Project Northwoods

by Jonathan Charles Bruce

  His attention to this detail chilled Julia, but her outburst had already made her a target of suspicion by Constantine at the very least. Arbiter held his commitment to the target with unwavering determination.

  Overseer broadcast the time at the one minute mark. The timer went from green to red. In what seemed like a single breath, thirty seconds ticked away. Overseer stated the remaining time coldly before, in an almost chipper tone, it cooed about incoming data.

  Fifteen seconds brought about a status bar.

  Ten seconds brought about a video in the upper right corner, blurred and distant, of the Villains’ Guild.

  At seven seconds, the cameraperson zoomed in on two figures climbing the steps.

  At four seconds, the camera had trouble focusing.

  At three seconds, the figures were crystal clear.

  At one second, Julia recognized her brother and Ariana.

  And in that terrible moment when Arbiter’s hands clenched, the reticle turned red, Julia’s heart trembled in her chest, and Claymore’s hand fell on her shoulder and squeezed. No… not Claymore… he was staring determinedly at the screen.

  Archetype stood behind her, standing guard over her own unspeakable horror.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  TOWER

  ARTHUR REACHED GROUND LEVEL when something impossibly bright seared his vision, even though the sun was still shining. He winced and shielded his eyes as the others turned in response to the flash. The world had gone even quieter than normal, as though the bolt had frightened anything capable of noise before vanishing into the ether.

  “What was that?” Ariana finally asked.

  As though in response, a lance of light struck the earth, prompting a fearful retreat by a few steps. The flare vanished, leaving charred and smoking remains in the street. Arthur looked upwards, into the clear sky. A second pinpoint of light, an angry new star, had joined the sun. As though to dissuade him from looking any longer, another flash blinded him, heralding a third spear ripping through the cloudless blue and slamming into the pavement. This one was close enough to send him into the air, head over feet, and crumpling onto the steps of the Villains’ Guild.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he pushed himself upright, back and arms aching from the impact. The oppressive summer heat was joined by crackling energy as blinding flashes rained from the sky, leaving crackling tendrils radiating in the air. He looked up, the barely identifiable shapes of the others backing away from whatever was happening, at least two running full tilt down the street. The bright darts were cast around the Guild, the city at large entirely untouched.

  Mast grabbed Arthur and pulled him toward the street, his will to run returning. He shirked free of Mast’s grip and leapt through the crackling rain, sprinting toward the street. The air between the attack and safety tasted like ozone, the heavy gas instantly making him more lightheaded. Stair and Ariana were backing away, though close enough to register their relief when he nearly stumbled on the landing but stayed upright and running.

  “Move!” Arthur shouted superfluously as Ariana had already snagged hold of Stair and had taken off in front of him.

  He turned back about halfway down the block and, despite his fear, slowed to a stop beside one of the many vacant vehicles. The streams of light were a constant, waving shimmer, slamming chunks out of the building. With a horrible sizzling pop, a continuous, carving sweep of light ruptured the air and slammed into the pavement, leaving a crackling curtain of coherent photons in its wake. The sky developed clouds around the bombardment, a thin ring of cirrus clinging to the outer periphery where the energy pierced the atmosphere. Mast joined him, watching as the carving-beam finished sectioning off the Guild.

  “The death ray,” Mast said, quietly.

  It was a statement that didn’t need to exist, but the words made the situation terribly real. Arthur’s heart stuttered at the sound, his mouth working silently in panic. The inability to respond didn’t last long: he realized that, soon, none of them would want to be in the open. “Get off the streets!” he shouted, turning and running. The others had taken to watching along with him, but his sudden panic squelched their curiosity. He got close enough to Ariana and Stair to shout, “In the alley, in the alley!”

  Stair and Ariana darted into the small path between two buildings, Arthur joining them moments before Agent Mast. He heard glass shatter down the street, someone apparently taking shelter inside an abandoned storefront. So much the better. Only Zombress stood in the middle of the street, waiting for what was to happen next.

  “What’s she doing?” Stair asked as Ariana forced her down.

  “She can take care of herself,” Mast said with certainty.

  Slowly, Zombress carved glowing silver symbols in the air in a wide circle. She reinforced the images a number of times before finally holding her hand out. Around her, a shell wavered and solidified into existence, glimmering reflectively.

  A great flash smothered their senses. The world went black, white, and silent. Not like before, the silence of hidden existence, but the piercing and lonely silence of a world lost in the void. The ground buckled and growled, a chorus of car alarms in some underground garage giving the earth a song of protest.

  A roar, violent and angry, washed over them like a shockwave. The world went red and black for an interminable eternity, and then the earth buckled again. A warm and dry gale blew down, toward the Guild, powerful enough to send shrapnel and dust whipping down the road, buffeting the Queen of the Dead standing watch. A smaller car rolled down the street and slammed into her shield, rebounding up and over her before carrying onward.

  The wind faded, eventually, to a tolerable pace. Arthur rose and moved out into the streets before the others reluctantly joined him. Aquaria and Steven were clearing the shattered storefront, eyes down the road. Colonel Morant walked down the street beside a completely shocked Allison. Marsh and Cleese, the first to flee, were much further down than any of the others. Zombress’s shield shattered, the shards fading into nothingness.

  A slender mushroom cloud towered over the remains of the Villains’ Guild. Flashes of static in the cloud gave it the look of a volcano’s eruption. Motes of dust began to fall, tracts of it having been pulled off the buildings. Dirty snow, wafting from the buildings, in broad daylight on a suddenly colorless summer’s day.

  They stood, silent, for what could have been forever. Finally, Agent Mast turned away, face ashen, and she gently, though at the same time forcibly, pivoted Ariana and Stair from the sight. The group behind them had solidified into a more-or-less cohesive mass of humanity, huddling together for safety.

  Zombress forcibly tore her eyes from the sight. “The Mob was my last hope for answers,” she said matter-of-factly. Her eyes flashed toward Morant. “Any bright ideas, hero?”

  The colonel shook his head. “Finding Purgatory’s Inventor was my next move.” He looked at the survivors. “I would have hoped to have the Italian Mob beside me, though.”

  “We were looking for him, too.” Ariana folded her arms across her chest. The world had gotten very cold very quickly. “I hope he’s okay.”

  Arthur considered making a snide remark about how her opinion of her father had drastically changed since their first conversation of the day. Instead, he kicked at the street and looked away.

  The conversation seemed over, and it appeared to Arthur that their options were limited to different forms of suicide. Jack Cleese politely raised his hand. He was smiling. “Well, if none of you are interested in dying just yet, I have a pretty good idea where you could find him.”

  After the timer had clicked to zero, numerous windows had opened up on screen, displaying a lot of information that Julia couldn’t and didn’t care to read. Her knees had turned to jelly, barely keeping her upright as the image of Arthur remained burned in her retinas. It had literally been too late to save him. In less than a second, she was completely alone. The last shot at confirming that he had been to
the Guild that night… had been witness to or abetting in her father’s murder… was no longer available.

  It was like the air had been sucked from the room, leaving only the hum of computers in its wake. No one moved or breathed. Overseer’s green iris flashed onscreen, ending the quiet. “Search drones are en route, High Consul,” it said, devoid of any kind of recognition that humanity had been cleared away in a flash of light.

  “All images and footage are to be uploaded immediately.” Arbiter removed his hands from the console, taking steps backward while still facing the monstrous glass. “We need to see just how effective our newest tool is.”

  There’s nothing human left, Julia thought, her eyes suddenly focusing on Arbiter’s back. The mountain of a man stood, straighter and more assertive than ever, radiating the success of what just happened.

  He dropped a nuke to kill a bothersome fly. To wipe out the entire physicality of someone, reducing them to ash… what’s so heroic about that? The night in the Fort was one thing, but this… this was something else entirely.

  Murder.

  Claymore stepped forward, watching the data flood the screen. He was transfixed, and his gloved hand twitched and flexed as his eyes danced over the flickering information. “Magnificent…”

  As if to punctuate his comment, a window popped up, showing a generically handsome journalist on the rooftop of a building. He looked legitimately panicked and was gesturing to something the cameraman was struggling to focus on. The moment it became clear, Julia felt sick. Rising from somewhere beyond the buildings, smoke billowed in the shape of a mushroom, hefting upwards toward the mostly clear sky. Overseer had thankfully muted the connection.

  Another video popped up, this time of a different angle. A family video… no, too high quality… someone collecting stock footage, maybe? The camera panned across the New York City skyline, when a flash in the left third of the screen blew out a portion of the video chip. It refocused and zoomed, lines of lightning spearing from the sky and decimating the camera’s hardware before the entire thing went grey.

  “Video and photo web pages are being updated, High Consul,” soothed Overseer. More images flicked onscreen, showing stills, partial video clips, and image series. “Satellite array has restored visual feed.”

  “Bring it up,” Arbiter commanded.

  At first, New York looked miraculously undamaged. At that distance, the city appeared unfazed and still. With a click, the image realigned and zoomed in, toward a small patch of thick, dark clouds. With the next zoom, it became apparent that those were not clouds. The sight was harrowing. A perfectly circular crater was bored into the center of the screen, black smoke pulled by the prevailing wind. A few orange spots indicated, at least to Julia, that fires raged on what had once been untarnished earth.

  “Overseer, start up the camera,” Arbiter commanded.

  “At once, High Consul.” In front of him, a pillar rose from the console. Within it, the lens of a camera whirred and clicked until it had Arbiter in focus. A moment later, a red light illuminated nearby, and a window opened up on the screen bearing the recorded image.

  “A new age of heroes has dawned,” Arbiter began, as though he had thought this entire speech through. “There will be no negotiation, no remorse. Too many have died to allow for the degeneration of our society to continue.” He punched a few buttons on the console, and the recording image showed the satellite feed of what was left of the Super Villains’ Guild. “The weak will condemn me for my austerity, for the blood I have washed my hands with…” He restored the feed to his face. “But it is through this act that I have saved countless lives.

  “Villainy…” His face, what was visible of it, turned red. “… Has too long suckled at the teat of those who would wish to call them friends, equals. Their… magnanimity,” he spat the word, rendering it toxic, “will not be the death of those who have stood strong in the face of evil.” Julia shuttered at the archaic word, its intentional use driving out any semblance of rationality. He took a deep, shaking breath. “They will either capitulate or face the consequences.” His eyes, through the cat-like slits in his helmet, seemed even more animalistic than ever before. “We will rebuild our brethren into our image, uncompromising, to beat back the inhuman horde. Any who defy us…

  “… Reveal themselves as villains.”

  The words ended the recording. Overseer vanished from his window, indicating he was sending the doctrine to all the major media outlets. Julia wanted to shout, wanted to scream, but the horror of it all had rendered her mute. Her mouth opened and closed desperately, her survival instincts preventing her from speaking.

  Arbiter leaned heavily on the console, apparently lost in thought. It was only after Overseer’s eye reappeared onscreen that he fidgeted. “I have uploaded the file to all major networks and video-sharing sites, High Consul.”

  “Very well,” Arbiter said. He turned to the others, his gaze unsettlingly beyond them. “Have the search drones inform anyone in the villain zone that they have until midnight to report to the Heroes’ Guild for clemency.” He looked over at the computer monitor. “The lives of those in Fort Justice are in their hands.”

  “Very good, High Consul.” With a wink, the monitor faded to black.

  Grimly, Arbiter announced, “We begin the final phase.” He glided past the others. Like iron to a magnet, they adhered to him. Only Julia lagged behind. She followed, watching as Claymore, Archetype, and Zealot formed a barrier around their illustrious leader. “Zealot, work with the leaders of SERAPHIM in organizing the Heroes’ Guild for the villains’ surrender. Archetype and Claymore, you will maintain security in these hallowed halls.”

  “Do you expect treachery, sir?” Claymore asked.

  “Always,” Arbiter responded.

  “I would prefer to be alongside the High Consul,” Archetype said wistfully. “But I respect your decision.”

  Julia’s hand fell to the butt of her revolver. For the briefest of moments, she thought that she could get off four shots and take them out rapidly. Reality bit back quickly, reminding her that there were too many variables: Arbiter had the reaction time of almost nothing; Claymore was quick on his feet; Archetype was probably the least threatening, but represented a psychic unknown; Zealot could armor up on the first explosion of gunpowder, leaving her to face a bulletproof hero. Even with the half-moon clip in her pouch, she’d only take out three… and that was only if her nervousness hadn’t impaired that particular trick…

  Archetype’s head turned toward Julia, quickly, his eyes piercing and dangerous. Julia stopped immediately, throwing her hands across her chest. He smiled, his thin lips curving in a mix between a hungry and pleased. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Did he read my thoughts? She tried to swallow, but found her throat was a desert, coarse and painful. Their eyes met. His pupils narrowed.

  “What say you, Gunslinger?” The friendliness of his tone was shattering, soothing, but made all the more frightening because of her thoughts. “Wouldn’t you wish to be on the front lines, apprehending your father’s murderers?”

  She nodded, breaking eye contact. “Yeah,” Julia croaked. “Even though it apparently doesn’t matter.” She barely even registered that she said the words until Arbiter stopped, the others copying their leader.

  “Quaint.” Julia mentally kicked herself for her petulance. Arbiter looked over his shoulder at her. His face hid the sneer that his voice couldn’t shield from her, “Your outbursts have made it clear that placing you anywhere near the villains problematic.” Arbiter resumed walking, leaving only Julia behind as the group neared the exit. “You shall stay with me, to oversee the matter here. Be grateful I am allowing you time to see the truth.” The four of them left, leaving her shaking and alone in the computer room.

  She raged, quietly, until she was sure they had gone. Her guts were leaden, her head floating. It didn’t take long for her knees to finally buckle out from beneath her. Everything, every last thing, had changed. She retc
hed, heaving but not vomiting. Julia’s eyes burned, and tears fell from her cheeks as she leaned forward onto her hands, retching and sobbing her insides tearing her apart.

  In a fit of impotent anger and self-consciousness, she hurled her hat from her head. Her face contorted halfway between a snarl and despair as her fingers began to pull at her vest, trying to grasp it and rip it free. It held fast, and she began to claw at her collar, ripping along her skin to just get free of the hateful uniform which represented everything reality had become, a mockery of everything…

  Her hands raked across a metal chain she had looped around her neck. With her fingers snagging the metal, she felt the weight of her mother’s jewel shift against her chest. The effect was immediate: she felt calmer, focused. She couldn’t afford to breakdown. Not right now, when there was still so much at stake. It may not matter to Arbiter, but her father’s murderer was still out there and far more important to her than the nameless peons of a supposed conspiracy.

  Arthur should have been a piece of that puzzle. She lamented her desire to protect him and herself. There was no doubt she had seen him that night… and maybe if she hadn’t pretended he didn’t exist, had hauled him in to answer the questions that needed to be answered…

  It didn’t matter. He was dead now, and he was just the first victim of a terrible new wave of retribution. Julia would fix this, or die trying.

  Terribly cold, Julia gathered herself upright, took a breath, then went for her hat. She would wait out the storm, then work on her own, Arbiter’s super-weapon be damned. His satellite-based erection was a threat to justice, even if he couldn’t see it. Hat situated firmly on her head, she strode out of the room and into the hallway.

  “Gunslinger…” The voice wasn’t the pseudo-seductive one of Claymore, but the dulcet tones of Archetype. Immediately, the hairs of her neck stood on end. Earlier, she had been all too aware of the sickly sensation of his mind against hers, probing. In his company for a prolonged stretch, she must have gotten used to it. Now it was back, and no smile of his would allow her to lower her guard.