Tales of the Parodyverse

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Messenger presents the second part of his new epic.
Fri Jun 10, 2005 at 08:42:03 pm EDT
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'Scorched Earth' Part Two: Into the Blue Yonder...
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Scorched Earth

Part Two: ... Into the Blue Yonder..


Rebel City: The Great Chemical Purge of 4 AI (4 years After Invasion)

Steely-blue hued gas drifted silently through the slums and tents that had been set up on the shore of Gothametropolis. The guard-dogs were barking wildly, until their canine throats became hoarse. Men and women fell to their knees vomiting pools of blood and convulsing on the ground. Through the toxic, pea-soup fog, shadowy men approached. They wore gas masks and carried pulse rifles, casually shooting the survivors who clung on to their uniforms and begged for mercy.

“There is no escape. There is nowhere to run. Surrender is the only option. Come out with your hands in the air and we will help you,” a booming voice instructed on a disembodied loudspeaker.

“Help this, bastards!” Messenger cried out as he and Goldeneyed leapt out of a tent... into the blue yonder.

The postman snapped a guard’s neck as a laser shot over his head. Goldeneyed teleported his fist inside a guard’s chest exploding his heart.

“Messy... You don’t have a gas mask... How do you expect to survive?” Goldeneyed took another labored breath through his mask which filtered out the gas for the most part. What fumes did seep into his lungs, he quickly teleported out.

“Who said I intended to?” The Postman gritted his teeth as another wave of nausea washed over him. His felt as if his skin were crawling. The air was suddenly very hot. It got to the point where it burned his throat every time he breathed in. “I’m not going to stay in base, while civilians fall like lambs to the slaughter. I don’t care what happens to me. These people are all that matters.” He tossed a ‘Safe America’ soldier onto a wooden spike, impaling him.

His hand started to shake and his vision had become blurry. He couldn’t distinguish between friend and foe. He flipped another troop over his shoulder and tried to rip his gas mask off, but it was sealed tight to the man’s helmet.

“Shit...” He bowled over and started vomiting. First, it was food, then bile... And then blood.

Tapping into every muscle he was still in command of, he staggered to his feet, and waved clouds of gas away from his face.

“Messenger...”

He heard a voice in the distance. It was Bry’s.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t see Goldeneyed. Everywhere he looked was chaos. Fuzzy shapes falling all over the place. He didn’t know what was real and what were free-floating retinas. The corners of his vision turned red.

“Goldeneyed! Where are you?!” He screamed as tears streamed down his cheeks. “Ah... God... God... My eyes....” He rubbed them furiously. When he looked up, he saw a trio of men on black horses.

Mailman, clad in a blue, leather suit, laughed heartily. “Oh brother... Even at the end of the world, our feud still outshines all others.”

Cap was in the middle, wearing his tri-colored chain-mail and pulling on his steed so its legs raised into the air threateningly.

At the end, was a man in a black, flowing uniform decorated with jagged insignias, knee-high boots and a pointy helmet. His appearance so reminded the Messenger of a Nazi storm-trooper it sent chills down his spine. The Postman knew him from the rebel database. It was Liquidator.

They were all breathing through gas masks. Even the horses.

That was the first time the postman had run across the notorious ‘Horsemen of the Apocalypse.’

They were a Government task-force that would clean up rebel remnants after major offensives... Such as today.

“Mailman... You hate me... But even your hatred can’t... *hack*...” Messenger’s entire body trembled. “Even you would hesitate to condemn me to an inglorious death like this. No honor... Thought you had honor. I would have had more respect for you if--... if--...”

Mailman scoffed and glanced at Cap. “He’s delaying the inevitable. Oh, brother...” He turned to the Postman. “Ooooooh, brother.... You are not even worth my time anymore. I have more important people to kill today. Come on, Cap... Let’s sweep this area clean, and leave this scum for Liquidator.”

“As you die...” Mailman called out as he trotted off. “... I want you to think about how meaningless this all was.”

“S- So you’re- you’re the one they call Liquidator...” Messenger strained to get the words out as his muscles continued to shut down one by one.

The man looked down at Messenger. His eyes and face were obscured by that cold, sterile mask.

The postman threw a punch, but it was caught in the Liquidator’s hand and twisted around until a reverberating snap signified that the Messenger’s wrist was broken.

“Yaaargh...” He cried out as he fell back into the swirling mists.

As he laid there on the rocks, bone shards protruded from his hand and more blood streamed out of his mouth. There were a series of violent kicks to his ribs from the Liquidator’s steel-tipped boots which only caused an ever growing pool of gore to collect underneath him.

“Goldeneyeeeed....” Messenger cried out again. No answer.

There was another kick.

And another.

Every time he drifted into unconsciousness... Every time he thought he was finally dying... Another kick would jolt him back to the world of the living.

“Puh- please....” Messenger looked up. “Please... Just let me die.”

The Liquidator nodded without saying a word, and a large blade shot out of his boot. He pulled back to give the Messenger one last, fatal kick. However, just then the Liquidator staggered back. He convulsed and his entire body jolted violently. Blossoms of blood blew apart all over his jacket. He was being shot. His body slumped to the ground, in a pool of its own mess. With flickering eyes, Messenger glanced to his side to see Hatman wearing a gas-mask and holding a smoking gun...

... And then the world faded to black.



One Year Later:

Messenger wakes up in a cold sweat. Carrie, the orphaned civilian girl, stands over him, holding a glass of water.

Outside their apartment building base, lighting flashes, briefly illuminating the room.

“Ca- Ca- Carrie...?” Messenger stutters involuntarily as he sits up in his cot.

“I--.... I’m sorry to wake you, sir. But, you were having a nightmare. You were calling out ‘Bry.’ You were calling out ‘Jay.’ I was scared. I didn’t think anyone would want to have the dreams you were having. You seemed as if you were possessed.”

“Po- Posessed only by anger, Carrie. Thank you,” he accepts the glass of water and drinks it down in one gulp. His hand shakes as he holds it.

Carrie sits down next to the postman.

“How old are you, Carrie?”

“Twelve, sir.”

“Do you remember what Earth was like before the crisis?”

“Sometimes I think about it.... Sometimes I think about my parents... But you guys are like my family now.”

Messenger’s brow furrows and he looks away from her. “Carrie ... One day very soon... I’ll be dead. More than likely a lot of us you think as family will be dead before too long. You- You’ll need to keep the dream alive. Keep what we’re fighting for .... Alive.”

“Nuh-no!” Carrie stands up and waves her arms. “What do you mean you’ll be dead soon?!”

Messenger ignores her. “Losing family is what got us here in the first place. I wish you could be happy, Carrie. I wish you had died with your parents, so you wouldn’t have to see what our own leaders have done to us. But, the fact is you are alive. And to stay alive, you’ll need to stop talking to me... Stop talking to everyone that you consider “family”... You’ll need to shut yourself off emotionally and not grow attached to any of us. Because soon, I’ll be dead. And your memories of me are what will get you killed. This is the New America, my lovely friend...” The Postman chokes back his own tears as he watches Carrie bury her face in her hands and then run away, sobbing loudly. “... God save us all.”


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Jarvis and Goldeneyed watch as the finest living plastic surgeons operate on a very conscious Jay Boaz. Under a bright light they dig into his face with their blood-soaked latex gloves.

Hatman’s shrieks are mostly muffled by the gag in his mouth and the medical personnel had tied him down to stop the thrashing.

“What are you complaining about, Boaz?!” Jarvis mocks him. “I thought you wanted your face back. Some people are just never satisfied.”

“He does not believe in the cause, Jarvis,” Bry whispers, his eyes sparkling with yellow light. “He hasn’t been fixed yet... like I was.”

Al B. Harper stands in white scrubs and watches over the operation a few feet in front of Jarvis and Goldeneyed. He takes notes methodically. His forte is not medical science, but his genius is so invaluable that he observes most experiments and operations so he can supply his own unique form of feedback and counsel.

“Hatman will come around...” he chews on his pen without even turning to the duo. “He will tell us all of the rebellion’s secrets. He will have no choice.”


Bry Katz stares at his former teammate and leader. “After his surgery is complete, I want to have a few moments alone with him.”

Cap walks in to the white room, accompanied by Secretary of Defense Gordon King.

“Goldeneyed...” Cap grins, and sweeps back his gleaming, blonde hair with a wave of his hand. “We just received word that the President himself is making an emergency visit. Are you ready to meet the man himself?”

.....

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Next Morning... Within the bowels of the rebel base on Scorched Earth... AKA Gothametropolis York.


“In light of recent events, with Hatman missing and presumed dead.... I’m taking over as interim leader until we can hold a proper election...” Messenger tells a couple hundred freedom fighters cramped into the apartment building’s boiler-room. “Because I have knowledge about most ongoing operations and I’m trained in stealth, intelligence gathering and most forms of combat and weaponry, I believe I’m qualified for this position ... Any objections?”

“Yeah...” Trickshot steps out from the shadows. He holds a crude wooden bow in his left arm, and his armor consists of cut-up aluminum cans and scraps of leather. “I have a few. Okay, so... uh... We’re supposed to be fighting for the return of Democracy, and yet you’ll be effectively assuming leadership without being opposed.”

“Temporarily...”

“Still...” Tricky smiles and looks back at the other rebels. “I can’t be the only one who doesn’t see the irony in that. I mean, c’mon... You’re one of the guys who went on the Domino mission where ... lessee... four of our best people died, including our leader, Hatman. That doesn’t exactly create a foundation of trust in my eyes...”


They stare at one another for close to a minute without saying a word. There’s a small undertow of whispers sweeping over the crowd.

“If you have an accusation to make, Carl... I suggest you say it.”

“Trickshot... You are not being reasonable....” The Dark-Knight says in a monotone voice. “Messenger is one of our most valued members. He’s gone to Hell and back... Risked his life countless times... How dare you question his loyalty.”

“Don’t you see?!” Trickshot screams to the others in the crowd. “It’s a conspiracy. They’re turning everything that Jay worked for... They’re turning it into the very Government he sacrificed himself to destroy.”

Sorceress shakes her head in the corner. “Stop it...”

“You’re being melodramatic...” spiffy hisses to Tricky.

“No! Let him speak! Messenger was one of the last ones to see Jay alive. What is he hiding?!” Starseed demands.

“I SAID STOP IT!!!” Sorceress screams, silencing everyone in the room immediately. “Listen to you... ALL OF YOU... You talk about honoring Jay and the cause, but you’re exploiting it. You’re using his memory and twisting it in order to advance your own agendas and conspiracy theories! Just-.. Just--...” she sobs as she storms upstairs.

“This isn’t the right time. I’m sorry,” Messenger sighs as Sorceress slams the door. “The wounds are still too raw. Meeting adjourned. We’ll pick up this issue at a later date.”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a walled-off courtyard...

Secretary King’s hair whips around his face as a helicopter descends on to a platform. He stands there in his decorated military uniform, smoking a cigar.

Cap is smiling ear to ear, with his hand stiff against his forehead.

Goldeneyed stands there, his eyes sullen and their usual yellow glow seeming muted.

The chopper touches down and the propellor slowly halts spinning.

Out of the door walks a gentleman dressed in a black suit. He has a thin, almost lanky frame, but he stands over six feet tall. The remaining hair he has is slicked back over his scalp in gray strips, which do little to hide his baldness. He squints through his thick, black-rimmed glasses. His face reminds Goldeneyed of a horse’s face. It’s long, drawn and has more creases than a road-map.

“Hello, Mr President!” King calls out over the roar of the helicopter.

“Ah, Secretary King!” Wertham calls out in a Southern drawl. “I came down here, because I personally want to see Mr Boaz before your people kill him,” the two men shake hands. “Now, while I am thrilled and delighted at the progress being made recently, I notice you still haven’t caught Mark Hopkins. The fools don’t even know--... But, he’s the one who will end up killing us all.”

“All signs point to--... Sir, the insurgency is... about to collapse.”

“No. No...” Wertham glances at Cap who’s still saluting. “Okay, first off... tell that jackass to put his hand down,” he looks back at King. “Second... I’ve heard that tired line of bullshit about imminent defeat... blah-blah-blah... for years. Ever since the crisis ended and my tenure began, you assholes have all been telling me the same feel-good shit. Every day, a new briefing on my desk... “Insurgency about to collapse”... Well, the fucking insurgency isn’t collapsing...” Wertham screams. King wipes spittle from his face.

“Sir, but, we have made real progress. We’ve decapitated the leadership of the--...”

“More hollow buzzwords that don’t amount to two shits in the woods. I’m telling you, King... Those assholes aint giving up without a fight. You told me the insurgency was broken after the chemical purge a year ago... and they obviously weren’t. Today, you’re pulling the same bullshit. You’re telling me they’re done now. Well, I’m telling you those feisty bastards won’t stop terrorizing us until we exterminate the lot of them... like cockroaches. Now... What’s this soldier’s story?” Wertham studies Goldeneyed who stands there stoically.

“This is Goldeneyed. He was a Leuitenant and superpower in the rebellion. We nabbed him during the purge and after some reeducation, we’ve made him see the error of his ways. He has pledged his loyalty to our administration, sir.”

Wertham leans into Goldeneyed, so Bry Katz, the man behind the mask can feel his warm breathe against him. It smells of rotten meat that has been left out on a sweltering, summer day.

“I don’t believe it...” Wertham rasps, his yellow, smoke stained teeth grinding against each other. “Once a rebel always a rebel.”

“No, sir! He’s completely reformed,” King interjects. “Goldeneyed is a good guy.”

“You know I never bought into this reeducation bullshit. I think we should just kill ‘em all.”

Goldeneyed stares back at Wertham with emotionless eyes. “I am here to serve you,” he utters in a monotone voice.

“Sure, you are. Sure, you are.”

......

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On the second floor of the partially destroyed building that the Freedom-Fighters call home, Trickshot studies a photo of Hatman.

“Don’t worry, Hats... I’m gonna get ya outta there,” he sighs.

He drops the photo as Carrie Rose comes into the room, with her tired eyes cast downward. Her face is blush-red as if she’s been crying.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” He asks. “What’s wrong, huh?”

“Mess-- Messenger...” she sobs. “He said... He said he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore. He says I’ll just get in the way.”

“Awwww... Honey...” Trickshot hugs her. “It’s okay. He sucks. We don’t need him.”

“Yeah, I guess...”

“You guess??”

“I mean, I guess I’m only twelve. Maybe he’s looking out for me... I dunno...”

“Naaaaah!” Trickshot waves his hand past his nose, as if he were trying to rid himself of an obnoxious smell. “He’s a jerk! I think you’ve got alotta potential, Carrie. And there’s no reason you should wait until you’re older to live up to it. I would never sell ya short like he did. In fact... I--....” Trickshot suddenly pauses and looks away. “Nah, I shouldn’t... um...” he trails off.

“What?!” Carrie demands.

“Well... I’m not sure if you’re ready for...”

“C’mon! I thought you said you were different than Messenger!”


“Okay, okay...” Trickshot relents, smiling. “But, ya can’t tell anyone. It’s gotta be our secret!”

“What secret?” Carrie asks, suddenly excited.

“I’m gonna bust Hats loose. I can do it! I’m, like, the best stealth fighter here,” Tricky pumps his aluminum clad chest. “I can sneak in, pick off any guards with a few arrows... get Hatty and get outta there! I have blueprints of the place I found in a military outpost we overran last month. I’ve checked it all out. I know I can do this. They’ll never even know anyone was there... until it’s too late. But I need a reconnaissance person... Y’know, someone to tell me if anyone’s coming... Someone to tell me the coast is clear,” Trickshot places his hand on Carrie’s shoulder and kneels down so he’s eye-level with her.

Carrie’s eyes widen. “You- You want me to--...”

“To wait across the street with a pair of infrared binoculars and not get yerself into any trouble,” Tricky cuts her off. “I’m serious. Leave the heroics to me, hun. But I do need a watchout and I think an unassuming kid like you would be the perfect... uh... kid for the job. Heh,”

“Oh, Tricky! I'll be the best checkout ever!!” Carrie hugs him tight.

“Uh... Watchout!”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean... Watchout.”

“Okay... Well, I’m ready now, if you are. We’re gonna sneak in on the back of a convoy and it’ll take us across the river.”


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Victorian-esque room is decorated with American flags, paintings of previous Presidents and framed Bible quotes. The roof seems to be supported by a dozen columns of solid marble which blend into elaborate arcs as they reach the ceiling. It’s known as the ‘DC Memorial Conference Room.’ In the middle of the thirty yard room, Secretary King, President Wertham, Cap and Goldeneyed sit at a table, all with a glass of scotch and ice in front of them. They are joined by Secretary of Energy, Eddie Willis, a plump, short man who constantly wipes a handkerchief against his sweaty forehead, as if just holding a conversation took all the energy out of him.

As Secretary Willis talks with Wertham about the growing resource and energy problems that have been plaguing Paradiopolis lately, Goldeneyed stares off into space. He looks at his reflection in the fine sheen of one of the columns.

“Are you listening, Mr Katz?!” Gordon King rasps under his breath, nudging Goldeneyed with his elbow.

“Uh yeah... Problems with the electrical grid. There have been... a lot.”

Wertham looks at Goldeneyed skeptically as he sips his double-malted beverage.

“You seem preoccupied. Whatever could you be preoccupied.... about?” as he finishes his sentence he slams down his glass, leaving a ring of spilled scotch.

“Sorry... I was thinking....”

“Well, don’t think, you stupid bastard,” Wertham points his finger at the man in the black suit. “Just listen. Willis believes your teleportation powers, if harnessed in a correct way, could generate and transport electricity between all government and civilian installations. Have you ever tried to teleport electrical impulses?”

“Yes... Yes... I have,” Goldeneyed smacks his lips as he puts his drink back down.

“Good!” Willis snaps his briefcase shut. “Good. He’ll be perfect then.”


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Arrival...


A truck rumbles to a stop. A Safe America troop disembarks from the vehicle. He grabs two sacks of wheat from the back and grunts as he heaves them over his shoulder. He walks across the street, towards a heavily fortified installation that is surrounded by thick, towering walls and razor-wire.

With the truck’s engine still running, Trickshot and Carrie slide out from the undercarriage and dart into a shaded area beneath a crop of trees.

They watch the Safe America troop talk to the guards and disappear behind the gates.

“So far, so good...” Tricky gives a thumbs up to Carrie. “Now, we’re in a perfectly concealed area, and I’m gonna help provide you with an excellent vantage point past their gates...” Trickshot picks Carrie up and helps her on a to high branch.

“Okay... Stay there. Don’t say a word. Don’t make any noise, dear,” he places his finger on his lips as he looks up at her. “You’ll be fine. Here, take these...” Tricky gives her a bulky pair of binoculars with red lens. “These aren’t normal looking glasses... This baby has heat vision, night vision... whatever ya need. There’s a button on the side, so you can switch between views. Y’see that grate over there...?” he points to a vent in the street that’s billowing steam. “I’m gonna let off a smoke bomb... It’ll give me some extra cover while I get over the wall, and the fog it adds won’t be enough to raise suspicion. But it will be enough to provide me a crucial window of opportunity. Now, you stay here... ” He gives her a communication link. “You call me if you run into any trouble. Any problems at all, you get outta there, okay?”

“Okay, Tricky... Be careful. Dun- Don’t leave me here alone...”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. You just enjoy your first real mission,” before Trickshot leaves, he glances back at her and gives her a warm smile. “Your folks would be real proud of ya, Carrie. Real proud.”

With that, the bowman rolls a smoke bomb towards the vent. It releases a thick, white cloud and Trickshot dives into its cover. As he stands there in the quickly dissipating smoke, he aims a grapple-hook at the wall. It shoots over the fifteen foot brick wall, snagging the razor-wire at the top. He leaps on to the wall and quickly scrambles up it, with the speed of a frightened squirrel.

Carrie watches him as he disappears from sight.


-----------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile back at base...

Messenger stares out a partially broken window and towards the overcast sky. The clouds are gathering. Soon it will rain...

He lets out a long sigh and takes his gun out of his holster. He points it out the window.

“Hold it steady... Damn you,” he tells himself as the gun shakes wildly in his hand. He twirls the gun on his index-finger and points it again. “Hold it steady...”

The twitch only worsens. He gives up and puts the gun away.

“What are you doing...?” a cold, robotic voice asks.

Messenger whirls around and Dark-Hwk is standing at the doorway.

“Oh hey, DH... You startled me,” he cracks a slight smile. “What am I doing? Trying to teach my body not to be gimped anymore... I’m trying to regain the aim and coordination I had before I was ruined by nerve gas.”

“It could be worse...” Dark-Hwk shrugs. “At least your conscience isn’t permanently trapped in a robotic shell.”

“That may be worse for you...” Messenger shakes his head. “But for me it would be better. Metal body or not, you’re still at the top of your game. You can still shoot straight.”

“Messenger... You’re still an excellent fighter. You’ve managed to compensate for what you lost that day.”

Messenger holds his hand in the air. It shakes wildly. “It’s getting worse, Zane.... My body’s continuing to deteriorate. It’s like I have Parkinson’s disease. The gas destroyed me. Now the rest of my nerves are slowly dying as well. NTU had a look at me a couple weeks ago. He said I probably have two years left in me before I’m completely incapacitated.”

“You’ll find a way to get through this. We all survived the alien crisis. If that didn’t kill us, nothing will.”

“I guess you’re right. I’m just worried one of these days, my lack of motor skills are gonna cost me. Or maybe someone else will pay the price.”

“You’re being maudlin and frankly, too self-pitying for my liking,” Dark-Hwk puts his hand on the Postman’s shoulder. “We all have problems. Some of our compatriots are dying on hospital beds right now, hovering on the cusp of death... Some are being tortured to the brink of madness in the ‘Wertham Re-Education Camp.’ Some are just dead. You need to be grateful for what you do have: Two years to be the best goddamn fighter you can. You can roll over now and meekly accept your fate. Or you can fight in memory of those who no longer can. And when you no longer can, we’ll do the same and fight in your memory.”

“Thanks, DH, I guess I am being...” Messenger pauses. “Wait... Why are you here? You didn’t just come to give me a pep talk.”

“Trickshot and Carrie Rose didn’t show up at roll-call,” DH sighs.

The Postman’s eyes widen. “Oh shit...” he pushes Dark-Hwk aside and sprints towards Carrie’s quarters.

He skids to a stop at her doorway.

She is nowhere to be seen. In the far corner, there is Jeremiah Jones, an eight year old boy with wispy blonde hair and fair skin. He sits on his cot, bouncing a tennis ball against the wall.

“Jeremiah... This is important. Did Carrie say she was going anywhere?” Messenger asks, with worry in his voice.

“Um.....” Jeremiah scratches his head. “She said... She said...” he trails off and mumbles to himself. The tennis ball bounces back into his hand and his eyes widen as if he were struck by a revelation. “Oh! Right! She said she was gonna go with Trickshot to Paradiopolis. They was gonna get ... um... the man with the hat! Yeah, they were gonna get Hatman back!”

“NO!” Messenger screams as he runs out of the room. He leaps wildly down the stairs, almost tripping as he goes down them. He dials Trickshot’s comm-link, but Carl Bastion doesn’t pick it up. The voicemail answers. “Goddammit, Carl!” The Postman screams into the device. “If you had a problem with me, you be a man and confront me. Don’t bring this innocent girl into it! If that girl is harmed in any way, I swear to God I’ll kill you!”

He slams the door of the building behind him, and leaps through the parking-lot which contains the rebellion’s ships.

“Messenger, where are ya going in such a hurry?” a voice asks him. He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even turn to see who’s talking to him. He just races towards a two-man carrier; the smallest they have.

He flips the glass shield open and dives into the cockpit.

“Hey, what do you think you’re--”

He hits the thrust and leaves the lot in a whoosh of sound and air.

......................................

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile...

At he clings to the top of the wall, Trickshot tosses a small blanket over the razor-wire. He then quickly vaults over it and lands with a grunt on the other side.

He rises and gets his bearings straight. To his left are guards who stand at the main doorway to the unassuming, dreary compound that Trickshot knows hosts prisoners of war, secrets and countless Safe America troops. It’s known as the ‘Stronger Tomorrow’ facility to the masses. To Trickshot it represents America’s worst nightmare come true.

He creeps past them, sticking to the shadows. In front of him is a small vent which leads into the building. He ducks down and dives into it, wriggling his entire body into its confines...

The vent is hot and stuffy...

As he slides down it, it becomes darker and darker. He places a penlight in his mouth and a small ray of illumination shows him the way. He struggles to remember the route he learned from the blueprints.


----------------------------------------------------


Outside....


Carrie Rose sits perched in the tree, watching attentively with her binoculars.

To her right and her left, there is nothing, but the distant sounds of jeep mufflers and a crackle of thunder in the sky.

It starts to rain. It’s a little at first, and then Carrie becomes drenched in a torrential downpour.

“Aw damn...” her teeth chatter. “Hurry up, Tricky,”

Across the street, the gates suddenly swing open. She gasps as she sees a man in a blue uniform holding an AK-47 walk towards her.

He points it in Carrie’s direction.

*BRRRAAAAAAAP*

Branches are shredded above her. She screams and covers her head, almost losing her balance and falling out of the tree.

“That was a warning. The next burst of gunfire will be aimed at you, unless you drop out of that tree now!” the man in the blue uniform orders. “Believe me, girl...” He grins. “You do not want to fuck with the Mailman.”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few minutes later and a few miles away in the sky...

A small-personel carrier zooms at high speeds over the river and towards the ‘Stronger Tomorrow’ compound.

Messenger pushes down on the lever until his hand shakes uncontrollably.

He grunts as sweat droplets trickle down his forehead.

The carrier flies through a barrage of heavy rains.

Through the obscured windshield, he sees a glowing object in the distance.

A moment passes and there are two glowing objects, growing bigger as they approach.

“Citizen...” an unfamiliar voice booms over his radio. “Turn your ship away now or you will be met with lethal force.”

“Fuck you!” Messenger yells back. He pushes forward on the lever and his carrier dives into the canyons of buildings below, rapidly increasing its momentum as it goes.

Two jets charge towards him, leaving streams of white smoke behind them.

A missile shoots towards him.

Messenger barrel-rolls the carrier out of the way and the missile narrowly misses him, blowing up the remnants of an abandoned storefront behind him.

He maneuvers the carrier between buildings, where it’s too dangerous for the fighter jets to follow. One hovers above him, trying to cut him off.

He pulls back on the lever and the carrier zooms upward. An electronic target falls over the jet fighter and he clutches a trigger.

Heavy bursts of machine gun fire shoot out and piloferate and cut to pieces the Safe America fighter jet. One bullet hits the fuselage and it partially bursts into fire. It struggles to remain in the air, but then falls into a downward spiral towards the ground. It plunges through the roof of a building, leaving a cloud of smoke behind it.

The other fighter-jet remains on Messenger’s tail. Machine gun fire rattles his tail. Black smoke starts to billow from the back of his carrier and it shakes violently.

“Shit!”

The fighter-jet continues to shoot at him.

Messenger pulls farther back on the lever and executes a loop, bringing him behind the jet. He tries to steady the carrier and get a good lock on the jet in front of him.

“C’mon... C’mon...”

It’s a constant fight against the tremors that pervade his hand.

Finally, a red circle falls on the jet in front of him, meaning the target has been acquired.

“DIE!” He screams as he pushes down on a red button.

A hellfire missile shoots out of the carrier and makes a direct hit on the jet, blowing it to pieces.

Messenger pauses to breathe a small sigh of relief and collect himself. His hands are clammy and covered in sweat.

“... Die.....”

There isn’t time to relax however. The carrier continues to shake. Bits of metal fly off the tail. Messenger struggles to keep it on course. An ‘alert’ sign flashes above him, accompanied by a loud and ominous beeping sound.

In the distance, he sees the ‘Stronger Tomorrow’ compound appear in sight.

His ship hurtles towards it with terminal velocity.

“Jet thrusts gone.... Brakes gone...”

“Gonna have to bail...” He reaches for the ejector button.

“... But I’m gonna make sure I do with a bang!”

He pushes the button. The glass windshield flies off and the Postman is ejected into the air.

A parachute opens and he hovers silently towards the courtyard of the ‘Stronger Tomorrow’ compound.

Beneath him, his abandoned, smoking carrier hurtles into the side of the compound.

There is a tremendous explosion, followed by a thunderous roar and growing fireball as the carrier explodes into the side of the towering complex.

*KRA-KooooOOOOoooM*


Messenger smiles as he watches it burn. He glides towards the dusty ground as light as a feather and lands with a roll. He rips his parachute off and calmly walks towards the inferno.

The fire crackles as he pulls out a gun. It plays well against the pitter-patter of the rain.

Two black-armored guards race towards him.

“Evacuate Wertham! Evacuate Wertham!” one screams into a walkie-talkie.

Messenger points his gun with a careful hand and takes them both out. Their bullet-riddled bodies collapse against the side of the brick building, leaving streaks of blood on the wall behind them.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Carrie...”


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just a couple minutes later...

Mailman marches into the ‘DC Memorial Conference Room’, dragging Carrie Rose by her ear.

“I found this little rascal hiding out by the foliage,” he tosses her to the ground in front of President Wertham, Cap, Secretary of Defense King, Goldeneyed and Secretary of Energy Willis.

“Rebellion!” Wertham sniffs as he looks down at her. “She has it written all over her. If she’s here, that must mean others are!”

“You want me to secure the rest of the area?” Mailman asks.

“Yes. Go,” Wertham instructs. The man in the blue uniform leaps out of the room, two guns in his hand.

Goldeneyed watches and edges away from the others who close in around the girl.

“So where’s your buddies?” Wertham asks.

Carrie holds back her tears. “Please... I’m here all alone. Honest... There- There’s no one... here except me.”

“Oh, honey...” Wertham goes on one knee and strokes her tearstained face. In a gentle tone he asks: “Do you swear on your life?”

Carrie pauses and then nods as tears continue to drip off her rosy cheeks.

He stands up and his tone turns to a spiteful and dismissing one on the drop of a dime. “She’s lying. Kill her.”

“Wait...” Goldeneyed protests. “C’mon... She- she’s just a kid...”

“No!” Carrie cries.

“In your next life, I hope you realize that words have value, young lady. Don’t swear on your life unless you mean it!” Cap grins as he pulls out a gun and shoots her in the head.


Her small frame collapses to the polished, wooden floor.

Wertham shakes his head in disapproval as he looks at the still body. “A little girl. Don’t these monsters realize what they’re doing?! They’re seducing the innocent...”

Goldeneyed shakes with anger.

“You bastards... She was just a girl...” he rasps.

“And what the Hell is wrong with you?!” Wertham demands.

“I’m going to kill you all...” Goldeneyed’s eyes burn with rage.

Before Wertham and the rest have time to react, a sudden deafening explosion rocks the foundation of the complex.


*KRA-KooooOOOOoooM*


The very ground they stand on shakes. Cap and Secretary of Energy Eddie Willis are thrown to the ground. Wertham and King stumble, but they lean against the furniture and retain their footing.

“What the fuck was that?!”

“That must have been her friends, sir!” King replies.

“No shit, Sherlock! So, you would turn on us, Goldeneyed?! Cap, kill him!” He points his finger at Bry Katz. He then spins around. “King, get me a chopper. We both need to get the Hell out of here, ASAP.”


“Wait...” Willis attempts to waddle to his feet. “What about me...?” By that time, Wertham and King have already vanished into the next room.

“Don’t worry, Willis... I’ll get to you...” Goldeneyed promises. He’s cut off by a powerful punch to his jaw.

Goldeneyed stumbles back, clutching his mouth. Blood fills the inside of it. He looks up at Cap.

“I thought you were one of us, Bry. Well, no matter... You rebels are done. You have no idea what a suicidal move it was to try and launch an attack against us. We will completely crush whatever offensive you have planned and retaliate a thousand fold.”

“Shut up, child-killer. I was never one of you. Since you’ve captured me, I’ve been undercover, waiting and watching...”

“Hmmn...” Cap smirks. “Well, I must hand it to you... Not a lot of people go into our reeducation camps and come out the same as they were when they went in. In faaaaact... Now that I think about it... No one does. Ever.”

“Well, I did.”

“Yes. Yes, you did,” Cap takes his shield off his back and holds it outward. He presses a button and razor-sharp spikes protrude from every edge. He flings the disc towards Goldeneyed.

.....

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elsewhere in the complex...

Moments ago, Carl Bastion AKA Trickshot heard a powerful explosion. Now smoke fills the vent he’s attempting to crawl through.

“Aw crap... What is this?” He tries to wave it away, but there’s too much. It starts to choke him.

He kicks down on the steel paneling beneath him. With a creak it gives way, and he falls out of the shaft and on to the floor below.... along with part of the vent and most of the ceiling.


There stands a startled Safe America troop. He quickly raises his gun.

“Aw man.... So much for stealth,” Tricky rubs his sore head and stumbles to his feet. He coughs and tries to sweep away the white plaster covering him.

“FREEZE!” The troop screams, his gun shaking in his hand. “I-I’m serious...”

“I don’t think yer gonna shoot me, bub...” Trickshot smiles. “C’mon... Put down the peashooter. I’ll even let ya live if you show me where ya guys got Hatman stored,” he inches towards the man with the gun.

“I-I-I mean it... Don’t take another step... That’s it... I warned you!”

With the speed of lightning, Carl Bastion throws a small device called a ‘stopper’ into the barrel of the Safe America troop’s gun barrel.

The guard shoots. It’s too late...

*BLAM*

... For him.

The gun backfires, clogged by the device that Trickshot stuffed in there at the last second. The Safe America troop’s face is shredded by the small explosion. He groans and falls to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.

Trickshot hears a soft clap behind him.

“Impressive. Most impressive,”

The archer glances behind him.

“Ja- Jarvis....” He whips out a bow and arrow and aims at the man in front of him. “Stay- Stay right there...”

“Well, well... Isn’t this a sight...” The Butler smiles, his eyes glowing with the power-cosmic. “First you terrorize a lowly guard. And now I terrorize lowly... You. How the roles are reversed. You realize then, just how powerful I am?”

“I know-... I know about your pow- power cosmic...”

“Oh!” Jarvis feigns surprise. “Oh, so you do know then how can I kill you in a heartbeat?” He walks towards Trickshot.

“Do it. Shoot me. I dare you...” he growls as he pumps his chest. “Aim that arrow true. Hit me right here!”

Trickshot releases the arrow. It whistles through the air towards Jarvis. The butler grabs it in midair before it can have a chance to connect and incinerates it in his hand. He drops the ashes to the floor.


He then points his finger in Trickshot’s direction. Energy swirls around his hand.

“When we were in the Lair Legion...” Jarvis sighs. “... I always told you your ego would get you killed. I never considered, however, that I would be the one doing the killing.”

“Jar- Jarvis... Wait... Don’t...” Tricky stumbles back and falls to the floor. “You don’t need to do this!”

“You had your shot... Now it’s my turn.”

A concentrated beam of cosmic energy shoots out of the butler’s hand, decapitating Trickshot in the blink of an eye.

The archer’s headless body twitches on the floor, the stump of the neck still smoking.

“Now... Let’s find your friends.”

------------------------------------------


Messenger darts behind storage boxes in the lobby of the compound. Bullets ricochet around him.

Above him a red light flashes and a siren sounds off.

Troops swarm into the room by the dozens, all of them marching in-synch with one another, carrying their high-powered guns.

The postman pokes his gun over his hiding spot and shoots some wild rounds. He tosses a grenade and waits for the screams.

Thick clouds of smoke waft through the lobby, and flames lick the walls as dying men moan for help.

Through the smoke and carnage, Messenger runs towards a small, aluminum door on the far wall. He swings it open, amid hails of bullets which narrowly miss him. He shuts it behind him, escaping the chaos of the lobby. The room he’s entered is dark, with only ambient neon blue lights lining the sides. He hits a switch and the room comes to life with the electronic whirring of machinery and computers.

On each wall there are glass canisters with organisms floating in fluid. The organic tissue in these vials do not resemble any creature the Messenger has ever seen before. On the giant computer screens, there are projection graphs with the bar going higher and higher each year. There are graphs and blueprints of spacecraft he’s never seen and the diagrams are written in languages that aren’t familiar.

“What- What is this place...?”


“FREEZE!” a Safe America Sentry screams by the doorway to the lobby. He is joined by half a dozen other guards, all with their guns pointed in the Postman’s direction. “You have no where to hide. You have nowhere to go. Surrender now and we won’t kill you.”

“Okay... Okay....” Messenger raises his arms in the air, knowing he’s beaten. He backs away and without realizing it, leans against a lever.

There’s suddenly a loud whooshing sound and a cool burst of air pushes through the vents.

“NO! YOU IDIOT!!” The Sentry shrieks. “YOU’VE RELEASED THE NANOBOTS!!”

“Huh?” Messenger watches as thousands of robots the size of pinheads stream out of the vents and cover the Safe America guards at the entrance. They are completely submerged by these microscopic machines and they scream in horrible agony. One falls after the other, and at this point Messenger realizes that the troops are literally being devoured by these nanobots. One helmet rolls off a guard’s head, revealing a bare skull, where seconds ago there was a face. A sea of robots continue to feast on the dead guards as Messenger watches in horror.

“Jesus... I recognize these things. They’re the robots that Jarvis released during the alien crisis to destroy the World’s crops and ward off the aliens in some twisted ‘Scorched Earth’ solution. They destroyed all vegetation on the planet... But, since when have humans been on their menu...?” Messenger shakes his head in disbelief as he sees some spring past him. “And... why aren’t they attacking me...?”

He looks to the empty exit. Outside, back in the lobby, there is not a sound. Most of the guards lay dying or dead.

“Fuck it...” Messenger shrugs. “I came here for Carrie... That’s all that matters.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Departure...

A heated battle continues between Cap and Goldeneyed in the ‘DC Memorial Conference Room.’

Goldeneyed teleports out of the path of the razor-sharp shield. It flies into the wall where it’s embedded.

“Huhn...” Cap shrugs. “Oh well.... Guess I’ll do this the old fashioned way,” he pulls out a gun and fires.
Goldeneyed rolls away, as bullets scatter across the floor in front of him. He teleports a chair over Cap’s head so it lands on top of him, crashing to pieces over his head.

“Agh! You little bastard!!” Cap winces as he collapses to the floor, covered in wooden shards.

“Cap, I thought you fought for truth, justice and the American way...” Goldeneyed leans down and swings him to his feet by his collar. He holds him out in the air. “Killing girls... That’s part of the American way, is it? Is this the America you would fight for? Die for?”

“I do...” Cap grunts as he’s held there in midair. “... what ... my leaders... tell me...”


“Of course you do,” Goldeneyed teleports his hand into Cap’s chest and squeezes his heart, until he feels it burst. “... So did the Nazis.”

He drops the dead Government agent into a heap on the floor.

“Now, Secretary of Energy Willis...” Goldeneyed rasps. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Eddie Willis runs as fast as his fat figure can take him. He stumbles down the 30-yard room, tripping over furniture and throwing plates and chairs at Goldeneyed as he goes.

“Stay- Stay away from me, you freak!” Willis gasps.

“There’s no where to run, Mr Secretary...”


Goldeneyed teleports in front of him. Willis runs right into him and gets knocked to the ground. He scrambles to his feet and runs in the opposite direction. “Ge- Get away from me!”

Goldeneyed once again, appears in front of him. Eddie Willis bumps into him, and falls back to the ground. He sits there on the floor gasping for breath. “I told you... Nowhere to go.”

“Puh-please... I can’t... can’t...”


“How ironic! A Secretary of Energy... with no energy...” Goldeneyed smirks.

“Please... Let’s- let’s make a deal...” Willis begs. “I know stuff. Important stuff. Don’t kill me...”

“Remember I told you, I had teleported electrical impulses before?” Goldeneyed asks. “They were impulses in my brain. Mixed messages that I had received from my reeducation. Every wrong lesson you bastards tried to force on to me... Every traumatic session of torture... I spent days, weeks rebooting my brain.... learning how to teleport it out... learning how to be a man again. In order to survive I had to literally rewire my brain. Tell me... Have you ever had your brain rewired? I could show you,” he inches towards Willis.

Eddie Willis starts to cry and he clutches his chest. His breathing becomes labored.

“Puh- please...”

“I could teleport this finger right into your brain you see... and gently squeeze your hypothalamus,” Goldeneyed continues. “Or maybe I can peel away layers of your frontal lobe as if they were petals on a flower. So many options... What do you suggest?”

In the end, Goldeneyed didn’t have to do anything. Eddie Willis gurgles and claws at his chest as he’s overtaken by a heart attack.

“Oh my... How anti-climatic,” Goldeneyed watches Willis take his last breath and die there on the floor. “You were too evil a man to die from such a common ailment. Perhaps in your next life, I’ll still be able to kill you.”

Goldeneyed sighs as he walks away to leave the Conference room. To his shock, he hears a soft moan.

It’s coming from the body of Carrie Rose.

“Oh my god....” He falls to the floor and grabs her hand.

“SHE’S ALIVE!!”

“Oh my god...” he repeats. He clutches her head and rocks her. “Honey... Honey, can you hear me?!”

He looks at her bloody scalp. On close examination he realizes the supposedly fatal bullet that Cap shot, only grazed the top of her head.

With tears in his eyes, he cradles her. “We’re gonna get you out of this, hun... Gonna get you out of here...”

His eyes glow as he prepares to teleport out of the complex, with her in tow... But his plans are interrupted.

*Brrraaaaaap*

A guard stands by the entrance, holding a smoking machine gun.

“Aggh... You ... bastard....” Goldeneyed teleports the guard into a wall. The guard screams as he realizes his torso has become intertwined with plaster and dies of shock three seconds later, hanging from the wall as if he were an ornate sculpture.


“Shit....” Goldeneyed grunts as he holds his bloody torso. “... Let my guard down for one second and they tag me,” he drags his blood-streaked body over to Carrie. He teleports the bullets out of his stomach and limbs. The small pieces of lead trinkle as they hit the floor. “Too late... Damage already done... Hey girl, can you hear me...?”

“Yes...” Carrie whispers as she lays there, her eyes still shut.

“I’m going to get you to safety. Don’t worry.”

Then there’s another unexpected visitor.

“My god.... Goldeneyed...” Messenger stands there, leaning against the doorway for support. “Bry... That is you, right?”

Goldeneyed looks up. “Mess- Messenger... I’m glad you’re alive... I’m sorry about the other day in the sewers... I had to puh- play my part in order to... Ack...” he holds his side.

“Jesus Christ... Don’t talk,” Messenger rushes to his side, whips off his trench coat and presses it against his wound.

“I’m afraid your timing couldn’t be worse, Postman. You found me just in time to watch me expire...”

“Oh my god... Carrie... Is she?” Messenger looks at the small, unconscious redheaded girl lying next to Bry.

“That’s her name.... huh....?” Goldeneyed lays back on the floor. “Carrie...? She’s a good girl. She’ll live with proper medical attention. I’m done for, though. Thought I could penetrate the Wertham administration from the inside, but you know what they say about the best laid plans...” He coughs and his head lulls to the side.

“C’mon... Teleport us all out and we’ll fix you up. I didn’t find you after so long, just to lose you again...”

“.... I have enough energy left in me for one last, big teleportation....”

“So do it!” Messenger screams. “Don’t lay down and die on me.”

Goldeneyed looks at Messenger with glowing eyes. There’s a flash of blinding, white-blue light and Messenger and Carrie disappear.

Beneath his mask, Goldeneyed smiles at his one last good deed. And then his very body fades away, leaving only an empty black spandex costume in his place....


----------------------------------------------------


After a flash, Messenger and Carrie are suddenly in familiar territory... Base camp for the rebellion on ‘Scorched Earth’...


The Postman holds Carrie’s bleeding body as he stands next to the shelled-out building which hosts the rebels.

“MEDIC!!” He screams. “I need a medic!!”

Men run and grab Carrie from him and put her on a careworn stretcher. She’s quickly rushed into the building.

“Jesus... Where did you come from?!” one of the medics ask as he looks at the Postman. “You just appeared outta thin air...”

Messenger looks around with heavy eyes.

“Goldeneyed... Where’s Goldeneyed, Johnson...?!” He grabs the medic’s uniform and shakes him.

“What are you talking about... ? The only ones who appeared were you and the girl.”

“He didn’t come with us... The bastard didn’t come with us....” Messenger collapses into the mud, the rain showering over him, mingling with his blood. “He teleported us out... and there was a flash... and then he just disappeared ... into the blue yonder.”

The Postman looks up at the storm clouds above.

“You wanna know what life’s about, Johnson? It’s not about waiting for the storm to pass...” He looks down at his hands as they twitch under the cold downpour. “... It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”



-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


EPILOGUE:

The storm has cleared. Jarvis, Secretary of Defense King and President Wertham watch the orange sun set over the Paradiopolis river as they sit comfortably in Air Force-One.

Wertham wrings his hands as he looks downward at the burning compound that they’re departing. Black smoke billows into the air.

“What happened today was unacceptable. Our security was breached on at least three different fronts. We need a tougher screening process for our agents to make sure there are never traitors in our ranks again...” Wertham grits his teeth as he looks out the window.

“... And we need to attack the rebellion in a way that will truly incapacitate them, before they have another chance to launch such an offensive. I could have been killed today. That would have been unacceptable. Afterall... I’m the President of the United States.”


To be Continued by Fin Fang Foom (for real this time..)



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