“Paladin. I hate that guy,” Luke Cage said, leaning against the hood of Misty Knight’s car. Arms crossed, head bowed, he was the picture of male discontent.
“Get your ass off my paint job, Cage,” Misty said, slamming the trunk. As she came around the car, she slid on a gray-toned SHIELD issue protective vest. Ceramite plates and Vibranium threads made it both durable and light, as far as protective wear went. She snapped the straps in place and gave Cage a shove, propelling him to his feet. “Off, man.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cage said. “The others in place yet?”
“Depends on whether this is the right place or not,” Knight said, hefting an MP5SD. She slapped a clip into place, checked the sights and finally slung the assault rifle across her shoulder.
“If your contacts were right-”
“They probably are. Subtle, Paladin ain’t. When he sets up shop, most folks in our line know it.”
“I heard he sends out flyers,” Cage said, cracking his knuckles.
Knight snorted. “Facebook, Twitter and Google Buzz these days. Can’t fault the man for being a self-promoter,” she said. “I mean, which of us here has Channel 5 on speed dial?”
“That’s completely different,” Cage said, spreading his arms. “We’re serving the community!”
“Tomato, toh-mato,” Knight said, adjusting the straps on the combat rig she wore over her armor. “Why are you so het up about Paladin anyway? He mean to you, baby?”
“Mean to me? What am I, five?”
“Nah. Six, at least,” Knight said, dry-firing her modified M9 pistol. “Seven on a good day.” She slid a clip into place and shoved the pistol into the holster attached to the back of her combat harness.
“Are you saying I’m immature?”
“Yep.” Knight checked the battery clip in her SHIELD sidearm, an N’Chaka pattern Wakandan plasma pistol. Satisfied that it was in working order, she holstered it on her hip.
Cage quirked an eyebrow. “Got enough guns?”
“Nope.”
“You pissed about something?” he said, eyeing her.
She looked at him, then swung the MP5 up and flicked off the safety. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
|
#3
MAR 10 |
 |
“A Knight Without Armor in a Savage Land”
“So.” Colleen Wing, clad in a snug yellow and black tracksuit, crouched on the top of the warehouse, her sheathed katana held lengthwise across her shoulders.
“So?” Danny Rand, the Invincible Iron-Fist, glanced at her. He hunkered nearby, resting on his haunches, relaxing and tensing each of his limbs in preparation for the exertions to come. Like Wing, he was dressed for business, in a green bodysuit and a yellow mask. “So what?”
“How long have you two been sleeping together this time?”
“What?”
“Please.” Wing tossed her head. “Misty is even more cranky and mulish than usual. Which means you two are-”
“I know what we are, thank you.”
“A-ha!”
“Friends is what we are,” Rand said, primly. “Just friends.”
“Ha!”
“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” he said, trying to change the subject. He pressed his palms flat against the metal of the roof and felt the hum of machinery. But then, that wasn’t so out of sorts, not in this neighborhood.
“Paladin makes it a point to announce his presence when he comes to town. Misty and I are-ah-” She coughed, mumbling the last few words. Rand looked at her.
“What was that?”
“We’re on his mailing list.”
“He has a mailing list?”
“He has a mailing list,” she said, reluctantly. She glared at him, daring him to smile.
Rand gestured in surrender. “I’m not judging.” He looked around. “We go in high, signal the others when we’re sure, then.”
“She’s taking her sweet time,” Wing said.
“She’s a professional.”
“Professional thief.”
“Still a professional,” Rand said, stretching out an arm and rotating it slowly. “Two weeks.”
“What?”
“That’s how long. Two weeks.” He looked at her, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell her I told you.”
Wing snorted. “And risk my own skin? Don’t worry.” She twisted, stretching her back and shoulders. “Mixing business and pleasure?”
“Less of the latter since the former started. She’s mad at me.”
“Color me surprised,” Wing said. Rand looked at her sharply. She shrugged. “What? It’s not like this is a new thing, Danny.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Frankly, I don’t know why she puts up with you.”
“Hey now-”
“Honestly, despite years of mental conditioning, you have the attention span of a gibbon.”
“A gibbon? Why-”
“I mean really. Really? Really.”
“Stop saying really,” Rand said.
“I have to live with her, you know,” Wing said. “Not you, me.”
“This is the most I think I’ve heard you talk in years,” Rand said. Then, “I think liked you better when you were quiet.”
Inside the Warehouse
Felicia Hardy, the Black Cat, lay flat on the support beam, watching the activity below. Or, rather, pretending to watch the activity. In reality, her attention was riveted on the digital timer set into the wrist of her glove.
Round Three. Numbers didn’t lie. She frowned. The Great Game loved to up the odds: both Cage and Rand were targeted this time…two for one, both or nothing. Not to mention that there were other players.
That was going to make things difficult.
She sighed. She could set off the alarms, make things as confusing as possible. Then--what? Take advantage of the confusion. She flexed her fingers, allowing the sheathed adamantium-tipped claws to extend. They’d cut Cage’s skin easily enough. And Rand…well, Rand would be distracted, wouldn’t he? Easy meat. She closed her eyes, thinking. The Enforcer hadn’t been happy when she’d contacted him about the camera Rand and Cage had somehow gotten hold of. The one Hobie Brown was even now taking apart.
The information had been enough to buy her a slot in the round, and the Enforcer had made no bones about what was going to happen to Brown. Which meant that it wasn’t just two men she was going to kill, but probably three. The third was murder-by-association, but still--
Hardy bent her head, resting it on her forearms. She’d killed before. By accident, by intent, but this was different.
Then, if it came down to it, better them than her. Once you were in the game, you were in for keeps. Bust or break, you followed the rules.
She rose into a crouch and scaled the supports, heading for the hole she’d come in through. As she popped out into the gray light of day, Wing said, “Finally.”
“I’ve disabled the security systems. They’ve got no idea we’re here,” Hardy said. She looked at Wing. “You’re welcome.”
“So they’re there, then?” Rand said, rising to his feet. Hardy nodded.
“Goons in gray and green, lots of shipping containers. No idea if one of them is the one we’re looking for, but Paladin is down there.”
“Perfect,” Rand said. He looked at Wing. “Hit it.”
“Lighting the fires, kicking the tires,” she said. She stood and rolled back her sleeve, exposing a leather bracelet around her wrist. She tapped the plastic pad in the center of the bracelet.
On the ground and out of the way, Misty Knight looked at a similar bracelet as it gave two brief flashes. She looked at Cage.
“Time to go to work.”
Inside the warehouse, the man called Paladin leaned over a chair and watched its occupant work on a laptop computer. “Is it all there?” he asked, finally.
“Every red cent, boss,” the young woman said. She was dressed primly, her hair tied back in a bun, glasses perched low on her nose. “Say this for the man, he pays on time.”
“As I said.” The Arms Dealer turned from his newest purchase and looked at them. His face was hidden behind a green hood, but Paladin was good at reading the expressions of masked men.
“Don’t get sniffy,” he said, straightening, his hand falling onto the butt of his pistol. Several of the gray and green clad men nearby stiffened. The Arms Dealer gestured and they relaxed. He glanced at the crate sitting behind him, and its contents.
Gleaming green and purple, the suit of battle armor formerly worn by the criminal known as the Beetle was neither the most cutting edge of weapon systems or the most powerful. But, it did have history; pop culture cachet, as it were. That counted for a lot, in the Arms Dealer’s business. For every psychopath who wanted the latest bleeding edge WMD, there was a collector who wanted to own something like this.
“Still don’t see the point in owning something like that. It was outdated while Jenkins was still wearing it for chrissakes,” Paladin said.
The Arms Dealer turned back. “It’s a collector’s item, apparently. And I make it a habit to keep my more well-off customers happy.” The Arms Dealer gestured. “Seal it up!”
His men snapped to and Paladin shook his head. It wasn’t his to question why, merely to collect his paycheck, do or die. He looked at his assistant. “Eddie, pack it up. Time we moved house.”
“You’re leaving?” the Arms Dealer said, hands clasped behind his back. Paladin nodded.
“Feel free to stay. Rent’s paid up until the end of the week. Lock up when you leave.”
“May I ask why?”
“Standard operating procedure,” Paladin said. “Do a job, move house, get another job.” He glanced at his assistant. “Eddie? You hear me?”
“Boss, I got bad news and worse news,” the woman said, looking up at him, her face grim. Paladin’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Our security systems went out about ten minutes ago. I just got them back online.”
“And?”
“We got company!”
Cage hit the warehouse doors full tilt, ripping them right off the sliding hinge. As the dust settled, he was already charging forward, absorbing the gunfire that poured towards him.
Knight, using Cage as a moving shield, returned fire. The MP5 bucked in her hands as she sent the Arms Dealer’s men scurrying for cover.
“Why am I the one always playing human shield?” Cage said, crossing his arms over his face. Knight laughed.
“Figure even you can’t screw up putting one foot in front of the other.”
“I’ll have you know I was doing fine before you came along, lady,” Cage said. “I had property in Times Square!”
“Yeah?” Knight said, pivoting to catch a man charging at her from the side. Her bionic arm snapped out, clocking him. He toppled, limp. “So where is it, hustler?”
“It got repossessed, but that’s not the point,” Cage said, punching an arm through a crate and hurling it at a knot of gunmen. “The point is, I had it.”
“Had being the operative term.”
“It counts!”
Knight emptied the Mp5 and ejected the clip, reaching for a second one. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“Hydra?” Cage said.
“Not green enough.”
“AIM?”
“Too green.”
“That’s all I got,” Cage said. “Does it matter?”
“I do like to know who’s shooting at me, Luke. Makes the paperwork easier.”
Across the warehouse Paladin, for his part, had upended the table Eddie had been sitting at. He pulled the woman down beside him as she struggled to stuff her laptop into a briefcase. “Has all of the money been transferred?” he said. When she nodded, he smiled. “Great. Head for the rendezvous. Usual place. You don’t hear from me, call my lawyer. Got that?”
“Y-yeah,” she squeaked, looking pale. Paladin patted her on the shoulder.
“Not the ideal way to start an internship, I admit, but hey, you’re doing quite well.”
“Thanks?”
“Don’t mention it. Head down.” Paladin pushed her down as a line of bullets stitched across the surface of the table.
Far above, the trio of Wing, Rand and Hardy dropped through the roof and slid across the support beams. Rand looked at the women. “Okay. We want Paladin. Alive.” He looked meaningfully at Wing. “While Luke and Misty play it loud, we can nab our guy. Any questions?”
“Is this in any way legal?” Wing asked, unsheathing her sword. Rand looked at her and she shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“We’ve already contacted Stone. Paladin has a warrant on him in the State of New York,” Rand said, smiling. “Parking tickets, but still.”
“Misty just shot a guy in the face,” Hardy said.
Wing frowned. “I hope those are mercy loads.”
“Does it matter?” Hardy said, crouching. Her eyes strayed to Rand’s back. So close--
“Cops don’t like it if you just randomly gun down a bunch of guys. Even if they are scumbags. Ask the Punisher,” Wing said.
“No thank you.” Hardy tensed. Movement from above caught her eye. She moved, slamming into Iron-Fist and sending them both tumbling to the floor below.
A crackling burst of electricity sliced through the support beam seconds later, sending Wing leaping to safety. She hit another support beam and swung around its circumference, landing in a crouch, sword in hand. Above her, a man clad in green and yellow tights gesticulated angrily.
“Damn it! That was perfect! Perfect!”
“Not even close, Dillon,” Joystick said, laughing. She leapt down through the hole Electro had blasted in the roof and landed in front of Wing. “Wing, right? I remember you.”
“I remember you,” Wing said, falling into a defensive stance.
Joystick spun her staves, grinning. “Good. I’ll start with you, I think. Little girl on girl to warm me up.”
Across the warehouse, Cage’s head jerked up as he caught sight of Electro swooping over the battle. “Holy--”
“Not quite, Cage,” a rough voice hissed. Cage spun as Cottonmouth crashed into him, teeth diving for his throat!
Rand Industries: The Empire of Hypothetical Science
Hobie Brown sat back and ran his hands over his head. He had been staring at the guts of the spherical camera for close to two days now, trying to pinpoint its origins. Now, finally, he had gotten into its rudimentary AI.
He connected the camera to the computer he’d borrowed from Personnel and set about trying to backtrack the camera’s feed.
Someone had been watching live, that much he was certain of. Too, the device had been taking motion-capture images of the fight between Rand, Cage and their attackers as it progressed.
The computer gave a burble. Brown looked at it.
“Hello, Prowler. Or is it Mr. Brown, now?”
Brown froze as a dead-white face appeared on the screen. “You,” he said, a chill of recognition flooding him.
“Me,” the Enforcer said. “It’s been awhile, Hobie.”
“Not long enough,” Brown said. His back twinged with remembered pain. “I didn’t think-I should have remembered these damn cameras. The Great Game-”
“First rule of the Great Game, Hobie. Don’t talk about the Great Game.” The Enforcer sounded amused. “Also, don’t poach our stuff.”
Brown scrambled forward, trying to unhook the computer from the camera, but a zap of electricity sent him flying back.
The Enforcer laughed. “I love that. Gets ‘em every time.”
Brown got to his feet, cradling his singed hand. “What do you want?”
“You just had the bad luck to become a loose end, Hobie. We can’t let you go spilling the beans to our two targets before we even get to the good stuff, now can we?”
“Two-” Brown stiffened. “Danny and Luke.”
“You always were bright, Hobie. Too bad you’re such crap at being a superhero!” the Enforcer said. “Now then, remember that little shock you just got?”
Brown stepped back, the hairs on his arms tingling. There was a smell in the air, like burnt ozone. His eyes widened.
Electricity crawled across the computer and then crawled out of it, resolving itself into a dozen tiny, bipedal shapes.
“What the hell?” Brown said softly.
“Interesting story. There used to be this thing called Zzzax-a being of living electricity. Well, turns out that like any good energy creature, Zzzax propagated itself asexually every time it appeared. Left behind these little versions of itself, floating around the country’s electrical grid. Well, when we found them, we just had to have them. Real useful.” The Enforcer laughed again. “Hobie Brown, say hello to the Zzaxlings. Boys, go say hello to Hobie.”
With a cry like the snap of a breaker being tripped, the tiny creatures bounded towards Brown, crackling with evil intent…
To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Heroes For Hire #4: The Prowler stands alone against the electrical fury of the Zzzaxlings! The Heroes for Hire battle a bevy of super-villains, but whose side is the Black Cat really on? Be here in thirty for ‘THUNDERBOLT BROWN AND THE LIGHTNING DOGS’!
Previous Issue | Next Issue
“So?” Danny Rand, the Invincible Iron-Fist, glanced at her. He hunkered nearby, resting on his haunches, relaxing and tensing each of his limbs in preparation for the exertions to come. Like Wing, he was dressed for business, in a green bodysuit and a yellow mask. “So what?”
“How long have you two been sleeping together this time?”
“What?”
“Please.” Wing tossed her head. “Misty is even more cranky and mulish than usual. Which means you two are-”
“I know what we are, thank you.”
“A-ha!”
“Friends is what we are,” Rand said, primly. “Just friends.”
“Ha!”
“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” he said, trying to change the subject. He pressed his palms flat against the metal of the roof and felt the hum of machinery. But then, that wasn’t so out of sorts, not in this neighborhood.
“Paladin makes it a point to announce his presence when he comes to town. Misty and I are-ah-” She coughed, mumbling the last few words. Rand looked at her.
“What was that?”
“We’re on his mailing list.”
“He has a mailing list?”
“He has a mailing list,” she said, reluctantly. She glared at him, daring him to smile.
Rand gestured in surrender. “I’m not judging.” He looked around. “We go in high, signal the others when we’re sure, then.”
“She’s taking her sweet time,” Wing said.
“She’s a professional.”
“Professional thief.”
“Still a professional,” Rand said, stretching out an arm and rotating it slowly. “Two weeks.”
“What?”
“That’s how long. Two weeks.” He looked at her, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell her I told you.”
Wing snorted. “And risk my own skin? Don’t worry.” She twisted, stretching her back and shoulders. “Mixing business and pleasure?”
“Less of the latter since the former started. She’s mad at me.”
“Color me surprised,” Wing said. Rand looked at her sharply. She shrugged. “What? It’s not like this is a new thing, Danny.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Frankly, I don’t know why she puts up with you.”
“Hey now-”
“Honestly, despite years of mental conditioning, you have the attention span of a gibbon.”
“A gibbon? Why-”
“I mean really. Really? Really.”
“Stop saying really,” Rand said.
“I have to live with her, you know,” Wing said. “Not you, me.”
“This is the most I think I’ve heard you talk in years,” Rand said. Then, “I think liked you better when you were quiet.”
Inside the Warehouse
Felicia Hardy, the Black Cat, lay flat on the support beam, watching the activity below. Or, rather, pretending to watch the activity. In reality, her attention was riveted on the digital timer set into the wrist of her glove.
Round Three. Numbers didn’t lie. She frowned. The Great Game loved to up the odds: both Cage and Rand were targeted this time…two for one, both or nothing. Not to mention that there were other players.
That was going to make things difficult.
She sighed. She could set off the alarms, make things as confusing as possible. Then--what? Take advantage of the confusion. She flexed her fingers, allowing the sheathed adamantium-tipped claws to extend. They’d cut Cage’s skin easily enough. And Rand…well, Rand would be distracted, wouldn’t he? Easy meat. She closed her eyes, thinking. The Enforcer hadn’t been happy when she’d contacted him about the camera Rand and Cage had somehow gotten hold of. The one Hobie Brown was even now taking apart.
The information had been enough to buy her a slot in the round, and the Enforcer had made no bones about what was going to happen to Brown. Which meant that it wasn’t just two men she was going to kill, but probably three. The third was murder-by-association, but still--
Hardy bent her head, resting it on her forearms. She’d killed before. By accident, by intent, but this was different.
Then, if it came down to it, better them than her. Once you were in the game, you were in for keeps. Bust or break, you followed the rules.
She rose into a crouch and scaled the supports, heading for the hole she’d come in through. As she popped out into the gray light of day, Wing said, “Finally.”
“I’ve disabled the security systems. They’ve got no idea we’re here,” Hardy said. She looked at Wing. “You’re welcome.”
“So they’re there, then?” Rand said, rising to his feet. Hardy nodded.
“Goons in gray and green, lots of shipping containers. No idea if one of them is the one we’re looking for, but Paladin is down there.”
“Perfect,” Rand said. He looked at Wing. “Hit it.”
“Lighting the fires, kicking the tires,” she said. She stood and rolled back her sleeve, exposing a leather bracelet around her wrist. She tapped the plastic pad in the center of the bracelet.
On the ground and out of the way, Misty Knight looked at a similar bracelet as it gave two brief flashes. She looked at Cage.
“Time to go to work.”
Inside the warehouse, the man called Paladin leaned over a chair and watched its occupant work on a laptop computer. “Is it all there?” he asked, finally.
“Every red cent, boss,” the young woman said. She was dressed primly, her hair tied back in a bun, glasses perched low on her nose. “Say this for the man, he pays on time.”
“As I said.” The Arms Dealer turned from his newest purchase and looked at them. His face was hidden behind a green hood, but Paladin was good at reading the expressions of masked men.
“Don’t get sniffy,” he said, straightening, his hand falling onto the butt of his pistol. Several of the gray and green clad men nearby stiffened. The Arms Dealer gestured and they relaxed. He glanced at the crate sitting behind him, and its contents.
Gleaming green and purple, the suit of battle armor formerly worn by the criminal known as the Beetle was neither the most cutting edge of weapon systems or the most powerful. But, it did have history; pop culture cachet, as it were. That counted for a lot, in the Arms Dealer’s business. For every psychopath who wanted the latest bleeding edge WMD, there was a collector who wanted to own something like this.
“Still don’t see the point in owning something like that. It was outdated while Jenkins was still wearing it for chrissakes,” Paladin said.
The Arms Dealer turned back. “It’s a collector’s item, apparently. And I make it a habit to keep my more well-off customers happy.” The Arms Dealer gestured. “Seal it up!”
His men snapped to and Paladin shook his head. It wasn’t his to question why, merely to collect his paycheck, do or die. He looked at his assistant. “Eddie, pack it up. Time we moved house.”
“You’re leaving?” the Arms Dealer said, hands clasped behind his back. Paladin nodded.
“Feel free to stay. Rent’s paid up until the end of the week. Lock up when you leave.”
“May I ask why?”
“Standard operating procedure,” Paladin said. “Do a job, move house, get another job.” He glanced at his assistant. “Eddie? You hear me?”
“Boss, I got bad news and worse news,” the woman said, looking up at him, her face grim. Paladin’s eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“Our security systems went out about ten minutes ago. I just got them back online.”
“And?”
“We got company!”
Cage hit the warehouse doors full tilt, ripping them right off the sliding hinge. As the dust settled, he was already charging forward, absorbing the gunfire that poured towards him.
Knight, using Cage as a moving shield, returned fire. The MP5 bucked in her hands as she sent the Arms Dealer’s men scurrying for cover.
“Why am I the one always playing human shield?” Cage said, crossing his arms over his face. Knight laughed.
“Figure even you can’t screw up putting one foot in front of the other.”
“I’ll have you know I was doing fine before you came along, lady,” Cage said. “I had property in Times Square!”
“Yeah?” Knight said, pivoting to catch a man charging at her from the side. Her bionic arm snapped out, clocking him. He toppled, limp. “So where is it, hustler?”
“It got repossessed, but that’s not the point,” Cage said, punching an arm through a crate and hurling it at a knot of gunmen. “The point is, I had it.”
“Had being the operative term.”
“It counts!”
Knight emptied the Mp5 and ejected the clip, reaching for a second one. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“Hydra?” Cage said.
“Not green enough.”
“AIM?”
“Too green.”
“That’s all I got,” Cage said. “Does it matter?”
“I do like to know who’s shooting at me, Luke. Makes the paperwork easier.”
Across the warehouse Paladin, for his part, had upended the table Eddie had been sitting at. He pulled the woman down beside him as she struggled to stuff her laptop into a briefcase. “Has all of the money been transferred?” he said. When she nodded, he smiled. “Great. Head for the rendezvous. Usual place. You don’t hear from me, call my lawyer. Got that?”
“Y-yeah,” she squeaked, looking pale. Paladin patted her on the shoulder.
“Not the ideal way to start an internship, I admit, but hey, you’re doing quite well.”
“Thanks?”
“Don’t mention it. Head down.” Paladin pushed her down as a line of bullets stitched across the surface of the table.
Far above, the trio of Wing, Rand and Hardy dropped through the roof and slid across the support beams. Rand looked at the women. “Okay. We want Paladin. Alive.” He looked meaningfully at Wing. “While Luke and Misty play it loud, we can nab our guy. Any questions?”
“Is this in any way legal?” Wing asked, unsheathing her sword. Rand looked at her and she shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“We’ve already contacted Stone. Paladin has a warrant on him in the State of New York,” Rand said, smiling. “Parking tickets, but still.”
“Misty just shot a guy in the face,” Hardy said.
Wing frowned. “I hope those are mercy loads.”
“Does it matter?” Hardy said, crouching. Her eyes strayed to Rand’s back. So close--
“Cops don’t like it if you just randomly gun down a bunch of guys. Even if they are scumbags. Ask the Punisher,” Wing said.
“No thank you.” Hardy tensed. Movement from above caught her eye. She moved, slamming into Iron-Fist and sending them both tumbling to the floor below.
A crackling burst of electricity sliced through the support beam seconds later, sending Wing leaping to safety. She hit another support beam and swung around its circumference, landing in a crouch, sword in hand. Above her, a man clad in green and yellow tights gesticulated angrily.
“Damn it! That was perfect! Perfect!”
“Not even close, Dillon,” Joystick said, laughing. She leapt down through the hole Electro had blasted in the roof and landed in front of Wing. “Wing, right? I remember you.”
“I remember you,” Wing said, falling into a defensive stance.
Joystick spun her staves, grinning. “Good. I’ll start with you, I think. Little girl on girl to warm me up.”
Across the warehouse, Cage’s head jerked up as he caught sight of Electro swooping over the battle. “Holy--”
“Not quite, Cage,” a rough voice hissed. Cage spun as Cottonmouth crashed into him, teeth diving for his throat!
Rand Industries: The Empire of Hypothetical Science
Hobie Brown sat back and ran his hands over his head. He had been staring at the guts of the spherical camera for close to two days now, trying to pinpoint its origins. Now, finally, he had gotten into its rudimentary AI.
He connected the camera to the computer he’d borrowed from Personnel and set about trying to backtrack the camera’s feed.
Someone had been watching live, that much he was certain of. Too, the device had been taking motion-capture images of the fight between Rand, Cage and their attackers as it progressed.
The computer gave a burble. Brown looked at it.
“Hello, Prowler. Or is it Mr. Brown, now?”
Brown froze as a dead-white face appeared on the screen. “You,” he said, a chill of recognition flooding him.
“Me,” the Enforcer said. “It’s been awhile, Hobie.”
“Not long enough,” Brown said. His back twinged with remembered pain. “I didn’t think-I should have remembered these damn cameras. The Great Game-”
“First rule of the Great Game, Hobie. Don’t talk about the Great Game.” The Enforcer sounded amused. “Also, don’t poach our stuff.”
Brown scrambled forward, trying to unhook the computer from the camera, but a zap of electricity sent him flying back.
The Enforcer laughed. “I love that. Gets ‘em every time.”
Brown got to his feet, cradling his singed hand. “What do you want?”
“You just had the bad luck to become a loose end, Hobie. We can’t let you go spilling the beans to our two targets before we even get to the good stuff, now can we?”
“Two-” Brown stiffened. “Danny and Luke.”
“You always were bright, Hobie. Too bad you’re such crap at being a superhero!” the Enforcer said. “Now then, remember that little shock you just got?”
Brown stepped back, the hairs on his arms tingling. There was a smell in the air, like burnt ozone. His eyes widened.
Electricity crawled across the computer and then crawled out of it, resolving itself into a dozen tiny, bipedal shapes.
“What the hell?” Brown said softly.
“Interesting story. There used to be this thing called Zzzax-a being of living electricity. Well, turns out that like any good energy creature, Zzzax propagated itself asexually every time it appeared. Left behind these little versions of itself, floating around the country’s electrical grid. Well, when we found them, we just had to have them. Real useful.” The Enforcer laughed again. “Hobie Brown, say hello to the Zzaxlings. Boys, go say hello to Hobie.”
With a cry like the snap of a breaker being tripped, the tiny creatures bounded towards Brown, crackling with evil intent…
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To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Heroes For Hire #4: The Prowler stands alone against the electrical fury of the Zzzaxlings! The Heroes for Hire battle a bevy of super-villains, but whose side is the Black Cat really on? Be here in thirty for ‘THUNDERBOLT BROWN AND THE LIGHTNING DOGS’!
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