(Note there’s a couple of stories by Al B featuring a plot that runs concurrent to this involving Amy, Fleabot, zombie pirate cyborg monkeys, a villain named Triskelion, and bubble bath which are certainly worth reading but I’m too lazy to set up the links)
Deinonychus antirrhopus was a species of dromaeosaurid from the Early Cretaceous Period, which meant this particular race of dinosaur was gone from the Earth nearly one hundred million years ago. They shouldn’t be stalking the rooftops and fire escapes of a block of Hell’s Bathroom storefronts, and they certainly shouldn’t be surgically altered with titanium laced endoskeletons, fiberoptic neuro-senseware, and artificial intelligence-enhancing microprocessors.
But Doctor Cyber Raptor was a man of particular vision (some might say fetish). One who was mocked at university for his desire for creating the perfect killing machine, one that would combine the best of the Jurassic Era with the Electronic. Now, thanks to the backing of the Exclave, he had the chance to bring form to his vision, and to show them all. The only condition the science organization required for such support was his undying loyalty, a small price to pay.
“Find Al B. Harper’s children,” the man wearing the soiled “Paleontologists Know How to Work the Bone” tee shirt under his coat spoke into the audio receptor units bonded directly to the skulls of the trio of Deinonychus that were his crowning achievement as a mad scientist, “Find them, and bring them to me.”
*****
There was a tapping at the window outside Ivan Strode’s tattoo parlor, followed by a strange chirping sound.
Killer Shrike looked up from the table he was splayed out on just in time to see the glass and blinds blasted into fragments as one of the ten foot long raptors make its entrance.
“Holy s***!” Simon Maddicks rolled off the table just ahead of the Deinonychus’s pounce. He scrambled underneath to avoid the jaws of the beast. When the monster tried again, craning its neck down to where Simon lay prone, it was rewarded with a solid punch to the face. Then Simon kicked up at the creaking, swaybacked bench, sending it and two hundred pounds of dinosaur the length of the room.
The raptor’s recovery time was fast. It was on its feet and charging at Simon before he was able to regain his, crashing into the incognito supervillain at 40 mph. Maddicks managed to get an arm around one of the monster’s legs, pinning it. The beast scrabbled madly, trying to strike with its free limb, and the titanium-plated sickle-shaped talon that tipped it, while furiously slashing at Maddick’s bare chest with its forelegs.
Simon struggled to get a leg up and around the monster’s collar and used leverage to bring its head down onto the hardwood with a satisfying thud. However, the raptor managed to snake its neck free and bite down on Simon’s shin.
As the mercenary howled in pain the creature regained its footing. Still holding Simon by his bloodied limb, it swung his body around like a dog shaking a rat. Finally, the Deinonychus grew tired of the game and slammed his prey down on the floor. It released its grip on Simon and bent down to bite off the Butcher Bird’s head.
Simon rolled over and jammed Ivan Strode’s tattoo machine directly into the beast’s bionic eyes. There was the whine of a dentist’s drill as the needle did its work, puncturing the lens at 50 times a second while flooding the organ with insoluble ink. The raptor hissed madly, rearing back and clawing at its face as the fluid seeped into its plasma-based cornea.
Grabbing its tail, Simon whipped the creature about much like it had him, off of walls and through the furniture, until the wounds in his leg caught up with him and he lost his footing, upon which he defenestrated the raptor from whence it came.
“Ow!ow!ow!ow!” the Avian Assassin gritted his teeth and inspected his wound. He was reaching for his shirt to use as a tourniquet when he heard a scream coming from the tattoo parlor’s waiting room. There was an energy discharge followed by the smell of ozone, then another scream.
“What fresh Hell is this?” he mumbled as he limped to find out.
There were two more Deinonychus outside, though one was sprawled on the floor a smoldering wreck of desiccated flesh and exposed wires. The other had Strode and two customers, a pair of African American teenagers, backed into a corner. The girl was futzing with what appeared to be a cell phone while the boy tried holding the raptor at bay with a coat rack.
A coat rack that Simon’s Size 54 Extra Long Bernini Ostrich jacket with silk lining (retail $2799.99) dangled precariously from.
Killer Shrike’s eyes narrowed, “Hey, Cecil!!”
The dinosaur turned its neck backwards to see the source of the misclassification.
“Wreck that coat and I’ll be wearing you for the winter!” Simon challenged.
The last raptor leapt, its hind legs outstretched in preparation to disembowel its newest target. Simon managed to spin away from the charge but still dinosaur managed to rake its front claws across his face. Ribbons of red appeared on the man’s cheeks and lips. Ignoring the pain the big man launched himself onto the back of the creature, his own weight bringing it down. Taking hold of its long jaws Simon began to pry them apart, all the while digging his knees into its sides with bone-crushing strength.
The Deinonychus roared and lurched to its feet. It spun about, trying to use centrifugal force to dismount its rider. Again it used its forelimbs to shred Simon’s flesh. The boy, still wielding the coat rack, stepped forward and tripped the monster.
“Ha!” Shrike crowed as he inched his way up so that he was bringing his full weight onto his opponent’s neck. The monster hissed and gurgled in the chokehold. While he would have preferred to take the time and wring the life out of the raptor, Simon was starting to feel light-headed from all the blood loss. He needed to finish this.
“When Mister Eraser comes,” he sang wearily while twisting the monster’s jaws towards impossible, and fatal, angles, “then what you’ve drawn is done….”
There was a loud snap, and the raptor stopped squirming.
“…For I am Mister Eraser.”
Simon chuckled, and rolled away from the corpse. As he lay on his back, losing consciousness a trio of concerned faces stared down at him.
“Hold on, hoss. I’ll call an ambulance,” Strode assured him.
“That was Quadruple Alpha!” Kara Harper enthused, “If you primitives were good at one thing, it was corporal aggression!”
Cody Harper was more subdued than his sister. His mutant gift was the understanding and translation of all forms of communication, including body language. And even without the theme song it was quite clear the brute had some psychological issues, “Um, is there anyone we can contact, Mister Eraser? Another hero you team up with? A sidekick? Therapist?”
Simon Maddicks’s eyes widened at the request, and the implications it carried. He called Cody a Very Bad Name and then passed out.
To Be Continued
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