Posted by Finny on April 27, 2001 at 21:39:51:
In Reply to: Further Adventures of the Lair Legion #2, a double-sized issue! posted by Fin Fang Foom on April 27, 2001 at 21:26:16:
The Further Adventures of the Lair Legion #1
House Built With Ashes
"I...am...alone."
He stood in the darkness, speaking slowly, and placing extra emphasis on the words--as if that would make them any more true. The room was an expanse of emptiness, and he seemed to be daring someone to prove him wrong.
There was hesitation, anticipation...but no words, save for his own. "I thought I knew power...but this...I can't handle it. I'm barely an adult, I--"
You have been forged into something beyond age.
A voice--it wasn't in the room, but it wasn't in his head, either. He'd experienced telepathy, and this wasn't it. It was deep, sounding the way water rippled... "Why me? Why now?"
You ask to fool yourself. You already know. If you didn't, you wouldn't have made it this far.
"Give it to someone else. Someone more deserving, more competent."
You doubt yourself?
He scoffed. "Any sane person would."
You are right in thinking that your skill will not carry the day--only the integrity of the work will strengthen you.
"But we have nothing. We--"
Listen to what has been said. There will always be someone stronger, faster, richer, smarter...do not put your stock in those things.
"What do I need, then? I already have the work..."
It has already been given to you--the fire inside that makes you fight.
He breathed--for a moment, the darkness was lit with flame, and Fin Fang Foom watched it go up in smoke, returning the obsidian solitude. "Everything has changed."
Nothing has changed.
"They abandoned us! Now I'm left with it all...with the Lair Legion."
Circumstances are irrelevant.
"What are you--"
If all were dead but you, would you not fight on? If you had no hope of winning, would you not fight on? If you had already lost everything, would you not fight on?
"Of course!"
Then nothing has changed. You are still charged with protecting them. They still need you, as you need them. Correct your focus--put thought into that which is perfect, not that which is broken.
"The work."
Yes. Let your intentions match your actions--help where you can, hurt where you must. Walk the line between freeing them and securing them. Remember--you are not here to rule them, but to help them rule.
"And lose my freedom in the process...I don't mind sacrificing my life, but..."
You have entered into something beyond choice, beyond destiny...you retain your free will, but share in something older than time. You lose nothing--you gain access to a show of the secret wonders. You further living, and in return, you shall experience a life few ever know.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been doing this...putting off the work."
Go then--put the gathering in motion, it shall be needed soon enough.
"I'm no leader...I'm not any good with people. But I'll have to be..."
Gather them up, like stones in your hand--the smoothest, the hardest, those that will fly true. The arsenel of the omniverse is open to you...
The air in the room felt lighter, more open--he was alone, the signs that went with the presence of another were gone. Had it been his conscience? A delusion? Or the supernatural? He wasn't sure about what had just happened, but the loneliness was upon him once again.
Two halves of a dome slid open in the Knightcave, revealing the starscape near Pluto. The universe at his fingertips, he realized he was not alone, he had--
"--allies."
With that, he was gone, soaring towards those who would fill an army of tomorrow...
----------------------------
Unlike Parodiopolis, it resembled a tomb--quiet, empty, and drenched with sorrow.
Morning sunshine rolled off Parodiopolis bay, as waves lapped hungrily at the shores of both the city and its neighboring island. The cries of seagulls were masked by the sound of distant bells tolling the hour, which meant the workday had begun. Foghorns announced the putter of tourist ferries and cargo ships as chirpy whistles signaled the activation of the city's monorail system.
Evidence of a rough night lay strewn in the streets, debris and energy-blast scorches were still around, as city clean-up officials faced off against the police. It was either a crime scene that couldn't be touched or an expresslane that had to be cleared...
Wave after wave of suit-and-tie-wearers hit the plazas and uptown sidewalks, squeezing into quadruple-glass-doored buildings. The air hadn't yet reached its normal humid, people-soaked level--the sun had only been up for an hour or two, thanks to now-gone morning clouds, and everything still felt crisp.
Scores of visitors to Parodiopolis killed time in the endless rows of storefronts, to the displeasure of tired, overworked clerks everywhere. Even without noticing the accents, the store workers could pick out an out-of-staters at forty paces--in the morning, at least--simply because they looked at the clock so much, as the city's main tourist attraction opened at nine-thirty.
It had once been a waterfront restaurant, where patrons could dine on the decks and balconies overlooking the ocean. And it still had a restaurant, as well as a gift shop, museum, theater, and an incredibly long row of built-in binoculars. But the owners of the place saw much more value in the scenery than their food, as it faced a certain island with a certain mansion on it.
Ninety percent of the money went to charity, of course--but the ten percent left over was eight digits. The Lair Legion had demanded the charity angle, and the restaurant complied, as the heroes could've asked the goverment to shut the place down because of several dozen UN security violations. But the windows were tinted, and they hardly ever went on the island's grounds, so it wasn't too much of a problem. The CIA still demanded strict security precautions, though--no cameras were allowed, and there were metal and exotic energy detectors everywhere.
The restricted-access bridge which led to the island sat alongside the biggest tourist trap of the world's largest city, and visitors would look for hours on end, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone flying to or from the island, or someone using the bridge...and today, they were rewarded.
Security guards had to clear the way for the shining purple lamborghini, as its tires squealed and the drawbridge access lowered--the vehicle blasted up and onto the main bridge.
Inside, Lisette grinned--she could've used the underground access tunnel, but she'd never driven a car that cost this much, let alone owned any car she hadn't gotten used or from the junkyard. It wasn't hers, but no-one else was using it, and Finny said she could borrow it if she wanted to.
The island was fast approaching--she hit a button on the dashboard, and the road in front of the bridge opened into a down-facing ramp. She slowed down considerably, hugging the now-spiral corridor.
It opened up into a massive garage--sleek motorcycles, tricked-out pickups, more sports cars, cannon-packing monster trucks, jet-powered hang-gliders, jet-skis floating in miniature pools, glowing motorboats, and even some hovertanks were among the LL's resources. Most had been designed or built--in some cases both--by Jamie Bautista. The place had a high ceiling, and it was all charcoal-grey, with massive supporting pillars.
It was easy to get lost in the garage, but she'd learned that the trick was to look around until you saw the door that led to the Lairjet hanger--sure enough, one of its wings could be seen through a relatively tiny rectangle. The exit was over there, if she remembered correctly.
There was an elevator down there, but she hated using it--it came out near the banquet hall, and the trek to Bry's sometimes-quarters from there meant going through the second lobby and rec room, up the stairs, through the arboreum, and winding her way through the residential halls.
She sprinted up three flights of stairs, coming out by a large viewing window--fish swam by, she still hadn't reached the mansion's "official" basement. A wider, carpeted set of stairs lay in the hall ahead, no doors were in the way. She went up them, and finally reached the mansion's familiar basement--it was a round area, and the doors that branched off from it led to huge, metallic storage areas. Until recently, they'd gone empty, but Bautista Enterprises had put them to work as storage for excess food supplies, which would be used in their new world-hunger-fighting program.
The stairs ended at the border to the first and second thirds of the room, and she checked her appearance--you never knew who would be in the mansion, anyone from alien royalty to Donar's pals could be hanging around. She wore mostly-ripped denim cutoffs and a t-shirt that she'd outgrown a year or so back--perfect.
The security system let her pass onto the first floor without warning, and she poked her head in the mansion's front foyer--nobody there. The secretary's office was a shambles, and empty as well--as was Vizh's old office, where unpacked boxes sat.
"Hmm...HALLIE, you here?" No answer.
She saw a flap of black and orange in the hall adjacent to the one she was in now--she darted down the connecting hall, looked up and then down the hall--it was empty, and there were no rooms to have gone into, the walls were covered with paintings and curtains.
The living room was her last choice before going to see if Bry was actually in his room for once. In the morning, there was almost always someone eating breakfast, watching tv, or just hanging out.
She didn't smell any food, and didn't find anyone. Lisette grudgingly stomped up the ornate staircase, headed for the living quarters.
The phone rang when she was in-between the two flights--she tried to decide if she should let someone else answer, run down the stairs and get it, or run up the stairs and get it. But she wasn't sure if there were phones upstairs...not for the main line, anyway, she knew the individual rooms each had their own line.
She went up the steps on all fours, propelling herself down the hall and hoping there was a phone on the wall...there was, but it was a good fifteen feet away.
When she'd gotten within eight feet, she dove for it, her arm outstretched--the fact that she might tear the cord from the wall was an afterthought, but it looked cordless.
She heard a laugh, and realized that she had an audience, who thought her usual overkill was funny--but that wasn't what was so humorous. The phone was whisked away from her at the last moment, and she rolled on the ground, springing back to her feet.
As the phone flew back to a half-costumed Trickshot, the blond, goateed archer chuckled. "Adhering-boomerang arrow!" He hit the talk button. "You're talkin' with Trickshot, you lucky thing...how are ya? And who are ya, for that matter?"
A few years ago, she would've laughed her head off at the lower portion of his costume, which he wore along with a white t-shirt--dark purple pants, and green-notched purple boots. He had more neon green notches in his knees and on the side of his upper legs and calves, but she'd seen far worse costumes since this, and this one at least blended into the dark a bit, and was protective.
"Uh-huh...well, this isn't Cheryl, okay? We don't have a PR person anymore...well, you got forwarded to our main phone line or somethin', I dunno. Uhh...what's that thing they tell you people...no comment! Yeah, no comment."
Lisette pictured the headline of the Daily Trombone as reading "Trickshot calls League of Regulars 'quitters', announces invitation for Swimsuit Illustrated models to hold shoot on LL island"--she grabbed the phone away, but it was already a dial tone. "I didn't expect to see you here, of all people...where's everyone else?"
"Pffh, how should I know? What, you think that just 'cause nobody likes me, I'll leave the first chance I get? In case you ain't noticed, I don't got anywhere else to go." Trickshot knew she was probably looking for Goldeneyed--he saw too much of himself and Natalia in them, they put so much at risk, living and loving on the edge.
"Well, have you seen G-Eyed? I've been looking all over, geez...you guys need to put in an intercom or people-finder or something."
She was worried about that? The person she loved was alive, and she was complaining about THAT? "Don't bother making a big deal of it, it's ten minutes of your life...worse things have happened, y'know?"
"Don't guilt-trip me with your sordid history, okay?"
"I'm not, I just don't want you to make the same mist--"
"Whatever." She glanced in Bry's room, decided not to call his apartment, and headed down the staircase on the other side. A strip in the middle of the stairs opened up, and she walked down below the floor as it closed above her.
"Nice going, Carl." He ran a hand through his short hair and decided that pushing the room service button another dozen times wouldn't get him breakfast in bed, if Flapjack was away--the guy was supposed to have a short vacation, but had it started?
Lisette followed the scent of air far fresher than the canned version that lingered throughout the rest of the mansion. She got into what the LL'ers called "watch where you step zone"--some sliding doors revealed a miniature, glass-covered jungle. Blue-and-green, sticky-toed lizards walked up the clear material, and in another section, leather-scaled horses ran down a plain-like column that extended farther than the eye could see.
The LL had stumbled upon any number of dying flora and fauna over the years, on alien worlds, in earth's myriad secret kingdoms, and several other times and dimensions as well. The government wouldn't acknowledge their existence, but a floor among the many hidden sub-basements held a private refuge for them. Lisette knew that Bry loved animals, and would often watch them down here.
She found him with his feet up on a console in a metallic hall--he was looking over law books, in full costume. "Memorizing zoning laws, again?"
He looked up. "Hey Laurie! Yeah, I'm studying up..."
She sat on his lap and put her feet up in-between his. "Where are your buddies?"
"The LL? They're, uhh...well, when we lose X amount of members, everything gets reorganized, it's in some charter somewhere. And since they left Finny in charge, he's trying to sort it all out...he dropped by earlier and tried to make sense of Troia's filing system."
"Where'd Troia go?"
"Dunno...but all the LoR people are gone too...Enty, Yo, Donar, Vizh, Cheryl, Lisa..." He choked a bit on the last one--Lisa meant a lot to him, suddenly not working alongside her must have been taking its toll.
She kissed his cheek, trying to cheer him up. "Well, you've got me now! I can do some of you guys' legal stuff..."
"Yeah..." He glanced at a monitor. "I'm on duty, I just figured I'd do it from down here instead of the main monitor area."
"If there was a call, who would show up? Is there an LL right now?"
"Sorta...Finny said he'll be gathering people after he runs an errand." He paused. "Uh, you wanna join?"
She turned around, startled, and leaning her forearms on his chest. "What??"
"Well, you could...I mean, we need girls."
"Would you be comfortable? I mean, they're more your friends than mine, I don't want to put any pressure on you...but no thanks, I don't think they'd accept me, I'm sort of...questionable."
"In the past, they took Trickshot, and DK...and CSFB!, for that matter..."
"Well, yeah...but I think I'll be busy enough, with legal stuff, clerking for Lisa part-time, and you and I solo-crimefighting together..."
She rolled up his mask a bit, and they shared a kiss, while puzzled flying gators looked on. Their moment of peace was enjoyable, if not long-lasting...
"Sleep around on the job much?"
Bry pulled his mask down instinctively. "Exile."
The red-black-and-white-costumed hero grinned at his cousin. "Goldy, Lisette. I can come back later, or I can take over monitor duty for you, if you have other things to--"
Golden eyes were rolled. "No thanks."
"You sure? I mean, I understand if you need to get it out of your system before we help Finny restructure--"
He gritted his teeth. "No, thanks." Bry immediately calmed--angst was Derek's category, not his. For Bry? Witty repartee, all the way... "Like you're any different? Valeria doesn't love you for your fashion sense..."
Exile stood there blustered for a minute, and then promptly turned around, leaving. Lisette looked at Bry, who seemed a bit bemused--she could never quite figure out how they were related, let alone how they hadn't killed each other yet. Dynamic tension, maybe? Bry loved to push people's buttons in combat, using his fight/joke routine, while Derek seemed to be that way all the time, though he'd calmed recently--now, he reserved his smart remarks for his cousin, and was generally quiet and brooding around others. Bry was the very definition of a nice guy, yet he loved to pick on his cousin...she worried that if Bry only picked on those close to him, the same thing would happen to her. But no, he was too square-jawed for that. It had to be a family thing...something she'd never been overly familiar with, she couldn't imagine what it was like to be able to joke around like that and not be afraid of rejection...
She laid her head back on Bry's shoulder, and noticed that he didn't move with her, snuggling in--his eyes were fixed to the monitor screen, where the White House was shown.
He sat up, and she slid off his lap. "What's going on?"
A shadow was thrown over the White House, and she realized it wasn't the movie she thought it had been. Lisette looked at Bry, who was rising to his feet. "Something that could mean a lot of trouble..."
---------------------------------
The next five minutes, as always, could determine the fate of human existance.
It was the stuff red alerts were made of. SPUD was on-call, the National Guard were in the streets, advisors were trying to make sense of it all...Washington DC had at least one or two days like this every week. Today was similar, but worse.
Most of the time, when certain people would come calling, the President knew that it could mean Galactivac was headed for earth again, or someone dangerous had returned from the dead, or the world was about to be blanketed in eternal night. Office pools weighed in on how likely the next emergency would be another hell-on-earth fiasco, or whether revenge-obsessed zombies would invade Washington, looking for revenge on the militaries and politicians that had caused their deaths.
Usually, the LL had been around to help--they were occasionally indisposed, which could mean anything from being trapped in the timestream to being forced into a gladiator deathmatch with planet-sized warriors in the Arenaverse.
However, the LL's more...calm leadership had resigned, and had left it in the hands of one Fin Fang Foom, long-time member. The last time Finny had been in Washington, he'd gotten into a minor conflict with SPUD that made the government realize that the several billion they'd poured into weapons had been pretty much worthless. The lesson had been "never get between a dragon and his dinner"--or rather, his target. The LL cooperated as much as they could with laws, but when push came to shove, nothing would stop them from taking down those who needed to be taken down.
An S-like shadow crawled across the nation's capitol--it was the dragon, in his unchecked, massive wyrm form. He momentarily eclipsed the sun, and flew up the row of streets that were the foothills to the White House.
Inside the Oval Office, a menagerie of advisors gave their opinions. "Could be mind-control, could be a bio-construct, could be that other Makluan again..."
"...I'm still holding out that it's an other-dimensional version, dammit. That hasn't happened in awhile."
"Split-personality could lead into a physical split...or maybe it's the FFF from another time, when he was the terror of China or whatever..."
The President raised a hand--everyone in the room shut up. "Have evidence for any of these theories?"
"Well, ahh, we don't have any evidence against them..."
A curtain was pulled open, and the President looked out his window--the protestors had actually disappeared for once, replaced by the media. Not to mention the quarter-mile-long dragon bearing down on them.
As a president, he'd made many decisions that had both saved and cost lives--superheroes tended to take issue with the latter half. Every skeleton in his closet, every mistake he'd ever made...just one of these could warrant the heroes deciding his number was up. They wouldn't waste time on a physical attack...no, they'd sic his own government on him, handing in piles of evidence to the US Attorney's office and putting it on the six o'clock news. The fact that the last few Presidents had all run into a streak of bad luck didn't help matters...the average term was about six months, lately. They were revealed to be aliens, or other imposters, or brainwashed dupes, or puppets of organized crime...
There was rumbling--he was outside. "I'm going out there." Secret service members sprang out of nowhere, ready to accompany him. "Guys, I don't think you'd be much help anyway, so don't bother."
"Sir, with all due respect, that's stupid. SPUD could--"
"I know--keep them ready, anyway. But we can either put up a fight and turn the city into a warzone, or I can talk to him. Besides, I doubt you could evacuate me without him catching on. If he was here for a fight, he would've done something by now--he's just waiting out there, probably for me. Let's not waste any effort until we absolutely have to, okay?"
Heads turned in the halls of the White House as the President walked alone--a new sight, to be certain. His aides and bodyguards were close behind, but not too close. The front doors of the White House looked unfamiliar--he rarely got to use them, he was always sneaking out through side doors or leaving on the helipad.
The media didn't know which way to look--at the dragon, who'd shrunk to his eight-foot normal height, or at the President, who was strolling through the building's double doors.
It looked like an old western movie--they walked towards each other, with hundreds of frozen, gaping onlookers standing around. Ten feet separated them. Just under a billion watched the moment on television.
The President, arms crossed, looked up at the dragon. "Well?"
"We need to talk."
The double-doors slammed shut, as the media virtually put their faces against the glass. An entourage of SPUD agents, secret servicemen, aides, press liasons, military officials, secretaries, and senators crowded around Finny and the President, forcing everyone who was going the opposite direction in the hall to get out of the way or go with the flow. "You could've just called."
The dragon shrugged. "I'd rather talk in person...besides, I couldn't find your number. We're without a secretary for the time being..."
"Speaking of which...with the LL, ah, in transition, America has lost a good thirty-five percent of its defenses...and the international community took an even worse hit than that. We can match your manpower, but not the extensive contacts you have in weird circles, or technology...so, I don't mean to pressure you, but...how long will it be?"
"Just until later today. I wanted to clear some stuff up with you first."
"Go right ahead..."
"Can we still count on our super-legal clearance?"
"Sure."
"It's still strictly lateral? My policy is this: the first time you try to hold it over our heads to force us to do something, you're persona non grata. We want to work within the system as much as we can, but if it hinders us for any non-necessary reason...we'll turn everyone into local, state, or federal authorities, and clean up our own messes, but if laws are created specifically to keep us from doing our job..."
"That shouldn't be a problem...whatever legal headaches we get are canceled out by the fact that the LL's intervention in disaster relief is saving the taxpayers several billion dollars every quarter..."
"Who will be our go-between?"
"Hanna St. Claire--she's in my cabinet, Superhuman Affairs seat."
"That's pretty much everything...but you might want to be careful about campaign contributions. Old-school industrial money paid for some of your expenses...oil, concrete, stuff like that. We're moving away from that--with the recent gas problems, Bautista Enterprises is coming up with something new...a solar-powered vehicle device that distributes energy to the gas, and doubles mileage...and that's just until they get a fully-powered solar model working, with the sun powering a fission engine."
The President mentally viewed forty million dollars in campaign money going down the drain.
"We have no interest in preserving the status quo of the government or financial landscape--we're here to help wherever we can. I think we've already proved that we won't show any special leniency to the government when one of its own commits a crime...how many senators were forced to resign because of msytery informants, again?"
One of the aides walking with them spoke up. "Twenty-four."
The dragon unleashed a huge, razor-toothed smile. "I'll see that Hanna gets a security pass."
"Her assistant can get you her contact info..."
"No thanks, we already know where she lives--gotta keep tabs on potential liasons."
That caused several of the security personnel to stop dead in their tracks. The President didn't stop, but as for worrying... "What else do you keep tabs on?"
"Do anything that puts innocent lives or freedom at risk, and find out."
--------------------------------
"That's a dangerous proposition."
Despite the fact that CrazySugarFreakBoy! had a half-empty pizza box and choclate bar wrappers on the table, it was in fact the War Room. Hatman didn't seem to mind, but was going to make sure he cleaned it up before Finny or DK got back--they tended to be uptight about such things. The walls were lined with monitor banks and strange technology, not a part of it was flat or normal. The table was sterling silver, as was the floor--the gadgetry combined all the colors of the rainbow, mostly in dark shades, pulsing as if they were alive.
Hatman was still looking at his fold-out laptop, which was built into the round table. CSFB! had hoped for an admission, but hadn't yet got one, so it was time for another press. "Well...are you gonna do it? It could be pretty risky..."
"She and I have worked alongside before!"
"If that's what you call--"
"HEY! Look, we can handle it. Finny said he wants to cover all the bases--we don't have any magic-types, and she's more trustworthy than Xander, anyway."
"You asked her, yet?"
"Why does everyone keep wanting to know that?? Geez, we're young, don't--"
CSFB! chuckled. "About joining, not about marriage. But thanks for giving that little tidbit away..."
Hatman glared at him. "Geez...yeah, we've talked about it. She wants to be in both the AL and LL, actually...gonna try to work that out. She's already been staying in the mansion, so it's a natural step."
"Ha! It's funny to watch spiffy trying to do so much out of that tiny little guest room...Mr. Multi-Mayor."
"Let's see...other candidates...we haven't been able to establish contact with Darkhwk lately, so he's out for now. Not sure where Troia is, but I got the impression she wanted some time off. And none of us have Dancer's number...once we run into her again, we'll ask her to join up."
"'We'?"
"Oh yeah...I forgot to tell you."
"You made the new team?"
"I'm deputy leader, actually."
".............whoa."
"Yeah, it's cool. Anyway, Sorceress is one of three hopeful new recruits...Finny's having DK catch up with one, and he'll talk to the other himself."
CSFB! smirked and folded his hands behind his head. "DK, huh? Not a leader, barely a member, telling us what to do...gotta love uptight, order-obsessed guys."
"Yes, yes you do."
Both turned to see Exile. Hatman knew that it was up to him to deal with the members who weren't on the same page Finny was, but Exile didn't count. It was either tell Exy to calm down, or ignore it and have CSFB! wonder if Hattie would let him say stuff like that. "Exile, we're still sorting stuff out, just because Finny is in charge, you shouldn't think--"
"Fin already said I'm a member. And us serious heroes are the ones left putting stuff back together..."
"Ahh, relax," CSFB! said. "It's all fun..."
"That's the kind of thinking that got us into this mess...we can't afford to lose so much of our membership again, we have to be committed. They deserve the rest, but we should've had protocol in place, so we would've been prepared." Exy had to unload on someone, and it couldn't be Bry. They'd always taken mentors...Bry had Lisa, Exy had Jarvis, and later Finny and DK. Bry's mentor had left, Exy's were still here...that had to be hurting, he remembered how it felt when Jarvis died. But Exile knew he couldn't say any of it to Bry, without making him feel bad...so he'd bug CSFB! about it instead, to get it out of him.
"What, I'm gonna be stuck on your little Authority-ish team? Got the early 90's trend going on here? I'm sure we'll have some cool, weird members too..." CSFB! was almost always level-headed, he was arguing just because it was fun. A few months ago, Exile would have started taking it personally, but he'd mellowed out lately--hopefully it would continue. But you could just see the wheels in his head turning, using the angst in a cold and calculating way instead... "You can tell Finny is in charge...no female members yet!"
"And that's the way it should be."
Hattie rolled his eyes--this was going to be a challenging line-up...
--------------------------
"Don't make me beg. Because I will."
The portly man behind the laundromat counter frowned, his moustache curling into an upside-down "U". "I don't care. I really don't care. You read our policy, and--"
"Geez, I'm a superhero! C'mon!" Nats sighed--finding someone who would get glowing debris out of his costume was tougher than he'd thought it would be. "I'll pay you double!!"
"...really?"
"Well, uhh, no. But I can later, I'm good for it!"
"Where could we contact you?"
"Uhh...I can give you a payphone number..."
"Get out."
"Please, I--"
One of the man's employees grabbed Nats by the arm, and twisted it behind his back. He tried his best not to yelp in pain, failed, and flew straight up, slamming the guy into the ceiling. It cracked, and several lightbulbs rattled loose and fell hopelessly to the ground. "You wrecked my light fixture!!"
Nats shook the drywall powder out of his hair and stumbled out, flying into the afternoon sky. Just another exciting day as a basically-unemployed superhero extraordinaire...
He'd always wanted to be able to fly--that had been the fantasy, that it would solve everything. He could fly now, and things were even more complicated...no career, no friends, no life, and a power that he had no idea what to do with...he didn't like being subject to Miss Framlicker's strange agendas, but he didn't seem to be that effective of a hero, either. It was always a challenge to just get the very basics done, barely surviving each adventure...
The costume was just another thing to be self-conscious about--the electron grenades that had been shot at him missed their mark, but the debris and fumes wouldn't let go of him. Flying got rid of some of it--winds were stronger up near the rooftops.
He scratched at the powder, trying to get it out--it had dried, and was halfway-solid, maybe he could peel it off. He put his shoulders into it, leaning his head down as he flew, trying to yank it out...
His entire body hurt as he crashed into what must have been a building or bridge--he sighed in mid-fall, figuring he'd just catch his breath and use the momentum to arc back up. Blood trickled out of his nose--he realized his costume wasn't very absorbant, as it smeared thinly all over his forearm, leaving much of it on his upper lip.
The fall ended as he mentally hit "stop", and hovered in mid-air--or rather, he did for a moment. There were certain tricks to his flying power--he hadn't yet entirely figured out how to sustain it without motion. Every time he thought he'd learned how, the rug was pulled from underneath him--as it had now.
He landed in a construction area--cement and dust went everywhere. Of all the time for his flying to mess up...he'd managed to hover for five days in a row, without goofing up. He was about to be happy that no-one was around to see it when he saw who he'd crashed into...
Nats had often fantasized about joining the LL--a big ceremony on tv, or applause from the members when someone suggested the idea, or being asked to right after he'd helped them win the day...like many things in his life, the fantasy and the reality didn't quite match up.
Fin Fang Foom held out a hand--Nats took it, and struggled to his feet. "I think you know why I'm here."
Still...it wasn't that bad a reality. "Yeah, I think I do..."
--------------------------------
"It's the place to be."
Rory Pagliono was, if nothing else, a player. If the armani suits and penthouse suite weren't suggestive enough of that, the army of private guards and elaborate security system would be enough to convince anyone that this guy was connected.
His neighbors used to complain about the dead-of-the-night parties that blasted music, but he'd found it was easier to prevent future neighbors, rather than preventing future complaints. Real estate agents were baffled as to why no-one would buy the apartments below him, even when they kept lowering the price...
It was a typical party for Rory--a sparkling ball twirling from the ceiling, his private band cranking out dance music, beautiful women everywhere...it was a nice break from his usual life, which had all this as well, but it also had work.
He always called himself a "mover"--not just socially, but criminally. Need something smuggled? Not bulk, but specialty items...the types of things found in superhuman circles. Wardroids, special chemicals, alien tech...he was the go-to guy. A network of contacts was in his grasp, and he had no intention of letting go.
Satisfied customers meant friends, and he had a lot of them. Friends in HERPES, certain figures in the Parodiopolis PD's evidence department who played at being magicians, making proof disappear, he'd even been hired by cosmic artifacts who needed human hosts--all he had to do was deliver them to someone's doorstep, and he'd get a share of the endless, reality-alteration-generated cash.
It was the usual schmoozing...saying hi to people that he wanted to be in with, avoiding people that weren't profitable. Movie stars who'd benefitted from the age-slowing serums he'd brought them were his personal favorite--almost always good-looking women.
Robert Chalk beckoned him--he began his much-rehearshed swagger, patting total strangers on their backs as if he were their best friend, waving at someone across the room who wasn't even there...had to look happening, had to look popular. His dark red hair was perfectly combed, his khakis and button-down were spotless. The Chalks were Parodiopolis' oldest--and most dignified--crime family, refusing to get involved in the gang wars and shoot-outs that plagued GothaMetropolis York. Robert was in his sixties, and his daughter, Cassandra, was young enough to not want commitment, but fully developed enough to be satsifactory...
The eldest Chalk looked out of place--white-haired, pale and withered, in a suit that looked like it was from the fifties. He kept one hand on his fedora, and shook Rory's hand with the other. "Reminds me of my days in Vegas in the fifties and sixties...nice to know you're carrying on the tradition. My family was most pleased with the work you did for us."
Rory had personally handled the transport of the legendary pinstriped suit that was worn by the Lingerer in the thirties--he'd been a powerful ally to the Chalks then, when the supernatural vigilantes and dark crimefighters had first appeared. "No problem at all, Mr. Chalk."
"Please, call me Robert...you've met my daughter?"
"I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure..."
"I believe we know of each other...I'm Cassandra." She shared her father's white hair, and matching elegance. "You certainly know how to throw a party..."
Score! She sounded happy, all that had to be done was to ask her to dance....
He prepared to kiss her hand--a tradition with them, if he remembered his Godfather movies. He collected her fingers in hers, preparing to lean down--but something was wrong.
He couldn't feel them.
The floor disappeared, according to his feet--he felt like he was in mid-air. He wasn't the only one--all his guests had fallen to their hands, making sure they were touching something solid, even if they couldn't feel it.
Panic began to set in--they were moving now, trying to leave, trying to get to something to lean on. Vertigo made them dizzy, and they didn't notice the fact that they were bumping into each other. One man hit his head on another woman's head, and fell on his back--he couldn't tell where on the ground to press to get back to his feet. Another man could see his legs moving, but was terrified to take a step, the ground was only there in vision, not in touch.
It was mass confusion, a wrong step meant a fall to the ground, but how did they fall? Without touch, they couldn't tell. Some had begun to touch their faces, hitting themselves, trying to make feel their head, make sure it was still attached...
Rory stumbled to the phone, but couldn't feel which buttons to hit. But he could hear--the crowd suddenly became silent.
He looked across the room--a petite blonde woman in a skintight silver jumpsuit stood framed in the doorway.
"Why?"
While they weren't in a nightclub per se, they knew the etiquette--when you're hanging around legally-questionable people, and a super-type drops in, it's a good time to leave. Unfortunately, unable to tell the difference between clear areas to walk through and obstacles, their progress was slowed to a near halt.
Rory thought it could only be one person. "The Enemy."
"Not even close, human. I'm Ziles. But now I know why you were delivering weapons to be used against me...mistaken identity. I see that your planet has an 'Enemy' myth too. Must be a cultural thing. If you want your guests to be returned to normal, tell me everything, or I take it the hard way."
Everyone was listening...he had to look tough. "Never."
He felt his mind pour out through his eyes--his life, his pain, his personality, all being regurgitated, forcibly pulled out by bright pink energy. "I'd rather not get up close and personal with your horrid little mind, but fine."
She eyed the strobing sphere hanging from the ceiling. "You put a lot of work into that, I can feel it...and you're afraid. Whoever was after me wanted more weapons, tougher ones, someone wanted you to courier something even more powerful to use against me..."
What had happened to the strike team? He'd seen them in action, they were unstoppable...
"I've been hunted by the best--your employer's little army was nothing. But your terror is blocking their identity...for now."
"There are other ways of getting information from him."
The band had stopped playing, but the stereo had to be on, because there was bass. He couldn't tell what song, but the rhythm was pounding his chest, the rapid thumping couldn't be his panicking heart...that would mean he was afraid of The Dark Knight, and he couldn't show fear in front of his guests.
He was a terrifying vision, it looked like he was covered entirely in black, save for orange on the edge of his cape, and the metal-striped bands on his ankles and wrists. More orange metal went around his jaw, curving up into straight lines that gave him two thin, flat rectangular prongs for ears. The half-circle on his jaw was completed as it split off from the straight lines, curving on his forehead, making it look as if some toothless beast had his black-masked face in its mouth. Blank eyes peered up into the air.
The Dark Knight casually leapt to the ceiling, hanging onto a tile with one hand, and pulled a small, thin capsule out--it clicked out into segments, and a small, round razorblade was on its tip. He pushed it into the disco ball, and the razorblade spun out--he pulled out a small cross-section of the device, it was like seeing a cutaway view of it. Thin circles of material that the blade had sliced free were hanging onto the rod. The core of it was highest on the probe, the cover was on the bottom. "It's a database--look at the circuit board bits and fiberoptic wire slivers. The cover material is what keeps the information from streaming out...it de-polarizes when sending, but only a bit."
Another thin, metal device was removed from somewhere hidden by his cape--it was about half the size of a pen, with a small aerosol-can-like opening. He pushes down on it with his thumb, and acid sprayed onto the ball--the cover began to melt. A beeping sound was made, and the ball began to hum.
"I've been tracking the weapon you were sending...it's a sword fabled to someday kill Death. Without the cover, your information will be sent to everyone, not just a select few. Ever hear of Dark Thugos?"
Ziles nodded. "An alien who worships Death."
"His Death Disciples have been after this sword, it poses a threat to their religion...and if they pick up this data signal, they know who to maim to find out who it's going to be delivered to. You've got about five seconds before this totally melts, and it's sent to everyone...I suggest you tell us who you gave it to, before we allow Thugos' cult members to track you down."
"I was only given a name and a place...Azule-Arach, in the Greybar building."
The Dark Knight landed lightly on the floor, and lashed out with a shuriken--the ball fell to the floor, bouncing. "I doubt the signal made it farther than the immediate surroundings...but the SPUD detachment I alerted seven seconds ago probably picked it up. Have fun in court."
The partygoers were given back their sense of touch just as the police kicked the door down and started slamming people into walls.
DK and Ziles watched from a neighboring rooftop. "How'd you break in?"
She shrugged. "Suit has suction material on the palms and feet, I just scaled the building...suit isn't as bright as you'd think, it reflects my surroundings, I blend in more. Just another one of my tricks..."
"You told me you weren't a powerful telepath...that sense-disabling trick seems to go against that."
"Emotions and memories are one thing, synapses and brain functions are simple and cold compared to them."
His cape brushed up against the wind, and she took in a breath of the night air. "You've been on the run for a long time...I can tell. Finny wanted me to pass on an offer to you. You don't have to keep running--whatever's after you, even if you can't remember what it is, it can't get by the LL. You'd be in safe company if you joined. I plan on bringing this death-sword matter to their attention, anyway."
She gazed into the stars. "A new home would be...nice."
Far below, Rory and his guests were escorted into armored vans. "The police will follow up on the obvious leads, but I doubt he'll tell them what he told us...whoever Azule-Arach is, they have the sword, and that means we bring the LL into it. Or rather, we bring our team into it..."
----------------------------
The sun was rising over Parodiopolis again, but this time, something was different.
Footsteps echoed through the halls, not in military-style synch, but powerful nonetheless. Uniforms were donned, weapons readied, minds focused. No words were said, not yet--an invisible symphony played, rising in speed and intensity.
They gathered around the dimly-lit round table, all but one chair facing the table. From that seat came a voice... "You have been brought together because you're the best. The most skilled, the most powerful, the most specialized...you will show the world what can be done when the shackles of normality and self-interest are dropped."
Some were new, some old, some experienced, some rookies. Suffering from loss, enjoying life's gain, standing in the middle of the world or hiding from it all...
"No greater charge exists. No greater responsibility. You're here today because you've chosen to embrace the unfathomable. You are the Lair Legion."
Hatman.
Goldeneyed.
Exile.
Sorceress.
Trickshot.
CrazySugarFreakBoy!
Nats.
Ziles.
The Dark Knight.
The chair turned around, and light spilled onto its occupant...Fin Fang Foom.
"Any questions?"
The pause lasted an eternity, and was broken by one who truly understood what an eternity meant.
"Room for one more?"
Donar placed his hand on the table, raising Mjalcom with his other hand, in a war-signaling gesture. The dragon smiled for the second time in two days. "Double-duty with the LoR?"
"Aye. When dost the battle-waging come about?"
An alarm signaled off one of the wall-devices, and Finny looked at DK, who nodded.
"It begins..."
Continued...
Fin Fang Foom
*flies away*