Vanguard: Seasons 1-3: A Superhero Adventure

by Percival Constantine

  While in mid-flight, a massive migraine struck. Paragon froze up, her hands rushing to her head as she screamed.

  ***

  Shift moved quickly to try and get to her teammates when she was jumped from behind. Small yet powerful hands took hold of Shift and threw her into the side of the stone, her back striking the surface. Shift saw the girl who attacked her, balling her tiny hand into a fist and swinging it forward. Shift’s body went malleable and she was able to avoid Fuerte’s blow, which left a small impact in the stone where it struck.

  The green-skinned metamorph’s elongated body snaked around her target, moving behind Fuerte. Shift’s tentacle-like arms stretched to their limit, wrapping around the young girl.

  “Who are you?” asked Shift. “What’s going on here?”

  “What’s going on is you’re about to get your ass kicked.” Fuerte head-butted Shift, the resulting disorientation causing her grip to slacken. Fuerte grabbed Shift’s arms and used them as a tether to slam Shift against the ground.

  ***

  Gunsmith used his suit to pinpoint Sharkskin’s location and ran towards it, jumping over the ridges and sliding through the valleys. But before he could reach, his sensors suddenly warned of life signs in the area. Energy blasts were fired at him and Gunsmith had to move quick to evade them. He looked for the source and saw three men firing on him. But what surprised him was that all three wore armor identical to his.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “You have one chance to surrender,” said one of the soldiers.

  “Not until you tell me where you got my suit,” said Gunsmith.

  The three Red Fist soldiers chuckled at his comment and the leader gave an answer. “Maybe you should keep better tabs on your organization.”

  Gunsmith wanted to know more about this, but knew that the mission took priority. He was outnumbered and outgunned, although it wasn’t the first time he’d been in such a situation. Fortunately, he had more experience with the armor than they did, and he was familiar with its weaknesses. Gunsmith threw an explosive disc at their feet and immediately ran for cover.

  “Move!” shouted the leader, and he and his squad tried to escape the resulting explosion.

  It would cause some havoc with their sensors temporarily, and Gunsmith took advantage of that brief blackout to grab one of them from behind, pulling him behind a ridge and delivering a solid, armored strike to his foe’s forehead. One down.

  He moved into position to take out another one, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Gunsmith turned and was shocked when he saw who had snuck up on him. Then a powerful fist knocked him out cold.

  ***

  Zephyr crashed to the ground and lay there for a few moments to try and get her bearings. But then a massive shadow fell over her body and Sharkskin came upon her, pinning her to the ground. He pulled the white helmet from her head, revealing the pretty, blond-haired woman underneath.

  “I still owe you for throwing me around in Oklahoma City and Central Park,” he hissed.

  Zephyr couldn’t help but smile at his rage. “That what this is all about? Don’t like getting beat by a girl? Then you’re not gonna like what happens next.”

  “Sharkskin!”

  He perked up at the sound of his name, detecting the scent of his teammate. Sharkskin didn’t bother looking at the speaker, worried that any distraction might give Zephyr a chance at getting the upper hand. “Sorry Paragon, but she’s goin’ down this time—for good.”

  “No, you are.”

  At this, Sharkskin finally turned. “What?”

  Paragon’s answer came in the form of an uppercut that threw him to the ground. Sharkskin looked up in complete shock from the spot he landed. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Don’t you get it, big guy?” asked Zephyr, her winds raising her up until she hovered by Paragon’s side. Sharkskin saw the rest of the Red Fist’s forces surround him, dozens of them clad in armor identical to Gunsmith’s, and Gunsmith himself carried by one of them. He also saw the flaming form of Pyre hovering closer and Fuerte cradling Shift’s unconscious body.

  “You’ve been played,” said Zephyr.

  ***

  The White House Situation Room was a bustle of activity with staffers and security personnel moving about. The President and the Vice-President both sat at the table with a barrage of voices coming from all directions. President Curtis Hayworth sat back in his chair, rubbing his head and trying to make sense of the documents being passed to and fro. Finally, he spoke up and his voice cut through the white noise.

  “Just who the hell is this guy anyway?”

  The room went quiet at that loud outburst from the Commander in Chief. Dan Mason, the National Security Advisor, was the one who finally broke the brief silence.

  “To be honest, sir, we have no idea.”

  “How is that possible?” asked Hayworth. He slammed his fist on a picture of the Khagan, obtained from his earlier video broadcast. “How does one man build up a terrorist organization and take a goddamn space station hostage without anyone knowing the first thing about him?”

  Harry Kiedrowicz, the Director of the CIA, answered to the best of his ability. “We’ve heard rumors of the Red Fist organization for years, but no one’s been able to connect them with anything.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Trevor Russell, the Vice-President.

  “I’m saying that for all intents and purposes, this Khagan is a ghost,” said Kiedrowicz. “He said he served, so we’ve ran his face through every facial recognition software we have, had teams combing through military records to try and find some clue to his identity. So far, we’ve found nothing.”

  “There is one thing, sir.” The man who spoke was Justin Ashford and he bore the insignia of a general.

  “What’s that, General?” asked Hayworth.

  “Several months back, I was present at the questioning of a Med Corps lieutenant who was the only survivor of an insurgent attack. She was found wandering the desert, mumbling incoherently. During questioning, she claimed she was held captive by the Red Fist and…she mentioned the Khagan.”

  Hayworth stared daggers at the general. “Please tell me why this is the first time I’m hearing this.”

  “Sir, t-the witness seemed unreliable,” said Ashford. “She spoke of a fortress inside a mountain, the kind that was suspected at Tora Bora, but there’s been no evidence to indicate that such a place ever existed. All we ever found in Tora Bora were some bunkers with munitions storage.”

  “That was almost ten years ago, General,” said Russell.

  “I realize that, but the type of facility she described—it would take far more time to construct. And frankly, we all suspected she might have some sort of tie to insurgents, a rogue agent. More than that, the operation was taken out of my hands.”

  “Under whose authority?” asked Hayworth.

  “Well…” The general glanced down at the table and cleared his throat. “Yours, sir.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A Colonel Leonard Thorne came into our session with an order signed by you authorizing him to take command of the investigation,” said Ashford.

  Hayworth groaned at the mention of Thorne’s name. No one in the room knew of the power he’d given Thorne, nor of the Vanguard Project he himself had authorized. The only other man who was aware of it was the Secretary of Defense.

  “Where the hell is Ramsey?” asked Hayworth. “Why isn’t he here?”

  “He said he’s been detained dealing with the situation at the Pentagon,” said Mason.

  “Do we know anything?”

  “There’s one thing,” said Mason. “A few weeks ago, there was a break-in at a government storage facility. Several deaths and from what we can tell, several of the perpetrators were specials.”

  “A storage facility?” asked Hayworth. “What did they take?”

  “That’s the strange thing, sir,” said Mason. “Nothing really of note. Only some
technology the FBI confiscated in the fifties. It was equipment purported to have been designed by Nikola Tesla himself.”

  “Tesla?” Kiedrowicz snickered. “You’re not talking about the mythological death ray, are you?”

  “There was no death ray,” said Mason.

  “Then why did they want that tech?” asked Hayworth.

  Mason gave a shrug. “I have no earthly idea, sir.”

  One of the flat-panel monitors along the wall flickered to life and the image of the Khagan appeared on it. Everyone present turned to the sound of the voice in shock, staring with confusion at the man’s face.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” said the Khagan.

  “How did you get on this line?” asked Hayworth.

  The Khagan chuckled. “I have some very…powerful friends, sir.”

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The Khagan folded his arms. “You know the answers to both those questions, Mr. President. My name is the Khagan and what I want is for you to surrender power to the Red Fist.”

  “That’ll never happen,” said Hayworth, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t care if you took over Olympus, it’s nothing more than a vantage point. We’ll blow it out of orbit if we have to.”

  The Khagan gave a sigh. “I was afraid you might say that.” He turned and looked off to the side. The camera panned along with him and followed behind the Khagan as he walked. There was a mobile containment chamber of some sort, and a bright, blue light emitted from the center.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Russell.

  “This is Dr. Terrence Gibson,” said the Khagan, motioning to the chamber. “He was once a physicist working at Proximo Labs. I’m sure you’re aware of the recent…incident that occurred there about a month ago.”

  “Gibson, he was the special who tore the place apart,” said Mason. “He’s been in custody, though.”

  The Khagan couldn’t help his smile at that declaration. “Correction: he was in custody. Now Lucent—as he prefers to be called—is aiding my cause. By now you’ve no doubt heard from your underlings of a recent theft at a storage facility. The technology you had hidden away there was fairly useless. Never operational and without a sufficient power source. But fortunately, I have associates who are quite skilled with machines. And more than that, Lucent is the perfect power source.”

  The Khagan stepped closer to the camera so his face now filled the entire monitor. “Mr. President, I am giving you one last chance—surrender power to me or face your destruction.”

  Hayworth scowled. “You’re out of your goddamned mind, you know that, right? The American people will never bow to some tin-pot dictator.”

  “As you wish…” The Khagan closed his eyes momentarily and then opened them once more. “This has now gone from a private transmission to a live broadcast all around the world. I have given the President ample time to step down and transfer power back to the people. He has refused. I had hoped to avoid bloodshed, but Curtis Hayworth is a stubborn man. A fitting inscription for his tombstone, I should think. Behold now, what happens to all who cross the Red Fist. Behold, the fire from Olympus.”

  The Khagan’s face vanished from the monitor, his image replaced with a shot of the exterior of the White House. Inside the Situation Room, confused glances were exchanged.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Ashford, pointing at the screen.

  A blue beam of energy descended towards the White House roof. No one in the room would live to see what happened next, for that beam would destroy the entire building and everyone inside in a brilliant explosion.

  CHAPTER 5

  The entire world watched the White House destroyed from the heavens courtesy of the adjustments made to the Olympus space station by the Red Fist. Secret Service agents immediately secured Dennis Lawson, the Speaker of the House, in his office. Judge Ted Hopkins was escorted into the Speaker’s office by the Secret Service where he quickly performed his duties.

  With both the President and the Vice-President dead, that meant Lawson was the next in the line of succession for the office of Commander in Chief, and swearing him in was the first priority.

  Just moments after Lawson took his oath and removed his hand from the Bible, another man was escorted into his office by security: Joseph Ramsey, the Secretary of Defense, and he wasted no time with formalities.

  “Mr. President, I’m sorry we don’t have the luxury of an idle chat, but time is of the essence. We’re facing a very serious situation here and we need to get you to a secure location immediately,” said Ramsey.

  “I understand, Mr. Secretary.” Lawson tried to suppress the smile at hearing himself referred to as “Mr. President.” He shook Ramsey’s hand and the Secretary then acknowledged the rest of the men in the office.

  “Could you gentlemen wait outside for just a few moments?” asked Ramsey. “I need to have a word in private with the President.”

  “We’ll be right outside, sir,” said one of the Secret Service agents. The men filed out of the office, leaving Ramsey and Lawson alone in the room.

  “This couldn’t wait until we’re secure?” asked the new President.

  “I’m afraid not, sir,” said Ramsey. “There’s a project your predecessor was in charge of, and you need to be briefed on it immediately. The only other person who knows of its existence is myself.”

  “What is it?” asked Lawson.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of the group of specials referred to as Vanguard, sir,” said Ramsey. And then he told the story of the team’s origin, how Hayworth appointed Colonel Thorne to form a squad of superhumans who could police the newly-emerging specials, provided them with funding and equipment.

  “So we have the means to take down the Khagan?” asked Lawson once the story reached its conclusion.

  “If only it were that simple, sir,” said Ramsey. “I’ve spoken with Colonel Thorne and apparently he’s lost contact with his team.”

  “We have to figure something out,” said Lawson.

  “May I be honest with you, sir?”

  Lawson nodded, an indication for Ramsey to speak his mind.

  “Sir, we saw what the Khagan did to the White House. We have no guarantee that we can protect you. This is an unprecedented turn of events and one we have no defense against.”

  “What are you saying?” asked Lawson.

  “I’m saying perhaps we should give him what he wants.”

  Lawson sighed and turned away from Ramsey, staring out the window of his office. He gave a shake of his head and retorted with, “There is no damn way I’m going to go down in history as the President who surrendered America to a psychopath.”

  Ramsey gave a nod and gestured for the door. “Very well. Then we need to get you to a secure location, Mr. President.”

  Lawson walked past Ramsey and out the door to his office, where the Secret Service agents still waited. Ramsey lagged behind, removing his cell phone and sending a quick message that read, “PROCEED WITH NEXT PHASE.”

  ***

  One by one, the members of Vanguard were fitted with specialized collars that possessed blinking lights and they were thrown into a large cell with several bunk beds and a toilet. Gunsmith, who had been stripped of his armor and was now left as the human Jim Ellis, dressed in only the black undersheath that covered him from the neck down, pounded on the heavy metal door.

  “Paragon! Paragon, listen to me!”

  The slot in the door opened and the brown eyes of Anita Jordan stared back into his blue ones. “What are you doing? These are the same people who took you captive!”

  “This has been the plan all along,” said Paragon, although there was something strange about her voice. The slot shut closed and Jim could hear the receding footsteps. He pounded his fist on the door in frustration.

  “How could Anita do this to us?” asked Erin.

  “Maybe she wasn’t captured by them, but recruited,” said Koji. Since the collar had been slipped around his neck, he’d rev
erted back to his human form and found it impossible to change back.

  “You can’t believe that,” said Erin. Despite being fitted with the same collar, she remained in her green-skinned state.

  “They expected us,” said Jim.

  “The non-specials were wearing your armor, what’s up with that?” asked Koji.

  Jim gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know! Zenith told me it was one-of-a-kind. He must have had specs on it that were given to the Red Fist.”

  “Anita,” said Koji. “Had to be, right?”

  The three captives heard the sound of a groan from the darkness further in the cell. They all backed away, facing the sound. They could make out a blinking light similar to the collars worn by Koji and Erin, but it was far lower. Movement came from the shadows, and a man none of them expected to see again crawled into view.

  “The Khagan’s got some…powerful methods of persuasion,” said the fourth captive.

  “Can’t be,” said Jim. “You were locked up tight in a government facility.”

  “Funny thing about that.” The prisoner pulled himself up to a sitting position and leaned against the wall. “Your people put me in that titanium coffin and had me doped up to the gills. Only lasted for about a week before I was transferred here.”

  Erin carefully approached the fourth prisoner, who was still clad in the blue and white caped outfit he wore when they fought him in Chicago. His head was now bald and the once-imposing figure of Callum King, the Exemplar, now looked weaker than she could have imagined possible.

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “A guy came to see me. Only visitor I had in that facility,” said King. “I couldn’t speak, but he knew what I was thinking. Next thing I knew, I was being moved. When I was finally let out, I was still kept pretty drugged and some Russian guy began experimenting on me.”

  “Russian guy?” Koji threw inquisitive looks to his teammates. “You don’t think…Azarov?”

  “Not possible, Virey was reduced to a crater,” said Jim.

  “You find a body?” asked the Exemplar. “Because if you didn’t, then he’s not dead. Either that or a ghost has been using me as a lab rat for months.”