Issue 2
"Shake, Rattle and Rage"
In the dark, there are no sounds save it’s tortured breathing. The aged behomoth shifts, each movement an indescribable moment of agony as metal implants grind against bone and muscle. The caged being no longer retains any vestige of the memory of it’s ancestry, save for occasional flashes. It was a prince of his people, once destined for glory and triumph. Now, however, it is nothing more than meat and bone twisted into a tool that serves but one purpose...the complete and utter destruction of Dr. Bruce Banner...
Rick checked the address. It took little time for his tracing software to plot the point of origin for the call which had alerted him to the discovery of Banner’s whereabouts. Getting into the country was troublesome at first. It seemed that airport security couldn’t bring themselves to believe his SHIELD passport was legit, and Rick had been forced to waste several hours on what should have been a relatively simple matter. Eventually, however his detainers relented and allowed him to go about his business. Now he stood before an nondescript commercial building nestled in the heart of downtown Boulder, marked only with the signage of one “Dr. Leonard”.
“This has to be it,” he muttered softly. “What the hell is going on here...”
Nervously, he scanned the street. The call had been placed from a pay phone a block and half away, which meant whoever was hunting Bruce couldn’t be far.
“Hell, the bastards are probably watching me, right now...” Shaking off a sense of impending doom, he started towards the door.
“Heh...remember, Rick -it ain’t paranoia if they’re really after you,” he sighed to himself, reaching for the door.
One second later, the back of his skull exploded, twisting his torso violently around as he careened into the wall. Fighting to remain conscious, Rick snarled “Oh, sure...shoot a guy in the back of the head why don't you.” He then promptly collapsed into a heap at the doorway.
“Shit...” Jones struggled to get back on his feet, when a second shot caught him face first, and darkness overtook his fading thoughts.
"Jones is down, sir. No sign of Banner yet," the sniper informed his commanding officer, "Shall I dispatch the good doctor as well?"
Major Bachalo nodded grimly, "The word is given, Sergeant."
"Poor sonuvabitch won't know what hit him," he replied, taking careful aim on the resting psychiatrist. The crosshairs lined up on Samson's office window pane, through which an armour piercing round would penetrate effortlessly and lodge with devasting effect into its victim's brain, killing him instantly.
"Just point and squeeze...nothin to it," he voiced breathlessly as he took the shot. His features were devoid of emotion as he watched Samson's head whip back from the impact of the lethal strike. "He's down," the Sergeant remarked as the doctor's lifeless body pitched over the chair he had, minutes earlier, fallen asleep upon.
"Well, that certainly wasn't har...what the hell??" Now the sniper's face betrayed alarmed bewilderment, as he watched the man he'd just murdered rise up again. The figure seemed confused, turning to the window to witness the gaping hole which indicated the trajectory of whomever his intended assasin was. Then, irritation furled the man's brow, as his eyes focused upon the sniper positioned across the boulevard. His face was completely unmarked.
"That's not possible...I know I hit him -oh, FUCK!!!" He's looking right at me. "Sir, we're spotted. He's moving right at us!"
Samson was angry. "I actually felt that," he scowled. Furious, he launched through what was left of his office window. Crashing onto the street two stories below, he rose to full stature fifteen feet away from the uniformed man who wordlessly clutched a sniper rifle. The man appeared to be in shock.
"Well, now. You had your shot. Only seems fair that I return the favor!" Without saying anything else, he began to charge his assailant, obviously intent on inflicting severe amounts of bodily harm. At the last possible moment, the man seemed to regain some level of composure. Moving quickly, he let the rifle drop from his fingers and reached for a small pistol-like weapon on his belt. Just as Samson was reaching for his head, he managed to pull the trigger.
The pain was unbearable. Samson staggered back, barely able to think. The weapon produced by the man, was not showing any kind of recognizable effect, but the gamma powered psychiatist was incapable of mounting any kind of resistance. Seconds later, he fell to his knees as blood began to pour from his nose.
"Hurts like a bitch, don't it?" the man, still appearing slightly shaken. "It's the latest in personal ultrasonic weapronry. I was actually saving it to use on the Hulk, but you're not exactly what we expected. Minute or two of this, though, and it won't matter much what we expected. Thirty or forty seconds of continual exposure will liquify your brain. I can't begin to imagine how painful that is. Care to share the experience?"
Samson, writhing in agony, reached out to grasp a handful of gravel. "Hhhkk..D.....don't..mind..if I do!" With the last remaining bit of his inhuman strength, he lashed out at the sergeant...flinging the makeshift projectiles at his tormentor.
It tore through his enemy like buckshot.
Major Bachalo was not a cowardly man. Called up in the draft of '08, he had served with distinction in one of his country's nastier little border wars. Later, when the mutant known as Magneto began his slow march towards destiny, Bachalo had personally led a group of fifteen commandoes in an ill fated suprise assault on Lehnsner's lair. The major now watched one of the two men who had survived that day fly forty feet backwards through the air, a victim of Samson's fierce backhand. None of the intel reports had indicated the psychiatrist was gamma enhanced, but that was the only possible explanation for what was now a serious class one fuck up. Why wasn't I told? As quickly as he had formed the question, the answer loomed before him. I was meant to fail...why? Good question. Why send his team into the field, if not to execute the mission. My god...they wanted us to lose. Ross sent me out here to screw up..
Bachalo tensed. What else had Ross failed to tell him, he wondered. No turning back now. In a second, Samson would notice him standing in the shadows. Working quickly, he crouched into the bushes, reaching for a cylindrical remote device. He entered a quick code sequence, and then depressed a button. Two blocks away, the back door of an armored truck slid open. Seconds later a massive form shambled into the moonlight, lurching towards the signal Bachalo's device was emiting. The ultrasonic frequency was painful, and the tortured creature had but one objective. To end the misery.
Launching himself out of hiding, the Major's deep baritone caught Samson's attention, "Doctor Leonard Samson, I presume. Catch!" Bachalo then hurled the remote straight at the enraged psychiatrist.
Whipping around, Samson reflexively raised his hand, effortlessly catching the device. "What's this? I swear, you soldiers and your toys. When wil.." His words were cut off suddenly as an enormous shambling figure lifted him off the ground by his neck. "Wha-Hhhkk.."
"Ah, Dr. Samson, meet Xemnu."
The beast had caught Samson by the windpipe, and the doctor was unable to breathe. What is this thing?? Cant..black out...got to.. The edges of his vision began to fade. Futililey, he tried to gain a fingerhold against the iron grip strangling the life from him.
"I very much doubt you can break free, Doctor. You see, one might say that Xemnu's strength is otherworldly. He isn't from around here, I'm afraid." Bachalo paused a moment, stepping out of the way as the pair lurched towards him. "We found him almost three decades ago, seems he had been living on our planet for quite a few years. Probably the only survivor of some doomed expedition or something, I suppose. Not that we cared much. Our scientists couldn't wait to crack him open, see what made the fellow tick. After that, Project Xemnu became a testing ground for the most advanced biomechanical engineering this country has to offer." Xemnu was pounding Samson's now inert form repeatedly into the ground. A bit disgusted, the Major continued, "I see you aren't really listening anymore, friend. No matter, after all, I do have work to do." He turned and began to walk towards the clinic, away from the sickening sight of the increasingly wet thing Samson was becoming. As he neared the building, Bacholo stopped short at the appearance of a jeep turning the corner of the boulevard. Damn...This district should be clear at this hour.. Making a quick decision, he broke into a sprint towards the slowing vehicle.
Smash was having a poor time of trying to navigate his way to where Rick's vid signal was emanating from.. He was experiencing the difficulties of driving from the wrong side of the car. Rick's an awful clever bloke. Trouble is, he realizes it. Never stops to think that anyone else is smart enough to work out his bloody gadgets. Turning the corner, he was surprised to see a uniformed man barelling towards his rented jeep. The man was screaming something incoherent. Concerned, he brought the vehicle to a stop and rolled down the window. "What's the matter there, mate?"
"Sorry, man. Wrong place wrong time." replied the American, who slowed down enough to toss an object through Smash's window, and then continued to race past.
Smash looked down with just enough time to recognise the grenade resting at the base of the floorboard. "What the bloody fuck?" he questioned in the last available second.
The jeep went up in fiery ball of flame and shrapnel.
Bachalo rolled with the explosion, coming to rest a mere twenty feet from the bloody corpse of Rick Jones. Getting to his feet, he then pulled a nine millimeter semiautomatic from his jacket without breaking stride, and sauntered purposely through the clinic doors. Sparing a glance at Jone's remains, he shook his head ruefully. "Time to finish the job."
The first thing Rick became aware of was a throbbing pain at the back of his skull. Then, blood...and lots of it at that. His blood. Something seemed terribly wrong with this scenario. Moments later, everything came back to him. Ah, yes...Kree forcefield generators...only half work and only half the time at that..least it stopped most of the bullet. Feeling blindly round the back of his head, he experienced a new wave of pain as he grazed his torn scalp. Least it didn't crack my skull. Gingerly opening his eyes, he was greeted by a scene of absolute chaos. Fifteen yards away, a huge mettalic monstrosity was hammering away at some unlucky soul, who by all appearances was definitely unconcious. Closer still, lie the flaming wreckage of what appeared to be a jeep.
"What the hell? Shit!! Hope no one was in there." As if cued by his outburst, a form lurched from amidst the wreck. "Oh...oh no." Inexorably, the figure came into the view. It was a young man, glowing impossibly green. "Oh, Richie..."
Standing amidst the twisted burning shards of his rented vehicle, his skin translucent and lit from within by gamma energy, Smash Banner looked helplessly at his adopted uncle, and cried "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, RICK!?!?!? I"M BLOODY WELL FUCKIN GLOWIN GREEN HERE!!!!"
Next Issue: Revelations and Reckonings