by John Jr. Yeo
His identity was disguised, but it was obviously one of the clones. The operation had already begun, and he was turning the castle of Khalid Al-Hakim into a desolate pile of rubble.
It wasn’t just military targets, however. This cloned warrior was indiscriminately attacking anything and everything in his wake. It was wholesale slaughter of everything he could see. Hundreds of people were running, and the flying clone would watch and laugh in the sky as they tumbled over each other to get away. He would watch this for a few moments before flying down and picking someone out at random, flying them upwards, and dropping them from high above.
His chilling laughter cut through the air as he pulled victims apart with alien strength. I couldn’t watch anymore.
“This isn’t what I programmed the clones to do,” Progeriat complained, moving closer to the monitors to observe the grisly carnage that the whole world was now seeing. “He’s attacking civilians! Something’s wrong!”
“Nothing is wrong,” smiled Zahr. “It’s beautiful. Look upon your works, Kordan Zol! Are you not proud?”
Two of the guards standing closest to Dr. Progeriat moved towards him. One man grabbed the doctor by the arms, and the other softened him up with a few swift punches to the gut. Obviously, this wasn’t part of his plan.
Kordan Zol. It took me a moment to recall where I’d heard that name before. It was the Ambassador’s birth name, the name he was known as before he was Dr. Progeriat, before he was the Ambassador, before he came to Earth. But before I could grasp the implications, something even more shocking began to reveal itself.
I looked at the other monitors, and although every screen displayed a disturbing display of death and destruction, not all of them were being broadcast from the capital city of Habindaque.
I recognized St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, where nearly the same scene was being replayed. A flying figure dressed in a concealing costume of black leather was flying in one side of the building and smashing out through the other side. People were running through the streets, and others were driving away. The clone wasn't even doing the lion's share of killing, the panicked mob was doing the job for him as they trampled or drove over each other to get away from him.
On another television, a broadcast was coming from Mexico City, where the same scene was happening at the Chapultepec Castle. The Pyongyang Subway in North Korea was being attacked. Wrigley Field in Chicago. The Sydney Opera House in Australia. Death and destruction all over the world. In some of the places, police were opening fire on the clones. It did nothing to stop them.
"Most of them are exerting themselves past safe limits," Annie reported, closely watching the information on a nearby computer. "We keep them out there much longer, their bodies will start breaking down."
"The point has been made, I think," Zahr said quietly, nodding back to him. "Recall them, before they wear out. Command them to find an isolated hiding place, and stay there until they expire. Which, in all likelihood, should be in about twenty minutes. We'll start a new batch of soldiers this afternoon."
“These heroes have smashed the clone tanks here at CERN,” Annie reminded him.
"Has our asset in Nevada completed his mission?"
Some clicks, whirls and beeps could be heard coming from DeathTek, and the armored cyborg nodded. “Mission accomplished, sir,” he replied.
“Then we’ll relocate to our new base immediately," Zahr smiled. “We can use the other clone tanks we’ve set up there.”
With a press of the button, reporters all over the world watched as the black-costumed clones flew into the air, and out of sight. The massacre was over, but there must have been casualties in the thousands.
"Okay, I'm pretty sure you just convinced the world that we need the Infinite League," I pointed out, sick to my stomach. "But I just don't understand what you think you're going to profit from this! Every soldier, super-hero and nuclear bomb is going to be pointed at Habindaque now! When the world is finished with Habindaque, you won’t even have a country to rule!"
"Habindaque is a filthy, primitive, inconsequential waste of land on a backwards, warmongering planet of insects," Zahr scoffed. "I don't want that muddy country of dirty peasants. I don't want any of the resources on this planet."
Progeriat, still held by Zahr’s thugs, asked the question that needed to be asked. I was sure we didn't want to know the answer to it. "Who the hell are you?"
"I don't want any of the resources on this planet," he repeated, pulling on his nose gently. "But I'm afraid it's all I have left, thanks to you and your ignorant band of heroes. I suppose it will have to do."
“This is impossible," said Dr. Progeriat as he struggled impotently against the guards holding him. "The cloning technology and the memory and command implementation protocols were created on another world! Outside of myself and Major Baltrin, no one knows how to operate this technology!"
"You clueless idiot," Zahr laughed. "What about the one who taught you to use it in the first place?"
He pulled on his nose again, and it began to stretch like latex. The skin around his nose tore, followed by a large patch of skin underneath the cheek of his right eye. Beneath the disguise, I saw flesh that was the hue of dark blue with bright red spots scattered like freckles across his cheek. Something inhuman was hidden underneath the guise of Ubaidullah Zahr. It was disturbing me, but it was utterly terrifying Dr. Progeriat.
"Do you remember how they sounded when they died?" he asked with a laugh. "The Necromancer felt the most pain, I imagine. Not that imposter dying there in the corner, but the real one. The original champion that you adopted. The viral poison made him suffer in those last five minutes, before I stabbed him in the heart. At least your dear friend Submission went quickly. It's hard to mind control someone when your head has been cut off. I had hoped you would have been caught in the chronal explosion, but you managed to fly away, you tricky boy. Not nearly as successfully as I had, of course, but your friends did a great deal of damage nonetheless."
"This can’t be," Progeriat whispered, a look of defeat causing him to wilt in the arms of his captors. "This simply can't be..."
The latex mask had completely fallen off of his face now, revealing a dark blue face that was only vaguely humanoid. Whatever he was, he was clearly smiling.
"It took me two years to heal from the crushed ribs you gave me when you left me for dead in Iraq. But this time, I will not be denied my victory. And it's all thanks to you, my old friend."
“Sens’r,” whispered Dr. Progeriat. “You traitorous mongrel.”
"Where's the real Zahr?" I asked.
"I invented him, of course," the alien replied. "Why do you think the dictator of Habindaque continued to deny his existence? Because he was an invention, I conjured him to fit in with the rest of humanity. Of course, when you're a power-mad despot who routinely terrorizes his citizens and refuses to do interviews with those in the west, people tend not to believe anything you say."
"Progeriat Override Command Zeta Three," the old doctor screamed, shouting at the motionless clone of Ambassador. "You have my DNA, and I am your master original! Help us, do you hear me?"
The clone of the Ambassador simply continued to stare straight ahead, unblinking and motionless. Dr. Progeriat's words had no effect on him, but this really didn't come as any surprise.
"This particular clone, unlike the ones who were went out to play fun and games with the sheep of this planet, was engineered not to have any higher brain functions aside from taking orders directly from me. Even if he were to listen to you, he would be of no threat. I’ve adjusted his DNA so that he’s been stripped of his strength and his invulnerability. He's just a fragile goon with only enough brain power to do what I tell him to do. He's just a prop, if you will."
"We may be down, but I am going to make you pay for the acts of mass murder you've done today," I promised him.
With that, DeathTek strolled over to me and punched me in the face. I'm here to tell you, this dude hits
hard. If I hadn't rolled with the punch at the last second, he might have knocked my head clean off my shoulders.
"You are not the real Andromeda," the alien reminded me. "You are a disgraced cop who's made poor life decisions. It was only sheer chance that you ended up wearing the costume of a warrior far more noble than you, and she died with greater honor than you shall."
He knows everything about me, I realized. Dr. Progeriat must have shared everything with him as he developed this plan with him.
And now, the plan was going to hell. There was a scurry of activity going on now, as I sat on the ground with another guard keeping me still by pointing his rifle at me.
"As soon as we transmit our message to the world, we’ll take the old fool back to the new base," he decided.
"Why don't we just kill the old bastard?" Annie asked impatiently.
"Because he's our DNA source, you twit," the alien shouted. "Without him, no more clones to command!”
“But they killed Adrenaline,” she screamed at her employer. “I want blood, do you hear me?”
“You will have it, I promise you,” he told her. “After I make my announcement.”
What announcement was he talking about? He couldn’t have known we were coming here, could he? And did he have an even bigger announcement than the fact that he was an alien?
While DeathTek kept his weapons trained on me and the others, I snuck a quick glance at Chidike. The ice swords that Necromancer had been stabbed with hadn't even begun to melt yet, but he was stubbornly clinging to life. Barely.
One of his cronies was setting up, of all things, a video camera and positioning it so that our entire team could be seen.
"Are we on, or not?" he asked impatiently.
"We are broadcasting, sir," nodded the guard.
“Excellent,” he smiled. He snapped his fingers at a few of the guards, gesturing them towards the eerily still Ambassador. “You men, hold the clone as we discussed. Ambassador, try to look good and terrified, yes?”
The soldier did as commanded, pushing the Ambassador clone to his knees and holding his arms tightly. The clone’s face, once calm and still, now looked nervous and anxious. It was a play for the cameras, I knew, but I wasn’t sure what the game was.
“DeathTek, please get into position,” ordered the alien. The android, powered by the brain of who ever had been deposited into the shell, nodded and lay down on the phone with his arms and legs bent at awkward angles, as if he’d just lost a brutal battle. Then he went silent.
Sens'r nodded once more, and addressed the camera. He cleared his throat, and spoke.
“People of Earth, I apologize for interrupting your various mundane activities and frivolities with the drama of the last few minutes, but it seemed to be the best way to command your limited attention spans,” the alien announced calmly. “My name is Sens’r, from a planetary system so far out that few of my people even knows of this little world’s existence. I have arrived to take control over the various systems of government on your planet before you idiots run it completely into the ground. Listen close, for I have a few important messages to convey.”
25
Declaration of War
Monday, June 3 – 4:30 a.m
He stepped away from the camera for a moment, allowing its lenses to sweep over me and the others. The motionless shell of DeathTek’s cybernetic body had been posed on the floor for the world to see. Necromancer, his body impaled three times by icy swords, was barely moving now. Submission was dragged over and dropped unceremoniously next to me, where the other thugs kept their rifles trained on our heads. As for me, I knelt there defeated while held at gunpoint.
In the center of it all, the Ambassador was standing between the two guards. He looked terrified. For the billions of people watching, they had no idea this was just a cloned copy of the real thing, simply acting for the camera.
At last, I realized why these soldiers had been wearing masks. Sens’r wanted the world to think that he had actually brought an army of aliens with him, rather than hiring a bunch of human mercenaries.
“Your vaunted League has been defeated,” Sens’r declared, pulling a gun out his jacket. “Not so infinite after all.”
He aimed the gun at the Ambassador’s head, pulled the trigger, and fired. The poor clone didn’t even know what was going on, not even when his head exploded in a mist of red meat and blood. Executed on television, in front of the world.
“When this transmission ends, I invite everyone in the world to please visit my website, humansaresheep dot com. You’ll find a list of over one hundred cities across the world listed there. Each of those cities, you will find, correspond to the hometowns of someone registered as having enhanced powers. I am giving these so-called Sparks forty-eight hours to report to Deer Creek Park in Utah, where they will surrender to my forces. For each of you who decide not to comply, one of my enforcers will visit their hometown, and begin killing anyone they see. You’ve already witnessed what they can do. I will give the Sparks until Wednesday morning to comply. After which, I will contact your world leaders to give further instructions for a peaceful transition of power and authority to my army. So bury your dead, mourn your losses, and have a drink or two. As long as you give me no reason to become angry, everything will be just fine from now on. Have a beautiful day, planet Earth.”
The guard lowered the camera, and the alien flexed his shoulders and smiled. “That should make a few local news shows at least, yes?”
The fact that he was standing in front of me shouldn’t have startled me as much as it did. The whole world has known for years that aliens existed, as the Ambassador has been among us for years now. It’s been strongly believed that some of the other so-called “super-heroes” might also have alien heritage, but this was the first one who looked truly, unmistakably alien. Not so alien that he couldn’t disguise himself with a realistic mask, of course, but his presence here was still a shock. Not the least of which was the fact he was supposed to have been killed years ago.
DeathTek ended his charade and returned to his feet, and then walked over to the alien that he now allied himself with. Sens’r was standing in front of Dr. Progeriat, glowering down at the old man, while jamming his long fingers into the old man’s chest. “I’m sure you have many questions, my friend.”
“I killed you,” the doctor said, clearly in conflict with reality. “The lithium tachyon explosion should have destroyed you!”
“I see you weren’t fast enough to get away,” Sens’r laughed. “Neither were the soldiers of my regiment. All of them turned to dust and bone, consumed by your attack.”
“But you escaped?”
“I had allies, just like you. The one you call Wormhole took me to safety. Then, while you continued to lie to the world that the Infinite League could never be killed, I quietly amassed a new army of followers as humble arms dealer Ubaidullah Zahr of war-torn Habindaque. Now, thanks to your assistance, I now have an army of clones to enforce my will. In a few days, I will have the superhuman population of this world in captivity. Once I have them under control, an entire world will once again belong to Lord Sens’r. I will be the most powerful individual on the planet.”
“You don’t seem like much to me,” I interrupted. “Just an overgrown smurf with a tiny dick. The world’s heroes aren’t going to work for you. Every one of them is going to be looking to cut you in half, big boy. Just like I did with your friend Wormhole.”
Even as I said it, I figured it was probably going to be a mistake. With a nod from Sens’r, DeathTek took a step forward and pointed his big wrist-mounted gun at my face.
I thought he was going to shoot, but someone was moving a few feet away, and it caused the android to pause. It was Necromancer, still breathing, with just enough fire left in him to beg DeathTek not to shoot.
“Don’t do this,” he gasped. “DeathTek, don’t let this monster enslave us! He’s going to use us to subjugate the entire planet, do you understand?”
> “Are you still with us, young man?” snorted Sens’r. “Don’t worry, I won’t be forcing you to join my army. You’re just a regular human with tricks and gadgets, pretending to be the great shaman that the original Necromancer truly was. You can die peacefully here, along with your two little bitches.”
“Do I get to kill them now, my lord?” Arctic Annie asked.
“Apparently, you need the practice,” Sens’r replied. “This human is still stubbornly clinging to life.”
“Sens’r, please think about what you’re doing,” Dr. Progeriat pleaded. “You are many things, but you lack the vision and discipline to govern an entire planet. It’s why you lost your home planet in the first place, do you remember? The original government still doesn’t know we’re here, it’s not too late to live out your days in peace, blended in with humanity like the rest of us!”
“This planet will be at peace, once these backwards aliens are educated as to where their place is,” the alien snarled. “DeathTek, it’s time to eradicate the last vestiges of the Infinite League. You can start by putting a bullet between Andromeda’s eyes.”
“That is not Andromeda,” screamed Dr. Progeriat. “Her name is Emily Watts. She is a former police officer from Philadelphia. She was working to save the world from madman like you, with other good people like Sadaf Sayegh and Eamon Flanagan. She is a mother and a sister! She may be a replacement, but she will make sure you never succeed with your plans! She just needs a little help from her friends!”
It was a passionate speech, certainly. But it had absolutely no bearing on the situation at hand. I couldn’t even begin to guess why he was spouting out so many facts and names. The alien looked even more confused than I was.
“I hate to break it to you, old friend,” the alien replied. “But she and her friends are about to die.”