Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  “There is no need for that,” Arbiter grunted as he looked at the building appraisingly. “How close is it to fully operational?” he asked before heading toward the entrance.

  “It already is,” the colonel answered. “It can function with minimum staffing at one hundred percent efficiency.”

  They passed into the merciful shade of the large overhang above the entrance. The colonel approached the security panel and punched in a seven-digit code. “And without staffing?”

  “Forty-eight hours at maximum efficiency.” He leaned into a microphone that slid out of the panel, a tiny red light glaring angrily at him. “Colonel Alain Morant.” The red light turned a pleasant green, and the microphone retreated inside the panel. With a click, the large doors unlocked and slid open. As they passed into the climate-controlled building, Claymore let out an impressed whistle at the pure scale of the lobby.

  Julia was significantly less in awe – she had seen the proposed Fort Justice in the pictures that her father had shown her years ago. To be entirely fair, the architectural renderings of the outside were jet black and terrifying, and the inside was made to look despairingly abysmal. The new grey exterior and lab-sterile white interior were actually an improvement, even though they gave the place an overwhelming hospital vibe.

  “And the barracks?” Arbiter asked.

  “Connected to the perimeter’s northern wall in order to maximize riot control, at the suggestion of the late Dark Saint,” Morant responded. He turned toward Julia as they walked. “Again, I express my deepest condolences for your loss, Miss Lovelass.”

  “Thank you, Colonel,” she said, noting with a degree of satisfaction that it irritated Claymore.

  Morant cleared his throat in preparation for their minimalist tour. “This facility was conceived as a solution to the violence encountered by Bestowed villain inmates in standard prisons,” the Colonel explained amidst the thud of boots on metal. “Soon, problem cases across the country will be brought here to serve their sentences rather than among the hostile neutral population.”

  Claymore snorted. “Still don’t see what the problem is with letting them get torn apart.”

  “The problem is that prisoners should be allowed to pay their debt without bloodshed,” Morant said with a tone bordering on hostile. When they reached the elevator, Morant summoned it and turned to the group. “Each wing is dedicated to handle convicts of different ranks. Most members of Tiers One and Two, as the least likely to be able to escape, will be held in A- and B-Wing cells.” Morant turned to the progress bar of the elevator. “Tiers Three and Four will be in C- and D-Wings. These areas have the greatest proportion of sleep chambers to standard cells in order to mitigate potential threats.” He cast a glance at the others. “If they were to wake, their abilities would be temporarily nullified.”

  “What about late-bloomers, though?” Julia asked. “I heard that the chambers are ineffective against them.”

  “A few inept Tier One villains are nothing to worry about,” Arbiter answered.

  “They should all be kept asleep,” muttered Claymore. Arbiter nodded silently.

  The colonel grunted in annoyance. “Only those who pose a direct threat of escape are to be put under,” he said without taking his eyes off the elevator. “There will be no excessive measures taken.”

  The elevator hummed quietly before the doors opened. All but the spare Enforcer climbed aboard. The doors closed and the car whispered upwards. Julia felt that the ascent was mercifully quick in comparison to the earlier wait. When the doors finally parted, the group stepped out into the control room. Numerous technicians were double-checking a multitude of computers while others tended to the rows upon rows of security feeds.

  “Welcome to the Panopticon of Fort Justice!” came a jolly German accent. A short, plump man with wild, grey-streaked brown hair waddled toward them. His left hand occupied with a sloshing coffee cup, he extended his right to Morant. “Welcome back, Colonel,” he said with a hearty shake before looking at the others. With a degree of reverence that seemed almost too eager, he approached Arbiter. “Mr. Arbiter… it is always an honor.” He offered his hand, which Arbiter took with professional courtesy.

  “Figures they’d hire a quack for that job,” Claymore whispered in Julia’s ear. She couldn’t help but smirk. The man looked the part of a medical lunatic, with his unkempt and stained lab coat. He offered his hand to the others, missing by a wide margin due to the fact that he didn’t take his eyes off of Arbiter.

  “It is our greatest pleasure to have the assistants of Arbiter here as well!” he said emphatically as Claymore and Julia pumped his hand once apiece. “Where are my manners?” he asked, finally turning his attention to the two. “I am Dr. Maelstrom, the medical and engineering specialist.” Before anyone could introduce themselves, he turned to gesture widely to the room behind him. “As you can see, here is the heart of our security system, just as it was dreamed up years ago. Cameras give us feeds from every inch of this place.” He pointed to a short set of stairs in the corner. “Below us is the observation deck, affording a complete view of the courtyard, outer walls, and beyond.” He motioned from his eyes outward. “The optical camouflage, of course, is only one way.” His hand fell to his side as he puffed himself up. “And, on a separate system, we have the maintenance room with its hard-crash reboot failsafe. Useful in the impossible chance anyone unwanted breaks in.” He came off as a child with a new toy, eager to show off all the features of the latest model gizmo.

  “Seems like a bad idea to stick this place outside the main building,” Claymore said. Maelstrom turned to him, beaming. When no one said a word, he continued, trying to maintain his standoffish attitude, “You take out the core, the other security systems have to operate on their own.”

  “Ah, yes. But we have the proverbial ‘ace’ up our sleeves,” Maelstrom said, barely suppressing a giggle. He motioned them to another elevator. Instead of a button to summon the lift, a card reader glowed softly on the wall. Maelstrom swiped his clearance card, opening the elevator doors instantaneously. He waddled inside, then motioned the others. Morant approached the front of the car and turned around, facing back toward the Panopticon.

  The doors shut, and five buttons lit up on the wall. “How many elevators does this place need?” Claymore muttered.

  “Do you always have to whine?” Julia snapped before she could stop herself.

  “If you wish, there are stairs,” Dr. Maelstrom gestured vaguely toward what Julia assumed were the stairs’ location. “OSHA and all that. But they’re concealed behind panels on each floor in order to keep the visual aesthetic.”

  “Guy’s a loon…” Claymore muttered to himself.

  Maelstrom hadn’t heard him. “There are four remaining floors, depending on your clearance level.” He pointed to each one sequentially. “Minimal staff quarters, the penthouse,” he turned and winked with a smile before skipping the next button to point at the one above, “communications.” His pudgy finger pressed the skipped button.

  The car hummed but did not betray any other hint of motion. After a moment, the noise ceased. The doors opened to a room startlingly vast in its darkness. As Maelstrom stepped into the pool of light created from the elevator’s meek offering, fluorescent lamps around the room clicked and sputtered. Slowly, the rest of the room revealed itself. Rows of computers and other equipment were arranged in a mishmash of positions, wires running in every direction, but the real distinguishing feature was the three large, vertical tubes against the back wall.

  The two flanking cylinders were open, their lids having slid upward to show their contents. The interior consisted of a vertical bed, as well as a set of restraints, unused but looking tough in the fluorescent light. The central chamber was closed, the clear glass frosted over at the edges somewhat.

  Julia walked toward the in-use sleep chamber, her heart thundering. It was like a scene from a science-fiction movie, moments before the astronauts awoke from cryostasis to
explore a derelict alien craft. There was something more sinister about this, though, like its contents were far more dangerous than mere humans.

  “I present to you our ace,” Maelstrom said, his voice echoing through the chamber. Julia was nearing the sleep tube now, and she could see the shadow of its occupant. “This room is designed to house Tier Five Bestowed.” She was vaguely aware of the hissing doors of the elevator sliding shut.

  “Tier Five?” Julia repeated, casting Maelstrom a look as she put her hand on the glass. Claymore was approaching her, and she turned back to the tube. Inside, the decidedly not-sleeping form of Zombress stared back at her. Shocked, she stepped backward with a gasp and instinctively reached for her gun. Claymore passed her and looked inside.

  “Zombress…” he muttered. “Doesn’t look so intimidating when she’s asleep.”

  Julia looked at him in disbelief before she had to make sure he was telling the truth. Sure enough, Zombress was now twitching dreamily in a forced coma. Had she imagined the eye contact? Had the moment of seeing her father’s killer made something snap?

  “Our most dangerous, and therefore, most valuable prisoners are kept here,” Maelstrom said proudly. “Even if the armor of the Fortress was worked through, no villain would have the daring to destroy such a prize as this room.”

  Claymore snorted. “Seems an awful lot like hiding behind a hostage, doc.”

  The doctor cast a sneer toward the insolent hero. “Call it what you will,” he said.

  “The logic doesn’t take into account that villains are a notoriously suspicious and untrustworthy lot,” Arbiter said, striding toward Julia and Claymore. “They may be just as likely to kill their compatriots as save them.”

  Maelstrom stammered. “But… but it just seemed…”

  “Keeping the Tier Fives separate from the rest of the population is well-advised, Doctor.” Arbiter stopped just short of the sleep chamber. “But this wouldn’t stop an attack.”

  “She’s still alive, isn’t she?” Julia asked, turning toward Maelstrom.

  He seemed a little shocked she would address him. “Y… yes, ma’am. She is being kept constantly in a state of pre-REM sleep via cold temperature and careful administration of narcotics.” He puffed up momentarily. “She is a most magnificent… possibly only… specimen of the deity-class Bestowed.” Maelstrom set his coffee down on what looked like a surgical palette and grabbed a clipboard. “My powers of deduction are nearly useless studying what is an almost limitless well of ability.” He offered a laugh out of a half open mouth. “Queen of the Dead, of Fear… a master of the language of reality. The symbols she uses temporarily rewrite how our world functions,” he explained, shaking his head and smiling. “Beautiful creature.”

  “Sounds like you have a crush,” Claymore muttered as he examined the tube. He turned toward the doctor. “Surely she can be killed, though.”

  Maelstrom shrugged, an action which normally would have signified humility but seemed smug on him. “Doubtful. Once she has ‘shut down’…” He smiled politely. “That is, when she is asleep or rendered incapacitated, her body’s healing rate is profound… greater than anything I’ve ever seen.” He laughed. “She gets knocked down, but she gets up again.” He slapped his hands together, as though the 90’s song reference was the perfect analogy.

  “This is the only logical solution,” Arbiter said. “She is too powerful to be permitted freedom.” Arbiter turned toward Maelstrom. “Have you found out anything else?”

  “Her psychic defenses are strong… and her abilities are tremendous in scope. Anything I can find will be but the tip of the iceberg.” The doctor looked over the clipboard again. “I think it’s safe to say, however, that she doesn’t realize how profound she actually is.” Then, puffing out his chest, he offered, “On the bright side, shallow sleep and anesthetics have the same dulling effect on her that they do on all Bestowed.” He gestured to the villain. “Hence the chamber.”

  “Wake her up,” Arbiter said.

  “Of course,” the doctor said gleefully. Maelstrom strode to a nearby panel and began typing in commands. A red light on the console flicked to yellow. He looked at the trio surrounding the chamber. “You will eventually want to step back.”

  Claymore looked at the doctor before casting a glance toward his boss. “Are you serious?”

  Julia took a few steps toward Arbiter and stammered, “B-but she’s helpless now… why–”

  “There are questions which need to be answered,” Arbiter interrupted.

  “Don’t we have a guy coming for this?” Claymore asked.

  “We’re here now,” the other hero reasoned. “We may as well begin.”

  Julia’s mouth worked silently as she stared at Zombress’s sleep chamber. “I… I…” she stammered.

  “If you wish to leave, Gunslinger, you may,” Arbiter said, brushing past her, taking her former position next to the sleeping tube.

  Her mind raced for a moment. “No,” she said purposefully. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  Red lights, unnoticed until now, began to flash at the top of the chamber. With a hiss of pressurized gas, the door popped toward them, then slid upwards. A blast of frigid air washed over them as Zombress was revealed, feet first and slumping, seeming at peace in her uncomfortable position. The hand-encompassing metal cuffs kept her arms pinned above her head, and her legs were locked together below. Her imposing height gave the chamber an all-too-cramped feel, not that Julia cared much for the woman’s well-being.

  Zombress didn’t stir when the door came to a stop. Frost made her hair cling to her head despite the draft wafting through the room. She seemed completely dead, a fact which all present knew to be practically impossible.

  Arbiter nodded toward Maelstrom. “Wake her up.”

  The doctor tapped something at his console, and the lights flickered for a moment. An audible pop, and Zombress jerked violently, her eyes snapping open. Her head lolled upright, eyes flitting over those present. A smile cracked her lips. “That wasn’t the kind of shock I like to wake me up.” She winked at Arbiter. “But an ‘A’ for effort.”

  “There is no time for your foolishness, Zombress.” Arbiter pushed Claymore further aside as he walked toward her. “Tell us the truth about that night in the Heroes’ Guild.”

  She looked at him and cocked her head. “I have no idea what you’re dribbling on about.”

  He grabbed her head and adjusted it. “People are dead at your hands.”

  “That’s a bit of an overreaction.” Zombress pulled her head free of his hands. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. “We were having a little party and things got out of hand.” She smiled sweetly. “I’d ask if you got the invitation, but you strike me as the kind of guy that’s left out of things a lot.”

  “Shut up!” Julia yelled. The interjection startled Claymore and Maelstrom, but neither Arbiter nor Zombress looked at her.

  “Gunslinger,” Arbiter growled. “Stay out of this.”

  “You killed my father, you bitch!” Julia was surprised that her hand moved, not to her gun, but to her knife. Hearing Zombress talk had awakened something primal, something furious, and she was having a hard time keeping it under control. “Tell him what he wants to know or…”

  “Or what, kitten?” Zombress cocked an eyebrow as she shifted her eyes to Julia now. “You’ll shoot me? Stab me?”

  Julia took the bait and took a step toward her before being intercepted by Claymore. “Let me go!”

  “Do not address her, Zombress,” Arbiter commanded.

  “Think about this, Julia–” Zombress began calmly.

  “I told you…” Arbiter’s warning hung in the air.

  “I’ve known you all your life. I had plenty of opportunity to kill your father when no one would have batted an eye.” Julia stopped struggling against Claymore, but rage still flickered in her eyes.

  “There are to be no more distractions,” Arbiter swept in front of Zombress’s
line of sight. “Did you act alone that night when you sought to reignite the war between heroes and villains?”

  Just a moment longer…

  Zombress squinted at the hero in front of her. “You won’t believe a word I say. So my official answer is ‘piss off and die, you arrogant dick’.”

  Arbiter twitched disapprovingly. “You should have spared yourself.” He turned on his heel and headed toward the elevator. “We’ll have the interrogator here in a moment. Dr. Maelstrom, prep her to resume her stasis.”

  “Yes, sir.” Maelstrom made his way to Zombress as Claymore pulled Julia to follow Arbiter. The doctor knelt by the feet restraints, unaware that Zombress’s eyes were focused on the panel above the elevator indicating the car was rising to their floor. “I hope that you won’t mind another analysis after the interrogation,” Maelstrom muttered as he visually examined the braces. “I think you’ll be more compliant afterwards.”

  “Just one problem with that, Herr Doctor,” Zombress said as the light on the elevator ticked one floor closer.

  “And what would that be?”

  She looked down on him. “I’ve broken out.”

  Her legs shot out of the restraints, arced back, and kicked off the back of the chamber as she hefted herself up. Her feet rose above the doctor’s head and fell onto his shoulder blades before slamming him behind her as she leveraged herself. Using Maelstrom as a springboard, she released her hands from their bindings and dove to the ground. She rolled and stood up in one motion, slamming her hand on the stasis computer’s keyboard. Red lights flickered on as the door slid downward. Panicked, Maelstrom shoved his way out of the tube and fell backward, cracking his head on the floor. “You might want to ice that,” she offered before sprinting to the elevator.

  Alerted, the others moved to intercept her. Claymore charged, his sword unsheathed, as Julia unholstered her gun and pulled the hammer. Zombress leapt above Claymore, locked his head between her feet, and fell forward, carrying him up and over. The sword clattered to the floor as she released him, pitching his body toward Julia as the villainess landed in a crouch. The heroine managed to fire before her partner’s body collided with her, the rubber bullet catching Zombress between the eyes. The momentum of the bullet snapped her head backward, and instead of fighting it, Zombress flipped back using her hands as springs. She landed upright before resuming her sprint toward the door.