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| Salem 2099UG Issue #1 "The Price of Magic" Written by Jason C. Smith |
| 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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| A lone silhouette was cast over the small apartment as the moon burned down upon the city of New Haven, illuminating the tall towers and gothic structures. The blight of man's technology. . .the desires of the few. Although not many had to put up with the topside world of New Haven, they were always reminded that it was there. And that was why this one man, this lone figure to whom the silhouette belonged to was here. That is how he justifies his presence in this God forbidden city. . .that is why he calls New Haven his home. Salem must endure the temptations of evil. . ..the desires of the few. He quickly turned to his project. He leaned over the body of the techno zombie that he had captured in one of New Haven's various Dead End allies. (See UNLIMITED # 1) Yes, he had learned the truth of this poor figure. Just as Salem had expected it was unable to do it's own bidding. . .he was trapped by the psionic net lacing his muscles. Something that Salem had quickly exposed with an admantium scalpel. He had come around many times, and Salem was having a hard time investigating the situation while trying not to harm the man indefinitely. Although he had often reminded himself that this man was already dead, he could not bring himself to ending his existence a second time. But was he right in this decision? Had he any right to NOT let the man die in peace? After gasping breath from the man and a few audible words begged Salem to end it all. . .he brought himself to do so. He was no hero, what was it to him? He had a job to do, and the pleading from his captive only aided his quest. He quickly felt beneath the body's neck and skin. There were uneven bumps everywhere. That was what had brought him to the conclusion in the alley that this creature was not a genuine zombie. It was the first clue which lead him to the psionic net. But one question still remained. He knew HOW the body had been reanimated, but how was it that this creature. . .this dead man. . .was in complete control of his faculties without the psionic net? No such technology could bring his consciousness back into being. He had an idea, and that was the only reason he was pursuing this investigation, wasn't it? Someone had used paranormal means to pull the creature's being from the depths of the deceased. And he intended to find out who. He rolled the techno zombie over onto his back. He delicately brought the scalpel to the base of it's neck, making a small incision, and quickly peeling back the flesh, exposing more of the technology that had animated the man. After removing the net, he found within the vein of circuits the main consul, which was no bigger than his fingertip. He ripped it slowly from the rest of the structure and stood holding it above his face. What he saw was too good to be true. He quickly read it aloud. "PE2569834556.45, Tamerlane Inc." A serial number. . .which could only mean that this thing was in mass production!? Or at least, it would be eventually. The ‘PE' reminded him that this was a prototype. . .possibly released as a test. But what of this Tamerlane Incorporated? It wouldn't be hard to trace down the lab that this creature was born in, but what good would it do? He was going to have to cut off the main supply. . .leaving the various mini corps connected to the disease of infrastructure to whither on the vine. He was going for the head. He couldn't let this type of merchandise out on the street. He was witnessing the next wave in technology. "Necromechanics," he whispered to himself. He dragged the body of the man over to his closet. He held his hand out a little from his body and it quickly began to tremble as a soft light from within sprang forth. . .erupting around an invisible barrier surrounding the plasti-wood enforced doors. The doors soon fell open as he took the body by the arms, dragging it into the blackness of the walk in closet. He dropped him on the floor and began going through his things. He grabbed the remaining bits of his uniform, his gloves, mask, and cloak, slipping them on one by one. He reached and picked up the psionic net's consul, and placed it in one of the compartments on his belt. He pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, adding even more shadow to the darkness surrounding his features. As he left the dark confines of the closet, he grasped the Staff of Asgard tightly in his hand. He walked out and as if in reverse held his hand out again, closing the doors, and replacing the invisible barrier that protected his equipment. He reached out in order to try and open the doors, displaying his own self doubt. . .a rare trait of his that he never revealed to another being. He began waving the Staff around in a slow motion, before the end began to glow in a bright light, which despite it's brightness, wasn't unpleasant to look at. It was entrancing, and Salem kept the pattern in motion, until finally coming back to his senses, and as if ripping a hole in a piece of paper, a rip appeared in the still air. The tear began to slowly open as the Staff of Asgard disappeared within it, expanding the perimeters, allowing Salem safe passage. And as his figure disappeared into the blinding light, the remains of the tear followed his example, escaping from sight. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- New Haven, LaCastre Manor The Lord of the Manor stood before his window staring upon the same New Haven moon that exposed the city with minor amusement. He didn't take this pleasure for granted, as many of the topsiders did. He knew that the privilege of standing above ground on a clear night, staring at the heavens was a luxury that few in New Haven could afford. But, somehow he took a strange delight out of knowing the expansion that led the poor underground was due to his own foresight and deal making. He quickly slid into his over-stuffed office chair and turned to his large desk. His office was fully decorated in black, with old English paintings of witches and other foul creatures. The office was covered in shadow from the burning moon. Things were going better than ever in New Haven, he thought to himself. He leaned back and gently sighed. The family tradition was blooming and expanding. He had much to appreciate. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tamerlane Inc., New Haven The wind howled outside of Tamerlane, Inc., and not a soul was in sight. A sharp tear in the fabric of the night appeared, and out stepped a lone figure, his cloak flapping in the harsh New Haven night. The Staff in his hand ceased glowing and his extra-dimensional doorway closed, leaving the wind to carry away it's sulfuric fumes. The figure glanced around as if testing his keen senses. He had not sensed anyone around, and that was enough. It wasn't hard to locate the dominant structure of the Tamerlane, Inc., corporation. Apparently they had been blossoming for the past few years, escaping his attention. He really had any reason to notice them, until now. He strolled over to the door, his feet not making a sound, and reached out for the door knob. He was only mildly surprised to find that there wasn't one. This was a new building, with a keypad and code, possibly even a retina scan. He cursed beneath his mask, and began to quickly assess his options. He hadn't teleported directly into the building, for he didn't know what to expect. First of all, he had to determine if this was indeed the source of the techno zombie. Well, there was only one way to do that. . .he had to find a way inside. He quickly found a vent, possibly for dumping of used air, and ripped it off. His muscles tensed for only a brief second as his superior strength easily managed to defeat the materials used in the vent's construction. How heroic, he thought as he leaped down into the shaft, placing the Staff into his belt loop. He crouched down, only allowing a second for his vision to adjust to the darker scheme of things. The senses, the strength. . .such were blessings of the damned, he sighed. Well, at least he wouldn't let his go to waste. He quickly began to make his way down the small vent, crawling at an amazing speed. The amount of time he had spent in the vents was incalculable. . .or at least to Salem. Finally, he reached where he thought he wanted to be. Unlike most other vents, this had no large vents to peer through, for it was state of the art. . .it was a semi-permeable membrane used to filter the air. It left the air in the building sterile and clean. Salem gulped and whipped out his Staff. A quick flash of light left his figure crouched in the corridor. He wasn't sure where he was at, but crawling around blind in a vent wouldn't help his chances much either. He stuck the Staff in his belt, and faded into the shadows as he made his way down the corridor. It took him awhile to notice the absence of any personnel. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- New Haven, LaCastre Manor A slight buzz noise caught the sensitive ear of Sir LaCastre. He merely looked over at the consul, which immediately sprang to life. It showed a blank screen, and he became enraged. "What is the meaning of this," he cried. Nothing replied. . .but a hard sigh over the audible waves. "I will not suffer malfunctions lightly," he stressed. "This is intolerable." Then he searched the screen again. He couldn't believe his eyes. He could barely, just barely, make out the shape of a figure, wrapped in a dark cloak working his way through the shadows of Tamerlane, Inc. . . .his corporation. . .his baby. He had taken extreme measures to ensure the success of the LaCastre family's first corporate venture, and that was one of the many things that could be connected with their quick rise. Tamerlane was easily the biggest name in New Haven, and was beginning to branch off all over the Eastern Seaboard. "Call back all personnel, Lynx. Also, release PE66054-H_Hound," he said boldly. A large grin begin to spread across his strong face. "The hell hound, Sir," asked the voice identified as Lynx. "The one and the same, Lynx. Let's see how our figure can deal with our latest proto-type. . .the newly licensed Tamerlane werewolf. The ultimate guard dog." There was a silence as Lynx processed the commands, and all was filed. As the lights in Tamerlane began to dim, Sir LaCastre sat back in his chair watching. The screen clicked off with a gesture from him, and he laid back, turning to look at the moon. Yes, he had built an entire empire. . .and his reign in the House of LaCastre had only begun. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tamerlane, Inc., New Haven Salem crouched down with his Staff in hand. He had noticed that no personnel were working, and he was trying to calculate his whereabouts. The heavy scent of brimstone still floated about him, and his sensitive hearing barely heard the sound of something sniffing in the distance. But, lucky for him. . .he did hear it, no matter how slight it was. He leaned over and felt the soft vibrations in the floor. Something was approaching and fast. He stood, ready to face whatever may have been sent to stop him from his search. His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the figure approaching him. It wasn't very far away before he realized that the figure, or creature, was running on all fours. . .fast. And that moment, he had to make a decision. It didn't take long for Salem to shove his Staff into his belt, and turn to run. He was no hero, he reminded himself, and getting killed would hardly offer any positive aspects of obtaining his goal. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the creature was gaining fast. He quickly rolled into a side corridor and leaped back to his feet to run. He allowed himself to look back long enough to catch the image of a wolf creature charging him. Without missing a step, his hand flew to his belt, clutching a small metallic disc which he launched at a light generator. He didn't even look back as he heard the disc bounce off. He grasped his Staff, and used it to catapult himself into the generator. . .the impact of his double kick, broke through the paneling, casting the hall in darkness. Salem knew that he couldn't outrun the creature, so he was prepared to make his stand. The eyes of the creature, which Salem was now assuming was a warewolf, were glowing with a red, technological glow. Salem's mind went back to the techno-zombie, and thought. . .no, not a werewolf, but a warewolf. His eyes were even more acute than the warewolf's, but it wasn't enough to stop the wolf, from leaping up on top of him, his own strength buckling beneath him. His cloak had fallen back, revealing his mask, and hidden features. The wolfman leaned over him, holding Salem's powerful arms to the ground. He panted and drool poured from his open mouth and slowly ran down the side of Salem's dark, purple mask. He was fairly certain that Tamerlane had taken the warewolf program and fused it with the real aspects of the disease to construct this powerful security precaution. . .would these come into mass production as well, Salem's mind raced. This thought made him cringe, and his muscles tensed. He finally managed to through the creature off, by catching him unbalanced. Salem swiftly rolled with his back to the wall, grabbing for his Staff. His reflexes were hardly enough to save him from the warewolf's iron jaws, for as soon as his back hit the wall, and the Staff was raised, the creature was upon him once again. However, instead of finding flesh to fall upon, the creature caught Salem's Staff right in the chest. Salem raised to one knee as the wolfman leaned over, clutching his chest. Salem quickly raised the Staff of Asgard and brought it down upon the creature's head hard. Then, again, and again. The creature fell upon it's back, and Salem kicked it in the ribs. He walked slowly, never turning his back to the creature that his mind had dubbed "Tamerlane." He had named his foe after the corporation that he was searching. . .his mind found it easier to combat a foe whose name he could grasp. It made the situation seem more real. As he backed up, Tamerlane worked his way up to his feet. His clawed hand went up to his head. . .and went he sniffed it, his nostrils were filled with the smell of the crimson liquid on his hand. Even Salem could smell the blood in the air. They stood facing each other in the dark. As Tamerlane raced toward Salem, the Devil's Son unleashed his Staff, throwing it at his foe like a spear. Unfortunately, the warewolf dodged the assault with his uncanny agility and made a dozen feet seem like inches. Salem barely managed to leap out of the way, as his hand flew out and grasped the returning Staff. . .an ancient enchantment which still charmed the Staff. Tamerlane lashed out at Salem, his claws barely missing him, and catching his cloak. The wolfman creature grabbed the cloak with both hands, and dragged a fighting Salem toward his powerful jaws. He leaned over the mystical bounty-hunter, his claws digging into the cloak. Salem finally managed to kick the warewolf in the gut as hard as he could. . .forcing the air from his lungs. As he did so, he scrambled to his feet and fled. . .again. He turned down a maze of hallways, and his instincts brought him to his destination. He entered into a large cavern-like room, which was filled with monitors and other technological gadgets. Salem smiled beneath his mask, as he sat down at a central looking station. He slid his hand into a compartment in his belt and produced two mini-discs. He quickly accessed the computer, searching for a particular file. . .and after searching for the serial number on the psionic net's main chip he found what he was looking for. Tamerlane, Inc. was indeed the organization responsible for the techno zombie's manufacture. He entered a disk, and began to download all of the files based on mysticism. He easily broke all the codes, for they were all based on ancient languages and other riddles that were long forgotten. . .by all except a select few, of which Salem happened to be a part of. He didn't hear Tamerlane sneak into the hall as his eyes spied the files which he was stealing. Tamerlane wrapped one massive arm around Salem's neck, yanking him out of his chair. Salem grabbed at the arm, and his legs kicked as his lungs searched for the most needed substance known as oxygen. . .however, Tamerlane wasn't allowing any to be found. Salem began to black out, as he watched the download on the computer consul near completion. He knew that all he had to do was keep Tamerlane at bay for a short amount of time. . .long enough for him to grab his files, and replace them with a little surprise of his own. A technological spell known as a chaos virus. . .nanoid enhanced of course. Such goods didn't come cheap, but Salem had connections in the Lower Side. Salem grabbed the creature by the large main of hair which made it's way down the warewolf's back, and slung them both into the wall. The creature pushed itself off of Salem, but after stepping back, he leaped at him, with his claws slashing everywhere. However, this time Salem was not to be touched, for he dropped to his knees, rolling out of the way. The creature cut into the wall, exposing various circuits for the machinery in the room. Salem launched his own attack, punching the warewolf in the gut with his Staff, as if it were an extension of his hand. As the wolfman doubled over Salem smashed him in the mouth with the Staff, using it as a club. A few teeth flew from his mouth, including a large fang that Salem quickly grabbed. Salem circled around the creature, letting his back face the wall that was badly damaged. And just as he had expected Tamerlane rammed into him. Salem lifted the fang far over his head, and brought it crashing down into the wolfman's back. . .ripping a large portion of him open. As the creature stumbled back, Salem's gloved hands grasped one of the cables inside the wall and jerked it free. . .quickly shoving it into the warewolf's wound. The surge of energy caused the nanoids that enhanced the wolfman to go in a frenzy, and they transformed again, their systems shutting down for good. Salem stepped over his fallen foe, and stuck the fang in his belt. He walked over toward the computer consul before finally removing his disk and sliding it back within his belt. Then, he took the other disk and examined it carefully, moving it around in the light from the monitor, before finally, slowly, sliding it into the miniature disk-drive. He entered in a small code and stood back up to his full height, his cloak flowing off of his back, motionless in the germ free air. His instincts caught his attention, as he turned holding the Staff of Asgard in the air. As he did so, an intense beam of energy shot from the top of the room, meaning to destroy the intruder. The Staff absorbed the energy, and Salem turned toward one of the main electrical power grids, firing the energy into it. Sparks flew through out the room as the lights went down. He could smell the burnt hair of Tamerlane, but paid it no mind. Finally he looked toward the monitor and his features shifted under his mask. His chaos virus had encountered some sort of advanced anti-viral software from Tamerlane Inc. Neither virus was going to give up, and Salem could feel the vibrations of the biotech panels. He closed his eyes and waited. . . -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- New Haven, LaCastre Manor Radü LaCastre, Lord of the House of LaCastre and CEO of Tamerlane, Inc., continued to sit and watch the moon. His strong features reflected in the glass of his office, and he looked more like a sculpture in the shadows than a living man. He hadn't moved for hours, not since the disturbance at Tamerlane. But, Lynx had taken care of that, thanks to his orders. Finally, his expression did change. . .but only slightly. He was tracing the various craters on the moon's surface when he heard an explosion. It was the kind of noise that you heard in the distance and quickly forgot. . .it was large enough to shake the anti-vibration/sound proof glass that was used to construct his huge window. It was even enough to shake him in his seat. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. Tamerlane, Inc., had fallen. One unknown man had wiped away one of the technological blights in New Haven. . .but at what cost? What happened to Tamerlane, Inc., and Salem!? Find out more about the mysterious House of LaCastre. What's their family secret? Find out in about a week in the exciting adventures of the Lost Son, Salem 2099 UG!!!! |