The Mysterious Case of Boomerang Kid - 4

<-Previous
~*~
"He wasn't never a bad boy," said Martha. "Just restless. One day he packed up his boomerangs and went walkabout. Sent me a postcard from the States a couple of weeks later. Came back every few years, never forgot about his home, he didn't."

She gazed into her teacup. The living room was adorned with pictures of a small boy in a slouch hat, always clutching at a boomerang at least half his size.

"He was always good with them bloody things. More'n your average bloke around here, even."

"You said something changed a few months ago, Mrs Bishop," said the Skull. "He find a new employer?"

"Said he was going straight," she replied. "Found a job where he had to wear a suit. I said, don't you never trust nobody who makes you wear a suit, boy. That's what I told him."

There was a crash as a small boomerang flew into the open door and embedded itself in the sofa.

"My bad," said Bones as he ran to retrieve it. He grabbed the weapon and gave a thumbs up to someone outside before trotting back out the door.

The Skull shook his head. "You have any information on who gave him a job? A name?"

"Yeah, I do got something like that," Martha said, reaching for a drawer. "A business card."

She handed the card to the Skull, stepping around the furniture strewn across the cluttered room. It was white and orange, with nothing except the logo printed in its centre.

"'Goetech'," said the Skull. "Never heard of them. I'll look into it."

"Cheers, kid. Lotta folks around here are mad as all hell about what happened to Rick. I just want to get him back."

"I'll let you know what happens. Look out for the sign of a skull," said the Skull, turning to the door. "Bones! Put those things down before you lose a finger."

~*~

"Why do we have to walk?" said Bones. He drooped melodramatically as he trudged along the long dirt path. They were a few miles from the town, and though the sun had dropped below the horizon, it was still stiflingly hot.

"Because unless you learned to fly back in Boomerang, we've got to make it to a landing strip before we can get out of here."

"But why do we have to walk?"

"We're probably halfway-"

The Skull paused and motioned at Bones. The pair fell silent and scanned the surrounding rocks.

A figure sprang from an outcrop with a flash. "Rufruf has been far too quiet!"

The Skull and Bones dove to each side as a column of lightning smashed into the ground beside them. The bolt returned to Rufruf's outstretched arm, and shards of glass sprouted from the sand.

Lightning seared through the air as the Skull sprinted towards the rock Rufruf stood atop of. From each of his wrists a dart sliced into the air and burrowed into Rufruf's feet. Immediately a block of ice grew around each foot, trapping him on the stony surface. As soon as it had grown, the ice began to melt and crack.

"Bones, now!"

Bones arrowed forward and pounded his fist into the base of the tall rock. The red stone shattered, its peak toppling to earth and dragging the man frozen to its surface with it.

Chunks of stone rained from the air as Rufruf rolled in the dust. He had time only to groan before he felt the Skull's knees slam into his torso.

"You work for Goetech, don't you?" said the Skull, his hands at Rufruf's throat. "Who are they? What do they want?"

"Nobody and nothing," said Rufruf, his sharp teeth organising themselves into a grin.

The Skull clasped his fist. A lattice of ice spread for a moment across Ruruf's neck before collapsing in the heat. "Answer me truthfully."

Rufruf scowled. His body buzzed and shimmered, but the Skull tightened his grip and the electricity settled. He drew his mouth into a sneer and spat his last words.

"Furfur would rather die."

The sky belched and a jet of light shot narrowly past the Skull's head and into his prisoner's. With a blinding flash and a wave of heat, the Skull was propelled back onto the sand. When he looked again, all that was left was a rapidly crumbling pile of ash.

"What the hell was that?" said Bones.

"That," said the Skull, "was proof we're on the right track."

~*~

Another set of rats rotated into the machine. Another set of blades mounted on small mechanical arms swung to meet them. White fur was stained red as the arms worked. Three hundred of them, in this machine. One hundred more of those lined neatly in the massive warehouse.

Cameras glided along on suspended rails once the rats were opened. Thousands of high-resolution digital images would be analysed in seconds, processed by the supercomputers mounted in each corner of the room.

There was a faint hum as the rats were tipped onto conveyor belts, to be swept outside. A hundred trays of fresh rodents slotted into place. Above, half a dozen men watched. Figures poured into the control room overlooking the warehouse – millions of variables, billions of statistical points. Graphs and tables splayed onto the dozens of monitors spread around the room.

"Thousands of years of technological progress and mankind has yet to abandon extispicy," said one of the men, standing behind the others. "Does it really work?"

"Faintly, Mr Sitri," replied a technician. "With sufficient numbers, results are better than chance. It never hurts to diversify your data."

"And what does this data say?"

"We're forecasting no problems, sir. Haruspex report is clear to go."

"Excellent," said Sitri. "And the Skull?"

Another man spoke. "He won't be an issue, sir. Not for a while, at least."

"Well then, gentlemen. We've got a city to capture."

~*~
Next->

The Mysterious Case of Boomerang Kid - 3

<-Previous
~*~
"This is never going to work," said Bones, his voice muffled by the beard.

"Not with that sort of attitude it won't," replied the Skull as he took a glass from a passing air hostess. He struggled for a moment with the fake moustache gripping his face before the glass reached his lips.

The pair sat in the seats closest to the door, heavy bags stuffed under their seats. The Skull had tried to find a plane with as few witnesses as possible, but the only one with the correct flight path was a 747, stuffed with tourists on their way to Sydney. Eventually he'd settled on using the disguises.

Bones took off his Aviators and pressed his nose to the window. "I think I see it. Yeah, that's got to be it."

The plane was rounding a jagged mountain as the Skull leaned to peer through the glass. Below, a vast red plain came into view, broken only in the centre by a long, curved lake. At its southern-most point lay the grubby speck of a settlement.

"Boomerang Lake," said the Skull, tearing the moustache from his face before tugging a pack from beneath his feet. "Got your parachute?"

"Yes," replied Bones, sighing wearily as he followed the Skull to his feet.

There was a loud crack and the remaining passengers looked up in shock as their loose belongings were sucked into the air. A wind howled through the aeroplane and the door slammed open.

"I'm tremendously sorry about all of this," said Bones with a wave, before he jumped out of the plane.

*

Kevin Carpenter had lived in Boomerang for over 60 years. He'd seen a lot of things happen in this place. But he hadn't seen anything like this.

Two men – no, a man and a boy – fell from above. At the last moment, a parachute bloomed from each of them, two ghastly skulls painted on the blue sky. There was a plume of scarlet dust as they hit the ground only meters from Carpenter's (purely decorative) letter box.

"You were right. That was a terrible idea," groaned the Skull. "Bones?"

The ground shifted and Bones erupted from the red soil. "That was awesome. Can we do it again on the way back?"

The Skull staggered to his feet and brushed the dust from his clothing. "Let's just see if anyone in this town knows anything about the Kid."

"Can I help you fellas?" called Carpenter from his verandah.

The Skull looked up at the old man rocking back and forth in front of the simple house. It took him a few seconds to realise he wasn't rocking in a chair, but was perched in an interlocking mess of enormous boomerangs. The four longest were easily over six feet, with dozens of others slotted between them. Apparently relaxed, the man hung in the centre of the nest.

"Name's Carpenter," he said. "I reckon there ain't much business in Boomerang for you, mate."

"My name's Don. And, uh, so is his," said the Skull, gesturing to Bones. "We're looking for Rick Bishop."

The old man leaned back in his boomerang chair.

"Also known as Boomerang Kid."

Carpenter got to his feet with a snarl. "Couple of yanks falling out of the sky, askin' about silly names? Yer sound like a bunch of right trouble-makers to me, mate."

The mass of wood had lifted from the ground as Carpenter stood, and the Skull realised that each boomerang's end led to the man's back. They began to swivel, separating from each other and jutting into the air. Soon, they were circling Carpenter's frame, sprouting from his back like the legs of some wooden spider. The longest boomerangs were slung from each side of his hips.

"Skull," said Bones. "He has an awful lot of boomerangs, Skull."

The planks of the porch creaked as Carpenter rose into the air, his weight supported on the huge weapons at his waist. One at a time they began to rise and fall, sending Carpenter into a swaying elevated stride. The other boomerangs arched backwards tensely.

"I knew I would hate this country," muttered the Skull as he shoved Bones to the ground.

The Skull had only just planted his own face into the dust when he felt the storm of boomerangs skim above him. The wind sent waves of dust scattering into space as the boomerangs swooped backwards and arranged themselves neatly on Carpenter's back again.

More men ran towards the scene from the town, heavy boomerangs protruding from backpacks and held tight in gloved hands. At least half a dozen heavy chunks of wood sailed towards the Skull and Bones.

Bones launched himself upwards, going airborne before his feet had even touched the ground. He planted a foot on one flying boomerang, tumbling forward before catching his other foot on another. The boomerangs dipped and swerved under his weight as he made his way across the spinning stepping stones, reaching the stunned throwers in seconds.

Bones' boot snapped a jaw out of place as the Skull shattered Carpenter's boomerangs out of the sky. Each one splintered into nothing as he slammed his knuckles expertly into their fragile sides, but blood flew increasingly heavily from his fists.

The Skull was battling his way through the swarm of weapons, and Bones had dropped a third man into the ruby dust when a woman's voice yelled from further up the dirt road.

"Stop, you bloody idiots!"

Carpenter swivelled on his stilts and pointed at the Skull. "These tossers were asking about Rick, Martha. It's bloody them!"

"No, it ain't," said Martha, running to the Skull's side. "You're them types he was always goin' on about, aren't you? Superheroes."

She turned to the assembled crowd, some panting, others still moaning in the dirt.

"It wasn't men like this who killed my son."

~*~
Next->

The Mysterious Case of Boomerang Kid - 2

<-Previous
~*~
The Skull started at Rufruf. He'd barely taken a step when another bolt erupted from Rufruf's bony hands and crackled into the pavement at the Skull's feet. He lurched backwards, the tips of his boots smoking.

The stream of lightning retracted to Rufruf's arms, spreading across his body until he was encased in sparking electricity. A gasp came from the civilians still spread across the street.

"Bones, you escort these folks out of here. I'll deal with the Commander Surge wannabe," said the Skull.

He dove at Rufruf, swinging his arms at the frail body – only to feel his skin blister and sizzle, his fists bouncing harmlessly from the electric field swelling beneath them. There was a crack, and the mass of energy surged from Rufruf's body towards the Skull.

The Skull darted from foot to foot, dodging the growing pillar of light as it swung back and forth. Rufruf's eyes were shut, his arms extended as rings of electricity rolled down them.

"Hey, sparky!" shouted Bones. "Blackout!"

The boy was still in the air, one leg raised and a fist held triumphantly above his head, when Rufruf's eyes burst open. His arm shot towards Bones, a vortex of light already forming in his palm. There was an air rupturing crack, and Bones hurtled to the ground across the street, sparks showering the crowd. Finally they began to run and scream.

Rufruf turned back towards the Skull, a split-second too late. The black fist rocketed into Rufruf's face, sending him crashing to his knees.

Rufruf spat dark blood and grinned. "The book closes. Lucrum est poena; prosperitas est letum."

His thin lips had barely spat the words out when they began to disappear. His features unravelled into arcs of energy, twirling and fading until they were no longer there at all. In seconds, he was gone.

Bones sprinted back to the Skull's side, his clothes charred and smoking. The street was clear now, the pair the only figures in sight. Both stared incredulously at the spot Rufruf had vanished from before the Skull grabbed Bones' shoulder, a scowl across his painted face.

"What the hell was that? I told you to take care of civilians."

"I saw an opportunity. He was just a Surge wannabe anyway, right?" said Bones with a shrug.

The Skull glared down at Bones. The boy was tall for his age – muscular, too. But the Skull was huge, broad and towering. Bones swallowed and stared back.

"If I quip on the battlefield, it's because we have to. The suits have to think we're heroes, and the masks have to think we don't even need to try. But my orders are never a joke. You do what I goddamn say."

"Hey, I'm the one who got zapped here. I'm fine, by the way."

"You'll always be fine – your adult self is standing in front of you, right here. You're the only person in this city who knows for a fact he's going to make it through tomorrow. And the next day, and the next fifty years. But that means you have a responsibility to all those other people. The ones who can die."

Bones dropped his head. "I'll do better."

"I know you do."

*

"There's nobody like that in Society records," said Blink, his face blurring on the bunker's monitor. "'Rufruf', huh? Doesn't sound like your usual mask name."

"He knew I'd be at that station. Whoever he is, I think he knows something about Boomerang," said the Skull as he leaned back in his office chair. Bones whirled past in another one, manilla folders spilling from his lap.

Blink threw his hands to the air. "Don't you have bigger fish to fry than the guy who tosses bits of wood around? What's the big deal with Boomerang Kid?"

"The big deal is he's out there with technology that hasn't even been invented yet," replied the Skull. "We have no idea what he could do with that stuff. And if something goes down, it'll be on us."

"Look, Don, I roped the hell out of that guy. I don't know a non-power got out of there in the first place."

"You underestimated him. That's not a mistake I'm going to make," said the Skull as he reached for the dashboard spread in front of him. "Skull out."

"Uh, Skull?" Bones called from the radio desk. "I've got something."

"Give me good news, kid." The Skull stood to cross the room. The communications lobby was the largest room in the bunker, but the amount of equipment crammed into it managed to make it feel cramped anyway. A small fortune had gone into making this the most connected place in Metro City.

"Didn't you say there was no such thing in this business?" Bones said, hooking a radio receiver back into place. " You were right. Coastguard thinks he's out of the country. Probably run back home."

"Which is?"

"You're not going to believe this," Bones said, holding up a sheet of paper. "It's Boomerang. Boomerang, Western Australia."

"Then it looks like we're going down under," said the Skull as he turned towards the door.

Bones sprang to his feet. "Oh boy! Really? Do you have a plane? A Skull-Plane? A Bone-Wing?"

"Do you see a plane in here?"

"Batman has a plane."

"Batman is a fictional millionaire."

"So... how are we getting to Australia?"

The Skull turned to the boy with a grin. "Never heard of Pan Am?"

~*~
Next->

The Mysterious Case of Boomerang Kid - 1

<-Previous
~*~
"Faster," said the Skull as the pair leapt from one rooftop to the next. Bones sped up, grinning as he followed.

It had been three months since Bones had found himself transported to 1971, with new-found superpowers and a costume waiting for him. Since then he'd seen plenty of criminals, even a few with powers. But tonight was his first mask.

The bad guys with a gimmick and a funny name were less common than people thought. One would make it onto the front page of every major newspaper almost daily, but that only required a few dozen to be active in the country at any one time. And it was a big country. Most people would never see a genuine super-villain in their lives. There were states where it had been years since anyone showed up in spandex and a cape.

The Skull adjusted his earpiece. "Sounds like it's definitely not Boomerang. We'll still check it out."

"Who do you think it is?" said Bones. "Iron Mask? The Ogre? Doctor Rex? Is it Rex?"

"The first reports couldn't identify him. Maybe it's someone new," replied the Skull. "Get ready to jump."

The black-clad duo dropped to the pavement below. Few people on the street noticed, their attention focussed on the man in front of the subway station entrance. He wore a long tiger-striped cloak, the bottom filthy and wet, and what looked like a plastic crown. There was a parrot perched on his shoulder.

"Behold the might of the Animal King!" cried the man, tearing open the front of his robe. A small monkey scampered from his body and disappeared into a nearby alleyway.

"What," said Bones.

"Prepare to join the animal kingdom, humanity!" said the Animal King.

"No," said Bones. "No way. This is not going to be my first mask."

"I'm afraid so, kid," replied the Skull, ducking behind a car. "I remember this guy. Watch out for sea urchins."

"Can't you call Blink and get him to do it?" said Bones. He slid into position beside the Skull, back pressed to the car door.

The Skull paused thoughtfully for a second before he shook his head. "Let's just wrap this up."

There was a shout from across the street. A security guard had emerged from the subway and pointed a gun at the Animal King's back. The Animal King turned slowly, his arms held in the air.

With a crack, the King's hand shot in and out of his tiger skin and a thick green whip wrapped around the guard's wrist. A hiss, a yelp, and a clatter later, and the gun was on the ground, the guard reeling backwards.

"That's a snake," said Bones. "He just used a snake as a whip."

The Skull was sliding over the car when the King turned and noticed him. Before the Skull's feet had reached the other side, the King had dug a hand into his coat with a cackle. The Skull fired the dart from his wrist as the Animal King flung something into the air.

The small blowfish met the dart in the middle of the street, and continued flying through space even after the metal pin had buried itself amidst the fins. The blowfish swelled as the freezing fluid pumped from the dart and expanded into ice.

The now beach-ball sized mass of icicles and spines spun towards Bones as he stepped onto the street. He narrowly ducked under the frozen fish and felt it rustle past his hair. It crunched as it collided with the brick wall behind him.

"This sucks so much," the boy muttered before he threw himself into a sprint. Ahead, the Skull feinted to Animal King's side and pounded a fist into the madman's stomach.

There was a sort of klonk, and a slightly dented looking turtle dropped to the King's feet.

"Nature herself bows to my throne," the Animal King said, drawing a swordfish from his waist.

"I don't even want to know where you fit all of that stuff," said the Skull, his body shifted into a fighting stance.

The King lunged forward, the fish swinging wildly. He wielded it with surprisingly speed, its razor sharp nose slicing at the Skull's sleeve before he could roll out of reach.

The swordfish held high with one hand, the Animal King pulled the snake from his pocket with the other. Slowly, he began to swing it in a figure eight as he edged towards the Skull.

"Look," said the Skull, "I'd rather not have to kill what's most likely a completely innocent snake in public, could we--"

"Hey, beast boy! Taste the leather!" yelled Bones, his foot sailing serenely into the Animal King's face. The plastic crown evaporated into a cloud of fragments, and the King collapsed.

"Enjoy your time behind bars," said Bones. "In a prison. Not the zoo."

"We'll work on the one-liners, kid," said the Skull. "Good work on the kick, though."

Both of them heard the buzz from above, sensed the static on their necks. But neither could move before there was an almighty crack and the Animal King was jolted from the ground. His body hissed and steamed as the lightning bolt returned to the sky.

"Rufruf apologises," came a voice from behind. "But Rufruf requires your full attention."

Their eyes still blinded from the flash, Skull and Bones spun to each side to flank the new arrival. A figure came into focus, lanky and chaotically dressed. He staggered as if barely able to keep his balance, and his tongue lolled from his mouth when he opened it to speak again.

"Rufruf has come to kill the Skull."

~*~
Next->

Classification System

<-Previous
A UNITED STATES FEDERAL EMPLOYEE META-HUMAN EDUCATION INITIATIVE NOTIFICATION
FIVE SIMPLE STEPS: YOUR FIELD GUIDE TO THE META-HUMAN CLASS SYSTEM

A meta-human, or 'power', is traditionally defined as an individual who possesses traits or is capable of actions that cannot be replicated in an unmodified 'genetically standard' human being without the aid of technology or magic. Technically speaking, a significant minority of humans come under this definition. It is when the range of aberration is such that government policies of public safety, law enforcement, correctional management and national security must take them into account, that they qualify for the Class system.

The Class system is made up of five tiers, into which individuals are fitted based on their powered traits, not on their person. Ability, intelligence or personality are not taken into account – the Class system is indicative only of an individual's meta-human status. Security responses must be formulated from a much wider range of data, though the Class system is intended to provide a rapid baseline for response coordination, particularly on the field.

The five tiers to the system are as follows:

A Class 5 power is any individual who satisfies the basic definition of meta-human, with the addendum that their aberrant features are in any way relevant on commercial, criminal or security terms. A Class 5 security threat can likely be attended to with the same law enforcement and correctional staff and equipment as a non-powered individual, though extra caution is often warranted. Over 13% of the United States prison population is composed of Class 5 powers. Though individuals classified as Class 5 are legally obliged to register with the National Meta-Human Registry, they are typically not approached for Society membership or other government service relying on the application of meta-human ability.

A Class 4 power is a meta-human who, in a security situation, would require the application of non-standard tactics or equipment, though potentially implemented by standard staff. Law enforcement faced with a Class 4 security threat may or may not require the assistance of so-called 'Cape Buster' personnel, but any criminal case involving a Case 4 falls under the jurisdiction of the Bureau of Powered Affairs. A Class 4 prisoner can be housed in the appropriate wing of a standard correctional facility and all federal buildings and security details are considered fit to process and hold a Class 4 individual when required.

Class 3 contains any meta-human who is capable, by their inherent ongoing meta-abilities alone, of representing a security threat that standard law enforcement and correctional staff and facilities are incapable of containing. Standard military procedure, however, will often suffice. Law enforcement faced with a Class 3 threat are instructed to secure the perimeter, evacuate civilians and immediately contact the BPA. The 'Cape Buster' unit's success rate of pacifying Class 3 security threats has reached almost 100% following the 1997 McKinley Act. As a result, Society intervention is no longer standard procedure in Class 3 criminal cases. The majority of Society members are themselves Class 3 individuals.

A Class 2 meta-human capable of engaging with both BPA staff and military forces. While the BPA possesses protocols and security capability for Class 2 cases, Society intervention is to be expected. Even with significant military commitment, a Class 2 threat by definition will likely result in casualties. The application of Class 2 personnel forms a major part of modern military strategy. Small Class 3 Society teams may prove insufficient, though any coordinated response from the Society against a single Class 2 individual will be a short one.

A Class 1 meta-human is an individual who, in a security situation, demands a major and ongoing military commitment or a meta-human of equal classification for resolution. A fairly accurate truism regarding this Class is “it takes one to beat one”. Successful alternatives have included military mobilisation, nuclear weapons and quantum disruptor technology, though the costs associated with these approaches have seen Society deployment remain the most common response to a Class 1 situation. Since the 1997 reformation of the BPA and Society, the Society's central mission statement is to safeguard America from the threats that cannot be dealt with any other way – the Class 1 threat. With never more than a few dozen simultaneously active in American history, any active Class 1 Society member is almost certainly a household name.

Next->

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.

~*~
Next->