Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shifted his weight. “Peebles, secure the entryway.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded a much quieter voice.

  The footsteps faded, and now only their panicked breathing accompanied them. It quickly became the unspoken conclusion that they needed to get out of the closet. “Okay, I’ll duck into the hallway and distract that Peebles guy…” Steven began whispering.

  “I need to get to the bathroom,” Morgan interrupted.

  Steven looked at her for few moments, confused by the request. “This isn’t really the time.”

  “There’s water in the pipes,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I should be able to get at it.” Immediately, her hand was gently pushing the door open. She looked down the hallway before casting a glance back at him. “You coming?” Steven nodded, although she knew he didn’t really have a choice. Morgan was partially hunched over as she exited the closet, moving into the kitchen.

  The kitchen had two entrances, one which she had just blundered through and the other leading into a short hallway. At one end was the bathroom, the other route heading toward the living room. Steven bolted after Morgan, narrowly avoiding slamming into her as he did so. She had pulled up short, her eyes fixed on a wall-mounted, circular mirror visible in the living room from their position. The reflection showed a white-body-armored man waiting at one of the bedroom doors, his gaze sweeping the apartment. Without a sound, Morgan’s head whipped around to Steven. “When he looks away, get into the bathroom, got it?”

  He nodded earnestly. They watched, tensing, as the man’s head arced slowly back to the bedroom. They lurched toward their target when they forced themselves to scramble to a stop: another body-armor clad figure was visible in the mirror. The two began to confer with each other about something. “What are they waiting for?” Steven asked in a barely audible whisper.

  “Fuck it,” Morgan said, then charged straight for the bathroom, giving Steven barely any time to consider whether or not it was suicide.

  The second she was visible, the two SERAPHIM dropped their conversation in shock, and the sight of Steven following her was enough to elicit a shouted, “Stop!” Steven was barely in the bathroom when he slammed the door shut. Morgan was already at the tub, turning on the water as he braced the door with his body. One of the heroes rammed into it, splintering the wood and knocking him onto the floor.

  Morgan was pulling water from the spigot and forming it into an enlarging ball over the tub basin. She worked her hands like she was molding clay, probably helping her guide her ability, forming the water into a thick cylinder of whorling, angry liquid. With a flick of her wrist, she brought the aquatic cudgel forward and then downward, into the naked floor, splintering the wood.

  Steven had only a moment to roll under the hammer being brought upward to stand beside Morgan before she brought it slamming downward again, ripping a small hole into the floor. Water still streamed from the tub’s spout, feeding the battering-ram material as it was brought up again for a third strike. The blow buckled the floor and made the gap large enough to slip through.

  Another crash, and the door broke in two pieces, the top half sent flying into the vanity mirror and shattering it. Like a meteor, the Enforcer they assumed was Thanatos dove into the room with the shards of wood, landing gracefully before looking up at the two fugitives. The insignia on her shoulder would have betrayed her allegiance if she hadn’t announced it before. Wrapped around her neck was a grey scarf, an embroidered butterfly near a set of blades at one end of the fashion statement. Her helmet was the white-on-white color of her uniform, but far more garish in design, the only truly useful part of it being the visor shielding her eyes.

  Morgan didn’t seem to be as interested in studying the SERAPHIM as Steven was. Morgan flicked her hands outward and the water cylinder disintegrated into a miniature wave, slamming Thanatos against the wall. “Go!” she shouted, sending Steven through the hole first. He slipped through, falling onto the slick floor of the bathroom below and collapsing in a heap. It wasn’t long before Morgan nearly landed on top of him, although she had the grace to not fall immediately. In an instant, her hand shot up and sealed the hole with water she manipulated into place. She looked down at Steven as he was trying to scramble to his feet. “Not bad for a late bloomer, eh?” Her voice was devoid of any joy.

  He smiled, pulling himself up with the sink. “We’re not out of the woods yet.” Once upright, he lunged for the bathroom door, yanked it open, and he and Morgan were running through the rest of a random hero’s apartment. Stunned, the popcorn-eating occupant stared from his recliner as they ran through the living room toward the door.

  “Sorry about the water damage!” Morgan shouted back as Steven hit the door to the hallway.

  “That should totally be your quip,” Steven said with a smile as he wound his way through the corridors.

  “I’d sound like a sociopathic plumber.”

  “Never too late to switch your name, you know,” Steven said with a note of laughter in his voice.

  The stairs leading to the lobby were the most packed they had seen in the apartment building, both of them having to shove their way through people just standing around. The lobby itself was large and ornate: an older, well-kept room done over with marble in an effort to keep up a front of affluence while downplaying the rather cramped apartments they offered. Whatever it was that the occupants were staring at, it was a lot more interesting than the two damp, stupidly dressed, and panicked runners forcing their way to the ground floor. Half-hearted ‘excuse me’s and ‘coming through’s punctuated the dull murmur of speculation.

  When they hit the floor of the lobby, they saw what was attracting such attention: a cadre of SERAPHIM were standing at the entrance, some with automatic rifles, others with their weapons slung around their backs. They were staring into the building, gesturing occasionally, and discussing amongst themselves.

  “Alleyway exit?” Steven offered.

  Morgan nodded as she looked out the front doors. “It’s gotta be worth a try.”

  They turned to run but skidded to a stop when someone threw themselves off the stairs and landed in front of them. Thanatos grabbed the bladeless end of her scarf and unfurled it from her neck. From her kneeling position, she leapt into the air, spinning sideways in a barrel-roll. The scarf snaked outwards and swept around Morgan’s leg, then snapped rigid as Thanatos landed, the blades interlocking and yanking Morgan toward the SERAPHIM. The force pulled her downward and toward the other woman and, in a second, Morgan’s throat was firmly under the mercenary’s boot.

  “Morgan!” Steven yelled. Thanatos’s attention snapped to him as he darted forward to punch her. His hand snapped forward, the woman in white moving a bit to the side as the fist sailed past, momentum carrying him to collide with her. She was a good six inches taller than him, a fact made less noticeable when her hand shot around his neck and she lifted him to her eye level.

  “Burn,” Thanatos said simply and, as if on command, Steven started screaming. Morgan tried to cry out, but Thanatos’s boot cut off the sound. She watched as Steven tried to pry the fingers from his neck, only to pull away from the hero’s skin as though he had touched a hot stovetop. After a few increasingly slow attempts to extricate himself, his hands fell away and his screaming turned into pained whimpering. The woman regarded the goon before she dismissively threw him aside. Morgan could see him curl into the fetal position as one of Thanatos’s subordinates descended on him.

  The sun was burning high as Zombress waited at the roof’s edge, watching the apartments Morgan and Steven had entered. It hadn’t taken her long to notice the tiny, almost invisible hole that had marked what she immediately guessed was the girl’s mother’s living room. She had considered launching herself across the street and smashing into the room, if only to give the little brats a lecture on letting adults do the heavy lifting in situations like these. But that desire was immediately stifled when she saw the white-armored trucks pull up i
n front of the building minutes after the other two had arrived. Part of her had warned her to run, leave the others to the mercy of the heroes, but Morgan was still important to this puzzle.

  As such, she couldn’t just let her get captured. Maybe if she had told her what she had been up to, she wouldn’t have attempted something so blatantly stupid. Young adults did tend to be a foolish lot, so even with all the information Morgan still may have made this attempt, but it didn’t matter at the moment.

  There were six SERAPHIM on the ground, waiting at the entrance. Three, one obviously the commander judging by the garish helmet she wore, had entered the building. It wasn’t a terribly even fight, but she didn’t really care. Only a few were armed, and those that weren’t probably would rely too heavily on their abilities. Powerful, no doubt, but not invulnerable.

  Humanity? the hollowness inside of her asked, in a way which imitated human speech but lacked any resemblance to it.

  “No. Too many innocents,” she told herself, eyeing the group of mercenaries.

  None.

  “In the relative term,” she corrected.

  Examine. Insides.

  The squadron moved slightly, and Zombress felt that the energy had changed. She stepped onto the lip of the building. “Maybe next time.” She extended the middle and index finger on her right hand, then proceeded to draw a complex symbol in the air. “What do you think, black or red?” The voice had slithered back into the recesses of her brain, banished by her willpower. Meanwhile, the SERAPHIM were joined by their leader and cohort, dragging Steven and Morgan out by cuffed hands. Her left hand made a silver indentation in the air, right in the middle of the hieroglyphic she carved with her right hand. She knelt down, nearly off the edge of the building, then leapt through the symbols.

  The moment she passed through them, she was rocketing at high speed toward the middle of the mercenaries. In the middle of the journey, she felt the costume she was wearing transition to a loose red leather outfit with a black scorpion running the length of her back. After all, such a monochromatic meeting needed a splash of excitement.

  She landed, shattering the pavement. She stood upright, the members of SERAPHIM taking a step backward at her incursion. A smirk crossed her now ruby red lips. “Who’s first?”

  The mercenaries behind her charged. Zombress backflipped, passing between them effortlessly. Feet on solid ground, she pinwheeled forward and slammed her foot down on one combatant’s head, sending him thundering to the pavement. The other turned only to have the Queen of the Dead snag him by the neck and toss him into another of his waiting comrades. She snapped a look toward another squad member, who trained his gun on her.

  His trigger finger twitched, and her hand shot upwards to carve out her shield glyph, the bullets smashing into the invisible wall. The slap of rubber against concrete behind her alerted her to an attack, which she countered by falling to the ground and dropping the protective shell at the same time; the rounds intended for her smashed into the would-be assailant behind her. From her prone position, she cradled her chin in her hand. “Three, zero, Zombress!”

  She slipped away in a quick roll as three SERAPHIM ran to her. Now she was on her feet, carving another symbol in the air. The three closed in as she cocked her hand back. “Heart breaker!” she shouted, swinging her fist forward. The floating glyph shattered into three pieces when she struck it, each shooting toward an individual mercenary. The impact of the blow threw them backward into the trucks before they thumped to the ground, unmoving.

  The last gun-toting member of the team moved into position. Zombress sprinted toward him, already making symbols in the air as he opened fire. Her perception of time seemed to slow, and there they were, the speeding bullets reduced to moderately aggressive skipping stones. Without breaking stride, she leapt and landed on the first round to reach her. Jumping off that one, she landed on another before leaping once more and landing, feet first, on the mercenary’s face. Time snapped to its normal pace, and the poor dope’s face was crushed under the blow. He was sent to the ground, pinned between the pavement and Zombress’s boots.

  She smiled, cocked an eyebrow, and stepped off her victim’s face before turning toward the stunned commander. The entire event must have lasted less than ten seconds, not to mention that last bit was so fast no one could have processed it. Zombress started toward Morgan and Steven, the commander pushing them backward in response. Heroes were beginning to converge on the action. “Well, I’ve had my workout for the day,” Zombress said. She stuck out her hand, expectantly. “I’ll be taking my companions, now.”

  “Queen of the Dead,” the commander snarled, taking her scarf off. “Arbiter will be most pleased when I bring you in as well.”

  Zombress cocked her head in irritation. “Someone’s in the mood for a little girl-on-girl, then?”

  The woman’s free hand flicked up to her ear. “Thanatos here. I require backup.” A smile cracked her face, making her eyeless visage seem all the more alien. “I think I’ll gag you first.”

  The villainess was unimpressed. “Kinky.”

  The scarf snapped out, faster than Zombress anticipated, and raked across her face. Thanatos carried through and swept the weaponized neckwear out again; this time, the intended victim saw it coming and ducked under it. While the woman was still trying to carry through, Zombress leapt at her, punching her across the face. Their flesh met, and a flash of agony ripped through the villainess’s hand, and she staggered backward.

  Without a pause, Thanatos lunged at her, swinging blows at her head and chest. Any time she blocked or countered and skin contacted skin, the immediate area would flare up in agony. Zombress needed space, and, in a move she quickly regretted, grabbed the other woman’s armor and headbutted her on the nose, shattering her opponent’s face but making her stagger in pain from both the toxic skin and the helmet and eye-wear combo Thanatos was wearing.

  The commander took the opportunity to swing her weapon in an arc. It snaked around Zombress’s neck, swooping around before the blades bit into her flesh. Thanatos yanked, throwing Zombress to the ground in a spiral as blood sprayed from the freshly opened wounds. She got onto her knees as the SERAPHIM swung the scarf out again. The villain’s hand shot out, grabbing the fabric and yanking Thanatos toward her kneeling form.

  Zombress leapt from her crouched position, fist up, aiming toward the commander’s chin. The blow was forceful enough to flip the woman in the air, and she collapsed to the ground on her belly. The villain rose to her feet, clutching the wounds in her neck. She reared back and slammed a boot into the prone woman’s side, sending her onto her back. Before Thanatos could move, Zombress brought her foot onto the SERAPHIM’s neck. Immediately, the woman struggled against the weight on her throat. “I’m a bit distracted at the moment, what with the blood and all.” Silver strands of something were worming their way around the hand she clamped to herself. “But don’t take this as a sign of not having earned my full attention.” A moment later, she reared back and firmly planted her foot down, finishing the fight.

  Zombress pulled her hand away from her newly-repaired throat and flicked the blood free from it. Other Bestowed had it easy with their healing – she had to concentrate on it if she was conscious. Casually, she regarded the scarf still wrapped around her other hand. “You are going to make a sewer crew very happy one day,” she mused. The villain wound the scarf around her neck for safe keeping as she crossed to Morgan and Steven, glaring at them.

  “Sorry,” Morgan muttered as Zombress pulled apart the zip-ties binding her hands.

  “What were you thinking?” Zombress scolded, all mirth gone from her voice. “I told you to stay put!”

  “I had nothing to…” Steven started as his rescuer turned to him to free his wrists.

  “Shut up,” Zombress snapped. She turned toward Morgan. “If we get separated, head to the Super Villains’ Guild.”

  “What?” Morgan asked as Zombress began to carve symbols into the ground. “W
hy?”

  “I need answers. Answers I intended to get alone.” Zombress was growing aware of more eyes on her as even more heroes were gathering, gossiping. “But since you two blundered out of the safe house, I have no choice but to drag you along to the Mob, don’t I?” It was only a matter of time before an onlooker would attempt to overtake them, heroic embargo be damned.

  “What is your deal, Zombress? We’re involved in this thing, too.” Steven huffed in annoyance, his eyes scanning the growing throng.

  “She’s a valuable part of this thing.” She glared at him as she finished the symbol in the ground. “You’re just an idiot tagging along.” She stood upright and slammed her foot into the ground, making the symbol glow brightly. “Song of the Dark Mother!” she shouted, flourishing her arms toward the sky. The greenish orb wafted from the sigil, then burst.

  By the time any of the heroes recovered, they would be long gone.

  Thanatos had held onto consciousness long enough to hear that they were retreating to the Super Villains’ Guild. She may have lost them now, but she would find them again… not only the Queen of the Dead, but the Italian Mob and who knows who else. The momentary defeat would grant them the ultimate tactical advantage.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  THE MAGICIAN

  ARBITER STARED OUT THE WINDOW OF HIS OFFICE, watching the heroes below meandered through the streets, aimless and lost. It would have been discouraging if any of them had managed to distinguish themselves. They were children of an age of privilege, devoid of any true struggle or definition. He sneered as memories of his public humiliation in the eighties surfaced. These heroes would learn to feel the sting of their lives being ripped away from them, if only to have their resolution tested. He had no interest in those who were heroes ‘just because,’ the precedent which had been set with institutionalization after he had destroyed Desecrator. Heroism was a calling, not a career.