The Strike Trilogy

by Charlie Wood

  Wakefield shrugged off the memory. “I work much better on my own than I ever did with any team. Don’t know why, just do.” The short, balding man sat down at the workbench. “Ya know, it’s strange you coming to see us. I was just about to send Junior out looking for you.”

  “You were? Why?”

  Wakefield thought it over. “A bunch of friends of mine that work in the Never-World, they’ve been telling me lately that they’ve been seeing someone walking around in the city. Someone we both know.”

  “Who?”

  Wakefield looked up at Orion. It took him a moment to answer.

  “Scott,” he replied. “Tobin’s father.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  From the time that he was ten years old, Marcus Drake had known that he was one of the most important people in the universe.

  He was born in an area of Capricious known as Whinland, a place that had traditions and customs that many of the other countries of Capricious considered archaic: when the children of Whinland turned ten years old, they were brought to a secluded academy in the center of the country to determine what the child’s way of life and future would be. Three weeks after his arrival, Marcus had been brought before the instructors and dean of the academy and told his destiny: he was the smartest, strongest, and most athletically gifted student in the history of the school. And, they had told him, those qualities were not even his most impressive: like only a few of the other students at the Whinland Academy for the Future, Marcus was a superpower: by focusing his anger, he was able to transform his body into a red, rhino-skinned giant, making himself even more extraordinary. Marcus was special, and he had a special future waiting for him as one of the leaders of the universe. This leadership position was his gift from the universe itself, and his right—simply because of the traits that had been fated to him.

  It was these traits, Marcus had learned at the age of ten, that set him apart from every other student who had ever gone to Whinland Academy—and really, every other person in Capricious. On this day and every other day for the next seven years, Marcus had been told it was his duty and future to be one of the universe’s protectors, because the other, lesser inhabitants of the universe needed him. It was his responsibility—his destiny—to lead the universe to become a safer place. He was, after all, as he was told time and time again, stronger, smarter, and mentally tougher than anyone he knew or would ever know in his lifetime. At the Whinland Academy for the Future, Marcus Drake had learned the lesson that had driven every moment of his life since then: everyone in the universe has a destiny that is set out for them from the moment that they are born. Everything that happens to them is simply prelude and preparation for this destiny, which has already been set. Some children at the Whinland Academy had been destined to become teachers, so they had become teachers. Some were told that they were destined to be bankers, so they had become bankers. It just so happened that Marcus Drake was meant for something more. He was special. He was meant to be a leader. A savior. He was meant to watch over the weak and simple. He was, he had learned three weeks after his tenth birthday, one of the most important people in the history of the universe.

  Now, at the age of thirty-three, in the center of Capricious’ most dangerous jungle, Marcus Drake had used the instructions left behind by his mentor and idol Vincent Harris to unearth several gigantic buildings from the ancient ground; the stone beast with the head of an ape, the body of a lion, and the wings of an eagle was now surrounded by seven other stone structures, which were being used as living quarters and training centers for Rigel and his army. A team of Rytonian workers had also cleared out the area’s trees and dense vegetation, and there were now roads and a long runway cutting through the middle of the jungle. This construction had made it much easier to bring supplies, food, and demonic Gore soldiers into the secret headquarters, and especially to its center of operations: the massive, flat-topped, grey pyramid that sat in the middle of the other seven structures.

  One of the floors of this gargantuan pyramid was currently housing a science lab, where a team of Capricious’ most brilliant scientists were working all hours of the day to try and solve the complicated technological puzzle of Scatterbolt. On a long table in the center of the room, the robot’s empty body was lying under constant observation, with its wires and power-cells connected to dozens of computers set up around the lab.

  “Well?” Rigel asked. He was standing over the shoulder of one of the scientists. “What have you found?”

  The scientist adjusted his glasses as he inspected a monitor; it was displaying a constant stream of information being emitted by Scatterbolt’s insides. “A lot of spare data, but nothing significant. It mostly seems to be historical stuff—this thing must have read over a million books, and we can’t get through—”

  Rigel grunted. “‘Historical stuff?’ Your life depends on what you find here, and all you can tell me is that you’ve found ‘historical stuff?’”

  “We—we’re looking, sir, it’s just that—”

  Rigel leaned down, inches from the scientist’s face. “You haven’t found a single mention of the Daybreaker or how to find him?”

  The scientist pressed his back against the wall and turned his head. “No, no, not yet, but we are—”

  Rigel walked away. “I’ll be back in an hour. Find something.”

  As the red giant stomped out of the lab, the scientist dropped his shoulders and let out a relieved sigh.

  In the pyramid hallway, Rigel was joined by Adrianna and Nova, and the three of them walked toward the building’s command center in the center of the headquarters. It was a large, open, foyer-like area, where one could look up and see the other floors of the pyramid, all the way to the flat top of the structure.

  “I know I’m kinda new at this stuff,” Adrianna said, “but kidnapping the best scientists on Capricious and forcing them to work for you? Isn’t that a little...blatant?”

  “We need to examine the data from the robot,” Rigel said. “He could be the key to finding the Daybreaker.”

  “I know, but don’t you think we could be risking being found out, since we—”

  Rigel stood in front of Adrianna. “I’m sensing some doubts.”

  Adrianna looked up at him. “No, I just don’t think it’s smart to—”

  “If you are faltering in your commitment to the Rantamede,” Rigel said, “please let me know.”

  “No.” Adrianna was nervous. “I just want what is best. I don’t want to expose ourselves if we don’t need to.”

  Rigel stared at Adrianna, then turned to Nova.

  “You said there was someone here who wanted to see me?”

  “Yes,” Nova replied. “Right this way.”

  Nova opened the door to the command center. The shortest of the punks from Jesse’s Place—the saloon in the Never-World—was sitting in a chair, and standing on either side of him there were two green-skinned Rytonian guards. The punk was bandaged and bruised from his fight with Junior.

  “Who are you?” Rigel asked. “What do you want?”

  “You’re looking for Strike and his pals, right?” the punk replied. “Well, I know exactly where they are.”

  In the workshop of Wakefield & Son’s, Orion was staring at Wakefield, with his mind racing.

  “People have been seeing Scott?” Orion asked. He looked into the shop’s lobby to make sure Tobin and Keplar couldn’t hear them. “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said,” Wakefield replied. “People I know—people we both know from the old days—they say they’ve been seeing Scott wandering around the Never-World. A couple of ’em have even tried to speak with him, but he has no idea who they are. He doesn’t even know who he is—he’s just wandering around, lost.”

  Orion’s eyes darted around the floor. “That’s impossible, Wakefield.” />
  “I know, I think so, too, but I just wanted to let you know. He was last seen down near the mines around the Shadow Ocean, looking for work, so I thought you’d at least want to go down there and see for yourself. It’s gotta be a mistake, but if it’s not…I’m sure he needs our help.”

  The next morning, Tobin and Keplar were back on the other side of the Shadow Ocean, ready to take off in the Sky-Blade. Keplar was readying the ship’s controls in the cockpit, while Tobin was standing in the cabin and talking on a walkie-talkie.

  “You sure about this, O? You aren’t gonna come with us?”

  Orion was still in the Never-World, standing outside Wakefield’s repair shop.

  “Yes, I’m sure, Tobin,” the old man said into his own walkie-talkie. “You and Keplar use Scatterbolt’s homing device and find where they’ve taken his body. I have some...other things I need to attend to here in the Never-World, but I’ll catch up with you when I can.”

  “Okay,” Tobin said into his walkie-talkie, “but one more thing.” The boy looked across the cabin; Junior was sitting in a seat by himself near the back of the ship. Tobin pushed the button on his walkie-talkie and whispered. “You sure Junior isn’t gonna, like, kill us?”

  Orion laughed. “Yes, Tobin. Junior is gonna give you a hand. He knows the area on the tablet map very well, and you’ll need all the help you can get.”

  Tobin walked into the cockpit. “Okay, if you say so. Later, Orion.” The boy turned off the walkie-talkie and turned to Keplar. “So, you know where we’re heading?”

  Keplar pointed to the glass tablet map they had received from Wakefield; it was now connected to the Sky-Blade’s dashboard, and the blinking light was showing in the center of a landmass on the eastern section of the map.

  “Yup,” the husky said. “Me, you, and Mr. Baldie-McScowl-Face are headed to wonderful, scenic Zanatopia. So sit back and enjoy your flight. Try to not get murdered.”

  Walking into the cabin, Tobin buckled himself into a seat across from Junior. The bald man was holding what looked like a bag of red licorice; as he nervously snapped off pieces of the candy with his teeth, he was looking around at the cabin’s ceiling and walls. Tobin smiled at him awkwardly.

  “Hi,” Tobin said.

  “Hi.”

  The boy looked at the bag of licorice. “Are you eating candy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I always eat candy when I fly.”

  “Oh.”

  A silence.

  Junior held out the bag. “Want a piece?”

  “Sure.” Tobin took a piece.

  Junior looked into the cockpit. “So...are you sure this thing’s safe?”

  “Oh yeah,” Tobin said. “Definitely. I’ve flown in it a hundred times.”

  “Good.”

  The ship’s engines turned on, and Junior jumped and gripped his armrests.

  Tobin smirked and furrowed his brow. “Are you afraid of flying?”

  The ship ascended into the sky and Junior’s hands darted to his chest and clutched his seat belt.

  “No,” the bald man replied.

  Tobin smiled. “That’s funny—a guy who makes robots is afraid of flying.”

  “Why is that funny?” Junior snarled, with his teeth clenched and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

  “Just is,” Tobin replied with a grin, chomping a piece of licorice.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Four hours later, the Sky-Blade landed in Zanatopia, and Tobin walked down the ship’s ramp and into the outskirts of a town. This was a land that very much resembled Japan, the boy thought: there were beautiful temples, wooden houses with pitched, layered, colorful roofs, cherry blossom trees, and tall, snow-capped mountains in the distance. There was also a bustling urban area only a few blocks from the sky-ship port where they had landed.

  “Okay,” Keplar said, walking down the Sky-Blade’s ramp with the tablet map in his hand. He was also wearing a bulky backpack containing all of their supplies. “We park here where my friend will look over the ship, and we follow the blinking light.”

  “Should be easy enough. Hey, Junior, you coming?”

  Tobin and Keplar turned to the Sky-Blade; Junior stumbled out of the side door, with his face pale and his arms across his stomach. As he walked down the ramp, he swayed from side-to-side and burped three times.

  “All right,” the bald man said, trying to hide the fact that he was seconds away from vomiting. “Let’s go. We cut through the town, and then head up the mountain.”

  Junior led the way, with Keplar and Tobin following him, snickering.

  Just as Junior had described, Tobin and his friends had quickly made their way through the crowded-but-friendly streets of Zanatopia, and were now hiking up one of its majestic mountains. Unending cherry blossom trees surrounded them, and a cool, refreshing breeze was sending small, pink petals fluttering to the ground. It was beautiful—a place for deep thought and appreciation of nature’s wonders.

  “Strange place for a super-villain hideout,” Tobin said. “Looks more like a place my grandparents would go bird-watching.”

  “Well, we’re not there yet,” Junior said. “We’ve still got a ways to go before we pass these mountains, cross the heat-belt, and reach the jungle. That’s where we’re headed—the middle of nowhere. It ain’t gonna be easy.”

  Keplar was walking behind them, holding the electronic map. “Let’s keep at it, then. We’ll stop and make a camp when the sun goes down. It can get awfully cold up here.”

  Junior looked ahead up the mountain. “There’s a hot spring about three hours from us. We can set up there for the night.”

  “Great,” Tobin said. “A hot spring in the middle of the gorgeous blossom trees of Zanatopia—exactly where I want to spend the night with you two idiots.”

  Keplar and Junior laughed.

  “Hey, it could be worse,” Keplar said. “You could be—”

  A five-fingered hand suddenly burst up from the ground and grabbed Keplar’s leg. The hand was made out of mud.

  “Hey!” the husky yelled, looking down at the brown, dripping fingers clutching to his pants. “What the hell? Hey!”

  Tobin and Junior spun around, just in time to see another giant mud-hand emerge from the ground and grab Keplar’s other leg. The two hands began pulling the dog down, dragging him into the soft dirt underneath him, which was turning into quicksand.

  “Hey!” Keplar yelled, trying to free himself from the pulling hands. As he panicked, his waist sunk under the quicksand. “Get offa me, ya bremshaws!”

  Tobin and Junior rushed to Keplar, grabbing his arms and trying to pull him away from the mud-hands, but it was nearly impossible—especially when four other mud-hands grabbed onto the dog’s backpack and began pulling him further down into the quicksand. Soon, the sand was all the way up to the dog’s chin, and the backpack was gone.

  “Get me out of here!” the husky yelled.

  “We’re trying!” Tobin said, prying the mud-fingers from Keplar’s shoulders. “But these things are so strong, we can’t—”

  “Step back,” Junior said.

  Tobin moved away and watched Junior; as the bald man held out his arm, strands of robotic machinery crawled out from his sleeve and enveloped his hand. Soon, Junior was wearing a bulky, robotic glove, and with his super-strong hand, he grabbed onto Keplar’s arm and pulled him from the mud. When the dog was free, the six mud-hands disappeared back into the quicksand.

  Exhausted, Keplar sat on the ground, with his body covered in the quickly-drying mud. His backpack was gone and the tablet map was ruined, but at least he was alive.

  “Gee,” the husky said. “I guess you are a techno-wizard.”

  Junior flexed his robotic fingers. His hand was
now twice its normal size, and the sunlight was glinting off of its metal casing and silver wires. “My father and I invent things,” the bald man said. “It’s what we do.”

  As Tobin and Junior were helping Keplar to his feet, the trio heard crinkled footsteps in the leaves behind them; spinning around, they saw nobody there. But then a disembodied voice came from the forest:

  “Not only did you piss me off, Junior, but you made friends with people you really don’t wanna be friends with.”

  Tobin recognized the voice—it was the shortest punk from the saloon in the Never-World. But where was he?

  “You wanna get your teeth kicked in again, Derek?” Junior said, scanning the treetops. “That’s fine by me—come out here and I’ll make sure to break a few more bones.”

  Movement fluttered between two of the tree trunks in front of the trio, and—out of thin air—the shortest punk, Derek, emerged, his camouflage dissipating. As the punk stepped closer, Tobin saw that he had been through a drastic change; the tattoos running up his neck were now green vines, while his arms, legs, and torso were now wrapped in coiled, thorned tree branches. The skin on his face was now dull and green, and his eyes were completely brown.

  “There’s some awfully bad people who want these new friends of yours dead, Junior,” Derek said. As he grinned, the branches on his arms twisted and grew. “And I was only happy to help them—as long as I got to kill you, too.”

  Junior heard a snapping above him; thick, brown vines suddenly dropped down from the treetops and wrapped themselves around him, squeezing him like a boa constrictor. The bald man was trapped.

  “They even hooked me up with some new powers,” Derek added.

  Tobin heard marching footsteps to his right; he spun around to see an army of wooden men emerging from the forest. The tree-warriors were six feet tall and made out of bark, leaves, and tree branches, and they were brandishing incredibly sharp axes and swords made out of wood. They were also holding wooden shields.