2099UG Tales #2

Manhattan.

   Down from Thirteenth Street.

   Down from the Fault Line

   That's really all that matters to anyone on this island.

   Up or down.

   Up means health, wealth and privilege. Clean homes and a warm shower. A good job and toon vids on the entertainment system. High class recreational chemicals, and fancy cars.

   Down means poverty. Down means sickness. Down means living in filth and stench and scraping by day to day, wondering what's going to give up on you first. Spirit, mind or body.

   Up, good. Down, bad. Remember that.

   There is some transport between the two, though no one would ever admit it.

   Take the figure in the shadows atop that boarded up polyclinic. He's gone both ways.

   Once he went up.

   Once he went down.

   Up, good. Down, bad.

   He was lucky. He got an opportunity all too few people down from Thirteenth get. He had help and he dragged himself up, over the fault line. Into all that health, wealth and privilege. Left the filth and the stench behind and went up.

   Then came The Night of the Long Knives.

   And he went down again.

   Down, down, down.

   Up, good. Down, bad.

   On that night he, like so many others up from the Fault Line, sat in his plush apartment, having come home from a another stressful day at a career that was slowly on it's way to becoming a vehicle collision, watching the news. NYFAX.

   Jack Whitlow was reporting. He'd never much liked Whitlow.

   They were recapping on news a few weeks old now; the bombardment of the White House. Former President Doom's body still hadn't been found. Yes, yes. All well and good. Nothing interesting. Politics didn't matter enough in today's cooperate society to effect all that much. Sure Doom
had changed things. Probably for the better if propaganda was correct. They'd never find out now. Oh well.

   Then they cut to Mirielle Radley, reporting live.

   She was following Jacob Gallows. Former Minister of Punishment in Doom's Cabinet. Former head of SHIELD and the Punishment Police.

   The Punisher.

   The reporter wasn't the only one following him though. So was SHIELD. He didn't seem happy to see them. They didn't seem happy to see him.

   Firepower began to fill the air between them. The Punisher on one side, SHIELD soldiers on the other. Gallows was out manned, but it seemed as if SHIELD was out gunned.

   Radley rambled on as she ran behind. She called Gallows an animal, a killer. Then she called him justice.

   The man in his apartment was intrigued by that. He'd thought he'd known justice before, but he was wrong. At that point he didn't believe there actually was justice.

   In the end, it didn't matter if the Punisher was justice or not. Gallows went down, turned to ash by a wave spider after being herded by the troops he once led.

   That was just the beginning though.

   The Knight of the Long Knives continued.

   President Steve Rogers--Captain America--proclaimed open season on all the new heroes, and SHIELD followed his orders.

   Gallahad was next. Then Metalscream. Finally the Hulk. People with power--not power like the mega-corporations have, but a more real power, a - good - power, the power to - do - good -- gunned down like dogs. Hunted and slaughtered for no reason other then a desire to help people because they could. Because they felt a responsibility to do so.

   Gallahad. Metalscream. The Hulk. The Punisher.

   Ethan Shields. John Flamel. John Eisenhart. Jake Gallows.

   Hope. Magic. Independence. Justice.

   Because that's what justice is isn't it? It's not some pay cops working for the megacorps, like the Private Eyes or Sweet Dreams. It's not the corporate polices. It's defiantly not a Black Card. It's going out and doing what's right, and seeing that those that do what's wrong get punished. That's what justice is all about.

   Now four agents of justice were no more.

   Then and there, the man in his plush apartment like so many others', made a decision unlike so many others'.

   And he went down.

   Up, good. Down, bad. Remember that.

   That was then. This is now.

   Now he's not in his apartment. He hasn't been in the apartment since that night, when justice was declared public enemy number one. Now he's in the shadows below the Fault. Watching. Waiting. No one sees him there.

   He's not hiding, but he is hidden.

   And then it happens. A scream in the night. A cry of despair and surprise from a voice that sounds suited to it. It echoed oddly around the buildings and streets, and it takes a second for the shadow shroud figure to figure out from which direction it comes.

   From there.

   Around that corner.

   The figure in the shadows turns to observe.

   A man runs down the alley. Under his arm is a child. An infant. A crying infant, primarily naked and dirty. The child's eyes are green. The man swears at the young boy, hoping to quiet him. He's worried. Beads of sweat run tracks through the dust on his face. A female, weak and thin and just a filthy as the child turns the corner and onto the alley.

   "Malcom, no! Stop! Please stop! That's my baby! No! Malcom!" She screams as she gives chase. Her voice is horse and her breath ragged. She limps as she runs. She's never going to catch the babysnatcher, and it looks as if her pleas are not going to make him have a change of heart. She
tries anyways. If she doesn't, poor Malcom will be sold. Maybe to the red market organ chop shops. Maybe to the Theatre of Pain, if it really exists. Malcom is all she has in this world and she can't let him go that easily.

   The man in the shadows moves. He dives from the roof of the polyclinic. Flipping over in midair is exhilarating, but he'd never admit it. No time. There's a job to do. Three stories straight down he lands on his feet, right in the path of little Malcom's captor, light as a cat. A cloud of dust and grime rises around him from the impact, but he seems none the worse for it.

   The babysnatcher is too startled to realize he needs to stop. That's okay though. The figure in black moves out of the way quick enough. He grabs the wailing child from under the babysnatcher's arm with one hand and grabs the wrist of the kidnaper with the other. Malcom is safe from harm in the crook of his arm, and the babysnatcher is harmed quite a bit as is slammed into the wall.

   Finally the infant's mother catches up. "Malcom...oh Malcom. You're alright. Oh thank you...." She looks at the figure cradling her son as he stands over the thief who'd taken him from her.

   He is tall. Dressed from the top of his head to the soles of his feet in black. A skintight mesh suit of some sort. His body is well formed. Broad shoulders and heavy tight musculature is evident. Small horns protrude from the top of his brow.

   For a moment, Malcom's mother is dumbstruck with fear. This man saved her child from the babysnatcher, but what's his intention. Is her child any better off? Is she?

   Then the man holds out the child to her. For a moment, his eyes glow a deep red. For a moment. "Your son." His voice is rough and quite. No more than a quiet whisper, though still it penetrates her.

   Her voice catches in her throat before she can speak. "Y-yes. Thank you." She takes young Malcom from the black clad demon and hugs the child close.

   His eyes flash again, as does the emblem on his left breast, a pair of interlocked "D"s. Deep red. The symbol on his chest fades. The eyes don't. "I think you should leave now."

   She nods, her head jerking up and down almost comically. She stutters but nothing comes out. She turns, sobbing, and runs, clutching the child close to her chest.

   The Daredevil turns his attention to the babysnatcher who is now struggling to rise. He's cursing under his breath and turning to flee in the opposite direction of Malcom and his mother.

   He doesn't get far though. A baton forms from nothing in the Daredevil's hand. Solid energy, photons packed together as dense as any adamntium rod. It strikes across the babysnatcher's knee with a
sickeningly solid crack. It sounds like a fracture, not a break. He falls to the ground clutching his hands his wounded limb.

   "Eeyaaaaa!" he screams. "Shock, man! What the shock do you want?"

   The black clad man stands above him so much like an angel of death. Of justice. Red eyes glowing, photon baton in his fist. "What's your name?"

   "Jarem. It's Jarem! Shock! What's that got to do with anything?"

   The Daredevil nods. "What did you want with the child, Jarem?"

   "I don't know, man. I like kids?" He tries to chuckle, but he's to nervous to pull it off.

   Moving like quicksilver the Daredevil grabs Jarem up off the ground one handed and slams him into the alley wall. Hard. "I think, Jarem, you'll find I'm not in the best of humors tonight. Now, what did you want with the child?" His voice doesn't raise at all. Low, calm, steady and articulate.

   The babysnatcher looks to be on the verge of tears. "Fine! Just lay off, man! There's these guys, they're offering good money for kids. Five hundred creds, man! I ain't never seen that many at one time before!"Those glowing red eyes narrow into angry slits. If his voice was rough before, it's harsh now. "Who?"

   "I don't know, man! They never--" Jarem doesn't get a chance to finish before he goes up and over the black clad demon's head to be slammed, upside down, into the opposite wall of the alley. Before he can fall all the way to the ground, the Daredevil kicks him in the mid-section. Pain explodes in both his gut and his back as he's crushed into the wall a third time.

   "I asked you Jarem, who is offering the credits?"

   Lying in a crumpled heap in the filthy alley, Jarem is weeping openly now. "I told you! I don't shocking know! You bring them the kids and they transfer the cash to your account! Shock, man! That's all I know!"

   Zooming in on the babysnatcher's eyes, slowly the Daredevil nods. Jarem is telling the truth. The red glow of his eyes fades into blackness again. "Where?"

   Dumbfounded, the vile man sobbing on the alley ground looks up at his assailant. "W-what?"

   A low rumble of displeasure emanates from the black clad figure's throat. "Where can I find these people, Jarem? The ones offering the credits in exchange for innocents."

   "Oh, shock. I can't--" the Daredevil raises his baton. "Shock, man! I'm thinking!" Jarem cries out, and to his surprise, his cry has some affect. The baton lowers slowly. "Lower New York! Tunnel entrance by the museum! Is that shocking good enough for you?"

   He has the info he needs now, but what to do with Jarem? If he was some magacorp boot lick, he'd be dead. But he isn't. He's just some pussbag from downtown trying to make some easy money. "Not many people get a second chance in this life time, Jarem. Don't waste yours." The threat in the Daredevil's voice is obvious, but the babysnatcher's just happy to keep his life.

   It's dark in Lower New York. Years of building the skyscrapers and shopping malls of the present atop the wasted hulking constructs of the past have made what was once New York City a cavernous labyrinth nearly a kilometer below what is now Nueva York. Even in the places where the feeble lighting still flickers and pulses, clinging to some last vestige of power and providing pathetic illumination. It's not that the Daredevil needs the light. He can see just fine. Any comfort he might
have once derived from it is in his past. The shadows cloak him here even better then they do atop the roofs and in the alleys down from Thirteenth.

   Still, it's dark in Lower New York.

   SHIELD doesn't come down here. The Public Eye and other pay cops didn't either.

   Though that's not a problem.

   Most hardened criminals wouldn't risk coming down here to escape the authority figures either. Only the most desperate and the most bold know the tunnels and warrens of this city beneath a city. Rumors persisted for years of a band of mutant terrorists making their base down here. Some said this is where Doom was hiding himself after being forcefully evicted from the White House. Those who were foolish enough to believe the man was still alive that is.

   The old decrepit subway entrance tunnel by the Museum of Man and Nature is close to the surface. Or as close to the surface as anything in Lower New York gets. Finding it wasn't hard for the Daredevil. He'd been there before.

   Others have been here recently too. They've left their mark. Foot prints in the dust and the filth on the ground. That lamp over there atop that metal bin is new. Clean. They use it when they come down here to do business. There's a smell that's out of place. Usually places like this smell dry and musty. Some uptown girl marinated herself in some fancy perfume before coming down here, and the stink permeates the air, lingering, though she's gone.

   He hears the door latch release even before the door slams open to his right. I could slip deeper into the shadows, the Daredevil thinks. See what's happening before I make my move. He actually considers that idea for all of five seconds before discarding it. He turns to stand tall and solid, facing the door and the figure emerging from it, his back to the tunnel by the museum.

   The large man entering the darkened Lower New York street is heedless of the dangers one might face down here. He's from up. His clothing is too nice beneath the blue med-tech coat, his face is too unlined, his eyes are too bright, his stomach has too healthy a paunch for him to be down from the Fault Line. He's from up.

   "Well, well. What have we here? Another delivery, hmmm?" The fat man seems to be talking as much to himself as to what he must think is another of his babysnatching street thugs. "Come to get your fee?"

   As he talks, the uptown man in the good corporate clothing raises a control in one hand, thumbs the switch and turns on the lamp, bathing the tunnel by the museum in a pale, ethereal glow. To the fat man's eyes though, the lamp atop the metal bin is eclipsed by the man in black. "Who are you?" He demands angrily.

   He knows something's not right. In fact, something is very wrong, and that scares the corporate man. The fear is in his eyes. His breathing quickens. His heartbeat speeds up.

   "You've been paying thugs and miscreants from downtown to bring you children." The rough whisper fills the abandoned street. "Why?"

   "Because it's cheaper then paying competent workers to do it," comes the man's glib remark.

   The baton of pure energy soars between the two figures to slam into the fat man's left shoulder. He feels bones crack in his arm from the force of the impact. He staggers back to slump against the wall of the building from which he emerged. To his credit, the cry of pain is a short one.

   Walking toward the corporate man, the Daredevil's voice is low and calm. His words unhurried. "I told one of your lackeys earlier that I'm not in the best of humors. Nothing's changed since then."

   The stink of too much perfume wafts through the air as a second figure exits the building. "Alexi? I heard a commotion, what's --" The woman's nervous chattering cuts off abruptly as she sees the tall demon striding towards her and Alexi. She's like him. Uptown girl. Nice clothes, nice face and figure--probably cost her bit, each of those--bright eyes, good teeth.

   The Daredevil's eyes flash red as he turns his attention to the woman. "Alexi and I were just discussing how you've been paying for infants and toddlers from downtown. I want to know why."

   She trembles a bit. She glances from the fat man against the wall with the broken arm to the black clad demon silhouetted in light from the lamp atop the metal bin behind him, and back again. She swallows reflexively. "Cardiotech."

   Cardiotech. The sound of her voice implies that one word should explain it all. And it nearly does. An up and coming corporation in the bio-medical research and development field with ties to half the
megacorps in North America and allegiances in the red market.

   "Quiet, Alice!" The fat man with the broken arm demands, shooting the woman a glare. It doesn't match the glowing red eyed glare the black clad demon gives him though. The interlocked "D"s flash on his chest
too.

   "Why downtown kids?" The Daredevil doesn't try to hide the displeasure in his voice.

   "Because no one will notice. No one will care if a few down town kids go missing. The research we do is for the greater good and it's harder to do ever since the Latverian outlawed the red market." Alice is obviously getting more upset and less nervous with the situation by the second.

   "What about their parents?"

   Alice is getting angry now. These aren't questions she's prepared to deal with but she really has no choice in this situation. "What about their shocking parents? We should round those scabs up too if you ask me! Everything down from the fault is a blight!"

   That's all the Daredevil needs. He moves quicker then Alice or Alexi could predict. He grabs the woman marinated in her own perfume and now also tainted by the nervous salty sweat smell. He hurls her through the door into the building both the Cardiotech pusbags came from.

   Slowly walking through the shattered door frame into what once must have been an office building of some form, the Daredevil takes in his new surroundings. Alice lays in a sobbing heap in the middle of the lobby floor. The walls are bare and stained. The floor is cracked and shattered tile, though it looks recently polished by some house cleaning machine. There is more then enough light to fill the wide open space. A corporate logo the Daredevil doesn't recognize is engraved into the far wall. A table covered in an assortment of neatly arranged medical equipment is by the doorway. To the left is a hovercart stacked high with sample containers. The black clad demon doesn't need to look inside to know what's in them, and a quick look at the readings on the side tells him he's to late to help those already brought here. His eyes flash red again. The baton forms in his hand again.

   He strides over to the pile of still unused containers beside the hovercart. He opens two and turns to walk towards where Alice lays broken on the ground. She sees the open containers and begins to sob. "Please, no! Have mercy! We're just the contacts! We're not doing the research! We're just doing our jobs!"

   Her pleas go unheard as he begins to drag her to the open container by the cart. She struggles, but his grip is like a vice. There's nothing she can do but sob and plead. So she sobs and pleads.

   The Daredevil noticed Alexi enter the room as soon as he did. The fat man moves quietly for someone with his bulk, but not quiet enough. He noticed the fat man rummage though the items on the table by the door. Messing them up. Getting them out of place. He noticed Alexi pick up the neural stinger and begin to aim with his good arm.

   Alice notices none of this. She is to engrossed in sobbing and pleading. So she's surprised when the Daredevil spins less then a meter short of the open containers and hauls her to her feet for seemingly no reason. She's even more surprised when she feels the neural stinger's dart bite deep in her skin. The glass tip breaks off and the poison seeps through her body. The Daredevil hears her heart pump. He knows the contaminated blood is going to the uptown girl's brain. She sags in his hands. The brain shuts down, but the body goes on.

   She's brain dead. Just like all the samples in the containers on the cart.

   Just like the kidnaped children from down town.

   Dropping Alice's body the Daredevil hurls his baton again. This time it's the fingers in Alexi's right hand that shatter under the impact. He curses and drops the neural stinger to the ground. The baton returns to the demon in black's hand. "You're a shocking psycho!" he screams. He doesn't turn to run though. Apparently he realizes the futility such an action would have.

   The Daredevil strides forward and grabs Alexi by the shoulder and begins to lead him towards the open containers. There's no worry about Alice
trying to run off now.

   "Why are you doing this?" Alexi's voice is calm. He's resigned himself to his fate.

   "Because what you're doing here is wrong. Because the people of down town are under my protection." The Daredevil doesn't look at his captive as he speaks. He just continues the steady march toward the empty container.

   Alexi gains enough of his nerve to chuckle. "You've thrown your life away for those downtown scabs. How noble. How futile. No matter how much you do, it will never be enough, don'tyou realize that? Day in and day out you waste your life for them and there will always be more people like
Cardiotech looking to exploit them or get rid of them. You know this, right? You can't beat the megacorps, boy." He's not pleading or begging, just stating the facts as he sees them.

   The Daredevil is unperturbed. "Maybe I can't stop it all, but I can do what's right. I can bring some, like you, to justice. And for now, that's enough."

   He shoves the fat man into the sample container and seals it. He puts Alice's limp form in the second and seals that one too. It's a matter of minutes to remove the five containers atop the hover cart, and put the two new ones in their place. The destination is already pre-programmed into the hover cart's circuits. All the Daredevil has to do is push a button and the samples are on their way. Including two special ones.

   When the sun rises in the morning, Malcom is still in his mother's arms. Maybe the boy will never move up past the fault line, but at least he's safe for now.

END!