Doom 2099UG #6

Myridia, off the coast of East Africa. Yesterday Evening.

Elisabeth Lamiere was putting the finishing touches on her outfit for the evening, a pair of dangling earrings that matched her silky dress perfectly and accentuated her long slender neck. She stepped back from the mirror to assess her attire. She pouted just a little, wondering if the cut of the dress was perhaps a little too low for a formal event such as this, and then fretting once more that the evening gown was too old and out of style, she smoothed it nervously over her trim waist. The iridescent fabric clung to the contours of her shape like molasses, shimmering as it caught the light to reveal a rainbow of colors on top of the brilliant turquoise base. The warm bronze of her bare arms complemented the colors with perfect harmony. It was one of her favorite dresses.

"Well, it's not like I get invited to State's dinners every week," she muttered to herself. "The least the Master Programmers could do is give a girl some time to go shopping."

"Pardon me, madam?" her holographic butler, a Jarvis 99 program, appeared in a glowing flash of opaque light behind her. He was an impeccably proper 20th century English butler, complete with starched black suit and stiff upper lip. She had modified his programming so that he was no longer ashamed to stand by as she dressed, but he still managed to disappear. She had gotten used to his quirky eccentricities.

"What do you think, Jarvis?" she turned around and asked him. "Is this outfit ok?"

"You look absolutely radiant, my dear," Jarvis answered charmingly. He was, of course, programmed to respond that way.

"Yes, but is it ok to meet . . . uhh . . . I guess you could call him a king?" Elisabeth turned back to her mirror and brushed her long black hair rapidly several times until it glistened with a luster all it's own. She could hardly believe how nervous she was.

Jarvis coughed uneasily and stated diplomatically, "My lady, the bodice may be a tad too revealing. Perhaps if you were to compliment the dress with an appropriate wrap, or a light shawl . . . ?"

"Oh, Jarvis," she smirked coyly, "you can be such a prude sometimes!" She rolled her eyes in false disdain. She had completely forgotten her similar reservations about the dress only moments before. Grabbing a small purse she headed hurriedly for the door of her sparsely furnished apartment. She called back to Jarvis as she left, "Lock up behind me, I don't know how late I'll be."

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Cyberspace, three days ago.

Duke Stratosphere was deep in concentration. A look of intense seriousness creased his usually carefree brow. He wasn't used to being stumped by some mere Program. He had to have overlooked something, something simple, something obvious. Something not yet developed? No, impossible! He had access to every conceivable information retrieval program on the net, and some that were not yet released that he had obtained through his covert channels. Plus more than a few of his own invention. Still, he was unable to open the Box.

The black box floated in the surreal cyberspace landscape in front of Duke. It was smooth black on all six sides, not a mark or a seam or a single flaw blemished the surface. Precisely fifteen centimeters on each side, the polished black finish betrayed nothing of it's purpose or it's origin. Duke examined it closely again, and for the hundredth time nothing but his own reflection appeared there. The information inside the Program remained infuriatingly out of reach. Frustrated, he pulled a large hammer out from the cybermists and began pounding on the box with uncharacteristic fury. Nothing happened. Not so much as a scratch marred that impenetrable veneer. For an instant Duke contemplated a chainsaw . . . a tightly focused laser . . . a nuke . . . At this point he would just as soon blow the box to smithereens and try to salvage what remained of it's contents later. Perhaps he should have let the thing dissolve in the disintegration of that ancient corner of Myridian cyberspace where he had found it [see Last issue]. Then he stopped and stepped back as a better idea struck him. As much as he hated to admit it, he might need help on this one. And he knew just where to get it.

Off-lining, Duke's consciousness was transported back to his secret hideaway, a secured apartment in a quiet coastal town on the Eastern Seaboard of the USA. He unplugged himself from his cybernetic jack, and ejected the tiny disk that held the program that represented the Box. He stared at it intently. Was he really going to go to all this trouble to retrieve some mystery information that he had no idea what it was? For all he knew, it could be the recipe for pea soup! Yet, like a wayward cat, his curiosity was piqued. There was something valuable there, someone had gone to a lot of trouble to lock it tightly away. He knew that if it was valuable to the two titans known as Margaretta Von Geisterstadt and the mysterious entity known as Doom, then it was a coup that would make his other hacks look like panhandling in comparison. He was going to find out what it was, if it was the last thing he did. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at last. The challenge ahead of him was nearly as exciting as the thought of finally finding out the mystery of the box!

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Myridia. Last night.

Elisabeth stood patiently in the large dining hall. No other guests had as yet arrived, and their host was also conspicuously absent. She was uncomfortably nervous, but was trying hard not to show it. A number of servants floated unhurriedly about the large room. At the banquet table, a sumptuous feast had been laid out there, it's rich aroma filled the hall. She had been drawn to it like a moth to a flame, for nothing there looked or smelled like synth food. The ham on the center table looked like a real ham. At least, that's what she thought, never having actually seen a real ham. But she had seen pictures. There were fresh vegetables, too, some of which she could not identify. The entire spread was clearly worth a fortune, and there was enough food to feed a small army. Yet, there were only two place settings carefully arranged at the head of the main table. Real wax candles burned smokelessly on a silver candelabrum. The utensils also were silver, the plates, fine porcelain. She had looked closely but did not touch, catching the eye of one of the two white coated chefs who stood patiently beside the table. They had watched her like hawks as she approached the table, but they had said nothing, not even chatting among themselves since she had arrived. She turned away from the table with a sigh to admire the view from an enormous arched window that dominated the east wall. The ocean stretched out before her to the horizon. The cascading sunset over the mountains to the west was lighting the sky in brilliant hues of vivid pink and ultramarine. Then, without fanfare or warning, Doom entered the room.

He strode across the long hall with the precision of a drum major, his long green cape lightly aloft behind him. As he swept up to her like a tidal wave, she was enveloped by a surprising sense of fear. In an instant he was beside her and in that same instant the succulent meal, the brilliant sky, the narrow eyed cooks, were all swept away and forgotten. He filled the room with his presence, and she caught her breath and held it unconsciously. His armor gleamed like polished silver, and his muscles rippled revealingly beneath the blue metal cloth that formed his body suit. He was much taller than she had thought, towering over her 5' 4" frame like a goliath. He stopped in front of her, and focused those red lenses piercingly on her. His mask was fixed and cold, totally unreadable, but Elisabeth sensed that he could see right through her. Timidly, she extended her hand.

"Lord Doom . . .", she stated quietly, uncertainly.

He grasped her hand in his, and lifting it to his lips in a mock kiss he bowed elegantly. His touch was gentle, his gesture unquestionably sincere. She blushed despite herself. "Greetings, my lady," he intoned deeply. His voice, though deep and not raised, was filled with a certainty and confidence that betrayed more than a little of his true nature: he was a man accustomed to the ways of power.

"I apologize for the delay," he was stating calmly. She didn't believe it but accepted that he was expected to say it. "Please, be seated," he gestured toward the table.

Elisabeth didn't move right away. "I'm sorry, milord," she said, "I thought that the other Programmers were going to be here as well. Isn't Ephraim coming?"

"Yes, well, the other Programmers were called away on an emergency," Doom lied smoothly. "It seems our facilities are still in need of some attention. But you needn't let that concern you when my chef has prepared such a magnificent repast." Doom still held onto her hand, and gallantly placed it on his arm as he guided her to the table. She noticed with surprise that the armor wasn't at all cold as she had expected. It was warm, almost like real skin. "You and I have much to discuss, " he continued easily, "our mutual friend Ephraim Cvijanovic being first and foremost among them."

"Oh, Ephraim has been acting very strange, since he acquired these powers," Elisabeth explained shakily. "He's not usually like this. He's really quite, harmless . . . but, well, he's just not suited to cyberspace. Some people are like that, you know? I have had to tell hundreds of would be gliders that they just couldn't cut it, and Ephraim is a great . . . administrator . . . But he's had to jump into the deep end before he's learned how to tread water and he's no longer grounded in the real world and . . ." she realized suddenly that she was babbling. Doom appeared not to have noticed as he stood silently beside her. "Please don't hold it against him. It's all been, so . . . unexpected for him."

"You, on the other hand, excel at dealing with the unexpected," Doom stated with calm certainty. He was standing very close to her.

Elisabeth grasped the back of the chair. "What do you mean?" She was still not completely at ease, unsure for the first time as to why she had been invited here.

"I have been looking over the reports from your supervisors," Doom answered evasively. "You have excelled as both a team leader and an innovator in the glider program." He marched toward the large window as he spoke and looked out over the fading sunset, his hands clasped behind his back. "You have great ambition, you are lacking only in direction. You have come far, you could go even farther, but you have been stymied by the limits of your vision. I can change that. I can offer you much more, but you must be willing to trust me."

Elisabeth looked at that broad back, dark against the bright sky beyond. "I'm happy with what I'm doing, " she said cautiously. "Are you asking me to become a Master Programmer?"

Doom turned smartly on his heel and approached the table. He walked past Elisabeth and addressed the two cooks directly. "Leave us," he ordered forcefully. The cooks did not question nor hesitate but turned instantly and exited the room, taking the remaining servants with them. Suddenly the two of them were alone together. Doom faced Elisabeth again, leaning easily against the edge of the heavy table, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Come now," he continued, "The MP's are peons compared to what is really available to one such as you. You are not one to limit yourself to a perfunctory title whose exalted position in the hierarchy belies the meaningless drivel forced upon one who will, ultimately, always be a slave to the computer. That kind of day to day drudgery would be a waste to one of your . . . considerable talents."

"But the MP's control our whole operation," Elisabeth protested. "I mean, other than you, what else is there?"

"The computer controls the MP's, my dear," Doom approached closer. "What if you could control the computer, nay, all of cyberspace, with but a thought? What use would the MP's be then?"

"You mean. . . . like Ephraim."

"Yes!" Doom answered slowly. "You are a smart woman." He reached up to cup her delicate chin gently in his metal shrouded hand. "Smart, beautiful, strong, and ambitious. Like Cleopatra, with whom you share ancestry."

Elisabeth blushed and lowered her eyes. He spoke like he knew her, and she felt suddenly naked and defenseless.

"I could offer you power beyond your wildest dreams," he continued. "Ephraim has only barely scratched the surface of his potential. One such as you, could take the essence of his power far beyond anything ever imagined. A new form of life, an existence that knows no boundaries. Eternal youth, eternal beauty. With me there to guide you," he tempted effortlessly, "you could surpass even the Paloma program in your mastery of the cyber world."

"I have no interest in becoming a program," Elisabeth countered with conviction. She eyed him with only a little suspicion. "What use is mastery over the cyber world if you are lost to this world?"

"That is the beauty of it, my dear," Doom purred easily, "you will be blessed with a dual existence, able to go from one world to the next bound neither by man nor machine. Jumping off at any point to re-enter the world of flesh at will. Soon we will strip away even the boundaries of time and space. Imagine worlds far removed from this one, open for the first time to human exploration!" Doom tactfully left out the other word that crossed his mind . . . "Conquest!" He continued, "Net gliding will become passe, and you will be the queen of a new domain, a herald for the next century."

"Is it . . . possible?" Elisabeth was trembling. She did not know whether it was from excitement, or fear. He was standing very close. She was aware of his hand on her shoulder and the heat from his body passing through her.

"Yes." his voice was soft, muted. "Will you trust me?"

Elisabeth's voice was a breathless whisper she barely heard herself. "Yes."

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Two Days ago. The Myridian cybervaults.

The creature now calling himself Elemental, once known only as Ephraim Cvijanovic, was having a busy day. Even though he no longer had any real sense of day or night. Yet over the last week, he had single-handedly repaired Myridia's cracked and broken security shield. The enormous data base that had once been viewed as an impenetrable fortress had been restored completely to it's former glory with only minimal losses. The pundits who had predicted the fall of Myridia had been summarily silenced. All breaches had been sealed, all of the intruders had been evicted. All that is, except one. The Neon Angel, Margaretta Von Geisterstadt, still lurked in these halls of data, evading all efforts at containment or eradication. She was using a random access program that had the security forces and gliders fooled, chasing shadows throughout cyberspace. She was no longer able to control the systems, Doom had seen to that, but her presence was blamed for any number of unusual glitches that plagued their operations. She wasn't yet ready to leave, and Elemental was unable to convince her to go.

"My dear, sweet boy," she crooned impishly as Elemental stood before her in the dungeon she had created in this corner of the Myridian database. Here in cyberspace the Neon Angel icon was a fair representation of the woman. She had long, wavy dark hair, and favored seductive, revealing outerwear of black lace and silk. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously under heavy lashes, but her red lips smiled provocatively. "Do be a dear and rub my feet," she extended her delicate white toes towards Ephraim. The nails were painted black. "I've had such a terrible day being chased by Doom's goonsquad . . . I may just have to turn something off again." Her smile widened with malicious intent.

"No!" Elemental cried. He stepped nervously away from that well turned leg, as if it were a snake. "Please. Haven't you caused enough trouble as it is? Why don't you just go?" Despite his new powers, Elemental was still loathe to use lethal force, or force of any kind for that matter. He had relied solely on his uncanny ability to track and follow the intruders through cyberspace, side stepping normal paths that would delay any other glider for hours, if not days. Then there was his ability to re-materialize anywhere there was an open line. If Ephraim had possessed an ounce of malice, this power alone could have changed the face of the planet in mere minutes.

There had been other changes in him as well. Over the last week, Elemental's skin had transformed and evolved so that he now appeared less human, and more metallic. To those few who still had contact with him in the real world, this was not just an affectation of a computer icon, this was the real Ephraim. Or at least what remained of him. Because the real Ephraim was also the icon, he had crossed the barrier into the cyber world as none had ever done before him. His skin had begun to take on a slight silvery cast, and his eyes had changed from a dull hazel to a brilliant blue. He had lost his original baggy clothes to deresolution when he wasn't paying attention one night, and so he now wore a tightly fitting body suit of unstable molecules. The suit accentuated his bony build, revealing the curving ribs and the jutting protrusions of shoulder blade and spine. He was not an imposing figure, and Margaretta had no idea the extent of his real power.

"Oh, now, now, don't burst a vessel," she teased shamelessly. "I'm just having fun . . . Don't you like to have fun, little man?" She cornered him and began rubbing his head with her hands like she was petting a cat. He tried to step back as she pressed herself close against him, but her hands kept him close until he could feel the sweat creeping down the middle of his back. "You are such a strange one . . ." she mused quietly, and then added, "but no matter. Tell your Master, tell that wicked, wicked Doom up there, that I'm not done with him yet. Tell him to keep his errand boys safe in their beds. I will leave only when he's met me here, in this . . . hallowed ground." She laughed fiendishly, and then she was gone.

Elemental watched the space where she'd been. He could follow her, but what was the use? She would tease him again and touch him in that way that made what was left of his skin crawl. She was beautiful, but she frightened him more than anything. She had easily thwarted his efforts to gently eradicate her from their systems, and he could not convince her to leave. The others had been easy, once he had found them. But the Neon Angel would not be bounced, no matter how closely he trailed her. He sighed. Doom would not be pleased. He sat down to wait for the rest of security forces to arrive.

Almost 20 minutes later, what seemed like an eternity to Elemental, Justin Malinovksy and Mahlon Guerrero squeezed through the block walls of the room, their icons breaking through that cybernetic barrier by carefully navigating the finite flaws in the rock and mortar. It had taken them the better part of an hour, and all of their skill. Except there was no one in the room save Elemental, the once all too human data monitor that these two had, in the recent past, treated with undisguised disdain.

"Where is she? " Justin blurted out. He glanced wildly about the room, realizing that once again their quarry had escaped. "Shocking pusbag! I coulda swore we had her this time!"
Mahlon sat with naked frustration onto the bench next to Elemental. "Did we miss her by much, Eph? You know where she went this time?" he asked morosely, his brown curls falling into his eyes as he spoke.

"She's headed on," Elemental answered cryptically. His eyes didn't meet either of his companions, but stared vacantly into space. He rubbed his bald head with one hand in an imitation of an absent minded gesture that had once comforted him, a lifetime ago. "You'll never catch her," he added, then said, "I've got something I have to do." With that he stepped through the block wall as if walking through water, and was gone.

"Wait!" Justin cried, "You can't just . . . ! Shock it!" Justin pounded his fist against the wall, and yelled at it furiously, "This bites, you know that Ephraim goddamn- all-mighty Elemental! It Bites!" He looked at Mahlon who eyed him with mute amusement. "What are you lookin' at ratbiter!" Justin yelled, then turned back around and pounded the wall once more with his fist.

Elemental appeared beside Elisabeth with a flash. She was preparing to hook up to her cyber terminal, and he touched her lightly on the shoulder. She jumped, still unaccustomed to his rapid comings and goings. "Oh!" She exclaimed, then added, "You startled me, Ephraim."

He smiled timidly. "I'm sorry, I forget . . ." Here in the real world, his starkly metallic skin was more noticeable amid the natural hues of pinks and browns in the humans that passed by. The humans who stared, curious and fearful at the strange glowing creature in their midst. Elemental sensed their stares, and he knew their fears intimately. After all, he had seen the messages. How foolish of them to send words of disdain, letters of frightened terror, ignorant questions and tasteless jokes through a medium over which he was the absolute master. Yet for the first time in his life, Elemental found that he no longer cared what others thought of him. He cared only for Elisabeth's feelings. If she could accept him, now, he felt that maybe he could finally reveal his true feelings for her.

"Here, I brought these for you," Elemental held out a bouquet of brilliant red and pink tulips and feathery white jasmine.

"Why, thank you, Eph . . ., I mean, Elemental," Elisabeth said. "Where did you get them?" Even from a few feet away, Elisabeth could smell the sweet aroma.

"Paris." Elemental replied nonchalantly.

"Paris? That is amazing, Ephraim," Elisabeth took the flowers from him, and continued, "your range is increasing dramatically each time . . ." and the flowers slowly disintegrated in her hands, turning into rapidly diminishing bytes of refracted light until they had disappeared completely. She tried not to look too disappointed.

"Hmmm," Elemental frowned slightly, "I need to work on that."

"Well, it's ok. I was just about to join you," Elisabeth turned back to her input station to pause the net glider connection program. She didn't want him to see the fear and uncertainty in her face. Over her shoulder she asked, "Did Justin and Mahlon catch up to you? Did you find the Neon Angel?"

"Yes, and yes," Elemental said simply, lost in the texture of her hair once more.

"Well?" Elisabeth turned to look at him. He was glowing more and more now, with a residual energy field than seemed to surround him completely. But even as she was talking to him, she wasn't sure that he was all there. He had changed so much the past few days, and the changes on the inside were far more dramatic then any external changes. He hadn't even apologized for the flowers, she thought with a worried frown.

"Oh, the Angel isn't to be bothered," he answered in a breathless sigh. "She won't leave until Doom meets her in cyberspace . . . she means to have a showdown." Elemental recalled Margaretta's hypnotic caresses, and fantasized briefly about Elisabeth doing the same. "She won't listen to me," he continued sadly. "There's nothing more I can do."

"But Ephraim surely you can . . ." Elisabeth was interrupted by a loud groan, and a crashing coming from one of the dive benches beside her. Justin had just off- lined . . . too rapidly, and he had tried to stand before his brain cells could unscramble. He knocked over a piece of equipment with a loud crash of metal and was causing further damage as he fumbled around trying to stand again.

"Justin, what are you doing ??!" Elisabeth rushed over to help him up.

"Get away from me, you bitch," he groaned weakly, his voice strained and hoarse. He had used an emergency escape protocol to offline as quickly as possible once he knew where Elemental had gone, but the rapid procedure was extremely disorienting. "We almost had her . . . but that . . . that . . . Thing over there . . . he had better things to do . . ." He sat down on the edge of the bed as Elisabeth guided him there. His eyes were wild, the muscles in his face twitching spasmodically.

"It's true, Lord Doom has an assignment for me in Latveria," Elemental added unemotionally.

"Latveria?" Elisabeth asked incredulously. "You can't go there, it's been necrotoxified!" She added, "It will be years before anyone can lay a foot in that country. Remember Milan?"

"Doom's techs say that my cell structure has changed so much that the remaining necrovirus will have no affect on me," Elemental explained quietly. "In theory, they say I'm immune."

"In theory?" Elisabeth echoed with growing suspicion. "Ephraim, what if they're wrong? You could be dead before you have a chance to return!"

"Don't worry, Elisabeth," he countered with a sly smile, "I'll be fine."

"The shock you will!" Justin cried stepping down from the bed, finally having recovered a little of his composure. He held a thin metal pipe in his hand, a meter long, and he brandished it like a weapon. "That's the last time you'll strand me in a cyberhell-hole you freak!" he cried as he lunged at Elemental.

"Justin, no!" Elisabeth cried out and reached to stop him, but the flashing pipe was too fast. The target of his anger, Elemental did not move an inch, and stared with quiet indifference at the young man who charged at him.

Justin made an indecipherable animal noise, and then the pipe came down in a flash across Elemental's chest. And kept going. Fully half of the pipe passed clean through Elemental's body, cutting no flesh, and encountering no bone. Instead, the shimmering being standing motionless before them parted to let the pipe pass through. Billions of bits of suspended light particles separated and reflected around the metal object, and then rejoined to form a seemingly solid being once the pipe had passed through. Justin collapsed to the floor, stunned and off-balance. Elemental stood completely still, his face showing no reaction to the apparently murderous intent of his colleague. He seemed to have not even noticed, and was staring absently into space.

"Well, I have to go now," Elemental said calmly. "See you later," and then he disappeared with a brief flash of light.

"Ephraim! Wait!" Elisabeth cried out, but too late. She sighed, and looked down at Justin. Suddenly the young man looked like a frightened boy, still shaking from the rapid off- line and tears forming unbidden in his eyes. She picked up a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"I couldn't keep up . . ." he muttered through his tears, "the little worm beat me . . . I couldn't catch him . . ."

"Shhhh, shhh," Elisabeth comforted softly, all the while staring into the empty space where Elemental had once stood, and wondering if she would ever see him again.

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San Sebastian, Spain, on the Bay of Biscay. Today.

Duke Stratosphere stood close against the wall at the base of the fog shrouded beach. An enormous shadow loomed silently overhead. Somewhere beyond the fog, he could hear the gentle lapping of waves against the beach. Lights from the main offices of the PIXEL administrative buildings glowed eerily in the distance. Checking his location carefully on a SatLoc, his hand held satellite locating device, Duke moved quickly five paces to the right, and then checked it again. He smiled and pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes, pocketed the SatLoc and proceeded to carefully scale the rock wall. Twelve feet to the top and he dropped over the wall onto a wide landing platform. Above him floated the Cicada, once Eduardo DeVargas' personal zeppelin, now moored at PIXEL's summer headquarters here in northern Spain. Since the Paloma program had "appropriated" the body of DeVargas, the elaborately decorated air ship had remained grounded. A slowly deteriorating symbol of it's former owner's exorbitance and eccentricity. It was perfect for what Duke needed.

In the guard's tower above him, three guards were busily chasing a non- existent hacker through their weak security monitoring program. They would chase this self- diminishing program until it appeared that they had caught him, and then it would suddenly off-line. Meanwhile, another much more evasive program had set up a small window in the infrared laser net that surrounded the mooring compound. Again, Duke smiled as he closed his coat and walked casually towards a maintenance access ladder on the underbelly of the floating zeppelin. Two solid days of planning and his unprecedented good luck were the keys to his success. An extreme low tide had granted easy access from the beach, and the thick predawn fog had further obscured his movements. He climbed the ladder without a backward glance and he was in.

His intent was neither malicious nor larcenous. Although there were plenty of riches on board to plunder, his only goal was to access the PIXEL database. From a secure port inside their own system, Duke would have unlimited access that may take weeks to hack into from the outside. Duke settled himself down in front of a familiar computer terminal and turned on the power. He loaded the disk that held the black box he had recovered from Myridia, and began his methodical search.

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Myridia. Last night. Just before midnight.

Nervously, the technical manager activated the buzzer at the closed door. For a long moment there was no answer, and he wondered briefly if he should come back another time. His instructions seemed clear, however, the Master was to be notified as soon as the project was completed. He reached towards the buzzer again, his finger just above the button, when suddenly and unexpectedly, the door whooshed open on silent tracks. As soon as he recovered his shattered composure, the aide grasped his briefcase tightly and stepped inside the room.

Two steps inside and the aide was forced to stop again. The room was dimly lit, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust from the bright corridor outside. When his senses finally recovered, the aide realized that he was standing inside a large dining hall. The wall to his left was a giant arch of windows inside a narrow balcony, with an uninterrupted view of the ocean and sparkling with the light from the reflected moon. The room was illuminated only by the faint moonlight through the open balcony and the low candles still flickering at the long, ornate dining table that dominated the center of the room. The elegant dinner that had been laid there hours earlier was untouched. The room seemed empty except for the hushed stillness that filled it. He nervously searched the dark corners of the room with his eyes for some sign of life, but there was no one in sight. Setting his small case down on the table, he ordered the computer to raise the lights to half. The room was instantly washed with brightening illumination, and it was clear that it was empty. The aide fumbled in his pocket for the instructions he had carefully written down, thinking that maybe he was in the wrong room. This would not look good on his supervisor's evaluation report, he thought glumly.

Without warning another door behind him opened and just as quickly shut with a concealing finality. Instantly the aide turned around to see Doom marching towards him across the long hall. The new Master of Myridia was in full armor, but his verdant cloak trailed behind his long strides as he promptly but without undue haste began to attach it to his silvery breastplate. The aide was startled, and suddenly frightened. The impenetrable adamantium lanxide mask of their new Master seemed to be locked in a perpetual scowl.

"M- Master," the aide breathed fearfully, "I pray I did not disturb you . . .?"

Doom stopped momentarily to glance nonchalantly back the way he had entered. He then faced the tall windows overlooking the dark sea as he continued to attach his long cloak in silence. His metal gloved fingers worked with remarkable dexterity at the hidden clasps. For a moment it seemed he would not answer. He stared menacingly over his shoulder at the technical aide.

"No," he said finally, his deep voice booming effortlessly through the room, "as long as the urgent message you bring is the news of your success!" The threat in those few words was implicitly clear.

"Yes," the aide responded, guardedly confident. "I have the results right here . . ." The aide opened the case he had laid on the table. A pop-up display of numbers and diagrams scrolled across the illuminated screen.

Doom approached the table and scanned the readout with a critical eye, processing the information almost as fast as the computer relayed it. "Excellent!" was his only reply, the ominous satisfaction lost on the technical aide who was overwhelmed by a surprising sense of relief.

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Latveria. Yesterday afternoon.

Elemental stepped out of the dive booth into the bright light of day, and blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted. He was in Antikva Vilago, which was once called Doomstadt in the days of the infamous 20th century Doctor Doom. Now it was simply the old village in the shadows of Gojradia, the modern city that dominated the plains to the north. Yet in this once bustling center of international commerce, not a soul moved, not a sound could be heard. Not even the chirping of birds or the buzzing of insects. The entire human population, and many of the higher animal forms as well, had been wiped out in a ruthless assault months earlier.

Elemental stepped out into the empty street, grimacing slightly at the sticky black film which covered the streets and sidewalks. That was all that remained of half a million lost souls. He looked away, and tried not to think about it. The castle was before him, the new structure rising from the ruins of the old one destroyed forty years ago. Elemental required an open circuit or a live connection in order to materialize in another location, and Doom had directed Elemental to the dive booth as the closest access to his castle. How Doom had known the dive booth link was still open, Elemental did not know. Nevertheless, he was only a few steps from the outer gates to the castle. All of the systems inside the castle had gone through an automated shut down/lock down procedure shortly after the attack, securing it's information systems until it could be reactivated. But that reactivation was limited only to someone with direct physical access. Elemental, with his unique abilities, would be that someone today.

Doom's theory regarding Elemental's unconventional cell structure so far appeared to be correct: he was as yet unaffected by any lingering necrovirus that may still be infecting Latveria. However, he wasn't prepared for what he saw as he stepped through the open gates into the castle courtyard. Hundreds of wave spiders lay scattered about the courtyard, their long legs contracted, their gleaming red mandibles splayed in torment. The giant creatures, the largest of which were the size of a big truck, seemed to stare at him with malice, and Elemental instinctively froze. The creatures did not move. Then he realized that they were all dead. He sighed with relief, and began to work his way across the cluttered courtyard. The eerily frozen skeletons were dry and fragile, he bumped one and it crumbled like sawdust. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and whirled defensively. A dozen or more cockroaches skittered away out of the innards of one of the dead spiders to disappear in the shadows of the castle. Elemental shuddered, but moved on.

Even though the castle systems were isolated, the security systems were still active. They would judiciously prevent anyone from entering the castle proper. All of the internal doors were securely locked. That would not deter him, though. Elemental approached a live security panel and initialized the computer using the access code Doom had supplied him. Instantly, he was in, transformed into his cybernetic form in the blink of an eye, and he began searching the database for the materials his Master needed.

It didn't take him long. Although he could have found it without any assistance, Doom's instructions had been clear and precise. He downloaded the program and supporting information with ease, and began to back out of the system when some side program caught his eye. It was one of the security monitors in the castle interior that had captured and recorded intruders inside the castle. The warning loop was playing over and over again, a safety in the program that wouldn't shut off until the warning had been acknowledged. Elemental watched it with curiosity, but had no point of reference as to what it meant. The three murky images and the object of their intrusion were all unfamiliar to him. There was a muffled scream, he recognized the voice of despair and another's hastily whispered instructions. Then the figures were gone, and all that remained in the small dark room was a plain wooden table, beside an overturned chair. The loop began to play over again. Elemental entered the code that acknowledged receipt of the warning, and the message stopped. He stood there for a moment in studied silence. Then on a impulse, he downloaded the video loop. As an afterthought, he entered the master command file and easily destroyed all records of it's existence.

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Myridia. Today.

Doom was guiding Elisabeth down the long stairs into the massive basement laboratory he had recently constructed adjacent to the central control building. A dozen techs in pale yellow jump suits were scurrying about the large room, adjusting readouts and putting finishing touches on circuit boards that made up a massive machine at the center of the room. The gleaming two story tall metal construct of relays, ballasts, actuators and transformers was focused on a single human sized platform, so that it appeared to be designed strictly for some obscene torture. Straps for legs and arms on the vertical slab did little to alleviate that impression.

"By studying the holographic records of Ephraim's accident," Doom was saying as he led Elisabeth into the room, "I have isolated the specific combination of energies that transformed him into the Elemental being. I have successfully re-created those energies here, in this machine, and can now transmute any organic being at will into the same."

"I was curious as to why the lightening strike didn't just incinerate Ephraim," Elisabeth asked, staring up at the machine with a little trepidation. She had changed into one of the yellow jump suits as well, but seeing the actual mechanism of her transformation was giving her second thoughts about volunteering.

"Indeed," Doom answered, "if the strike had been a direct one he very well might have been. But the intense electromagnetic pulse actually struck one of the rooftop relay systems, which are shielded to dissipate that energy via a protective field barrier. This created a unique energy field containing enormous potential energy but devoid of energy byproducts in the form of heat and light. Ephraim was connected to the uplink satellite relay by one hand, and was still in contact with the Master Computer programs via his cybernetic uplink headset. The resultant energy pulse passed through Ephraim but was trapped there, as he was not sufficiently grounded at the time to form a path. His cells became the repository of the excess potential energy. The Master Computer detected this anomaly and began to rewrite his "software" to compensate for the energy overload, in effect, reformatting the very DNA in every one of his cells in the instant of a lightening strike." Doom approached the central podium with the controls for the large machine. Deftly flipping a complex series of switches and buttons, he brought the machine to life as it began the warm up process. "He was transformed into a being created not of flesh but of infinite bytes of information," he added casually, as if this was no unusual matter .

"But he appears solid, he has form and substance," Elisabeth watched as a rainbow of multi-colored lights flashed across the face of the apparatus.

"He is flesh, because his system has the ability to mimic flesh when he wishes it to. It is part of his programming now," Doom answered. "Now, my dear, if you'll take your position of honor on the platform." He gestured to the vertical slab at the center of the machine.

Elisabeth stepped down, but hesitated before entering. One of the technicians stepped menacingly behind her, but he paused to await orders before forcing her further into the chamber.

"All is ready, Master," one of the techs approached with a clipboard he presented to Doom. "All we need now are the initiation codes."

"Good," Doom stated smugly, eyeing the clipboard. He was about to order the technician to strap Elisabeth in, when they were interrupted by a brief flash of light.

"You'll never get those codes, Doom," Elemental cried out with fierce resolve. He turned to Elisabeth with despair. "Don't let him do this to you, Elisabeth!"

Elisabeth looked to Doom. " What's going on? I thought Ephraim was part of this? What codes does he mean?"

Doom stepped down and marched towards Elemental, his anger barely concealed. "The codes he speaks of are the unique initiation codes locked inside his DNA matrix, without which the computer will not have a format with which to begin the transformation process." He addressed both of them now, "Ephraim has exhausted my patience and deliberately squandered my generosity with his continued insubordination. He has not been involved in this process because he has refused to complete his duty!"

"I cannot do what you ask!" Elemental cried with desperation.

"Than you leave me no choice but to find someone who will," Doom answered coldly.

"Please . . . not Elisabeth . . . anybody but her . . ." he pleaded in a hoarse whisper.

"She is the most qualified candidate," Doom stated.

"Ephraim, I volunteered. Nobody is forcing me," Elisabeth explained gently.

"You see? There is no maleficent intent here," Doom replied, placing an arm around Elisabeth's shoulders. "We are all simply doing our duty for our Country. It is you who are misled, you who would have the Neon Angel destroy all that we fight for! Would you have our country recede into the backwaters of primitivism once again?"

"No, I don't want that," Elemental replied wearily.

"Then you must do your duty or stand down and let someone who has the fortitude you lack take your place!" Doom looked down on him with narrow eyes, but also watched the technicians behind him who were busy setting up a containment field should Elemental try to escape again.

"Very well," Elemental sighed. "Spare Elisabeth from your replication experiment, and I will do as you ask."

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The Pyrenees mountains, between Spain and France.

In a fortress hideaway buried deep within the cold granite mountains, Margaretta Von Geisterstadt was making the final adjustments to her next assault on Myridia. Since escaping the timequakes that destroyed the Pacific Citadel [see Doom 2099 #25] via a hidden transport platform, Margaretta had been carefully planning her revenge against this Doom. How dare he, she thinks as she inputs the last of the data. How dare he. The thought runs through her mind like a freight train on an endless circuit. She will have him for her own, or she will have him killed. She smiled wickedly and admired her reflection in a nearby mirrored panel. She was tall and trim, with dark thick hair and mystical green eyes. Her skin tight faux leather suit accentuated her small waist and ample bosom. This body has served her well. How could he refuse her, she thinks, she is perfect for him in every way.

"No matter," she spoke aloud to herself. "He will soon die, anyway. After all, they all do." She laughed, and then prepared herself for one more trip through cyberspace.

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Cyberspace . . .

Doom flew effortlessly through cyberspace, following Elemental's easy pace. Behind him came Elisabeth, Justin and Mahlon, gliding in tight formation,. Elemental stopped at a juncture, and looked back. Doom and the others approached cautiously.

"She's arranged to meet you here," Elemental instructed dispassionately. "Alone."

"A trap," Elisabeth warned.

Doom opened the portal and examined the space beyond. A large meadow, with a few ruined huts of wood and thatch, and short scrub trees. There were few if any places to hide, but he was not lulled into a false sense of security.

"Let us check it out for you, Master," Justin offered eagerly. "Just a quick sweep."

"No," Doom replied with confidence, "I will indulge Margaretta this once." He turned to Ephraim. "You know what you have to do," he ordered.

Elemental returned his heavy stare fearlessly, but answered, "Yes, Master." He turned away from the group and was gone in a flash.

"The rest of you have your orders. Do not fail me!"

"Yes Master," they replied as one, each taking off in a different direction. Only Elisabeth looked back with concern.

Doom crossed the threshold, and instantly he was transported into a different world as cyberspace reconfigured itself to the Program his icon had entered. He walked across the open field towards the cluster of small shacks, wondering if this was where his nemesis would appear.

"You are still thinking in two dimensions, my Doom," Margaretta's voice came to him from above. "It is that kind of thinking which almost trapped you in the pit of despair!"

Doom looked up with unsurprised amusement. "So, it was as I suspected," Doom replied, cautiously stepping to where he could observe her every move. "It was you who were behind Paloma's deception [see Doom 2099 UG #4 (issue #40)]."

"A minor distraction, was all," Margaretta replied smoothly, "and one to which Paloma was all too willing to cooperate. She has no love for you. You have not had good luck with women of late, my Doom." Margaretta descended slowly to the ground, and focused her eyes on Doom. "Of course, I could be willing to reconcile, if you would only apologize for the way you treated me and come back. A simple thing, really. We could be partners again," she added seductively, "in everything."

"I do not need a partner," Doom growled softly. "And I would not cripple myself with one as duplicitous as you."

"You are a fool!" Margaretta snapped. "I saved you more often than I care to admit. I should have let you die in that snake pit!"

"It is you who are the fool, Margaretta," Doom countered, "hanging on to emotions that are lost in a past I scarcely recall. There can be nothing between us, ever again. It is over."

Margaretta walked away from him a few paces, and then turned to face him with fists clenched and eyes burning with hatred. "I made you, you ignorant fool!" she cried. "You owe me! I grew you! Without me you would be so much worthless protoplasm in a petri dish!"

To that Doom had no reply, for as she spoke six armored warriors materialized above his head and dropped soundlessly out of the sky. Each warrior wore a form fitting metal helmet, of a design that Doom instantly recognized as Sumerian, a warring tribe from pre- historical Mesopotamia. They carried crude swords and ancient spears, anachronistically sharpened to a machine-precise edge. In the real world, these weapons would be no match for his armor. But in the cyberverse, things were not always as they appeared. Doom stepped back and prepared himself.

"Your treachery betrays you, Margaretta," he scolded boldly. "I have come in good faith, unarmed, and you have once again acted without honor."

"You? Unarmed?" Margaretta laughed. "You forget how well I know you, my Doom. These know you too," she said gesturing at the warriors that had gathered between them. "You would be well advised to defend yourself!"

One of the warriors raised a spear, and launched it at Doom. It transformed mid-flight into an energy beam, and even with his shields up the spear knocked him to the ground. He landed hard, but instantly fired his own energy beams from his metal gauntlets. They did not affect the charging warriors, who seemed to absorb the energy. He instantly changed output frequencies, but the effect was improved only marginally in his favor. "These are not mere net gliders," Margaretta explained above the noise of

the battle. "These are programs whose sole purpose in life is to destroy you. They cannot be coerced, or bargained with, or turned from their duty until you are dead. I am sorry, my dear Doom, but we will not be meeting again."

Doom was too busy to reply, having evaded the first rush and alleviated one of the warriors of his round metal shield. He was effectively holding back one of the sword wielding warriors with only the shield, but he was in desperate need of a useful offensive weapon. He met the soulless eyes of the warrior face to mask, and deftly reversed his attack, tossing the warrior over his shoulder with a kick and a roll. Instantly he was on his feet to meet the next attacker.

Margaretta continued from behind him. "Just in case you do manage to defeat my pets, this program is now in a self-termination cycle. Consider it payback for destroying my beautiful pacific island. Prepare to be deleted, my Doom. Aurevoir."

Doom dodged another warrior and sent a second one sprawling with a mighty backhand from his armored fist. As satisfying as that was, Doom was focused on Margaretta, who floated beyond his vision and disappeared in the distance, only her mocking laughter remaining behind.

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In the secure dive booths where the bodies of the net gliders waited in suspended animation while their consciousness drifted through the electronic medium, a secretive shadow moved silently through the darkness. The guards just outside the only door to the room were unaware of any motion inside. The shadow watched them carefully, and moved slowly to where the body of Doom lay silently as in sleep. The shadow slipped soundlessly in beside the motionless monarch. Using a small recorder and wire clips, the intruder carefully attached the alarm systems on the cybernetic monitor onto a bypass terminal, and activated the shunt. Whoever was monitoring Doom's bio-signs would notice a small blip, and then the readings would return to normal. The shadow waited to see that the system was working, and watched the guards for any signs of alarm. The silence was broken only by the steady humming of the machinery.

A small vial appeared in the shadow's hand. The last contact with the intruder's partner had procured this precious liquid, a potent and rare acid used for etching adamantium alloys. The shadow carefully opened the vial and poured the acid liberally over Doom's chestplate. The shadow ducked down as the guard appeared again and passed the doorway. The acid hissed silently until a portion of the armor plate had dissolved, revealing the naked skin below. The shadow's hand emerged again to reveal a long shining serrated blade, which caught the dim light of the room in a starlit reflection. Gripping the blade in both hands, the assassin carefully positioned it over the heart and with one swift motion plunged it deep into the flesh. Crimson blood immediately spread around that terrible wound as the blade was withdrawn, and the body within the armor convulsed in autonomic agony as the heart collapsed upon itself. A quiet gurgling sound erupted from the throat as blood began to fill the lungs, and gushed silently from that mortal wound to drip onto the darkened ground where that shadowy figure had once stood.

To be continued . . . ?

        "Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
                And look upon death itself! Up, up, and see
                        The great doom's image!"
                                Shakespeare, from "Macbeth"



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