# 52

"Yawn, Duck, and Roll With the Punches"
By ant'ny

Date and Time Unknown

(July 19, 1999)

Wrapped in a warm, soft, blanket, I resist opening my eyes. But suddenly, without warning, they fly open of their own accord. "Help will soon be here," voices inside my head whisper urgently. I try to rub my hands across my eyes, try to make myself wake up, when I realize that I can't move my arms.

I'm completely paralyzed.

My arms, my legs, my fingers: nothing moves. And, although I know my eyes are open, I can't see anything. I start to panic, and the voices whisper to me again, soothing me. I can hear nothing except the sound of my own heart, slowing down to its normal beat.

And then, I drift off to sleep again.

When I awaken, it’s to the sound of digging. "I’m here! I’m right here!" I shout, or try to. I eat a mouthful of snow, letting it melt inside my mouth. This time, my voice works.

"I’m right here!" I croak. I know that my would-be rescuers can’t possibly hear me over the noise of their equipment, but I have to do something. My limbs still won’t follow any orders I give them.

And then I hear voices other than my own, other than those in my head.

"General!" shouts a familiar voice in a British accent. "I’ve found something over here! Move the equipment, and hurry!" There’s an urgency in the voice that I’ve never heard before. It’s always been calm and collected, even in the heat of battle.

Colin is actually worried. Knowing that Ninjak himself is leading my rescue, I actually smile and relax. It’s just a matter of time before—

Proteus!

With a start, my eyes snap open. Whether the nanites have worked their magic or not, I don’t know, but suddenly I’m free to shout as never before.

"Ninjak! Get out of here, now! You’re all in danger! You have no idea what threat…" My words break off as the most intense sunlight I’ve ever seen shines into my face, temporarily blinding me. I will my pupils to constrict, but it’s still precious seconds before I can see again. There’s a white-garbed arm, almost invisible against the snow. Of course it is, I think to myself. That’s the whole point, you fool. The time I’ve spent in the cold has messed me up. I’m slow on the uptake, that’s for certain. Still, I have to get better. Proteus won’t allow me any significant time to recuperate.

With a superhuman effort, I force my arm up and grab Ninjak’s hand. Although I far outweigh him, he pulls me from my snowy cocoon as he does everything: in one fluid motion that seems as natural as breathing.

"It’s good to see you again, Michael," he begins, supporting me while my legs refuse to work correctly. "I really hate to admit it, but I’d just about given up on you, mate."

"That’s really touching, but we’ve got to get out of here. Proteus—" I’m about ready to push my recovery, to knock him out, even, if that’s what it’ll take to save him, when I’m interrupted

"Is a threat no more, soldier," says a familiar voice.

"General Cartwright?" I ask, hesitantly. "Is that really you?"

"It’s me, son," he replies, more gently this time, and I sigh with relief. I had feared that he wouldn’t be able to escape in time before my bomb went off.* But he did. But in spite of my happiness, one thing troubles me: even with my pupils constricted, I can’t make out his face, obscured as it is by the hood of his parka. This bothers me. Suddenly, I need to look him in the eye. Proteus could assume anyone’s identity. He could be masquerading as Cartwright, as Ninjak , or as anyone in the party. My nanites aren’t working effectively, apparently hindered by the magnetic fields in the area. With a trembling hand, I push back the hood of his parka.

* Check the explosive final printed issue of Bloodshot, #51, for all the details.

His hair is still mostly dark, but there are scatterings of salt in it now. There are a few extra wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. Well, eye, actually. Where I would expect to see his left eye, there’s a black eye patch.

"General, I don’t understand…What, what--?"

"Happened?" he finishes gently. "There’ll be plenty of time for that later, son. I swear. As much time as you need. Right now, the important thing is getting you out of here and letting you rest."

"No!" I protest, trying to push Ninjak away. Colin tenses slightly beside me, refusing to let me go. "We’re all in danger. You, me, even--"

Oh my God! How could I have forgotten…

"Jillian!" I shriek, tossing Ninjak aside, effortlessly. Weaponless, I start to race around, wildly, blindly. "We’ve got to save Jillian and the children! Proteus, you bastard!" I fall to the snow and wail helplessly. Dear God in Heaven, I begin to pray, a half-remembered habit from my Catholic childhood. Please…I’m begging you—let Jillian and the children be all right. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.

I start to flail senselessly in the snow at my feet, scattering great armfuls of frozen powder, hoping against hope that I’ll find my family, all safe, all free of Proteus’s evil influence. If only they’re safe, we can be a real family, the kind of family I always wanted and never had, free of crime and violence and senseless death.

I’m aware of Colin’s presence a mere split second before I feel the jab of the hypodermic needle. Whatever he’s injected me with must have been designed to specifically counter my nanites, as I feel its effects slowing me immediately. "No," I say feebly, my resistance fading.

"Medic!" Cartwright shouts. Off in the distance I notice several soldiers, some with digging equipment, some with canines, used to sniff me out in the miles of unending snow. Their heads all turn at the steel in his voice. Whatever physical changes may have occurred to him, this is still the General Cartwright I remember. The soldiers under him are his to command and any one of them would gladly give his life should he so ask. I am comforted by his mere presence.

A snowmobile starts up, the buzzing of its engine a rude and abrupt change from the surrealistic silence I’ve grown accustomed to. I am strapped to a gurney on runners and the driver accelerates slowly, so as not to jostle me. I want to shout at him, My legs are already hanging over the end! If I were in such bad shape, they’d have gotten a gurney that was long enough for me! But I remain silent, conserving my energy and my voice. And then, suddenly, I lose consciousness.

Two Days Later, at a Classified, Unnamed Military Base, Nevada

The darkness of the hospital room is a welcome relief. I relax, letting my pupils go back to normal, and don’t care that I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. After a few seconds, I notice Ninjak, now garbed in his traditional costume, sitting in a chair in the corner.

I start to call him by his first name, but catch myself. "Colin" is still a part of "Ninjak’s" secret identity. Although he and I have saved the world a dozen times over, individually and in partnership, I cannot help by marvel at the spy-thriller aspect of our lives. Such is the stuff of cheap melodrama and comic books.

"Ninjak?" I begin. I swallow once, dryly, and Colin hands me a glass of water.

"Just sip it now," he cautions and I am overcome with gratitude. Although I am no longer Angelo Mortalli, I feel unworthy of this man’s friendship.

"About Jillian…"

"She’s fine, Michael. I give you my word." Colin’s been involved with international espionage longer that I have. For him to use my name means that we’re in a secure location and that he’s reaffirming our friendship. I can count the number of times he’s called me "Michael" on both hands.

"In fact…we’re trying to track her down. We’ll try to get her here just as soon as we can."

Relief floods through me. Jillian, the love of my life, the only woman who’s ever seen beyond my freakish exterior into the soul of the man I constantly try to be, is safe. Whatever else today will hold, I can get through it. And then I think about what she must be going through. She, like Ninjak and Cartwright, must have thought that I’m dead. Hang on, honey, I think to myself. We’ll be back together before much longer, just us and the children. Or will we? Colin’s told me about Jillian, but he’s remained very tight-lipped about our kids.

"What about…" I pause, bracing myself for the worst. Proteus twisted our children into something horrible and evil, a cruel reflection of his own visage. "What about the children?" I finally ask.

Colin lowers his head and I know the answer immediately. However, he is a true friend and his sense of honor is such that he looks me in the eye before saying, "They’re both dead, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, Michael."

I lay there, lost in thought, wallowing in my private pain and suffering until, with a clearing of his throat, Colin speaks again. "Was there anything else you wanted to know, mate?"

"Yes, there is. How did you know where to find me? Why, of all people, did you come right to the spot where I was and free me?"

He leans back and, although his features are masked, the humor in his posture is apparent. "Well, there is a story behind that," he admits. He peels the glove off his right hand and I can see just the faintest of scars there. "It seems that there’s a small matter of some unclaimed…’property.’ Apparently, I’ve been holding onto some of your nanites since that whole little escapade with Webnet." ** He pauses for a second, then draws a knife out from the depths of his costume. With a quick flick of his wrist, he slices open his palm again, exactly over the old scar. "Now then," he says, handing me the knife, handle-first, "if you wouldn’t mind, I believe that these belong to you. Take them back, please. All of them, this time."

** See Ninjak #s 19-21 for the whole (pretty cool) story.

If I could, I would blush. Colin is a friend, a better one than I deserve, as I’ve already mentioned. What I did was dishonest, a betrayal of our friendship, even if it did ultimately save my life. I slice open my own right hand, which—thanks to the nanites—is unscarred. We clasp hands, modern day blood brothers and my nanites call home their lost "brothers." This time, I leave none behind. I am, once again, complete.

The nanites race to join their brethren and they begin their electronic chatter, communicating back and forth, filling one another in on their happenings over the last four years.

"Four years?" Impossible. I knew from my condition that I was in bad shape. Hibernation sickness, lack of nourishment, and the effects of the magnetic fields on my nanites had led me to the conclusion that I had been buried for some time. Weeks, perhaps even months. But four years?

"I’m sorry, Michael," Ninjak replies. "I’ve been sitting here for hours, wondering how I’d break the news to you. And I didn’t think that the nanites would do my dirty work for me."

Four years. So much has to have happened. It just boggles the mind. I have to talk, to try to take my mind off this latest shock.

"So, after all this time, you come looking?"

"Don’t blame me. ‘After all this time,’ is when your nanites started messing with me. At first it was just in my dreams. I’d hear your voice, calling to me. I could almost see you. And no matter how much I meditated, I couldn’t stop it from happening. Then the voices started talking to me when I was wide awake. I couldn’t stop the bloody chattering. It just about drove me mad, that yammering. How do you deal with it?"

"I guess you get used to it," I reply briefly, not wanting to get sidetracked.

"Right. Well, anyway, I was faced with two possible choices: either I was going daft or, somehow, against all odds, you were still alive." He’s silent for a beat and then I see him grin again, beneath his mask. "You did miss one hell of a funeral, at that. Most of earth’s super folks turned out. And there were even a few faces you never would have expected: government agents, weapons suppliers, soldiers of fortune, Mafioso. I’m telling you, if the tabloids had gotten shots of all the people coming and going, they’d’ve had enough conspiracy fodder to last us into the next millennium. Of course, that’s just around the corner. Can you believe how time’s—’s Realizing what he’s just said, he winces. "Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean—"

"It’s all right," I reply. And it is. In fact, I hadn’t even considered the implications of Ninjak’s slip of the tongue. After I’ve had time to digest the revelation, then it might matter. But we’ve just been sidetracked for the second time in this brief conversation.

"So, you were hearing voices in your head, and you decided to grab your little shovel and come running, is that it?"

"Not really, no. Sure, I have the resources and the means to accomplish it, but that would take some time, time I feared we didn’t have. Something had jump-started the nanites in my bloodstream and I feared what that might be. For all I knew, you were about to expire and this was your version of a ‘three-minute warning.’. So, to speed things up, I contacted Neville."

Neville Alcott. It was he, on Abram’s suggestion, who brought me into espionage, working the other side of the fence. He was my "boss," and Gil’s and Ninjak’s as well, for several years before his ‘retirement’ forced him out of the game. But he was still well-connected and lots of people owed him favors. I’m sure the fact that he’s Jillian’s father never once factored into his decision. Neville was too good to let his heart overrule his mind.

"And he eventually called me," came the voice from just inside the door. Of course, Ninjak and I had heard him approaching from the moment he got off the elevator, but once we’d classified him as ‘friend," we had ignored him, focusing on the tale. General Cartwright wouldn’t have worked this hard, only to ignore me.

"I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up, son," Cartwright apologized. "But I was getting some food. Some of us," and with that he gestured towards Colin, "are merely human. We need to eat and sleep."

"I’ve never held it against you, General," Ninjak began. "We were at the part in our tale where Ninjak tells the brave and loyal General Cartwright that he suspects Bloodshot may still be alive. Would you like to take over?" And with that subtle cue, Ninjak has just told me that Cartwright doesn’t know him as "Colin King," and that he’d just as soon keep it that way.

"I’d lead three search parties there by this time," Cartwright continued, smoothly. "That’s one dangerous area. The wind’s so strong that, even without additional snowfall, there were no traces of your battle with Proteus, even a week later. We had to get our bearings just be using equipment on our second and third expeditions. I wasn’t about to give up on you, son. But when Ms. Alcott turned up on her own, even I got discouraged. If she had gotten any trace of you, she never would have left, even to save herself. The fact that she couldn’t detect you made us assume the worst. She loved you, son. I hope you realize that."

"General," Ninjak interrupts, a bit sharply. "Don’t you think that that’s Ms. Alcott’s story to tell? You’re going off on a tangent, I fear."

"Hmm? What’s that? Oh, yes. You’re quite right, my boy. Quite right," Cartwright seems embarrassed by what he’s said and relieved to change the subject back to the matter of my rescue.

"I was preparing for another rescue mission when I got new orders. I’m still a good soldier, so I followed them, but Alcott and I, we kept our eyes and ears open for any developments in the area. Somewhere along the line, I lost this eye, but that’s a story for another day. Imagine my surprise when, after all this time, I get a call from Neville, claiming that he had a way to find your…well, you, I mean."

"Your body" is what he was going to say. Like many good soldiers before him, Cartwright is a man of actions, not words. I forgive him immediately.

"And we came, the nanites directed me right to you, and the rest of it you know. So, tell me—what do we need to do to get you back to fighting shape?"

I shrug, nonchalantly. "Not much, really. Just give me access to the pharmacy and the cafeteria. The nanites’ll take care of all the rest."

"Consider it done," Cartwright declares. "You have unrestricted access to the place. We can worry about getting you proper ID later, but I don’t think you’ll have any problem opening any doors, will you?" With that, he gets up, pats me on the shoulder, and leaves Colin and me alone again.

I open the drawer in the stand beside my bed and write down a "shopping list" for Colin. There’ll be plenty of time for me to go get my own supplies later. As it is, he has a soldier or some other hired hand bring me what I need: protein, lots of protein (while I could use the metal from my bed frame to help mend myself, it’s much easier and quicker for the nanites to rebuild with organic materials), calcium, iron, and list of vitamins and minerals that’d choke Lou Ferrigno. Within hours, I’m as physically fit as I’m going to be.

That’s when the real work starts—the road back to physical perfection. I exercise, not so much to get in better shape, but to "recalibrate." I have to re-learn my body’s limits, get used to my new weapons. Nights are spent with the new guns that Cartwright has secured for me, learning their limitations. Within the hour, they are a part of me. I can once again hit any target dead center just by looking at it. The days are filled with lifting weights, running, and sparring. Colin is a great help, going round after round as my sparring partner. There aren’t many who could hold their own against me, but Colin manages fairly well for the first day. On the second day, he goes at it gamely through four consecutive falls, before he calls for a break.

"Well, I’d say that you are officially back," he exclaims, lying on his back, staring up at me from the thin mat in the gymnasium. I smile down at him and extend a hand to help him up. He grabs it and walks away. "I’m going to hit the showers, mate. Good workout today." And while I know that Colin’s sincere in his praise, I can’t help but smile as I hear him mutter under his breath, "Better living through science, indeed."

I decide to call it a day, as well, when I detect other nanites.

Jillian. It’s about time.

"Lucy!" I begin, my heart rate increasing in spite of myself. "I’m home!"

She steps through the doorway and I lose my breath. Even like this, with the nanites, she is so damned beautiful that I wonder what she would ever have seen in me, and I’m grateful for her love.

"Hello, Michael," she says simply, her arms down at her sides. She’s wearing her DeathAngel outfit and there’s a slice on her left side. She, of course, has healed beneath it.

"Busy day at the office?" I ask, lightly. Colin’s filled me on Jillian’s life over the past four years. She’s a part of a team now*. I used to be part of a team. I’ve received congratulatory telegrams and emails from the members of the Secret Weapons who are still active, but my days in the business are over. It’s time for Michael Lazarus to settle down and become a family man.

* Shame on you if you haven’t been reading about DeathAngel’s exploits over in Team Harbinger!

"Just some copying and filing," she banters back, and I fall in love with her, with her accent, all over again. I take one, then two tentative steps towards her, but she does nothing to close the gap.

"You look good," I say, awkwardly, after 53 seconds pass without her making a sound.

"Thank you. You look like your old self, as well." She pauses, and then tries again, "How are you feeling?"

"Good as new," I say. Her pulse rate is fluctuation wildly as her nanites struggle to keep it under control. Something is bothering her. Try to be fair, I tell myself. She has thought you dead for the last four years. This has got to be hard on her.

"Can I have a hug?" I finally ask, hating the desperate sound that has crept into my voice. Come to think of it, Jillian had left me to sort out some issues, including her unexpected pregnancy. And we never had any time to talk during our last ordeal with Proteus. Suddenly, this isn’t the happy reunion I’ve been expecting the last few days.

She comes to me and gives me a hug, quick, businesslike. It’s something to be done, to be endured. I smell her hair, feel the familiar curve of her back and a tear rolls down my face. She pulls away, notices this and softens, at last. "Oh, Michael," she cries, "I have missed you so. I searched frantically for you, but you know I don’t have the same powers you do. I couldn’t detect you anyway. And, eventually, I came to think of you as dead."

She’s crying harder now, and I pull her to me again. I stroke her hair and try to soothe her. "There, there, Jillian. It’s all right. I understand. The important thing is that we’re together now."

She stiffens at this and pushes away.

"Dammit, this is so hard." She puts a hand to her mouth, then uses it to brush away a tear. "I promised myself that I wasn’t going to tell you this today, but then seeing you has me so confused, so frightened."

She stops, collects herself, and then—with a single sentence—utterly destroys me.

"Michael, I’m involved with another man."

*******

What!?! The love of Bloodshot’s life involved with another man? What’s going on here? We always thought that Michael and Jillian would always be together, like Bruce and Demi, like Dennis and Meg, right? Well, folks, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Next issue reveals the name of the bloke crazy enough to date ‘shot’s lady. And to make it worse, it’s someone from Angelo Mortalli’s sordid past! All this and more coming soon in Issue #53.

Hi folks. I’m trying something a little different here. While all of the other titles in our group have been moving at breakneck speed from the last officially published issue to ARMAGEDDON: 1999, I was fortunate enough to pick up a series that lets me cut to the chase. Bloodshot wakes up after doing a pretty good Rip VanWinkle impression. The next few issues will bring you up to speed on events that have happened in the Valiant Universe since last you saw all your favorite (and not-so-favorite) characters.

Check out (if you haven’t already) for a Bloodshot appearance in ARMAGEDDON: 1999, also written by yours truly.

And email me, please! I’d like to correspond with any and all Bloodshot fans out there. Thanks for checking out my little tale here. #53 will be faster coming that #52 was, I swear.

ant’ny