Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  Claymore could not believe that little bitch. He could have any heroine he wanted, at any time, except for her. Precious Gunslinger. How could she say no to him? The very thought of it made bile rise in the back of his throat. He had tried being nice, mean, aloof, supportive, insulting, and complimentary. She was uncrackable, unreadable, which just made him want her all the more. The only real reason he didn’t want her to die was so that she could see the error of her ways. To beg him to have her.

  He would have her.

  Sooner or later, that no would be an enthusiastic yes.

  He picked up his pace, running past other heroes. He would be one of the first into D-Wing, with its collection of big-name villains. He didn’t care where he had been assigned, and he didn’t care if the majority of the Bestowed there would be incapacitated from the sleep chambers. He was going to make a name for himself this night, even if he had to grind every last one of those motherfucking degenerates into the earth to do it.

  A dot of rain fell on his cheek, the spike of cold exhilarating him.

  The crowd of Enforcers around C-Wing was thicker than she expected, but once the outermost group recognized her, they immediately parted before Julia. It was nice to be recognized, but it afforded an unwanted level of familiarity with strangers she didn’t like. Colonel Morant approached her, the insignia on his flak jacket the only indication of his identity. His face was covered with a standard-issue assault mask, designed to filter most biological, chemical, and radiological ordnance. “Overseer informs me that the inmates have managed to barricade and booby-trap these doors, making a frontal attack more risky than I’d like.”

  “Why don’t we have our fliers break in through the skylight?” Julia asked, her right hand resting on the butt of her grappling gun. Then, she thought of the schematics and the laser grid which snapped on if someone attempted to break in or out through the reinforced safety glass on the roof. “And what about the system defenses?”

  “Overseer says they’re out of commission.” Morant shook his head and cast a glance up at the central tower. “And that’s why we can’t use our flying heroes for this operation.” He once again directed his gaze at Julia. “We need to get them to clear out the central tower, then bring in a tech to restore security.”

  She nodded, feeling her pulse quicken slightly. “How did this even happen? This place was supposed to be impenetrable.”

  “Overseer’s data is sketchy, especially due to the hard system reboot. All we know for a fact is what he can ‘see’ through the cameras.”

  “And?”

  He shifted his weight. “The Italian Mob.”

  “I thought they had been neutralized,” Electronica said, apparently deciding that she was now a part of the conversation.

  “Electronica, you’ve dealt with Mob-designed proximity charges, correct?” The colonel was in no mood to talk about the how of the situation.

  “Yes, sir. It’s been awhile since they used them, though.”

  He nodded. “Let’s hope they haven’t changed too much.” The mask turned in Julia’s direction. “We need you to get in there and cover her,” he jammed a thumb toward Electronica, “while she short-circuits the prox-charges.”

  Julia nodded. “Through the skylight?”

  “Through the skylight,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Julia silently contemplated the command, then walked through the throng of Enforcers checking and double-checking their weaponry. She cast a glance upwards, squinting as rain droplets stabbed her face. Electronica joined her, looking skyward. Julia removed the grappling gun from its holster and aimed it with both hands. She squeezed the trigger. With a hiss, the hook shot out, trailing the cable line. It didn’t take long before Julia realized she missed her mark, and the grappling hook bounced off the smooth surface of the Fort.

  She retracted the cable, humiliated, reddening cheeks shocked with the occasional spear of rain. The hook had to be manually snapped into place, which she did with a grunt of annoyance. She aimed again, both hands on the gun. “You’re over-thinking it,” Electronica said.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Julia hissed.

  “It’s the old Grapple-Shot 2000, isn’t it?”

  Julia didn’t want to answer. “Yes. It was my father’s.”

  Electronica smiled warmly. In that moment, Julia saw the mother figure she had so readily dismissed earlier. “Try it one-handed.”

  “But the kick…”

  “You use that fifty-cal one handed, right?” Now the tone was growing patronizing. Julia aimed one-handed and shot her a look of exasperation. She pulled the trigger and the hook whistled into the air, perfectly arcing where it needed to go, up and over, eventually resting in an unseen crevice between the roof’s edge and skylight. She felt the gun itself gently tug at the cable, indicating it had found a suitable surface. “The 2000’s kick doesn’t need to be compensated for. You just gotta ride it out.”

  Julia held her arm out impatiently. “You ready to do this?”

  Electronica smiled. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”

  I doubt that, was all Julia could think. The woman grabbed hold of her outstretched arm tightly above the elbow. She had the strength of an iron clamp, but the discomfort would be over in a moment. Julia hit the ‘retract’ trigger, and the mechanism whirred, pulling the two into the air slowly, then speeding up. They picked up velocity, moving terrifically fast up the metal wall before slowing dramatically and eventually crawling to a stop.

  Julia stood up, affixing the hook again to its home. “We’re going to have to knock out the three layers of safety glass here.” She nodded to herself, calculating. “It’ll take more than a few bullets, but I think I can…

  “Hold on,” came an interruption. Electronica, arms akimbo, looked at the top of the skylights. “You said something about a defense system, right?”

  She nodded, walking toward the other hero. The rain was coming down heavier, to the point where she could hear the dull strikes against the surface of the Fort. “It was supposed to be a laser grid that would flare between the layers of safety glass if they were broken.”

  Electronica nodded solemnly. She walked toward where the window met the Fort, watching the metal underfoot intently. It took a moment for Julia to realize that the woman’s eyes were closed as she moved. Electronica’s hands twitched and she stopped. She knelt down. “It may be off, but it’s still powered.” She looked up at Julia. “Let’s fix that, shall we?”

  She straightened and held her right hand out. An arc of electricity jumped from the building to her hand. It was so quick that Julia was fairly sure it didn’t even happen. But then another jumped, and another. Electronica was drawing lines of blue and yellow lightning from some unseen power source, willing it into an angry, pulsing ball. With a final pop, the bolts stopped coming, the floating orb now the size of a basketball. Julia was so interested in the spectacle that she hadn’t noticed the effect on the woman controlling it: her hair was caught between the static and the wind, wildly dancing in the pale luminance; her skin had gained a unhealthy pallor, due in part to intense mental and physical focus; and her eyes were now black sinks, unblinking despite how close she was to blinding light.

  “Electro-Bomb!” she shouted, dragging the ball back, up, and then smashing it downward, boring a large hole in the safety glass and sending spidery splinters through the entire pane. Julia was impressed, even if Electronica did look like she was about ready to pass out. “May have overcompensated. And sorry for the… shouting… thing.” She stood up, the color flooding back to her face readily. It was if nothing had happened. “Force of habit, you know?”

  “Oh, I know,” Julia answered. Shouting the name of a Bestowed ability or its subset served a dual purpose: first, the theatrical element was usually appreciated by the onlookers; second, naming a specific utilization of the technique, in theory, allowed for the quicker recall of the muscle memory and mental technique required to pull it off.

&n
bsp; The rattle of gunshots made the two of them duck down. Bullets whipped by, the adrenaline in Julia’s system making her see them like bright lines of fluorescent color zipping by. “However did they know we were here?” Electronica had a disquieting laugh in her voice.

  “We need a flash-bang,” Julia said, putting her hand to her ear.

  Electronica stopped her, a wily smile on her face. “No need. I can get us down there.”

  “How?”

  “Shoot the grapple gun there,” she said, pointing at the edge of the rooftop. “I’ll take care of the rest when we descend.” She hit a button on her belt, and the dancing electric lights on her uniform lost their subtle luminescence.

  Julia’s first thought when she dutifully fired the grapple gun was that all she was truly doing was making herself a meat piñata, but Electronica had certainly gone out of her way to assist her. There was no real precedent to leave her hanging, so to speak. The hook securely in place, Julia stood, wincing as more automatic rifle fire continued to splinter the already damaged safety glass. “Now what?”

  Electronica paused a moment, surveying the roof. Rain was picking up in earnest now, flattening her wild hair. “In about three seconds’ time, I need you to hit the descend trigger.” She stood up, then circled around Julia, stopping when she was facing her and the skylight.

  Julia looked at her, annoyed. “Why…”

  “Now!” Julia’s reaction was immediate, hitting the trigger right as Electronica tackled into her, sending the two of them tumbling through the breach in the skylight. Adrenaline kicked in, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as she felt the cold wave of her ability roll into her eyes. She was aware of the bullets pelting all around them, the projectiles leaving red fluorescent trails in their wake. It had taken her years of practice to give attackers a unique color to their bullets; before then, they looked the same as hers or, worse, almost invisible, insect-like killers. Numerous rounds screamed directly at them only to be redirected with a flourish of sparks. Electronica was shielding them.

  They drew nearer to the floor. Julia really didn’t like the gung-ho nature of this particular hero. She preferred the orderly discipline of the Enforcers, the matter-of-fact nature of Arbiter… in the last twenty seconds or so, she had even gained a new appreciation for Claymore’s constant seeking of her input. They hit the ground in a crouch, Julia hitting the ‘retract’ trigger before releasing the gun. There was no way she could get the grapple bit back now, and she didn’t want an escapee giving heroes more reason to beat the stuffing out of them.

  She drew her two revolvers, heaving as the static shield still deflected numerous bullets. “Sorry,” Electronica grunted through the strain. “My suit retains some electric charge after I use my ability.” Her voice was mirthful, almost childlike. “Should have told you my plan, huh?”

  “Yes,” Julia said as she cocked the hammers on her guns. “You should have.” She gave Electronica a glare, the older woman retreating into a more serious look. “You need to get to the entrance and disarm the proximity bombs.” Julia looked around the hall, numerous potential targets glistening in her vision. But the priority targets were the ones all taking cover, reloading, or sending bursts of ammunition their way. She knew, instinctively, there were sixteen shooters in range, six on this floor and ten on the upper walkways. Everyone else was in a sleep chamber, running the other direction, cowering in a cell, or hiding around corners with makeshift clubs. “Keep the static shield up around yourself. I’ll draw their fire.” She stood upright. “Go!”

  Julia felt the static wave pass over her, and she immediately dove to her right to avoid a stream of rifle fire. She pulled the triggers and the first two bullets streaked out, their blue fluorescent trail carving their way past obstacles into the two separate goons firing on her position, one from above and one from down the hall and around a corner. Predictably, the rubber rounds struck home, smashing into the necks of the mobsters and rendering them incapacitated.

  From the floor, she cocked the single-action revolvers and fired again, the bullets training on two targets in the midst of reloading on the ground floor. They must have been surprised in their last conscious moments when something smashed into their heads despite being behind cover, knocking them down and out.

  Julia rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself upright. A mobster on the walkway above and in front of her opened fire, his tommy-gun chattering loudly. She dove forward and sent another two rounds out, one finding its way into the mobster’s groin and sending him collapsing to the floor as his gun tumbled over the railing. The other bullet arced its way into the teeth of another goon who had been keeping his back to the wall in a cell down the hall.

  Two goons on the third level catwalk were approaching the exit, no doubt to take out Electronica. Julia rolled onto her back the second she hit the floor and fired her guns into the air, one rubber bullet sent straight into the base of one of the goon’s skulls, knocking her out, and the other into the side of the opposite goon’s leg, buckling him hard to the ground as his leg ripped out from underneath him.

  Flipping up onto her feet, Julia quickly fired off the four remaining shots in a wide arc, intercepting three goons on the catwalks trying to outmaneuver her and one darting between cover on her level. One nearly tumbled over the railing headfirst, but regained enough composure to crumple by the guardrail. Julia didn’t think she could handle a railing kill at the moment, considering she was trying so hard to keep these idiots in one piece.

  Her gun was out of ammo, and one of the goons must have noticed. “She’s out!” a female voice called out. “Move in!” The four targets were lit up like Paris, one on her level, one on the catwalk nearest to her, and the remaining two on the highest level. She popped open one of the pouches on her utility belt and removed a half-moon clip, the three bullets light in her hand after the heft of the revolvers. She waited.

  The ground floor mobster popped up from behind cover and opened fire. Anticipating his reaction, Julia one-handedly cartwheeled out of the way, the stream of bullets following her. Hitting the floor, she back-flipped using the momentum from the acrobatics. As she curled in the air, she pitched the clip into the floor at the angle she practiced so many times before.

  The metal floor sparked just enough to ignite the gunpowder on all three bullets. They rocketed out, each one burying itself in a soft, vital portion of three attackers. Julia crashed to the floor in a crouch, heaving deeply. She wobbled as she stood up, fairly proud of herself.

  A thump on the floor behind her drew her attention, but she couldn’t turn in time. The muzzle of a gun pressed between her shoulder blades. Instinctively, she put her hands in the air. “That’s what I thought, lady.” The male voice was young and unsure, but he still had a gun to her back. “Now, turn around… slowly…”

  The second she felt the pressure on her spine release, Julia leaned to her right and hooked her arm around the muzzle of the gun. She kicked backward with her left foot, nailing the mobster in the shin with her heel and making his grip falter. She squeezed her arm tighter around the weapon and spun to face the dazed goon, yanking the gun away. Julia stomped onto his kneecap with her boot, sending him down. Spinning the firearm in her hands in order to hold it like a club, Julia swung the stock into his face, knocking him out.

  “Electronica is going to clear the debris blocking the entrance to C-Wing,” Overseer chimed. “Please stand back.”

  The explosion barely rocked the interior of the building. Even if it had, Julia doubted she would have noticed. This was going to be a very long night.

  Claymore was having the time of his life. He had managed to bully his way to the front of the pack and lead the charge into the Tier Four Wing, running ahead of the Enforcers and taking out the Italian Mob’s goons as they stared gormlessly at his approach. The squadrons of trained semi-soldiers behind him were suppressing retaliatory gunfire, allowing him to get close enough to pummel the villains with his fists.

  A few
actual prisoners had tried to stop him, leaping on his back when he was distracted with a goon only to be thrown off and stomped into unconsciousness. Others preferring a direct approach were knocked aside with a quick flick of his blade, a feat unthinkable for those without training and immense physical strength. He couldn’t help but smile widely, enjoying the fight. This, right here, was what it meant to be a hero. He understood, then and there, what Arbiter had meant in all his grand talks of the good old days, fighting for truth and justice and…

  “Come on, pa, hurry up!” came an Irish-lilted voice from above, almost dissolved by the emergency klaxons. He craned his neck, trying to detect movement on the walkways. A smile crept onto his face when he saw the top of someone’s head just above the railing, standing in front of a sleep chamber. The light was yellow, meaning its ‘defrost’ process had started. “We need to get out of here!”

  Claymore looked around at the nearby Enforcers, a little concerned that they did not hear what was so apparent to him. They were busy zip-tying the goons he had rendered incapacitated or engaged in other duties before moving further down the hall to quash resistance. It didn’t matter. He was more than willing to take down another villain in the name of heroism.

  Sheathing his sword, he mentally mapped out his path to the upmost walkway. Sprinting toward a nearby support pillar, he leapt, grabbed the metal surface, and rebounded off it. His arms shot out, catching the bottom of the catwalk. Hand over hand, he climbed the railing and hefted himself up before launching himself at another pillar and using it as a bouncing board to the final level, a thick fog clinging tightly to the metal gantries, a remnant of previously opened sleep chambers.

  He unsheathed his sword, growing a little disheartened when he saw that his target was just a girl, no more than seventeen, her red hair illuminated by the lighting of the sleep chamber. She slapped her hand against the chamber as it hissed, sending a spray of icy air rolling out of it. Claymore subconsciously noted that this was a different model than the one Zombress had been contained in, seemingly less secure in favor of tighter spacing.