The Interim Adventure (Or, Episode IV.V) Part Two
Slowly, as if moving on rusted hinges, Richard’s eyelids opened. He was immediately blinded by a fierce white light. As the world around him grudgingly came back into focus, he assessed his surroundings.
He was lying on his back, squinting at the harsh halogen bulbs on the high ceiling. Under him was the cold slab of a lab table.
He tried to sit up, but found he was strapped quite snugly to the slab.
He looked left.
The sterile white room, tiled from floor to ceiling, stretched away into the distance. Richard could see various computer stations, monitors, fluid-filled tanks, and tables similar to the one he was on arranged at intervals throughout the room.
The view to his right was very much the same.
The craned his neck forward to see what lay in front of him and noticed for the first time how sore he was. Every bone in his body ached.
He peered down the length of his body, now returned to human form, and realized with a shock that, aside from being strapped to a table in a strange place, and feeling as though he had been hit by several busses, he was completely naked.
Well, not completely.
A small wedge of stiff, white cloth, about the size of a paper hat, was perched over his unmentionables. It seemed the Umbrella Corporation had changed the already skimpy design of their infamous hospital gowns.
The Umbrella Corporation.
For at this point Richard had no doubt that it was they who were holding him here for some dread purpose.
He strained his throbbing head in an attempt to recall any details of his journey here and his current location. But to no avail. The last clear memory he had was battling with the filthy bounty hunter Umbrella had sent to capture him.
Suddenly he was jarred from his thoughts by the distinctive hiss of opening pneumatic doors.
Directly in front of him, twin panels slid to either side on the vast white wall and a small group of people entered.
Preeminent among them was one of the most flawlessly beautiful women Richard had ever seen. He looked up from her gracefully stepping feet, inexplicably shod in shiny black pumps, her thin, graceful ankles, long smooth legs. His eyes reached the hem of her thrillingly short black dress, traveled to her provocative hips and narrow waist, up her flat stomach. They reached and lingered on her pert breasts, almost completely exposed. (The dress was as low-cut as it was short.) He studied her artful neck, and then finally completed the journey by reaching her face. She had porcelain skin and dark almond eyes, slightly magnified by her small, business-like pair of glasses. She glanced briefly at him, then walked to a rack next to the door and procured a short lab coat. She slipped smoothly into this, picked up a clip-board from a nearby table, and turned back to Richard. Her black, sparkling eyes observed his powerful, exposed frame and a small smile graced her thick black lips. One thin eyebrow cocked itself above her glasses.
"Well," she said, "I can see this is going to be more fun than I expected."
Richard then glanced at the other people in the party. There were six in all, not counting the smouldering beauty with the clipboard. Two of them were nondescript lab technicians, with long white lab coats and red-lensed safety goggles. They began to busy themselves readying machines and instruments. Two others, a man and a woman, were dressed in matching long, black business suits. Both had disdainful expressions smeared on their angular faces, as well as long, platinum blonde hair.
The final two of the chipper welcome party Richard knew better than he’d care to.
One was standing near the back of the group, watching Richard with an expression both hungry and hateful. He was a large, powerfully built black man in a pinstriped suit. He was fiddling with an eerie, luminescent tie with a pair of rugged looking hands. This was Mr. Hazzard, ruthless and greedy corporate lawyer for the Umbrella Corporation.
The last member was gazing at Richard with an unreadable expression on his white, effeminate face. Richard could not even see the man’s eyes, as they were hidden by the lenses of a most peculiar pair of sunglasses. Octagonal lenses, made of red and white stained glass. The logo of the Umbrella Corporation. He was dressed in a flawless black suit, with a black silk shirt and blood red ascot.
"Trans," Richard growled dangerously.
"Indeed, here I am. We meet again, dear boy. This time I seem to have you at a disadvantage."
"What’s your game, madman?" Richard demanded.
Trans finally allowed himself a smile.
"You recall, at the abrupt close of our last encounter, I said I was going to let time take its course and let you and your friends realize the error of your ways and come back to me."
Richard glared at him.
"Well, turns out I’m not as patient a man as I once was. You’d think, after over half a century spent on this planet I’d have developed an ability to wait."
Still, Richard said nothing.
"And so, I’ve extended you and your three foolish friends a rather forceful invitation. Hopefully, with Miss Li’s gifted guidance," here he indicated the Asian beauty Richard had noticed immediately on the group’s entry, "you will repent and return, prodigal children all, to serve in Umbrella’s stalwart army."
He frowned for a moment.
"Of course, you could be a spoil-sport and resist conversion. In which case we’ll torture you to death and salvage your blood, bones, and vital organs for further experimentation."
He smiled.
"I imagine you’ll put up a fight for a while. Your kind always does. Just like that rusted old heap of garbage you called a car. Pachuco, was it? He started out strong but by the third day or so was screaming like a Fiat."
At these words, Richard lost control. He had been struggling to contain his rage, but at the derogatory mention of his trusted old vehicle, the great Pachuco, who, after being tortured by Trans gave his life to save Richard from a pair of Umbrella Corp deathbots, he gave up the struggle and let the fury course through him. He howled his rage, the thundering sound startling all of the assembled villains, save Trans, who only broadened his smile.
Richard began once more to transform. His body bulging and stretching and sprouting a thick coat of hair. His face elongated into a lupine snout, his jaw becoming heavier and full of large, pearly-white fangs.
With a last bellow of rage he snapped the bonds restraining him to the operating slab and leapt off. He rushed forward, frothing heavily and swiping the air with his claws. The company scattered, rushing to various points in the room to hide or escape. Again, all except Trans, who merely stood his ground and smiled.
Richard leapt into the air in a ferocious pounce, sure to rend Trans limb from limb.
He was inches from his hated foe when--
Slam!
He collided with the transparent wall of his enclosure and, with a look of pained surprise stamped on his flattened, wolfish face, slid to the ground on his haunches.
Trans stepped forward and rapped his long, white fingers on the barrier.
"Umbrella Corp plexi-carbon. Strong as steel, clear as glass. You can’t shattered it with a tank, and if it’s diligently washed, you can’t see it, either."
Richard was up on his hind paws again, frantically searching the wall with his clawed hands like a large, hairy mime.
"No!" Richard yelled, abandoning the mime illusion. "No."
"I’m afraid so, dear boy," said Trans, smirking. "That’s a lovely temper you’ve got there. It will come in handy no doubt."
The group of lackeys was timidly gathering back around the enclosure.
"I will have you in my army. Your re-education process may be quick and painless or . . . otherwise. The choice is yours. And now, I leave you in the competent hands of Miss Li."
He cast one further withering look in Richard’s direction, and then swept out of the room, with Hazzard lumbering after him.
The doors slid closed with a hiss and Richard turned his attention back to Dr. Sung Li. She was striding confidently towards him, clip-board in hand.
Richard prowled restlessly around his transparent cage like a zoo animal.
"Now then," she said, smiling seductively, "alone at last. Let me explain my program in basic terms." Here she paused to push her glasses up the slender bridge of her nose. "Over the next few weeks, you will be exposed to various forms of torture and humiliation. This is the preliminary stage. Then, you will be given orders. If these commands are followed, you will be rewarded. If you disobey, more torture. This is the conditioning stage. Eventually, you will be broken down to the level of an animal, and built back up again as my slave. Fulfilling my every desire will be the object of your existence." She set down her clip-board and pushed back her lab coat like the duster of a gunslinger, exposing a shiny black riding crop tucked into a side holster.
"Do you understand?"
Richard stopped prowling. Without a word he reverted back to human form. Slowly, he looked Sung Li up and down. Then he looked her in the eyes.
"Are you serious?" he asked, concerned.
"Absolutely. You life from now on will be filled with pain and degradation. All at my hands." She unsheathed the riding crop and flexed it in anticipation.
Richard’s face broke into a wide, beaming smile.
"Woooo hoooo!" he whooped. "Bring it on!"
Wind whipped the boy’s jet black, shoulder-length hair and stung his eyes. Still Tony Celi stared unblinkingly from his cold perch down at the buildings below him.
Night had finally settled over that side of the world. A cool, dark shroud. And he was able to walk freely again, no longer in fear of the harsh sun.
Vampirism had been difficult for Tony. He loved the warmth of the day, and rejoiced in the light. Since his infection several weeks ago alongside his friends, he had been suffering his exile into darkness. But Tony was a stalwart chap, and was bearing his new cross with his trademark good-natured resolve. One of the hardest aspect of his new vampirism was the unending thirst for blood. Still, Tony managed to reign in his violent tendencies and for now had sustained himself only on the blood of the occasional unlucky cow. Moreover, he was slowly coming to grips with his emerging powers. Long had he idolized the nocturnal demons depicted in film and literature, and he finally had his chance to count himself among them. Tony’s tireless spirit was serving him well in his struggle to develop the various occult powers vampires are entitled to.
Tony’s eyes glinted like twin stilettos in the darkness as he observed the sprawling metropolis of Worcester.
Suddenly, he saw what he had been looking for. A large delivery truck was pulling away from one of the many shops that dotted this city street.
Standing up from his crouch and briefly stretching his cold and aching limbs, he bid a hasty good-bye to his companion on the watch.
"Good-night, Bruce, ol’ buddy. Thanks for keeping me company."
The gargoyle Tony was addressing maintained his stony grimace.
Tony stood upon the statue’s broad granite back, took a deep breath, and jumped.
This was not how he would have chosen to conquer his acrophobia, but he had to admit it was effective.
He spread his arms wide, the cold night air tugging wildly at his clothes, flattening them against his slender frame. His hair flew around his face as he plummeted towards the street below.
It was a long fall from the top of the cathedral, giving Tony sufficient time to summon the magic necessary for the next stage of his descent.
Closing his teary eyes and focusing, he began to change.
An eerie green light radiated from him. His fingers stretched and reached outward as a fine leathery membrane grew between them. His legs shrunk and he sprouted a small tail. Soft brown fur now covered his whole body. His ears pointed up, north. His fangs became more pronounced.
In a matter of seconds, Tony had transformed into a monstrous bat.
His new wings caught a warm pocket of air from the street below and he was buoyed up into the night sky.
He flapped his leathery appendages gracefully, swooping around the tall buildings. Slowly, he circled to earth.
A few feet above the pavement of a small, poorly lit back alley, he returned to human form. Tony dropped from the air, landing gracefully on the glistening black-top. He stood up, looked around, and then strode toward a back door in the brick wall of one of the buildings.
The door was locked.
"Sorry, lock, not tonight," Tony whispered to the dead-bolt. He ripped the door off its hinges.
Tony filtered into the building as quietly as mist, and soon emerged in the main show-room.
The bright ceiling lights illuminated the vast array of shimmering, shining merchandise. Tables and shelves filled with glorious treasure.
Tony blinked at the harsh bulbs. He put on a pair of blood-red sunglasses.
Tony looked eagerly around the room until he spotted the merchant staring fearfully at him from behind a glass counter.
Tony looked down at himself and realized why.
His fangs were protruding conspicuously. His hair was wild and unkempt from the fall. He had lost his clothes while transforming and was stark naked, except for the sunglasses. (Side note: Agents of Ninja Pirate Inc are quite busy and often do not have time for the demands of "clothing." Especially when captured or shopping.) Finishing up his startling appearance was the freshly caked blood splashed over his narrow chest from a earlier kill that night.
He smiled winningly, ran a clawed hand through his hair (staining it with more blood) and walked towards the trembling merchant.
"You know what I want." Tony intoned.
"I–I–I uh– uh," stammered the poor shopkeep.
"I came for some very important items," growled Tony. "Where are they?"
"Sir . . . they . . . th-th-they just got in and w-won’t be . . .," the clerk seemed to freeze in terror.
Tony took a step forward.
"They won’t be on the shelves until tomorrow," he finished quickly.
Faster than the merchant could see, Tony darted forward and, grabbing him by the collar, lifted him with one arm off of the ground. He slammed the unfortunate fellow against the rack behind him, spilling precious documents. Tony brought his face uncomfortably close the clerk’s. So close that the man caught the coppery scent of blood when Tony spoke.
"Where . . . are . . . the . . . new . . . HEROCLIX?" Tony bellowed, upsetting another few packs of Magic cards.
"I’ll get the them," the clerk squeaked.
Tony dropped him and waited patiently, humming a comical tune, as the man hurried to open the crates and procure the required plastic figurines.
Tony surveyed them with a calculating eye.
The clerk, apparently getting used to Tony’s appearance and calmed by the lack of threats, spoke up.
"You came all the way here for Heroclix?" he asked, timidly.
"Of course!" Tony shouted. "I need the new clix to remain an effective duelist, man! Think!"
"Ah . . ." muttered the clerk, going into shock.
"I believe I’ll purchase . . ." Tony began, but just then a mechanical cooing caught his attention.
A peculiar creature had flown in through the back door which Tony left ajar.
It appeared to be a nervous sort of small bird, fluttering madly around the room. It spotted Tony and erratically made it’s way over to him.
It seemed to be made of small living wrenches and gears. Tony recognized it immediately as an NP Inc robo-pigeon. The company’s standard means of inter-office communication.
The bird landed in front of him and fixed him with a small bright eye. Then it opened its hinged beak, and a hologram was projected out onto the floor in front of Tony.
It was Amy, dressed in a flowing white gown, her long hair tied into buns which covered her ears.
"This is Amy Mcmenamin, operative of NP Inc. I’ve been captured, along with fellow agent Stephen Konefal. I have broken away from the thugs holding me for just long enough to send this message. Please ensure it gets to Tony Celi." There was a clang behind Amy and the hologram looked wildly around at its unseen surroundings.
She resumed transmission.
"Tony, Steve and I are en route to the Umbrella home base in a convoy of hovercraft. We’ll be leaving the country by boat in a few days from a port in Cape Cod. I tried to contact Rich, but he’s non-responsive. Please, save us Tony-won-Kanobi. You’re our only hope."
The transmission faded out. Another hologram replaced it. This time it was Sam.
"Tony!" he yelled. "What the fuck are you doing, you Jew-pie!? Amy needs your help! Spic! Goddamn fuck chink! Rich has been kidnapped, too. Silas is still in my goddamn computer! Shit whore! Fuckin’ save someone! By the way, I’m having a party at your house tonight and I have told everyone about how you’re gay and going out with Will Murray. Who I’ve also said is gay."
He paused to eat a holographic hotdog.
"Chink Jew fuck Spic! Hurry! Sammy Cordova over and out!"
The robo-pigeon closed it’s beak and awkwardly flew back out the door.
Tony turned to the confused clerk.
"I guess I won’t be buying anything after all." He paused and thought a moment. "I forgot my wallet, anyway."
Then he raced nakedly out the door again and disappeared into the night like a nude phantom.
Far, far away, in a stunning tower of ecru stone, Doctor Thaddeus Trans stared into a monitor on his massive desk of polished ebony. Behind him, in sparkling, ruby and diamond twilight glory, lay the city of Boston. The view from his office, the highest room in Umbrella’s East Coast headquarters, was dazzling, but the mad doctor was oblivious to its majesty.
On a screen in front of him was an image of a man in a hospital bed. The poor soul was covered in bandages and casts, elevated in an elaborate system of traction, and wired to countless blinking, bleeping monitors. His labored breathing was assisted by an oxygen tank.
Trans leaned forward and spoke a single word into an intercom.
In the hospital room, several floors below, his voice oozed out of the PA system.
"Werewolf."
The EKG machines began to bleep out of control, the figure in the casts tried to swing his broken limbs out of traction and rise off the bed. His furious struggling amused Trans, who watched until two flustered nurses burst into the room to sedate the wild patient.
Trans leaned back.
"Well," he said to himself, "the filthy Cajun still has some fight left in him."
Back in the hospital room, Phillipe Abattoir dreamed bloody, frenzied dreams of snow and great furry beasts.
Crack!
The whip struck Richard’s broad back once again, stealing his breath.
"Thank you, ma’am! May I have another?" he asked eagerly.
Sung Li had to pause for breath. She had been working at this for nearly an hour and wasn’t getting anywhere.
One of the lab assistants spoke up.
"Dr. Li, I don’t think this is working. He seems to revel in the abuse."
Sung Li turned and gazed at the tech angrily for a moment. Then she drew a pistol and shot him.
"Anyone else have a suggestion?"
The remaining lab assistants hurriedly returned to their work.
Sung Li went back to work on Richard with a manic energy.
Crack!
Snap!
Crack!
No heroes! Richard thought wildly throughout the flogging. There were no heroes in the face of pain!
Still, it was fun.
"Grovel!" Sung Li shrieked. "Grovel before the might of Umbrella!"
"Never!" Richard panted.
Sung Li finally relented and dropped the bull whip. She leaned against the nearest lab table, breathing heavily.
"Alright . . . alright. This isn’t working. Untie him."
The lab techs loosened Richard’s shackles and he rubbed his wrists.
"Thanks, guys," he said.
He stretched, smiled, then sat down on his haunches, watching Sung Li with bated breath.
She stood up, straightened her lab coat, and signaled an assistant.
"Bring the ball gag, hot wax, and clothes pins," she said wearily.
Richard’s ears perked up at the sound of this.
"Alright!" he said. "Now we’re gettin’ somewhere!"
Amy peered despairingly through the slits in the cage as it was carried by worker droids aboard the steamer bound for Umbrella’s home base. She’d been kept in the uncomfortably small crate for hours now, a terrible situation for one so tall. Before that she’d been carried by hovercraft, and before that by train. She’d lost track of the days spent in captive transit ever since that filthy Cajun thug attacked her.
She looked at the dank black water of the harbor below her and sighed. Apparently Tony had never received their message. She and Steve had no hope now.
Still, she was determined to fight like a demon the moment she was released from this infuriating prison, and to never stop fighting until the icy grip of death stole over her.
Her thoughts had trailed wistfully to her home and family, and a tear trailed down her smooth cheek.
Suddenly, there was a commotion from somewhere on the pier. She struggled to turn and look, but to now avail. Then, there was a whirring noise, a sharp jerk and the sound of torn metal and loose wires, and the cage she was in fell to the deck of the ship with a jarring thud.
The door snapped open, and Amy tumbled out, a mess of long limbs and dark hair.
She scrambled up and, crouching low and ignoring the wreckage of the cages and the two worker droids near her, hurried to the side of the ship.
On the gangplank, Steve was crawling out of his dropped cage. The two robots carrying him had tumbled into the harbor.
On the pier, which was a maze of crates and sacks, with the occasional fork-lift dotted here and there, a furious battle was taking place.
Three frustrated Umbrella Corp suits were struggling to direct an assorted mob.
Small groups of Abattoir’s men, along with several worker droids and a deathbot, were engaged in a shoot-out with a lone figure, shrouded in shadow and mist. One of the Umbrella Corporation agents, a slightly build blonde man in a black suit, rushed forward to a massive steel container and slowly opened one of the hinged doors.
Amy gasped in shock as a horde of zombies began to shuffle out.
Another of the Umbrella Corp agents turned to berate his foolhardy associate, but the blonde man was already being mauled by a pack of zombies.
The two remaining agents ran up another gangplank to the deck of the steamer to await the outcome of the battle.
It was chaos. The zombies attacked Abattoir’s men as well as the lone stranger. The deathbot, uncertain of what target to strike, began firing at every moving figure in range.
Down on the gangplank Steve rose, dusted himself off, and made his way up to Amy.
"Fuck I could use a drink," he said.
"Steve, we’ve gotta do something!" Amy whispered urgently.
Steve, aroused by her breathy voice and wild-eyed look, gave her his full attention.
"Do what? It’s a freakin’ mosh pit from hell down there."
"We need to help that poor guy. He’s fighting a small army by himself!"
"And how are we supposed to help?"
Amy rolled her eyes and pointed at the full moon above them, shedding its silver light on the water.
"Oh, right . . ." Steve muttered, and began to transform.
Amy shuddered, both aroused and frightened by Steve’s eerie metamorphasis.
His ears lengthened, as well as his snout. Thick, red hair began to grow over his entire body. He ripped his stained t-shirt off and howled aggressively at the silver moon. Then he doubled over in pain as his bones reformed, cracking and re-postitioning. His hands grew into massive paws, as did his feet, which burst from his sandals. A tail broke forth from his ripped jeans. His teeth rose as sharp fangs from his heavy jaw. His neck bulged and elongated.
Soon, he was completely changed.
Six feet tall, even hunched over, and four feet wide at the shoulder. His eyes glowed with an unholy blue fire. He licked his thin lips with a foot-long tongue and fixed Amy with a hungry stare.
"Shall we go together, then?" he inquired in a low, cool growl.
Amy nodded wordlessly and closed her eyes.
Her hair floated up around her face, her brow grew and contorted into a demonic squint. Then her eyes snapped open, radiating green lightning, and she smile, revealing long, pearly-white fangs. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, the slight luminescence noticeable even through the eerie fog which now enveloped her. Tossing back her hair she gave a laugh full of wild, free abandon.
She and Steve nodded at each other, then ran a few steps and leapt over the railing, off of the deck, and landed on the pier below; Steve with a scratching thud which splintered the planks beneath him, and Amy, graceful and soundless, on the tips of her toes.
The two comrades gave each other a brief, determined nod and rushed into the fray.
Steve latched onto the closest two zombies by their collars, hefted them into the air, and with shocking force, slammed their skulls together. Amy tripped a zombie near her with a low, sweeping kick and then brought her heel crushing down on its forehead.
And like that, the zombie mob was caught in a pincer strike.
The mysterious stranger, clad in a black ninja suit, hacking stolidly and efficiently from one end, Amy and Steve slugging away at the other.
None of Abattoir’s men remained. Any who had not been mauled by the zombies had fled in terror, many leaping off of the dock into the black water below.
The zombies, lacking any fear or uncertainty, continued to shuffle menacingly toward the separated heroes.
Behind the black mask, Tony smiled. His eyes glowed blood red in the moonlight.
Forcing several undead enemies back toward the center of the mob, he paused and ripped off the cowl.
At the other side of the battle, Steve gasped.
"It’s Tony!" he growled, amazed.
Amy snapped the neck of a struggling zombie and turned to her peculiar friend.
"You mean you didn’t realize that when you saw a ninja fighting zombies?"
"Well, I guess I did, but it seems like we should act surprised, doesn’t it?"
Amy stopped to consider this, nodded appreciatively, and returned to the slaughter.
Unfortunately, they were frightfully outnumbered. The zombies, virtually impossible to stop, continued to claw madly at the heroes with their vacant eyes shining hungrily. Add to that the hulking menace of the deathbot, and the other two worker droids, and the odds seemed pretty well against the noble warriors.
The mass of zombies slowly forced its way between Amy and Steve, cutting them off from each other.
Steve, bulkier and with his thick musky scent barely contained under several gallons of Axe body spray, presented a much more tantalizing target for the undead horde. As such, they turned their attention from Amy, with the exception of a few stragglers, and clustered around the beleaguered werewolf. Also in the herd focussing on Steve was the confused deathbot, rolling along on its spiked tracks, pulverizing a zombie here, getting off a good shot at Steve there. One such shot took him in the ribs. Steve collapsed, panting.
He whimpered fitfully as he struggled to fight off the waves of zombies.
Amy dispatched the ghouls near her and looked around wildly for some way to save her friend. Then she saw it.
Racing toward the far end of the deck, she leaped behind the seat of the towering industrial crane and lifted a massive shipping crate. The very crate which used to contain the zombies.
Her eyes squinted in determination, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, she positioned the steel tanker over the mass of zombies now threatening to maul Steve.
"Tony, Steve, look out!" she yelled.
The werewolf stumpled out of the way, and the vampire did two backflips out of danger.
Amy released the grappling arm.
For a moment the tanker seemed to hang in mid air, then it fell with a breathtaking force. The tmess came crashing down upon the monsters with a deafening slam, breaking half of the deck off in the process.
The zombies, along with the deathbot, were crushed and forced, some still struggling vainly under the gargantuan tonnage, into the cold, black water of the harbor.
Steve and Tony had leaped to the other side of the pier and gazed at the spectacle in slack-jawed amazement.
Amy hopped down from the seat, dusted her hands neatly, and smiled.
Suddenly, two zombies tackled her.
She drew and Elfin dagger from her boot and rammed it through the first zombie’s eye. Then, she snapped the head off the second.
Tony and Steve had rejoined the battle with renewed vigor. They slashed through the remaining ghouls and, with their combined efforts, the zombie mob was soon reduced several square yards of rotting body parts.
The friends trod carefully over the carnage and embraced each other amidst the piles of corpses.
"I knew you’d make it!" Amy said, lifting Tony up in a feverish hug.
"It took some doing to track you down, but that hug was worth it," he said as she finally put him down.
"Now, what’s say we get out of here?"
Just then a laser blast grazed Amy’s arm.
She gasped in pain and fell forward.
Steve was waiting to catch her.
He eased her down, his heavy brow furrowed with concern.
"Tony, did you see where that came from?"
Tony, however, was already streaking across the dock and up the gangplank like a shadowy bolt of lightning. One of the two Umbrella agents had activated a laser cannon positioned on the fore deck and was targeting the heroes with a mad expression on his blandly handsome face.
He had locked the sights onto Steve, who was standing in front of the downed Amy, shielding her with his great, furry red body.
His finger was closing over the trigger when suddenly, the tendons in his hand went slack.
He looked down in confusion and saw to his horror that his hand had been sliced cleanly off at the wrist.
Grabbing the bleeding stump, he toppled backwards onto the unforgiving wood of the deck.
Tony stepped from the shadows, katana drawn, and peered mercilessly down at him.
"I hate zombies," Tony was saying, "but, at the end of the day, they’re just mindless corpses. The real villains are people like you, who ruin lives and corrupt the world for petty monetary gains. You sicken me."
He lowered the sword to the man’s throat.
"Get up, we’re going to the police station."
The UC agent slowly reached into his jacket with his remaining hand.
"Don’t . . ." warned Tony.
The man didn’t seem to hear him. He drew a small hypodermic pistol and, with a shaking hand, raised it to his neck.
"I’ll chop off the other one, too . . ." Tony said, worry creeping into his voice.
The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he spoke.
"You have no idea what you’ve brought upon yourselves . . ." he panted.
"What are you talking about?" demanded Tony.
"When we don’t return . . . h-h-he’ll send . . . the ultimate . . . unkillable . . . don’t stand a chance . . ."
He began to laugh madly again. His cackles reached a shrieking pitch, and then ended abruptly when he squeezed the trigger on his inoculation gun. His eyes immediately glazed over and his mouth went slack. He collapsed back onto the deck, dead.
Tony turned to look at Amy and Steve, hobbling up the gang plank. Amy’s arm was rapidly healing, but she was still fairly shaken up.
"What’s goin’ on?" she asked, noting the worry etched in his pale face.
Tony considered telling them of the disturbing message, then thought back on what they had been through, and shook his head.
"Nothing. Guy just . . . uh . . . he knocked himself out on the deck."
Suddenly, the agent rushed forward into a sitting position, red eyes wild, clawed hands grasping wildly.
Tony stumbled backward, but collected himself and sliced the monster’s head off.
The body toppled back onto the deck.
Steve hefted the severed head, which was still snapping and walked it to the edge of the deck.
"You shot Amy, now this is happ’nin’," he said.
And with that, punted the head over into the water.
"That’s how I roll," he muttered.
Tony couldn’t help smiling. Then a thought occurred to him.
"What happened to the last Umbrella Corp agent?" he asked.
"That guy? He was fleeing top speed in a small jet boat last I saw him," said Amy. "Guess we don’t have to worry about him anymore."
Again, Tony wanted to be honest, but concern for his friends held him back.
He looked to his two compatriots.
"What’s say we get home?"
Several miles inland, in the heart of bustling downtown Boston, Dr. Thaddeus Trans rubbed his black-veined temples wearily. Seated in his dark, spacious office, he felt his patience wearing thin.
He’d just received word that three of the teenagers he’d ordered captured were still on the loose, two of which had been caught and bound for the Umbrella Corp island mere hours before.
He leaned forward and hit a button on his desk.
Immediately, one of the double doors of Trans’ office opened and a dapper, efficient-looking young man rushed into the room.
"Yes, Dr., how can I be of service?" he asked brightly.
‘Do for me several favors, Timothy," Trans said. "First, that incompetent agent who reported the escape of my two prisoners? Feed him to the zombies. Second, ready this building’s Omega force. Have them ready in tunnel 7 in under a half hour, if you can."
"Sure thing, Dr. Anything else?"
"Yes, one more thing. Send for Agent Gits."
In the doorway, Timothy’s smile faded.
"Sir?"
"You heard me. I want Gits in my office. Immediately. Warn him not to dally."
Timothy gulped, then nodded.
"Y-yes sir," he stammered, then left.
Trans smiled and leaned back in his chair.
He hadn’t been waiting long when there came three soft knocks on his door.
"Come in, Agent Gits," Trans called.
Slowly, both doors swung inward, and a feeble light from the outer room spilled across the carpet, cut in half by a motionless shadow.
Smoothly, Agent Gits strode into the room and stood before Trans.
Gits wasn’t tall, nor was he powerfully built. He was a slight man, dressed in a fastidiously neat but otherwise unremarkable black suit. Still, something about him was unsettling.
Perhaps it was his mouth, a brief gash across his face, that hardly ever stirred. Or maybe his sunglasses, wire frames with small, round lenses. Black lenses which never let in nor reflected any light. Maybe it was the slight twitch in his left hand. Hardly noticeable, but impossible to ignore once one had seen it.
Whatever it was, there was something. Some almost tangible aspect of him which seemed to scream "danger."
"You wanted to see me?" Gits asked in a smooth, calm voice.
"Yes," said Trans, leaning forward. "Have a seat."
Gits sat.
"I need you to go on an assignment for me. I know, you haven’t been allowed on any assignments since that fiasco in the Balkans, but I’m willing to make an exception. Proven you succeed."
Gits was silent a moment longer. Then he spoke.
"I always succeed."
"Exactly. That’s the spirit. Now, there are three fugitives who’ve been causing me no end of trouble. I want them captured and brought to our main base."
"Done," said Gits, rising.
"Wait a moment. Don’t you want to know where they are?"
"They are at the Massachusetts offices of Ninja Pirate Incorporated."
"How did you know that?"
Gits was silent.
"Very well . . ." Trans stood up. "You’ll be taking the underground. Accompanying you will be the Omega force for this base."
Gits’ feeble chin trembled slightly.
"I work alone."
"I know . . . I know. But you’ll need some extra muscle on this one, trust me."
"Also, while on this mission, I’d like you to test out our newest T-infected prototype. It’s from the Nemesis program. You’ve no doubt heard of that?"
Gits nodded.
Trans stepped across his vast office, to the far wall, which was plain and unadorned, save for a small touchpad. Gits followed noiselessly.
Trans leaned to the wall and pressed a combination of numbers into the pad.
The walls rose straight into the ceiling, revealing a large side chamber.
In the side chamber was a tall, thin, cylindrical tank of glowing green fluid. This cast an eerie light into Trans’ dark office, and over the Doctor and Gits.
In the tank was a massive zombie. The beast was at least eight feet tall, and must have weighed over 400 pounds. Its dense musculature was barely contained by rotting, gray skin. Its face was a horror all to itself. The skin around the monster’s heavy jaw had been pulled back, exposing its jagged teeth in an obscene grin. The nose was gone, only shreds of flesh and cartilage remained. The thing had but one eye, which was mercifully closed at the moment. The other eye was covered in a thick patch of mottled skin.
Floating next to the creature was an impossibly big bazooka. The barrel of the weapon must have been as wide as a trash can.
"Think you can use him?" Trans said, not taking his eyes off of the monstrosity.
A rare smile flitted across Gits’ thin-lipped mouth.
"This will be fun," he said quietly.
Back at the offices of Ninja Pirate Incorporated the three sipped hot cocoa alongside Sam and Jake in the cozy Recovery Lounge. After a quick trip to infirmary, they had headed here to relax.
Amidst ottomans and over-stuffed chairs, they re-capped the night’s events.
"So then Amy dropped a tanker on them," Steve was telling Jake. "Sure it was effective, but has she heard of a little thing called discretion?"
Amy, overhearing this, playfully punched Steve on the arm.
"Hush, you," she whispered.
Tony rose and refilled his mug.
"Anyone want another scone?" he asked politely.
Porcelain shatter off the stone fire-place to his right.
Sam was standing, heaving with anger.
"You stupid fucks!" he yelled. "You’re in here chattin’ over some goddamn cocoa while Rich is out there being tortured by Umbrella!"
The assembled party was silent.
"I don’t know how you stand the shame! He woulda risked his neck for any a you! I, for one, can’t stand here wasting time a moment longer. I’m going to the computer lab to try and track him down." And with that, Sam stormed angrily out of the room.
Amy got up and stretched.
"Well, I’ve had a long day," she yawned, "I’m off to bed."
"What about Rich?" Tony asked.
"Rich? I’m sure he can handle himself." she turned to Steve. "Coming?"
Steve rose as well.
Tony spoke again, "Steve, are you gonna help Rich?"
Steve took one look into Amy’s eyes and started to follow after her.
"Rich . . . I’m sure he can . . . he’ll be . . . yeah . . ."
They both strode out of the room.
"And then there were two," said Jake.
"Sam was right," Tony muttered. "We gotta save Rich."
"Alright, buddy," said Jake. "I’m right with you. First, lemme go water the flowers. I’ll meet you in your office."
Jake tottered out of the room.
Tony sighed, then left as well.
Jake merrily relieved himself, taking a detour past the Chemechanical R and D department on his way back. The burly pirate whistled as he strolled along the catwalk perched fifty or so feet above the countless vats filled with assorted volatile chemicals. His dark eyes roved around the place, his face glowing in the reflected light from the luminescent tanks. He reached the end of the catwalk and decided to stay a while and explore. Jake hopped down the spiral grate staircase which led to the bottom floor of the room. Assorted technicians in white coats checked figures on clip-boards whilst peering through thick safety goggles at the vats of bubbling liquids.
Jake paused at one tank, which was relatively low to the ground (only waist high, or so) and filled with a slowly swirling silvery substance. Jake stared, entranced, by the gentle, undulations of the fluid. Without realizing he began to reach forward. His hand and arm moving of their own accord, like a snake to the liquid’s charmer. He was inches from breaking the surface when a hand seized his hefty shoulder and shook him roughly.
Jake whirled around to see the startling face of Ninja Pirate’s head scientist, Dr. Bartholomew J. Sprockets.
The old man was bald, save for some wild patches of white hair along the sides of his perfectly round, and remarkably shiny, head. He wore thick glasses which magnified his already bulging blue eyes. The eyes rolled constantly, never settling. Sprockets was clad, unlike the other scientists, in their white coats, in a moth-eaten tartan bathrobe. Instead of a clip-board he carried a glass filled to brim with Scotch, and a teak walking stick, with a curious totem carved in the handle; a naked man with abalone shells for eyes. In Sprockets’ pocket was a battered calibash pipe. His round face was florid, and contorted in frustration.
"You there!" he yelled, though Jake’s face was a foot from his own, "stay clear of the vats, boy!"
"I’m sorry, sir," Jake said.
"Sorry is for fags and lawyers, son!" Sprockets roared. "You gotta treat these chemicals like fine women: ogle ‘em from afar, jack off to ‘em if ye have to, and occasionally throw bottles at ‘em. But never touch ‘em, boy! That leads to burns and lawsuits!"
Jake couldn’t help but smile at the eccentric old man.
"Sure thing, Professor. Say, what’s in this vat?"
Sprockets seemed excited. "This here is untested nano-technology fluid. Hi-tech shit."
Jake was amazed.
"So, this liquid . . . it’s actually tiny robots?"
Sprockets nodded. "Trillions of ‘em, Kyle. I designed the little fuckers myself. We don’t know what they do yet, though. So keep yer distance. No touchin’."
"No touchepau?" Jake asked.
"Absolutely none. Can ya handle that, Tommy?"
Jake nodded.
"Good. Now then, Peter, m’boy, I’ve got some Scotch to drink. I like to get shit-faced and then experiment on cats. It was nice talkin’ with ye, though. Here’s a lollipop." He handed Jake the sweet and shuffled off, muttering to himself.
"Nice boy, that Francis . . . think he might be a queer, though . . ."
Jake immediately turned his attention to the lolly. He struggled to tear the plastic wrapper off, and in so doing, cut himself on the fine plastic edge. He finally ripped the covering off, but in his haste dropped the candy into the swirling nano-liquid.
"Ah, for the luvva fuck!" Jake cursed.
He gazed longingly into the silver pool. The lad had desperately wanted candy.
Jake looked to his left, then his right, his eyes wide and innocent. Then, satisfied that the coast was clear, he thrust his injured hand beneath the flowing liquid and groped wildly for the pop.
Instantly, he felt it. Millions of freezing spiders flowing over his hand, into his wound. He tried to pull his hand loose, but it wouldn’t budge. Jake panicked. With a desperate wrench he ripped his hand free of the fluid and collapsed onto the floor.
After a few minutes of unconscious shock, he awoke and slowly got to his feet. With a supreme effort, he gazed down at his infected hand.
It looked fine. Completely unchanged.
He flexed his thick fingers, felt his smooth olive skin. He was all right.
He brushed himself off. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny side of the tank. His hat had fallen off and his hair was comically disheveled.
That won’t do, thought Jake.
Peering closer, he looked at his reflection and ran his hand through his hair. It was going well, and it was only after a minute or so that he realized there was no longer a hand at the end of his wrist. It was now a black, fine-toothed comb.
Jake cried out in shock and also in alarm.
He ripped his hand from his scalp, taking some hair with it, and stared wild-eyed at the comb.
Before his very eyes it transformed back into a hand. As fluidly as if it had been silly putty.
Jake flexed his hand again. Then a strange thought came to him. Concentrating, he focused on his hand.
It turned into a knife. Then a spoon. Then a hammer. He smiled.
A ladle. A rubber chew toy. A small bucket.
He thought hard.
A Hotwheels truck.
Jake laughed.
Just then, an alarm sounded.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" boomed the deep voice over the PA system.
Jake forgot about his new-found talent and raced off back to his friend.
Tony was standing on the balcony off of his large office, a grim look on his face.
Jake ran up beside him, not taking his eyes off his comrade in arms.
"What is it?" he asked breathlessly.
Wordlessly, Tony pointed into the night. Jake turned and saw, his mouth fell open.
Behind the front gates of Ninja Pirate Inc, stretching across the outer fields as far as either boy could see, was a horde of zombies. Endless monsters. A vast black, rotting sea of moaning, clawing undead fiends. Neither boy had ever seen so many. The countless red eyes peered hungrily at them through the darkness.
"Holy fuck . . ." breathed Jake.
"Yep," sighed Tony, "It’s gonna be one of those nights."
Next time, a fierce battle outside NP Inc, my thrilling rescue, and a startling revelation.
But first, Tony's write-up, preceded, as always, with Some Preliminaries.
Current Mood: Satisfcation, expectation, and a dash of self-loathing.
Current Music: Warren Zevon, Mr. Bad Example
He was lying on his back, squinting at the harsh halogen bulbs on the high ceiling. Under him was the cold slab of a lab table.
He tried to sit up, but found he was strapped quite snugly to the slab.
He looked left.
The sterile white room, tiled from floor to ceiling, stretched away into the distance. Richard could see various computer stations, monitors, fluid-filled tanks, and tables similar to the one he was on arranged at intervals throughout the room.
The view to his right was very much the same.
The craned his neck forward to see what lay in front of him and noticed for the first time how sore he was. Every bone in his body ached.
He peered down the length of his body, now returned to human form, and realized with a shock that, aside from being strapped to a table in a strange place, and feeling as though he had been hit by several busses, he was completely naked.
Well, not completely.
A small wedge of stiff, white cloth, about the size of a paper hat, was perched over his unmentionables. It seemed the Umbrella Corporation had changed the already skimpy design of their infamous hospital gowns.
The Umbrella Corporation.
For at this point Richard had no doubt that it was they who were holding him here for some dread purpose.
He strained his throbbing head in an attempt to recall any details of his journey here and his current location. But to no avail. The last clear memory he had was battling with the filthy bounty hunter Umbrella had sent to capture him.
Suddenly he was jarred from his thoughts by the distinctive hiss of opening pneumatic doors.
Directly in front of him, twin panels slid to either side on the vast white wall and a small group of people entered.
Preeminent among them was one of the most flawlessly beautiful women Richard had ever seen. He looked up from her gracefully stepping feet, inexplicably shod in shiny black pumps, her thin, graceful ankles, long smooth legs. His eyes reached the hem of her thrillingly short black dress, traveled to her provocative hips and narrow waist, up her flat stomach. They reached and lingered on her pert breasts, almost completely exposed. (The dress was as low-cut as it was short.) He studied her artful neck, and then finally completed the journey by reaching her face. She had porcelain skin and dark almond eyes, slightly magnified by her small, business-like pair of glasses. She glanced briefly at him, then walked to a rack next to the door and procured a short lab coat. She slipped smoothly into this, picked up a clip-board from a nearby table, and turned back to Richard. Her black, sparkling eyes observed his powerful, exposed frame and a small smile graced her thick black lips. One thin eyebrow cocked itself above her glasses.
"Well," she said, "I can see this is going to be more fun than I expected."
Richard then glanced at the other people in the party. There were six in all, not counting the smouldering beauty with the clipboard. Two of them were nondescript lab technicians, with long white lab coats and red-lensed safety goggles. They began to busy themselves readying machines and instruments. Two others, a man and a woman, were dressed in matching long, black business suits. Both had disdainful expressions smeared on their angular faces, as well as long, platinum blonde hair.
The final two of the chipper welcome party Richard knew better than he’d care to.
One was standing near the back of the group, watching Richard with an expression both hungry and hateful. He was a large, powerfully built black man in a pinstriped suit. He was fiddling with an eerie, luminescent tie with a pair of rugged looking hands. This was Mr. Hazzard, ruthless and greedy corporate lawyer for the Umbrella Corporation.
The last member was gazing at Richard with an unreadable expression on his white, effeminate face. Richard could not even see the man’s eyes, as they were hidden by the lenses of a most peculiar pair of sunglasses. Octagonal lenses, made of red and white stained glass. The logo of the Umbrella Corporation. He was dressed in a flawless black suit, with a black silk shirt and blood red ascot.
"Trans," Richard growled dangerously.
"Indeed, here I am. We meet again, dear boy. This time I seem to have you at a disadvantage."
"What’s your game, madman?" Richard demanded.
Trans finally allowed himself a smile.
"You recall, at the abrupt close of our last encounter, I said I was going to let time take its course and let you and your friends realize the error of your ways and come back to me."
Richard glared at him.
"Well, turns out I’m not as patient a man as I once was. You’d think, after over half a century spent on this planet I’d have developed an ability to wait."
Still, Richard said nothing.
"And so, I’ve extended you and your three foolish friends a rather forceful invitation. Hopefully, with Miss Li’s gifted guidance," here he indicated the Asian beauty Richard had noticed immediately on the group’s entry, "you will repent and return, prodigal children all, to serve in Umbrella’s stalwart army."
He frowned for a moment.
"Of course, you could be a spoil-sport and resist conversion. In which case we’ll torture you to death and salvage your blood, bones, and vital organs for further experimentation."
He smiled.
"I imagine you’ll put up a fight for a while. Your kind always does. Just like that rusted old heap of garbage you called a car. Pachuco, was it? He started out strong but by the third day or so was screaming like a Fiat."
At these words, Richard lost control. He had been struggling to contain his rage, but at the derogatory mention of his trusted old vehicle, the great Pachuco, who, after being tortured by Trans gave his life to save Richard from a pair of Umbrella Corp deathbots, he gave up the struggle and let the fury course through him. He howled his rage, the thundering sound startling all of the assembled villains, save Trans, who only broadened his smile.
Richard began once more to transform. His body bulging and stretching and sprouting a thick coat of hair. His face elongated into a lupine snout, his jaw becoming heavier and full of large, pearly-white fangs.
With a last bellow of rage he snapped the bonds restraining him to the operating slab and leapt off. He rushed forward, frothing heavily and swiping the air with his claws. The company scattered, rushing to various points in the room to hide or escape. Again, all except Trans, who merely stood his ground and smiled.
Richard leapt into the air in a ferocious pounce, sure to rend Trans limb from limb.
He was inches from his hated foe when--
Slam!
He collided with the transparent wall of his enclosure and, with a look of pained surprise stamped on his flattened, wolfish face, slid to the ground on his haunches.
Trans stepped forward and rapped his long, white fingers on the barrier.
"Umbrella Corp plexi-carbon. Strong as steel, clear as glass. You can’t shattered it with a tank, and if it’s diligently washed, you can’t see it, either."
Richard was up on his hind paws again, frantically searching the wall with his clawed hands like a large, hairy mime.
"No!" Richard yelled, abandoning the mime illusion. "No."
"I’m afraid so, dear boy," said Trans, smirking. "That’s a lovely temper you’ve got there. It will come in handy no doubt."
The group of lackeys was timidly gathering back around the enclosure.
"I will have you in my army. Your re-education process may be quick and painless or . . . otherwise. The choice is yours. And now, I leave you in the competent hands of Miss Li."
He cast one further withering look in Richard’s direction, and then swept out of the room, with Hazzard lumbering after him.
The doors slid closed with a hiss and Richard turned his attention back to Dr. Sung Li. She was striding confidently towards him, clip-board in hand.
Richard prowled restlessly around his transparent cage like a zoo animal.
"Now then," she said, smiling seductively, "alone at last. Let me explain my program in basic terms." Here she paused to push her glasses up the slender bridge of her nose. "Over the next few weeks, you will be exposed to various forms of torture and humiliation. This is the preliminary stage. Then, you will be given orders. If these commands are followed, you will be rewarded. If you disobey, more torture. This is the conditioning stage. Eventually, you will be broken down to the level of an animal, and built back up again as my slave. Fulfilling my every desire will be the object of your existence." She set down her clip-board and pushed back her lab coat like the duster of a gunslinger, exposing a shiny black riding crop tucked into a side holster.
"Do you understand?"
Richard stopped prowling. Without a word he reverted back to human form. Slowly, he looked Sung Li up and down. Then he looked her in the eyes.
"Are you serious?" he asked, concerned.
"Absolutely. You life from now on will be filled with pain and degradation. All at my hands." She unsheathed the riding crop and flexed it in anticipation.
Richard’s face broke into a wide, beaming smile.
"Woooo hoooo!" he whooped. "Bring it on!"
Wind whipped the boy’s jet black, shoulder-length hair and stung his eyes. Still Tony Celi stared unblinkingly from his cold perch down at the buildings below him.
Night had finally settled over that side of the world. A cool, dark shroud. And he was able to walk freely again, no longer in fear of the harsh sun.
Vampirism had been difficult for Tony. He loved the warmth of the day, and rejoiced in the light. Since his infection several weeks ago alongside his friends, he had been suffering his exile into darkness. But Tony was a stalwart chap, and was bearing his new cross with his trademark good-natured resolve. One of the hardest aspect of his new vampirism was the unending thirst for blood. Still, Tony managed to reign in his violent tendencies and for now had sustained himself only on the blood of the occasional unlucky cow. Moreover, he was slowly coming to grips with his emerging powers. Long had he idolized the nocturnal demons depicted in film and literature, and he finally had his chance to count himself among them. Tony’s tireless spirit was serving him well in his struggle to develop the various occult powers vampires are entitled to.
Tony’s eyes glinted like twin stilettos in the darkness as he observed the sprawling metropolis of Worcester.
Suddenly, he saw what he had been looking for. A large delivery truck was pulling away from one of the many shops that dotted this city street.
Standing up from his crouch and briefly stretching his cold and aching limbs, he bid a hasty good-bye to his companion on the watch.
"Good-night, Bruce, ol’ buddy. Thanks for keeping me company."
The gargoyle Tony was addressing maintained his stony grimace.
Tony stood upon the statue’s broad granite back, took a deep breath, and jumped.
This was not how he would have chosen to conquer his acrophobia, but he had to admit it was effective.
He spread his arms wide, the cold night air tugging wildly at his clothes, flattening them against his slender frame. His hair flew around his face as he plummeted towards the street below.
It was a long fall from the top of the cathedral, giving Tony sufficient time to summon the magic necessary for the next stage of his descent.
Closing his teary eyes and focusing, he began to change.
An eerie green light radiated from him. His fingers stretched and reached outward as a fine leathery membrane grew between them. His legs shrunk and he sprouted a small tail. Soft brown fur now covered his whole body. His ears pointed up, north. His fangs became more pronounced.
In a matter of seconds, Tony had transformed into a monstrous bat.
His new wings caught a warm pocket of air from the street below and he was buoyed up into the night sky.
He flapped his leathery appendages gracefully, swooping around the tall buildings. Slowly, he circled to earth.
A few feet above the pavement of a small, poorly lit back alley, he returned to human form. Tony dropped from the air, landing gracefully on the glistening black-top. He stood up, looked around, and then strode toward a back door in the brick wall of one of the buildings.
The door was locked.
"Sorry, lock, not tonight," Tony whispered to the dead-bolt. He ripped the door off its hinges.
Tony filtered into the building as quietly as mist, and soon emerged in the main show-room.
The bright ceiling lights illuminated the vast array of shimmering, shining merchandise. Tables and shelves filled with glorious treasure.
Tony blinked at the harsh bulbs. He put on a pair of blood-red sunglasses.
Tony looked eagerly around the room until he spotted the merchant staring fearfully at him from behind a glass counter.
Tony looked down at himself and realized why.
His fangs were protruding conspicuously. His hair was wild and unkempt from the fall. He had lost his clothes while transforming and was stark naked, except for the sunglasses. (Side note: Agents of Ninja Pirate Inc are quite busy and often do not have time for the demands of "clothing." Especially when captured or shopping.) Finishing up his startling appearance was the freshly caked blood splashed over his narrow chest from a earlier kill that night.
He smiled winningly, ran a clawed hand through his hair (staining it with more blood) and walked towards the trembling merchant.
"You know what I want." Tony intoned.
"I–I–I uh– uh," stammered the poor shopkeep.
"I came for some very important items," growled Tony. "Where are they?"
"Sir . . . they . . . th-th-they just got in and w-won’t be . . .," the clerk seemed to freeze in terror.
Tony took a step forward.
"They won’t be on the shelves until tomorrow," he finished quickly.
Faster than the merchant could see, Tony darted forward and, grabbing him by the collar, lifted him with one arm off of the ground. He slammed the unfortunate fellow against the rack behind him, spilling precious documents. Tony brought his face uncomfortably close the clerk’s. So close that the man caught the coppery scent of blood when Tony spoke.
"Where . . . are . . . the . . . new . . . HEROCLIX?" Tony bellowed, upsetting another few packs of Magic cards.
"I’ll get the them," the clerk squeaked.
Tony dropped him and waited patiently, humming a comical tune, as the man hurried to open the crates and procure the required plastic figurines.
Tony surveyed them with a calculating eye.
The clerk, apparently getting used to Tony’s appearance and calmed by the lack of threats, spoke up.
"You came all the way here for Heroclix?" he asked, timidly.
"Of course!" Tony shouted. "I need the new clix to remain an effective duelist, man! Think!"
"Ah . . ." muttered the clerk, going into shock.
"I believe I’ll purchase . . ." Tony began, but just then a mechanical cooing caught his attention.
A peculiar creature had flown in through the back door which Tony left ajar.
It appeared to be a nervous sort of small bird, fluttering madly around the room. It spotted Tony and erratically made it’s way over to him.
It seemed to be made of small living wrenches and gears. Tony recognized it immediately as an NP Inc robo-pigeon. The company’s standard means of inter-office communication.
The bird landed in front of him and fixed him with a small bright eye. Then it opened its hinged beak, and a hologram was projected out onto the floor in front of Tony.
It was Amy, dressed in a flowing white gown, her long hair tied into buns which covered her ears.
"This is Amy Mcmenamin, operative of NP Inc. I’ve been captured, along with fellow agent Stephen Konefal. I have broken away from the thugs holding me for just long enough to send this message. Please ensure it gets to Tony Celi." There was a clang behind Amy and the hologram looked wildly around at its unseen surroundings.
She resumed transmission.
"Tony, Steve and I are en route to the Umbrella home base in a convoy of hovercraft. We’ll be leaving the country by boat in a few days from a port in Cape Cod. I tried to contact Rich, but he’s non-responsive. Please, save us Tony-won-Kanobi. You’re our only hope."
The transmission faded out. Another hologram replaced it. This time it was Sam.
"Tony!" he yelled. "What the fuck are you doing, you Jew-pie!? Amy needs your help! Spic! Goddamn fuck chink! Rich has been kidnapped, too. Silas is still in my goddamn computer! Shit whore! Fuckin’ save someone! By the way, I’m having a party at your house tonight and I have told everyone about how you’re gay and going out with Will Murray. Who I’ve also said is gay."
He paused to eat a holographic hotdog.
"Chink Jew fuck Spic! Hurry! Sammy Cordova over and out!"
The robo-pigeon closed it’s beak and awkwardly flew back out the door.
Tony turned to the confused clerk.
"I guess I won’t be buying anything after all." He paused and thought a moment. "I forgot my wallet, anyway."
Then he raced nakedly out the door again and disappeared into the night like a nude phantom.
Far, far away, in a stunning tower of ecru stone, Doctor Thaddeus Trans stared into a monitor on his massive desk of polished ebony. Behind him, in sparkling, ruby and diamond twilight glory, lay the city of Boston. The view from his office, the highest room in Umbrella’s East Coast headquarters, was dazzling, but the mad doctor was oblivious to its majesty.
On a screen in front of him was an image of a man in a hospital bed. The poor soul was covered in bandages and casts, elevated in an elaborate system of traction, and wired to countless blinking, bleeping monitors. His labored breathing was assisted by an oxygen tank.
Trans leaned forward and spoke a single word into an intercom.
In the hospital room, several floors below, his voice oozed out of the PA system.
"Werewolf."
The EKG machines began to bleep out of control, the figure in the casts tried to swing his broken limbs out of traction and rise off the bed. His furious struggling amused Trans, who watched until two flustered nurses burst into the room to sedate the wild patient.
Trans leaned back.
"Well," he said to himself, "the filthy Cajun still has some fight left in him."
Back in the hospital room, Phillipe Abattoir dreamed bloody, frenzied dreams of snow and great furry beasts.
Crack!
The whip struck Richard’s broad back once again, stealing his breath.
"Thank you, ma’am! May I have another?" he asked eagerly.
Sung Li had to pause for breath. She had been working at this for nearly an hour and wasn’t getting anywhere.
One of the lab assistants spoke up.
"Dr. Li, I don’t think this is working. He seems to revel in the abuse."
Sung Li turned and gazed at the tech angrily for a moment. Then she drew a pistol and shot him.
"Anyone else have a suggestion?"
The remaining lab assistants hurriedly returned to their work.
Sung Li went back to work on Richard with a manic energy.
Crack!
Snap!
Crack!
No heroes! Richard thought wildly throughout the flogging. There were no heroes in the face of pain!
Still, it was fun.
"Grovel!" Sung Li shrieked. "Grovel before the might of Umbrella!"
"Never!" Richard panted.
Sung Li finally relented and dropped the bull whip. She leaned against the nearest lab table, breathing heavily.
"Alright . . . alright. This isn’t working. Untie him."
The lab techs loosened Richard’s shackles and he rubbed his wrists.
"Thanks, guys," he said.
He stretched, smiled, then sat down on his haunches, watching Sung Li with bated breath.
She stood up, straightened her lab coat, and signaled an assistant.
"Bring the ball gag, hot wax, and clothes pins," she said wearily.
Richard’s ears perked up at the sound of this.
"Alright!" he said. "Now we’re gettin’ somewhere!"
Amy peered despairingly through the slits in the cage as it was carried by worker droids aboard the steamer bound for Umbrella’s home base. She’d been kept in the uncomfortably small crate for hours now, a terrible situation for one so tall. Before that she’d been carried by hovercraft, and before that by train. She’d lost track of the days spent in captive transit ever since that filthy Cajun thug attacked her.
She looked at the dank black water of the harbor below her and sighed. Apparently Tony had never received their message. She and Steve had no hope now.
Still, she was determined to fight like a demon the moment she was released from this infuriating prison, and to never stop fighting until the icy grip of death stole over her.
Her thoughts had trailed wistfully to her home and family, and a tear trailed down her smooth cheek.
Suddenly, there was a commotion from somewhere on the pier. She struggled to turn and look, but to now avail. Then, there was a whirring noise, a sharp jerk and the sound of torn metal and loose wires, and the cage she was in fell to the deck of the ship with a jarring thud.
The door snapped open, and Amy tumbled out, a mess of long limbs and dark hair.
She scrambled up and, crouching low and ignoring the wreckage of the cages and the two worker droids near her, hurried to the side of the ship.
On the gangplank, Steve was crawling out of his dropped cage. The two robots carrying him had tumbled into the harbor.
On the pier, which was a maze of crates and sacks, with the occasional fork-lift dotted here and there, a furious battle was taking place.
Three frustrated Umbrella Corp suits were struggling to direct an assorted mob.
Small groups of Abattoir’s men, along with several worker droids and a deathbot, were engaged in a shoot-out with a lone figure, shrouded in shadow and mist. One of the Umbrella Corporation agents, a slightly build blonde man in a black suit, rushed forward to a massive steel container and slowly opened one of the hinged doors.
Amy gasped in shock as a horde of zombies began to shuffle out.
Another of the Umbrella Corp agents turned to berate his foolhardy associate, but the blonde man was already being mauled by a pack of zombies.
The two remaining agents ran up another gangplank to the deck of the steamer to await the outcome of the battle.
It was chaos. The zombies attacked Abattoir’s men as well as the lone stranger. The deathbot, uncertain of what target to strike, began firing at every moving figure in range.
Down on the gangplank Steve rose, dusted himself off, and made his way up to Amy.
"Fuck I could use a drink," he said.
"Steve, we’ve gotta do something!" Amy whispered urgently.
Steve, aroused by her breathy voice and wild-eyed look, gave her his full attention.
"Do what? It’s a freakin’ mosh pit from hell down there."
"We need to help that poor guy. He’s fighting a small army by himself!"
"And how are we supposed to help?"
Amy rolled her eyes and pointed at the full moon above them, shedding its silver light on the water.
"Oh, right . . ." Steve muttered, and began to transform.
Amy shuddered, both aroused and frightened by Steve’s eerie metamorphasis.
His ears lengthened, as well as his snout. Thick, red hair began to grow over his entire body. He ripped his stained t-shirt off and howled aggressively at the silver moon. Then he doubled over in pain as his bones reformed, cracking and re-postitioning. His hands grew into massive paws, as did his feet, which burst from his sandals. A tail broke forth from his ripped jeans. His teeth rose as sharp fangs from his heavy jaw. His neck bulged and elongated.
Soon, he was completely changed.
Six feet tall, even hunched over, and four feet wide at the shoulder. His eyes glowed with an unholy blue fire. He licked his thin lips with a foot-long tongue and fixed Amy with a hungry stare.
"Shall we go together, then?" he inquired in a low, cool growl.
Amy nodded wordlessly and closed her eyes.
Her hair floated up around her face, her brow grew and contorted into a demonic squint. Then her eyes snapped open, radiating green lightning, and she smile, revealing long, pearly-white fangs. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight, the slight luminescence noticeable even through the eerie fog which now enveloped her. Tossing back her hair she gave a laugh full of wild, free abandon.
She and Steve nodded at each other, then ran a few steps and leapt over the railing, off of the deck, and landed on the pier below; Steve with a scratching thud which splintered the planks beneath him, and Amy, graceful and soundless, on the tips of her toes.
The two comrades gave each other a brief, determined nod and rushed into the fray.
Steve latched onto the closest two zombies by their collars, hefted them into the air, and with shocking force, slammed their skulls together. Amy tripped a zombie near her with a low, sweeping kick and then brought her heel crushing down on its forehead.
And like that, the zombie mob was caught in a pincer strike.
The mysterious stranger, clad in a black ninja suit, hacking stolidly and efficiently from one end, Amy and Steve slugging away at the other.
None of Abattoir’s men remained. Any who had not been mauled by the zombies had fled in terror, many leaping off of the dock into the black water below.
The zombies, lacking any fear or uncertainty, continued to shuffle menacingly toward the separated heroes.
Behind the black mask, Tony smiled. His eyes glowed blood red in the moonlight.
Forcing several undead enemies back toward the center of the mob, he paused and ripped off the cowl.
At the other side of the battle, Steve gasped.
"It’s Tony!" he growled, amazed.
Amy snapped the neck of a struggling zombie and turned to her peculiar friend.
"You mean you didn’t realize that when you saw a ninja fighting zombies?"
"Well, I guess I did, but it seems like we should act surprised, doesn’t it?"
Amy stopped to consider this, nodded appreciatively, and returned to the slaughter.
Unfortunately, they were frightfully outnumbered. The zombies, virtually impossible to stop, continued to claw madly at the heroes with their vacant eyes shining hungrily. Add to that the hulking menace of the deathbot, and the other two worker droids, and the odds seemed pretty well against the noble warriors.
The mass of zombies slowly forced its way between Amy and Steve, cutting them off from each other.
Steve, bulkier and with his thick musky scent barely contained under several gallons of Axe body spray, presented a much more tantalizing target for the undead horde. As such, they turned their attention from Amy, with the exception of a few stragglers, and clustered around the beleaguered werewolf. Also in the herd focussing on Steve was the confused deathbot, rolling along on its spiked tracks, pulverizing a zombie here, getting off a good shot at Steve there. One such shot took him in the ribs. Steve collapsed, panting.
He whimpered fitfully as he struggled to fight off the waves of zombies.
Amy dispatched the ghouls near her and looked around wildly for some way to save her friend. Then she saw it.
Racing toward the far end of the deck, she leaped behind the seat of the towering industrial crane and lifted a massive shipping crate. The very crate which used to contain the zombies.
Her eyes squinted in determination, tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, she positioned the steel tanker over the mass of zombies now threatening to maul Steve.
"Tony, Steve, look out!" she yelled.
The werewolf stumpled out of the way, and the vampire did two backflips out of danger.
Amy released the grappling arm.
For a moment the tanker seemed to hang in mid air, then it fell with a breathtaking force. The tmess came crashing down upon the monsters with a deafening slam, breaking half of the deck off in the process.
The zombies, along with the deathbot, were crushed and forced, some still struggling vainly under the gargantuan tonnage, into the cold, black water of the harbor.
Steve and Tony had leaped to the other side of the pier and gazed at the spectacle in slack-jawed amazement.
Amy hopped down from the seat, dusted her hands neatly, and smiled.
Suddenly, two zombies tackled her.
She drew and Elfin dagger from her boot and rammed it through the first zombie’s eye. Then, she snapped the head off the second.
Tony and Steve had rejoined the battle with renewed vigor. They slashed through the remaining ghouls and, with their combined efforts, the zombie mob was soon reduced several square yards of rotting body parts.
The friends trod carefully over the carnage and embraced each other amidst the piles of corpses.
"I knew you’d make it!" Amy said, lifting Tony up in a feverish hug.
"It took some doing to track you down, but that hug was worth it," he said as she finally put him down.
"Now, what’s say we get out of here?"
Just then a laser blast grazed Amy’s arm.
She gasped in pain and fell forward.
Steve was waiting to catch her.
He eased her down, his heavy brow furrowed with concern.
"Tony, did you see where that came from?"
Tony, however, was already streaking across the dock and up the gangplank like a shadowy bolt of lightning. One of the two Umbrella agents had activated a laser cannon positioned on the fore deck and was targeting the heroes with a mad expression on his blandly handsome face.
He had locked the sights onto Steve, who was standing in front of the downed Amy, shielding her with his great, furry red body.
His finger was closing over the trigger when suddenly, the tendons in his hand went slack.
He looked down in confusion and saw to his horror that his hand had been sliced cleanly off at the wrist.
Grabbing the bleeding stump, he toppled backwards onto the unforgiving wood of the deck.
Tony stepped from the shadows, katana drawn, and peered mercilessly down at him.
"I hate zombies," Tony was saying, "but, at the end of the day, they’re just mindless corpses. The real villains are people like you, who ruin lives and corrupt the world for petty monetary gains. You sicken me."
He lowered the sword to the man’s throat.
"Get up, we’re going to the police station."
The UC agent slowly reached into his jacket with his remaining hand.
"Don’t . . ." warned Tony.
The man didn’t seem to hear him. He drew a small hypodermic pistol and, with a shaking hand, raised it to his neck.
"I’ll chop off the other one, too . . ." Tony said, worry creeping into his voice.
The man laughed, a harsh, grating sound. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he spoke.
"You have no idea what you’ve brought upon yourselves . . ." he panted.
"What are you talking about?" demanded Tony.
"When we don’t return . . . h-h-he’ll send . . . the ultimate . . . unkillable . . . don’t stand a chance . . ."
He began to laugh madly again. His cackles reached a shrieking pitch, and then ended abruptly when he squeezed the trigger on his inoculation gun. His eyes immediately glazed over and his mouth went slack. He collapsed back onto the deck, dead.
Tony turned to look at Amy and Steve, hobbling up the gang plank. Amy’s arm was rapidly healing, but she was still fairly shaken up.
"What’s goin’ on?" she asked, noting the worry etched in his pale face.
Tony considered telling them of the disturbing message, then thought back on what they had been through, and shook his head.
"Nothing. Guy just . . . uh . . . he knocked himself out on the deck."
Suddenly, the agent rushed forward into a sitting position, red eyes wild, clawed hands grasping wildly.
Tony stumbled backward, but collected himself and sliced the monster’s head off.
The body toppled back onto the deck.
Steve hefted the severed head, which was still snapping and walked it to the edge of the deck.
"You shot Amy, now this is happ’nin’," he said.
And with that, punted the head over into the water.
"That’s how I roll," he muttered.
Tony couldn’t help smiling. Then a thought occurred to him.
"What happened to the last Umbrella Corp agent?" he asked.
"That guy? He was fleeing top speed in a small jet boat last I saw him," said Amy. "Guess we don’t have to worry about him anymore."
Again, Tony wanted to be honest, but concern for his friends held him back.
He looked to his two compatriots.
"What’s say we get home?"
Several miles inland, in the heart of bustling downtown Boston, Dr. Thaddeus Trans rubbed his black-veined temples wearily. Seated in his dark, spacious office, he felt his patience wearing thin.
He’d just received word that three of the teenagers he’d ordered captured were still on the loose, two of which had been caught and bound for the Umbrella Corp island mere hours before.
He leaned forward and hit a button on his desk.
Immediately, one of the double doors of Trans’ office opened and a dapper, efficient-looking young man rushed into the room.
"Yes, Dr., how can I be of service?" he asked brightly.
‘Do for me several favors, Timothy," Trans said. "First, that incompetent agent who reported the escape of my two prisoners? Feed him to the zombies. Second, ready this building’s Omega force. Have them ready in tunnel 7 in under a half hour, if you can."
"Sure thing, Dr. Anything else?"
"Yes, one more thing. Send for Agent Gits."
In the doorway, Timothy’s smile faded.
"Sir?"
"You heard me. I want Gits in my office. Immediately. Warn him not to dally."
Timothy gulped, then nodded.
"Y-yes sir," he stammered, then left.
Trans smiled and leaned back in his chair.
He hadn’t been waiting long when there came three soft knocks on his door.
"Come in, Agent Gits," Trans called.
Slowly, both doors swung inward, and a feeble light from the outer room spilled across the carpet, cut in half by a motionless shadow.
Smoothly, Agent Gits strode into the room and stood before Trans.
Gits wasn’t tall, nor was he powerfully built. He was a slight man, dressed in a fastidiously neat but otherwise unremarkable black suit. Still, something about him was unsettling.
Perhaps it was his mouth, a brief gash across his face, that hardly ever stirred. Or maybe his sunglasses, wire frames with small, round lenses. Black lenses which never let in nor reflected any light. Maybe it was the slight twitch in his left hand. Hardly noticeable, but impossible to ignore once one had seen it.
Whatever it was, there was something. Some almost tangible aspect of him which seemed to scream "danger."
"You wanted to see me?" Gits asked in a smooth, calm voice.
"Yes," said Trans, leaning forward. "Have a seat."
Gits sat.
"I need you to go on an assignment for me. I know, you haven’t been allowed on any assignments since that fiasco in the Balkans, but I’m willing to make an exception. Proven you succeed."
Gits was silent a moment longer. Then he spoke.
"I always succeed."
"Exactly. That’s the spirit. Now, there are three fugitives who’ve been causing me no end of trouble. I want them captured and brought to our main base."
"Done," said Gits, rising.
"Wait a moment. Don’t you want to know where they are?"
"They are at the Massachusetts offices of Ninja Pirate Incorporated."
"How did you know that?"
Gits was silent.
"Very well . . ." Trans stood up. "You’ll be taking the underground. Accompanying you will be the Omega force for this base."
Gits’ feeble chin trembled slightly.
"I work alone."
"I know . . . I know. But you’ll need some extra muscle on this one, trust me."
"Also, while on this mission, I’d like you to test out our newest T-infected prototype. It’s from the Nemesis program. You’ve no doubt heard of that?"
Gits nodded.
Trans stepped across his vast office, to the far wall, which was plain and unadorned, save for a small touchpad. Gits followed noiselessly.
Trans leaned to the wall and pressed a combination of numbers into the pad.
The walls rose straight into the ceiling, revealing a large side chamber.
In the side chamber was a tall, thin, cylindrical tank of glowing green fluid. This cast an eerie light into Trans’ dark office, and over the Doctor and Gits.
In the tank was a massive zombie. The beast was at least eight feet tall, and must have weighed over 400 pounds. Its dense musculature was barely contained by rotting, gray skin. Its face was a horror all to itself. The skin around the monster’s heavy jaw had been pulled back, exposing its jagged teeth in an obscene grin. The nose was gone, only shreds of flesh and cartilage remained. The thing had but one eye, which was mercifully closed at the moment. The other eye was covered in a thick patch of mottled skin.
Floating next to the creature was an impossibly big bazooka. The barrel of the weapon must have been as wide as a trash can.
"Think you can use him?" Trans said, not taking his eyes off of the monstrosity.
A rare smile flitted across Gits’ thin-lipped mouth.
"This will be fun," he said quietly.
Back at the offices of Ninja Pirate Incorporated the three sipped hot cocoa alongside Sam and Jake in the cozy Recovery Lounge. After a quick trip to infirmary, they had headed here to relax.
Amidst ottomans and over-stuffed chairs, they re-capped the night’s events.
"So then Amy dropped a tanker on them," Steve was telling Jake. "Sure it was effective, but has she heard of a little thing called discretion?"
Amy, overhearing this, playfully punched Steve on the arm.
"Hush, you," she whispered.
Tony rose and refilled his mug.
"Anyone want another scone?" he asked politely.
Porcelain shatter off the stone fire-place to his right.
Sam was standing, heaving with anger.
"You stupid fucks!" he yelled. "You’re in here chattin’ over some goddamn cocoa while Rich is out there being tortured by Umbrella!"
The assembled party was silent.
"I don’t know how you stand the shame! He woulda risked his neck for any a you! I, for one, can’t stand here wasting time a moment longer. I’m going to the computer lab to try and track him down." And with that, Sam stormed angrily out of the room.
Amy got up and stretched.
"Well, I’ve had a long day," she yawned, "I’m off to bed."
"What about Rich?" Tony asked.
"Rich? I’m sure he can handle himself." she turned to Steve. "Coming?"
Steve rose as well.
Tony spoke again, "Steve, are you gonna help Rich?"
Steve took one look into Amy’s eyes and started to follow after her.
"Rich . . . I’m sure he can . . . he’ll be . . . yeah . . ."
They both strode out of the room.
"And then there were two," said Jake.
"Sam was right," Tony muttered. "We gotta save Rich."
"Alright, buddy," said Jake. "I’m right with you. First, lemme go water the flowers. I’ll meet you in your office."
Jake tottered out of the room.
Tony sighed, then left as well.
Jake merrily relieved himself, taking a detour past the Chemechanical R and D department on his way back. The burly pirate whistled as he strolled along the catwalk perched fifty or so feet above the countless vats filled with assorted volatile chemicals. His dark eyes roved around the place, his face glowing in the reflected light from the luminescent tanks. He reached the end of the catwalk and decided to stay a while and explore. Jake hopped down the spiral grate staircase which led to the bottom floor of the room. Assorted technicians in white coats checked figures on clip-boards whilst peering through thick safety goggles at the vats of bubbling liquids.
Jake paused at one tank, which was relatively low to the ground (only waist high, or so) and filled with a slowly swirling silvery substance. Jake stared, entranced, by the gentle, undulations of the fluid. Without realizing he began to reach forward. His hand and arm moving of their own accord, like a snake to the liquid’s charmer. He was inches from breaking the surface when a hand seized his hefty shoulder and shook him roughly.
Jake whirled around to see the startling face of Ninja Pirate’s head scientist, Dr. Bartholomew J. Sprockets.
The old man was bald, save for some wild patches of white hair along the sides of his perfectly round, and remarkably shiny, head. He wore thick glasses which magnified his already bulging blue eyes. The eyes rolled constantly, never settling. Sprockets was clad, unlike the other scientists, in their white coats, in a moth-eaten tartan bathrobe. Instead of a clip-board he carried a glass filled to brim with Scotch, and a teak walking stick, with a curious totem carved in the handle; a naked man with abalone shells for eyes. In Sprockets’ pocket was a battered calibash pipe. His round face was florid, and contorted in frustration.
"You there!" he yelled, though Jake’s face was a foot from his own, "stay clear of the vats, boy!"
"I’m sorry, sir," Jake said.
"Sorry is for fags and lawyers, son!" Sprockets roared. "You gotta treat these chemicals like fine women: ogle ‘em from afar, jack off to ‘em if ye have to, and occasionally throw bottles at ‘em. But never touch ‘em, boy! That leads to burns and lawsuits!"
Jake couldn’t help but smile at the eccentric old man.
"Sure thing, Professor. Say, what’s in this vat?"
Sprockets seemed excited. "This here is untested nano-technology fluid. Hi-tech shit."
Jake was amazed.
"So, this liquid . . . it’s actually tiny robots?"
Sprockets nodded. "Trillions of ‘em, Kyle. I designed the little fuckers myself. We don’t know what they do yet, though. So keep yer distance. No touchin’."
"No touchepau?" Jake asked.
"Absolutely none. Can ya handle that, Tommy?"
Jake nodded.
"Good. Now then, Peter, m’boy, I’ve got some Scotch to drink. I like to get shit-faced and then experiment on cats. It was nice talkin’ with ye, though. Here’s a lollipop." He handed Jake the sweet and shuffled off, muttering to himself.
"Nice boy, that Francis . . . think he might be a queer, though . . ."
Jake immediately turned his attention to the lolly. He struggled to tear the plastic wrapper off, and in so doing, cut himself on the fine plastic edge. He finally ripped the covering off, but in his haste dropped the candy into the swirling nano-liquid.
"Ah, for the luvva fuck!" Jake cursed.
He gazed longingly into the silver pool. The lad had desperately wanted candy.
Jake looked to his left, then his right, his eyes wide and innocent. Then, satisfied that the coast was clear, he thrust his injured hand beneath the flowing liquid and groped wildly for the pop.
Instantly, he felt it. Millions of freezing spiders flowing over his hand, into his wound. He tried to pull his hand loose, but it wouldn’t budge. Jake panicked. With a desperate wrench he ripped his hand free of the fluid and collapsed onto the floor.
After a few minutes of unconscious shock, he awoke and slowly got to his feet. With a supreme effort, he gazed down at his infected hand.
It looked fine. Completely unchanged.
He flexed his thick fingers, felt his smooth olive skin. He was all right.
He brushed himself off. Then he caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny side of the tank. His hat had fallen off and his hair was comically disheveled.
That won’t do, thought Jake.
Peering closer, he looked at his reflection and ran his hand through his hair. It was going well, and it was only after a minute or so that he realized there was no longer a hand at the end of his wrist. It was now a black, fine-toothed comb.
Jake cried out in shock and also in alarm.
He ripped his hand from his scalp, taking some hair with it, and stared wild-eyed at the comb.
Before his very eyes it transformed back into a hand. As fluidly as if it had been silly putty.
Jake flexed his hand again. Then a strange thought came to him. Concentrating, he focused on his hand.
It turned into a knife. Then a spoon. Then a hammer. He smiled.
A ladle. A rubber chew toy. A small bucket.
He thought hard.
A Hotwheels truck.
Jake laughed.
Just then, an alarm sounded.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!" boomed the deep voice over the PA system.
Jake forgot about his new-found talent and raced off back to his friend.
Tony was standing on the balcony off of his large office, a grim look on his face.
Jake ran up beside him, not taking his eyes off his comrade in arms.
"What is it?" he asked breathlessly.
Wordlessly, Tony pointed into the night. Jake turned and saw, his mouth fell open.
Behind the front gates of Ninja Pirate Inc, stretching across the outer fields as far as either boy could see, was a horde of zombies. Endless monsters. A vast black, rotting sea of moaning, clawing undead fiends. Neither boy had ever seen so many. The countless red eyes peered hungrily at them through the darkness.
"Holy fuck . . ." breathed Jake.
"Yep," sighed Tony, "It’s gonna be one of those nights."
Next time, a fierce battle outside NP Inc, my thrilling rescue, and a startling revelation.
But first, Tony's write-up, preceded, as always, with Some Preliminaries.
Current Mood: Satisfcation, expectation, and a dash of self-loathing.
Current Music: Warren Zevon, Mr. Bad Example
