by CSyphrett
Tommy Monaghan strolled through the airport, uncertainty clouding his typical clear-cut objectives. Usually, he had a target in mind, a specific goal to pursue. Not this time. Pressing Baron Winters for more details about the assignment should have been his priority. The job was a hit on someone Winters held a grudge against, but the fact that the Baron had such an extensive list of weird enemies made the task more complicated than Monaghan had anticipated.
Deciding to secure a hotel room and call Winters for a better rundown, Monaghan’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an unsettling sensation. Alarmed, he scanned his surroundings, his face registering concern. A shadow loomed over him.
Swiftly, Monaghan evaded to the right as a projectile tore through his coat, impacting a bystander and sending her sprawling to the ground. Seeking cover over a cab’s hood, Monaghan winced at the sound of metal tearing beneath him. Cursing under his breath, he retrieved one of his Colts, realizing that conventional ammunition wouldn’t be effective against whatever was orchestrating this mayhem.
“#$!^!” Monaghan cursed again, mentally reaching out to everyone fleeing the scene, except the mysterious shadow. It wasn’t real, and his regular shells would prove futile against it. His frustration boiled over. &#!*@*# lying Winters!
***
Meanwhile, Henry Valdemir, deeply immersed in his virtual realm, lined up his prey in the crosshairs. The projectile would effortlessly cut through the car like a hot knife through butter.
However, his focus was abruptly shattered as the barrel of a pistol intruded into his vision. Reacting too late, Valdemir attempted to fend off the man in white, who had materialized before him.
The pistol discharged into his mental extension at point-blank range. The flash swept along his optic nerve, disrupting his system control.
Jerking back in his chair, Valdemir felt the sting of needles injecting a tranquilizer into his system, calming his racing heart and breathing.
***
“What the hell was that?!” Monaghan demanded.
“The enemy Winters brought us to England to handle,” replied the man in white.
“Wait until I see Winters,” Monaghan retorted.
“Save it. Just let the police know what happened,” insisted the man in white.
“You tell ’em. I’m getting out of here,” Monaghan declared.
“Come with me if you want to live,” said the blind stranger. “My name is Mister E, and I have a car waiting.”
“Okay, I’m in,” conceded the hitman. “Should’ve learned my lesson about Winters after that cow thing.”
***
Firestorm examined the unsettling data he had gathered — a series of incidents that painted a dark tapestry of magical violence. First, a boy was shot on the street; no apparent ties with magic, but the assailant was some kind of shadow. Soon after John Constantine narrowly escaped his attack, which made minor news. Then a super-villain called Dubh Magus was shot while battling Jack O’Lantern over Dublin. After a six-hour break, a detective in France was killed while examining a crime scene. And just now a report came in about an unfortunate woman getting caught by a stray round in Heathrow. Witnesses stated that the assailant was a three-dimensional shadow that was dispersed by a blind man with a revolver before it could kill its true target, an unidentified man who left before he could be questioned about the incident.
As Firestorm connected the dots, an improbable chain of events unfolded before his other half could interject. Having recently assisted Adam Strange and CINEMA, the British meta-human agency, Firestorm considered seeking the superintendent’s assistance in preserving the bodies until Zatanna could return with answers. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See The Paladins: Albion’s Call, Book 1, Chapter 5: The Sons of the Wing.]
***
Seated beside the enigmatic Mister E, Tommy Monaghan couldn’t resist the urge to test the authenticity of the man’s claimed blindness. His hand hovered, ready to wave in front of Mister E’s sunglasses.
“Would you stop that?” Mister E chided, detecting Monaghan’s curiosity.
“Stop what?” Monaghan replied, feigning innocence.
“Staring at me,” replied the man in white, a slight frown creasing his features.
“Er…sorry about that,” Monaghan said. “So why are we headed to Baker Street?”
“As soon as Winters called, I had my secretary check for anything strange or seemingly out of the ordinary,” Mister E explained. “The only thing standing out was that a boy was killed on that street. It seems to be the starting point.”
“But if this thing can vanish into thin air, why would it stick around Baker Street?” Monaghan questioned.
“I don’t know if it’s on Baker Street,” Mister E replied, “but that is our only starting point until we have more information, and where we must apply our talents. It’s elementary.”
Behind his sunglasses, Monaghan just rolled his eyes. “No $#!^, Sherlock.”
***
Henry Valdemir gasped as his ravaged body slowly returned to what passed as normal for him. The bullet to his face had been a jolt to his system.
Glancing at his map, he focused on London. The glow from the airport was approaching his lair. How could they pinpoint his sanctuary? He believed it shielded from every sort of detection, including magic. Apparently, he had been wrong.
Yet, it didn’t matter. Determined, Valdemir planned to eliminate both meddlers the next time he unleashed his extension.
***
Tommy Monaghan strolled along the historic Baker Street, his mind-reading abilities — a gift acquired after being struck by a beam from space last fall — attuned to the thoughts of those he passed. (*) Searching for a clue to his elusive target, he sifted through the cacophony of voices in his mind. Though the gleanings were slim, a trail began to form from the scattered thoughts.
[(*) Editor’s note: See Captain Comet’s Rehab Squad: A Cosmos Imperiled, Chapter 2: The Devourer of Worlds.]
As Monaghan reached the iconic Sherlock Holmes Museum, Mister E emerged from the shadows of an adjacent alley.
“Did you find anything?” asked the blind man.
Suppressing an instinct to draw his weapon, Monaghan shared his findings, “I think so. A cashier saw the whole thing. From her POV, the shadow came out of the ground in front of the boy, instead of just appearing out of nowhere like it did at the airport.”
Leading the way to the chalked crime scene, Mister E tapped his cane against the sidewalk as he went. Only a chalk outline remained of the first victim. The blind man tapped the sidewalk around where the chalk had faded slightly. Something felt out of place to him. Something felt awry in the concrete.
Monaghan stared at the sidewalk beside his companion. “There’s some kind of machine embedded in the ground,” he said. “Crap. They’re up and down the block.”
“Are you sure?” Mister E inquired.
“Absolutely,” confirmed the hitman. “Got a mental picture of the things as soon as you started poking the ground.”
“What do they look like?” Mister E probed.
“Flat disks with strange writing on top,” Monaghan described. “Connected by a thick cable running in the sidewalk, at least to the corner.”
“Let’s see if there are more of these disks in the next city block,” Mister E suggested.
Their search revealed the disks intertwined with the museum and encircled the block. The only other location with similar mechanisms was at the nearest subway entrance. Monaghan visualized the exact point where the cable tapped into the building’s electrical wiring, surrounded by a foot of concrete. “What’s up, you figure?” he asked Mister E.
“I believe we’ve found the lair of the beast,” Mister E stated. “Now, we must beard him in his den and bring an end to this if we can.”
Leaning against a streetlight, Monaghan’s unique ebony eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses surveyed the museum’s layout, sending him a mental image of the interior. “I think I know where the front door is located,” he announced.
***
Firestorm had been on monitor duty for his shift and part of the Atom’s when Zatanna arrived from the ground side. In the med-lab, he sat in a chair, listening to the rhythmic snoring of John Constantine.
“How’s he doing?” Zatanna asked.
“Steady decline,” replied the Nuclear Man. “I think the life-support is the only thing keeping him going.”
Zatanna gently pinched Constantine’s cheek, prompting his bloodshot eyes to open slightly. “I think I found out what the problem is,” she revealed. “I found some notes among my father’s things and called Nadir and Jason Blood. They say it sounds like something called a soul jar. If we could find the jar you are linked to, we can save you.”
“Winters is… looking… for it,” Constantine rasped. “Night Force.”
“Night Force?” Firestorm questioned. “What’s a Night Force?”
“A man named Baron Winters has agents look into supernatural problems for him,” explained Zatanna. “Though I’ve heard that his agents’ survival rate is not high.”
“How does he get away with it?” Firestorm wondered.
“Because he operates in the shadows,” Zatanna said, heading for the teleporter grimly. “Look after him, ’Storm,” she added before stepping into the booth. “I’ll take care of this and get him out of here as fast as I can.”
“Hold on,” the Nuclear Man said, handing her a sheaf of papers. “These are all the news reports that I could find. Ken Hanson, the guy in charge of a British government agency, is holding the bodies in England for us. He said he would talk to the Irish authorities and to the Sûreté in Paris. Luckily, Jack O’Lantern was on the scene in Dublin and has some weight as a Global Guardian.”
“Thanks, ’Storm,” Zatanna said as she stepped into the booth and vanished.
***
Tommy Monaghan effortlessly bypassed the lock and security system of the Sherlock Holmes Museum with a paperclip and a piece of gum. Leading the way, he and Mister E entered the building.
The hitman, relying on his mental visions, sought out the secret door concealed behind a wall marked with a V.R. drawn by bullets. With a small effort, the lock revealed itself in the baseboard, unveiling a hidden elevator concealed behind the wall.
“Ready?” Monaghan asked, drawing his Colts from under his coat.
“Yes,” Mister E affirmed, gripping his revolver.
Entering the elevator, they pressed the down button, and the doors closed with a soft exhalation of air.
***
Henry Valdemir reveled in his sinister triumph, a lipless smile spreading across his face. Seated in his chair, he pressed the elevator’s stop button, trapping his prey like rats.
Almost bursting with boyish delight, he glanced at the virtual map, ready to call upon his doppelgänger to dispose of these pests. A new mystical glow emerged in London, two more targets ripe for plucking. He would walk once more, even sooner than he had expected.
Utilizing the city map, Valdemir targeted and locked onto one of those newcomers before sending himself across the miles to the that location. Once dealt with, he would return to handle the two men ensnared in the elevator.
***
Zatanna emerged from the Justice League teleportation booth, calling upon the winds to carry her to the source of the problem.
Halfway between the magician and Baker Street, a shadow materialized, raising its hand. In a silent explosion, a lethal projectile raced to meet its target. Zatanna summoned a solid shield, but to her surprise the bullet pierced through, cutting across her side in a neat, bloody furrow. Instantly, her shield and flight vanished.
***
Tommy Monaghan and Mister E each had an idea on who was going to do nasty stuff to who as the two men silently climbed through the elevator’s roof access hatch. Each of them understood what had been meant to happen to them both. Unfortunately for Henry Valdemir, Baron Winters had not offered his usual sacrificial lambs for this particular job.
Monaghan helped Mister E onto a tiny shelf within the elevator shaft, producing two warheads that he affixed to the barrels of his Colts. Taking careful aim, he blew out the brakes holding the cab in place, then fired ten rounds into the cable, severing it in two. Ensuring that the ricochets wouldn’t endanger them, the cab completed its descent with a crash and a shattering wreck.
***
Zatanna took a moment to gather her wits as she plummeted to the street far below. Upon impact, she realized that she would split open like a rotten pumpkin. And even if she did survive, she would end up in the same wasting condition as John Constantine if she couldn’t quickly deal with the soul jar collector.
Summoning the magic within, Zatanna uttered the only spell that could help her end this while she still possessed enough power and will to succeed. In a flash of light and a momentary flux of energy, she suddenly vanished from the falling trajectory.
She materialized in a vast, well-lit room, its floor space crowded with machinery. A rack of yellow bottles under a dispenser caught her attention.
Just as she took in her surroundings, the thunderous crash of an elevator’s sliding doors echoed as they exploded into the room, prompting Zatanna to instinctively seek cover behind the bottle rack.
***
Henry Valdemir frowned, trying not to panic as he activated his defensive grid, an intruder alarm blaring from his control chair. Small versions of his agent materialized in front of him as his computer initiated its hunt/kill program. A fire erupted from the sliced elevator doors, and his automated system struggled to contain it.
A man dropped through the open elevator door, executing a shoulder roll on impact. Valdemir’s tiny doppelgängers fired at the man, shredding his green coat as he sought shelter behind a generator.
Valdemir was so intent on his obvious opponent, though, that he missed a man in white stepping out of the shaft. The blind man raised his revolver as the small doppelgängers tried to refocus their attention on the unexpected threat. As he fired a single gunshot, the silver bullet smashed into the chair/bed, showering sparks and destroying the shadow agents as Valdemir’s controls crashed. The old man screamed, hitting a release on his panel.
Knowing the man in white to be Mister E, Zatanna immediately recognized the basic trap the two had used to breach the shadow creator’s defenses.
The center of the room’s round structure descended through the floor, and the yellow bottles began rolling toward a chute for future use in another machine. Calling upon the last of her powers, Zatanna acted swiftly.
The soul jars ruptured open, releasing a mixed cloud of particles eager to return to their previous owners. The wound in the Mistress of Magic’s side slowly closed as her strength returned. Knowing the stolen lives of the other victims were being restored, Zatanna smiled, mirroring the grin on Tommy Monaghan’s face and the subtle uplift of the corners of Mister E’s mouth.