Issue 18: "Africa, Finale"

Her name was Rita Lopez, but she normally answered to Monstergirl. Her powers were two; first, she could take a monstrous, alien form to fight, and second she could shape shift more traditionally to look like anyone else. She had--very briefly--attempted to be a hero, but being a villain was much more fun. She had come to Africa to lay low when things got a little too hot in her native Ecuador; and when offered a job in one of the many local ‘disagreements’ she had happily signed up.

But she had not expected to be chosen as leader; to ride herd on a group of villains she'd never even heard of, let alone met.

First there was the fellow in the red robes and the skull mask. He had automatic syringes strapped to each finger, loaded with poison. His name, apparently, was Hellborne. She rolled her eyes at that. He might have snickered in response, she wasn't sure. It was hard to hear anything he said through that mask.

She had never learned the next man's name. He had no mask; apparently he had no secret identity to protect. He had a long blade strapped to each arm; his costume was black with green stripes. His hair was black and slicked back; he had fierce green eyes, a cleft chin and stubble. He did not talk much; and seemed to live for carving people up.

Then there was the withered old man they called Lazarus. He had no costume to speak of, just a bitter old man in plaid shirt and black slacks, myopic eyes hidden behind glasses. He claimed to be a man out of time. Nobody took his claim seriously. But they did take his powers seriously; all he had to do was touch you, and your powers were nullified for days. He did not ‘borrow’ the powers per se, but he did become a bit more spry afterwards, for a little while.

Last there was Colonel Machano, leader of the special ops forces. He was strong enough to break a man; he had prided himself on breaking the backs of fourteen men so far. He could punch through concrete. He was the only one of the team Monstergirl had considered having relations with, but he was so intense, spoke no Spanish or English, and from she understood was an African Nationalist of the first order, seeing her and the others as tools to an end, the end being his vision of an African Imperial power.

Backing him up were two-dozen special ops troops. Three of them had been in on the attempted hit on Tawaba, and had been disciplined for their failure. They were shaken up but also determined. Their paymaster, a thin-faced man who they only knew as the Commander, had taken his orders down a phone line from someone else. Someone inside the Tawaba organization; apparently it was a “palace revolution” of sorts. Monstergirl didn’t bother with the details; she just wanted to get her money and get out.

“All right,” he spat in badly accented English (a language Monstergirl understood; he was using it for the benefits of her little crew, who all spoke that language), “Our leader has agreed to your terms for more money. Now we will go to the castle, kill Tawaba, kill his wife, and kill the vigilantes. Kill them all! Only then will you be paid!” He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned and spoke to Machano and the troopers in their own tongue.

Less than five minutes later, they set out, going around the incoming group of metahumans who would find nothing but an empty base.

Vixen, Terra and Electrocutioner formed a rough triangle around the Royals.

“I don’t like this waiting,” Terra muttered.

“No choice,” Electrocutioner said.

“We have to rely on the guards to keep a lookout,” said Vixen.

“I know, I know. It’s just...I feel like we’re sitting ducks here.” Terra wrinkled her nose.

“Relax kid,” Electrocutioner advised her. “We’ll make it through.”

“So reassuring,” Terra stuck her tongue out at him, “Coming from a man with a battery stuck up his--”

“Enough sniping,” Vixen snapped. “Stay focused.”

‘They are nervous,” King Tawaba said. “It is understandable. I feel much the same. Our foe will attack.”

Vixen was about to answer when her communicator bleeped. “Yes?”

“We found their base,” Manhunter said without preamble. “It’s deserted. They’re coming for you. No idea how many, but Catman says there were over thirty troops here, plus possible metas. We’re chasing, trying to catch them, but we don’t even know where they are. Knockout sent the Parademon on ahead to try to find them....”

“But chances are, they’ll get here first,” Vixen sighed. She was not really surprised. She turned to the King. “Is there any way we can surprise them?”

The Parademon saw the rearguard of the enemy forces in the distance. He flew on ahead, faster and faster, trying to catch them.

One of them saw him. He shouted to Machano, who conferred with the Commander. Machano hefted a rocket launcher. It was small on his massive shoulder. He fired.

The Parademon almost contemptuously swatted the rocket with his axe, and was astonished when it exploded. It did him no real harm, but it knocked him from the sky, and he landed hard on the ground, stunned.

Several of the troopers wanted to go back and finish him, but shouts and threats from the Commander and Machano got them in line. They would kill the King and Queen first; they could mop up any surviving enemies afterwards.

Dazed, groggy, and unable to follow--at least for the moment--the Parademon only knew he had failed his Mistress.

And that hurt him more than any enemy weapon ever could.

The palace guards advanced to meet the invaders, firing their weapons. This, of course, what the troopers were for. Those that had been in on the black ops assassination attempt the night before. The two small armies exchanged fire; AK 47s and Uzis, mostly. Three palace defenders and five invaders fell.

Machano’s powers did not include any kind of invulnerability, and he knew as well as any that bulletproof vests could only do so much. So he ducked and bobbed and dived and followed Monstergirl’s group into the palace, dragging Lazarium after him after the soldier who had been supporting the old man fell.

The palace guard tried to move in to stop them, but the invading troopers clashed, forcing them back.

The Commander began to climb to the roof, knowing that was where Uzangi would be. It was not an easy task, but he had come prepared with claws. Firing a few shots to keep the palace guard off him, he made it to the walls and began to climb. Mountaineering, or climbing of any sort for that matter, was not his strong point, but he would manage.

He had always gotten his way, and today would be no exception. He smiled at the thought.

Uzangi was puzzled and startled when the Commander climbed onto the roof.

“What are you doing up here? You should be down below with the others!”

“Oh yes,” the Commander sneered. “Risking my life and limb for your power.”

The building shook a little, and they both swayed on their feet. “Seems the Americans are putting up quite a fight,” the Commander remarked thoughtfully. “You didn’t give me enough money to buy some real heavy hitters. But that’s all right; the Monster-girl and our own good Colonel should be strong enough. I’ll have to clean up after your mess, of course. Follow through seems to be your problem.”

Uzangi was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. He understood from the Commander’s casual, insolent attitude that this was a coup within a coup, against him.

He also understood that he should have been below now, pretending to defend Tawaba until it was too late. That was one mistake. Not expecting the Commander to turn on him was another.

To give him credit, he was fast, he began to cast the quickest offensive spell he had; but that was not nearly fast enough.

The Commander shot him three times.

As he sunk to the rooftop, dying, he felt a sinking feeling in his guts that had nothing to do with his mortal wounds. This simply wasn’t supposed to happen.... and what was worse, he knew the dark powers would wring him out to dry for his failure.

The palace guard were better trained and more efficient than the invaders, and were fighting for more than money. As had been proven so many times before, mercenaries were not that reliable.

But they did not break or run. They stood their ground and fought, taking as many of the Palace Guard with them as they could.

That was when the rest of the Squad arrived, a recovering Parademon in tow. And the Parademon was angry.

Very, very angry.

He descended on the battlefield with power and fury. Knockout had a hard time making sure he didn’t kill the palace guards, as well.

Enchantress, Frost and Manhunter tore into the leftovers, and things were over very quickly. The last of the invaders was frozen into a block of ice, Frost grinning unpleasantly at him. The surviving palace guards held their guns uncertainly, not sure if the Squad was still on their side or not.

“Do not provoke him!” Knockout shouted. “You have seen his power!”

A few of the survivors understood English. Shaken and nodding, they lowered their weapons. Knockout held the Parademon back physically, whispering to him in the dark tongue until he subsided.

“Where are the others?” Manhunter demanded.

“Basement,” one of the guards said in a thick accent.

The Squad charged inside.

The Commander, who had climbed back down the roof in the confusion, nodded to himself and slunk in after them, unseen by the guards.

She had woken when Enchantress had roused her, and escaped in the confusion. They didn’t know she could do normal shape shifting as well as take a monstrous form; she had taken the likeness of a palace guard, and then quietly slipped away.

Being a villain had worked about as well for her as being a hero; maybe she should just use her powers to disappear completely. Vanish into the milling masses of the world.

She had been a hero; she had been a villain, now she would be everybody, and nobody.

That was probably the best thing to be.

By the time the Squad came back out of the palace, she was almost a mile away, hiding in the city, disguised as one of its inhabitants.

She would lay low here for a few days, and then move on.

Europe perhaps. Spain, or maybe Portugal.

She had plenty of time to make up her mind.

Terra sat alone, with a bandage wrapped around her shoulder.

She had saved the life of a royal family. Granted, nothing like her own family, but even so. Even so...it was most disconcerting. She had taken a bullet for them. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, eyes expressionless. She said nothing to anyone on the long flight back.