MVI Fanfiction / Vigilante Branch / Super Villain Teamups
POWERS LONG FORGOTTEN
Part 3: The Ghost of the Machine
A Super Villains Team Up
By Colin Rankine
The Golden Talon, the man known in the West as the Yellow Claw stands beside a black military helicopter on a landing pad camouflaged by twisted trees on the top of the Mandarin's mesa in the Gobi desert. His granddaughter Ling accompanies him, and armed guards trail them. The crew of the helicopter glares at the Mandarin's guard, but by the agreement of their lords, none of the crew is permitted out of the chopper.
"I wish you could stay longer," Ling says.
"My child, even though Lord Zhiang, the eponymous Mandarin, holds his sword over my neck, there is administrative work to be done." The Golden Talon pauses, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. "How dear you are to me. So many of my machinations among the Western dogs have centered on my need for a new body, and for loyal souls. Even this superlative form I wear has reacted in unpredictable ways*. But, if you are to be my truest bid for immortality, I will die satisfied."
* Learn the strange tale of the Golden Talon's body in The Claw Gambit, Forceworks #23-26! --Librarian Colin
"Do not speak so, beloved grandfather!" Ling says, laughing quietly. "My host and yourself change bodies as a woman changes her clothes. I feel certain I shall never be rid of either of you."
The Golden Claw laughs.
"You will make the best of us, then, Ling. You are everything I have hoped for in my offspring, but for one small anatomical device."
"Oh, hush." She pokes him playfully in the belly. "Even girls have their uses. Have a safe flight, grandfather."
He kisses her cheek and turns, powerful shoulders hunched and hands clasped behind his back, to the helicopter. The guards assemble around her, watching the chopper start up and drift away toward the horizon.
Vanguard and The Mandarin have retired to an atrium, where they are seated on silver-and-silk couches amid a splendid tropical garden. Mandarin reclines at ease, but Vanguard is hunched forward, elbows on knees, anxious to be done with the Oriental menace.
"Why go to all this trouble?" Vanguard says darkly. "I could show you where a double-dozen Crimson Dynamo suits stand in storage, waiting for bodies to fill them."
"The point is not to battle endlessly against the Americans, which is about all that your Soviet power suits have ever managed. The point is to crush them. For all its madness, the Wyggand is exactly the resource I needed. That armor is of an utterly alien design, with extra-dimensional properties that even I only begin to comprehend. With a fleet of soldiers, loyal to me and outfitted with power suits based on that technology, I shall be truly unstoppable."
"In the meantime," the Mandarin continues. "I have little choice but to rely on that insane monster."
"[I know how you feel,]" Vanguard mutters in Russian. "I brought updates to your profile of the Golden Talon's holdings and influences, according to the Gargoyle's Automated Intelligence Database. He has not acted significantly in the weeks since your alliance, other than to locate the Wyggand and bring it here."
"And what does the Aide say about this… thing?"
"Nothing in particular. There is a small mystery cult centered around one Wi Gang, who may be this man, located near the Laotian border."
"Oh, don't look so pinched, Nikolai. You are allied with me now. I am responsible for you. If I am successful, so too will you be. Some day, say ten years from now, you will be my governor of a subjugated Russia, if you wish it."
"Ten years?"
"Yes, well. I'm being conservative. It is difficult to create meaningful timelines when dealing with such properties as those locked within the Galadorian armor. At any rate, my army will be equipped with technology, for its synthesis with extra-dimensional magiks, many generations in advance of even the likes of Viktor Von Doom and Stark-Fujikawa."
"All right, I get it."
"Good. You're dismissed, if you like. See that you return in five days with an update from the Aide."
Without another word, Vanguard rises and leaves. Ling enters from around a bush.
"[He is angry with you, my Lord.]*"
*still translated from Chinese.
"[He is proud, but he'll learn. He considers himself a hero, and me a villain.]"
"[Is he wrong?]"
Mandarin laughs.
"[Is it relevant, Ling? What villain is not a hero, betrayed by history? I care little. I focus my attentions on the task at hand.]"
"[Most wise, my Lord.]"
"[You seem very happy of late.]"
"[It pleases me to see my grandfather again.]"
"[Yes… I'm glad you could be reunited, if briefly. I am not a cruel man.]"
"[No, I wouldn't have said you were. Merely driven to accomplish an unpopular goal.]"
"[We'll see how unpopular it is, Ling, when I am master of the Celestial Kingdom. Then, you will see how I rule: justly, morally, with purpose, and with mercy toward my people. As I have shown mercy toward you.]"
Ling bows deep, her hair brushing the gravel of the path.
WEEKS PASS before the Wyggand begins re-assembling the armor. He has his fingers - more like tentacles, now - plunged deep into the knee-joint of the armor's left leg when Mandarin enters, having seen his progress on the security system.
"What are you doing, creature?" he says, calling from the doorway.
"Beneath the bridge, the yurlymucket spawns!" the Wyggand cackles, waving tendrils in the air. "Thou has no yurlymuckets on this soggy rock, hast thou, China Man? A pity, they wriggle so sweetly in the maw. Never thee mind! All shall be washed clean with the Living Fire!"
The Wyggand connects a wire from the leg-piece in his lap to the partially assembled torso on the table, and a flash blinds them both!
"Ah!" the Mandarin wails, raising a fist, which begins to glow. "You oafish devil! If I could see you…"
"Ah…. Aha. Yes, golden piggesnye mine…" the Wyggand coos. A strange hum fills the air, distorted, pitched unnaturally low.
"mmmmm…. Rom? Rom?" the voice is slowed to a crawl by the low wattage passing through its circuits. "Rom, I'm sorry. I don't… I don't feel right… brother, I am sorry… kgzzzgzz…"
The voice sputters into silence.
Mandarin crouches in the doorway - his vision is clearing, but that ghastly voice has raised hackles up his neck and back. He stares in horror at the Wyggand, rocking on its stool, cradling the armor's head in its lap. Weeping, he realizes.
"Hooooooome…." The Wyggand moans.
Mandarin and Ling stand in an observation room, peering through a glass panel into a brightly lit operating room. His robes are red and saffron; she is wearing black. A team of doctors labors within. One is clearly a surgeon; his smock is bloody and he holds a tiny knife in one hand, a silver clamp in the other. Another would appear to be a cyberneticist, handling a tangle of wires and gears. Presiding over them is the terrible Wyggand, its human form completely lost. It's huge yellow eyes roll on their stalks, and it cracks its tentacles at the doctors like whips. It's brick-red hide is grey-blotched and peeling.
"No hands, no hands!" it wails. "There! Connecteth thou the nerve to the wire incarnadine, thou sniveling wad of fragile meat!"
"[You understand,]" the cyberneticist's voice crackles over the loudspeaker. "[The armor is still partially inoperative. Flight capabilities will be restored, along with the inboard navigational systems and, possible, some of the offensive capabilities. But as for the rest…]"
"[Yes, yes,]" snaps the Mandarin, pressing the intercom button. "[Just get on with it, Doctor Moy.]"
"[Yes, my Lord,]" the cyberneticist mutters.
"Lord!" squawks the Wyggand, ecstatic. "Lord, lord, lord! It is a lord of light! Penetrator of shadows! It was we, I and my brothers, who corrupted its purpose…"
The alien is cut off when Mandarin releases the button.
"[This is really quite disgusting,]" Ling comments.
"[You are free to return to your chambers,]" Mandarin says, smiling benevolently.
"[I quite liked Chun,]" she ventures again.
"[As do I. He is loyal, dedicated, and highly accomplished at his profession. Now, he is rewarded.]"
"[Ah, this is his reward? I had thought that you feared to arm a warrior thus.]"
Mandarin chuckles.
"[There is that, only I call it prudence instead of fear.]"
"[It is as you say, O my Master.]"
He furrows his brow as, inside the operating theater, Dr. Moy is shouting, waving his hands at the surgeon, who has been doing something inside his patient's skull. The nurses and attendants back away in fear from the patient.
The patient's left arm, half encased in red metal, with trailing wires and skin still unsewn, shoots out, grasping the surgeon's ample belly. His scream of pain and terror can be heard through the glass, and Dr. Moy is yanking wires loose, bellowing curses. The red fingers pierce the surgeon's bloody smock, spilling fresh blood there, as the surgeon struggles to free himself. The arm thrashes, and Ling cries out, falling back as the surgeon's gut spills out onto the operating table.
The Wyggand screams and hurls its bulk upon the surgeon, yanking it loose from the red fist, which falls still now, Dr. Moy having finally cut its power. Mandarin thumbs the intercom in time to hear the cyberneticist cry out,
"[That's it, you madman! Without Doctor Fung, this operation is impossible! Kill me if you must, I am through!]"
"[Calm yourself, Doctor,]" the Mandarin's voice is smooth and authoritative. "[See what transpires.]"
The Wyggand, its stubby legs astride Dr. Fung's thrashing torso, extends its tongue, licking the man's forehead. A sucker opens at the end of the tongue, and a single tooth reveals itself inside, fastening itself to Dr. Fung's forehead. The dying man goes rigid, his eyes thrown open, as the alien sucks the life from him… becomes him! The Wyggand's decrepit form straightens, acquires clothing and a human face.
Doctor Fung now stands aside his own rapidly dissolving corpse, cackling madly.
"[He was making a mess in there, O ye walking, throbbing bundle of arteries,]" it hisses at the horrified Dr. Moy, its eyes burning with rage. "[I will handle the wet stuff. See that thou art neater.]"
The cyberneticist looks aghast at the Wyggand in its human guise, then at the window. Mandarin nods, slow and deliberate.
Two men in yellow jumpsuits wheel a gurney out of the elevator, into the Mandarin's rock garden atop the mesa. Behind them, Dr. Moy pushes a hospital cart loaded with computers and power systems, connected to the patient by a thick bundle of wires. Mandarin, Ling and the Wyggand follow, the latter's human form beginning to sag and discolor.
The orderlies do something under the gurney, and it swings upright, revealing the patient. Chun's face is still visible, torn open and restitched to accommodate the partial faceplate of Firefall, the Space Knight dead these twenty years. Likewise, his body is a patchwork of man and machine, laced with wires, incisions, and purple lumps where the two beings are forced into the same space.
"[I have no idea what is going to happen,]" Dr Moy mutters darkly. "[There are large sections of circuitry which I couldn't displace and have no idea what they do. It could explode. It could do anything.]"
"[You have disconnected its motive power?]" The Mandarin asks, his eyes fixed on the cyborg.
Dr. Moy holds up one cable, its plug dangling from its fist.
"[That's that, then. The Wyggand assures us that it will function. Flip the switch.]"
Moy rests his palms on the top of the console and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, holding it, letting it out. Then he reaches down and flicks the switch.
Nothing happens. The console hums, and a wind stirs the crooked trees. The Wyggand's terrible cackling divides the silence.
And Chun's eyes snap open.
"[M-my Lord?]"
A terrible screech fills the air, the whine of feedback. Chun cries out as the purple bruises squirm, wires moving under his skin.
"[Bio-repair…]" Dr. Moy mutters, crouching over the console, trying to stop all power. "[Autonomous reconstructive units… ingenious…]"
Chun is pulling at his restraints, shaking his mutilated head from side to side. Dr. Moy's console begins to smoke.
"[Master… master…]"
The Mandarin has fallen into a crouch, thrusting Ling behind him, his rings crackling. The orderlies rush to the gurney, to tighten the straps, subdue the patient, when Chun breaks free!
"[Oh, my brother!]" cries the ghastly voice from Chun's throat. "[Oh, Rom, saints preserve you! What have I done?]"
The red arms thrust outward, and gouts of flame fall from the open palms. The two orderlies, instantly immolated, flail and fall to the ground screaming. The glowing eyes turn to the next nearest mortal, Dr. Moy, who is frozen in fear now, looking at this terrible beast he's created. Chun lifts his hands toward the cyberneticist…
… who is thrown aside by the Wyggand, its human skin dropping from its thick body.
"Yes, yes!" it cries, rushing at the bloody, burning cyborg. "Brothers!"
The flames take it, and flaming gore rains down upon the Mandarin's hastily erected psychic energy shield.
"[Quickly, Ling,]" the Mandarin says, eerily calm as Firefall's flames wash harmlessly over the shield. "[Get inside … alert the perimeter patrol.]"
The flames clear, barely in time for the Mandarin to see Firefall take to the air. He can hear its scream, though, dopplering away toward nothingness.
From his vantage in the hills, Vanguard watches through his binoculars as the small group file out onto the mesa.
~Finally,~ he thinks. ~I've been camped here for weeks, since Mandarin hinted that his doctors had made a breakthrough, with the alien's help. Now, it looks like I'll see firsthand what this is all about.~
The two orderlies swing the gurney upright, and the doctor says something to the Mandarin. The Mandarin, characteristically, dismisses him, and the doctor turns to his console. A moment later, a faint whine drifts to Vanguards ears. The orderlies rush into action, but it's too late. A fireball erupts on the mesa.
"[No!]" Vanguard cries, dropping his binoculars and leaping into the air. Shimmery yellow bands of energy surround him and he hurtles toward the conflagration.
Far above, hidden in the cloudbanks, another figure drifts. It wears traditional Chinese armor, a green steel skirt hanging over its thighs, the engraved face of its helmet covering its face. A spear with a broad blade is gripped in its fist, and it carries a round shield, polished as bright as the sun, on its other arm.
It watches with interest as the cyborg was rolled out onto the mesa, but when flames erupts from the gurney, it roars with fury and plunges through the clouds.
The Mandarin activates his flight ring, taking off in pursuit. A tactical helicopter rises from the canyon, flanked by perimeter guards in cut-down black battle suits. These explode one by one, unable to resist Firefall's terrible blasts. The helicopter gets off two missiles before it, too, falls into the canyon, burning. The missiles detonate near the fleeing cyborg, but not near enough.
Mandarin keeps his attention on Firefall. The men and their equipment are replaceable; the cyborg represents a unique opportunity, if only he can bring it down. He levels his fists at it.
Vanguard dodges past the plummeting, burning wreck of the helicopter, heading first toward the mesa. When he sees it deserted, except for the burning bodies of the orderlies and the prone form of the doctor, he pivots in midair and takes off after the fleeing cyborg.
He sees the Mandarin above him, a volley of icicles pouring from his outstretched fists. The icicles vanish in puffs of steam as they come close to Firefall. Next, a gout of fire licks the cyborg's back, to no effect. A bolt of lightening streaks toward the cyborg, and this time it convulses in pain, dropping toward the earth.
Vanguard sees that the cyborg's human portions are charred black, bits of matter falling away into the wind, and he feels his gorge rising in his throat.
~Enough,~ he thinks. ~I can stop this.~
Chun/Firefall knows only pain and deep, unrelenting sorrow.
~We/I failed you, my master/brother…~
The Mandarin bears down on the falling cyborg, noting that it is already recovering.
~Astonishing! I regretted having to resort to destructive measures, but even now it repairs itself…~
Firefall turns over in the air, flying on its back. Mandarin sees that its mouth, Chun's mouth, is open in an inaudible scream.
~Is it the air rushing past my ears? Has the Firefall armor seized control of Chun's vocal box?~
A fresh tongue of flame leaps toward him, but the Mandarin's shields are ready.
~I'll give him another taste…~ and he sends another bolt of lightening at Firefall, but it never reaches the cyborg. A yellow ball of energy surrounds it, drinking up Mandarin's lightening.
He is cursing Vanguard when he feels a sudden, enormous pressure between his shoulder blades.
Vanguard isn't quick enough to protect Firefall and Mandarin both as the armored warrior plunges out of the clouds, striking Mandarin with both feet.
~Dammit, I need him!~
He swerves toward the battling Chinese, projecting a wide, blade-like force field in front of him. The armored figure ducks, taking the glancing blow on its shield. The Mandarin spirals toward the rocks.
The warrior seems to get a foothold on thin air, and rears back with its spear, launching it toward Vanguard like a missile. With only a split second to react, afraid of dropping the cyborg, Vanguard uses Firefall's force-bubble to block the spear, which tumbles toward the earth. But the spear was a feint, and the warrior's shield comes hurtling past the bubble, striking Vanguard on the shoulder. He hears something snap and he cries out in pain.
Mandarin awakes to the curious sensation that he's falling. A scorched red cyborg plummets past him, and he realizes that he IS falling! The rocks rush toward him…
"[Flight! Flight!]" he screams, activating the flight ring again, just in time. He is scant yards from the ground when Firefall hits, bounces twice, and comes to rest against the rocks.
"[Vanguard!]" the Mandarin cries. "[He betrayed me!]"
He spins in midair, searching for the untrustworthy dog. He sees him, wobbling toward the ground, clutching his shoulder, grimacing in pain.
"[What?]"
This time he hears it coming, a barely perceptible whistling, and he hurls himself back. The point of a sword barely misses his neck, and he spins again to see the armored Chinese warrior bearing down on him.
Vanguard barely recovers himself in time to halt his plummet to the ground. He sees the warrior confronting the Mandarin, and below them the crumpled, twitching Firefall. His shoulder is a wheel of fire, its spokes twisting at his neck, back, and torso. Squinting through a red haze of pain, preparing to insert a shield between the two men, he is propelling himself forward when he hears the
WHUP WHUP WHUP of an approaching helicopter.
"[Grandfather!]" thunders a voice over its speakers. "[Grandfather, stop. I am unharmed!]"
Vanguard has just reached them when the warrior, who has frozen in mid-strike, his blade inches from the Mandarin's belly, straightens and puts his sword away. Vanguard is so relieved, he faints.
Mandarin, kneeling over the prone, semi-conscious Vanguard, sucks his teeth.
"[I thought he was made of sterner stuff.]" He's winding a bandage around the Russian hero's shoulder. Ling kneels beside him, holding a first aid kit.
"[There is no shame,]" says the Golden Talon, standing back, his helmet under his gauntleted arm. "[In falling to a superior foe. He fought bravely, and selflessly. Good soldier.]"
They are among the rocks at the far edge of the canyon, where Vanguard crashed. The helicopter sits yards away, its propeller still revolving slowly.
"[I will take that,]" Mandarin says through gritted teeth, "[as recognition of my powers of perception.]"
"[You may take it any way you like, Lord Zhiang.]"
Vanguard, his eyes rolling, begins to moan and gabble.
"[What, what,]" mutters the Mandarin. "[Settle down.]"
"No, over THERE!" Vanguard cries, pointing over the Mandarin's shoulder.
All three spin around to face the rocks. The pilot of the helicopter yelps. Firefall is on its feet among the rocks, twisted but upright. Chun's charred and broken remains quiver in Firefall's steel grip, his blistered, torn lips open in a silent scream, and one blasted arm rises toward them.
The Golden Talon shouts and spins in a blur of steel. In a single bound, he crosses the space to the cyborg and his sword parts Chun's head from the crimson body. Firefall drops to the ground, shooting sparks.
MUCH LATER, in the Mandarin's private chamber. The Mandarin is seated in front of a wide video screen. The Golden Talon's gleaming pate glows over the line from Beijing.
"[What will you do now, Lord Zhiang?]"
"[I still have the armor, in much better condition than previously, despite the damage done. With Dr. Moy's assistance, once he is fully recovered, I will begin to decipher the Wyggand's work. Together, we have enough expertise to get it running again.]"
"[What of your other work?]"
"[The Hand runs itself, really, that part of it which remains in my power... I have lieutenants who will handle the Tongs.]"
"[And what else?]"
"[To what do you refer?]" The Mandarin twists a pen in his fingers, not looking at the monitor.
"[To myself, Lord Zhiang. Mandarin. I am entirely at your mercy, you will recall.]"
"[Yes…]" he says, looking up momentarily. "[Perhaps I shall keep you there.]"
The Golden Talon sighs deeply.
"[Mandarin, I don't know whether to curse or congratulate you. I have spared your life, saved your life, and given you a weapon of peerless value. Do you have no fear of me, after all I've done? I can rebuild my empire, after all, once I have rid myself of you.]"
"[Can you?]"
"[I can. Even now I am poised to destroy you utterly. Your troops will pose little challenge to mine, who are better armed and more numerous. I have no fear of your assassins. I know where you live.]"
The Mandarin twists his chair to the side and throws back his head, examining the ceiling.
"[And I have your only surviving progeny.]"
"[Do you wonder why I left her with you?]"
"[It hadn't occurred to me, no.]"
"[Perhaps, Mandarin, I do not desire a war with you. Perhaps I have never desired it. I don't fear you, but neither do I want to destroy you.]"
The Mandarin looks over his shoulder at his sworn enemy, tapping the pen against his lip.
"[You have a business proposal?]"
The Golden Talon laughs.
"[I know what kind of business man you are, Mandarin. I have a much more binding proposal. I will not destroy you, if you will take Ling as your wife.]"
The pen snaps in his fingers.
The snows are heavy in the ancient city of Samarkand. Nikolai Krylenko, huddled in a doorway across from the Mosque, pulls the collar of his pea coat tighter around his jaw and jams his hand back in his pocket. His shoulder, though healed now, aches ferociously in the cold. Uzbekhis, natives of this city, with wide faces and black hair like Chinese but big bodies like Russians, hurry past him. He cocks his head when he hears a diesel motor gunning around the corner.
A wide, flat, low-slung jeep pulls onto the street and toots its horn. Nikolai steps out to meet it. The rear driver's-side door pops open and he gets in.
"[Lovely country,]" Ling purrs in Russian. "[Can I make you a drink? The Humvee has a full wet bar.]"
"[I'm okay.]"
"[Your arm is healing, I trust?]"
Vanguard rolls his shoulder in its socket, demonstrating its condition, hiding the wince of pain.
"[It's very good.]"
"[I'm glad. Thank you for meeting me, and especially for bringing me to such a lovely, exotic locale.]"
"[You're welcome, Ling. Can I ask why you wanted to see me?]"
"[Of course, Nikolai. In coming months, you may notice a change in the operations of the Mandarin's associates. I want to reassure you that the deal you struck with him still stands. You are still a member of our association, with all that that entails.]"
Nikolai stares at her.
"[You came all the way to Samarkand to tell me that?]"
Ling smiles, stretching her arms and fluffing her hair.
"[Well. To tell the truth, Nikolai, I wanted to get out of the house.]"
The End.
Special thanks to Lee K. Seitz, for setting me straight on the Firefall armor. Check out his awesome Rom resource page!
What did you think? The author would love to hear from you.
crankine@bintinc.com
