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"The CYCLE OF THE WOLF..."
...Zero-Ten (or 'Zero' for short) and "010" are clone-sibs of Wulfgar010...
Both are somewhat...incomplete...
The other (now-deceased) Wulfgar clones all had different names, when they weren't simply replacing the mainline Wulfgar...as the current Wulfgar010 has, and each used weapons of their own choosing...
for more info, check out:
#1) The Mayan Idol
http://www.mrcranky.com/movies/siege/28.html
#2) The Longest Fall
http://www.mrcranky.com/movies/americanhistoryx/18.html
#3) Darkling Dreams: The Crankyland Files
http://www.mrcranky.com/movies/happiness/11.html
#4) After The Fall
http://www.mrcranky.com/movies/lesvoleurs/12.html
#5) Crankyblanca
http://www.mrcranky.com/movies/casablanca/19.html
Epilogue To AFTER THE CURTAIN
Prologue to CYCLE OF THE WOLF
WULFGAR010'S Log, entry #75327:
I am called 'Wulfgar010', which is not so much a name as a designation, and a profession.
I am a shadow-agent, working for an organization that SHOULD not exist, CANNOT exist, and DOES not exist.
I am the clone-descendant of a deceased Cold Warrior, thanks to cutting-edge Scottish technology; my face, my life, my very MEMORIES are not my own, but pale ghosts that lack substance and urgency.
Once there were twoscore and ten of us, the backbone of Scottish Intelligence, and the tools of a dirty little secret club that now floundered amidst a New World Order.
No more than two dozen of us were active at any given time, the rest lying fallow until the needs of those Born Of Woman called them forth from their sleep of Unbirth, awakened from their high-tech sarcophagi.
Now the majority of us were dead, a shameful number of them spent in a wasteful manner, on a 'mission' of dubious morality…as if any other type existed. And, of late, many of my other sibs had been surfacing, as dead as Madonna Ciccone's innocence and mutilated in a uniform manner, with a 1" square hole cut into the occipital region of their skulls.
Missing from the inside of their skulls was another delightful bit of ScotIntel technology, an ostensible 'bio-tracer' that allowed us to be tracked and recovered by the agency.
The damned things also allowed the memories of deceased agents to be downloaded into Datafile Prime, the near-sentient ScotIntel supercomputer. There, they would be stored, sorted, and uploaded into a receptive clone.
Now, but a handful of us were left: 'Zero-Ten', the youngest of my sibs; sleep-skilled and wire-tutored, in espionage, reconnaissance, and demolitions; excelling in hand-to-hand combat, his favoured weapons were drawn from popular culture, which included the batleth, from the latter-day Star Trek programs.
For all his skills, he is shockingly naive about human relations.
'010': The techno-wizard GENIUS, crippled by genetic and surgical tampering in the cyberwomb; what had worked on the rest of our clone-series virtually destroyed his ability to walk, and speak.
He was allowed to live, and has been 'fitted' with a kilo of circuitry, 1 ½ klicks of nerve-wires, and 3 computer-jacks; he has a wearable voice-box that makes him sound like Stephen Hawking on a bad day.
Technical genius, and technological horror(to those who don't know him); he was missing, having vanished during our abortive attempt to free ourselves from the Scotintel yoke, in the frozen tundra-wasteland of Kamchatka.
'Monica': A nickname, for the one female version engineered out of the basic male Template; seductress, accomplished security systems 'evasion expert'; trained by the nigh-legendary Phim Phan, of British Intelligence (Division Six), in lethal hand-to-hand combat.
She knows 86 ways to kill a man with her bare hands (139 with 1 lb. of medium-thickness spaghetti and a pair of nylons); our "sister" also became missing during the Kamchatka campaign…
And me…disgruntled, cynical, scarred and embittered; the last of my kind, with the full memories of our Progenitor, and too many memories of my own.
We'd sensed that something was going horribly wrong, that our sibs were dying at an accelerated rate, and ScotIntel didn't seem to give a stale haggis one way or another.
We'd tendered our 'resignations', and had left the cloning facilities at ScotIntel in such a shape so as to preclude the creation of any more of us.
Then, we were to rendez-vous in Kamchatka, along with Namagomi-Chan, scientist and one-time associate of Philm Phan, for reasons explained by my Sword-Brother, Richard B. Bernstein, in what he refers to as 'Darkling Dreams' and 'After The Curtain'…
…the fires were still burning in Nama-Chan's lab at Rockefeller University campus; the bastards who'd murdered her had been thorough; scarcely a scrap of equipment was left intact, but they hadn't reckoned with the tenacity of Zero.
He searched carefully, and had discovered a laptop, secreted in a hidden compartment of one of the jelly-fish tanks. A week later, I was making the final preparations for our departure for the Bahamas.
I had a few leads that pointed there. It was the last hope I had of finding "Monica" and 010, but if they didn't pan out, I was certain that we'd never see our sibs alive again.
Zero came to me, with the laptop; he'd discovered Nama-Chan's passwords, and deciphered the codes that she'd written her notes in.
He handed me a hardcopy, and what I read made my blood curdle in my veins. I knew then, as much as I did not want to, that I would have to involve my friend, Richard in the sordid world that he had hoped to abandon…
(to be continued...)
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