"Always Darkest Before Dawn, Part III"
The Personalized People warehouse was just as dark and seemingly abandoned as Don had thought it would be. Even the damaged, rusted black vehicle parked in the unused parking lot looked like it had been forgotten some time ago. “I just can’t believe he’s alive,” the figure in the suit remarked to himself as he crept toward the building.
Sneaking up to a broken window, Ebon Phoenix quietly moved a crate into position so that he could get a better view inside the building. Sure enough, the machines inside were hard at work, though the company had bankrupted years ago. And inside, inspecting the goods was a man in a black trench coat wearing black and white face paint surrounded by goons with guns. The computer disc inside the belt buckle began computing possible “forced entry” scenarios while Ebon Phoenix listened inside the room to hear the conversation.
“Once I get all these dolls out, we’ll have a hot time in Charleston tonight!” the white-faced man laughed as he danced a little jig while his cronies worked. “Ah, yes. Just another city to add to the pyre,” he laughed again.
“That’s enough,” the inhuman voice of the suit boomed as Ebon Phoenix leapt in through the window. “Stop production on those incendiary devices, or I’ll be forced to stop them for you.”
“Who the hell are you?” the coated figure asked, obviously not impressed.
“Ebon Phoenix,” the dark mechanical voice replied.
“Well …” the other figure mused, “I’ll give you points for costume and theatricality, but the name’s not original. I’m afraid I came up with it years ago.
“Still, I can’t say as I’m a big fan of animals in the home. Gentlemen!” he clapped for attention. “I want this bird out of my house.”
The suit clicked into high gear as the impulses were sent to each of Don’s muscles, readying him for combat. Unaimed early shots were fired, which the suit avoided with ease, but as the criminals closed in, Don began to grow concerned. He hadn’t thought this through at all, and he’d already faced down a squadron of trained police officers before dropping unconscious and needing personal medical attention. What would a group of criminals fearing the law be capable of?
Soon after these thoughts came a flurry of smoke and gunfire, the latter of which the suit was able to dull to a background noise level. With the instinctive reaction of two nervous systems propelling him, Ebon Phoenix leapt behind a storage crate.
Splinters flew all around as the corners of the box were blown away, and Ebon Phoenix decided that obvious cover was bad. Darting into the shadows, a barrage of bullets whistled past, most ricocheting off of pipes, catwalks, and staircases as the man in the suit paused to reassess the situation from the comfort of near-total darkness.
“First note, suit,” Don began. “Before I go to do this again, get weapons.”
“All right, then, bird brain,” the figure who looked like CJ yelled out, “I guess we’ll just have to smoke you out.” He snapped, and the henchmen began shooting tear gas into the shadows of the abandoned factory.
The suit did its best to filter the air out, but Don started tearing up inside the suit anyway. “Second note, gas masks.”
The figure in the black coat waited for a few minutes, then finally threw up his arms. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to start the fire without him. On second thought, if he’s still here, I guess we’re technically starting the fire with him!
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!
“Before I leave, though, I wanted to say that my suit is looking mighty good in black! It’s nice to see you don’t stop at just stealing names! Have a nice day!”
While Ebon Phoenix was battling the effects of the tear gas and listening to CJ’s speech, the goons had loaded all the dolls into the back of the rusted black car, and the gang was starting to drive away, when the car screeched to a halt in front of the open garage door at the back of the building.
“By the way, EP,” the white-faced man began, “you may be wondering why we left the doors open after gassing you. It’s ventilation! Because fires burn so much better when they have room to breathe! Enjoy flaming death, Tweety!”
He cackled as the car drove out of sight. Ebon Phoenix had barely cleared his eyes before he noticed a bag of the dolls still sitting in the center of the room. “Third note, escape equipment.”
As soon as he’d cleared the hiding hole, the thermal scanner on the suit noticed the dolls were significantly higher than the rest of the room. He got five steps toward the open door before the whole sackful exploded.
Quickly thinking back to Decatur, Ebon Phoenix whipped the memory cloth cape around himself like a bubble and charged toward the exit, using the force of the blast to help propel him. Once out the garage door, he watched the black car turn the corner at the very far end of the street, toward the outskirts of town. “Fourth note,” he managed between gulps for clean air. “Tracking devices.”
Luckily, he was able to have the remote tracker to his hovercraft, and within a minute, it was idling next to the blaze that had engulfed the old warehouse. Turning off the voice emulator and taking off the helmet, Don quickly called from his cell phone to report the fire. Then, he turned the emulator back on, slipped on the helmet, and Ebon Phoenix piloted the craft after the criminals who almost burned him alive.
*
Outside of town, the man in the black trench coat was using a potato gun to fire the dolls through the windows of the houses they passed and was laughing maniacally as he did so, unaware of the large black hovering glider that was coming up behind their vehicle.
The booming sound of an amplified voice directed at the car broke all the windows as well as the gunner’s concentration. “Christopher Joseph Coffman, pull over your vehicle, NOW.”
“Sorry, officer!” the man replied. “You’ve got the wrong man! I’m Cracked Jack!”
Ebon Phoenix moved up to the car and gave it a firm shove from behind, crumpling the car’s already damaged back bumper. “I’m not going to repeat myself!” the modified voice yelled from the hovercar.
“Good!” the man with the potato gun replied. “I’m tired of listening to your chirping already!”
With that, Ebon Phoenix gunned to slam the car again, freaking out the driver. “Boss!” he said, trying to keep the car under control. “Get him to stop, or we’ll all be dead!”
“And give in to this freak-of-nature? No way.”
“Then we’re outta here!” the driver exclaimed as they all threw open their doors and abandoned the vehicle.
Cracked Jack yawned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll drive,” he said non-chalantly, climbing over the front seat to take the wheel. He checked the rear view mirror to see where the glider had gone, but it wasn’t there. Looking to both sides, he couldn’t see the vehicle, either. Then, the roof dented above his head with a sharp thunking noise.
“Oh, wonderful,” Cracked Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Bird droppings. And I just had this car cleaned.” He picked up the potato gun to fire it, but a gloved hand had already grabbed him by the throat, lifting him from the driver’s seat.
“Where’s the other suit?” Ebon Phoenix asked flatly, staring down the face-painted man with the unflinching hollow eyes of his helmet.
“Let’s see,” CJ’s choked voice managed. “I think I have it in my pocket…”
The other gloved fist slammed him square across the face. “Where is it?” the voice demanded again.
“I’ll get the address for you,” Jack said, grabbing a set of brass knuckles with his right hand and throwing a punch at the helmet.
The suit instinctively threw out its hand and grabbed the oncoming fist. Pulling with the momentum of the punch, Ebon Phoenix pulled back, ripping CJ away from the steering wheel, just as the end of the street came into view. “I’m getting tired of asking,” Phoenix said as the car began to swerve of its own accord. “Tell me, or die.”
CJ cleared his throat, and for a brief moment, Don thought he could see his old friend surface from below the white and black face paint of the madman Cracked Jack. “We … we had an interested buyer,” he said before flinching as the car took out a mailbox. “Someone we’ve been doing business with for a long time. We wanted to give him a prototype, see if he was interested ...” CJ cringed as the car rocked from colliding with a trash can, throwing the vehicle back out toward the road. “But right now, my friend, Dan Bledsaw, has it. He’s waiting to meet the buyer here in town …”
With that, Ebon Phoenix threw Cracked Jack back into the automobile and climbed back into the glider hovering above it. As it sped off, Jack jumped back up into the seat in time to see a brick wall a few feet from the front of the vehicle.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAA!!!
*
Don got home and started to put the suit back when he heard the television in the living room. He walked in to find Andy, Charles, and Xavior all watching the evening news. Scenes of the burning warehouse and highway chase were top story of the night. Without a word, Don came in and sat down, hoping Andy wasn’t going to throw anything at him. He’d had enough excitement for one day.
“Can I have a word with you?” Don’s friend asked, getting up from the couch. Don flinched. “Yeah.”
Andy was actually smiling as they went into the kitchen. “Made you a sandwich. Figured you’d gone off again. I should hit you for trying to do it while you were injured, but I think you’ve done enough damage to yourself for today. Just remind me when you’re one hundred percent. I owe you an ass kicking.”
Don nodded before grabbing the offered meal and stuffing his mouth full.
“So, what did you find out, holmes?”
Don smiled and swallowed. “Dan has the other suit. He’s trying to sell it to an interested buyer. I also have reason to believe that CJ was behind the burning of Decatur. Don’t know about my hometown, though.”
“And was that CJ on the news? I thought he was dead.”
Don swallowed the last of the sandwich and stood up from the table. As he left the kitchen toward the stairwell, he turned back to Andy. “Yeah. CJ’s dead.”
The billionaire then ascended to his bedroom, cold and alone.
Sneaking up to a broken window, Ebon Phoenix quietly moved a crate into position so that he could get a better view inside the building. Sure enough, the machines inside were hard at work, though the company had bankrupted years ago. And inside, inspecting the goods was a man in a black trench coat wearing black and white face paint surrounded by goons with guns. The computer disc inside the belt buckle began computing possible “forced entry” scenarios while Ebon Phoenix listened inside the room to hear the conversation.
“Once I get all these dolls out, we’ll have a hot time in Charleston tonight!” the white-faced man laughed as he danced a little jig while his cronies worked. “Ah, yes. Just another city to add to the pyre,” he laughed again.
“That’s enough,” the inhuman voice of the suit boomed as Ebon Phoenix leapt in through the window. “Stop production on those incendiary devices, or I’ll be forced to stop them for you.”
“Who the hell are you?” the coated figure asked, obviously not impressed.
“Ebon Phoenix,” the dark mechanical voice replied.
“Well …” the other figure mused, “I’ll give you points for costume and theatricality, but the name’s not original. I’m afraid I came up with it years ago.
“Still, I can’t say as I’m a big fan of animals in the home. Gentlemen!” he clapped for attention. “I want this bird out of my house.”
The suit clicked into high gear as the impulses were sent to each of Don’s muscles, readying him for combat. Unaimed early shots were fired, which the suit avoided with ease, but as the criminals closed in, Don began to grow concerned. He hadn’t thought this through at all, and he’d already faced down a squadron of trained police officers before dropping unconscious and needing personal medical attention. What would a group of criminals fearing the law be capable of?
Soon after these thoughts came a flurry of smoke and gunfire, the latter of which the suit was able to dull to a background noise level. With the instinctive reaction of two nervous systems propelling him, Ebon Phoenix leapt behind a storage crate.
Splinters flew all around as the corners of the box were blown away, and Ebon Phoenix decided that obvious cover was bad. Darting into the shadows, a barrage of bullets whistled past, most ricocheting off of pipes, catwalks, and staircases as the man in the suit paused to reassess the situation from the comfort of near-total darkness.
“First note, suit,” Don began. “Before I go to do this again, get weapons.”
“All right, then, bird brain,” the figure who looked like CJ yelled out, “I guess we’ll just have to smoke you out.” He snapped, and the henchmen began shooting tear gas into the shadows of the abandoned factory.
The suit did its best to filter the air out, but Don started tearing up inside the suit anyway. “Second note, gas masks.”
The figure in the black coat waited for a few minutes, then finally threw up his arms. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to start the fire without him. On second thought, if he’s still here, I guess we’re technically starting the fire with him!
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!
“Before I leave, though, I wanted to say that my suit is looking mighty good in black! It’s nice to see you don’t stop at just stealing names! Have a nice day!”
While Ebon Phoenix was battling the effects of the tear gas and listening to CJ’s speech, the goons had loaded all the dolls into the back of the rusted black car, and the gang was starting to drive away, when the car screeched to a halt in front of the open garage door at the back of the building.
“By the way, EP,” the white-faced man began, “you may be wondering why we left the doors open after gassing you. It’s ventilation! Because fires burn so much better when they have room to breathe! Enjoy flaming death, Tweety!”
He cackled as the car drove out of sight. Ebon Phoenix had barely cleared his eyes before he noticed a bag of the dolls still sitting in the center of the room. “Third note, escape equipment.”
As soon as he’d cleared the hiding hole, the thermal scanner on the suit noticed the dolls were significantly higher than the rest of the room. He got five steps toward the open door before the whole sackful exploded.
Quickly thinking back to Decatur, Ebon Phoenix whipped the memory cloth cape around himself like a bubble and charged toward the exit, using the force of the blast to help propel him. Once out the garage door, he watched the black car turn the corner at the very far end of the street, toward the outskirts of town. “Fourth note,” he managed between gulps for clean air. “Tracking devices.”
Luckily, he was able to have the remote tracker to his hovercraft, and within a minute, it was idling next to the blaze that had engulfed the old warehouse. Turning off the voice emulator and taking off the helmet, Don quickly called from his cell phone to report the fire. Then, he turned the emulator back on, slipped on the helmet, and Ebon Phoenix piloted the craft after the criminals who almost burned him alive.
*
Outside of town, the man in the black trench coat was using a potato gun to fire the dolls through the windows of the houses they passed and was laughing maniacally as he did so, unaware of the large black hovering glider that was coming up behind their vehicle.
The booming sound of an amplified voice directed at the car broke all the windows as well as the gunner’s concentration. “Christopher Joseph Coffman, pull over your vehicle, NOW.”
“Sorry, officer!” the man replied. “You’ve got the wrong man! I’m Cracked Jack!”
Ebon Phoenix moved up to the car and gave it a firm shove from behind, crumpling the car’s already damaged back bumper. “I’m not going to repeat myself!” the modified voice yelled from the hovercar.
“Good!” the man with the potato gun replied. “I’m tired of listening to your chirping already!”
With that, Ebon Phoenix gunned to slam the car again, freaking out the driver. “Boss!” he said, trying to keep the car under control. “Get him to stop, or we’ll all be dead!”
“And give in to this freak-of-nature? No way.”
“Then we’re outta here!” the driver exclaimed as they all threw open their doors and abandoned the vehicle.
Cracked Jack yawned. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll drive,” he said non-chalantly, climbing over the front seat to take the wheel. He checked the rear view mirror to see where the glider had gone, but it wasn’t there. Looking to both sides, he couldn’t see the vehicle, either. Then, the roof dented above his head with a sharp thunking noise.
“Oh, wonderful,” Cracked Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Bird droppings. And I just had this car cleaned.” He picked up the potato gun to fire it, but a gloved hand had already grabbed him by the throat, lifting him from the driver’s seat.
“Where’s the other suit?” Ebon Phoenix asked flatly, staring down the face-painted man with the unflinching hollow eyes of his helmet.
“Let’s see,” CJ’s choked voice managed. “I think I have it in my pocket…”
The other gloved fist slammed him square across the face. “Where is it?” the voice demanded again.
“I’ll get the address for you,” Jack said, grabbing a set of brass knuckles with his right hand and throwing a punch at the helmet.
The suit instinctively threw out its hand and grabbed the oncoming fist. Pulling with the momentum of the punch, Ebon Phoenix pulled back, ripping CJ away from the steering wheel, just as the end of the street came into view. “I’m getting tired of asking,” Phoenix said as the car began to swerve of its own accord. “Tell me, or die.”
CJ cleared his throat, and for a brief moment, Don thought he could see his old friend surface from below the white and black face paint of the madman Cracked Jack. “We … we had an interested buyer,” he said before flinching as the car took out a mailbox. “Someone we’ve been doing business with for a long time. We wanted to give him a prototype, see if he was interested ...” CJ cringed as the car rocked from colliding with a trash can, throwing the vehicle back out toward the road. “But right now, my friend, Dan Bledsaw, has it. He’s waiting to meet the buyer here in town …”
With that, Ebon Phoenix threw Cracked Jack back into the automobile and climbed back into the glider hovering above it. As it sped off, Jack jumped back up into the seat in time to see a brick wall a few feet from the front of the vehicle.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAA!!!
*
Don got home and started to put the suit back when he heard the television in the living room. He walked in to find Andy, Charles, and Xavior all watching the evening news. Scenes of the burning warehouse and highway chase were top story of the night. Without a word, Don came in and sat down, hoping Andy wasn’t going to throw anything at him. He’d had enough excitement for one day.
“Can I have a word with you?” Don’s friend asked, getting up from the couch. Don flinched. “Yeah.”
Andy was actually smiling as they went into the kitchen. “Made you a sandwich. Figured you’d gone off again. I should hit you for trying to do it while you were injured, but I think you’ve done enough damage to yourself for today. Just remind me when you’re one hundred percent. I owe you an ass kicking.”
Don nodded before grabbing the offered meal and stuffing his mouth full.
“So, what did you find out, holmes?”
Don smiled and swallowed. “Dan has the other suit. He’s trying to sell it to an interested buyer. I also have reason to believe that CJ was behind the burning of Decatur. Don’t know about my hometown, though.”
“And was that CJ on the news? I thought he was dead.”
Don swallowed the last of the sandwich and stood up from the table. As he left the kitchen toward the stairwell, he turned back to Andy. “Yeah. CJ’s dead.”
The billionaire then ascended to his bedroom, cold and alone.