The Becoming (Super Heroes)

[Imperial Overlord]

October 3, 2001


Twin beams of blue-white light flashed into existence for a little longer than a second. In that time they bore small holes in a pitted steel plate. Smoke drifted silently up from the scorched and blackened plate. Blackheart looked down range at his handiwork and slammed the recall button. The motor purred and began bringing the target back to him.

"Getting the hang of it?" a voice asked from behind him. He half jumped and turned around. A woman with lustrous brown hair pulled back in a braid was standing behind him. She wore a bomber jacket over a black t-shirt and blue jeans.

"Your good," said Blackheart. "Didn't hear you coming."

"I know," she said. "You're Blackheart right? Got your skinned burned off, eyes roasted, and bones broke and you're up in two weeks with new powers?"

"That's me."

"And your busy practicing at one in the morning all alone because . . ."

"Because I can't sleep." He was having nightmares again. As usual. Foster family number five, locked in the basement, and the beatings but twice as bad as they had been.

"That all? The negative empathic emissions have nothing to do with it?"

"That too. Like to practice alone. Doesn't fuck up the team if they aren't around to be exposed."

"That's very responsible of you," she said. "Of course, sometimes you have to practice with your team."

"Yeah. That's why I minimize unnecessary exposure."

"Consider this necessary."

"You're Mind Melter?"

She screwed his face up in distaste. "I hate that name, but yeah, I'm her."

"I thought you were a guy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm not. How old are you kid?"

"Nineteen. Give or take. But you know that. What's this about?"

"I'm your new team leader. We start training next week. Just getting to know everyone."

"No direspect, but that's a bad idea in my case."

"That's my call to make."

"Yes it is. I'll tell you when I think you're making a bad one, but I'll back you to the hilt."

"That's what I've heard. You've got that old fashion warrior spirit."

"Not so old fashion," he said with a faint smile.

"No, it isn't," she agreed.

October 5, 2001

Blackheart walked into the office. A balding man in conservative suite waited in chair. "Hello David. Please take a seat."

Blackheart took a seat on the couch. "I'm Doctor Lang. Do you know what this is about?"

"Annual psych evaluation. Your here to see if I'm in good enough shape for field work."

"I'm here to help you with any of your problems, and yes, I'm here to pull you out of the field if you shouldn't be there."

"Let's just get this over with," said Blackheart.

Doctor Lang made a note. "Alright. You were badly injured recently."

"Yes. I healed. Not a big deal."

"Well, that's good, of course. But you were near death."

"Yeah. The rest of the team came through. I lived. A lot of other people died. Less than a month later and I half to look hard for the scars. All in all, I don't really have much grounds to complain."

"That's certainly a reasonable way of looking at it." Another note. "And what about the rest of what happened that day?"

"I wish I could have saved more people," Blackheart said quietly. "I wish I could have done more."

"Do you feel guilty about it?"

"No," said Blackheart. "It's not like I lay down and quit. I took down two terrorists, saved a team mate from a third. From fucking Dreadnought. No, I don't feel guilty. I'm not very powerful. Stronger now than I was, but I'm still weak compared to the heavy hitters. I did more than my part. More than my part. I don't feel guilt, I just wish I could have done more."

"That's understandable," said Lang. "Are you still suffering from nightmares?"

"Yeah," said Blackheart. "Every now and then. Childhood stuff mostly."

"Is that why you prefer to be called Blackheart? To forget who you once were?"

"Maybe," he said. He was quiet for a moment. Lang waited. "My parents threw me away. Seven foster homes, too many fucking state houses and orphanages. No one cared about me, just maybe about the rules and doing their jobs. Not their fault either. Not mine. Just this thing in my chest poisoning everything. I have a place here, work that means something. Not much of a future to look forward to if my doctors are right. So I'll live for the now. Be the soldier for the better future. Do work that matters. Be Blackheart. Its the only decent thing in my life."

"In someone else we might consider such close identification with your job unhealthy," said Doctor Lang.

"What else is there for me?" said Blackheart. "No pets. No friends. No family. No girlfriend yet, probably no relationship that will last. What else is there for me? This, at least, is something I can take pride in doing well. I might end lives, but I make others better. Save them even."

"Thank you David. This has been a very productive session."

"That's it?"

"For now."

[Imperial Overlord]

October 10th, 2001


There was a knock at her door. "Come in," said Patricia. Blackheart pushed open the office door. Taskmaster wasn't big on paperwork, but he did like thorough after mission reports.

"You wanted me boss?" Blackheart asked.

"Yeah. You got a clean bill of health. Well, not clean but functional. You're cleared to stick your head in the meat grinder again."

"Didn't think it would go that well."

"It didn't. On the other hand, terminally ill metas with shitty childhoods and relationship destroying powers don't tend to score well on the head space charts. Your good for the field and seem to be holding it together, which counts. Besides, Taskmaster seems to think you're hot shit."

"He does?"

"He's tougher than you think or words to that effect. He's the meta genius so its good enough for me. You ready to crack some heads?"

"Point me in the right direction."

"Good."

"Boss?"

"Yes?"

"Since you don't like your handle, what do you want to be called?"

"Patricia will do. Not Trish. I'll take Mind Melter before Trish."

"Got it."


October 11th, 2001


"Okay, its been a month since those bastards raped New York and killed friends of ours," said Patricia. The room was small, intimate. "The city is toast, they'll be years rebuilding. And Black Arion is still around, still kicking, still ready to do it again. Worst sons of bitches hands down since Genocide got the axe."

She paused for a moment. Wouldn't do for the next part of her speech to sound too much like an angry rant. "They are being hunted down and Ultima will very publicly kick each and every ass found in the United States of America or in any nation that is a close ally of ours. Hell, even the Russians and the Chinese will land on those bastards like a on of bricks. Where we come in is that some of them may not be in places where they will lay out the red carpet for Ultima. Taskmaster says he's likely to have a job for us soon. So we need to get ready."

She pointed at a tall, well built young man with dark hair and pale skin. "Blackheart. Flips cars, slow flight, tough, bullet proof, and laser vision. Good fighter."

She pointed at a tall blonde woman with Nordic looks. "Valkyrie. Throws cars, flys, antitank weapons can break her bones, and she can draw down the lightning."

Next up was a small Hispanic man with a cocky grin. His hair was cut up in a braid along his back. "Matador. Quick short range teleports. Disintegration touch. Nasty. Good cook."

Last was a man with white hair and ashen skin crisscrossed with cracks. The cracks glowed orange, as if they revealed a molten core underneath. "Heatwave. Radiation emitter, especially heat. When he gets going bullets vape before they hit him but you don't want to be close when he's like that. Tough bastard, absorbs a lot of the energy of shots thrown at him.

Heatwave put a cigarette in his mouth. The tip glowed red and ignited. "You forgot handsome."

"And handsome," said Patricia. "Me, Patricia, Mind Melter in the field. Psi blocker and mind bombs. Team leader. Call me Trish and you will find out exactly what it feels like to have one of my weaker mind bombs go off in your skull. Nobody ever does twice."

[LadyTevar]

Nice team... two tanks, an assassin, a psychic, and whatever the hell Heatwave counts as.

[Enigma]

Nice team... two tanks, an assassin, a psychic, and whatever the hell Heatwave counts as.

Tough bastard, absorbs a lot of the energy of shots thrown at him

Tank?

[Argosh]

Nice team... two tanks, an assassin, a psychic, and whatever the hell Heatwave counts as.

Tough bastard, absorbs a lot of the energy of shots thrown at him

Tank?

It means they have lots of hitpoints (hard to kill).

[Enigma]

Nice team... two tanks, an assassin, a psychic, and whatever the hell Heatwave counts as.

Tough bastard, absorbs a lot of the energy of shots thrown at him

Tank?

It means they have lots of hitpoints (hard to kill).

I know that but I was thinking that Heatwave would be a tank too since it would take a lot to bring him down.

[LadyTevar]

"Emits Radiation/Heat" made me wonder if he could be a 'blaster', throwing energy bolts/beams around as well.

Although I'm still grinning about "Disentegration touch, Nasty, good cook"

[darthdavid]

Nice stuff.

[White Haven]

*tsks*
Nobody ever remembers the healer, until everyone's dead on the ground.

[LadyTevar]

*tsks*
Nobody ever remembers the healer, until everyone's dead on the ground.

Thats what the Teleporter's for, to get you TO the healer before that happens.

[Imperial Overlord]

October 21st, 2001

The dark belly of a plane open and two people stepped out into the air. Blackheart carried Patricia in his arms and Valkyrie carried both Heatwave and Matador. They fell through the night sky without parachutes, the fliers descending at a controlled rate. Their target would receive no warning.

Below them stretched jungle and mountainside. Government control stopped to exist far from this place. The hand of the US stretched further if it wanted to, with special ops teams and gunships capable of spreading death and destruction if it wanted to. Rightest paramilitaries and their business partners had been low on the US's priorities list until recently. September Eleventh had changed that. The perpetrators would pay even if an ocean of blood had to be spilled.

Blackheart's team wasn't here to kill, but to retrieve. The agents dropped through the tree canopy and touched down on the soft, moist soil. They let loose their comrades. Everyone was wearing the same black full body armour as Blackheart.

"Blackheart, Valkyrie," said Patricia, "move ahead and scout. Come in from four and eight o'clock. Matador, stand by for teleport raiding. Heatwave, you're back here with me. Move people."

Blackheart and Valkyrie split up and moved forward. Both agents flew just above the ground, moving in complete and utter silence. The moved carefully through the underbrush and found no guards of sentinels. Blackheart moved closer and caught a glimpse of what they were looking for.

The facility was completely invisible from the air because it had been dug into the side of the mountain, beneath overhanging trees. Armoured windows looked out over solid metal door. Blackheart could make out two people in room overlooking the door.

"Contact made," said Blackheart into his mike. "No exterior guards. It's in the side of the mountain. Windows, cameras, and a solid steel door. Possibly concealed gun turrets. Everything but guys shouting 'Hail Hydra'."

"Understood," said Patricia. "Matador is coming up to deal with the watchers. Heatwave and I will follow up. Remember, we want the good doctor and his records intact."

"Understood," said Blackheart. Black Arion had too many metas for them to just be recruiting, although they were. The numbers involved in the attacks had just been too big. That meant they weren't just recruiting, they were making more and that meant US intelligence agencies were now looking very closely at every potential or rumoured black market meta creation facility.

"Juicing", as it was sometime called, wasn't something any idiot could do. It required very capable scientists, usually a full team, and some very expensive equipment and materials. Alternatively, one could get juiced by a kick ass sorcerer or reality enginner or whatever the fuck they were calling the so-called masters of the mystic arts this week in spook talk, but they were even rarer and always had their own agendas.

Juicing had consequences, which was usually expressed in its sky high mortality and mutation rate. Cavanaugh was the foremost expert in the field, having killed or maimed a smaller percentage than anyone else and being good at actually treating the nasty side effects. She was a pioneer in a field which was strewn with bodies, a trail that lead back to the laboratories of the Third Reich.

"This is Matador. I see the targets. Ready for the word."

"Heatwave here. Ready to roll."

"Matador, when I give the word teleport and secure the security room," said Patricia. "Blackheart, back him up. Valkyrie, take the door. If it doesn't go down easy, pass it on to Heatwave. I'll hit the guards." She paused. "Go."

The two men visible through the windows fell as if they had been hit by sledgehammers. A moment later Matador appeared in the room and touched the window, dissolving it in less than a second. Blackheart flew up and through the window as Valkyrie charged the door. Steel crumpled inward as the blond woman smashed her way through. Heatwave followed after her, with Patricia taking up the rear.

Blackheart went through the door out of the room and into an empty corridor. First room was an empty break room. Second was a bank of monitors and comm equipment. Two men were sitting there, watching tv and drinking from very large mugs of coffee. Blackheart came through the door in a rush.

It took a moment for them to realize what was happening. They didn't have a moment. Blackheart yanked the closest man away from the controls. He wasn't fast enough to get to the second. Blue-white beams shot from his eyes and the man fell face first onto the console in front of him with a charred skull. Blackheart's hand wrapped around the survivor.

The agent zip cuffed his hands and legs and tossed him in a corner. So far no alarms despite the fact that they must have kicked in the front door by now. It had been only about thirty seconds though. So far, so good.

He left the room and got a transmission from Matador. "Two more taken care of, rest of the floor is clean." The teleporter was insanely fast and lethal, but not bullet proof, which meant that Blackheart went first when going into confined kill zones.

He went around a corner and found smoke coming from an elevator controls and a hole melted in the elevator door. "Stairs," said Matador, pointing to a door. "Just finished severing the elevator cable. Breaks kicked in but no one will be using it."

"Got it," said Blackheart and threw open the stair door. There was definitely a ruckus going on downstairs and people heading up the stairs. Big beefy guys in green camouflage under body armour and carrying big guns. He tossed a flash-bang down the stairs and dropped through the center space.

The grenade detonated just before he got there. The blast barely bothered him. Unfortunately, his targets were wearing full helmets as part of their body armour and were built like strategically shaved gorillas. They didn't seem that badly affected either. Cutting edge tech was a double edged blade. He stopped his descent and attacked before they could recover enough to do the same.

His fist shattered the helmet and face of the closest man. Bloods and brains clung to his as he backhanded the next guard, knocking him into the third and taking them both off their feet. The third raised a weapon that vaguely resembled a shotgun and fired.

There was a blue flash and a crack as the rail gun slug broke the sound barrier and hit Blackheart in the left side of the chest. The round tore through armour and the impact cracked ribs. Blackheart's eyes flared. Blue-white beams turned the shooter's torso to ash.

The other two were getting up. Matador appeared and touched them both. They dissolved away, leaving nothing but a small pool of bubbling ruin. Blackheart nodded in acknowledgment.

Thoughts appeared in both their heads. This is Patricia. Situation on the fourth floor. They received a sudden impression of two monstrous reptilian humanoids, each three meters tall and with chests like bulls. Accompanying them were more of the heavily armoured security goons. Hurry!

[LadyTevar]

Unfortunately, his targets were wearing full helmets as part of their body armour and were built like strategically shaved gorillas.

This made me laugh aloud.

There was a blue flash and a crack as the rail gun slug broke the sound barrier and hit Blackheart in the left side of the chest. The round tore through armour and the impact cracked ribs.

This part, where a railgun bullet fired at close range only cracks a couple of ribs, made me realize once again just how tough Blackheart is ... and at this point he was still growing into his powers, which means he's even tougher now.

I'm really glad he's on our side.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Keep in mind, he's on our side NOW. If he loses enough friends and teammates to his own aversion field, he may go Hamlet on everyone and start doing what he 'feels' is best.

Alternatively, the black heart inside him could take control, and then we'd have nothing that can stop him.

Footnote: I really like the term 'Reality Engineer'. Not sure why, but I do.

[LadyTevar]

Keep in mind, he's on our side NOW. If he loses enough friends and teammates to his own aversion field, he may go Hamlet on everyone and start doing what he 'feels' is best.

The team's empath is trying to work around this. So far, there's just a lot of dead animals as she's been forced to 'dump' her emotions somewhere to keep from going nuts.

Alternatively, the black heart inside him could take control, and then we'd have nothing that can stop him.

The Empath and the Symbiote both have promised to kill Blackheart before this happens. Of course, the scariest idea is that Blackheart and the tumor merge seemlessly, leaving teh Cthuloidian's power and memories in the hands of the human.

[CaptainChewbacca]

Or, it could be that in the final takeover of Blackheart he becomes so powerful that he can't be killed as easily as they hoped.

[LadyTevar]

Or, it could be that in the final takeover of Blackheart he becomes so powerful that he can't be killed as easily as they hoped.

There's a chance the ShadowManipulator can trap him.

[Imperial Overlord]

Matador appeared at the back of a large room, right next to two rail gun armed goons. Nearby were another pair of goons and a bald white guy wrapped in lightning who was floating a good two meters in the air. Two huge scaled monsters were going toe to toe with Valkyrie and hammering her down every time she tried to get up. Behind Valkyrie, Patricia was lying sprawled on the floor and Heatwave was surrounded by a heat shimmer.

Matador touched the two huge men next to him and turned up his disintegration powers full blast. Both men instantly dissolved into smoking masses of goo. Thunder boomed a wave of heat washed over Matador. The charred bodies of the other two goons fell. So did Heatwave, blood pouring from a chest wound.

Matador teleported behind one of the lizard-thugs and grabbed its leg, his disintegration power active at maximum strength. Armour and muscle sloughed off the leg. The monster screamed and swiped at Matador with his taloned hand. Matador teleported to a corner and then dodged behind the lightning shooter. Both monsters halted beating Valkyrie to search the room for him, the wounded one bellowing in pain.

Matador struck before they could spot him, reaching out towards the lightning shooter. That wasn't the best of ideas. Electricity arced from the meta, throwing Matador across the room and stunning him.

A blast of heat struck the lightning thrower in the back, the air distorting and shimmering around him. Heatwave had levered himself up on one arm and was pouring energy into the lighting thrower. The bald meta turned around and struck Heatwave with an eye searing arc of lightning.

Valkyrie got up. Blood trickled from a dozen shallow cuts and every muscle ached, but still she got up. She kicked the wounded monstrosity in its good leg, knocking it from its feet. The lightning thrower shifted arm, wrapping the blond meta in blazing arcs of electricity. Valkyrie smiled and closed. Her fist crushed his chest with a sickening crunch. Blood burst from his lips and he fell.

The other monster spun and clawed at her. She dodged back, taking to the air. Lightning crackled around her body and she directed towards the wounded monster as it tried to get back to its feet. It screamed and writhed under the lightning lash.

The other bellowed and swatted her to the ground. The floor cracked where she struck it. The monster raised his foot to stomp on her and she rolled out of the way. The foot smashed the floor, smashing a hole in it and cracking the rock beneath. Valkyrie kicked the monster in the side of the knee. The monster bellowed again and fell to its knees.

She pushed up into the air with her hands, taking to the air. She delivered a full power kick to the side of the monster's head, knocking it down. She descended, hammering the downed monster with her fist again and again and again. It stayed down.

Blackheart appeared in the door, his armour splattered with blood. Valkyrie, standing on the body of the fallen monster, looked over at him. "You're late," she said.

"Sorry. I was held up," he replied.

"We've got people down," she said. "They need medical attention now."

Blackheart rushed into the room and started with Heatwave. The meta had a small hole in his chest and was bleeding badly. Blackheart switched channels. "Requesting priority teleport for wounded," as he cracked open a pouch on his thigh and pulled out an emergency medical kit.

"Taskmaster here," said a dry voice in his ear. "Status?"

"Three down," said Valkyrie. "Two from lightning strikes, one a chest wound. Situation critical."

Blackheart started patching the wound. "Flashback will be available in one minute," said Taskmaster." Time crawled as they waited. Then Flashback appeared next to Valkyrie. He touched Patricia, vanished, and then reappeared a second later. He repeated the procedure with Matador and Heatwave.

"You ready to go?" asked Blackheart.

"Let's do it," said Valkyrie. She kicked through the door at the other end of the room. A door lined corridor ended with a steel reinforced door at the other end. Half the doors were opened and revealed modest rooms inside. The meta agents quickly searched the remaining rooms. They were empty.

"I'll take the door," said Valkyrie. Her kick smashed a huge dent in the door, but it held. The hinges, on the other hand, did not. Inside was a huge chamber filled with arcane machinery and two long lines of vats. A dozen of them, about half the number, had occupants floating inside of them. Most of the occupants were obviously inhuman in one way or another. Several people in white lab coats were cowering behind some of the equipment.

"Jackpot," said Blackheart.

[Imperial Overlord]

November 5, 2001


Taskmaster walked to the front of the darkened room. All four of his teams were present, minus the members too injured to sit in. "Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for your attention. Recent events has yielded a considerable amount of data and some results. We are still under time pressure from both Congress and the Executive.

"First, we have a mother load of data about Black Arion's recruiting before September Eleventh. They were on the radar, but not active and their headquarters and training facilities remained unknown. Most terrorist groups, meta or otherwise, don't begin with a massive operation. They did, which is how they were able to catch most intelligence agencies by surprise. The lack of interest in what warning signs were available by politicians who will remain nameless also contributed to their success, but the most important factor is that many of their known members came from mercenary or terrorist background.

"Many of the people involved in the September Eleventh attacks were, however, not known metas. The logical supposition was that they had or used the services of those capable of granting metahuman abilities, sometimes known as 'juicers'. A likely facility hidden in Columbia was targeted by Beta Team. Despite having the advantage of surprise, resistance was quite fierce, although all of Beta Teams members are expected to make a full recovery. The data retrieved is the reason for this meeting."

Taskmaster paused and cleared his throat. An image of a massively muscled man on an autopsy slab appeared on the back wall. "This is one of the guards at the facility. He masses in at two hundred and eleven kilos and as you can see most of it is muscle. Postmortem examination reveals that each of them had been taking Compound Eight, an enhancement drug derived from formulas used by the Germans during World War Two.

"Compound Eight grants the subjects mild superhuman strength and resistance to injury as well as massively increasing muscle and bone mass. It also only immediately kills a small minority of those who take it, although none of the subjects who take it are likely to make it to fifty. Stress on vital organs, particularly the heart, is increased and in some cases the enhancement is uneven, leaving some parts of the body vulnerable to stress collapse.

"Compound Eight's principal use is as the first stage of augmentative procedure. If the subject survives, he is more likely to survive additional procedures which may also mitigate some of the damage done by it. The entire security staff had this treatment, which was a perk of employment. They were all wannabe metas. We expected Black Arion to be paying them in exchange for services rendered. That wasn't the case."

"Instead Black Arion was continuing to fund them, allowing the lab to provide its services at a reduced rate. The facility was first rate, by the standards of non-state outlaw labs. The logical conclusion is that Black Arion has acquired superior augmentation facilities of its own, is ideologically committed to increasing the number of metahumans on the planet, and is well funded.

"In light of this new information, the threat level represented by Black Arion has to revised upward. They are secretive, well funded, fanatical, and their numbers are increasing. Unless their operations are disrupted within the next six months, it is likely they will be able to unleash another wave attacks. Ideologically, Black Arion is committed to unleashing a Ragnarok, sparking a world wrecking war that will allow them to build a paradise on the bones of the old world. There is literally no atrocity they will not commit. That is the nature of our enemy. Thank you for your time."

[CaptainChewbacca]

Wow, Black Arion is worse than Cobra! I wonder if they're hiding out in Wakanda or Tierra Libre.

[LadyTevar]

Yeah... why recruit metas when you can make your own to order. Nasty fucks.

[Imperial Overlord]

January 22, 2002

Gunslinger waited under the blanket of snow as he had waited for the past six days. He was wearing the equivalent of one of those stillsuits out of Dune, complete with temperature control and waste processing, which was a nice way of saying you needed a shower real bad when you got out of one. The suit had ten different kinds of stealth features and being under the snow and watching through a camoed fiber optic periscope didn't hurt either. He was as close to being invisible as was possible.

The cavalry had finally arrived. The bosses had picked a site in British Columbia for their fake base because the Canadians would put out a call for American back up. The mathematics of metas was pretty harsh. A small chunk of the population would have potential metapowers that might develop on their own. A larger chunk might develop metahuman powers or die horribly, depending on their luck and circumstances, if they were subjected to incredibly expensive treatments requiring incredibly expensive set up costs to try and develop them. You could cut corners and use much cheaper and more available World War Two era tech, if you didn't mind a sky high fatality rate and a high frequency of mental and physical deformities among the survivors. Since Canada wasn't some Third World dictatorial shit hole the last option was out and it didn't have to population to generate a large number of "natural" metas or support much of a home made meta industry. Which meant, like most countries, when a lot of meta trouble happened they resorted to using whatever metagenius created hypertech they had (which was related to how many metas you had which lead you back to the same problem) or calling for help from a bigger, more powerful ally.

In Canada's case that generally meant the United States and after 9/11 no one doubted that Black Arion had a fuckload of metas at their disposal so a few carefully planted clues that Black Arion was in the area should make the Canadians call for their American buddies and they would collectively land on Black Arion like Thor's fucking hammer. Since it was out of country, it would probably be military or intelligence American metateams, just like the bosses wanted to geek. Just to make sure that it went down that way, Corpse King had lead a rampage through Toronto which had put two of Canada's metas in bodybags and another half dozen in the hospital. The couple hundred dead civilians were really just a bonus.

Motion. Someone had taken the bait. Final-fucking-ly. He hoped the bosses appreciated the fucking sacrifice he was making. It wasn't like guys capable of making a shot from three klicks away with unerring accuracy grew on trees. He wanted at least a new sex slave for this.

He pulled the gun up slightly. Fourteen millimeter antimaterial rifle was overkill against most targets, but against metas it was essential. He rose up and pushed the away the part of the camo cover blanket over the scope and looked down. A bunch of tiny figures walking towards "cabin" that was the disguised entrance to the "secret base". No cover worth talking about for a hundred meters. This was going to be fun.

Gunslinger's metapowers were subtle. Enhanced senses, enhanced coordination, and enhanced reflexes. What they added up to wasn't subtle at all. Gunslinger lined up for the first shot.

Bang. Headshot, he thought to himself. The black dude went down with a bullet to the side of his head. He had to be super tough because he still had a skull.

A Hispanic looking dude grabbed a brunette and vanished. Teleporter. Ah nuts. Robbed of two kills. Bang. Blonde babe takes it in the gut and staggers. Bang. Headshot. Goes down. First two I shoot and they're both metas who might be able to survive that and will definitely require eyeball double taps. Good thing I'm not playing poker with luck that bad.

One of them's taking to the sky. White dude. Black armour, black hair. Left lung. Blood, nice and bright. Tumbling. Still got a chest though. Three ironmen in a row. Fuckers.

Redhead. Total babe. Hispanic dude appears beside her. Teleporting his team mates into cover. Smart. I cover him with her blood and brains. Final-fucking-ly. Bang. He's not faster than me, but he's fast enough. His teleport beats the bullet.

Fuck him. A dude wearing what looks like a supped up seventies era Soviet Red Rocketeer suit takes to the sky while another dude wrapped in flames is lobbing explosive fireballs in my general area. Lots of steam and mist going up, helping to hide me. Of course, if he gets lucky it'll hurt. I shoot him twice in the chest. Jack fucking shit.

I pop the clip and slip a specialty round into the breach. I shoot him again. The bullet doesn't melt and his head explodes. I pop back to normal rounds and blow the rocketeer's head off. So much for Soviet Super Science and its knock offs. No one left alive out in the open. Too bad. I hit the button and explosives blow off a good sized chunk of the top of the mountain. It starts to come down.

Gunslinger put down the rifle and activated his headset. "Three dead and a fuckload of probables. Send the ride. I'm through here."

[Dargos]

I was wondering if this story would ever be continued. Glad it wasn't left for dead!

[Imperial Overlord]

January 24, 2002

Patricia circled the bed. Tubes connected Blackheart to a dozen different drips and fluid bags. "Can he hear me?" she asked.

Mary Cavanaugh was standing just behind her. "When he wakes up. He lost a lot of blood and most of his left lung. Only that thing in his chest kept him from bleeding out long before the rescue team go to him. He seems to be regenerating it and I don't think there was brain damage from oxygen deprivation, but we won't know until her regains consciousness. David's tough, but this nearly killed him."

"I know," said Patricia. "You'll let me know when he wakes up?"

"Yes," said Cavanaugh. "Of course."

Patricia's phone buzzed. She picked it up and flipped it open. "On my way boss," she said. She paused a moment before leaving and then headed down the corridor and out of the medical wing. A flight of stairs and another two corridors took her to Taskmaster's office. The door was open.

She walked inside. "Please close the door," said Taskmaster. She did so. "Have a seat."

"I prefer to stand boss."

"As you wish. Blackheart is likely to make a complete recovery," said Taskmaster. "But we won't know for some time. Valkyrie was much less seriously injured and is technically ready for duty. Your team is technically ready for duty."

"My team is ready to kick some ass," said Patricia. "That was a fucking set up. Black Arion put two of mine in the hospital, almost killed us all, and all but wiped out another team."

"Yes," said Taskmaster. "And they staged the Toronto attack just to hurt the Canadians badly enough that we would be drawn into it."

"I don't like that boss. That means they know how we think."

"They have infiltrated multiple agencies," said Taskmaster, "all over the world. "We were targeted because of our high profile and effective action during the September Eleventh attack. They have identified their most formidable enemies and are in the process of crippling them before they begin their second wave of attacks."

"Jesus fucking Christ. What's the plan?"

"I am identifying their agents and their agents controls to back track through their network. We carry the fight to them. Keep your team on a high state of readiness. The window of operation maybe short."

"Valkyrie is still recovering."

"I am aware. If she is fit for operations when the time arrives, she'll join us. Blackheart as well."

"I hope so," said Patricia. "The kids a tough scrapper."

"Indeed," said Taskmaster. "We'll leave that matter in Cavanaugh's capable hands. Any questions?"

"How's the rest of the world taking this?"

"Alarmed. Someone, presumably Black Arion tried to assassinate Chasovoy."

"They tried to kill the Sentinel? The guy who punched Hilter in the jaw? With what? A fuel air bomb?"

"They nuked his dacha."

"Seriously?"

"Low kiloton weapon. He was seen in public next day and it was definitely him."

"He survived a fucking nuke?"

"Possibly. He might not have been there. He might not have been close to ground zero. The Russians aren't exactly being free with that intel. More importantly, Black Arion can manage to get its hands on at least one nuclear weapon."

"That means they could have more. Fuck. Why trash New York? Why not just bomb it?"

"Because they want to divide humanity against metahumanity to do that humans must fear the metahumans, not the products of human science. They'll start with metahuman terrorism and escalate to nuclear weapons when the war is well under way. It hasn't started yet."

"And they new it was a waste of time trying to get the Sentinel to betray Mother Russia so they just tried to assassinate him."

"Correct."

"This is going to going to be worse than Genocide."

"Much worse. But Genocide was an American problem that had ambitions of burning the world. They never got that far. Black Arion has a much larger enemies list."

"If we actually help each other."

"That's my concern Patricia. Your team is yours. Stand ready."

"Just give the word."

[Imperial Overlord]

January 28, 2002

Iron Mike stepped into Blackheart's room holding a tray. "Bro, welcome back to the land of the living. They said you're on real food now so rather than letting the wounded eat hospital swill Matador whipped up something for you."

Blackheart half sat up in bed as the big man laid down the tray over his lap. "Got some lamb, got some Spaghetti Alfredo, some lamb thing, fuck if I know what the name for that is but it smells good, uh well, shit you got eyes."

"Thanks big man. Give my thanks to Matador as well. Glad to see you made it."

"My mother always said I had a hard head," he said with false levity.

"How bad?" asked Blackheart. "They're only telling me all my team made it."

"Bad," said Iron Mike. "Valkyrie's tougher than you are, but she don't heal as quick. She'll race you out of the hospital. Rocket Man bought the farm as did Cyclone and Pyromancer. And we got off lucky. If he had popped Matador instead of me or Valkyrie it might have been everyone."

"What was the shooter using?"

"Custom antimaterial rifle with specialty armour piercing high velocity ammo. Three klicks out."

"Has to be a meta."

"Too shoot like that? Yeah. A merc dropped off the grid a year back. Shooter by the name of Gunslinger. Could do crazy shit with gun, shoot you in the eye with a pistol at two hundred meters, shit like that. They think it might have been him."

"They set us up."

"Yeah. Taskmaster's on it. We'll find those fuckers and drop on them like the almighty fist of the Lord."

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Mary Cavanaugh held the x-rays up next to each. The black, spiderweb like strands of David's parasite were clearly visible. A central mass, almost the size of her fist was located below his heart and was the largest and densest concentration of alien tissue. Strands connected to major blood vessels and major organs, threading through his body to form its own parallel but connected circulatory and nervous system.

The x-ray on the left had been taken two months ago and showed a relatively even distribution of alien tissue in David's chest. The one of the right three days ago. The concentration of black strands was at least half again as great in the regenerated tissue of David's left lung than in the right.

"The poor boy can't catch a break at all," she murmured.

[Imperial Overlord]

February 12, 2002

"Come in," said Taskmaster without looking up.

Patricia walked into her bosses office, her hand still raised to knock. "You always know."

"I always know," said Taskmaster, looking up. "What can I do for you Patricia?"

"Two teams got put through the blender. There's a lot of people who want payback."

"I'm aware of that Patricia," said Taskmaster as he took off his glasses. "We need a target, not a trap, before we can strike. What would you have me do?"

"Rally the troops. Let them know Taskmaster's on the fucking problem. That we'll hand those motherfuckers their asses."

"I see," said Taskmaster. "I will take it under consideration. Will that be all?"

"Yes."

"Then show yourself out. Please close the door." Taskmaster returned his attention to the material on his desk before Patricia had exited the room. The door slammed shut.

Patricia was a valuable agent, but she had her limitations. Too eager to fight and too small an appreciation for overall strategy, despite her gifts as a tactician. Taskmaster had targets. Finding the compromised agents had been easy enough for one with his talents and resources. He kept them in play and kept their information stream uncontaminated. Sooner or later their handlers would come out of the woodwork and he would leave them alone as well. To who and where their handlers reported to was a different story. Their would be a target for his agents soon enough.

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Blackheart worked the heavy bag like it was a speed bag. It rocked back with each blow and the metahuman agent was firing them out at a rate of two hundred a minute. The bag seemed to almost levitate at a thirty degree angle.

Nearby Iron Mike was doing rapid reps with a bar nearly as thick as a lamp post loaded with five metric tons. Valkyrie stood over him as a spotter.

"Looking pretty damn good for a someone who nearly got smoked three weeks ago," said Iron Mike.

"Thanks," said Blackheart. "It's good to be back in the game."

"The docs put you back on the dance card?"

"Yesterday," said Blackheart. "I'm good to go."

"Alright my man," said Iron Mike as he did a final rep and rested the bar. He slid off the couch and moved behind it to spot for Valkyrie as she moved into position. Valkyrie moved smoothly into her first rep. "How's the death rays?"

"Burn a hole through steel," said Blackheart.

"Cool. I wish the boss man would hurry up and drop us on the fuckers. I know that there's all kinds of keeping three steps ahead of the other guy shit going on, but that shit is above my pay grade, you dig. I just want to stomp those murderous assholes deader than disco."

"Patience," said Valkyrie. "Our time will come. And then we will fall upon them like vengeful gods."

"Word," said Iron Mike.

"Or all the demons from hell," whispered Blackheart.