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| Daredevil 2099UG Issue #5 "Sins of the City" Written by Kyle Rivest |
| The 2099 Underground is a project whereby a group of fans are putting together a series of stories continuing from Marvel's fantastic futuristic 2099! Ignoring the ignoble and inaccurate "2099: World of Tomorrow", we're exploring what we feel is the true spirit of 2099 as envisioned by then Editor-in-Chief Joey Cavalieri. Participation is open to all. Comments about this issue should be sent to the author. Or you can visit our message board and post your thoughts on the issue. Anyone wishing to join the mailing list should do so by signing up at Yahoo! Groups. It's free and easy! Simply type in the keyword "Ghostworks" and you're good to go. |
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| There are no one way streets in life. Everything goes at least two ways. The road may be rough and hard to travel but the only roadblocks are self imposed. North or south. Up or Down. The road of life goes where you decide you want it too. Justice is the same. The tactics used by the just can be just as easily employed by the unjust. The methods practiced by the unlawful can be twisted to serve the law. When the lines of justice and law become blurred, the road becomes a spider web of highway and byways, overpasses and alleys free for anyone to transverse and explore, though the destination might be the same. Up or Down. Just as you need a license to drive the physical roads, you need a license to travel the metaphysical road of law. A license doesn't guarantee that the person driving drives well. Justice doesn't need a license. Justice is above the law. Justice isn't licensed because justice can't be quantified. Vigilantism, street justice, exists because the law choose not to travel every road. It limits itself. Sets up roadblocks. There are no limits on justice. No roadblocks. There are no one way streets. * * * * * Direct From the 2099 Underground: The Daredevil 2099 Underground # 1 Sins of the City 5 of 12 Words by Kyle Rivest Chief Edits by Michael Shirley Assistant Edits by Chris Lough * * * * * Samuel Essead moves quickly through the streets of Downtown. He knows it's better not to attract attention, even in the early morning hours when there are still few people moving about. He's alert. He has no choice but to be alert. Outside, exposed as he is, Essead feels almost naked. Anyone he encounters might be a SHIELD agent. That women pushing an ancient shopping cart that's more rust then metal down the street could be a Shield. Anyone. <I>Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you.</i> Essead knows that half the people in Downtown would turn him over to the Corporate Raiders after the technology he possesses in a heartbeat for a quarter of the reward being offered if his sources are accurate. Ducking into the alley behind the apartment building he's been squatting in for the past two months, Samuel Essead curses the day he met Dr. Allen Gunderson. * * * * * "Hey," exclaims a rough voice. "Look what we've got here." Rena Ross's eyes strain to open and focus. The task is much harder then she remembers it being. "Find something, Sarge?" asks a younger, gentler voice. All she can make it is blur. No. A pair of blurs. Blue, red and white blurs. SHIELD Agents? She opens her mouth to ask for help but only a croak escapes her throat. "Wow." There is genuine surprise in the younger Shield's statement. "She still alive. Looks too nice to be from Downtown. Think some rich girl got lost?" One of the blurs approximates a shrug. "Maybe. Might be a working girl that got roughed up," speculates the rougher Shield. A third voice joins in, though Rena can still make out only the two blurs. She hasn't considered trying to move her head. "Hey. She looks kinda familiar." "Half the whores Downtown look familiar too you, Donaldson." There's a chorus of laughter. "Go get shocked," retorts the Agent called Donaldson. "I'm serious. She looks really familiar." He pauses. "Hey, what's that she's got in her hand, Sarge?" "Huh?" questions the gruff voiced Agent? "Didn't notice that." One of the two Shields standing over her crouches and plucks an item out of her hand. He examines it for a moment. "Looks like euphoria." Sarge tosses the bag of capsules out of Rena's field of vision. "Check that. The bald reporter is now getting frustrated. She can almost see clearly, but she's still having trouble talking. "Looks like she might have gone a bit overboard," states the younger SHIELD agent. "Kid," begins Donaldson, "if that's euphoria, any amount is going overboard. That filth can fry your nervous system even if you're careful. Have you twitching like neural scattershot. Possession gets you a life sentence." Crouching to grab her wrists, Sarge addresses his younger partner. "Get hold of her feet. We should get a blood test and, if it's positive, get her in lock-up. Still unable to speak, Rena Ross's vision is blurred once again. This time by tears. * * * * * "Harper!" Brushing the unkept red hair from his bloodshot eyes, Bryan Harper turns towards the bark of a voice that's addressing him. "M'yes?" Niles Clevenger is a short man, broad of shoulder and round of stomach. Not fat, but he has a gut. His hair is dark and neat. His eyes are dark and observant. His clothing is dark and meticulous. Niles Clevenger is Bryan Harper's immediate superior in the CardioTech hierarchy. It has become apparent to Bryan over the past four months since CardioTech was set up by Kronos for biological research that his immediate superior doesn't like him. "What in Thor's name are you doing?" It's a strain for CardioTech's chief nanotechnologies researcher and engineer--it's only nanotechnologies researcher and engineer if one wants to get technical about it--to refrain from rolling his eyes. "My job?" The manager, for that's all Niles Clevenger really is, a manager, simmers. He does that a lot. "Don't be glib with me, Harper. This office is filthy and so are you. How are you supposed to get any work done with this music turned up so loud?" Harper shrugs. "It relaxes me. Helps me focus. And I'll thank you not to question my filing system." There's an obvious conflict raging in Clevenger's head. He'd like to be able to wipe the smug look of his underling's face. He also has no desire to fall even further behind schedule, which is what would happen if CardioTech lost someone with Bryan's brilliance. The truth is, what Niles Clevenger would truly like is to be half as intelligent as Bryan Harper. It's not going to happen anytime soon though. Instead he tosses an information disk on top of some unidentifiable filth covering most of the researcher's desk. "That's from Larid Killian. It's some information about a Dr. Gunderson's theories on human senses and nanotechnology. He wants it reviewed and some opinions. It's one of your priorities seeing as you're not contributing to much to the project at this point." Sitting up straight suddenly, the CardioTech scientist gives his supervisor his full attention since first meeting him. "Dr. Gunderson? Dr. Allen Gunderson?" Clevenger is thrown off for a moment. "Maybe. I wasn't told. Why?" Harper shakes his head in disdain. "Don't worry about it. Yeah, I'll put this at the top of my to do pile." Frowning, and feeling that he's missed something important, the manager goes back to simmering. "See that you do." He stalks out of the office. Still shaking his head slightly, Bryan Harper utters aloud, "Go shock yourself, Niles. Moron." Slipping the data disk into a port on his computer, the nanotech engineer begins to look over the last works of the late Dr. Gunderson. * * * * * It's midmorning when Ilid Payne is interrupted from reviewing reports of the previous day by a soft chime. Kronos' Law Enforcement Liaison likes chimes. They're soothing. Activating a toggle on his desk, Payne addresses his secretary, "Yes, Karie?" The capable women's voice comes through sharp and professional. "Mr. Payne, there is a Mr. Larid Killian here to see you." The small man frowns for a second. He didn't get social calls and there was very little business the Acquisitions Department Head could have with the law enforcement sector of Kronos. "Send him in." The door opens and the tall, platinum haired, emancipated figure enters the office. "Ilid." "Larid." These men are professionals. In the corporate world they are warriors. Each won his position by any means necessary. Each has an almost tangible air of confidence. They conduct themselves as professionals. In this, both men find they can at least respect the other. "I've come to ask for a favour." Payne had to admire the dignity his fellow department Head kept while saying those words. He didn't even twitch. "Oh, and what can I do to assist the Acquisitions department?" A faint grin crosses Killian's features. "Actually, a Kronos side project, CardioTech--a biological research concern--is unfortunately having difficulty coming by...test subjects." He pauses a moment. Payne nods for him to continue. "Human test subjects." Still no change to the smaller man's features. Larid expected no less really. The man is cold. "Jones," Ilid shudders a bit then. Even he dislikes dealing with Dennis Jones, Kronos' Vice President. Killian pauses again, allowing the Law Enforcement Liaison a moment to regain his composure before continuing, "suggested you might be able to use your ties to SHIELD to help in procuring a more abundant amount of people for research purposes." Ilid Payne appears thoughtful. "What kind of test subjects?" The Kronos Acquisition Department Head shrugs slightly. "It doesn't matter really. Though they're vague in their reports, it seems as though they were previously getting most of their subjects from baby snatchers operating out of Downtown. Apparently one of those vigilantes, the Daredevil I believe, put an end to that." A cold smile that doesn't touch his eyes spreads across Payne's face. His mind works. "Yes. I seem to remember a report about that." He looks thoughtful for a second. "I'll tell you what, I'll arrange for these CardioTech people to get access to one of the holding facilities so they can select test subjects from the prisoners. I'm going to need your assistance with something in exchange though." Killian's eyebrows raise by millimeters. "Oh?" "Yes," begins the small man. "The truth is, Kronos is actually having quite a bit of problems with the Daredevil as of late. SHIELD seems incapable of dealing with them. I've tried to make it happen. It doesn't work. However, it seems to me that corporate raiders might be better suited for dealing with an individual like this vigilante. You're of course more familiar with the Corporate Raiders that Kronos employs then myself." The platinum haired man looks thoughtful. "You want me to aid you in selecting which raiders are best suited for dealing with the Daredevil and then go about procuring their services?" Nodding, Payne says, "I'm glad we understand each other." Nearly half an hour as they work out a few details of the arrangement. After Killian leaves, the Kronos Law Enforcement Liaison turns activates his office vid-player and turns to the NY Crime Watch news channel. "--one Rena Ross, controversial journalist, has been taken into custody by SHIELD this morning. According to reports from an undisclosed source, the anti-corporate reporter had the chemical euphoria both in her possession and in her blood stream. Regardless of the seemingly irrefutable evidence, Miss Ross will apparently be claiming innocence at her trial. According too--" Payne toggles the switch on his desk. "Yes, Mr. Payne?" comes Karie's voice over the comm system. "See to it that the credits we discussed are transferred to Ramses Moore's account." He switches off the comm without waiting for a reply. The news continues. "--ther news, SHIELD agents are baffled by a break and enter at the Silicon Graffiti Plaza condo complex last night. The occupant of the condo that was broken into, one Miss Suzette Warren, apparently arrived home in time to scare off the perpetrator or perpetrators before they stole anything. However, the only thing she saw was figure leaping out of the broken triple pane polymer window. With no evidence of explosives, the question is 'how was the window broken in the first place?' One theory--" Payne turns off the vid-player. Simple breaking and entering wasn't worth his concern. Especially in a building not owned by Kronos. * * * * * In a Downtown hovel the Daredevil has set up as a temporary base of operations, he's unable to help overhearing that Rena Ross is imprisoned. He's the only person in this building, but the decrepit apartment complex beside his actually has several occupants. One of them is broadcasting NY Crime Watch over the vid-player. He knows he's responsible for her arrest. She was nobody in the corporate eyes before she began reporting his transgressions against the megacorps. Her cult following grew exponentially and he allowed it because he felt her efforts were aiding him. Setting the girl up with charges of drug possession is something he himself has done to corporate bootlicks on more then one occasion. A frown crosses the Daredevil's face as he begins to wrap himself in his armour. The high-impact nanofiber mesh is light enough that it allows him to move about unimpeded while absorbing and diffusing a great deal of the kinetic energy from physical attacks. Before pulling on the mask he makes certain that he's firmly connected to the suit by way of the neural jack behind his left ear. As he dons the mask, the nanofibers of the collar and hood weave together making the mesh seamless. The eyes flash a bright crimson once before fading into darkness again. Now, armed and armoured, the Daredevil leaps from the forth story window of his hovel. The feel of flipping over in the air is exhilarating. If he were to admit it to himself that just how much he loves the feeling of being alive that these acrobatics give to him, he'd laugh out loud from pure enjoyment. As it is, the black clad vigilante refuses to acknowledge such emotions. He enjoys nothing. He loves nothing. He lands in the ally below his window with perfect grace, slinking into the shadows. Knowing it's his fault that Rena Ross has been arrested has as of yet to inspire him with a plan to save her. He knows the law. He was the law. Possession of euphoria carries a life sentence. It has ever since Doom claimed the presidency. What he needs is proof that the reporter has been framed. That's not going to be easy to come across Downtown. Climbing the fire escape of a three story polyclinic several blocks away from his own apartment, the Daredevil hears a child crying. Atop the building, he rushes in the direction of the voice. Concentrating on the loud gasping sobs, he zooms in realising the sound is emanating from an upset newborn in it's mother's arms as she uselessly tries to silence the kid. It's an image he sees all to often Downtown. Parents, usually single mothers, who don't have skills or the means to properly raise their own children. The vigilante knows that he was lucky in that regard. He was born Downtown, but was still young when his own mother left his father for another man. A wealthier man. One that took them both Uptown. It's an image he hates. Then something jars his memory as the child begins to quite. If one was able to make out his features under the matte black mask, they would see that the Daredevil was smiling. * * * * * Stuart Cromwell was wearing a royal blue tie the same colour as his suit jacket and slacks today. The large man's shirt is a bright, eye paining, yellow. Setting down a file he's been reviewing, Eric Nelson wonders, not for the first time, if his boss is colour blind. The tall blonde's clothing is something he feels more befitting a corporate lawyer in Kronos' employ. A dark grey vest and pants with a black collarless shirt. Regardless of their differences in fashion sense, Cromwell is head of Kronos Corporate Legal Department, and Eric is just an up and coming young lawyer. "Tell me, m'boy," Cromwell begins. "Have you been able to get everything settled back in since your return?" Eric nods. "Quite well, actually. It felt good to have a change from the daily grind for a bit, but now I can't wait to get back into the thick of it." A grin splits Cromwell's round face. "That's our Eric. Careful, m'boy, you show too much ambition around this place and people might think you're trying to climb the corporate ladder." The Department Head laughs at his own joke. Politely, Eric waits until his supervisor finishes before continuing the conversation. "Was there a case or something you wanted me to look at?" Stuart Cromwell shakes his head. "No. Later this afternoon I'll have something for you. Right now I just wanted to make sure that everything is okay with you. Here at Kronos, our employees are our most valuable commodity, and if one out Kronos' employees has a problem then Kronos has a problem. I want you to remember that if there's anything you need." The blond nods. "Thank you. That means a lot to me." "Good. Glad to hear it," Cromwell exclaims. "Now, I suppose I should leave you to your files. Like I said, I'll get some cases for you to look over later today." "I look forward too it." The Legal Department Head nods once and turns to leave. * * * * * The SHIELD holding cell in which Rena Ross is being kept is cold, poorly lit and smells of dried sweat and urine. Filthy. The idea, of course, being that it was relatively clean compared to Downtown alleys from which most of the cells occupants were collected, so cleaning them with any sort of regularity wasn't necessary. The underground journalist, however, isn't really in any state to take notice of just how disgusting her currant living conditions are in comparison to the plush Uptown lifestyle to which she's accustomed. She's far more concerned with being able to see straight and stop twitching. Euphoria bonds to the circulatory system's hemoglobin. Whenever it reaches the brain, the drug stimulates several glands to release natural chemicals, causing a feeling of pleasure, heightened awareness, invincibility, excitement, contentment, sexual satisfaction and a few other enjoyable sensations. However, unlike natural stimulation of these glands, euphoria causes them to dump all the chemical they've created at once. This plays havoc with the central nervous system, sometimes irreparably damaging it. The human body also can't efficiently filter euphoria out of the blood. Depending on how much is in one's system it can take months to be flushed out fully. Fortunately it takes a while for the stimulated glands to rebuild it's supply of chemical secretion so euphoria rushes can be separated by several hours, occurring at unexpected intervals. The worst thing one can do is try and fight it. It's best to simply accept the lack of control and ride out the stimulant. Fighting a euphoria trip is dangerous and futile. Rena Ross is fighting it. She's going through the third euphoria rush she's experienced since being left in the ally last night. She's exhausted from the muscle spasms, sore, and trying to control her body's flailing which is only succeeding in causing her muscles to lock. All in all, Miss Ross has had better days. * * * * * "Shock you, Devil!" The vigilante can see the narcotics dealer's spittle flying from his mouth despite near black of the alley. Spyke is of average height, though rail thin and pale. He's well dressed for Downtown, wearing a suit one might find on a low level corporate lapdog and pair of highly expensive cybersim shades. His manner of dress contrasts the shock of green hair on his head. "Come now, Spyke," the Daredevil's voice is low and harsh as he admonishes his prey. "You're hardly in any position to be acting the big man here. Your goons are all back in that warehouse where I found them. You're cornered in this alley with no where to go. What are you going to do?" Spyke roots around on the ground looking for a weapon of some sort in the rubbish. The Daredevil is too fast. He covers the distance between them in the blink of an eye. His hand grabs Spyke's collar and forcibly lifts the pusher from the ground slamming him into the alley wall. "What are you going to do, Spyke?" The dealer is making pained gasping noises as he tries to find the air that was knocked out of him. Red flashes in the black clad vigilante eyes. "I'm loosing patients with you." Finally gaining his breath back, Spyke futilely claws at the forearm still holding him against the alley wall. "What do you want?" The featureless black nanomesh face of the Daredevil hovers a centimetre in front of his own. "Information. Tell me where one can euphoria." A grin crosses the dealer's face, only interrupted by a cough from his pained chest. "Euphoria? I don't deal with that filth. It's not worth the risk." "'Sides, I thought you vigilante types needed to be in top shape so you can swing through the air and stuff. Losing your bodily functions every couple a hours sounds like it might just be counter productive." An open handed slap rings Spyke's ears. "Do not play smart with me. I am smarter then you are. The only way you're getting out of this alley intact is if you answer my questions as efficiently as possible. If you're really good I might even wait a few hours before letting the Shields know where to find you." The Daredevil drives his knee into Spyke's abdomen to drive his point across. "Do you understand?" After spitting out a mouthful of blood, the pusher nods warily. "Yes, shock." Crimson eyes flash in the alley's darkness again. "Good. Now then, tell me how one with high level corporate connections would go about securing an amount of euphoria." Next Issue: The Daredevil is hunted by agents of SHIELD while readers are introduced to an ally and an enemy. |
