Vanguard: Season Four: A Superhero Adventure

by Percival Constantine

  Chronos sighed and gave a nod. But when he took a step towards the pods, Azarov moved in front of him and brought his arm out, his hands now tipped with long, razor-sharp claws.

  “If you think you’re going to take my new test subjects, you have quite another thing coming.”

  Chronos batted away Azarov’s clawed hand with his staff. Azarov raised his other arm to strike, but then screamed. Chronos looked at Azarov and saw his arm was missing from the elbow on down. The clawed appendage lay motionless on the ground.

  Azarov stared at the stump where his arm ended. He shot an angry glare at the Khagan, whose sword now dripped with blood. But what was unusual was that the blood wasn’t dark red. Instead, it was a sickening shade of yellow.

  “Nice shot.” Azarov looked back at the stump, his face contorting. He grit his teeth, grunts escaping his throat. Behind his visor, Chronos’ eyes grew two sizes larger as he watched bone, muscle, and skin slither out from the stump, reforming into a brand-new arm for the Cold War Frankenstein.

  “What the hell…?”

  Azarov let out a sigh of relief, his concentration ended. The new arm was flawless, and claws emerged once more. He leapt in the air, crossing both sets of claws as he descended.

  The Khagan jumped back, using his sword for defense. He struck back when he could, but Azarov moved at uncanny speed. The two men exchanged blows, each one gaining some ground only to have it retaken by the other.

  Chronos watched as they fought, mesmerized by the skill possessed by the Khagan as well as the ferocity of Azarov. Then he looked at the pods and remembered his part to play in this mission. Chronos ran over to the pods and wrapped an arm around both Ink and Talon, gently pulling their unconscious bodies from their prisons.

  “I’ve got them!”

  “Good, now get back to the others!” shouted the Khagan.

  “You can’t do this on your own!”

  Azarov had the Khagan pinned down. The Khagan held his blade in front of him, straining against Azarov’s claws, his feet slowly sliding him towards the wall.

  “Stop… arguing!” The Khagan pushed forward with all his might and Azarov staggered. He sliced off both hands at the wrists and Azarov screamed, but reformed them almost before they hit the ground.

  Chronos wanted to stay and help, but he had to get these two to safety. The components from his armor slid down his legs, forming his glider under his feet. He flew back through the door and down the corridors, heading up to ground level.

  Azarov flexed the newly formed claws, staring intently at his enemy. “An interesting figure. He doesn’t know what you really are, does he? What you really were? I wonder…how many of your followers know about the legacy of the Khagan? How many know of the time when he kidnapped specials and manipulated them for his own means?”

  “It was another time.” The Khagan stared over the edge of his sword and moved into a fighting stance.

  Azarov grinned. “Another time. The way you people rationalize your actions has never ceased to amaze me. I saw it happen all the time. First in Russia, then in North Korea, and now here at Proximo.”

  “And you’re so much better than we are?”

  “You try to pretend you still have your humanity, that you’re doing the wrong things for the right reasons. I, on the other hand…” Azarov raised his claws to illustrate his point. “I know I’m a monster. I’ve accepted it—embraced it, even.”

  He pointed a clawed finger at the Khagan. “But you? Where is the monster we both know you try and hide away?”

  The Khagan grunted and his eyes started to glow red. His skin yellowed, bones and muscles moving beneath his skin, his armor tensing against his growing mass. His teeth extended into fangs and nails grew into claws.

  “Oh, he’s still in here.”

  The Khagan growled and charged. Azarov grinned at the challenge and locked his claws above his head as the Khagan brought his sword down. The blade struck the solid bone claws. Azarov separated his claws and wrapped them around the blade, pulling it down. The Khagan attempted to maintain a grip on it.

  The two men had their monstrous faces mere inches apart from each other. The Khagan had a scowl on his face, but it appeared that Azarov was enjoying this. He released the sword and jumped, spinning his leg around and slamming it against the side of the Khagan’s face.

  The armored man was thrown against the wall by the force of the blow. He fell to the ground, on his hands and knees. A look up and he saw the Cold War Frankenstein standing there, laughing at him.

  “You still fight the monster. Still convinced you are human, that you care about the rest of your species.” Azarov shook his head. “You don’t. You never did. You were a soldier who proudly killed for your country, only to become a terrorist who proudly killed for the Red Fist. You have tortured and murdered, all in the name of creating a better world. The only reason you hate the Kotharians is that they managed to accomplish what you never could.”

  The Khagan roared with an inhuman voice. His body continued his transformation, becoming even more monstrous. He charged at Azarov, now becoming more animal than man. Claws tore into flesh, powerful fists rained down thunderous blows, and the Khagan’s eyes burned with rage.

  And through it all, Azarov never stopped laughing.

  CHAPTER 4

  The jump-ship descended from the clouds, with Shift manning the flight controls. She looked at the HUD displayed over the windshield and it showed an island down below, zooming in on it. She glanced at Gunsmith, who sat by her side in the co-pilot’s seat.

  “That it?” she asked.

  He gave a nod. “Something seems wrong, though.”

  Shift activated the intercom. “We’re almost to the drop point.”

  “Wait.”

  She looked at her teammate. “What?”

  Gunsmith tapped some commands into his armor’s gauntlet. The results were delivered to him via his cybernetic eye. “There’s nothing left.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Normally, these bases are teeming with activity, right? Even with the inhibitors, I should be picking up tons of special signatures. Not to mention secure Cerberus transmissions. But I’m getting nothing.”

  “Okay, let’s see if we can get a closer look.” Shift activated the jump-ship’s VTOL system. The plane lowered from the clouds, still maintaining its stealth mode. She activated cameras on the ship to bring up a visual of the area, zooming in. The feed appeared on the HUD and Shift covered her mouth as an audible gasp escaped her lips.

  The site of the Garden was nothing but complete rubble. Flames still lingered in some places, but most had now turned into smoldering ashes. Shift used the jump-ship’s scanners to pick up any signs of life, but it came back with no results.

  “What happened here?” she asked.

  “Dunno, but we should find out.”

  Gunsmith released his seat harness and moved into the passenger area. He quickly relayed to Sharkskin, Tuwa, and Cache what they’d found at the site. Shift continued the landing sequence, bringing the ship out of stealth mode. It touched down on the surface and the team emerged from the ship’s hatch.

  “Jesus…” muttered Cache. “What the hell happened here?”

  They stood on what was certainly the result of a massive battle. There were bodies around the area, most of them clad in Cerberus gear. Gunsmith knelt down to examine one of the bodies. The guard wore his armor’s undersheath. It was the same for most of the bodies he found. He also saw armor components lying around, some of them still held by the deceased.

  “This is strange,” he said.

  “What is?” asked Sharkskin.

  “This looks like a battle,” said Gunsmith. “But the guards aren’t wearing their armor. Now when have you ever known Gunsmiths to go into a fight without their armor?”

  “Yeah, that is pretty weird,” said Sharkskin.

  Gunsmith picked up a discarded helmet. He opened a compartment on his gauntlet and drew a re
tractable cord. Cache watched him with curiosity as Gunsmith plugged the cord into the helmet.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Maybe I can get some data from this suit, see what happened.” Gunsmith entered a command on his gauntlet. He looked up, waiting for the results to be transmitted to his cybernetic eye. When nothing came, he furrowed his brow. “Okay, that’s also strange.”

  He stood and unplugged the helmet, dropping it. Gunsmith sighed and placed his hands on his hips, surveying the remnants of the camp. “The helmet was completely dead. Fried, actually.”

  “What’s that mean?” asked Cache.

  “Good question.” Gunsmith pointed at Cache as he started looking through the rubble. “Do me a favor, see if you can find another helmet.”

  “Sure.” Cache began his search as well.

  Not far away, Tuwa knelt close to the ground, channeling her energies into it with eyes closed. She cocked her head, as if listening. Shift approached, standing over her friend. Tuwa opened her eyes and looked up.

  “The island telling you anything?” asked Shift. That question no longer sounded strange to her, not in the time she’d known Tuwa.

  “Some kind of…invasion?” Tuwa sounded uncertain.

  “Anyone else think it’s a little strange how one-sided this battle seems to have gone?” Sharkskin asked the question as he examined some of the dead. “We see a lot of Cerberus’ people, but no one from the other side.”

  “Not even prisoners,” said Shift. “Yeah, I was wondering about that, too.”

  Gunsmith and Cache approached with Gunsmith tossing a guard’s helmet over his shoulder. They joined the rest of the group and Gunsmith held a discarded rifle in his hand.

  “Every helmet we could find has been fried,” he said. “And then there’s this.”

  Gunsmith raised the rifle up to the sky and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He dropped it on the ground.

  “Completely dead. Just like every suit of armor we found.” Gunsmith glanced at Cache.

  “More than that. I’m not picking up any traces of energy here,” said Cache. “I think someone set off an EMP—a big one.”

  “The armor, the weapons—it’d render them all useless,” said Gunsmith.

  “Inhibitors, too,” said Cache. “So you’d have a prison full of specials who just got the opportunity to turn on their captors.”

  “Good,” said Tuwa.

  “But where are they now?” asked Shift. “Where are Vicky and Reina?”

  Gunsmith shrugged. “All surveillance equipment would have been shut down when the EMP struck. Seems like we’ve got no way of knowing.”

  “No…the island tells me there’s something else here,” said Tuwa. “Something…below.”

  “Start clearing a path, there’s got to be a way into the lower levels,” said Shift. “Might tell us what exactly happened here.”

  “Here’s what I don’t get, though,” said Sharkskin. “Liberating a camp, that’s usually our thing.”

  “What, you jealous someone’s showing us up? Moving in on our territory?” asked Cache.

  “Hey man, more the merrier. I’m just saying, who else is out there willing to put it all on the line to rescue specials? And I mean more than just hiding them somewhere, but ballsy enough to wage a full-on attack on a place like this?”

  “This is one of the most important facilities to the Kotharians,” said Gunsmith. “Whoever did this, they picked this place. It wasn’t chosen at random.”

  Tuwa shifted the debris with her powers, bringing her hands together and then slowly separating them. Sharkskin and Gunsmith used their strength to aid in it, while Cache blasted debris to make it smaller and Shift’s hands changed into large, flat panels that she used to clear away. Their teamwork meant it wasn’t long before they found an entrance down to the sub-levels.

  Gunsmith took the lead, his cybernetic eye projecting a flashlight for them to see. Their path was occasionally blocked by rubble, but it was easy enough for the team to blast or punch through it. When they moved onto the next level and came to a junction, Tuwa pointed out the path.

  “This way,” she said, her eyes humming with her power. “It’s where the island says we’ll find what we’re looking for.”

  “You picking up anything yet?” Sharkskin asked Gunsmith.

  The former Cerberus agent gave a nod. “There’s something down here. Not a special, though…I’m not sure what.”

  “Got a baaaad feeling about this…” muttered Cache.

  No one reacted to his comment, just continued forward in silence. Gunsmith stopped suddenly, turning his head to the side. The light flashed over an opening, where there had once been a door that was clearly blasted in.

  “This way.” Gunsmith stepped through the opening first and the others followed. Gunsmith scanned his light across the large room and saw that there was clearly a battle here. There were two stasis pods that had been damaged, a destroyed console, and signs of a battle.

  “These look like blast marks,” said Cache, examining some scuffs on the ground.

  “And over here there are claws,” said Shift.

  Gunsmith’s sensors detected something amongst the rubble. He moved towards the debris, kneeling down and clearing it away. And when he saw the source, he was taken aback for a moment.

  Lying on the ground beneath the rubble was the severed head of Erik Azarov.

  “Jesus…” muttered Gunsmith. “Guys, over here!”

  The team came by his side and all saw Gunsmith’s discovery. There were exclamations of surprised, followed by relief. Erik Azarov had been the bogeyman for many specials ever since the camps were built. Knowing that the Cold War Frankenstein had finally met his demise was something to be celebrated.

  But then, Azarov’s eye opened and he coughed.

  Sharkskin jumped back. “Holy crap, it’s alive!”

  All had a similar reaction, save Gunsmith. He just studied the head with curiosity. “How’s that possible?”

  Azarov blinked, trying as best he could to scan his eye over the group. “My experiments, of course. I can survive just about anything. But damage to this extent, there is no coming back from. My body and brain are both essential to regeneration of lost limbs. If they are separated, my brain survives, but fixed in this state.”

  “Seems like a pretty fitting punishment if you ask me,” said Sharkskin.

  “What happened here?” asked Gunsmith.

  It was an old friend of ours,” said Azarov. “A man we both thought long dead.”

  Tuwa’s ears perked up. She took a step closer and knelt down beside Gunsmith, giving Azarov a strangely hopeful stare. “Who? The Exemplar?”

  Azarov chuckled. “Oh no, quite the opposite. Although he and the Exemplar crossed paths before as well. He attempted a coup d’etat once, and now he is going for another.”

  “That can’t be. No one’s seen him since before the invasion,” said Gunsmith.

  “It is quite possible. And he is more determined than ever.” Azarov spied Shift and Sharkskin and smiled. “Moreover, he has your daughter.”

  “What?” Shift nearly lunged at the head, but Sharkskin held her back.

  “They were my…guests here in the Garden,” said Azarov. “Until our mutual friend arrived, with your time traveller no less.”

  “Chronos is with him?” asked Sharkskin.

  “Guys, time out, okay?” asked Cache, holding up his hands to form a T. “Help the new guy out. Who are we talking about here?”

  Gunsmith stood. “The Khagan."

  CHAPTER 5

  When Vicky awoke, she found herself lying on a comfortable bed in a far more spacious room than her recent accommodation. She sat up, pulled the sheets off her, and looked around. There were several other beds and it looked like they were in a hospital of some kind. Only one other bed was occupied, the one right next to her, which housed an already-awake Reina.

  “Where are we?” asked Vicky.

 
Reina shrugged. “Hell if I know. But I do know this.” She held out her arm and the tattoos along hummed with green, ethereal energy. Only for a moment and then the effect died down.

  Vicky snapped to attention at that. She held her hand in front of her eyes to examine it. With minor concentration, her fingers began to morph into the long, razor-sharp talons she took her codename from. She smiled as her fingers receded back to their human form.

  “The inhibitors are gone. But what is this place? It doesn’t look like the Icarus?”

  The door to the infirmary opened and a man stepped in, clad from head to toe in black armor with a red trim. As he approached, he reached his hands up to remove the helmet, revealing a young-looking face staring back at them.

  “No, not the Icarus. But we’re with friends,” said Chronos.

  “What happened to you?” asked Vicky. “After the battle at the Icarus, I thought maybe you were dead.”

  “I was shot out of the sky but Cerberus didn’t find me—the people here did,” said Chronos.

  “Where is here? Who are these new friends of yours?” asked Reina. “Not sure if you noticed, but Vanguard’s stock isn’t exactly high with most people in this world. Not when the Kotharians want our heads on a stick.”

  “They’re a rebellion.” Chronos sat on an empty bed on Vicky’s other side, looking at both her and Reina. He set the helmet on the mattress beside him and curled his legs up under his body. “They found me after the battle, said they had informants inside Cerberus who told them what was going on. And they also knew where you guys were being held captive.”

  “I’ve never heard of any rebellion other than Vanguard,” said Reina. “Chronos, who are these people?”

  “They call themselves the Red Fist and their leader is a man named the Khagan.”

  The color drained from Vicky and Reina’s faces. They both exchanged nervous glances with each other. Chronos watched them both with confusion etched all across his face.

  “Did I miss something?” he asked.

  “Chro, the Khagan isn’t a good guy,” said Vicky.