“Masochism is yesterday’s perversion, Calvin,” Klaus Voorhees, the King Cobra, hissed as he settled his armored hood into place. “But do feel free to get blood all over the floor.”
“It is not like it is ours, you know,” Hyde said, glancing around at the inside of the van. The van had belonged to a city worker. Now, it was their hiding place.
“That doesn’t mean that I want to smell your tang,” King Cobra said. “Honestly, how I ended up with you, of all people–”
“Serendipity is a most curious animal, I hear,” Hyde said, tossing the drill aside onto the body of its former owner. “Besides, I don’t think that we’ll have too long to wait. I–ah,there.” He pulled back his sleeve, revealing an armoured wrist bracelet inset with a digital timer. “It looks as if we are on, my friend.”
“Thunderbirds are go,” King Cobra said, kicking the back doors of the van open.
“Ah Klaus, how I have missed your cultural bon mots,” Hyde said, shoving past him and dropping to the sidewalk. The pavement cracked beneath his feet and the van gave a groan of relief as the behemoth left its embrace. Hyde looked at the building opposite and cracked his knuckles with a sound like a gun going off. “Now, give me room to work.”
King Cobra watched Hyde amble through the evening traffic and across the road, casually ripping the engine out of a taxi cab that had chosen the wrong moment to attempt to skim past. Hyde tossed the engine block from one hand to the other and then hurled it straight at the front door of the building where their targets waited, unawares.
Hyde, Voorhees reflected, had always been a bit of a beast. Initially that was why he had chosen to entwine his fate with that of the man-monster as such an ally had proven useful in the beginning. But he had not worked alongside the brute in a decade and it seemed that however unpleasant Hyde had been then he was infinitely worse now.
If there wasn’t a substantial amount of money riding on the current round, Voorhees would have cheerfully left his ‘partner’ to things. Hyde likely wouldn’t have minded but there was the money, and King Cobra had need of capital, especially if he were going to rebuild the Serpent Society before that popinjay Voelker had the same idea.
The engine block impacted with the armored door, slapping it off of its hinges and sending the entire frame out of joint, but Hyde did not speed up. Instead he stopped and uprooted a lamp post and swung it almost gently toward the shattered front of the structure. Brick, glass and steel flew as Hyde battered at the front.
King Cobra looked at the timer on his wrist band and clucked his tongue. They had just thirty minutes to do the deed or their points would be forfeit. It was time to get to work...
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#6
JUL 11 |
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“Cat. Bag. Out.”
“Ha! Good old Klaus, skulking in the background,” Seth Voelker said, swirling the wine in his glass. The criminal financier formerly known as Sidewinder was clad not in his colourful costume but in a dull business suit, a vibrant red handkerchief poking out of his coat pocket.
“If I were partnered with un bête like Hyde, I might hang back as well,” Paul Pierre Duval murmured, tapping a finger against his own glass. The Grey Gargoyle was, like Sidewinder, not wearing his usual flamboyant outfit, but instead clad in the best suit Paris had to offer.
“More wine, gentlemen?” Roderick Kingsley, the Hobgoblin, asked, tipping the bottle over his own glass. Kingsley was also the current Referee of the Great Game – an underground gambler’s paradise for the wealthy and the illicit. The Game had been in a state of flux when he had joined the ranks of the punters. In time he had established himself as the master of the game, bringing in new players, organizing new targets and, most importantly of all, keeping his investors happy. But then, Roderick had always been skilled at the latter.
He glanced around the table, taking stock of the others. Carolyn Trainer, occasionally called Lady Octopus, sat chatting with Leland Owlsley, the Owl. Carlos Lobo, one of the infamous Lobo Brothers, who had almost brought New York’s underworld to its knees, snagged a canapé and chewed it. He caught Kingsley looking at him and grinned, baring disturbingly long and white teeth, causing Kingsley to look away. Besides his guests, there were others in attendance. He raised a toast to a certain Australian of his acquaintance and exchanged knowing nods with a Saudi prince.
“Roderick, mon ami, what are the odds on our pair of pawns?” Duval said, gesturing towards the immense holo-screen that dominated the far wall of the club.
“Better than even,” Kingsley said, signalling a waiter for another bottle. “Voorhees insisted on long odds. He’s quite desperate for cash.”
Voelker chuckled. “Poor Klaus. Money slips through his fingers like water.”
“Not every super-villain can be as practical as you, Seth,” Lady Octopus said, one of her tentacles snatching the bottle from the waiter’s tray and popping the cork. “Besides, he’s a mercenary, not a corporate shark.”
“I’d take offense if I didn’t think you meant it as a compliment.” Voelker grinned and toasted Trainer. Kingsley smiled indulgently at their banter. Truly he was among equals here; men and women who valued the game even as he did.
A quiet cough alerted him to a presence behind him. He didn’t turn, rather merely crooked a finger for the cougher to bend low. “Well?”
“As soon as you give the word I’ll enact Operation Shawshank, Mr. Kingsley,” the Enforcer said.
“Is that really the name we’re going with?” Kingsley asked. When the Enforcer didn’t answer, he sighed and tapped a spoon against his glass. “I hate to interrupt lady and gentlemen, but it’s time to pay your tab, Seth old man.”
“Ah, of course,” Voelker said. He whipped the handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it over. “I had my technicians go over it just to make sure. It has enough juice to get him in and them out.”
“It’s embroidered,” Kingsley said.
“Style, old man. Style,” Voelker said. “We must do things in style.”
Luke Cage rose to his feet, shifting the debris that had collapsed on him. He looked down at Hobie Brown and held out a hand. “On your feet, Hobie, looks like you’re on the clock,” he said, hauling the smaller man to his feet. Brown, clad in his green and purple Prowler costume, said nothing. Instead, he sprang past Cage and extended his arms. A barrage of steel ball bearings shot from the hidden air-cannons built into his gauntlets and pierced the haze created by the mingling of a collapsed wall, ruptured water-pipes and spitting electrical wires.
Mr. Hyde roared as the ball bearings struck him and raised his arms to shield his face. Brown kept moving and slid between his tree-trunk legs. Hyde twisted, trying to snag his cape. The scrape of rubber on tile alerted him to his mistake and he snapped back around in time to get Cage’s fist in his face.
The Prowler bobbed to his feet as Hyde fell against the wall. “Klaus Voorhees,” he said, as King Cobra stepped through the shattered wall. “I’ve read your file. Elastic bones, right?”
“Multi-jointed is the preferred term,” King Cobra hissed as he lunged forward. Moving far more swiftly than the Prowler could track, he slithered around the hero and put him into a half-nelson with little difficulty. Then, bending his middle, he planted his feet against Brown’s back and flipped them both around, slamming his opponent face-first into the floor.
King Cobra bounced up and sprang for Cage, as the latter ducked aside from one of Hyde’s blows. Suddenly, Cage found his arms pinned above his head and his body open to whatever punishment Hyde chose to dish out. The first punch sent him sliding back several feet. The second put stars in his eyes and the third dropped him to one knee. Hyde cracked his knuckles and trotted forward, grinning widely.
“Excellent, Klaus. You do make me miss the old days, I must say.”
“Save the nostalgia...hurry up and finish him. Then we can collect the others and our winnings!” King Cobra hissed.
“You...ain’t...collecting...nothing!” Cage grunted, flexing his shoulders and breaking King Cobra’s hold. Jerking forward, he threw the astonished mercenary over his head and into his partner’s oncoming blow. King Cobra dropped like a sack of potatoes and Hyde gave a gurgling laugh.
“Whoops,” he said. A moment later, he’d wrapped both of his massive hands around Cage’s head and had jerked him into the air. Snapping sideways, he sent Cage flying down the length of the hall. Hyde looked down at his partner’s dazed form and nudged him. “Up, Klaus. We’ve no time for naps...not when there’s a game to be won!”
The hospital shook with the sound of thunderous blows. Misty Knight leaned over the Black Cat’s gurney and tapped her nose with the barrel of her pistol. “Hear that? Sounds like someone is coming for you after all. Better start talking,” Knight said.
“Maybe you better let me loose!” Hardy said, straining against the straps that held her.
“Talk first,” Knight said. “Why were you trying to kill Danny?”
“I had to!” Hardy yowled, yanking at her bonds. “I’m in too deep to back out! It was me or him.” She shook her head and snarled. “Hell, it’s probably the both of us now!”
“How could you do it? How could you try and kill someone you know?” Knight barked.
“Oh, get over it!” Hardy said, adamantium tipped claws sliding from hidden sheaths on the tips of her gloved fingers. “People like us die and come back all the damn time! I knew he’d just go into some sort of crackpot Zen healing trance and be up and around in a year or so!” She shredded the straps and flipped to her feet atop the gurney.
Even as she lunged for Knight however, the wall of the room exploded and Luke Cage hurtled into and on out of the room through the opposing wall. Hyde charged through the debris and dust, teeth bared in a terrifying laugh as his big hands reached for them. “Good afternoon, ladies! No need to get up!” he said, grabbing the Black Cat by her wrists and jerking her towards him. “Hello, Kitten. I have been looking forward to this, oh yes.”
“Keep it up,” Knight said. Her pistol snapped and Hyde shrieked and slapped a hand to his ear. He spun, swiping an arm at the former NYPD detective. Knight dodged beneath the blow and kicked at Hyde’s knee.
Meanwhile, the Black Cat had flipped around and wrapped her legs around Hyde’s throat. Desperate to free her wrists, she squeezed, trying to cut off the flow of air to the behemoth’s brain. He stumbled from Knight’s kick and swung Hardy dangerously close to a wall.
As the two women struggled with Hyde, King Cobra slid past them and into the hospital room. Sunlight from the hole Cage’s passage had created spilled across Danny Rand’s comatose shape where he lay in bed. Voorhees approached the bed quickly, reasoning that it was best to do it swiftly. The primary target first and then the secondary...
He placed his hands across Rand’s mouth and nose and pressed down gently. “And flights of angels sing thee to thy sleep,” he muttered.
“Hardly appropriate,” a woman’s voice said. The distinctive click of a service revolver followed. King Cobra froze and then glanced to the side. Linda Carter, the Night-Nurse, pinned the villain with a steely gaze. “This revolver used to belong to a fellow by the name of Brigand. He said it belonged to Elvis. He also said it was magic. Care to test that theory?”
“I’m agnostic,” King Cobra said.
“Does that mean you don’t believe in Elvis?”
“It means he doesn’t believe in magic,” Rand said, his voice hoarse. King Cobra and the Night Nurse looked down in shock. Rand grinned and punched the super-villain with a glowing fist, driving him straight up into the ceiling.
“Lucky for us, magic believes in him. Hello Linda, how’s tricks?” Rand said, and then hunched forward, coughing. “Ow.”
“My tricks are nothing compared to yours. Can you move?”
“Not...quickly, no,” Rand said.
“Without the quick, that leaves only the dead,” Hyde rumbled, shrugging his assailants off and reaching for Rand. “Say hello to the Elysian Fields, Mr. Rand.”
“No!”
Gas pellets and taser-darts peppered Hyde’s form and the brute roared and wheeled about as the Prowler swung through the shattered doorway. Titanium claws swept out and cut through the ruffles on the front of Hyde’s shirt, but barely dented his flesh. Brown barely managed to dodge a blow that would have taken his head off and crashed into the far wall, off balance.
“Hey, turkey...”
Hyde spun around and caught a fender to the face as Cage battered him with the length of metal. “Knock me through a damn wall, will ya?”
Hyde caught the fender and crushed it. He growled at Cage, his eyes bulging from their deep-set sockets. “I have battled gods, little man. You are nothing.”
“What a coincidence...so have we!” Iron-Fist said, bounding over the bed. Hyde jerked around as the glowing fist of K’un L’un crashed against his jaw, granulating the mutated bone and dropping Hyde’s titan form to the floor with a thud of finality.
Rubbing his hand, Iron-Fist sagged back against the bed. “Well, I have anyway. I don’t know about Luke.”
Cage rubbed his shoulder and groaned. “I talked to the Beyonder once...that count?”
“No.”
“Who says?”
“Everybody. Ow. Ow. I really shouldn’t have done that. I think I strained my chi.” Rand nearly toppled forward, but Knight was there to catch him.
“You okay?” she said.
He looked at her curiously. “Yeah. Are you?” He put a hand to her belly. “Anything I need to know, I mean.”
Her eyes widened. “I–” She hesitated.
Before she could reply, Luke interrupted. “Can you really strain your chi? Is that a thing you can strain? I thought it was like, y’know, magic or something.” He looked at Carter, who had holstered her pistol and was helping Brown to his feet.
“Stephen…Dr. Strange…regularly strains his chakras,” she said, blushing slightly. “That’s a whole different thing though...”
“I’m sure he’s just out of practice,” Knight said. She looked around and gave a snarl. “Where the hell is Hardy?”
Felicia Hardy ran, the traitorous timer on her wrist beeping accusingly. As she crossed the rooftop in several smooth bounds, she tore it off of her glove and tossed it aside. Hitting the edge of the roof, she hurled herself toward the opposite building.
She had failed, and failure in the Game was punishable by death. She had to get away, to run far and fast and find somewhere to bury herself until somebody put a dent in the current version of the Great Game and they forgot all about her.
“Crap. Crap. Crap,” she muttered, scrambling across tar paper and tiles. Hyde and Cobra had been there for her as much as the other two. She was on the list now. She was a target. Better to be a moving one then. Run. Run. Ru—
The blow, when it came, was only partially unexpected. The energy blast caused her muscles to seize and cramp and she was hurled across the rooftop into a pigeon coop with tooth-rattling force. The growl of an engine filled her ears as a bat-like shadow fell over her. Sunlight reflected off of azure chainmail as the breeze caught the folds of an orange cloak.
“Hello, Ms. Hardy. Leaving so soon?” Crouched on his glider, the Hobgoblin chuckled and leaned forward, his red eyes boring into her own. “For shame; didn’t anyone ever teach you that you have to play the hand you’re dealt, win or lose?”
She tried to answer but the blast had paralyzed her completely. Kingsley stepped down off his glider and squatted next to her. He took her chin in his hand and sighed. “I would have sent the Enforcer after you, but he’s busy with preparations for our Sudden Death round. Thus, once more, I must dirty my hands on scut work. Still, I always forget how much fun it is.”
The Hobgoblin stood and chuckled. “You’re in luck, my fine feline friend. I’ve decided not to simply kill you out of hand. Instead, I think you’ll be an addition to the Sudden Death round. Would you like that? Just nod. No? Too bad. Well, I’m sure you’ll change your mind,” Kingsley said as he stooped and picked her up. “Everyone always does.”
Climbing back onto his glider, the Black Cat helpless in his arms, the Hobgoblin began to laugh...
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To Be Continued...
Next Issue: In Heroes For Hire #7: Friday night is fine for fightin’ as the Heroes for Hire take the battle to the Great Game! But just what is SUDDEN DEATH and will anyone survive it? Be here (hopefully) in thirty for ‘STREET-FIGHTING MEN (AND WOMEN)’!
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