Vanguard: Seasons 1-3: A Superhero Adventure

by Percival Constantine

  Once the Exemplar was through the portal, the Ferryman closed it up. Zero leapt at the portal, trying to follow their target through. But it was closed before he could enter and he jumped through empty air.

  Blindside gritted her teeth and slammed her open palm against the Ferryman’s chin. She punched him in the chest and then slammed her elbow against his face. Once he fell to the ground, she fired an inhibitor disc at him, then became visible again.

  She opened a comms channel with the ship. “Blindside to Big Brother—mission complete. Ready for retrieval.”

  “Copy that, Blindside. What about the big man?”

  Blindside sighed as she gave her report. “Negative on the big man, he managed to escape.”

  The brief moment of silence on the other end felt like an eternity to Blindside as she waited for a response. When it finally came, it was no additional relief to her. “Zeus won’t be happy, Blindside.”

  “No shit,” she said. “Just get down here so we can clean up and go home.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Jim Ellis disembarked from the aircraft clad in a crimson exoskeleton. The yellow lens that covered his right eye flashed data into his retina as he entered commands into the control console hidden within the gauntlets on his forearm.

  The man by his side was dressed in a black uniform with a red patch on the shoulders, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Enclosed in the red circle was the silhouette of a three-headed hound. He was older than Jim by a good fifteen or twenty years, but still kept in great shape. In his hand was a small tablet computer.

  “This is Tora Bora?” asked Abram Zukov, his accent colored by his Russian heritage.

  Jim gave a nod. “Yup. The mountain fortress of the Red Fist.”

  “The surrounding area seems pretty desolate. No life-signs that I’m reading.”

  “Still helps to be careful, Abram,” said Jim. “Those mountains are capable of hiding some pretty impressive stuff. The Khagan had Lee under his control for a while, and during that time, there’s no telling what he was able to build for him.”

  Lee Parker, a young special forced to be a slave of the Red Fist due to the mental conditioning of the man known only as the Analyst. Lee possessed technopathy, a unique ability that enabled him to communicate with machines, and also granted him a design capability unparalleled.

  “You think he built something capable of fooling our sensors?” asked Zukov.

  “After what happened on Olympus, nothing could surprise me.” Jim closed the panel on his control console. “Let’s go. Be ready for anything.”

  The pair moved down the ridge, walking towards the mountains of Tora Bora. Jim had explored them once before. When he still went by the name Gunsmith, this place was where Vanguard began their final mission. The Red Fist’s brainwashed specials attacked them in these mountains and they were then imprisoned inside.

  Jim approached a hole in the surface and peered inside. He could see inside a deep cavern. When the Exemplar battled a brainwashed Paragon, they burst through this spot. And now it would be the means of his entrance. He signaled to Zukov, who came over to him.

  “Get night-vision ready, doesn’t look like there’s any more power flowing,” said Jim.

  They hooked rappel cables to the edge of the hole and lowered themselves inside. Jim’s lens automatically adjusted itself to the light and Zukov hit a switch on the side of his sunglasses, activating a night-vision mode.

  After a bit, they reached one of the catwalks and released the cables from their belts. Zukov peered over the edge of the railing. There were definite signs of a battle—scorch marks on the rocks and metal, mangled railings, and even a destroyed catwalk.

  “Do you really think we’ll find anything here?” asked Zukov. “There’s little chance Azarov would remain in such a place.”

  “He stayed in Virey for some time,” said Jim. They spoke of Erik Azarov, a twisted Soviet scientist whose experiments attempted to create a super soldier to battle the Americans. A man whose brutality earned him the nickname of the Cold War Frankenstein.

  “He was still working for my government at the time, though,” said Zukov.

  “Fair point. If nothing else, maybe we’ll find some clues that can lead us to the next step in our search. Azarov and the Analyst are the only members of the Red Fist who are still at large.”

  “And also the most dangerous.”

  “You don’t have to tell me, I experienced it first-hand,” said Jim. “This place is a labyrinth. Let’s split up, we’ll cover more ground that way.”

  “Very well, although I still think we won’t find much.” Zukov went down a stairwell to one of the lower levels.

  Jim continued to explore the one he was on. As he moved down the corridors, he got a sense of deja vu from when he was held captive here. The doors along the hall he currently walked through housed prison cells. One of these cells was where he and the rest of Vanguard were held along with the Exemplar. One of the doors had been broken off its hinges—courtesy of the aforementioned special’s superhuman strength. Jim glanced inside and saw nothing, then continued on. He tapped the comms link on his ear.

  “This level clear. Going down to the next.”

  He descended the metal staircase onto the underlying level. A corridor here was absent of any doors, save for one at the end. Jim took hold of the handle and tugged on it. Locked. He pulled harder, the servos in his suit activating and breaking it open. Inside, he had to cringe at what he witnessed. He covered his nose from the stench.

  The room was far larger than he expected, with body parts strewn around. The gurneys against the wall were stained with blood and gore. On a workbench, he found the remains of notes scribbled in Russian but not much else.

  “Abram, I think I found Azarov’s lab.”

  “Anything useful?”

  “A few notes but nothing more. Looks like he took everything when he left.”

  “Or someone else did. Keep looking, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Roger that.”

  Jim collected the notes and left the remains of the lab when the scanner over his eye flashed a notification against his retina. The scanner was picking up an additional life form, and what’s more, it was reading as a special. He reached down to his thighs, drawing free the crimson teleforce blasters affixed to his armor. Jim moved down the corridor slowly, keeping careful watch on any movement from his scanner.

  “I’ve got a target,” he said into the comms.

  “I see it,” said Zukov. “I’m en route.”

  The eyepiece directed Jim from the T-junction down into another corridor and here he found a man sitting on the ground, dressed in a form-fitting red and yellow suit, his head completely bald without a single speck of hair. Once Jim spotted him, he aimed the weapons at the target.

  The man looked up at Jim. There was something familiar about him, but Jim couldn’t quite place it. The man squinted, studying the Gunsmith armor. “You’re one of them. One of the Khagan’s.”

  “No, you got it all wrong,” said Jim. “Who are you?”

  The man’s body erupted in flames and Jim suddenly realized why he was familiar. He shot from his spot, taking to the air and blazing past Jim, flying into the main chamber.

  “I won’t be anyone’s puppet again!” he shouted.

  Jim cringed from the heat, his suit quickly working to cool his body temperature down. “Abram, it’s Pyre!”

  Pyre had worked with the Red Fist but as far as Jim knew, they were all taken captive. All except for a select few who helped take down the Khagan. How the pyrokinetic was free, let alone in Tora Bora, was a mystery the man once called Gunsmith intended to see solved.

  Jim ran out from the corridor and saw Pyre streaking towards the exit. He raised his blasters, the scanner interfacing with his guns and locking onto the target. Once it was a lock, the scanner beeped, the crosshairs flashed red, and Jim pulled the trigger.

  Energy blasts flew from the barrels of the weapons, striki
ng their target in the back. Pyre arched his chest forward upon impact and spun in the air, glowering at the attacker. He dove for Jim, arms extended out in front of him and jet-streams of flame shooting from his closed fists.

  Jim sprung to the side to avoid the attack, firing blindly as he hit the ground, blasts that Pyre easily dodged. Pyre’s arm flung out in front of him as if throwing a ball. And indeed he did—balls constructed of fire that shot at his target.

  Jim jumped over the railing to avoid the strike, falling towards the ground. He held out his arm and a grappling hook shot from his gauntlet, hooking onto the opposite railing and allowing him to swing from it. He released the grapple and landed on the catwalk of a lower level.

  Pyre spun to keep up with his enemy, flying after him and throwing out more fireballs. Jim rolled to avoid them, returning fire whenever he found an opening. But as Pyre concentrated on Jim, he didn’t realize there was another to worry about.

  Zukov approached the railing of the catwalk and fired a teleforce blaster of his own, striking Pyre in the back several times. That gave Jim an opening to release several blasts of his own and the special plummeted.

  Jim fired his grapple at Pyre, the cable wrapping around his ankle. Jim braced his leg against the catwalk railing and held firm as the cable tightened, breaking Pyre’s fall just before he struck the ground.

  Both Jim and Zukov raced to the bottom of the chamber where Pyre lay, winded from his injuries and exertion. The flames had died out and just to be safe, Zukov affixed an inhibitor against Pyre’s chest. When the special looked up and saw the symbol on Zukov’s uniform, his eyes went wide in fear.

  “No! Not you, not again!”

  Jim blinked and stared at his partner. “What’s he talking about? You met him before?”

  Zukov shook his head. “I only know about him from the Cerberus files.”

  “I’ve had enough, do you hear me? I’m tired of being used! Just kill me and get it over with!” screamed Pyre.

  Jim knelt down by Pyre’s side. “You’re not making a lick of sense. What are you being used for, and who’s responsible?”

  “You’re here to take me back, I know,” said Pyre. “Wasn’t enough for that silver-haired freak to manipulate me, but then you turned me into your personal hitman!”

  “Hitman?” asked Zukov. “You killed someone?”

  Pyre scoffed. “Like you don’t know. Back in DC a few months ago, you had me fry some military muckity-muck. I managed to get away and thought I could find some remnants of what was here, get some protection. But the Red Fist is all gone now, isn’t it?”

  Jim held up his hand. “Wait, slow down. Are you saying the Khagan sent you to kill someone in the military?”

  Pyre shook his head. “What are you, dense?” He pointed at the symbol on Zukov’s uniform. “You sent me!”

  Jim sighed and rose to his feet. Zukov and him stepped back from Pyre, turning away from him and keeping their voices low.

  “He’s talking about Cerberus,” said Zukov.

  “Yeah, starting to get that feeling, too,” said Jim. “If Callus or someone inside Cerberus is using specials for assassinations, assassinations of military officials no less…”

  “It would be in direct violation of the treaty. Could compromise everything the organization was created for.” Zukov looked over his shoulder at Pyre. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”

  “Hard to say. If the Analyst did mess with his mind, he might just be paranoid. Or maybe the Analyst made him think he was working for Cerberus.”

  “Could also be a trick. The Red Fist’s way of exacting vengeance after the fall of their master.”

  “Could be.” Jim stared at Pyre, studying the man’s face. “I’m not so sure, though. He seems legitimately terrified.”

  “That doesn’t rule out potential manipulation, as you said.”

  “True. I just don’t think we should take anything on faith,” said Jim. “After all, what if he’s telling the truth?”

  CHAPTER 4

  High above the planet Earth was the orbital space station called Olympus. Constructed as a means of international cooperation between several countries, after it was co-opted by the Khagan, the United Nations Security Council agreed to approve its use for another endeavor. That of the group called Cerberus, an international peace-keeping agency designed to monitor potential threats from specials.

  General Nathan Callus was chosen as director of Cerberus and he now stood in his office before an array of large monitors. He wore the black and red dress uniform of his organization, the Cerberus logo emblazoned on his shoulder patches. His once-brown hair was now graying with age and his blue eyes fixed on the man whose face appeared on each of the monitors.

  United States Secretary of Defense Joseph Ramsey was older than Callus, with his white hairline receding and thick glasses over his eyes as he hunched over his desk in front of the camera.

  “Word has come back from the strike force,” said Callus. “We’ve got a few dozen new arrivals being held in the facility.”

  “A few dozen? The intelligence you showed me indicated there were a few hundred living on that island,” said Ramsey.

  “It appears they were using a teleporter to transport there. He smuggled most of them away before we could get to them. We did manage to capture him, though. But not before…”

  Callus’ voice trailed off and Ramsey narrowed his eyes. “Not before what, Director?”

  Callus cleared his throat. “Not before he opened a portal that facilitated Callum King’s escape.”

  “The Exemplar is still free?” The volume of Ramsey’s voice shot through the roof. “The entire point of this operation was to capture him! Do you have any idea how dangerous that man is?”

  “I’m well aware of the threat he poses, Mr. Secretary,” said Callus. “But I should also remind you that this is not an exact science. These specials are crafty. They managed to keep their little island hidden for months. If not for our monitoring of Asano and Hastings, we never would have been led to them.”

  Ramsey fumed. “If he talks about Cerberus rounding up specials, it’s all over, Nathan.”

  Callus stood firm. “With all due respect, sir, just who exactly is going to believe him? The man went on a rampage in Chicago last year. And Americans have very long memories when it comes to the destruction of their cities. No one’s going to trust him after that. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the Exemplar is a supervillain, not to be trusted. And he knows it, too.”

  Ramsey gave a sigh of acceptance. “Fine, I’ll defer to you for now. But I want your people scouring the planet for King. We can’t take the risk that he won’t try to act. Last thing we need is him tearing apart Olympus with his bare hands to try and get to you.”

  “He’s certainly welcome to try, sir.”

  “And what about the monitoring of Vanguard?”

  “Obviously it paid off with Asano and Hastings, albeit in an unexpected way. We weren’t expecting them to lead us to Arcadia. Other than that, not much worth mentioning. McCabe has returned to his work at the Human Genome Project. Vaughn has spent a lot of time traveling, but we keep tabs on him. And Jordan is working as an EMT in New York.”

  “What about Lee Parker? He wasn’t officially part of the team, but he was last seen with them.”

  “No word on him, I’m afraid. We’ve been scouring every source we can find, but given his technopathic abilities, it’s little surprise he’s able to stay off the grid.”

  “That’s not exactly good news,” said Ramsey.

  “Agreed. I’ve got surveillance on his family, but they haven’t heard anything, either. Unfortunately, unless he contacts someone, there’s not much we can do to locate him.”

  “And what about Jim Ellis?”

  “I’m keeping a close eye on him. Right now he’s investigating the Red Fist’s former stronghold, but he won’t find much of anything there.”

  “Any unauthorized communications with his
former teammates?”

  Callus shook his head. “He’s stayed clean. The only person he interacts with outside of Cerberus is his father and we have his room at the retirement home bugged.”

  Ramsey scoffed. “In other words, we have no idea what happened to Thorne.”

  “Nothing,” said Callus. “He hasn’t made contact with anyone from his former team.”

  Ramsey slammed his fist against his desk. “Dammit! We wouldn’t be in this situation if you hadn’t botched the job!”

  “Hey!” Callus pointed at the monitor. “Don’t put this on me! You were onboard with the idea of killing Thorne!”

  “I never said we had to use a special, especially not one as unstable as Clarence Black!” said Ramsey. “That was your idea!”

  “If we used a bomb or some other device, evidence would be left behind and we couldn’t account for potential collateral damage,” said Callus. “Using Pyre meant we avoided that problem. There’s no reason he should have failed.”

  “And yet he did. Even worse, he’s also gone missing,” said Ramsey. “What if Thorne made him a better offer? Convinced him to turn against you?”

  “Pyre was well aware of those consequences,” said Callus. “Even if Thorne survived the attack, it’s been months and he hasn’t surfaced. It’s likely he’s realized how futile it is to try and stand against us.”

  Ramsey shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. “If you really believe that, then you don’t know Leonard Thorne. He’s alive and he’s in possession of very damaging evidence. As are the rest of Vanguard. It could undo everything we’ve worked so hard to build with Cerberus. The only way we can get Thorne to surface is by forcing his hand.”

  Callus clasped his hands behind his back. “I want to be sure we’re on the same page, Mr. Secretary. Are you saying that you want the Hellhounds to go after the remainder of Vanguard?”

  Ramsey smiled. “That is exactly what I’m saying.”