Post a response to this discussion thread
FROM THE JOURNALS OF RICHARD B. BERNSTEIN, THE ACADEMIC DETECTIVE
The mad Clone was unstrapped from the hellish device, and seemed to be satisfied to stand dumbly, staring vacantly like Dubya Bush when asked "What is two plus two?". Parca Mortem, the Peruvian mummy that walked like a man, hovered about him, injecting this or that into the grave wax-colored flesh.
Wulfgar's body, forgotten, hung in the restraints like a like a highwayman from a gibbet, the chest rising and falling, slowly and irregularly.
"El Jefe? Are you all right?", the withered scientist croaked.
The golem-like First Clone answered him, in a voice detached and distant, vacant of emotion...or humanity.
"Aye, Mortem. It was...nothing. Just a passing fancy. I can't feel him the way that I feel the others. Why, Mortem, WHY? I know that he's there! I felt him pour in...and then...nothing..."
"El Jefe, that is to be expected at this time — unlike the others, he is more...self-possessed. That is why you wanted him, si? To command the Voices?"
An unreadable expression crossed his face; the skin writhed as if a swarm of leeches burrowed betneath it. A strangled sound escaped his throat. His teeth ground together like mill-stones, and a gutteral growl began to build.
"Mortem, I hear them calling him-"
He grabbed Mortem by the front of his lab-coat- "-what am I to do-!" The desperation in his voice was a palpable thing.
"Calm yourself, Jefe-"-Mortem struggled feebly in his grasp-"HIS desire to exert control and to command others will be triggered by them, and he will, in order to preserve his own sanity (and as a by-product, yours), have to take control of them", Mortem continued, slowly easing the grip of the First on his jacket, "You should still be able to access their memories and skills, but the personality bleed-over should end. Think of all that accumulated knowledge, Jefe!!!"
The eerie rictus that passed for a smile with him split Parca Mortem's face, showing off the diastema in his upper set of teeth.
"NO!" he shouted, "I'm Wulfgar-Wulfgar010!!!"
"No, Jefe, no, he is-*urk!*"
Whatever Mortem was about to say was cut off as the big hands of the First wrapped around his throat, as he moaned, cuesed, and trashed like a landed marlin, as what appeared to be a full-blown war raged inside of him-Mortem alternated between feebly batting at the Mad one's mitts and waving away anxious security goons who didn't seem to know what to do.
I caught sight of someone vaguely familiar-a kid, just in his teens, being held by an inordinate number of guards-then it hit me; the look, like a cross between a leprechaun and a Keebler Elf-it was Eamon J. Doyle, the little frea-mutate- who could break the laws of physics (or at least access some that the rest of us were shielded from) to transport himself and others from Point A to Point Z, without bothering with Points B through Y. One of the goons holding him reminded me of someone...but I couldn't place him. Probably one of the foot-soldiers that we'd run across in dealing with one of Hairhead's or the Clone's lunatic schemes.
I shook my head, to clear it, and regretted it immediately. Nausea almost overwhelmed me. It must have been an after-effect of the gas that the bastards had used on us.
The sound of breaking glass got my attention, as I looked back at the Clone, rolling around in the wreckage of one of the infernal machines housed in the lab. It set my nerves on edge to watch and listen to the struggle. His flesh CRAWLED, literally, and the features of his face flowed like quicksilver, his voice changing dozens of times to match, screams and bellows mixing with pleas for mercy, or damning God. Parca Mortem had somehow managed to get free, and crouched beside his overlord/experiment, rubbing his throat and watching intently.
As suddenly as it started, it ended; the First had been doubled over, battering the metal floor and screaming about drowning...then he stopped, and straightened to his full height.
His voice, when he spoke, was full of wonder.
"Mortem, the voices-! They're GONE..."
Parca Mortem was at his side in an instant. "Very good, Jefe, very, very good."
"Now, now I must give our guests a lesson, Mortem."
"A_lesson_, Jefe...?"
"Yes. I must show them that I am a man not to be trifled with. One lesson should suffice, for today. Mr. Branagh will fill the bill. I did make him a promise, did I not?"
"Si, Jefe, si, whatever you wish..."
"How to do it, now?" He almost purred the words, a predatory expression settling onto his face, "I almost want to give him to the mantid, but, no, no, that would be a better fate for our dear guest, Ms. Phan. I do like the way that the organic chainsaw-limb cuts through bone and viscera, but not today."
His eyes seemed to glaze over, then shook himself like a dog; "What? Yes, that's it! Capital idea!"
The First turned to Mortem. "Where's his sword?"
"Who-"
"WULFGAR'S SWORD, YOU REPTILE!!!" I WANT HIS FUCKING SWORD!!! (calmer) That will send the right message, don't you think?"
Visibly shaken, the cadaverous scientist hastened to agree.
"Where is it, then?" The First's voice was low ,and dangerous; "I want it, NOW-"
"Right here, Boss."
I hadn't noticed the speaker come up; my blood dropped to zero degrees Celsius. The thinning hair, loaf-tin shaped skull and face, hooded, dead, pale lifeless eyes, broken nose, and non-existent lips, stretched tight as a drum.
Dick Stroker; one of the most vile individuals that it had ever been my misfortune to meet-my Moriarity, almost. I could not call him the Napoleon of crime, as he was a lackey in almost every instance that we'd crossed paths.
He'd murdered some good people, and defiled the graves of some, for thrills. He'd left taunting notes...and had gone on to kill and torment anew. He saw me, and grinned a crooked grin.
"Got it right here for you, Boss-I thought that you'd want a trophy, and all, considering what this cocksmoke put ya to."
He held the killing sword that Wulfgar habitually carried-what was it with ScotIntel and their clone-agents that they outfitted them with modern and archaic weapons? Mad romantics all, was the answer that my tired, battered, and drugged mind came up with. Without any ceremony, the Clone greedily snatched up the weapon.
"Thank you, my trusted servant! This deed shall set you a place high in my councils! Bring me Branagh-and Eamon; our youngest needs to see how we deal with interlopers and meddlers."
Branagh went without a struggle; stiff upper yaddayaddayadda, the whole megilla; Parca Mortem personally escorted the strangely-til-then-calm Eamon to the killing-zone, before the clone, and behind Branagh-Ken. The thugs that brought Ken up forced him to his knees, before their leader.
Eamon looked like he was about to puke. Parca Mortem placed a bony, claw-like hand on the kid's shoulder, and said "Don't blink, Chico" as the lunatic raised Wulfgar's sword above Ken's defiant face, "or you'll miss it-"
Several thugs nervously(?) gripped their guns-
I think that I may speak for all of us present when I say that I was surprised as hell to see the blade, whistling as it sliced through the air...remove Parca Mortem's head at the shoulders. Blood fountained up to the ceiling from the neck-stump, and Eamon J. Doyle fainted dead away.
The First Wulfgar stared at the sword in his hand as if it had suddenly and inexplicably transformed itself into a King Cobra. As Mortem's head slowly rose on the column of blood, rotating as it did, I could swear that I saw his lips mouthing 'What the FUCK-???'.
"Holy SHIT" cried one of the thugs whom I'd tried to place earlier. "this fuckin' mook's gone MENTAL!!!" I heard a voice in my ear say "Professor Bernstein? The Lieutenant sends his regards-" I felt something like bolt-cutters chop through the chains of my handcuffs, and something _familiar_ was pushed into my hands-Mehitabel, my trusty Glock! AND several magazines of ammo!
"Call me...Threadkiller" my rescuer said with a curious smile as he performed a like service for Ms. Phan.
"Hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing, punk-" yelled one of the others-and 13 sorts of Hell were then unleashed.
The Mad Clone was struggling-with HIMSELF-he was even striking punishing blows, and roughly a third of the guards had turned in out direction, weapons at the ready, when three of their number started firing into the mass of them.
"No time to play, Richard! This James Bond nightmare's for real!!!"
It was Junk Yard Dog! I had a moment of clarity and realized that one of the "nervous" guards on his team was Bickle, the bounty hunter that'd torn up my apartment (and body) when this current mess began back in New York. He and JYD were back-to-back by now, still taking advantage of the element of surprise to shoot up goons, techs, and hardware.
Threadkiller had freed the others, and armed them as well; Ms. Phan began dealing out karate chops, and 9mm death from her "broomhandle" Mauser. Monica was remorselessly killing anyone that fell into her hands-no poetry in what she did, just the crunching of cartilages, the gassy sounds of internal organs being punctured, and the screams of men who found themselves unmanned.
"Yiu BATRARRRDS!!! Ye'll PAY, and pay, and PAY fer whut ye've doone!!!" She screamed, tears streaming down her face as she crushed windpipes, drove nasal bones into her foes' brains, and stomped genitals- "-PayandpayandPAYandpayandpayandpayandPAY-"
Zero started for his brother's body, absently shooting anyone who got in his way-but the thing that shocked me was 0-1-0 rising to his feet. I could see wires, chips and other components dangling off of him like Silicon Valley Christmas ornaments. He struggled to where the mad Clone was fighting himself. Wires snaked out of his hand, biting into the rogue's skull.
"Z-z-zer-ro" he stuttered electronically, "h-eee-elp-pp meee-ge-ge-get-" and he took a sword-thrust to the belly. Grimly, he ignored it, and more glittering wires moved to whip around and immobilize the arm that held the blade.
"Br-ro-ther-rr, do-oo-not fight-AHK!" A gun-barrel slammed into his temple, and his normally distant eyes clouded with pain.
"No you don't, you cocksucking cyberfreak escapee from TETSUO, leave the Boss be, or I'll do this-" and he shot 0-1-0 five times. It was Stroker.
"You don't get it, huh, fuckface? I'm the bad motherfuckin' dude, you're the dumbfuck going dow-"
I emptied the 17-round magazine of my gun into him. He turned, jaw working spasmodically, lips flecked with foamy blood and bile.
"Richie! Richie, old fuck! You Jew-bastard, you *cough* had the fuckin' gonads to fuck with me...after *cough* after-after all we've meant to each other...you Hebe fuck..." this last, weakly, as a black fountain of blood issued from his mouth and nose.
"I'm gonna fuck you *cough* up, you Kike cumcatching shitsniffer *cough* jus'-jus' soon as-"-another fount of black blood, foam and tissues that are never supposed to see the light of day poured out of him-"aww-fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-"
I hadn't realized that I'd re-loaded until I shot him through the head. Whatever passed for his soul leaped at the chance to be free of him, and his ragged corpse fell over like the garbage that it was.
Someone in the maelstrom of violence bumped into me, and I spun, Mehitabel held in a white-knuckled grip, ready to kill.
"Hey, easy, Mister! I'M one of the white hats!" He shouted this as he hurled several wicked-looking throwing blades at a goon who was drawing a bead on JYD-"Name's Benny, Benny Hanna, Bounty-Hunter and Recovery Expert Extraordinaire!"
By this time, it was pretty much down to the hard-core-Threadkiller had freed Ken, who was taking out as many goons as he could-the techs and faint-hearted thugs were dead or had run from the lab. Zero, 'Monica', and 0-1-0 (who bled profusely) were struggling with the Mad Clone near Wulfgar's body. They had Eamon with them, puke caking his face and shirt-front.
That's when I vomited, dropping Mehitabel to the bloody floor and doubling over, gasping and hacking as my guts emptied themselves. As I got control of myself and managed to look back up, I saw fresh-looking hard-faced goons entering through the lab doors. I scrambled for my piece.
Ken and Phan were holding their ground, taking down any foolish enough to try them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the mantid scoop up the loose cranium of Parca Mortem, and start to retreat past the influx of killers.
JYD, Threadkiller, and Bickle were shooting and cursing like sailors on a holiday, and Benny Hanna went down under a hail of bullets, defiantly throwing his leaf-shaped knives at his killers. I tried to sight on one of them. The fiendish apparatus that held Wulfgar's body was sparking, smoking, and screaming like a live thing...then I saw the dog.
It was a beautiful, blue-eyed Husky, who radiated intelligence; it opened its mouth, but instead of barking or howling, it said, in a clear voice:
"Lay down your weapons, miscreants, by order of the RCMP, Division Six!!!"
It was the gene-altered sled-and-police-dog, Constable Zing, whom I'd encountered on my earlier visit to Canada, during the "Darkling Dreams" affair. Behind him, at the head of a stream of red-coated Mounties and a Girl Scout troop from Winnipeg, was his partner Constable Drew Atreides, the 7' Mountie. The tide of battle began to turn, then; Atreides shouted something to Ms. Phan, but through the din I only caught the the words "Wood" and "Avalon".
I fell to my knees, sick and breathing raggedly, when I heard a Girl Scout scream "It's gonna BLOW!!!"
The last thing that I really remember was hearing Wulfgar's voice yell "Get OUT of here, Sword-Brother!!!"-and then an explosion that made Tunguska seem like a Fourth Of July firecracker by comparison.
I woke up in what I took to be a country home in Canada; I don't know, maybe it was the framed, signed hockey sticks and curling stones mounted on the walls...
A familiar voice cut through the haze.
"Hello Richard; how are you feeling?"
When my vision finally focused, I beheld Philm Phan. Next to her was the familiar battered visage of Junk Yard Dog.
"How-" I began, and immediately regretted it, as pain ripped down my vocal cords.
"Don't try to speak, Richard; we THINK that we can fill you in...if you wish."
I nodded my assent.
"Hairhead was...involved. He-"
JYD interrupted her;
"He sent me and those bounty-hunters to get you out. You do not want to know what he did to Doc Rochelle to get to me. I'm still recovering from the fucking drugs and shit that he pumped into my system. Him and his god-damned jellyfish extracts..."
"Yes, quite, JYD; it appears that 0-1-0 had the elements of a transmitter as part of his cyber-components-unfortunately, to use it, he had to shut down to bare minimum life-support. He was transmitting on an old Intel frequency, hoping that Wulfgar would be monitoring it. Hairhead was instead. It's likely that he knew the whereabouts of Wulfgar's sibs from the beginning."
"Bastard" I choked out.
"Hairhead also has had a long acquaintance and communication with Eamon J. Doyle..."
"So" I spat, painfully, "he was behind it all along-worse, he prolonged it, needlessly *hack* because it AMUSED him..."
I felt blood on my lips.
"I DID say 'Don't try to speak', didn't I? I didn't simply imagine it, correct?"
"Awww, Ms. Phanny, Richard's a stubborn bastard, always has been, always will be."
"I'm touched *cough*..."
"Hairhead broke me out of the hospital, doped me up and then hooked me up with those bounty-hunters-heh, when Bickle realized that we were rescuing YOU, he wanted to put a bullet in you-"
"Yeah, a very humorous guy-*hack*"
"Hairhead tipped-off the RCMP, arrainged for Eamon to get us into that hell-hole-"
"'Cause" I hacked, "the little...mutate...can bend physics, right?"
"Yep."
"Yes, Richard, you could call Hairhead the very 'Napoleon of Ennui'..."
"Goddamit, Princess-dead. Ivan-dead. Benny Hanna-dead. Lady Eboshi-dead-"
"Actually, Benny's in a coma; they don't know if he'll come out of it. Lady Eboshi's alive; she used some sort of 'mind-over-matter' stunt that allowed her to appear dead. She's the one who let the Mounties in. The last time anyone saw her, she was driving off in Wulfgar's van."
"THAT" I coughed, "is one HELL of a party-trick." I got the impression that there was something that they weren't telling me.
"Where's Zero and 'Monica'? 0-1-0 looked like a goner, and Wulfgar-"
They looked at each other, and JYD grimaced.
"Aw, no; the explosion? They're dead?"
JYD spoke:
"We don't know, Richard. They were trying to-we don't know WHAT-do something with that Godless machine when it-when it blew. We couldn't find them-ANY of them-after. Eamon J. Doyle was found wandering in the woods by his little girl-friends...sans memory."
Ms. Phan continued:
"That's not the worst of it; it's a different world out there than the one that you lapsed into unconsciousness in."
"What-do-you-?" The pain was increasing.
She carried on:
"Every major news organization, including the Drudge Report, received a packet of information-laying out everything-the secret cloning, genetic engineering, memory-downloads, the activities of secretive cells of the COTC-and every dirty Intel operation of the last decade. The fallout has hardly even begun."
"Hairhead-?"
JYD looked out the window, where Girl Scouts played Frisbee with a blue-eyed Husky.
"No one knows", he said, "or they ain't telling."
Ms. Phan spoke up:
"You need your rest, Richard-the chemicals that scorched your throat in the explosion were particularly vicious. It's going to take a good deal of rest to repair the damage."
"Two *cough* things-where am I-"
"It's an Avalon safe-house, courtesy of the Old Horror; he'll be debriefing you once you're better. The second...?"
"Sonnava-was it just me, or did you hear Wulfgar shout something at the end-"
They both wore somewhat stunned expressions.
"I thought that I was hearing things. I was going for an ear examination later this week...."
"Damn, I'd have bet a truckload of pork rinds that I imagined it-"
We stared at each other for a long time.
"God-DAMN- *hack*"
"That's quite enough, Richard. You need to get some sleep."
They excused themselves.
I lay there in the soft bed, with a comfortable quilt wrapped around me, burning with anger-nothing resolved, really, and a million jinni unbottled into the world.
I felt the darkness grow.
Post a response to this discussion thread