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| Issue #4 May 2006 |
"Renovations" Part Four Written By Thomas Deja |
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Note: This issue takes place after the events presently unfolding in Uncanny X-Men.
What Came Before: .For personal reasons, Warren Worthington has moved to Vermillion, California and re-founded the Champions. Along with former members The Black Widow and Hercules, the Champions have added new recruits Fabian Stankowicz, Mattie Franklin and former X-Men Colossus. And now that the team has formed, they face their trial by fire, as renegade voodoo priest Black Talon has released a high-tech zombie toxin onto the streets of Vermillion's worst neighborhood, Blue Heights
"I am Piotr Rasputin. My comrades call me Colossus. And you are going to pay for denying these people Heaven."
The Black Talon stared into the blank metallic orbs of the one calling himself Colossus. He had heard faint rumblings throughout the so-called 'super-villain community' about this man. He was a member of the X-Men before his death.
It did not matter how the metallic man before him died. What matters was that Piotr Rasputin died.
The uncertainty in his eyes dimmed, and a slow, easy smile appeared on his lips. "So you are a dead man, yes?"
The metallic man scowled. Effortlessly, he lifted the Talon higher. "Comrades," he called out. "I have found the man responsible. I have him contained at Uensl--"
That was when the Talon blew dust into Piotr Rasputin's eyes.
"Uensler?" Fabian Stankowicz asked as he hovered above a knot of zombified Vermilions, all clawing and reaching for him. At random intervals, the young inventor fired compressed blasts of air to push these creatures apart. "I'm on my way."
"We best grab Herc or the Widow on the way," Warren Worthington, the high-flying Angel advised him over the Champion's comm-link.. "We need to shut this down now."
Fabian's eyes danced over the HUD, the implants at the base of his skulls translating his eye movements into operations for the Blue Bullet armor. "Let me try something first."
"Fabes," Warren said, his voice gaining a note of admonishment. "These are regular people at heart--"
"I know, I know. Don't worry." The gauntlets on Fabian's battle suit revolved rapidly before stopping with a loud click. He worked the targeting grid, carefully choosing a spot below and to the left.
With a soft pok, two egg shaped pellets smashed into the pavement. With a noise like an aerosol whipped creme dispenser being pressed, greenish-yellow foam issued forth, expanding and filling a space roughly thirty feet square. Those zombified denizens of the Heights who were in the area found themselves stuck fast in the foam.
"I hope you don't mind my improvements on the formula," Fabian subvocalized to himself as he called up a GPS map to get him to the Uensler Building. "I increased the oxygen levels, made it more porous."
I am impressed, my friend.< scrolled up on the HUD screen. >But then I always had faith in you.
Fabian aimed again and let fire with the foam. "Hopefully by the time the paste dissolves, Mattie will have turned everyone back."
Maybe Mattie should concentrate less on the hordes below<, typed out on the HUD screen.
...and more on the man who pulls the hordes' strings.
Hercules, the Prince of Power roared as he lifted a particularly corpulent creature up over his head and hurled him into a grouping of others.
He had lost track of how long he had been fighting against these mockeries that were living but not. It didn't matter to him. When he was in the thick of battle, time lost all meaning to the God of Strength. He would find himself so immersed in the feel of bone-against-flesh, in the texture of sweat and bruises that would grace his skin. His voice would reverberate in cries of triumph as another foe fell.
But there were always some things that would shock the Prince of Power out of his reverie--rare though they were. Such was the case when he noticed a portion of the mindless minions moving aside, something akin to fear in their dull-eyed faces. He craned his neck to see what made otherwise fearless creatures cower...all the while still throwing punches and flinging these things to all points of the compass. And the moans that emanated from these creatures were...different. It sounded as if the monstrosities were afraid of what was coming.
"If you are the perfidious, craven cur who is responsible for this villainy," Hercules crowed. "Then savor these last few moments before the Prince of Power pays back the pain you caused hundredfold."
Hercules found the creatures back away from him--although he knew it wasn't him that was causing this fear. He didn't disguise his amazement at seeing that the figure approaching was a woman. Long red hair cascaded down her back, and her emerald eyes narrowed in mirth as she took him in. Hercules felt a flush of sexual energy as a slow smile broke on her face.
"So you're one of the new guys," she said finally, her voice a velvet purr.
Hercules pointed at her. "Slattern, is this sorcery yours?"
For a moment, the woman looked genuinely upset. She put one delicate hand against a chest that was barely contained by her v-neck black t-shirt and said, "Heavens, no. I live here. There's a wide enough world for me to cause problems in without contributing to the misery here."
The Prince of Power glowered at the woman. He was vaguely aware of how the zombified citizens he had been fighting were scurrying away from them--from her. "You speak in riddles and lies."
"Yes
I do," she agreed with a laugh that was strangely discordant in its
musicality. "But enough chit-chat. I just wanted to let you
know I would really appreciate you and yours leaving after you take
care of this."
"And you live here, woman?"
"Hellstrom. Santana Hellstrom. And yeah, I do live here, and I enjoy living here," Her grin widened, became predatory. "I enjoy living here because it's so miserable. It's a cesspool of hopelessness and despair, and that makes me feel good--and if that silly mayor intends on bringing hope here, it doesn't help me much, now does it?"
For a moment, Hercules stood still, not sure how to react to the beautiful woman telling him she liked living in misery. Then, he found himself slowly shaking his head. "Verily, you are mad. The Prince of Power has better things to do this black night."
He could feel the woman's eyes on him as he retreated. "Hey, I warned you. Remember that when I find a way to kick you out permanently."
And slowly, the creatures of Vermillion shuffled forward.
And slowly, Hercules curled his hands into fists.
This he could understand.
Colossus roared, his fingers scrabbling at his eyes. As the massive metal leviathan stumbled backwards, the Talon slowly started to laugh.
"I wonder how long it will take, man of iron," he said, barely hiding his amusement, "for my potion to take its effect. Your body may be nearly indestructible, but it must be organic in some way--which means it is aerobic, which means the toxins will get into your bloodstream. I will enjoy having you lead my army of undead into Los Angeles."
The magician watched his larger assailant struggle to stay on his feet. He padded closer to the shining hero, his brain filled with speculation on where the chemicals would be in his body.
But then Colossus looked up. "I wonder how it will take, man of flesh," he sneered, "for you to get over the shock of realizing these poisons have no effect on me."
The punch sent the Talon flying.
Natalia Romanova refused to admit that she was tired. Even though she knew that her time was up.
Her lungs burned. Her chest felt tight. Black dots appeared on the edge of her vision, and her limbs felt increasingly heavy. She struggled to remember how long she had been fighting off these creatures, but her sense of time had grown hazy.
And they kept coming.
There had been many times when she fought for longer than this night; but those times, alongside the Avengers and the original Champions, there were moments where she could catch her breath and re-focus herself. But these creatures were relentless; driven by the demands of a lunatic, they kept pushing, their fingers digging in an effort to climb upwards and tear her apart.
Presently, the tech in her outfit had managed to keep her out of reach, halfway up the wall. But Natasha wondered how much longer it would last if she passed out from exhaustion.
"To the death," she said through gritted teeth. "This is my home now."
Bathsheba O'Reilly let fire with another round of riot bullets, her body folded within the shadows of the battle van borrowed from the Oakland Code Blue. A smattering of zombified Blue Heights residents were pushed backwards into other of their fellow creatures. It widened the circle surrounding her...but that circle was getting progressively smaller as time passed. And, in the flickering light of oil fires, the smell of burning rubber heavy in her nostrils, Bathsheba began to consider that this was her last stand.
"Well, gotta go sometime," she muttered before letting fly with another round and shouting, "Comon' you ugly muthas! No waiting to get your ass kicked."
Behind her, two of her handpicked men crouched in the dark of the van, one kneeling over the other. A quick glance back made her wonder if the man lying prone--Hernandez, a good man who had Bathsheba serve as one of his ushers at his wedding--was going to wake up again. After seeing how the zombie things tore apart Lowery and Monaghan....
Damn you, she thought. This city wasn't supposed to need us yet. We needed more time.
The circle of zombies got smaller. Bathsheba could see the blood on one of the creature's hands and chest. She raised her gun, reminding herself that these were just people not in control of themselves. In packets of one and two, they began to rush forward, hands twisted into claws ready to rend her flesh.
Please don't let me join them, she silently asked her maker as she fired at the nearest ones. One of the creatures seemed to evade the suppressing fire and managed to lay its hands on her gun.
Ahead of her, she heard the sound of glass breaking. Flames exploded outward, driving the creatures back. In a split second, she saw a fluttering of white and the closest zombie was pushed down to the ground.
"Evening, officer," The Angel said casually as he hefted another makeshift Molotov cocktail at the horde's feet. "Sorry about the low-tech approach."
"Mr. Worthington," Bathsheba drawled as she laid down support fire. "You show me enough timing, you can be as low tech as you wanna be."
"I can fly you out of here," he mentioned before taking an airborne circle of the van, scattering the circle and making it larger.
"Not with a man down," she replied. "I don't leave my men."
"Fair enough." He slowly drifted backwards, his wings slowly working to keep him aloft. "The other Champions are zeroing in on the central menace. I think they can spare me to play guardian angel to our police allies."
Even though she kept silent, Bathsheba allowed herself a small, tight smile.
The Talon pulled himself to his feet. The doorway to the stairwell to the Uensler Building. Colossus was closing in slowly, his hands curled into fists.
"That is what my friends would call a love tap," the metallic man advised him. "The next blow shall not be so nice."
The Talon reached for a small pouch hanging at his side. Arcane words came to his lips, causing a strong wind to slowly whip around him. "You will not deprive me of my triumph, fool."
Colossus showed no indication of acknowledging the statement. "I once made a sacrifice...killed myself so many, many people could live. Because of my sacrifice, I was rewarded."
Around them, the debris from the roof took flight. Garbage slapped into Colossus' massive form, and was promptly wiped away. The Talon's hands went to his waistband, fingers working to find other methods for stopping the man.
"Recently, my reward was taken from me. I have found myself back on this planet, flesh and blood, no longer able to return to the place where I am at peace, happy and loved and warm...."
The Talon's heart began beating against his rib cage. He was barely aware of others arriving--a man in a blue suit of armor and a young girl in a brown and black outfit. He grabbed hold of a pouch and brought it to his lips, kissed it and dumped out the contents. The grayish dust was ignited and rushed forward toward the man as a cloud of flame.
Nothing. Colossus was only feet from him.
"This is too easy," he heard the young woman say. Strange energies that appeared to the Talon like spidery legs appeared as a halo around the woman's head. He was barely aware of something slipping inside his mind.
"But I have found that my time at rest has given me certain blessings. I can see the degree of evil around me. That is why I am here, in a city surrounded by hate and anger and sin...because My Lord feels I can do the most good here."
Slowly, The Talon began to feel each and every one of his creations winking out....
"You're right, Fabian! We're cutting him off!"
The metallic man grabbed hold of the Talon through the wall of wind. He lifted him up over his head.
"And one other thing I have been blessed with," Piotr Rasputin said, "is that magick created only for evil, magick as black as your soul, is useless against me. Remember that on your way down."
Hercules looked up from climbing the side of the Uensler Building--it had been decided by himself and his friend Fabian that he should approach from this position--when Fabian came flying down toward him.
"Herc! Heads up!"
And then he saw the second body, a black man in a white suit, barreling
toward him. Without thinking, the Prince of Power reached out and
caught him in the crook of one massively muscled arm.
"Is this the miscreant?" he asked Fabian. Below, he saw some of the zombified creatures falling to the ground, others coming too and looking about, confused.
"Y.yeah."
"Heh," Hercules looked to his friend. "It seems that despair had overtaken him when he learned that his plans were for naught."
Behind the lenses of Fabian's bullet-shaped helmet, Hercules saw his eyes flicker with what could be fear, what could be embarrassment. "Not exactly."
"Are you sure this is exactly what happened?" Natasha asked.
Mattie Franklin simply nodded. Natasha sat back and templed her fingers.
"This is...unusual," she told the younger girl. "We had similar problems with a member when we were part of the first Champions. I had thought we would have avoided this, but...."
Only when Mattie was sure Natasha had trailed off did she say, "We have to tell Warren--"
"Potentially, we may not have to deal with it if Mayor Aguilar has second thoughts about our operating here," the redheaded spy replied. "But if we do go on, this is a difficult issue. Warren vouched for Mr. Rasputin, and we can't just tell him to change his mind."
"So what do we do?"
Natasha reached over and took Mattie's hand. "You and I, we watch Piotr, and we evaluate him carefully. And if it turns out he is as damaged as you might feel....then we'll take him down."
"....and I want to assure you that I will still be committed to all my business investments here in Vermillion. Once we vacate the city--"
Mayor Aguilar leaned back in his chair and contemplated Warren Worthington. "Why would you want to do that?"
"What we allowed to happen...what did happen here...the cost in human life, the property damage..."
"Let me ask you something," the Mayor replied. "According to our investigation, the Talon was going to do this independent of The Champions' presence. Imagine the death tolls if you weren't here...there prolly wouldn't be a city left for me to be mayor of."
"But we failed," Warren countered.
"I know of a number of people who would disagree--including officer Hernandez, and Captain O'Reilly. I want you to stay."
"But--"
Mayor Aguilar raised a hand. He came out from behind his desk and stood before the winged man. "I do have some concerns--primary amongst them the fact that you're an all-white super-team in a city that has an African American and Hispanic economic base. But I've been seeing things in my constituents before...hope. Hell, this morning I saw a couple of kids playing with some old action figure--playing at being the Champions."
The mayor allowed himself a small, wistful smile. "I'm not going to stop you from leaving, but I want you to stay. Vermillion wants you to stay. So will you?"
The answer, when it came, was definitive.
...SIX...
He waited patiently in the doctor's office, his arms fully collapsed and placed close to his skin. It made him appear even more portly than he would have liked, but it did stop patients from figuring out who he was.
And if they figured out who he was, it might tip them off to who their doctor was. And having the secrecy of the doctor's previous life was the fulcrum he needed to prompt the man into his service.
"Mr. Celaph," the receptionist called out. He rose from the tacky vinyl seats, adjusted his finely tailored suit jacket. The woman, a pretty lil' thing with far too many teeth for her own good, motioned toward the back. "Right this way. Dr. Lykos is waiting for you."
He nodded. "Thank you."
The office was very, very finely furnished. Ever since he had decided to rise above his old image and forgo the ugly green boiler suit for Armani and Magli, he had an appreciation for the finer things in life. And Dr,. Lykos seemed to share this appreciation.
Lykos was waiting for him in the room, dressed simply in a brown suit that couldn't disguise how gaunt his frame was. Even though he appeared healthy, there was the appearance of sickliness to him, from the rings under his eyes to the pallor of his face. He stepped forward and extended a hand. "Good evening, Mr. Celaph. I'm....
"Dr. Karl Lykos," he said, allowing one of his arms to unfurl and snake forward to take the man's wrist gently in its three-pronged grip. "Or should I say Sauron?"
Lykos gasped. "You're--"
"Can we please forgo the adrenaline soaked pronouncement? I find them so dull," he sniffed as he gave his other arms leave to emerge from the folds of his suit jacket. "Yes, I am Doctor Otto Octavius...or Doctor Octopus, or Doc Ock, or whatever dreadful pseudonym you choose to hang on me."
"If you've come seeking that...that abomination I used to become," Lykos said as he slowly moved away from Octavius, "you'll be disappointed. I've...conquered that hunger."
"But for how long, Lykos?" Otto countered. He sat down on the edge of the psychiatric couch. "I will admit that this is quite a nice life you've carved out for yourself, but what happens when the first mutant walks through your door....or when someone lets slip your secret life as a life-sucking petradon?"
Anger flashed in Lykos' eyes. "You can't--"
"I will, Lykos, if you don't agree to help me with something," Octavius replied. "But that's the bad news. The good news is that what I'm going to ask you to do is a one-time deal, and it may benefit you as much as it may me."
He looked around the office and adjusted his Fendi glasses. "Now, what do you have in the way of liquor here? I am absolutely parched."
Next Issue: You--and all of Vermillion--are invited to the Grand Opening of Champions Towers, the home of the New Heroes For The Common Man! Warren Worthington has opened the doors to anyone who wants to talk to Champions--and that includes the horrifying menace of Ricky Mendenhall. Who is Ricky Mendenhall? Glad you asked. Find out as we celebrate "Ricky's Last Night In Town" next issue.
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