FIC: Darker Reign (4/?)
FIC: Darker Reign (4/?)
“Faith, they’re coming.”
Faith awoke instantly at Xander’s whisper. Her heart thundered as she forced an unconcerned expression, threw aside her sheetx, swung her legs out of bed, and sat up. A thousand questions rushed through her head, but she shoved them aside in favour of rising. “I’ll get dressed and grab the duffel bag while you sort everyone else out.”
“Everyone else?” Xander grimaced. “Ah hell, I’ll speak to Hardcastle.”
* * *
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Hardcastle yawned as the door crashed open, years of serving first in the Paras, then the SAS, and finally MI6 training him to a state of instant wakefulness. “Mr. Harris,” he quickly corrected at the younger man’s habitual grimace at hearing his surname, “sorry Xander, it’s a little late, what sort of crisis do we have?”
“Giles just phoned, HAMMER are on the way.”
It was Hardcastle’s turn to grimace. On balance a supernatural crisis would be less problematical. “What are your instructions?”
“What I want you to do is co-operate completely with them, answer all their questions about us, but avoid anything and everything to do with the Council and Council Policy, and if they try to push it, invoke your diplomatic immunity.” Xander paused. “The only thing is don’t mention the secret passage.”
Hardcastle stared back at the younger man. “They’re sure to find it.”
“Oh yeah,” Xander nodded. “And when they do, tell them you didn’t know anything about it, it must have been something that just Faith and I as the big bosses knew.”
“Very well,” Hardcastle nodded. “Then I better get back in bed.” Xander raised an eyebrow. “If we are to make our co-operation look sincere, we should be in bed when they arrive, you having sneaked away in the night.”
“Oh yeah,” Xander nodded. “Makes sense. You’ll handle the girls?”
Hardcastle concealed a smile. In his estimation Harris was far from the ideal leader, too undisciplined, but he couldn’t be faulted for his loyalty. “I’ll take care of them,” he promised.
* * *
“Everything ready?” Faith queried as Xander burst back into their room, the Slayer having changed into a pair of skin-tight black jeans with a purple blouse tucked into them, the top couple of buttons unfastened, and a full-length black duster over it, her hair concealed under a black baseball hat and eyes hidden behind a pair of Aviator glasses.
Xander nodded, allowing his girl-friend to carry the duffel they’d packed in preparation for the HAMMER invasion. Faith led the way, stalking deep into the bowels of the place. A wave of dank air belched out of the trapdoor at the far end of their bristling with chrome gym and the basement’s wooden steps creaked as they hurried down into the cellar filled with food, toiletries, and medicinal supplies. From there, they made their way to the basement’s rear. Xander’s heart thudded, sweat beading on his forehead as he reached under the middle of five shelves and pushed a button.
A low whirling filled the air as Xander stepped back, the five-shelved cabinet sliding to the left. Faith pulled out a torch and shone it onto the set of stone steps leading down. “Damn,” Faith wrinkled her nose. “Hope we’re not gonna end up in the sewers.”
“We could always stay here,” Xander replied as he hurried into the hole.
“Nah,” Faith followed him in and pulled on the lever on the right wall, sealing the hole behind them. “On balance we should get the hell outta Dodge.”
* * *
“GET HIM!” Iron Patriot snarled as Stark weaved with none of his usual grace in and out of Osborn and Moonstone’s energy blasts, Ragnaork’s brutish presence hovering over them. He’d have brought others with them, but they were needed for another mission, besides he wanted those he REALLY trusted with him for this mission.
Energy blasted out of his palms to crash into Stark’s side. The billionaire shuddered and went into a tailspin that he eventually righted in time for Moonstone to send a blast of her own into the self-appointed hero. Flames flickered on Iron Man’s armour as he plunged to the ground, smoke billowing from his scorched armour.
“Now,” Osborn let out a hate-filled snarl as he landed, feet astride his fallen rival, smoke still smouldering off Stark’s armour, “about those files I asked you for?”
“OSBORN! Your country might have bought into your BS, but you passed over the border into Canada over ten minutes ago, back off!”
Osborn’s temper threatened to bubble over as about eight costumed clowns appeared in the distance, closing fast. “Alpha Flight,” Osborn grunted before forcing himself to moderate his tone. “Stand aside, this is HAMMER business.”
“That’s as maybe,” Guardian flew up until he was eye to eye to Osborn, “but the Canadian government haven’t recognised HAMMER’s authority. So you being on our soil without permission is an international incident in itself.”
“Stark is a wanted fugitive,” Osborn grated.
“Wanted by the US. authorities, not the Canadian.” Guardian’s expression was hidden by his mask, but his tone indicated an infuriating lack of concern. “I’d suggest you file the proper paperwork and return for your prisoner then. At least, not unless you wish to escalate this incident?”
Osborn’s jaw clenched and teeth gritted. His trio were out-numbered and out-gunned, but even with the potential reinforcements of the missing Avengers, moving so openly in another nation, especially their neighbouring country, would endanger his newly-won position. “I’ll be back,” he promised.
Guardian seemed to smile beneath his mask. “That was way more impressive when Arnie said it.”
* * *
“Are you sure we should be doing this?”
Hudson forced his gaze away from the retreating trio to glance at his much-loved wife stood alongside him. “I never liked Osborn,” Hudson replied. “Besides it’s Stark. No matter the mistakes he’d made recently, he’s one of us.”
“Perhaps not.”
Both of them looked away to see Walter Langkowski crouched by Stark’s head. “What do you mean?” Heather demanded.
“Look at his eyes,” Langkowski replied, the world-class physicist having changed out of his Sasquatch ‘persona’ and knelt beside the armoured super-hero, the industrialist’s helmet in his hands. “It looks like he’s taken a heck of a knock to his head, his eyes are dull, he’s not all there.”
“He’ll need a hospital, fast.”
“I’ll take him,” Northstar said as he scooped the armoured man up with a grunt. “Even with the heaviness of his suit, I’ll get him there before any of you could.”
Hudson nodded. “Sounds good.”
* * *
“Hello Sebastian,” Osborn greeted the thick-set man dressed in a Saville Row suit sat opposite him. “I trust you’ve met your X-Men?”
“Yes,” his fellow businessman nodded. “However there’s not enough of them to take on Cyclops and his troops. And even if there was, we need a pretext to move against him. After their actions during the Skrull invasion, they’re lauded in San Francisco.”
“Don’t worry,” Osborn beamed at Shaw. Finally after that damn Slayer evading his troops and Alpha Flight thwarting his attempt to get his hands on Stark, something was going his way. “I’ve thought of all that.” He turned his intercom on. “Ms. Hand, send the Hood in.”
“The Hood?” Shaw wrinkled his nose. “Why do we have to put up with that two-bit thug?”
“Shaw, I realise we’re businessmen of the highest order, but sometimes we have to dirty our hands with the likes of the Hood to get things done,” Osborn soothed.
Shaw nodded reluctantly as his office door swung open. “True enough.”
Osborn glanced towards the Hood. “Parker, thank you for coming. Please take a seat.” Osborn waited until the man had sat before continuing. “How many mental manipulators are there in your gang?”
Parker leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. “Mr. Fear, Scarecrow, Mind-Wave, Miracle Man, Mirage, and Mentallo.”
“Excellent, then I want you to get one of your teleporters to transport them over to the west coast to stir up ill feeling against the mutant contingent.” Osborn smiled.
“Then when the public outrage is such it can’t be reasonably ignored, I’ll send ‘our’ X-men in to deal with Cyclops and his brood.” Osborn paused. “Of course should you require assistance, my Avengers will be ready and willing to come to your aid.”
“Norman old boy,” Shaw chuckled. “What a perfectly splendid plan.”
* * *
Cage scowled out onto the darkened city, huge hands clenching and unclenching as he stood on the fire escape outside his apartment. He could only imagine the turmoil erupting on the streets, the people who looked to him and his ilk for protection discovering only victimisation and fear, and him helpless to help them.
To do his damn job.
Rage roared through him, but with it the impotent frustration that there was nothing he could do. Not against powers like the Sentry or Rulk, or more to the point, against the police officers and authority of the American government.
He might rail against the ‘man’, but he wasn’t the Punisher, and wouldn’t battle cops merely doing their job.
He stiffened at an assertive knock on the door. “Coming,” he growled before striding back through his apartment and throw the door open to find a man dressed entirely in white under a full-length black leather coast. “Kasper Cole, White Tiger, what you doin’ here dawg?”
“Hey, can I come in?” Cage nodded silently and stepped out of the doorway. “Thanks,” the slighter but still athletically-built man hurried in. “I assume you’ve heard of Black Panther’s offer of amnesty for any metas who wish to leave the US. for Wakanda?”
“Heard it, not interested.”
“Why not?” White Tiger spread his hands in supplication. “I know that bastard Osborn’s lifted your licence, so you can’t operate, what have you got to stay for?”
It figured that Cole as a former protégé of Black Panther would take up T’Challa’s offer. “Africa might be in my blood but this is my country,” Cage shook his head. “I ain’t bein’ run out, not by Osborn or anyone.”
“And what use is you being here when you can’t do your job?”
“You can go, but I’m staying.” Cage scowled. “There’s rebellion in the air, sides are gonna have to be taken, and why that moment comes, I’ll stand with my friends, not safe in a foreign country.”
“And maybe you can do more outside the US?” Cole suggested.
Cage threw his head back and laughed a hard laugh. “And how does that work? How do I help my people from outside the US?” He shook his head. “Osborn can try whatever he wants, I’m not shifting.”
* * *
Doors imploded on every side of the brownstone as heavily armoured HAMMER agents stormed into the HYDRA den. Osborn smiled as he watched, cameras recording every action for release to the press. It would make excellent copy for the six o’clock news.
And deeply ironic considering Von Strucker was the one who’d offered up his subordinates on a plate as part of their deal.
* * *
Rain sheeted down as the winds battered the trio of arguing men, stygian night blanketing them from view. “IDIOT! You killed one of the boss’ girls! The Arabs were promised ten, not nine!”
“Hey,” the tallest of the three shook his head. “Play it cool-.”
“You should have thought of that before you blew that whore away in the first place!”
“Bitch tried to scratch my face off,” the tallest of the three commented. “’Sides, we’ve got two days before the exchange, we can make a snatch, get another. We’ve got plenty of time-.”
“Boys,” Castle’s hoarse tones floated out of the night, “your time’s just run out.” The three men had barely begun to turn, to react to his voice, when he pulled on his silenced rifle’s trigger three times, three shells exploding the three men’s heads.
Castle pulled out a camera and started snapping. He’d had a busy night, shutting down a terrorist arms buy, two drugs dens, an upscale but unlicensed casino, and this white slavery ring. When all this hit the papers tomorrow, well, he smiled thinly, Osborn’s propaganda about New York being cleaned up would be utterly destroyed.
It had taken him a while to realise, but these days wars were won with more than just guns and knives.