Fear gripped the young woman's heart as she scrambled out of her living room, low to the hardwood floor. Down the hall she scurried as the loud noises and angry demands from outside rattled her one-story farmhouse. Powerful bangs on the front door signaled how close the attackers were to invading at last.
At least a dozen of them, dammit! She heard a front window shatter and thumps across that same floor as she swore a streak. She reached her bedroom, and practically leaped for the window, but could see others now, slowly moving up the low, grassy slope. They worked slowly as they neared, the thick, slick waist-high weeds gripping at them as they struggled to cut off her escape.
No, no, no...not this close...so much work...noooo... She railed against herself as she found a box and yanked out her weapons, felt the way they slipped into her callused palms so readily. These foul agents of evil would not take her without a fight, even as she knew that soon, she'd be with her lover, and her family.
She spun around and threw one knife into the throat of the first man to batter through the bedroom door, choking off his words before he could speak. Without another word, guns fired, and she felt herself struck four times, hot stings punching her gut and arms. She looked at the blood as it seeped out of her, then crashed to the ground. “Pigs,” she grunted, then went silent, eyes wide but unseeing.
“Officer down, officer down!” called one of the police officers into his radio as others secured the room and the long, tiresome work of wrapping the case up began.
“Rachel Griffiths, aka Razor Rae,” announced one of the detectives some minutes later, as he looked over his notebook and consulted with his partner. “That's her. Ten dead across the state thanks to this one.”
“Eleven now,” his partner muttered angrily as the medical people started to bag her up now that the South Dakota police had recorded the scene. “Petersen didn't make it. Just heard the call back while I was out at the car.”
“Damn. It's over at least. We put her down too, saved the taxpayers some cash,” the first detective said as he flipped his notebook shut. “Her and that whole crazy family of hers.”
“C'mon, Tom. We've been working on this one non-stop for months now. Let's crank out the reports, then reward ourselves with a couple of rounds at Dewey's.”
The body bag was zipped closed and everyone around breathed a sigh of relief that they had all see the last of Razor Rae.
*7S*
Empire Sports Club“So this is the place,” Skyman said to the others as they looked down from the tree-studded rise that gave them a good view of their target. Well-groomed lawns of bright green lined with paths and bordered by dark hedges, all leading up to a large central building. This was surrounded by thick woods that seemed to cut the estate off from the nearby city, almost another world.
“We seem to have gotten here ahead of the Feds, like you hoped,” Wing said as he pulled out a pair of binoculars and stared down at the main building. “According to Maya, we have about three hours lead time before they get their search warrant and organize the raid.”
“Are you sure you should get involved in this?” Firebrand asked Sylvester. “The three of us,” she pointed to herself and Stripe as well, “could be seen to be conflicted in this. You say it'll help get your finances out from under a cloud. I'm not so sure.”
“Why do you say that?” Syl asked.
“Your money was stolen too, by this Cooper woman. Even when we bring your nephew down, his lawyers can make it look like we helped plant whatever evidence turns up. You'd be surprised what sorts of things I've been learning in business school.”
“Heya, 'Brandy,” Gimmick interrupted as she twisted the frame of her goggles and had them zoom in to the tennis courts at the rear of the large mansion. The lenses called up a number of small windows that pointed to various elements of the redheaded woman dressed in light white clothes, racket in hand. FBI files, measurements, and energy readings registered before Hayley's eyes. “I've got a Plastique sighting for you. That change your mind? Oh and thanks again, Uncle Syl, for letting us hitch up with Wing and come on out to kick ass with you guys. Did you know Greg was this close to having Mickey and I do chores on that ranch of his?”
“Language, young lady,” Pat Dugan chided his great-granddaughter. “And chores wouldn't kill you, either.”
“If Plastique is present, it makes sense to think that her employer is present, as you suspected,” Wing said to Skyman while ignoring the rest of the discussion. He turned his binoculars on the woman Gimmick pointed out.
Firebrand grumbled, and clenched her fists. “Okay well, if we can bag the wanted fugitive he's been paying off, we stand a better chance to blow his arguments away.”
“You just want to get even with her for that age crack from before,” Gimmick teased Danette.
“What are we gonna do then? What now?” Mickey DeVante asked nervously, as he stayed to the back of the group, and watched them closely. He wanted to learn all he could while not screwing up too badly.
“Firebrand and I will drop in on Plastique, since she's wanted anyway,” Skyman said as he looked over his team. “Nothing overly-suspicious about that. We'll try to bring her down and keep things from getting too out of hand. Wing, you and the others use the fight as cover to sneak into the building and see if you can dig up my nephew or incriminating evidence. Preferably both.”
“Very well,” Wing said. He started out down the slope toward their target.
“Be careful,” Pat said to Firebrand. “And you,” he said to Skyman, “don't make her look bad, we'll need time. That's a big place down there.” He gave his old friend a wink and then took up the rear and disappeared into the green.
The two remaining heroes turned their attentions back to Plastique on the tennis court. To give their team-mates enough time, they watched Bette San Souci load the pitching machine, then get into position. Danette and Syl both blinked their eyes in disbelief as a variety of discs hurtled out, some arcing high into the sky before pivoting back to the red-headed woman, while others took a more direct aim.
Plastique immediately threw herself into an aerial flip to one side to avoid some of the discs. She lifted up her hands, one blasting at a pair of discs that she couldn't get away from, the other releasing quick blasts in succession into the air to hit target discs, while the remaining projectiles she did avoid slammed into the ground with small explosions.
“Tennis seems to have come a long way since Bludge and Vines,” Skyman muttered at the spectacle. “I know I haven't been keeping up but still--” A whoosh of flame turned his attention to Firebrand, who streaked down toward the court, having seen enough.
Skyman grumbled as his suit hummed to life and lifted him up into the air, following after Firebrand and hoping they hadn't jumped the gun. He watched as Plastique heard the heroine swoop in toward her, and pivoted in that direction.
“Well well well, look who it is, everyone's favorite over-the-hill has-been,” Plastique taunted as she cartwheeled to the right and away from a fiery blast. “Gotta give it to you, girlfriend, you found me pretty quick.” She plucked the small remote off her belt and hit a couple of buttons in sequence. “I like my training difficulty set to High. How about you?”
The launchers retargeted now, swinging in Firebrand's direction and started to launch their discs, causing the heroine to break off her focus from Plastique to defend herself. “Please, toys aren't going to keep me from decking you clear to next Tuesday,” Danette said as she quickly waved her arm and erected a flaming barrier to catch the first few discs, exploding safely away from her.''
“Right, I forgot, the tough chick who fought in 'The Big War' and so much better than us,” Plastique snarled in return, her hands engulfed in expanding spheres of force. “You can just go to hell!”
She launched the two spheres, deadly aim bringing them in opposing arcs to catch Firebrand in the middle when they exploded. But as the burst subsided, Skyman dropped out from the epicenter, glowing fiercely, a shimmering globe of energy protecting his team-mate from damage. He ignored the discs as they crashed uselessly off his personal force screen, eyes focused on Plastique. “This time, I'm one hundred percent. You picked the wrong Pemberton to get a paycheck from, gal!”
*7S*
Saunders Ranch“Keep the shoulder up, and keep your eyes on hers,” Sir Justin, the Shining Knight called out as he hobbled around the edges of the corral that served the Law's Legionnaires as a training arena. He watched Brenda Martin stalk her sparring partner, handily landing strikes on the unguarded flank of Sally Bonner, who struggled to keep up. Sally listened to Justin's comments and rolled her right shoulder back and lifted the staff up under Brenda's and knocked it high. She grinned and took advantage of Wing's earlier lessons, a foot catching the warrior woman in the stomach and shoving her back. “Excellent!” Justin said as he continued his limping pace.
“Nice one, Sally,” Brenda said with a grin as she wiped her forearm across her brow. Both women's hair were plastered to their heads, the afternoon heating getting to them.
“Thanks, nice to know I actually learned a thing or two from Travis,” Sally said in return as she barely managed to deflect one, then another, then a third attack from Brenda, each one pushing her back step by step. Brenda swept low at Sally, forcing her to leap back and then she crashed into the thick wooden slats of the corral fence. “Just not enough yet,” Sally added ruefully as Brenda gave her a hand back to her feet.
“Well done though, Miss Bonner,” Justin said as he approached the two women and handed them a big jug of water. “Even with Bradamante's spirit at rest within Brenda, her martial prowess is bound to be greater. That you held your own as you did does you and your mentor credit.”
“Good to know then,” Sally said with a smile, and took the water and drank deeply, letting some of it run along her neck and splashing more on her forehead. “And please call me Sally. I haven’t been Miss Bonner since before PS 15 laid me off.”
“I just wish I felt as complete,” Brenda said as she leaned against the fence. She looked out past the corral, to the flat lands around the ranch, attention drifting off to some far away it seemed.
“You don't?” Sally asked as she moved up next to her. “You seem to have it all, really. Good job, great powers, respect and self-respect. I wish I was as together as you, but I kinda messed up things 'til now.”
Justin just stood behind the two women, and listened. He was a part of the conversation, but he realized how important it was for the two unfamiliar ladies to bond, if both were to remain Soldiers. It gave him insight as well, what more to train, to direct and channel them as necessary.
“I've got all that, sure, I guess,” Brenda replied feeling self-conscious as she took the water bottle back and sipped at it. “And thanks for saying. Nah, I mean as Bradamante. I'm using Sir Justin's sword, but that's his, and he needs it back. Nah, I mean, her spear is out there somewhere. The more aware of my other side I become, the more I connect to her...attributes? Attributes I guess, the more I can feel it calling me.”
“Well then,” Justin spoke up suddenly and laid a comforting hand on one of each women's shoulders. He gave a broad smile, almost mischievous, rather unusual for the normally stoic knight, “it sounds to me as if we have a quest to undertake. If you can sense your weapon, then we must pursue it, and make you whole. Is that not true, Mi--Sally?”
“Oh yeah, that's definitely true. If Travis can go off and have fun without me, then I can absolutely go off with you guys. If you don't mind me tagging along?”
“Not at all,” Brenda said. She stood straight up and beamed at her friends, that wistful look banished. “This will be great!”
*7S*
Empire Sports Club“It sounds like the battle's been joined outside,” Wing murmured to his companions as they stalked the halls of the upscale sports club while sounds of colliding energies and shattered ground eked in through the thick walls.
“Any idea where to go next?” Stripe asked from the rear of the four heroes, eyes open and body tense.
“According to the floorplans, the club president’s office is over this way,” Gimmick answered as she read the augmented view off her goggles. “And I’m picking up a spiked energy reading from underneath that way, so I’m thinking Cousin Arthur’s probably got one of those awesome secret doors to an underground base.” She grinned at the thought.
“Someone’s coming,” Wing announced in a whisper as the four crouched out of sight to watch three jumpsuited figures run past, weapons at the ready.
“What’s the alert for?” one asked as they missed the four hidden heroes.
“We have intruders attacking Number One’s outdoor trainer,” another answered. “We’re supposed to provide Plastique backup.”
“Does she know she’s not supposed to blow us up this time?”
No one could make out the answer as the guards disappeared around a corner. But Vulcan had followed back the path they came from and called out, “I think there’s an elevator or something over here!”
With the corridor clear for the moment, the others caught up to the newest member, a foot jammed into the sliding doors of the lift to keep them from closing up. “Going down?” Stripe asked with that big grin of his as he put his broad shoulders to work pushing the doors back open.
“Think it’s safe?” Gimmick asked nervously as Wing entered the small room.
“No, which is why we find the emergency hatch and you whip up something that lets us go through it,” Stripe explained.
“Oh! Well that makes sense.” The teen jumped in next, followed by Vulcan, then Pat let the doors slide shut. “Let’s get going!”
*7S*
Dos Rios meth labPaloma Sanchez walked through the rows of counters, stools, and the peons that worked at them, dark eyes closely examining every move. Taking finished product, moving down to be portioned, then to be carefully packaged up, then over to be collected into parcels for the mules and pushers.
“See, senorita?” the shop steward said with a nervous look at the elegantly dressed young woman prowling the lanes like a hungry wolf. “Everything’s on track. This batch, it’ll be ready to go out by the 5am deadline. Then we’ll break it all down, and be out of here. No more than ninety minutes.”
She turned to look at the scrawny, haggard man with the stringy hair and bare hint of a mustache and tried not to smack his face just because she could. “Tighten the schedule up so we’re out of here by five,” she said coldly. “We don’t have the extra time. My brother has been with the police for a day now.”
“B-but Mr. Juarez, he can get him out be--” The sharp slap cut over the low buzz of activity going on in the shop and several of the workers gave satisfied grins, though they dared not risk looking up.
“If that were happening, would I be here telling you to hurry?” she asked as she took a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the hand off diligently. “Do not argue with things far above your head. Just do as you’re told, or we’ll move you to run one of our labs down in Chihuahua.”
His face paled at the notion of working on the front lines of the drug war, and swallowed hard. “Of course, Senorita, of course, five it’ll be, you--” An explosive crack interrupted his words as one of the boarded windows tore into splinters. Whistling and hissing sounds quickly followed, the former ending in a heavy
THOK!, but two more called out in rapid succession.
Smoke rapidly filled the large room as workers panicked and began to race for the exits. “Damn him,” Paloma growled as she pulled a cell phone from her purse. She coughed, slowly moving out to the edge of the room as best as she could while shouts of alarm coupled with cries of pain. She chuckled at the steward’s own grunt while she tapped the screen on a specific contact. “Madden, we have a mask problem!” she called into the phone when she heard the line pick up.
“I’ll say you have,” Oliver Queen said as he stepped up through the smoke, a green bandana around his lower face, and goggles protecting his eyes from the smoke. “You have something I’ve been looking for.”
She barked a mean laugh at him, then pivoted on her heel and hurled the phone with all her might at the far cement wall. “Fetch, bowman!”
La Garra leaped down from a rafter, her hand grabbing the phone as she gracefully tucked into a roll on the floor, only to spring up immediately after.
“Like that, you mean?” Ollie grinned, shifting the makeshift mask enough for her to tell. He grabbed her wrist and held her fast, adding, “You’re screwed now. We’re going to get all kinds of info out of that, and your boss Juarez is going to have trouble figuring out which information came from it, or out of you. You’re a dead woman. Unless you roll over on him.”
She stood there, stared back hard at him between coughing fits from the lingering smoke. In the distance could be heard sirens and she gave a cold smile back. “Tu puta es una mujer buscada,” she spat back.
“She’s right, we have to go, partner,” Yolanda said to Ollie, already dashing back to the entrance he’d made earlier. She shrugged off being called his kept woman, she was getting used to the lack of imaginative insults from these creeps. “We got what we came for, after all.”
Ollie sighed, but first said, “I took down your brother. Took you down. If you talk to any of your bosses before they shiv you, let them know I’m getting my pound of flesh out out of each of them. This ain’t the same archer they messed around with before. Got it?” He shoved her away and then chased after La Garra.
Back out in the night air, the two vigilantes paused on the tenement fire escape and watched the three police cars race toward the scene. The lead car screeched to a stop, and the cop inside announced over the speaker, “La Garra! This is the Dos Rios police department and you are wanted in connection with arson and assault! Surrender now!”
“Arson?” Ollie glanced over at her, and watched those slim shoulders shrug impishly. “Turning yourself in?”
“Of course not,” she said and watched him draw an arrow from his quiver to fire a grappling line across the alley. “How can you even ask?”
“I’ve been called out for chauvinistically choosing for my lady friends,” he said with a laugh and wrapped his arm around her waist. The cable reeled them up through the night air as several shots were fired after them. He enjoyed the contrast of cold night wind and warm coiled body surrounding him, and for an important moment, the raging fury in his heart left him.
“I’ll join the chorus when it’s appropriate,” Yolanda assured the archer as they landed on the far roof. She gave him a warm kiss, lingering for a dangerous extra moment on his lips, then grabbed his hand and they made their escape into the dark. “But that’s from all us señoras for trying to grow up.”
*7S*
Canton, South DakotaDoc Merlin stepped through the doors to the hospital in his white coat and holding a clipboard stacked with folders. He nodded politely to the duty nurse and headed straight into the elevator without a pause. The nurse merely looked up and nodded as he passed, then returned to entering updates into the computer.
He chuckled to himself as the doors closed, hummed a bit while the elevator traveled down into the basement, then headed straight toward the morgue when the doors opened back up. It was quiet down here, dark and cool, and it felt good to him. He passed a janitor and again nodded, to get a wave in return. He passed through the swinging doors to the body storage and placed the clipboard down on the desk. Then he pulled out a screwdriver to release the grate over the vents.
Long slim fingers reached out from the shadowy space and gripped the edge, and then the Needle launched out to land in the middle of the room. He stood up and wiped himself off. “For all your ‘science’ talk, you just used a clipboard and a screwdriver?” he snapped at his partner.
“Science is not just hardware or programs,” Doc Merlin explained as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small black case. “Unlike many of my colleagues, I believe in the soft sciences as well. In this case, it’s psychology. Lab coats, clipboards and a confident pace will convince many people in a facility such as this one that you belong.” He pulled out an antique syringe and a bottle of liquid that gave a dull green glimmer when he shook it up.
“Can’t argue with the results,” Needle said as he looked over the half-dozen compartments before pulling one open. He tugged the sheet back to stare down at the face, eyes closed, looking peaceful for the probably the first time in her life. He glanced at a picture he unfolded from a pocket, then back at the woman. “This is her, Rachel Griffiths. A.K.A. Razor Rae, serial killer, member of the screwed up Griffiths family, and the Dummy’s new recruit. Don’t see how a corpse is gonna be much of a help though.”
Doc Merlin drew the odd serum up into the syringe, and dutifully tapped the needle. He walked over to the body and tilted her head to one side. “This will alter that liability,” he assured his partner as he injected the serum up under the base of her skull.
“What’s that goop?” Needle winced at the sight and turned his head away.
“Truly? You mean to tell me that the Needle is squeamish around his nom du crime?” Doc Merlin laughed at that.
“Shut up!” Needle snapped back and glared at the scientist. “Lots of people are. Answer the question.”
“It’s the West serum,” Doc Merlin explained as he finished the injection and stepped back. Needle needed no encouragement to do the same when he saw that. “Developed back in the Twenties, used to some effect in the late Thirties, as I recall reading.”*
*
see Danger Trail #8-9: The Nation of Murder Affair for details!“What’s it do?”
Rachel Griffiths suddenly jerked about as if the body sat on a hot plate. Several powerful jolts ended up driving the body off the side and then there was a long and pathetic moan of pain. A pale hand suddenly clamped on the side of the metal table, and pulled the body to standing. Her deathly pallor remained, but her hair and eyes were slowly shifting over to gray as the serum worked its way on her biochemistry. She glared at them as she struggled to take a deep breath, but her dead lungs refused to cooperate. She didn’t need them anymore anyway. She stood there as her skin clung tight to her every sleek muscle. Doc Merlin merely chuckled triumphantly, but Needle stepped behind the scientist. He was torn between recoiling from the sight of the dead body rising from her slab, and staring at the beautiful naked woman before him. She caught the sidelong glances and smiled, and the smile, the ghastly pale color, and the wicked S-scar across her chest all made Needle shake.
“Welp, we’re done here, see you back at base!” he said quickly and dashed back up into the vent, all of which made Merlin laugh harder.
“Don’t. Laugh. At. Me.” She pulled herself around the table to reach Doc Merlin, her face full of anger. “Get. Your. Fill. It. Will. Be. Your. Last. Sight.”
“Please, my dear Ms. Griffiths,” he said as he put away the syringe and vial into the black box and slipped it back into the coat. “Calm yourself. While you might well be attractive, you will find that I am beyond ogling your physical form. My laughter comes from seeing my compatriot so easily frightened by the wondrous application of scientific reason to defy death. My glee comes from seeing the serum accomplish its effects.”
“Rachel. Died.” She grumbled as she seemed to accept the man’s words. She took the lab coat he offered her, and slipped it on.
“True enough. Perhaps then, a new name for your new life. Daughter of the West Serum, let us name you after your most infamous predecessor. How about Rae Morgue?”
She stared at him, cold, cruel eyes unblinking and hateful as she buttoned up the coat. “Heh. Heh.”
*7S*
Empire Sports ClubThe metal doors of the elevator blew apart, black smoke curling up in the aftermath as Gimmick swung out into the hallway, followed by Wing, Stripe then Vulcan. “Told you that’d be enough force,” Pat said to her as they quickly got their bearings, an alarm beginning to blare now.
“Yeah, yeah,” she retorted as she adjusted her goggles. “There’s a spike in energy this way, and a temperature drop. Has to be the databanks.”
“Good, ‘cause the other way is full of bad guys,” Vulcan said as they watched a dozen guards racing toward them from around a corner.
“We’ll be cut down easily here,” Wing said as a couple of initial blasts of energy struck the wall and floor near them, delivered from the advanced firearms they wielded. “We need to move, and find a better place to fight.”
The group dashed away, coming to a t-intersection. “Cold is that way,” Gimmick said as she pointed to the left.
“We go right then, and drag them away from you,” Pat said and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Be careful.”
“Maaann.” She blushed and ran away from the other three as the sounds of their pursuers closed in on them.
“I think we’ve come across some luck of our own,” Wing announced at one doorway. “This is a training room, lots of space to maneuver. The hall continues down past it, I would guess toward barracks, perhaps even an armory. Vulcan, stay with Stripe and go that way, make them split up.”
*7S*
Above ground, Plastique made a mad scramble away from the ‘tennis court’ training area where she had started, flinging tight little balls of concussive force behind her as Firebrand streaked across the sky trying to close in. Each of those balls exploded in front of the heroine, to her side, under or over her, each of the bursts rippling through the air to batter her. Without a blow being landed, Firebrand was already getting bruised, battered and disoriented.
Skyman faced the explosive discs being thrown at him from the mechanical pitcher and erected a defensive screen that easily stopped them from a distance. With a blast of purplish energy, the machine was reduced to scrap, and Sylvester prepared to back up his team-mate.
“Forgetting something, uncle?” Arthur Pemberton, the Number One of Strike Force, called out, with the four guards that had earlier raced past Syl’s fellow Soldiers. “Forgetting so soon not to turn your back on your family?” He raised up a sleek golden staff that unleashed a beam of red energy Skyman’s suit was narrowly able to turn aside with a force field.
“What
is your problem, Arthur?” Sylvester said as he swooped down and fired a sweeping blast of lighter purple energy that crackled across the guards and threw them back unconscious. “Why are you doing all this?”
Number One used the staff’s own energy projection to deflect the fan of energy away from him, then turned it back and fired again. “Like it? Modeled it off that merc Deathstroke. Cost a pretty penny, but the Pemberton fortune is good for that. And
that’s why I’m doing this. Because I like that money, and I love the power it gives me!”
Skyman landed and lifted his hands up toward Arthur, meeting the beam of energy with his own cosmic force, the collision causing sparks to fly about haphazardly. He stared at his nephew, who had to be at least twenty years older than the time-tossed hero. He reminded Syl of his father: broad-shouldered, rough-hewn face, thick mustache and hair all turned a dashing silver. His father had been the archetypal robber baron at the turn of the Twentieth Century, looking the part as seen in all the books and movies. Arthur had picked up almost every trait, and Syl was forced to admit that even those last few words, spoken like a madman, wasn’t all that far from the truth of the family he’d been born into.
“You have to go away, Arthur. I’ve got to put you down and send you away and take the name back. I can’t let you keep that fortune if this is how you use it!” Skyman’s suit hummed around him and the cosmic energy surged out more furiously, to bat aside Number One’s reddish beam and shatter the staff. “We dismantle your staff first,” Syl continued as he dashed in to engage Arthur hand-to-hand, “then your Strike Force. No more power for money for power’s sake!” He grinned and added, “Especially if you’re using it for cheap knock-offs.”
The grinned faded as the hum stopped and Arthur pushed back against the young hero’s hold. There was a moment of disorientation that let Number One deck Syl hard, the colorful Skyman spinning backward. Arthur rolled his sleeves up to show off thick golden bracers, and he laughed. “These more to your liking, Unc? It replicates the magnetosphere. Blocks your cosmic rays and amps my strength. You wear a suit stolen from our flag, over a bunch of circuits stolen from some Forties long-john vigilante, and you put down my weaponry?” The laugh turned into an ugly sneer as he raised up his fist and struck Syl’s face again.
*7S*
Gimmick shoved the codebreaker into the keypad, and let the little silicon stick do its job, popping the sliding security door open and giving her access to the cool room with its banks of stored information. She entered the room and got to work, pulling out what looked like a smartphone. She typed onto the digital keys it provided as she mused over what she saw.
Isolated computer servers, hardened against EMP, probably passworded out the yin yang, ran through one part of her brain as she continued to build instructions into the slim device.
I can do that. She stood now over a main terminal and with one hand started to type into that keyboard, while her other hand still worked on her device.
From the doorway, two of the Strike Force peered in to spot their target. They each raised their energy pistols, grinning at the easy prey they’d been given. “Oh damn, did I drop something?” she said seemingly to herself as the hand on her device reached into one of the pouches as if scrambling for something. “Oh man, that sucks.” She turned around and smiled. “For you.” She pressed her smartphone and the inch-high metal pyramids at the doorway formed an electrical arc along the doorjamb, catching the two guards and dropping them heavy to the floor. “Gotta love three-sixty degree goggles,” she chuckles as her other hand never stopped working the keyboard. She turned back to her work and with a grin, activated her programming.
“Heya, Mr. Spy-guy, this is Gimmick of the Seven Soldiers of Victory, calling you from the middle of bad guy headquarters, with a gimme for ya,” she said into her smartphone now. She didn’t listen to the Federal agent sputtering on the other end of the connection, demanding to know who she was and how she commandeered a secure channel. “I’m downloading you all the evidence you need for a lock on busting up a henching academy and sending the boss to prison. You want to keep bitching at me, or get to work?” She listened to the grudging acceptance and smiled. “Yeah, thought so.”
Way too easy, she thought while she talked, reading over the files she cracked and started to download to the government.
Backdoors all over this place already, especially in the financials. What the hell is all that about? She made sure to copy it all for herself later.
*7S*
Saunders Ranch“Mr. Saunders,” the middle-aged Hispanic man said as he was greeted at the door to Greg’s ranch house. The two of them shook hands firmly. “I’m Rafael Sandoval. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Please, call me Greg,” the former Vigilante assured the young man, looking sharp in the light blue shirt and dark tie. “Come on in, we’ll talk in my study. You want something to drink? Got some lemonade or iced tea in the icebox.”
“No thank you, I’m good,” Rafael replied as the two of them entered the quiet, dark-wood office. “So what can the U.S. Attorney’s Office do for such a distinguished citizen of the Lone Star State?”
“Well, Mr. Sandoval, you can help an old Soldier out with a problem he’s got in the town here. And maybe more than just Dos Rios.” Greg appraised the man carefully as he watched Rafael pull out a legal pad from his briefcase. “Seems that the law here is a mite suspect in regards to certain varmints pushing their junk.”
“Are you sure, sir, this isn’t a bit of bias on your part because of your interest in the vigilante La Garra?” Rafael countered, curious to see Greg’s answer.
“Maybe I am, but more likely, I’m bothered by the fact that they’re takin’ pot shots at her when there’s a house fulla rats makin’ their poison they could be bustin’ instead. I ain’t got no problem with the law decidin’ people in a mask might be dangerous, but do ya really go shootin’ them when the real problem is elsewhere?”
“I need more than that, Mr. Saunders,” Rafael said. “Still sounds like sour grapes to me. And who are you accusing exactly? If there’s bad cops in the Dos Rios department, go to their officers, not the US Attorney.”
“My kids got me this, maybe you’ll sing a different tune.” Greg handed over a folder that held information gleaned from Pamola’s cell phone. “I think one a’ them names might stick out at ya.”
“Captain DeVille,” Sandoval muttered. He looked over the other pieces of information, hand-written notes that made various connections, even a suspected hierarchy sketched up by Ollie with several holes in place. “Where did you get this? Don’t tell me your kids, I mean, where did La Garra and Arrow get this from?”
“One of those little phones everyone’s usin’ these days,” Greg said and pointed to Pamola’s name on the chain of command. “From her little phone, to be precise.”
“You still have the Texas Rangers and local sheriffs. Why come to us?”
“Because this lot is stretching its fingers down from down south,” Greg answered. “Because that means they got their hands full with the whole front line bit, and we’re just small potatoes. ‘Sides, I’m the new guy in town, and I’m not sure of who all these other fellas are. Who did DeVille come up the ranks with? Where did his fellow rookies git to, if they’re not here in Dos Rios? Who else is in on this? Arrow had his problems with a crooked cop in this pipeline already. You though, you’re different.”
“How so?”
“Oh c’mon, kid, do we have ta play that game? I’m not good at it.” Greg fidgeted now, and leaned back in his chair to get some distance from the lawyer.
“You can’t say it, can you? You can’t even bring yourself to talk about it? Guess Grandpa was right. He always talked about how you couldn’t handle it.” Rafael started to laugh now, growing more relaxed. “So you’re the genuine article.”
“Yep, that’s me. And your grandpa was a good guy doin’ hard work durin’ the war. It was an honor to rescue him,” Greg said. “So, yore gonna help me?”
“Of course. On the QT to begin with though,” he said. “This is a good start, but we’ll need much more before I can make things official. But I’m on your side. I’ll even try to feel out some friends who can maybe cut La Garra some breaks. Mind if I keep this?” He put it into his briefcase when he saw Greg nod.
The older man rose up to escort his friend out of the house. “So I guess this means I ain’t never gonna get you to call me Greg?”
“No way, sir.”
*7S*
Empire Sports Club“Seriously, woman, what
is your problem with me?” Firebrand was exasperated at the invectives hurled out at Plastique as they dueled now in a lightly wooded area at the edge of the Strike Force facility. She released a jet of fire to deflect another of the concussive balls away from her, then dropped onto the ground to try and regain a sense of balance after all the buffeting. “You can’t be petty enough to give a damn about my age or looks really?”
“Maybe I can, or maybe I’m just sick of you guys being all smug and self-righteous about protecting the status quo, and you,” she released a flurry of smaller ‘bullets’ that rocked Firebrand back, “are the worst, because what do you even know about the status quo anymore?”
“Okay, that’s enough of that!” Firebrand insisted and released streams of fire from each hand to set up a blazing circle to cut Plastique off. Settled again, Firebrand launched back up into the sky. “And what do you know about it? Your boss is a lunatic and you’re going to protect him? You’re going to fight for him? What do you get out of it? Doesn’t help things any better, in fact, it straight up makes them worse!”
“You don’t think I’m trapped!?” Plastique screamed back as she spun around and examined her cage. Red hair plastered to her head, and her clothes stuck to her uncomfortably. She panted, already fatigued and now the heat started to work on her. “Don’t you get it? You said it yourself, he’s a psycho! What else can I do? Damn, girl, you get all the breaks even after getting screwed big time, and you bitch at a person stuck in a bad place?”
Firebrand again landed on the ground and let the flames drop down. “You’re telling me you’d be willing to turn on him? You’re telling me you want out? We can get you help, if you mean it.”
“Don’t I look like I mean it?” Plastique pleaded now, hands clasped together for mercy. She took a tentative step forward and let herself drop dramatically to one knee, barely holding back sobs now. “I was brought up by anarchists, trained by terrorists and then experimented on by some lunatic breeding super people, how the hell else was I gonna end up?” She looked at Firebrand, tried to meet her gaze as tears dripped down now. “I don’t want to keep doing this, it’ll get me killed!”
Firebrand sighed and tried to digest the words. “Well, help us with Pemberton and Strike Force and we ca--” She stop and her face hardened as she caught the glow in those clutched hands start to form.
Plastique tried to move but Firebrand flared into white-hot brilliance, hotter than simple flame as her face twisted up in fury. “Wicked slut, how
dare you?” she screamed as she became incandescent and the mercenary felt her own explosive thrown back at her, as well as a wall of force smash into her. She was thrown back as Firebrand’s flare engulfed the area, incinerating the grass into ash, fusing the dirt at her feet and felling trees, scorching one side but it was all too fast for a fire to start. When the light returned to normal, the heroine stared in horror at the unconscious Plastique, the devastated area, then at her own hands.
Far back at the tennis courts of the sports club, the muffled whoosh from Firebrand barely impacted on the two men locked in combat. Skyman’s face was bruised and puffy already, blood dripping from a busted lip, while Number One continued to press his advantage.
“Well, Uncle? Any more words of wisdom, any more bon mots at my expense? Anything else before I crush you?” Arthur snarled as he tore up one of the thing metal poles for the court net. Wielded like a club, Arthur prepared to swing the ragged concrete end at his last living relative with a crazed look of glee.
“Yeah,” Sylvester replied as he stood his ground. He watched the weapon swinging at him and stepped toward his nephew. “Learn to fight if you’re gonna go melee.” He caught Arthur’s arm and pivoted, throwing the villain over his hip to crash into the cement, air forced out of his lungs. “Like I started out.” He kept the arm bar held, and before Arthur could recover enough to use his strength, he drove the knee with all his force into the bracer. A loud crack and shower of sparks was followed by the hum of Skyman’s powersuit.
Firebrand soared in from the distance and landed nearby, and dropped Plastique to the ground at her feet. “And get better people to back you up.” He winked at Firebrand, then got worried when he saw the haunted look in her face.
“How’s Pat doing?” she finally asked, then quickly added, “And the others? Have we heard from them?”
“You’ve heard from us,” Gimmick called out as she and Vulcan dashed over, chatting with each other excitedly about the fight below. Wing and Stripe followed behind at a more dignified pace. “We’re great. Cops should be here soon, Feds got all they need. I hope. And my guys kicked ass!”
“Language, Gimmick,” Pat chided her with a chuckle. “How about up here? You okay, ‘brand?” He noticed the way she looked and walked over to her, a hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah, sure, I’m okay. Don’t worry at all, Pat,” Sylvester muttered quietly as he wobbled a bit now that the adrenaline rush faded. He jumped when he felt something spray over his swollen cheek, then yelped. “That stings!”
“Don’t be a baby, Sky,” Gimmick said with a laugh as she used her first aid spray on him. However, she used her glasses to watch her grandfather and Firebrand quietly talk, and felt glad she could hide behind them.
“We’re done here then? I was hoping for more action, honestly, for my first outing,” Vulcan said quietly with a shrug. “It’s like I didn’t get to do anything.”
“Next time, I promise, you and me together,” Gimmick quickly said to turn away from the uncomfortable tableau. “We’ll rock the baddies, I promise.”
“Why wait for the bad guys?” Mickey asked with a nervous look on his face, then blurted, “Let’s go hit the town up when we get back? Dinner, movie, dancing, whatever they got?” He held his breath now.
“You’re on!” Gimmick and he locked arms and headed off with Wing to greet the arriving law enforcement, while Stripe, Skyman and Firebrand stood guard over Arthur, over Plastique, and silently wondered about the future.
