snorted. "I'm sure you're used to dealing with idiots, but not everyone in the public sector has their head lodged up their ass."

"How--"

"Hairs from your discarded armor. Voice analysis from records during the Cape-Buster incident. Testimony from Mr. Donovan--what little he was willing to reveal. We knew who you were a week ago, Daysdale. Take off your mask."

I took off my mask.

"Your campaign as a cape officially ends tonight. You will submit everything in your bunker for analysis by the government. You'll spend the rest of your life avoiding so much as getting a parking ticket--because if you do, you will find yourself spending the rest of your life in a prison that does not exist on an island that you will never find on any map."

My jaw clenched. My fists tightened.

Several agents around me shifted, as if to remind me of their presence.

"You can't--"

"Oh, I forgot--you have 'rights'," Inessa said, stepping around the table. "You're still in high-school--probably have a Civics course--so maybe you think you know what those 'rights' are."

She came closer. Her face was nearly in mine. "Except the rest of the country has rights too, Daysdale. Rights that I am here to protect. Rights that involve not letting little teenage shits go joyriding in mommy's power armor."

"That's enough."

The door behind me opened. Both agents darted their hands underneath their coats; Inessa stepped back. I felt Sumerset's hand on my shoulder.

He'd seen better days. His other arm was in a cast--he had bruises across his face, and a patch on his temple. He was breathing heavily--he should have been in bed.

"You're supposed to be in a hospital, soldier," Inessa said.

"I'm too old and ornery to die. Or take orders," Sumerset said, before adding: "Sir."

"I'm not wavering on this, Sumerset."

"Bullshit," he said. "What, they clip your balls when you got promoted? The old Inessa wouldn't spank this girl and send her home. The old Inessa would've liked her moxie. The old Inessa would've offered her a damn job."

Inessa laughed--the sound was violent and short. "You think you can play me, son? She's finished. That's final."

"No, I'm not," I said. "And you know it."

Both Sumerset and Inessa turned to stare at me.

My heart was hammering. My throat was clenched. My fingers were trembling. But still, I pressed on: "You need me. You need the Skull."

"Sue," Sumerset said. "Don't--"

"Oh, no," Inessa said, smiling. "Don't cut her off. I've got to hear this one."

"You said it yourself. You sniffed me out with a squeaky voice and some hairs in my helmet," I said. "You probably did the same to my mom. But you didn't stop her, did you? And you sure as hell didn't stop me."

Inessa watched me, stoney and silent.

"My mom killed the Grin--you didn't stop her. You knew I was up against the Scourge--you didn't stop me. Why?" I asked her. "You could have done something at any time. But you didn't. Which means one of two things: Either you're incompetent, or you're up to something."

Sumerset's grip tightened. Inessa started to smile. I wasn't sure what either meant.

"I think you needed her. You needed someone operating outside of the system," I said. "And I think you still do."

"You really are her daughter," she said, and then she gestured to the door. "Get out of here. Sumerset and I need to talk."

Sumerset released me; with my legs and hands shaking, I walked out of the room.

~*~

Out in the hallway, I nearly collapsed.

Somehow, I had projected a sense of fearlessness to Inessa, but the fact was that she held my life in her hands--and I knew it. Everything my mother had worked toward--everything she had left behind--could be snatched away in an instant.

There was a time when that wouldn't have bothered me. But the more I learned about who my mother was, the more I valued her legacy.

Sumerset emerged from the room a few minutes later. His face was grim. He leaned on his cane heavily, pausing for several long moments--as if assembling what he wanted to say.

"Sue, a few weeks ago, we were talking about putting the Skull behind you--burying it once and for all. A few minutes ago, and Inessa was offering to do just that. You threw her offer right back in her face and basically offered to do this gig full time."

I took in a breath, waiting for it.

"Do you actually want to be the Skull?"

"I think so. Yes."

"Why?"

"I--I don't know," I said. "I loved my mom. She was wonderful, and caring, and always did right by me. But I feel like I didn't really know her. And when I'm wearing this suit, and when I'm doing all the things she did, I feel like--for the first time, I am getting to know her. I feel like it's a second chance to learn who she was, to meet her all over again."

"Sue, if that's the only--"

"It's not just that," I said. "It feels right. I guess that sounds kind of stupid, but it really does. Mr. Sumerset, in the past two days I've been attacked with boomerangs, beat the snot out of the Scourge, come face-to-face with a time-traveler, been told to save the world, and met the most powerful superhero alive." I shook my head. "And--it's been terrifying, and emotionally draining, and I've never been this exhausted or scared in my entire life, but--"

"But you like it," he said, and then he sighed.

"Yeah," I said. "I... I guess I do. And I want to keep going. It's all so crazy, yeah, but it's also exciting, and a weird kind of wonderful, and--"

"We'll need some ground rules. First one: This is not a goddamn democracy," he said. "I am in charge. You do what I tell you to do, because if you don't, people will die. Second rule: See rule number one. Third rule..."

I never let him finish. I threw myself to my feet and hugged him, squeezing as hard as I dared.

~*~

Anna's car was waiting for us; Sumerset sat up front with Anna driving. I wanted him to go to a hospital, but he just shook his head and muttered something about living through worse.

"So," Anna said, looking back to me with a grin. "How was your day?"

"Punched some dudes. Met Sovereign. Told the head of the BPA to go piss off," I said. "Y'know, standard operating procedure." A thought occurred to me--I turned to Sumerset.

"Hey. The time-traveling girl--what happened to her? Is she okay?"

"Afraid not. She was dead by the time the paramedics reached her," he said.

We all got quiet for a little bit.

"Do we even know what that was all about?" Anna asked.

"No," I said. "I guess it might come up later."

Sumerset reached for the radio, clicking it on. We pulled out of the parking lot and into the street.

"Sumerset. I wanted to ask you something else," I said.

"Yeah, kid?"

"The letter I found--the one that lead me to my mom's bunker. I was thinking--if she really didn't want me to take up the mantle, she could have done things differently."

"What do you mean?"

"She could have just, like, set it to self-destruct after a certain period of inactivity or something. She didn't need to show it to me," I said.

"You said the letter was never sent, right? Maybe she realized that," he said.

"But she never did set it to self-destruct or anything. And she left the letter somewhere where I could find it," I said.

Sumerset fished a cigarette out of his front pocket, pausing to light it. "Maybe she wanted you to see it."

"Why?"

"She was never happy about leaving you behind to fight crime," he said, puffing out a slow trail of smoke. "Always felt guilty about it. S'why she retired near the end--to take care of you. But maybe she thought if you saw why she was absent so often, you'd understand. Maybe you'd even be a little proud."

I sat back in my seat, thinking about that. "I am."

"I think she'd be proud of you too," he said. "'Course, pretty sure she'd beat both of us up before saying so."

~*~

"Ma'am. We've found something you should see."

Inessa stopped, half-way out of the office. She turned to the technician, who was holding up a print-out--a photocopy of a newspaper article.

"Need help doing the crossword puzzle, Jim? Four words across, begins with F, ends with E; 'What I do to people who interfere needlessly with my lunch break'."

"It's a newspaper clipping we found on the dead girl in the train station," he said. "Look at the date."

She did.

Two minutes later, she was on the telephone with the Pentagon, organizing an emergency meeting between herself and several heads of state.

"Yes, sir," she said. "If our source is to be trusted, in one year's time, the Sovereign will go rogue."

~*~

fin

Next->

Nemesis - 13

<-Previous
~*~
Everything afterward was a blur.

I stumbled up on the platform. Someone touched my shoulder and pressed something into my hands--a white mask. I fumbled with it, putting it on.

Crowds of people were being ushered out of the trains by police officers--rescue crews came down the stairs, looking for survivors. Brick was in front of me. He was the one who gave me the mask. He waved down one of the teams, gesturing to me.

I shook my head. "Someone's shot down there," I said, pointing down at the rails. "A girl. Go help her. I'll be fine."

One of the paramedics insisted on examining me. I lifted my wrist, showing him one of the holes Scourge's lightning had torn through my suit. The wound was sealing shut right before his eyes.

He gave me a stiff nod and kept moving.

Several paramedics attended to Brick, who was still standing but wasn't in the greatest condition. The Crimson Claw had ripped through his costume and torn several bloody streaks across his chest.

I left them to their job and started up the stairs. I needed to find whoever was in charge and organize a search party for Sumerset.

My feet wobbled; I could barely stand, nevermind walk. Still, I managed. Some ribs felt dislocated--I felt a steady pressure against my lungs--but other than that, in a few hours I'd be fine. Some scars, but otherwise...

Paladin came down the steps and found me. He started talking, but I could barely hear him above the roar of the crowd and the dull ringing in my eardrums. Something about Mulligan and the Boomerang.

And then came the screams.

The crowd above us--EMTs, civilians, police officers--were all rushing to get out of the way of a bruised, bloodied man. A man with a giant razor-sharp boomerang.

Shit.

He shouted above the chaos and threw the weapon. It sliced through air, cutting like a buzz-saw--aimed straight for Paladin and me--

--before it was flicked aside by something faster than a speeding bullet.

I'd heard his name before; seen him in a few newsclips. But this was the first time I had ever seen Sovereign in person.

He was a juggernaut--a floating tower of muscle and authority, of integrity and strength. He hovered above us with his arms folded, resembling some implacable, incorruptible mountain--a force of nature. A force of nature on our side.

His uniform alternated between white and black; the shoulders and cape were white, with the chest black, and everything beneath the waist once more turning white. Both of us--hell, everyone in the room--just stared up and gawked at him. But he had his eyes squarely on Boomerang Kid.

The Kid reached for another weapon.

Sovereign spoke with a voice that could sunder stone: "You can't be serious."

Boomerang Kid drew his hand away and slowly raised his arms up into the air. The police grabbed him and pushed him to the floor.

Sovereign turned, then, bringing his attention down upon me. In an instant, I realized he could squash me--burn my brain out with laser eyebeams or snap my neck with a flex of his finger. He could peel back the layers of my skin with his x-ray vision and possibly even read my thoughts straight from the pattern of neurons firing in my brain.

And then I realized that almost everyone had stopped gawking at him, and started gawking at me.

"The Skull, I assume," he said.

"Er, yes," I replied, trying not to stammer.

"Your predecessor did good work. We did not always see eye to eye, but we respected each other."

And then he smiled.

I swallowed. "Thanks," I said.

People were taking pictures. It was a disaster scene, a warzone, but all around us people were snapping photographs like it was a goddamn press conference. And in the middle of it all, I was watching him--and seeing something in his eyes.

Wrinkles crowded their edges. He looked exhausted--like he hadn't slept in weeks.

And then, in a flash of speed, he disappeared.

I slumped. Paladin clasped my shoulder, keeping me up. People started crowding us, yelling questions and trying to grab me. A warm glow engulfed us--Paladin extended his free hand outward, creating a solid ring of light that kept the crowd at bay. As we walked, I heard him whisper into my ear:

"Holy crap, Skull. That was--"

"I know," I said. "I need to find my handler. He's here, somewhere."

"Oh, right. Oh, wow, I'm sorry, I forgot in all the excitement. He's hurt, but okay. The Feds--they sent a crew in. They found him, along with Scourge's hide-out--"

I almost felt like crying. Some part of me had accepted the notion that he was already dead--that Scourge wouldn't bother keeping him alive. But to suddenly know that he wasn't--my heart surged up into my throat, skipping several beats in relief. "Thank you," I muttered.

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "The BPA is here. Their head, actually." He sounded contrite. "She, uh, wants to see you. Personally."

"Is that... bad?"

"I don't know. But last I heard, she had herself teleported half way across the country just to meet you."

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 12

<-Previous
~*~
The metal clawtips scorched me; I could feel them blistering the skin around my neck. A tendril of black lightning flowed through me, burning me from the inside out--hot white anguish filled my stomach, my chest, my limbs.

Scourge held me by my throat and pinned me to a column of stone.

My face was exposed; my eyes wide and full of terror. But even with my heart pounding--my body shaking--I had enough left of whatever brought me this far to spit in his face.

He didn't bother to wipe it away. "You miserable little cow," he said. "You aren't half the Skull she was. None of you ever were."

Another bolt of lightning tore through me. I felt my flesh rupture. My teeth clenched, choking back the tears, the pain, the need to scream.

"I'm running out of time," he said. "I've made arrangements with things far beyond your fathoming. Hungry things. And soon they will come to slake their appetite. You'll have to do."

The lightning tore through me again. This time, I couldn't hold back my shriek.

"My only regret is that you won't live to see me slit Sumerset's throat."

The ceiling above us buckled. Brick fell through, riding on top of two tons of semi-animate stone.

They slammed down atop the central platform. Brick clutched the golem's throat with one hand and brought the other down to its forehead--punching the engraving there again and again. On the third strike, the carving cracked.

As the golem crumbled, Scourge and I struggled to recover. The room was flooded with dust and soot; Scourge had let go of me and backed off as Brick crashed through. Now as Brick got to his feet, Scourge charged--and swung the Crimson Claw straight for his chest.

Brick turned and caught it.

There was a moment of confusion and pain as Scourge's arm was seized. Then Brick clenched his other hand into a fist and threw a punch at Scourge's chest.

I could hear the sound of something snapping from several yards away. Scourge fell back; Brick towered over him, fearless and ready.

Jagged threads of black energy spread along the fingertips of the Crimson Claw. Dragging myself to my feet, I shouted out a warning as Scourge targeted us both.

Brick spread his arms out and took the blast for both of us. Bolts of lightning slashed across his gray flesh, carving shallow canyons over his chest. He crumpled, smoldering and groaning.

My own regeneration was starting to kick in--I still had trouble standing, but I felt the pain start to ebb. I stumbled my way over to Brick and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't think I can take one of those again," he said, his voice shaking.

"You don't have to."

Scourge was powering up another bolt; I drew up what little reserves of strength I had left and hurled myself at him. When I hit, my shoulder exploded in a starburst of agony. We plummeted off the platform and onto the rails.

Another shock of lightning coursed through me, tearing out my back. My skin was sizzling, by this point; I was on the threshold of blacking out. Scourge shoved me off him and stood up.

"I'm going to kill you," he said, wheezing.

I was on my back, eyes wet with tears, struggling to just stay conscious. Scourge went for a bent iron pole that had been dislodged by Brick's earlier fall--its tip ended in a twisted point. He hefted it up in the Crimson Claw, wielding it like a spear.

When he got close enough--his foot on the rail--I snapped the cattleprod off my back and stabbed it straight down into his thigh.

He screamed; I moved. I managed to sit up, swinging the cattleprod up for his groin. Another shock sent him crashing down to the floor.

We both heard the sound coming down the tracks--the steady rumble of an oncoming train. Scourge looked at me, eyes narrowed in rage and pain.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked.

Fighting through the haze, I dragged him back until the rails were above his head. Then I seized the Crimson Claw and smashed it down against the tracks, pinning it.

"Nngh--you bitch!" he said. "You fucking little--how dare you--"

The train's brakes hissed. Black lightning rippled out in angry lances, gouging paths through rock and iron. I did my best to stay out of their way, my knee against his stomach and my hands pinning down his elbow.

The sight of an oncoming train was terrifying beyond all belief, but somehow I kept my ground. There was a rush of heat and air--rocks clattered as the train slowed to a halt--and those wheels scraped toward the Crimson Claw.

The red prosthetic crumpled and snapped beneath them like cheap aluminium.

The train came to a complete stop. Somewhere above us, I could hear people shouting, people screaming--passengers rushing to the windows to see what the commotion was about.

Ruined and defeated, the Scourge stared up at me with pure, unfiltered hate.

"Kill me," he said, and then he spat blood at me. "If you don't, I'll tell the world. I'll tell everyone who you are. And you'll be hunted, Sue Daysdale. By the government--by old foes--by a thousand other opportunists. You'll be fucked. So kill me now, or so help me God--"

Wobbling, I got to my feet. My hands found the wall behind me as I started to make my way toward the stairs.

"Don't you dare leave me alive! I'll destroy you! I'll--"

There was a familiar crackle and pop from his direction. As I turned, I caught sight of a brilliant blue glow--and the rapidly forming image of a girl.

Her face was wrapped in bandages and her stomach was bleeding from a wound. In her left hand, she held Sumerset's gun.

Scourge stared up at her, confounded. "You again?!"

She lifted the barrel of the gun, brought it to his forehead, and fired a single shot.

I stared, slack-jawed and speechless. She dropped the gun and turned to me.

"Live. Save the world," she said.

And then she fell to the ground.

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 11

<-Previous
~*~
Marble cracked beneath Paladin's conjured armor. In one hand, he held a glowing shield; in the other, he held a matching spiked club.

"Woot, traffic control. Mulligan, you got Crocodile Dundee. Brick, take on the guy made out of floor. Skull, with me on Scourge."

I wasn't sure what ticked me off more--the fact that he was taking control of my party, or the fact that I was the one who invited him.

Everything happened fast. Woot charged into the fray, grabbing people by the shoulder and trying to guide them to the exit. Mulligan ran straight for Boomerang Kid. Brick jumped in front of the golem; Paladin stood besides me, mace and shield at the ready.

"He's got a weird black-lightning hand," I told him. "It does a thing."

"Mmhmm."

"By the way. I'm not big on taking orders. Just so y'know." It was petty, but what could I say? I'm a petty kind of girl.

"'Thanks Paladin, I really appreciate you and your team-mates showing up when you did to save my life. It was really sweet of you guys.'"

"That doesn't sound anything like me," I told him. "My voice is way cooler than that."

"Stop with the fucking chatter!" Scourge roared. The red fist opened; bolts of black lashed out like whip-strokes, slashing hard against Paladin's shield. Paladin was sent skidding back, his glowing greaves creaking against the floor, long wisps of smoke rose up from his armor.

I dove straight for Scourge. He met me, metal fist clenched, pounding it straight into my stomach.

It was like getting whacked by a sledge. I flew 20 yards back. When I hit ground, I was rolling, fighting for control--when I finally managed to slow myself down, I felt a sharp agony spearing through my ribs.

"Ouch," I said. Then I slumped to the floor.

"It's the Crimson Claw," Anna said. "Reputedly discovered sometime in the early 20s--Third Reich used it a lot. Thing's some sort of alien technology with an occult background. It--"

"Skip the history. What's it do and how do I break it," I said, wheezing.

"Increased strength, weird lightning, energy control. And you have to cut it off him," she said.

"Oh, lovely."

While I did my best to recover, I surveyed how the others were doing.

Mulligan was facing off with Boomerang--the latter drew his boomerangs while Mulligan drew an aluminum bat. They circled, measuring each other up.

Brick had just taken a fistful of stone to the face; the blow glanced off him like a tennis ball smacking into a wall. The golem's fist cracked and crumpled, its middle finger breaking off. Brick soon followed it up with a charge, hitting the stone-man head-first in the belly--and sent it reeling.

Woot's backpack steam-engine had sprouted a set of intricate spiderlegs that were now carrying him along the floor. Behind him, several shell-shocked civilians had been netted, and were being dragged toward the exit.

And Paladin... Paladin was a blazing beacon of white-and-black, engaging Scourge in outright medieval warfare.

His spiked club descended with flash after flash of sparks, meeting the Crimson Claw. Each time, Scourge pushed him back--the black lightning crept around the edges of his armor, threatening to slip past.

Scourge hammered his fist against Paladin's chestplate, sending him off-kilter. For a moment, he was off-balance--and open.

I shoved my way through the pain and got to my feet, intent on rushing Scourge before he could take Paladin down.

Mulligan beat me by a mile.

He came from no where, a steel boomerang in one hand and his baseball bat in the other. Scourge barely had enough time to meet the bat with his claw--and the boomerang sank straight into his shoulder.

There was something feral and violent in Mulligan's eyes; no sooner had he stabbed Scourge then did he follow it up with a headbutt. Scourge stumbled back, snatching the boomerang with his clockwork hand and wrenching it free. Mulligan moved back, grabbing Paladin.

I slammed into Scourge's flank, tackling him and flinging us both down the station's stairs.

We were tangled, fighting and kicking. Bolts of black energy ripped across the escalator, ripping smoldering holes through the metal. I felt something hot and painful bite into my shoulder, then my hip; when we reached the bottom, he brought the hand down on top of my helm and squeezed.

The material buckled and cracked.

"Defenders are on route," I heard Anna say. "You just got to last a little longer. They'll be there any min--"

She was cut off by the sound of static. With a flex of his claws, Scourge shattered my helm.

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 10

<-Previous
~*~
Five minutes.

Anna had already contacted the Metro Defenders and told them Scourge was there. We'd estimated five minutes until I was up to my eyeballs in capes.

I had to keep him there for five minutes. After that, Sumerset was safe, Scourge was in custody, and I...

Well, I'd figure out the rest when I got there.

A bolt of concussive force smashed into the archway over my head; solid stone splintered. A security officer was flung half-way across the room before he landed into a crumpled heap in front of me.

Before me, there was only smoke and chaos. And at its center stood Scourge.

He had removed his white gloves; his left hand terminated at the elbow. It had been replaced with a clockwork marvel of gleaming scarlet--a red prosthetic assembled from a hundred or more delicate parts. The fingertips ended in sharpened points; as Scourge saw me, he clenched his metal hand into a fist--wires crinkled as the device made an angry hiss.

The front of his coat had been burnt away, leaving his chest painted in long scorched streaks. His eyes narrowed--and the red hand burned with a black energy. It churned around his knuckles, tongues of it lashing at the dust.

"You," he said.

The boomerang hit me in the chest, sending to the floor; a second later and it was already snatched up into Boomerang Kid's hand. He waltzed through the crowd as if they weren't even there, reaching for the immense steel boomerang on his back.

It occurred to me then that if any of these people died, it would be on my head.

I threw myself to my feet and charged for the Kid, aiming hard and low. I hadn't gotten far before he hurled his weapon straight ahead--toward the two guys in front of me.

The boomerang unfolded with a soft click, its edge extending into a deadly blade. I dove, tackling the two onlookers to the ground. The weapon whipped right over our heads, missing by inches; it arched up high and started folding back into itself. As I got back up, one of the men beneath me started freaking out.

"Ohmygodohmygod," he said. "You're the frigging Sk--"

"Get out of here," I hissed. I shoved myself to my feet and went straight for the Kid, hoping to catch him before the boomerang returned.

He flipped his wrist, producing a second wooden boomerang--and proceeded to smack me upside the head. I stumbled back, just as the giant boomerang landed in his hand.

And then I heard the catastrophic roar behind me--the sound of stone cracking and crumbling.

Scourge had been using the clawtips of his prosthetic to carve something into the floor. Now that it was complete, the marble tiles were swelling upward, forming a 9 foot tall heap--a heap made of bricks and dirt. A dull red glow emerged from the empty sockets of its gradually forming 'eyes' and 'mouth'; a word that I could not make out was scratched on what slowly became its forehead. Arms and legs began to break away from the main body as clods of crumbling earth fell to the ground.

"They're ready," Anna said. "Talking to them now."

Beneath the helmet, I smiled.

"You impudent little slut," Scourge said, his voice shaking with rage. "You have absolutely no idea what you've done--what you've cost me. I'm already running out of time, and now you've forced me to spend more--to stretch the good faith of my benefactors..."

The golem took a step, tearing its foot out from the marble. Boomerang Kid circled behind me; Scourge circled to my left.

Three against one.

My smile grew.

"Did you really think you'd have a chance, you stupid little bitch? Did you really think you could take me on alone?" Scourge said.

My smile turned into a grin.

"Hm. Let me think about that: Nope."

The front doors exploded--and Epoch arrived.

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 9

<-Previous
~*~
The next morning, I went to school. Sat in class. Listened to teachers. Did the busywork.

The whole time, I had the Skull Formula wrapped up in something, snugly wedged between my math and biology textbook. Along with a few other odds and ends.

When I saw Anna in the cafeteria, we talked about the plan. Went over it two more times, to make sure we hadn't left anything out.

After school, I went straight for the Metro City bus.

I should have been scared. I should have been terrified. I was plunging headlong into danger--into a situation I scarcely understood against an enemy I didn't even know.

But in all honesty? I was kind of excited.

The Metro City Station was an immense, gothic-like structure; it towered in the center of a network of criss-crossing roads, with the train yard and ocean directly behind it. People slipped in and out at a steady trickle; no one glanced twice at the sixteen year old school-girl with the backpack and tired eyes.

The place was enclosed in an immense warehouse with upper windows tinted to a metallic tangerine hue. Iron bars sliced the colored glass into wide plates that ran across its roof, shading the afternoon's sunlight to a dark and pleasant orange. Statues lined the walls--Greek, naked and bold. The sort of thing that sent stuffy church-goers into a tizzy.

Near the back of the lobby sat a man. White suit, white hat, no nose. Looked like the crypt-keeper. He stood out--people kept their distance.

I made my way to him and sat down.

"Lovely afternoon," he said. I recognized the voice.

"Why are you so obsessed with this thing?" I asked him.

"Your family never understood its significance. Elizabeth did, but she never capitalized on it," he said.

"Elizabeth? She was the second one, right?" I said.

"Yes. She was--" he paused, as if searching for the right word. "--a worthy adversary."

Somehow, I had the notion that he didn't like admitting that.

"Fine," I said. "I just want Sumerset back. You can have it."

He laughed, then. "Do you know how long I've strived to acquire this? Over a century, now--plans and plots ranging from the brutish to the brilliant. And here I am... receiving my life's work thanks to nothing more than a girl who probably thinks Machiavelli is a type of noodle. It is like that song, yes? The one that Canadian twit sings. 'Ironic'."

"I don't care as long as I get Sumerset back," I told him. I dropped my backpack between my legs, opening it. "Where is he?"

"In one of the substations here. He's sedated, but alive," Scourge said. "The potion, if you will."

I removed it. I'd cushioned it with a thick, lumpy towel; Scourge drew the towel away. When he caught sight of the glass, his fingers began to shake.

He uncorked it with a gentle 'pip' and gave it a sniff. Then he closed his eyes, sighed, and closed it, carefully rewrapping it. When he was finished, he put it back under his coat.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was barely a whisper. "You have no idea how happy you have made me. All these years..."

"Sumerset. Where is he? Which substation?"

"Ah. Yes. About that," Scourge said, and then he smiled. "Regrettably, my dear, I've decided to change the deal."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Rather than releasing Sumerset into your custody, I've decided it would be far better to kill you, raise you as undead, and keep you as my pet," he said. "Purely for my own amusement, you understand. Nothing personal."

I jammed my hand into my pocket and pressed my thumb over the switch. "And how are you going to do that out here in public?" I asked.

"Very violently and messily. The Society is busy with a little extraplanar excursion--and Metro City's defenders will not have enough time to respond. Killing you should only take a few moments, perhaps a minute of--" Scourge stopped, staring at me. "...what on earth is that noise?"

"You guys are all the same," I told him. "Every single last one of you--dumb as bricks. You could have had it all. If you'd just kept your mouth shut, if you just kept to the deal, you would have won. But now?"

The sound increased in volume. Realization hit Scourge's eyes--along with violent frustration.

The sound was a steadily building 'noot'.

"Now, you ain't getting shit, Sherlock."

I hit the switch just as my noot suit went off. In an instant, two things happened: I disappeared and the explosive pellet Anna and I stitched into the towel exploded.

The Skull Formula erupted in a brilliant shock of red flame, spreading across Scourge's chest. He screamed, arching back as his suit was ripped apart in the swell of heat and force; meanwhile, I re-appeared in the alleyway directly next to the station.

The noot suit was done; I'd toasted some of the circuitry last night, but now it was torched--embers smoldered along its length, burning through the clothes I wore over it. A thick stream of smoke emerged from every inch of it. I could feel the heat through the dark suit.

Anna had left the helmet in the dumpster. I put it on and activated it with a hum. Anna's voice flooded my ear.

"You ready, starling?"

"Ready," I said.

I ripped off the burning remains of my school clothes and emerged, dark and featureless, in the uniform of the Skull. And then, as people screamed and ran out of the train station in terror, I walked in.

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 6

<-Previous
~*~
The Noot Suit had been Plan B, just in case the Dread-bots weren't enough to dissuade Epoch. It was a piece of incredibly pricey military tech that my mother had managed to acquire from the government via less-than-scrupulous means. It worked as a low-grade teleporter; you could only teleport a short distance, and only to a preset spot. Apparently, Arsenal had a version with way more kick--he used it to teleport his power armor into one of his orbital satellites, then loaded himself into a rail-gun and fired himself back down to the earth.

Me, I just wanted to get to the parking lot. Fast.

The dazzling light show going on around me peaked, then faded. A wave of nausea swept through me; then, slowly, I started to examine my surroundings.

I was on a rooftop overlooking the parking lot. The small unfolded device that the Noot Suit set as the teleportation target was on the ground; threads of smoke were rising from my costume. I could smell the distinct odor of burnt ozone--some of the circuitry had probably fried during the teleport.

I shook off the vertigo and leapt off the roof, letting the micro-shocks in my boots absorb the bulk of the fall. I started running through the lot--feet pounding against asphalt--as my helmet adjusted to the darkness.

I stopped at the edge of the crater.

The ground had been ruptured by some tremendous force--concrete had cracked and splintered, exposing a maze of pipes and wires. A thick spray of water was surging up from one of the cracks, gradually filling the 30 yard wide crater with a thick, murky sludge. At the hole's center was the shattered remains of the Tank.

Sumerset had turned the 'armor' mode on, but it hadn't made much difference--just meant the car was black instead of white when it got hit. The front end had buckled in, the engine block smashed nearly flat; the windows had shattered, and one of the doors had been torn off.

Cold terror squeezed my heart into its fist and refused to let go. I leapt into the hole, landing on top of the car--and then I reached my hands down into the canopy and gripped it. My fingers made dents in the metal.

Straining, I pulled up--and felt steel give way to muscle and bone.

The car's interior was a discombobulated rubik's cube of color and mismatched right angles. I saw what looked like blood on the dashboard, but no sign of Sumerset.

But I did see a small innocuous tape-player on the front seat.

I snapped it up and hit play without another thought. Instantly, I heard a voice--a voice I did not recognize.

Scourge.

"Good evening, Miss Daysdale," he said. "At this point I imagine you are wondering where Mr. Sumerset is. I assure you that he is alive and well, in my custody--although this status is wholly conditional on your behavior in the next 24 hours."

I slowly made my way up and out of the hole, crawling to its edge. Scourge continued to talk.

"My terms are simple. Tomorrow, you will attend school as if nothing is wrong. Immediately thereafter, instead of going home, you will take a bus to downtown Metro--to the train station. In your backpack, you will be carrying what I want. A single sample of the Skull Formula. Once you arrive, we will make the trade."

As I made it to the parking lot, I could see Epoch approaching. Paladin was charging on a set of immense, ridiculous glowing white stilts, allowing him to cover incredible distance with each step; Mulligan, Brick, and Woot were pulling up the rear. In just a few moments, they'd be in earshot.

"If you involve anyone else in this--the Society, Epoch, the police, the BPA--then I will send Sumerset to you. Piece by piece, in small installments, over a period of several weeks."

Paladin fell back to the earth, engulfing himself in armor as he slammed into the ground; concrete cracked beneath his feet as he charged toward me. The others soon followed.

"Give me what I want and I will return Sumerset to you. Refuse, and I will kill him--and take what I want from your corpse. Goodnight, Miss Daysdale. Have a pleasant evening."

"Skull!" Paladin said. "What happened?"

I held the tape-recorder behind my back. My fingers squeezed--crushing plastic. I let the remains clatter down into the hole behind me.

Under my mask, I felt a warm flood of tears slipping down my cheek.

"I don't know," I said. "He took him without leaving a clue."

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 5

<-Previous
~*~
As if a switch had been thrown off in their heads, the few remaining zombies collapsed.

I was riding on a dizzying endorphin-fueled high, but I didn't let that stop me. The first thing to do was to secure Toy-Master--but Mulligan was on it. He removed his remaining armanents (brass-knuckles, a few odd-shaped 'smiley-face' gas-canisters, a giant extendable boxing glove, a set of wind-up teeth...). Paladin turned and leveled several searing hot blasts at Brick, shattering the ice that covered him. Woot and I turned to grab Boomerang Kid.

Except he was missing.

"Crap," I said. "He got away."

"He was fighting you with boomerangs," Woot said.

"I'm aware."

"He was beating you with boomerangs," he said.

"Look, the guy's some sort of boomerang ninja, okay?"

Brick shook off what ice remained, his skin returning to its dark, ruddy color. Mulligan kept an eye on the unconscious Toy-Master; Paladin was waiting for me. Hadn't even taken a step forward before he seized one of the zombies up in a giant white hand and turned it my way.

"Look familiar?" he asked, using his other oversized hand to point at the zombie's forehead.

There was something burned into the corpse's temple--a black symbol. A skull without its jaw.

"Scourge," I said. "How did he find us?"

"We didn't squawk," Brick said, brushing off a few chips of ice from his arms.

"Well I sure didn't tell anyone," I said, and I meant it. Not even Anna.

"That doesn't make any sense," Paladin said. "If you didn't tell anyone, and we didn't tell anyone, then--"

He stopped in mid-sentence. And then he turned to Woot.

The goggle-clad boy was suddenly looking very, very quiet.

"Woot," Paladin said, speaking very slowly. "...you didn't tell anyone, did you?"

"Um--I mean," Woot said, "I didn't tell anyone any specifics... But I might have, uh, mentioned something about meeting the Skull on twitter..."

The sound of four hands simultaneously slapping their foreheads was like a gunshot.

"You twitted about this meeting?!" I said as I clenched my fists.

"It's not twitting, it's tweeting," Woot said with a defensive tone.

"It's twitting, you twit," I corrected him. "Jesus Christ!"

"Look. Calm down," Paladin said. "We managed to beat them. Nobody got hurt. And now we've got at least one of Scourge's men in custody."

"Fine. Right. Okay. You getting all this, big bird?" I asked, touching the side of my helmet.

Nothing.

"Hey," I said. "This thing working? Testing, testing. Can you hear me?"

Silence.

"Oh, God," I said. The realization hit me head-on like a truck full of rocket-fuel.

I pulled the drawstring that activated the Noot Suit. The electromagnetic sheathe hummed with energy; a noise was emitted from the circuitry that engulfed me--the sound resembled someone slowly saying the word 'noot' over and over.

"Where are you going?" Mulligan shouted.

"Parking lot. Two blocks south," I said. "I think this was a decoy. Scourge wasn't after me."

The suit's circuitry burned with power. The whole room shimmered around me.

"He was after my handler."

In a shock of blue flame, I disappeared.

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 4

<-Previous
~*~
Several doors buckled. Half a dozen windows shattered.

Zombies flooded into the warehouse.

Except they weren't actually zombies; not in any traditional sense. They weren't shuffling, rotting corpses ripped out of a George Romero movie--in fact, quite a number of them looked relatively healthy.

Also, some of them were running. I was pretty sure zombies couldn't run. It was... some sort of rule?

"Where the hell did they come from?" Paladin shouted, already on his feet. Both his hands were instantly immersed in giant, glowing white fists. He pounded them together with a loud whump and sprang toward the first group.

"Dunno," Mulligan said, pulling a Louisville Slugger out from beneath the table. "Maybe we should ask your mom."

The 'zombies' were all very large, very fast men--most of them dressed in dirty, mud-slick jumpsuits. Some of them were bare-chested, their torsos gleaming with primitive-looking tattoos. Others had scales, or green skin, or fins on their head, or--

"Holy shit," Sumerset said. "They're goddamn prisoners."

"What?" I asked.

"Prisoners," he said. "Bellepoint Penitentiary. Whole place was cleared out a few days ago. Assumed it was unrelated. But--"

As a very large, very bald heavyset man hurled himself at me, I noticed the gaping wound at the center of his chest. It was a bloodless hole--through it, I could see dried bone and viscera.

"Oh, God," I said. I stepped back and delivered a hard, brutal punch to his belly--felt muscle clench and tear around my fist. The thing was thrown backwards, his bloated figure crashing into several other approaching attackers like a wave of fat. "They are zombies."

"Not technically," Sumerset said.

"Technically? They're corpses!"

"Look, terminology aside, they ain't human anymore," Sumerset said. "So training gloves off, kid. I'm breaking out the Dreaddies."

The Dreadbots were a backup plan Sumerset and I had discussed for the off-chance that Epoch decided to try and take me in. When inactive, each one was a brass sphere no larger than a softball, complete with a mounted glass lens; once turned on, delicate mechanical spider legs slid out of the grooves, allowing them to scuttle up walls and down hallways.

Doctor Dread had used them in the late 1800s and early 1900s to spread misery and despair. One hundred years later, Sumerset was using them to spread copious amounts of C4.

Dozens of the things poured out from the ceiling and leapt down, landing on the heads and shoulders of the arriving zombies. Rusty, clanky machine-legs seized hold of throats and necks; tightly wound packages of C4 blinked rapidly as, in the distance, a detonator was depressed.

The entire warehouse was engulfed in a thunderous roar. Flaming zombie chunks flew every which way.

Sumerset was a surgeon when it came to controlled demolition; despite the violence of the blast, not a hair of the living was singed. Paladin was busy pounding zombies with his giant Hulk-fists near the center of the warehouse when it went off--Mulligan somehow managed to find himself in an unoccupied corner just in time. Meanwhile, Brick was tangling with a group of zombies who had come after Woot--as they tried to move past him, Brick grabbed two of them by their throats and choke-slammed them to the floor with a bone-snapping *crrrnch*.

It was then that I heard a sharp, whining hum.

"SKULL!" Mulligan shouted. "DOWN! NOW!"

I didn't think--I just did it. There was a rush of air passing over me, followed by several wet *SKRTS*--something immense swept past my head, slicing neatly through two or three zombies besides me. Their torsos tumbled to the ground, their legs left to stumble clumsily for several seconds before finally dropping.

A sleek metal boomerang at least as big as me whirled around the width of the warehouse, arching in a long loop as it returned to its source. As it did, the boomerang folded into itself--blades retracting, its width thinning out--until it had shrunk down to a manageable 2 feet in length.

The man who caught it was old; he dressed like Crocodile Dundee, except with tiny decorative boomerangs dangling from his slouch hat. More boomerangs were strapped to him--harnessed on his back, at his waist, on his chest--everywhere.

"Please don't tell me that's who I think it is," I said.

"That's impossible," Sumerset said. "He's dead."

"Yeah. Hello. We're fighting zombies," I said.

There was a loud crackle behind me; Woot had dropped his goggles down over his face and emerged from behind Brick, a set of clumsily assembled ray guns in his hands. Both were connected to the steam-engine on his back via lengths of cord; long lengths of electricity crackled at their tips.

"Taste electrified science, abominations!"

There was a streak of light as bolts of lightning speared out and struck several zombies in the torso. It lanced them like boils--their torsos ruptured with moist, bloodless splurches, leaving them to tumble to the ground. Brick kept close to him as he worked, ready to tackle any zombie who got too close.

Neither of them had noticed the boomerang that had nearly split me in two. And as I turned, I saw Boomerang Kid preparing two more of them--his eyes on Brick and Woot.

I snapped out the flare from my backpack and threw it in one effortless motion; then I charged towards him in a run--right as the flash of light exploded somewhere inbetween us. Boomerang Kid was briefly blinded, and stepped back with a grimace; I was on him in the next second, my fist coming in low to meet his jaw.

"You know what I find hilarious?" I said as my punch flattened him to the wall--I followed it up with a second and third to his stomach. "The fact that you are actually less dangerous than some guy with a gun."

"Don't underestimate him," Sumerset said. "Everybody always--"

A miniature steel boomerang unfolded from his wrist; he smashed it up under my helm and against my chin. I saw a flash of stars as I was sent reeling back--and then he was using the boomerangs like they were clubs.

"Oh, God," I said under my breath. "I am so never going to live it down if this guy manages to beat me."

I managed to block the next blow with the armored padding on my forearm--mostly by accident--and swung my face forward for a solid headbutt. There was a satisfying crack, followed by a thwack as his head hit the corrugated wall; he slumped to the floor, his boomerangs slipping from his limp fingers.

And that's when a voice that could only be described as that of a manchild flooded the warehouse from above.

"Play-time is over, super-jerks!"

The window overhead busted inward; glass rained down from above, spilling down like rain. An old fat man in a tweed suit and red polka dot bowtie descended into the room; he had an absurd-looking backpack with two sets of candy-cane colored propellers mounted atop of it. Somehow, the spinning blades were producing enough lift to keep him hovering over our heads.

In his hands he was holding what looked like some sort of retro-future space-ray.

"Everybody freeze!," he shouted, and then giggled--he pointed the ray gun down at us. Somewhere to my left, Paladin's legs flashed a scorching white as they were engulfed in shining pistons--with a flex of his legs, he fired himself up toward the mad-man.

"Taste the frigid hate of the Toy-Master," the manchild said, and then he fired the ray-gun straight at Paladin. A stream of rippling blue lashed out toward his head; Paladin raised his arm and coaxed his energy into the shape of a spectral shield. A thick wall of frost instantly spread out along its surface, crawling all the way to the edges; the added weight of rapidly condensing water pushed Paladin off-balance, sending him falling back down to the floor.

Woot turned to aim his electro-guns up at the 'Toy-Master', but the hovering mad-man managed to fire first. Brick leapt in the way--for a moment, I could swear that his skin looked like a pallid gray rather than a bronzed olive--and took the beam straight to the chest. Strands of frost spread out in thickening knots across him; his torso was encased in a block of ice.

"Vengeance is a dish best served--urgh!" Toy-Master's next horrible ice-based pun was cut off by Mulligan, who had somehow clambored up onto the rafters and managed to throw his bat at the spinning propellers. The blades chewed against the bat with a loud, harsh clang; something snapped and broke, sending the copter harness rolling. Toy-Master shrieked with terror as he plummeted toward the ground.

"--with your mom," Mulligan said.

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 3

<-Previous
~*~
We'd set up the meeting about four days ago. Epoch wanted to do it in a derelict warehouse.

I was half-tempted to demand that we meet in a Starbucks instead. How many superhero meetings happened in Starbucks, anyway?

Sumerset preferred the warehouse idea, though, and it wouldn't take me long to see why. The location they picked was fairly remote--along the shoreline of Metro's dock district, in a part of the neighborhood not many people ventured after hours. Sumerset had scoped it out a few days prior to the meeting, using one of the Vault's confiscated 'Dreadbots'.

We hit the parking lot a block or two away at around 8:30 pm; the sun was getting busy on the horizon and I wanted to make this short. It was a school night and I had a ton of polynomials back home just begging for me to solve them for X.

I wore the Dark Suit; there were a few other costumes left, but after the whole Battle Suit fiasco, Sumerset had been convinced of the utility of speed over strength. Especially when it came to running away. Of course, he hadn't let me leave the bunker without a few other tricks up my sleeve--one expensive one in particular. He called it the 'Noot Suit'; it was a wafer-thin layer of circuit-lined material that produced a sort of 'electromagnetic sheathe' around me.

When I slipped in through a broken window, I was surprised to see the team already there, waiting for me. They were sitting around a table they'd set up, playing what looked like a game of poker.

Well, three of them were. The fourth was in the rafters, tapping away at a laptop.

Sumerset had done more research on them in the meanwhile, and had managed to cobble together something close to a respectable portfolio on each.

The one on the left side of the table--dark-eyed, brown-skinned, with dreadlocks--was named 'Paladin'. He looked around 18 or 19; his costume consisted of a white domino mask and a matching bodysuit that covered every inch of him below the neck. The suit seemed to glow--a constant fixed light spread out from it. The dreadlocks, in particular, were interesting--they were the same color of the costume, and seemed to weave through the air like drifting algae.

From what Sumerset had gathered, he was the de facto leader. He could create any simple object he wanted out of that white light of his. Hammers, anvils, whips, armor, shields, chains--so long as it remained in contact with him, it was as solid as rock and capable of delivering stone-shattering force.

To his right was Brick--a tall, olive-skinned southern boy built like his namesake. His costume was the same white color as Paladin, except it didn't glow--and it clutched a bit more tightly along his figure. The guy was ripped--way more than you'd expect for a teenager. Apparently it had something to do with his power, which involved some form of immobility--when he didn't want to move, it was hard as hell to change his mind.

Between them both was Mulligan. Pale-skinned, a little younger than the others, and dressed in an untucked white-collared shirt with a loose, messy tie--he looked like a kid fresh out of high-school applying for his first job. His power was the most perplexing of all. The only thing everyone was sure of was that he never, ever screwed up. He never missed a shot--never got hit by a blow--never got surprised. He always seemed to know precisely what to do and where to be.

I could make out the outline of the figure in the rafters with his laptop--I figured it was Woot. Now he was an easy one to find information about; kid had his own blog, twitter, everything. He was probably the youngest of their crew; 14, maybe 15. Wasn't allowed to do the really dangerous stuff, apparently, but did a lot of support work for the team. He was dressed in a white trench coat with a ridiculously raised collar, and a pair of goggles--and what looked to be some sort of big retro steamengine strapped to his back. He built all sorts of machines, but they were mostly useless--until they were in his hands. I didn't quite understand it when Sumerset explained, but it had something to do with the ability to enforce his imagination on his immediate vicinity--machines and toys he built would function so long as he was the one operating them.

I got three steps into the room before Mulligan's voice cut through the darkness.

"She's here," he said without looking up from his cards. "Also, you're bluffing, Brick."

Paladin glared at Mulligan, but then turned his eyes toward me. He raised his hand; a brilliant white light seared out from his palm, catching me like a spotlight.

"Good evening," he said.

"Yeah," I replied, my own voice mangled by my helmet into something mechanical but still distinctly feminine. "Evening. Nice costume," I said, nodding toward Mulligan.

Honestly, I wasn't being sarcastic. Took some cajones to wear a shirt and tie to work in the cape business.

Paladin snuffed the light. "So. Right then," he said. "Let's get down to business."

I could tell right off that this guy was a real A-personality type. Probably the sort to do extra-credit even after he got a hundred on the math exam. Not that I was terribly different--but it gave me reason for concern.

As if he sensed tension, Sumerset spoke in my ear.

"Easy, starling. They're just kids. Like you."

"Yeah," I said, whispering low enough so that the helmet didn't pick it up and magnify it into the room. "We should all meet up after school and play Pokemon or something."

"You wanted to speak with us," Paladin said. "Something about a threat."

This was so weird. They were kids, just like me. And they were wearing costumes--I couldn't get over just how much it was like roleplaying. Like I'd just blundered into a den of LARPers. The thought nearly made me giggle; but really, who was I to talk? I was wearing a damn skull on my head, wasn't I?

"Yeah," I said, trying to get ahold of myself. "Scourge is back, I'm pretty sure."

Glances were exchanged. I heard Woot somewhere above me shifting to drop down to the floor. Everybody but Mulligan looked pretty surprised.

"Scourge?" Paladin said. "The original one?"

"Oh, wow," I heard Woot say somewhere behind me. "This is--this is just like the movies! He and you were, like, mortal enemies!"

Instantly, I was reminded of Anna. For some reason, the notion didn't endear him to me. "Right," I said. "So. I need help."

"Haven't you dealt with him before?" Brick asked.

"She isn't the original Skull, Brick," Mulligan said. "The Skull wasn't a girl."

Well, at least I knew he wasn't infallible. "I'm kind of new at this whole thing. And I figured I needed help."

"You need more than just our help," Paladin said. "We need to contact the government. Maybe get the Society into this--the Scourge is a serious player. Way out of our league."

"The government isn't really something I entirely trust right now," I said.

"But you trusted us," Mulligan said.

That made me hesitate. I decided to plunge.

"I received a message," I told them. "Someone told me to contact you. Someone from--" Okay, I thought to myself. Try not to sound like some crazy little high-school girl. Try to sound bad-ass. "--the future."

Well, I sure screwed that one up.

They all gave me blank stares. Not for the first time, I was thankful the mask hid my expression.

Mulligan was the first to speak:

"Was it a girl?"

My head tilted back. "What?"

"The person who delivered the message," he said, his voice growing more insistent. He had projected a sense of bored indifference ever since I stepped in--but suddenly, he was interested. His eyes were locked on me like an incoming spear. "Was it a girl?"

"Yeah," I said.

And then the dimly lit interior went entirely black.

"What the heck?" I heard Paladin say, but then Mulligan's voice cut through it all:

"Incoming. Craploads of them."

"Craploads of what?" Brick asked, standing up.

I heard Sumerset's voice crackle in my ear: "Starling, he's right. I don't know how the hell it happened--but the whole warehouse is surrounded."

"Cape-Busters?" I asked, simultaneously addressing Mulligan and Sumerset.

"No," Mulligan said. "Zombies."

~*~
Next->

Nemesis - 2

<-Previous
~*~
"Professor Freeze Ray?" I asked.

"The fifties and sixties were strange times," Sumerset replied.

I stepped out of the bunker's shower stall and reached for the towel on the bench. Sumerset was outside of the room, leaning against the wall and talking to me through the closed door. I could smell the smoke from his cigarette.

My acute sense of smell was a recent development.

"But--Professor Freeze Ray? I mean, what was he a professor of?" I asked, raising my voice as I stopped to peer at my reflection in the mirror. I wasn't sure, but my muscles looked a little more prominent.

"'Freezology', assumedly," Sumerset said. "With a minor in 'Ray-onomics'. Oh, man. If you thought that was funny, you should have been around when he started working for the Feds."

"Working for the government? Didn't you say he was a super-villain?"

"Well, yeah, but eventually he got caught. Government offered to mitigate his sentence in return for his help on a few projects. Needed his 'particular brand of genius', if I recall the wording."

"How'd that work out?" I asked, drying my hair with the towel.

"Turns out the poor bastard couldn't build anything but freeze rays. Government asked him to build a jetpack--he just gave one of his freeze rays a big recoil and strapped it to his back. Flew around on giant icicles."

"Oh, wow. That's--um, that's pretty amazing," I said.

"Like I said, the fifties and sixties were strange times. I think we were all a little off-kilter."

"But still. I mean, 'Professor Freeze Ray'? Has to be the lamest super-criminal idea ever."

"Oh, hell no, kiddo. That prize goes to 'Boomerang Kid'."

"'Boomerang Kid'?" I said. "Do I even want to know?"

"He had... wait for it: Boomerangs."

I tried to stifle my giggle, but it was too much. "Oh, God. A boomerang grenade."

I heard Sumerset choke--I could picture him nearly swallowing his cigarette in a fit of laughter. "Oh, oh damn. That would be too perfect. I can totally imagine that guy doing it, too."

"Whatever happened to them?" I asked. "All the villains and heroes from back then. They all seemed so, I don't know--silly. But fun. Like it was all some sort of game."

Sumerset didn't reply at first. I finished drying myself and put on a tank-top with shorts; when I came out, he was putting on his sparring gloves.

"I just got cleaned up," I said. "Besides, I've been at it for hours. I think--"

"You're meeting Epoch tomorrow," he said. "I want you to be prepared for anything."

"I'm not going to fight them."

"They're registered capes. As far as they're concerned, you're another criminal. There's a chance this is just a setup."

"Then why am I going?"

"Because if Scourge comes after you, there's no chance in Hell you can take him on alone."

I grumbled, but reluctantly shifted my weight and threw the towel aside.

I was stronger than the old man--and I was way faster--but it never ceased to amaze me just how easily he could keep up with me. He didn't dodge blows--he just arranged it so that by the time I'd swung my fist, he was no longer there.

We'd been at this for more than a week. He had me practicing how to fight for at least three hours every day--sometimes more. I still no idea about what I was doing, but I had finally started to throw a few punches that Sumerset said looked 'vaguely respectable'.

I took the first swing. Sumerset swatted my hand aside and spun around to my left, seizing my arm and twisting.

Instinctively, I moved with the motion--seeking to end the pain. He used that instinct against me and threw me to the floor.

"Gunf," I mumbled, sulking as I chewed on floormat.

"I can still see your punches from a mile away," he said.

"When are you going to teach me the cool stuff?" I asked. "Like, the deadly death-touch, or something." I shoved myself off the floor, rolling to my feet.

Sumerset circled me. "You need to learn how to throw a half-decent punch first. Then and only then will I teach you the ancient secret of the Zebra-Style Shaolin Murder-Poke."

"Right," I said, watching him as he circled. "Seriously though, what am I supposed to be learning here? That despite being incredibly strong and fast, I can still get my butt whupped by a seventy year old man?"

"If this was a real fight, you wouldn't be holding back," he said, and then he stepped forward and telecasted his next blow with his left elbow.

And I fell for it. I shifted my weight back in time and prepared for the strike right before his foot swept out and hooked behind my ankle, his right arm catching my shoulder and violently pushing. I span like a top out of control, thumping down hard against the matt.

He was right, of course. I was holding back. If I ever managed to hit him with a solid blow--I could easily break him. I'd only managed to touch him once, but I'd seen him grimace with pain. The thought of hurting him--really hurting him--made me a little nauseous.

"What if I get mind-controlled by bore worms, huh?" he said. "You gotta take me down. What then?"

"Do you want me to come up with a bore-worm contingency plan?" I asked, rolling to my feet again. "Because if bore-worms are on the table, I will totally do that."

"What if you have to kill the Scourge to win?"

The question threw me offguard--and Sumerset used it. In an instant, he was hammering me in the stomach, sending me reeling back and gasping for air. And then I was on the floor again, his iron-toed boot wedged firmly between my clavicle and chin.

"It's not about that," I said, my voice sounding cramped and tiny beneath his boot. "I'm not in this to 'win' anything. I just want to survive to see college."

"I'm not comfortable with you going into this with the notion that you're not going to have to kill anyone."

"And yet you are comfortable with the notion of encouraging a sixteen year old to try and kill a guy?" I asked, shifting to sit up as he drew his foot back.

"You do whatever you gotta do to survive," he said. "Lord knows I don't want to live to bury another Daysdale."

~*~
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Nemesis - 1

<-Previous
~*~
A midnight black 1954 Cadillac Fleetwood idled outside the front gate of the Bellepoint Penitentiary Supermax.

The facility was built like a fortress--designed to keep prisoners in and everyone else out. An armored division of soldiers kept constant watch, armed with rifles capable of leveling small buildings. The electrified fences carried charges that could incinerate flesh and bone.

Three figures exited the Cadillac.

"Remember, gentlemen. We're here for Clarence Donovan," their leader said. "Everything else is just gravy."

They walked forward.

~*~

The first alarm went off two minutes after one of the spotters had seen the car.

A dozen soldiers flanked the prison's lobby. Their suits made them look like immense strongmen--they were wrapped in black fibers that mimicked the appearance and function of muscle tissue. Their rifles hummed with the steady pulse of building energy; their helms fed them a constant stream of information.

At the center of the room stood an old man in a silly hat.

He was armed with two boomerangs.

"Drop the weapons," the sergeant said, his voice crackling beneath his helmet.

The old man threw them.

~*~

The men and women in the control room stared with disbelief at the viewscreen.

"Is he--please tell me he's not beating an entire division of armored Marines with boomerangs," one of the technicians said.

"That's Boomerang Kid," another technician said.

"Who?" asked the first.

"He was--he was a super-villain. Back when my dad was just a boy," she said. "I didn't even think he was still--"

The doors to the room ruptured inward, snapping off their hinges. As they crashed to the floor, a childish giggle bubbled up from behind them.

A fat, bald old man in a tweed suit stepped inside.

One of the technicans turned and drew his gun. A giant punching glove extended out of the old man's jacket, emerging with a cartoonish 'sproing!'; it smashed into the technician's face.

"Everybody freeze!," the Toy-Master said. The boxing glove exploded--a frigid gas expanded out from it and into the back-end of the room, engulfing the remaining technicians. There was the sound of screams, followed by the crackle of rapidly forming frost.

When the gas cleared, only frozen corpses were left.

The Toy-Master strolled forward and shoved one of the corpses aside ("N-ice to meet you!" he said, giggling again) and reached for the frozen console.

~*~

The Yard--as it was known among the men who occupied Bellepoint Penitentiary--was not a place for the light of heart.

Here, some of the roughest, most violent offenders--primarily Class 5 powers--mingled. At any point during the prison's normal operating hours, it was filled with an assortment of men capable of shattering concrete with their bare fists.

When the old man in white walked in, he caused more than a few of the inmates to raise their eyebrows.

He was crisply dressed in a clean white coat, gloves, and hat; the clouds of dust that constantly lingered around the yard seemed repelled by his presence. When he walked toward the center of the yard and tipped his hat back, several inmates could see his face.

His nose was gone, leaving nothing but a smooth triangular nasal cavity. His cheekbones were particularly pronounced--and his hair had all but fallen out. He had the look of a man freshly raised from the dead--little more than a well-groomed skull.

Several of the bolder criminals stepped forward to intercept him.

"Gentlemen," he said, pausing to bow. "A pleasure to meet you. Perhaps you can be of some assistance."

"Assistance?" one of the inmates--a green-scaled giant with a fin on top of his head--said. "What're we 'assisting' you with, Skeletor?"

The old man smiled. Something about it was unnerving--all teeth, no lip. "I'm looking for someone. Mr. Donovan. Sometimes goes by the name of 'Sharkface'."

Another inmate--this one a gray-skinned man who towered at nearly 7 feet--stepped forward. When he smiled, it was like stepping into a knifeshop. "Must be your lucky day, Crypt-Keeper."

"Mr. Donovan, I presume?"

"Yeah. What can I do you for?"

"I'm here to inquire about someone you met recently," the old man said. "The Skull."

Sharkface's eyes narrowed. "I already talked to the Feds about that."

"And I'm sure you fed them quite an amusing little fib. But I'm interested in the truth, Mr. Donovan."

"You know," Sharkface said, cracking his knuckles, "I'm suddenly feeling a little less than sociable. Why don't I allow my boys here to give you a tour of the facilities?"

Several of the inmates had formed a circle around the old man. His smile only grew--which managed to unnerve a few of them.

"A tour would be lovely," he said, tugging off his left glove.

~*~

Minutes later, a single dot of burning blue light appeared near the center of the prison's courtyard.

It expanded outwards, forming into a tear; through it extended a leg, followed by a hip, and another leg--and then a torso. At last, an entire person emerged--a girl dressed in t-shirt and jeans, with bandages tightly wound around her eyes. She stepped forward carefully, cocking her head upward.

Though she could not see, she could 'feel' the space around her--and what she felt was disturbing.

Though there were many human-shaped lumps here--dozens, perhaps nearly a hundred--only one of them showed any signs of life. She moved toward it, reaching her hands out to touch it.

The skin was cold.

Sharkface groaned. "Who are you? How'd you get in here?"

"I teleported in," she said. "I'm here to help."

"Little late, girl," he said. "I'll be dead in about twenty minutes."

"What happened?"

"Son of a bitch tore through us. Everyone," he said, and then he spat. "I didn't want to spill, but--God, it was like he was drilling into my brain..."

"Spill?" she said.

"He knows. Everything I know," he said. "Goddammit. I wanted to kill that little bitch myself, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that fucker get his satisfaction--not after what he did to me. To us."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Skull," he said. "You gotta--" He choked on his next sentence. "You gotta warn her. Tell her."

"Tell her what?"

"You teleported in?"

"Yes."

"I want you to take me somewhere. Do that for me and I'll tell you everything. Everything I can, anyway."

The girl hesitated, but then slowly nodded. "Where do you want me to take you?"

"My mother," Sharkface said. "Need to--need to talk to her. Apologize, and shit." He turned his face away, ashamed.

"I can take you there," the girl said, and she brought her hands to his chest. "But a hospital might be better--"

"Ain't no hospital can fix what I got," he said. "Bastard's already killed me. He just gave me a bit of time to deliver a message."

"What message?" she asked.

"He wants her to know," he said. "He wants Sue Daysdale to know that the Scourge knows her name. And that he's coming."

~*~
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