“It’s out of our hands now. All we can do is have faith in the system,” said McCabe.
“Easy for you to say,” muttered Wraith.
“Dr. McCabe is correct. For now, there is little we can do,” said Zenith. “We should return to Atlas.”
“Yeah, we’ve got more important things to worry about now,” said Gunsmith. “We’ve still got enemies out there. And this battle with the Exemplar has only distracted us from finding a way to stop far greater threats.”
***
In the Atlas’ infirmary, Koji cringed as Thorne finished setting the splint for his arm. Thorne gave him an annoyed look. “Grow up, kid.”
“Hey, I didn’t see you out there!”
Thorne completed the task and stepped back. “There, done. With your powers, you should heal up faster than most. But you’ll have to take it easy for some time.”
Koji looked down at his arm and cast his eyes over to Lee, who lay in the bed next to his, unconscious. “He gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” said Thorne. “Just got the crap kicked out him is all.”
Koji turned his attention to Vanguard’s administrator. “So what do you think of this deal Shift made with Tuwa? About King standing trial?”
Thorne took a deep breath. “I spoke to Zukov about it while Tuwa and Shift helped take down King. He said he’ll do what he can, but there are some members of the Security Council who are nervous about it. They just want to find the deepest, darkest hole they can find and drop him inside.”
“Like they did with the Khagan,” muttered Koji, recalling the leader of the Red Fist. “We haven’t heard anything about that guy in forever.”
“And maybe we’re better off that way.” Thorne walked over to Lee’s bed and checked his vitals. “The last thing we need is the Red Fist making a comeback.”
“What do you think about King?” asked Koji. “Think he’ll ever be the man Tuwa seems to think he is?”
Thorne sighed. “I don’t know. Every man has his demons, Koji. They whisper in our ears, try to control us. Whether or not King gives in to them or fights back is really up to him.”
“I think he can,” said Koji. “At least, that’s what it seemed like in Arcadia.”
Thorne offered no response.
Koji leaned back against his pillow and looked up. “You think that makes me naive?”
“No, I think it makes you an idealist, and we need people like that,” said Thorne. “And for what it’s worth, I hope you’re right. Maybe King does have the strength to fight his demons.”
***
The Exemplar laid down on the cot. The bed was somewhat comfortable. Not as nice as the one he’d slept in during his brief hotel stay recently. But better than what he’d had for months.
He closed his eyes. Tuwa believed in him still, and he supposed that was something to be happy about. Regardless of where things went from here, at least he has that to rely on.
But when he shut his eyes, he couldn’t drown out the cacophony of criticism that continued to plague his thoughts. The feelings of inadequacy. The constant jeers of the people he thought he could trust.
Callum King curled into a ball, taking the pillow from under his head and holding it against his ear to try and shut out the voices.
It didn’t work.
EPILOGUE
The Future
Chronos cringed as he was slammed against the wall. The massive, gray hand of Sharkskin was wrapped around his throat, the special’s teeth gritted in a snarl.
“Koji, stop!” demanded Shift, grabbing her old friend’s arm.
“Everything we’ve been through, all the suffering, it’s all because of him!” snarled Sharkskin.
“And it’s also because of him that we were able to meet,” said Shift.
Sharkskin paused and looked down at his teammate. He released his grip on the time traveler and stepped back. Shift offered him a smile as a sign of her gratitude.
“I-I can fix this,” said Chronos, struggling to breathe again.
“And how are you gonna do that?” asked Ink.
“If we can repair the chronal emitter, I can go back, stop myself from releasing the Chaknaar,” said Chronos.
“Which will only ensure your future does come to pass,” said the Analyst. “No, we cannot allow that, either.”
“So what do we do?” asked Talon.
“Our new friend will have to stop the invasion.”
“He tried,” said Sharkskin. “We saw how that turned out.”
“How was I supposed to know that this would happen?” asked Chronos.
“Maybe if you’d thought a little harder about the consequences, you’d realize what you were getting yourself into.”
“That’s enough!”
Sharkskin and Chronos both cringed, feeling a headache as they heard the Analyst’s voice inside their minds.
“We have no time for squabbling,” said the Analyst. “Now, there are things we know about the invasion. As I said before, it was a Kotharian scout who triggered the invasion. The message she sent is what led to this.”
“J’Karra.” Shift spoke the name as if it were an insult.
“Yes, J’Karra,” said the Analyst. In the center of the room, the ship’s holographic projectors generated an image of the Kotharian warrior. And when Chronos saw it, he was taken aback.
“What is it?” asked Ink, noticing his reaction.
“Nothing, just…” He sighed. “When I left my era, I thought it was the last time I’d ever see a Kotharian.”
“She’s no slouch, either,” said Sharkskin. “First time we fought her, she was able to take on the whole team single-handedly.”
“Yes, but fortunately we know there was a time when she was powerless and vulnerable,” said the Analyst.
“You’re talking about when she was imprisoned by Cerberus,” said Shift.
“I am.”
“The Island was never an easy place to find,” said Sharkskin. “It was constantly moving, and the coordinates were encrypted and sent directly to Olympus. And then, even if he was able to find the Island, he’d still need the clearance to get down to the maximum security level.”
“You’re right, it certainly won’t be easy. But if Chronos can get inside and kill J’Karra, he can prevent her from transmitting the signal to the fleet.” The Analyst paused and studied the faces of both Sharkskin and Shift. “Of course, there is another option…”
“No,” said Shift.
“Mrs. Asano, it may be the—”
“I. Said. No.” Shift crossed her arms over her chest.
The Analyst frowned. “I thought you might say that. Very well, in that case the only option is the more complicated one.” He turned his gaze to Chronos. “I assume you have no problem with lethal force?”
“Wouldn’t be the first Kotharian I’ve killed,” said Chronos. “Although hopefully, it’ll be the last.”
“Very good. This may be our one chance to end this war before it even begins,” said the Analyst.
“Think we’re all forgetting something,” said Talon. “Before he can do his thing, we have to repair his equipment.”
“She’s right,” said Sharkskin. “If the flux capacitor is broken, no one’s going anywhere.”
Chronos raised an eyebrow behind his visor. “Flux capacitor? What’s that?”
“Twentieth century pop culture reference,” said Talon with a roll of her eyes. “Just ignore him.”
“I will consult our inside man,” said the Analyst. “If you all wouldn’t mind?”
“C’mon, kid,” said Sharkskin, moving towards the door and gesturing for Chronos to follow.
“Where are we going?”
“The Analyst has an informant inside Cerberus,” said Shift. “To lessen the risk of their identity being compromised, only he knows who it is.”
The Analyst waited until the team exited the room. His chair turned and he closed his eyes. His entire body had been integrated wit
h his chair, which also linked him to all of the Icarus’ systems. And he used that ability to open a communications channel.
A holographic image flickered into view in front of him. The Analyst opened his eyes.
“You know it’s risky for us to be talking like this,” said the man. He had short, blond hair and a beard. His right eye was missing, replaced with some kind of cybernetic implant. The flesh around the eye had four, long scars stretching from his forehead and down to the right side of his jaw.
“It’s worth the risk,” said the Analyst. “If the information I’ve uncovered is true, we may have a way to stop this war and repel the invaders.”
The Analyst retold the tale of the past few hours and Chronos’ appearance. His informant simply listened silently and waited for him to finish. Once the Analyst completed the story, the informant offered his commentary.
“And you believe him?”
“Proximo has been developing the technology, correct?” asked the Analyst.
The informant paused with hesitance. “They have a prototype, but it hasn’t even been tested. They’re not even sure if they can pinpoint a specific time yet.”
“All we need is access to that prototype,” said the Analyst. “Once we have that, Chronos can strip whatever it is he needs to repair his device.”
The informant rubbed his beard in thought. “So your plan is to send this stranger back in time to kill J’Karra when Cerberus held her prisoner. You do see the flaw in that, don’t you?”
The Analyst nodded. “I do. But you know how Shift feels about this. She regrets what she had to do and would give anything to save her friend.”
“What Erin wants and what needs to be done aren’t necessarily the same thing. We made the decision long ago that we’d have to be the ones to make the hard calls. And now that’s what you have to do.”
The Analyst’s cold eyes narrowed. “I know, and that’s what I plan to do. Shift will never know Chronos’ real target. But I’ll need you to do your part, General Ellis.”
“You can count on me,” said Jim Ellis.
#12 - FIGHT NIGHT
CHAPTER 1
William Blake’s head snapped to the side, pain radiating from the point where his opponent’s fist struck his jaw. A metallic taste filled his mouth and he spat, the crimson splotch of blood adding to the multitude of dried stains that covered the once-white floor.
Blake turned his attention just as his opponent, Copeland, charged into him. Blake’s muscles rippled beneath his skin, growing larger and straining against the limits of his flesh. He met Copeland’s rush with an uppercut.
Copeland flew across the ring and his back struck the heavy cage surrounding them. He fell to the ground, but was on his feet again almost instantly, his body also reacting in the same way as Blake’s did.
The cheers of the crowd outside the cage grew louder. Blake wasn’t here for their approval, but he found himself appreciative of it at the same time.
The two behemoths charged into each other, bare fists striking bare flesh. Both men were without shoes and shirts, clad only in their jeans. Blake struck a blow at Copeland’s chest, and he smiled as he saw Copeland’s face contort in pain.
Their enhancements made them incredibly durable. It took a lot of damage before they could even feel pain. Which explained Blake’s satisfaction at Copeland’s reaction.
But Copeland wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Blake felt a similar blow against his chest, a blow that put some distance between the two fighters. Before Blake realized what had happened, Copeland closed that distance and Blake’s head rocked back.
Blood leaked into his eyes, his vision obscured. Blake couldn’t see Copeland’s attacks coming. The roar of the crowd and the slapping sound of wet flesh was deafening. He couldn’t focus his senses on anything.
He struck the ground hard on his back. A heavy load dropped on his chest. Blake blinked to try and clear the blood from his eyes. His sight came back and he saw Copeland straddling his chest. Copeland’s hand wrapped around Blake’s throat and his free hand struck Blake’s face repeatedly.
Blake raised his fist and slammed it into Copeland’s. A crack rang out in the ring and Copeland retreated, holding his mangled hand. Blake jumped back to his feet and tackled Copeland, slamming him against the cage.
His right hand grabbed a fistful of Copeland’s short brown hair. Blake drove Copeland’s face against the cage’s metal bars. With each sound of ringing metal, the crowd hollered and whooped.
Blake pulled Copeland from the cage and, in a feat that took incredible strength, lifted a man as massive as himself over his head. That sent the crowd into a frenzy. Blake accepted their cheers and shouted back at them.
“You want it finished?” he asked. “You came here for a show?”
The crowd erupted in a chant of “FINISH HIM!” Blake cast a quick glance up at Copeland, his face full of fear.
“Sorry pal,” he whispered. “Gotta give the people what they want.”
Blake brought Copeland’s body down and raised his leg. Copeland’s back struck Blake’s knee and the crack was quickly drowned out by the cheers of approval.
He dropped the crippled Copeland onto the ground and stood in the center of the ring. Blake raised his arms—lined with bruises and cuts—to thunderous applause. The people in the crowd were on their feet, clapping and shouting.
But Blake felt his heart pounding against his chest. His muscles still ached for more action. For more fuel. He’d need another charge soon, he could already feel the desire creeping up on him.
***
Blake exited out the heavy metal door into a damp, darkened alley. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of twenty-dollar bills. With the roll wrapped in his hand, he counted each bill, thumbing through them and once satisfied, placed it back in his pocket.
“Good night tonight?”
Blake looked over his shoulder and saw an imposing figure in the shadows. He stepped closer. His hair was buzzed short and he had a thin beard. There was an intensity in his eyes.
“Pretty good,” said Blake. “Surprised I didn’t see you down there, Desmond.”
“I had other matters to attend to,” said Desmond, folding his arms over his massive chest.
“Yeah well, see you next time,” said Blake, turning away and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
“See you around, Blake.”
Blake froze in mid-stride and turned. “What was that?”
“I said, ‘see you around…Blake.’” Desmond stepped closer. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
Blake didn’t miss a beat and responded with a chuckle. “The hell you on about, Des? My name’s Hudson.”
“Actually, no it isn’t.” This voice belonged to another man who emerged from the adjoining alley and stood beside Desmond. He had dark eyes that matched his hair and a grim smile on his face. Blake knew this man well, the one responsible for giving him what he needed.
“Dunno what you two have been smoking,” said Blake.
“This is a very delicate operation, and we certainly can’t have someone from Cerberus screwing things up for us.”
“You’re going crazy, Bradshaw.” Blake tried to maintain a strong front, but he began to fear for his life. He never expected someone like Bradshaw capable of identifying him. Even though the man was very intelligent, there’s no way he could have access to that kind of information.
Was there?
“I wouldn’t try running if I were you, Blake,” said Bradshaw.
“Who’s running?” asked Blake, stripping off his jacket. The muscles bulged, straining against his black t-shirt. His body bulked up, but then he saw Desmond’s doing the same, growing to an even larger size.
“Are you sure that’s the wisest course of action?” asked Bradshaw.
“Only one way to find out!”
Blake rushed into battle and was met by Desmond. The large enforcer deflected Blake’s jabs and then wrapped a mea
ty fist around Blake’s head. He threw Blake against the side of a building, burying his face into the brick and bursting through the wall.
Desmond grabbed Blake by the scruff of his neck and threw him across the alley into the opposite wall. Blake didn’t go through this one, but was hammered by blows from the massive behemoth.
Blake tried to pull away, stumbling and landing on the wet asphalt. He turned and looked up, hearing something. The next thing he saw—the last thing he saw—was Desmond raising a dumpster high and bringing it crashing down on Blake’s head.
Bradshaw calmly approached Blake’s body, looking down at the wet stain on the ground. Without looking away, he addressed Desmond. “See to it that this is cleaned up. We can’t risk this location being identified.”
“And the fight?” asked Desmond. “Losing Hu—losing Blake means we’re down a man.”
Bradshaw sighed. “Indeed it does. Such a shame, too. He was quite promising.” The smaller man looked up at his enforcer. “Find a replacement. Fast.”
Desmond nodded. “Yessir.”
CHAPTER 2
“And here we have it, folks—the beginning of the end for mankind,” said Eric Fox, his face filling the large television screen. Fox pointed to the side, where an image of a flying man dressed in a blue and white costume appeared. “Callum King, the so-called Exemplar, has been captured. And while this should be a cause for celebration, we have an even greater risk. We’re going to give this genetic terrorist a trial? Why not just lock him up in some prison for the rest of his natural life? Or better yet, why not execute him? These…freaks of nature don’t deserve the same rights as decent Americans!”
Leonard Thorne sat in a chair in front of the TV, watching the program and shaking his head. On the couch adjacent to his chair were Jim Ellis, Anita Jordan, and Lee Parker. Zenith stood by the side of the couch.
The recreation room of the Atlas base held more than just the television. Behind the couch was a pool table and Dominic Vaughn practiced a solo game by himself. Dom glanced up occasionally through loose strands of long, black hair.
Vanguard: Seasons 1-3: A Superhero Adventure Page 65
