Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  Arbiter darted in front of the elevator doors and adopted a wide stance, bracing for her. The trick would be to get by him without hurting him… too much, anyway. The door behind him began to open. Her fingers etched fading symbols in the air, but they were at least present. Arbiter arced a fist back for a hammer blow as she hit the ground in a slide, the symbols abolishing traction as she slid between his legs. The elevator doors finished opening as she rolled on her stomach, facing her captors as she continued to slide.

  “Ta-ta, boys and girls!” Zombress yelled as she gave a wave. As she slowed, she flipped herself upright before stopping in front of the elevator.

  The world pulsed, and a wave of heat racked her body. Her head felt much too small for her brain, and she growled in pain as she collapsed to her knees. This wasn’t Arbiter’s power… it was something else… the pulsing of the world was familiar… it seemed to stutter in time with a heartbeat, but not hers.

  With a burst of brilliance, she found herself back in the room with the others that night in the Guild, frozen in time, their faces warped in anger. Zombress cocked her head… she was there, too, bringing her arms up. She slowly walked around her time-frozen self, trying to figure out what was going on. There was… someone who needed to remain hidden… someone she knew she couldn’t think of… someone she couldn’t allow herself to think of…

  At the vague memory of someone else in the room, a black shadow pulsed behind her frozen clone. A spike of pain flared, temporarily eating the resolution of the room and its occupants, and the shadow she had willed into existence started to solidify. She tried to concentrate, force the shade out of existence, but her effort made her intensely nauseated.

  The scene shuddered violently, then began unfolding exactly as she remembered, only in slow-motion. Someone was invading her mind, trying to find something she had hidden from them the first time around. It was a nightmare, unfolding hazily but determinedly, Desert Ranger bringing his hand up, Dark Saint returning the favor. Her own arms were rising, faster than the others, and Tom… the poor man… tried diving behind the past-Zombress. Wait… why exactly could she see herself? Why was this scene being played out in third person? It was like someone built the moment from her memory, stuck her in it, and played it out like a stage performance.

  And now there was another in the room, a man, tall and skeletal, with black hair tied back in a ponytail. He was familiar, but she couldn’t place him – every attempt to focus drained her physically. His immaculately tailored white suit almost glistened with its slithering, deep green accents. A matching cape fell gently around his sharp shoulders and fluttered in an unfelt wind. He produced a gold pocket watch and looked at it. “Just tell us what we want to know, Zombress.” His voice was ethereal and echoed off the walls, like they were the physical enclosures of her own skull. It agonized her even more to hear him. “Who was your accomplice?”

  She couldn’t talk. Another wave of pain made her ill. With the gush of agony, the shadowed corner bled, and someone was beginning to take shape. Zombress wanted to scream, wanted to fight back, but she couldn’t figure out how. Not when her mental faculties were being used against her. She collapsed to her knees.

  Another sharp stab of pain wiped more shadow from the corner. The form of a girl, protected by Zombress that night, was taking shape. It would only be a matter of time before she became fully formed from her memory and the bastard could see her. The lanky man stepped in front of her, watching the shadow resolve. She squeezed her eyes shut, and the whirling shadow exploded, knocking him away.

  “Get…” she growled, rising to her feet. She turned to face the rising interloper, fists and teeth clenched. “Away.”

  The man glanced again at his watch. “I didn’t want to have to rip it out of you.” His dead eyes flicked toward her. “But you leave me no choice.”

  Kill them all.

  Zombress grimaced as the oily voice shook the world around her, her brain responding by pounding angrily. She lost her footing and fell to one knee. How… how did he know?

  Kill… kill… kill…

  The voice droned, each syllable shattering the world around her until all that remained was the skeletal man. With every word, tendrils of fire wormed their way through her body, ripping apart her nerves.

  “We can’t have your id running wild, can we, Zombress?” The man’s voice was cold and slick, seductive. She felt his hand clasp around her chin and pull her up to meet his gaze. She pulled her head out of his sinewy fingers. “Who knows what damage it can do when I make it impossible to stop?”

  “You… don’t know… what you’re dealing with…” Zombress hissed from between clenched teeth.

  Freedom.

  “Do you hear that?” the man asked. “I think it might be looking forward to escaping.”

  “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” Zombress roared, and the reality around her shattered like glass. She went limp as the shards fell around her. Her body plummeted through the void as her mental landscape faded into darkness.

  “There she is,” someone masculine hissed as a rolling body tumbled through the ether in the distance, Zombress’s rendition of the heroic girl falling through her protective smokescreen.

  The villainess tried to reach for her, but she lacked the strength. “Aquaria,” was all she could mutter as she let the darkness swallow her.

  “Aquaria,” the twitching Zombress muttered. Her eyes were glazed and staring as she convulsed on the floor. At the mention of the name, the skeletal man looked at his companion.

  “It appears we’re looking for a woman named Aquaria,” the interrogator said. He cast his gaze up at Arbiter, then his eyes flitted toward the others. “Does her name mean anything to you?” he asked.

  The words didn’t draw much attention. Despite Claymore’s embarrassment at being unable to stop the escape attempt, he couldn’t help but watch as the man had sent Zombress to the ground effortlessly. The only indication of his power was a palpable increase in temperature. Maelstrom penned notes on his clipboard, studying the thin man intently. Julia had long since stormed out of sight.

  “The daughter of Electronica,” Arbiter growled, nodding solemnly. “Are you sure about this?” he asked Archetype.

  The man presented a reed-thin smile as he gestured to the villainess. “I smashed her will to the winds, High Consul. She had no capacity to hide the truth.”

  Arbiter grunted as his gaze went to the other heroes, who seemed to try to grow smaller under his scrutiny. “We shall set up every surveillance option available. E-mail, video, or otherwise; she shall not hide for long.” He moved toward the elevator. “It appears the conspiracy has roots within the Heroes’ Guild.”

  The slender man nodded. “A wise decision. You were never one to leave such things to chance.” He reached for his pocket watch to check the time as Arbiter was sealed behind the elevator doors. Satisfied, he returned it to his vest pocket and looked over at Claymore. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He stepped away from Zombress as Maelstrom knelt at her side. The man stood before Claymore, rigid and slightly imposing. “I am Archetype, the psychomancer.” He casually removed an unseen speck from his shoulder. “I am the one who verified Zombress’s treachery.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MAFIA

  FLEA HAD OPTED OUT OF THE MEETING with Capone to wait at the coffee house down the street, and Arthur was wishing that he had done so as well. The building was an old brick-and-mortar affair from pre-Prohibition; a smell of what was usually called ‘history’ but was actually mildew hung in the air. Upon their arrival, the black-with-white-pinstripe suited secretary had taken their names; Talia opted for a false one – Anne Riordan – and threw in a southern drawl to solidify the deception. Afterwards, the secretary had shown them into a waiting room with the instructions to wait until the morning exercises were over.

  The familiar knot in Arthur’s stomach, the one which betrayed his nervousness, made itself known again. He sat ramrod straight as no one said a wor
d. Talia checked her nails with a casual indifference, and Arthur was unsure whether or not it was intended to fool people into believing she was perfectly calm. Tim leaned forward, clearly annoyed: his leg was jiggling so quickly Arthur suspected that, in a moment, he could start burrowing to the sewers. Ariana seemed an odd mix of eager and calm. She sat straight, alternating smiling and looking business-like.

  “I could totally get a job here,” she whispered.

  “Why would you want to?” Tim muttered.

  “Don’t have a job, remember?” Ariana ran a hand through her hair to make sure it was straight. “They have fantastic benefits here, you know.”

  “Of course they do.” Tim leaned back, hands behind his head. “When you’re a laughing stock, you have to find some way to get people to work for you.”

  Arthur brought his hands up to his temples. “Please don’t antagonize them, Tim.”

  Tim shot him a nasty look. “I won’t, ya damn baby.”

  “You better not,” Talia said, not taking her eyes off her nails. “People’s lives depend on it.”

  The door to the office slammed open. A tall woman in a navy blue suit with alabaster skin and shoulder-length, wavy chestnut hair stood with one arm on the wooden frame. She scanned the group with piercing blue eyes, then jammed a thumb toward the office. “Al will see you now.” The woman held it open as the four of them funneled in. “Take whichever seat you like,” the woman ordered as she closed the door and walked by them. “Weren’t there five of you?” She stood by the huge desk, in front of one of a pair of bookcases flanking the office furniture. A television clung to the wall between the cases, presently tuned to a cooking channel and watched by someone hidden behind the back of a very large chair.

  “One couldn’t make it, ma’am,” Ariana offered helpfully as she sat in the furthest seat on her right. The woman cocked an eyebrow, unamused, making Ariana squish into her seat a little more. Tim sat next to her and put a hand on her knee, which she quickly slapped off. Talia sat next to him, and Arthur was left with no option but the end. He set his backpack down in front of him before settling in.

  The woman folded her arms. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Quiet, Catalina,” came another voice, surprisingly strong, from the chair. The television flicked off and the chair pivoted. “You don’t like much of anything.” The woman was tiny, no more than five foot one, with straight shoulder-length blond hair. Her eyes were the same blue as Catalina’s, only they did not pierce. Rather, they flitted and glittered with enthusiasm. She was wearing the same style suit as the secretary, except hers was white-with-black stripes and accented by a light blue paisley tie. She looked at the assembled, smiled warmly in the same way a pet shark would, and leaned forward on the desk. “Hi.” She offered her hand. “I’m Allison Capone.”

  A pause, then Ariana was the first to get up. She took the woman’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I have to say it is truly an honor to meet you. I’m Ariana Brown.” She smiled in fake modesty. “Daughter of Purgatory’s Inventor. You’ve probably heard of him.”

  “Oh, are you Bestowed as well?” she asked.

  “Kind of,” Ariana answered, her smile not breaking.

  “Good thing ‘kind of’ works in your favor.” Allison’s smile faded. “But you are going to have to let go of my hand.”

  Ariana’s own face grew serious as she released Allison. “Yes, ma’am.” She sat.

  Arthur stood to introduce himself. “I’m Arthur Lovelass,” he said while offering his hand.

  Allison looked at his hand, then back at his face. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit hand-shaked out.”

  Arthur looked at his hand, waved at her half-heartedly, and sat down.

  Talia gave a little wave. “Anne Riordan.”

  Before Tim could say anything, Allison gestured to Talia. “Anyone ever tell you ya look like that Talia bimbo on TV?”

  Ariana tried to suppress a snort as Talia giggled. “I get that a lot.”

  Tim grandly gestured to himself. “Timothy ‘Ban Hammer’ McFadden,” he claimed.

  Ariana glared at him. “Ban Hammer?” she whispered.

  “Like I’m an administrator.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Of beat downs.”

  “Of a website,” Arthur quietly countered in annoyance. “An administrator of a website.”

  Talia snickered. “Dorks,” she muttered.

  Although Catalina had been watching and no doubt judging them, Allison had been writing something on a sheet of paper. “Ban…” she said as she scribbled. “Ham…” She erased something. “Hammer.” She gestured with the rubber tip of the pencil at Tim. “Great name. It’s got authority.” She tossed the pencil down to the desk. “So, you want a position here at the illustrious Italian Mob.” It wasn’t a question, but she still waited for a response.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ariana said, pleased to be getting an answer right after the handshake debacle.

  Allison nodded her head. “Well, it won’t be easy. We are the head branch for one of the most feared and respected criminal organizations in the country.”

  Tim snorted quietly. “Since when?” he muttered. Ariana pinched him, hard, on his thigh.

  Ariana cut anyone else off. “Yes, we know, Miss Capone. We believe that we offer just what you’re looking for. The four of us,” she gestured emphatically, “work as a tightly knit team to maximize villainous efficiency.” Tim and Arthur made a face and exchanged looks. Talia made no real outward sign of incredulity, save for a raised eyebrow.

  “Excellent,” Allison said with a wise nod. “But there’s more to the mob than that, you know.” She pushed the chair away from the desk and stood. Allison went to a framed document and gestured to it. “Would you be willing to hold up our nefarious ideals, as well as…” She trailed off, trying to think. “That stuff she just said?” Allison gestured vaguely at Ariana.

  “Ideals?” Tim scoffed.

  Talia turned quickly, purposely jabbing her elbow into Tim’s arm. “Yes. Of course ma’am. We’d dedicate ourselves to your painstakingly crafted code of conduct.” She turned to Ariana and gave her a wink.

  Arthur, feeling left out, leapt at his chance to impress her. “We feel that your ideals are perfectly in sync with ours. We support your activities one hundred percent.”

  “Oh, yeah, like the great lupine robbery of last year,” Tim scoffed. “Amazing stuff.”

  Impervious to the sarcasm, Allison walked toward Tim. “Really?” She leaned down, only partially thanks to her height, and stared him in the eye. “Are you serious?”

  Tim gave a winsome, false smile. “Of course, the police couldn’t even get a shot off…”

  Talia cut him off. “That took planning!”

  “Coordination and planning!” Arthur offered. Talia immediately nodded in agreement.

  “And character!” was Ariana’s contribution. Arthur and Talia tried to get a good look at Ariana, if only to glare. She met their collective gaze and mouthed, “I don’t know!”

  “Either that, or they were laughing too hard,” Tim said, taking the opportunity to finish his thought. Arthur leaned backward and whacked him upside the head, earning an annoyed look from his friend.

  “Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?” Allison growled. Everyone’s attention was on her as she took a few steps backward. She hopped up on her desk, regarding them with folded arms and crossed ankles. “Am I to take what you say seriously?”

  There were two questions, but everyone was fairly sure there was only one they could answer. The interviewees exchanged awkward glances. Arthur mulled the questions over and said, definitively, “Yes.”

  Allison nodded somberly, before a smile broke her face. “I knew it!” She clapped her hands together. “I knew I liked the looks of you!” She gestured over to Catalina, whose expression had not changed the entire time, and leaned in to whisper. “Other people think I’m crazy, you know.”

  “Really?” Tim said, forcing his eyes wide and mouth slack at the
thought.

  “I know, right?” Allison leapt off the desk. “It’ll be nice to have people around here I can see completely eye-to-eye with.”

  “Happy to help,” Talia said with a nod.

  “Yeah, and maybe we can plan the takeover of the pawn shop on 3rd and Lovecraft.” Tim leaned forward and shook his fist. “Those over-priced bastards are going down!”

  Allison snorted, unable to hold back laughter. “That’s what she said.”

  “Yeah, she did!” Tim shouted, nodding. He got off his chair and leaned forward, hand up. Allison took the cue and gave him his high-five.

  “I like you. You’re an idea man,” the mobster said, pointing at him. She leaned down and picked a suitcase up off the floor, bringing it to the table. “Catalina will get you situated. You know, picture taken for IDs and the company newsletter, the usual.” She plucked a trilby hat off the desk and slipped it on, one-handed. Suitcase in her grip, she headed for the door, stopping to point at Talia while she glanced at Catalina. “I’m thinking of using her as our video-blogger. Make her look like that VWN chick.” Talia smiled as Ariana choked back another laugh. Allison resumed her exit. “Forgive me, but I have to run.”

  “Miss Capone,” Talia said as she stood up, reaching into her suit to retrieve the papers. “There’s something…”

  By this time, Allison had produced a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and slid them over her eyes. “No autographs, please,” she said as she rushed out.

  The silence that followed her departure was thick. Arthur coughed to break the tension. “Well, I think you’ll fit right in, Tim.”