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Post by lissilambe on Jan 10, 2014 19:00:27 GMT -5
Greg Saunders drove up to the sea of swirling blue lights that guarded the ranch, taped away from people with yellow warnings. An army of people swarmed the area: uniformed police, civilian-clothed detectives, business-suited Federal agents, local cops, state cops...and a glaring white pool of reporters demanding the answers to everything, right then, right there, so they could be the first to get their electronic voice on the revelations to come.
And they were juicy revelations, that much was already known in the fourteen hours since the daring raid at the Garson ranch outside Laredo, Texas. Greg tucked his white Stetson onto his head, adjusted the red bandanna around his neck, and tried to dip his toe into the swirling sea of law and news. Drug smuggling, gun running, a DEA mole turned bad, and now the worst of all: human trafficking. Child porn. Greg winced at remembering that last sin against humanity being listed.
“Pardon, officer,” Greg said to a uniformed detail attempting to control the bystanders that now swarmed like moths drawn to the multitude of lights.
“Stay back, sir,” the cop said as he went to try and press the crowd back again. “You can't hover around here.”
“I'm Gregory Saunders. I was asked for? Check on that there walkie-talkie of yours and find out, if you'd be so kind, son?”
“The Vigilante?” he asked, eyes wide, a flash of child-like eagerness on his face. “Well, I mean, sir, why didn't you say so? Who are you looking for, sir?”
“Just Greg these days, son,” the hero said with heat in his cheeks. “Mr. Sandoval asked me down here.”
“Oh sure, he's with his team, over at the storm cellar.” He pointed the way to go and managed to stay professional enough to keep his focus on the crowd, holding it back as the older man stepped into the glare of the public. He also managed to withhold the request for an autograph, though he knew his old man would never forgive him.
Greg picked his way through the rush of detectives and agents, and avoided the house itself where many of the forensics units worked. No need anyway, he just skirted the edge of the fence, identified himself as being a consultant to Rafael Sandoval every so often and then reached the man in question.
“Mr. Saunders! Glad you could get down here,” the U.S. Attorney said as he shook the old man's hand and placed an arm around his shoulders. He escorted him a little further away, to one of the few semi-gloomy spots that remained, where it was almost private. “Tell me you know where Arrow and La Garra are? Please, tell me you have them.”
“Wish I could, but I can't. I ain't heard from them since Ollie headed out from my place around noon...maybe one. Said something about some rare parts, but I knew that was bunk,” Greg answered as he leaned against a fence post. “What's goin' on here? I thought you sent them here? Isn't this what you wanted?”
“I wanted Garson exposed, I wanted to know he'd turned on the DEA and was working with the Cartel down in Mexico,” Sandoval explained. “We got evidence already that he was in league with El Papagayo, who's taken control across the Rio Grande, running Nuevo Laredo. And we got some evidence starting to pile up that the DEA was into something dirtier, something that might link back to an inter-departmental thing with something called Task Force X, but we're getting major blowback asking about that connection. So for now, we're letting that part go.”
“What's all this got to do with me then? And what's this about the other stuff I've been hearin' on the radio?”
“That's the dirtier stuff. We can't confirm this Task Force crap even exists, but the DEA's part is clear.” He took a deep breath and then showed several crime scene photos to Greg. “Child porn, sex trafficking, seriously ugly stuff. Sorry to show this to you, but I'm going somewhere, and it's why I'm scared out of my wits you've lost your soldiers.” He pointed to the boxes, and a blow up of some labels.
“Great, I'm needin' bifocals now,” Greg grumbled, as he pivoted the picture around for a better view. “I can't make that out, what's it sayin'?”
“It's not English, Mr. Saunders,” Rafael explained. “It's Slovak. It's the language used in Vlatava.”
“Vlatava? That's some European place, right?” He looked at the other pictures slowly now. He breathed a little easier when he saw that there was zero body count, despite a large number of arrow and claw wounds liberally scattered among the criminals rounded up.
“Someplace yeah. It's the home to Werner Vertigo. Count Werner Vertigo, self-styled ruler of Vlatava,” Rafael said in a deep hush.
“That pervert who Ol...Arrow tangled with years back? What the hell is his country doing involved in this?”
“These are being sent out to make money for the glorious revolution, I suspect. To reinstall Vertigo. Mr. Saunders, Vertigo's down there. In Nuevo Laredo. The DEA used him in a metahuman adjunct to their busted Fast and Furious arms sting. He's loose, and with the Parrot. It's how El Papagayo got so powerful so quick. It has to be.”
Greg's face showed that all of the modern intrigue had connected up in his brain. Drugs and trafficking to fuel money for Vertigo's revolution. His old habits flaring up again, staining what Greg's country stood for in his eyes. In Ollie's eyes. “Arrow's going to go crazy,” Greg whispered.
“La Garra's not going to be far behind him,” Rafael said. “She's always been un poco loco when it comes to domestic cases, like spousal abuse or child anything. Tossed on top of Parrot making this invasion of Dos Rios personal...”
“Got it, Rafael,” Greg said as he handed the pictures back to him. “I got some wild mustangs to rope up.”
“I had a guy watching them on this, just in case,” the attorney added. “We lost track of them down near the border. I was hoping they were just reconning and coming back to get you guys.”
“That's exactly what happened, son,” Greg said quickly. He gave a wink through the wrinkles and clapped a strong hand on the suited bicep. “I got yore back too, and they sure as shootin' did come and tell us, and then went to scout, while the cavalry is comin'. Anything after this, it's not on you, Rafael.”
“You say that, but I'm not cutting you out in the wind like this, Mr. Saunders. That's not my style. We're partners on this.” He clapped the older man's shoulder as Saunders started back toward his truck. “Just wish I could be out there with you,” he added in a whisper as he watched the determined stride in the elder cowboy. “That'd be something special.”
He turned back to talk to an assistant as the maddening scene separated him from the Soldier, who roared away in his truck to find somewhere he could make calls.
Just south of there, in Nuevo Laredo... The nervous man tried to dress casual, tried to blend into the fast-moving crowds on the streets. He kept a ballcap low on his brow, and adjusted his sunglasses in the bright glare of the late morning, and hustled between the other passersby. He stepped up into the weathered old lobby of the hotel, and again glanced around as he dug a key from his pocket. The desk clerk glanced over as the man stalked past, then returned to his newspaper. A couple of lingerers in the lobby looked away as the nervous man passed, and kept about their own activities.
Two stairs at a time, the man darted up to the third floor. The hotel looked as old as it was: bent wood stairs, bannisters missing slats, weathered dull red carpet with holes. Dust lingered in the air in his passage, and he felt grimy even standing in the hall in front of the door to his key.
He used it and entered, only to see he'd been beaten there. The well-built blond man stood near the window, watching the people below pass on their errands. Keen blue eyes focused on each, as he kept himself tall and regal, knowing full well he was truly above those below.
“Werner, you're here?”
“Count Vertigo,” the man corrected as he kept his watch. “It is Count Vertigo. Welcome, Agent Reardon.”
“Welcome? Count? Don't get ahead of yourself there, pal,” the agent said as he closed the door behind him. He clutched the key fob tight in his hand, a twitchy thumb just over its button. “We've gone bust. We're getting out of here.”
“Aw, what a pity,” Vertigo said with false concern. “Has the Drug Enforcement Agency become displeased with my work? All these bosses drawn here to the municipality, almost into the city itself, all salivating at the thought of having their very own supervillain, and the Agency suddenly has cold feet?”
Reardon felt his skin crawl as he talked to this man. The honeyed, controlled voice creeped over him as Vertigo spoke, as if he was so much better than everyone else. Why the hell did his superiors think this was ever a good idea? “Garson's busted, and you're cover's been blown.” He reached reached under his coat to draw the out the automatic pistol. “Blown sky high, your dirty little prick.”
“Oh dear. Have you learned of my little...predilections?” He chuckled and finally turned to face the agent. “I am Count Vertigo, on a righteous cause to save my people. That some of yours need to suffer to achieve those aims means nothing to me. Speaking of suffering.” He smiled, a cold smile.
Reardon held up the fob and pointed the gun at the criminal. “Don't! Don't even think it! You know what happens if you try to put that whammy on me, Werner. I hit the button and the back of your head goes boom. Now, hands up, and get ready to be brought back home. I got an extraction team waiting for us.”
“Then, Agent Reardon, we will have to disappoint them.” He chuckled and the world started to move.
The floor flipped out from under Reardon's feet, and the bed slid over into the agent. He struggled to keep his balance, but the walls warped and the door seemed so far away. “You asked for it!” he said with a groan as he dropped to his knees, desperate to make some small part of the world upright.
Count Vertigo laughed now as the thumb pressed the button, and then again, and then again. “I have refined my ability, Agent Reardon. It is even now disrupting your signal, sending it to this way, or that, but it is not quite able to find the target.” He stepped up to the desperate agent, and sharply kicked the gun away, cracking the wrist in the process. “You look like you need some help getting to your feet.”
The world seemed upside down, Reardon's eyes jumping back and forth, this way and that as he lost his grip on the fob. Vertigo crunched it under his heavy heel, as the agent's body couldn't stand the whirl-a-gig tableau any further. The stomach heaved, and he felt it in his toes. “Do not vomit on your superiors, little man,” Vertigo said with disgust as he let the man go and stepped back. The disgusting mess splashed away from them both.
Now on forced back to his feet, Reardon struggled to get some semblance of control. It didn't matter though, each step went in some random direction, each flailing arm desperate to grab his foe smacked a wall, or the dresser. A trip here, a stumble there, and then Reardon saw Vertigo waving to him.
“Have a nice trip, agent.” Reardon felt the sill smack the back of his legs; then the crackling and splintering of glass, the rush of wind, and a million little cuts stinging at his limbs until it all suddenly stopped. Vertigo looked down on the street, with that cold smile and righteous sense of noble superiority. “And now to return to my home away from home, and await my guests.”
Back in Dos Rios “Well, here we are!” Witchazel announced with a flourish of her star-tipped wand, lighting hundreds of candles all at once.
Hayley Pemberton and Miguel Devante looked around, unsure how to react exactly. The spells of obfuscation had been dismissed at the same time, so they each got a chance to get their bearings after the ride from downtown Dos Rios, and they turned slowly to take in the hundreds of tall candles casting their flickering lights across the empty hull of the long low building.
“A shopping mall?” Mickey finally managed to get out in an incredulous voice.
“Well, looking at who kidnapped us, I guess it makes sense,” Hayley retorted. “This is the Galería de un Río, right? The mall that ran out of money back during the recession?”
“Yup! The perfect place for our little ritual. Oh, you guys are just gonna love it!” She clapped her hands as she led them around the nearly-completed first floor. Skeletal store spaces stood like gaping holes in a withered smile, the candles casting eerie shadows over the exposed steel beams and draped cables.
“I don't think so,” Hayley said. “Remember, we're the sacrifices? Not so sure we're going to love that.”
There was an echoing tap of Fredric Vaux's cane that released a surge of magical energy across the mall. It swept out from himself and over the two young Soldiers. When the wave of energy had finished, the teens were in their costumes, and Vaux was swathed in dark purple, streaked in claw-like black, that swept out off his slim shoulders to cradle him. The magical cloth rippled in shades of deep blue and indigo and black as he commanded the attention of all three.
“It is true, you will power my ritual,” he said as he weaved new energy in the air with his hands and then hurtled it at the two teens. Silver energy fused into slim but sturdy chains littered in ancient words of power. “Here in this place, where so much future was left unfinished, I will unravel the future of the Seven Soldiers and gain a great servant.” He curled his fingers and the chains dragged Gimmick and Vulcan across the dusty, littered floor and held them out for his inspection. “I have much to prepare, so for now, I leave you to my apprentice to play hostess. Do try to savor the company, it will be your last.” He turned now, and swept down the mezzanine.
“Come on, let's get you guys set up,” Witchazel said as she waved her wand and the chains responded by hurtling them up to what would have been the second floor walkways. They lashed themselves in place, over the cracked and weathered concrete that would have been a fountain.
“What the hell is your boss talking about anyway, Witchie-pooh?” Hayley asked after she recovered her breath. She looked all around, desperate to find something to help her.
“Hey! He's not the boss of me!” She stuck her tongue out at the red-headed heroine and then tossed her own purple locks back over her head, leaving only a few stray to cover up her right eye. “He's just teaching me is all. And none of that dirty stuff either! He's way too old for me. I'll learn those spells from someone hot.”
“So you're just his step-and-fetch girl?” Vulcan taunted as well, only to receive an ethereal slap on his mouth from her wand at a distance.
“Like you're any better, stud,” she shot back. “Getting to hang out with a bunch of old guys so Gimmick here has someone her own age to fool around with?”
“Hey, 'hazel, back on track here!” Gimmick shouted her down as Vulcan's own worries came to mind at the thoughtless words. “What the hell is all this? Who is he?”
“He's Fredric Vaux, a world-class sorcerer and about to summon up the Nebula Man to give him more power,” Witchazel said with a laugh. As she did, she gestured with her wand and rearranged the fountain's foundation, adding symbols and repositioning some of the blocks.
“No way! He's all blown up, the Soldiers dusted his cosmic ass good!”
“Well of course, Gimmick,” Witchazel said with a laugh. “That's what you two are for. See, it's all about symbolism. You two are the future of the Soldiers, and this place was the future of commerce for this two-horse town. It failed, and now, with Mr. Vaux's ritual, you two will fail and that'll unravel the Soldiers' timelines. Unraveling their arrival unravels the Nebula Man's defeat and then presto-chango! We got ourselves a cosmic monster! Ain't that the awesomest?”
Gimmick glanced over at Vulcan, who stared back equally concerned. “¿Estás loco?” Vulcan shouted out.
“Huh?”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you have any clue what that's going to do? How are we going to love a ritual we're going to get unraveled for, you mental case?” Gimmick translated for Witchazel.
“Can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, right?” she asked, a little quieter, and tapped the tip of her star on her pouting purple lips. “Right? It's eggs that make an omelette?”
Gimmick rolled her eyes up at the question. If they were going to talk their way out of this, it was going to take a lot of work, and apparently, a lot of one-syllable words. They both felt the hulk of the mall suddenly drop in temperature, and the candles shifted into red, their lights burning a greenish-yellow and stinking. “If we have that much time. C'mon, Greg, come and find us, will ya?” Gimmick anxiously muttered.
Zooming across the Texas skies “So I press this button?”
“No, Greg, no, the other one...on the side,” Brenda said into her cell phone as Maya piloted the sleek gray helicopter over the Texas plains.
“The short one?” Greg's voice asked, edged in frustration. “It's not pressin'.”
“No, the longer one just under it.” Brenda stifled a sigh as Sally chuckled and Maya just grinned.
“How's this?” Greg's voice suddenly burst out to fill the passenger cabin, and Brenda quickly adjusted her volume.
“Yup, that did it,” Sally cheered him. “We're hearing you loud and clear now.”
“Good, 'cause we got some big problems. The others hearin' me?” Greg asked.
“We hear you, Greg! Can you hear us?” Syl called out through the copter's speaker.
“Gotcha. Good. Listen, and listen quick, we got some bad stuff goin' down. I'm in Laredo right now, tryin' to hunt down Ollie and Yolanda, who've gone plum loco,” he explained. “But then I get this call from the Dos Rios cops tellin' me some g'hal owlhoot got all rambunctious, uses some kind of wand to shoot up my place and make off with two of my customers. Whisks them into some car and headed off.”
“Do they know who this person kidnapped?” Justin asked.
“Yup. Sit down, Pat, it was Hayley and Miguel.”
“What the hell do you mean it was Hayley?” Pat's voice roared. “I leave my kid with you for a few days and she gets kidnapped by some villain? Where the hell were you?”
“Whoa, Pat! Calm down, yelling at Greg won't do anything,” Syl's voice said.
“I said I'm down in Laredo, chasin' after my own kids,” Greg sniped back. “They've gone south of the Rio Grande to rustle up their gang bosses, and make a fine mess a' things while they're at it, I'm sure. I'm as sick of losin' the kids as you are, Pat, believe me.”
“We're closing in on your ranch now, Mr. Saunders,” Maya said as the copter swept past more of the flat ground. “Maybe fifteen minutes away at most.”
“We were already headed back too,” Syl said. “We're maybe an hour out.”
“An hour,” Pat grumbled. “How long ago did they get kidnapped?”
“Maybe six hours back, from whut I was told,” Greg answered. “Since then, the cops ain't heard a peep about it.” There was a moment of silence and then Greg added, “But calm down, Pat. Mickey and Hayley got good heads on their shoulders, they're doin' fine, I'm sure.”
“We'll find them, Pat,” Danette's voice could be heard now, soothing the worried grandparent. “We'll go after them, Greg, don't worry. It's the three of us, we should be fine. You guys should go down and help out Greg.”
“I can bring us to Laredo in just under an hour, Mr. Saunders,” Maya announced.
“Nah, I'm headed 'cross the border into Nuevo Laredo, meet me down there,” Greg said. “I've gotta get started on huntin' those two hot-heads down before they get themselves killed.”
“Got it, Greg,” Wing said from the co-pilot's chair. “Maya, get us some air clearance into the area. The Line has to have something philanthropic we could be doing down there, for cover?”
“First, Ms. Maya, if you could spare the minutes to drop me off at Greg's domicile?” Justin requested now. “I have Victory there, and got to bolster Skyman's team. Even better, a chance to reunite with my wife.”
“Do you want my help, Sir Justin?” Brenda asked as she stepped up next to him.
“Nay. This group shall need the extra power your newly-won spear can provide them,” Justin said.
“Sounds good to me,” Syl said. “And Dann's smiling at the thought, so we'll see you in no time.”
“I will begin to scout for where this varlet has absconded with our charges while I await,” Justin suggested.
“Be careful, everyone. I'm headed out now, I'll find you guys down my way.” Greg ended his connection as the copter grew silent, only the whirring blades above for sound.
“Yeah, see you soon, Justin. Skyman's team signing out.”
“Be careful, Justin!” Dann called out just before the signal ended.
“Okay, we're coming up on the ranch, Sir Justin,” Maya called out as Wing headed into the back of the copter and pulled out a pair of boxes. “I'll land and--”
“Nay. I am hale and hearty again thanks to your ministrations speeding me along. Just direct the vessel down and slow as much as you can. Let me prove myself.”
Maya looked askance at the request but Brenda nodded to her. She knew the Shining Knight needed this moment; so the side door opened, the copter slowed as much as possible and Justin threw himself out to the ground. He bounced into the grass and ably rolled up onto his legs, then began the run to the stables with eyes alight, as the aircraft sped away to the early morning horizon.
“Here,” Wing passed one box to Sally. “Time for us to get into garb, Scarlet.” She looked at him with wide eyes, then grabbed up the box. She peeked within, the dark red bandanna mask staring back up at her. “We Soldiers have work to do.”
“You bet!”
Back at the abandoned mall... ...the incomplete fountain had transformed from a cracked and spray-painted incomplete monument into a roaring geyser of strange purple-black energies, crackling and popping at their apex to lick at the lower legs of Hayley and Mickey. The teens felt searing pain, making Mickey tug on his chains, to try and pull himself up and away as best he could. But it had been a couple of hours now, and he tired out.
Hayley just stared into the yawning whorl of energy though, and tried to make sense of it. With all the tracks of her brain working in concert, she could just make out details in the fast-moving currents of power. She tried to make sense of what she saw, and then glanced at Witchazel.
“Do you have any clue what your boss is stupid enough to play with chronal energies for? Huh? Do you, for a second, think that's a bright idea? Do you, for a second, thin—yahhh!” She kicked up one scorched leg as the sorcerer Fredric Vaux directed one tendril to slap her leg and shut her up.
“That's a good point, there, Mr. Vaux,” the woman said as she cringed a bit. She loved all the power and chaos, but for at least thirty minutes now, Vaux had whipped the energies into a frenzy, then slashed at their prisoners. It had turned from a fun night of simple violence into this torture, something she didn't care for quite so much. “What are you trying to do? I mean, how am I supposed to lear--”
“Shut up! Concentrate, girl, and leave me to my task!” Fredric Vaux fairly shone with reflected power, and plunged his hand into the vortex, and drew it up into a ball that he threw into Hayley's face. It made her screech and turn away, and blinded her for the moment. “And you, Gimmick, you are here to suffer for your fathers' sins! So suffer already!”
“Hey, don't yell at me! You're the one who kind of skimmed over the whole undoing time thing. I think I'm owed some details now!” Witchazel tried not to look at the scored and bloodied legs and feet of the teens, or the pale faces, Hayley's now patched with bruises.
“Undo time?” Hayley muttered and then cried out as another ball crashed into her side. It burned through the shirt and ate a bit into her waist, an angry reddish-purple welt with a dozen seeping pinpricks.
“C'mon, just a little fire, somewhere,” Mickey said. Vaux focused on Hayley, and took the respite to seek out anything he could use his powers on. There had been candles earlier, but now they'd all gone from small flickers of fire into spewing more of the purplish energy that ignored him.
“Hey, there's something in there, isn't there?” Witchazel asked as she looked at the fountain. Indeed, the haziest hints of a face began to from in the center depths. Large, and even this ill-formed it held tremendous malevolence. She hugged herself and stepped back as she noticed that the huge face was far away, for all that meant in such a strange, surreal other place the vortex tore open.
“Each slice of these pups undoes his defeat and drives the Law's Legionnaires from this time,” Vaux said with an ecstatic face, and he plunged both arms into the geyser and threw power up high, letting it splash back down over his prisoners. He laughed as he heard their voices, grown dry and weak, cry out from the pain. “Each blow dealt to them is dealt unto their patrons, hurtling them back to that battle and draws him to me! To be my greatest conjuration!”
“Nebula Man,” Gimmick groaned. “You're erasing his defeat...drawing him out...”
“Nebula Man? Don't like the sound of him,” Witchazel said as she peered over at the shape, the darkness clumping together, arms stretching out now, thick stubby starlit fingers seeking an edge to grip.
“On that sentiment, witch, we are in agreement,” Sir Justin said as he swooped in on his winged Victory. Through the air they charged, the wings beating furiously, hooves galloping through the air, and the golden lance gleaming in the surreal half-lights of the ritual and the Moon above. “And so I will bring this mad ritual to an end!”
The crash resounded throughout the empty halls of the structure. The lance struck dead center against Vaux's chest, and threw him back from the roaring energy, as the weapon shattered into many pieces and Justin barely clung to his mount.
“Witch -hazel you mean!” The villainess sneered and waved her wand, and unleashed pink bolts at the knight. Even unbalanced by the thundering collision, he could get his shield up to block the attack with ease. He leaped from Victory, and drew his sword. “You're the Shining Knight, right? You think you can handle this? Huh? Think you can handle Witchazel?”
Twice more he blocked her attacks, a bolt of lavender lighting followed by powerful gust of wind to batter at him. “Aye, lass, I do!”
“But not me, Justin!” Vaux stood, seemingly unscathed by the earlier blow. With a dramatic thrust of his arm, roiling waves of purple power crashed into the knight and sent him scattering across the floor. “I sold my soul for all the power I would need to gain the Nebula Man and destroy the Legionnaires, and there is nothing your puny weapons can do to stop that!”
“We shall see about that, fiend!” Justin replied as he stood back and held his shield fast against the next assault.
“Mind if we join in?” Skyman asked as he swooped in through an open skylight and unleashed several blasts of energy. They crashed against Fredric and he rolled away, a wave of his hand throwing up a mystic shield to block the rest.
“Apprentice! Take control of the ritual while I deal with this rabble!” Fredric roared as he stood up straight and stared at the rest of the Soldiers making the scene.
“Whoot! I knew you guys'd find us!” Gimmick yelled now, smiles on both their faces. “How'd you know where to look?
Stripe stood above on the second-floor ramp and tried to find a way to release the chains. “Skyman's armor picked up the energy disturbance here. The Knight, I bet, had Victory sniff the way to danger. There's a reason they call it horse sense, after all!”
“Pat!” Gimmick glanced up at him and he saw the look on her face. Unbridled relief swelled, and her heart leaped to see him coming to her rescue.
“Back off, buster! I don't like it, but I got a job to do, or Freddy's gonna bitch and bitch!” Witchazel said as she stuck the tip of her wand into the energy spray, twirled it and then flung what had collected against the star-shape into the floor.
“Pat!” Gimmick screamed in terror as the balcony gave out beneath him and he plunged down out of sight.
“You think you're gonna deal with all of us?” Skyman zipped about above the sorcerer, his foe peppered with bolts of energy, as Firebrand roared in like a jet and blasted on the other side with lances of flame.
“We've been doing this for a long time, buddy, so best of luck!” Dann said with an easy grin, her body glowing red as she ramped up the heat when she saw him taking the attack.
“And I have paid too dear a price to be stopped by the likes of you!” Fredric answered as his arms mimed a knocking over action. Dann and Justin stared in shock as a massive pillar pulled away from the wall and ceiling, to crash into Skyman and bury him under the rubble. “I would say your time is over, but I am ensuring that your time never arrived!”
He pivoted his torso and waved his arms like a conductor. In response, the heavy cables leaped from their mountings and wrapped up Firebrand, electricity that never passed through this place pouring out of them. She screamed and crashed to the floor. Before he could turn, he felt Justin's heavy shield ram into him. Knocked off his feet, he was then struck by the flat of Justin's sword, then the metal-shod boot crashed into his nose.
“This is the best you can do, Knight?” Vaux sneered as his hands clamped around Justin's attempted swing. He jerked the Shining Knight from his feet and threw him over head, then stood up and let arcs of electricity blast from his fingertips, to scour the Knight's armor. “Is this truly the best I can expect from the Law's Legionnaires? Chaos will have its day, and the tired champions of order will fail at every step! Including the defense of your children, who even now empower your ultimate destruction!”
Mickey screamed now, as his attempt to catch any of Danette's flames for his own use had been rudely interrupted by Witchazel's attentions. She used the wand to lash at his chest, and now Firebrand had been put out by Fredric's attack.
“You really don't get it, do you? You really are that much of a bimbo!” Hayley screamed at Witchazel, to take her attention away from Mickey, and to try and reach her. “You didn't really listen to what he just said, did you, you dip!” More energy tortured her pained body in reaction to her words.
“Say it without the flaming, girlie! Don't make me do all this even worse, got it?” Witchazel tried to match her mentor's hard, cruel face, but when Hayley looked up through her sweat-dripping bangs, she saw that she'd gotten the teen villain's attention.
She gave a smile, and let all three tracks of her brain begin the debate. Holy hell, I'm really going to go for a Kirk Summation! She looked down as Nebula Man continued to cohere, to tear up out of the well beneath her. Here goes nothing.
The outskirts of Nuevo Laredo The two figures stood safely out of sight in the shadows of the copse of gnarled, hardy trees. The gloom of night protecting them from the sight of wandering guards that confidently, casually paced the perimeter of the tall adobe wall. Hidden behind the wall, out of sight but not out of mind of the observers, sat a sprawling elegant mansion; cultivated gardens, oval pool stretched in an arc, large and well-furnished patio, all surrounding the main building.
“Are you ready to do this, tipo duro?” La Garra asked, straddling her powerful cycle, tense hands toying with the handlebars. Eye-shine lit up her dark brown gaze, as she stared unblinking at the compound, drinking in each detail her enhanced senses could pick out.
“Almost,” Oliver Queen said as he shrugged off his jacket, then removed the red shirt. He tossed it to the side, and something distracted Yolanda at last. Once more she admired the scarred, hard chest as he rifled through the pack he'd brought with him. She admired the late-thirties physique for more than just the attraction this time. “I need to do this the right way.”
He pulled on the sleeveless tunic, laced the leather jerkin into place; tugged up dark boots, strapped the toughened archer arm-guards, dabbed sticky material around his eyes. Finally, he pressed the domino mask firmly into place. He turned back to Yolanda, and stepped into a shaft of moonlight as he affixed the familiar Lincoln-green cap. For the first time since they met, La Garra stood in the presence of Green Arrow, and despite herself, she gave a slight gasp at the transformation.
“Now I'm ready to do this, sweetheart,” the emerald archer declared with hard eyes.
“Pues bien entonces,” she murmured. She coughed a bit and turned back to the compound, repeating in English, “Okay then, let's get this done.” She revved the cycle as Ollie settled his feet onto spars at the rear of the cycle, so he could stand over her as she charged toward the wall.
The guards looked over in surprise at the sound of the gunning cycle, then lifted up their guns to shoot the bronze-colored machine. The fairing sparked with deflected bullets as she hunched down behind the protection, as Green Arrow released a pair of arrows, all with a Devil-may-care grin on his face. This was quickly followed by a third arrow as the distance between cycle and wall closed.
The first two arrows struck the gunmen, crackling electricity that put them down hard, while the third arrow struck the wall an cracked open. There was a brief flare of brilliant light, then in the wake was a neatly-sliced round hole with no rubble to be seen.
“My friend Atom sent me a birthday present,” Ollie explained as he nocked another arrow. “I call it the black hole arrow. Miniaturized cyclotron makes a singularity that lasts for a half-second.”
La Garra just let out a low whistle as they charged through the breech. Alarms blared, guards tried to react, but the heroes were prepared. Ollie fired the arrow into the dark, over the building, as Yolanda pivoted the motorcycle to kick up dirt and rock to stun their attackers. A sharp crack and the distinctive smell of smoke was immediately followed by the compound going dark.
“Generators are down, sweetheart!” Ollie called out.
“Let's tear them a new one!” La Garra agreed as she leaped from the cycle and smashed into another pair of guards; two swift decisive strikes dropped them to the ground, and the heroes darted for the main building.
Count Vertigo watched from his overstuffed chair as his partner, the crime lord El Papagayo, stormed into the room. “What are you doing here? Hiding? Is this the sort of support I'm getting from my metahuman?”
The gangly, leathery-looking man stared down at the smooth-shaved blond European swathed in black and green. Their eyes met, and each refused to blink. “Why waste my energies? The Arrow is coming for me, I have no need to seek him out. Let him waste his precious energies fighting through the sea of thugs to get me.” He chuckled and gently closed the book he'd been reading.
“He's not alone,” the over-dressed parrot of a drug lord grumbled back as he drew a large revolver out from its holster. “I am El Papagayo! I run all the crime through this pipeline, all these children around me shooting each other to try and challenge me, and I set it all in motion! I'll not have it all lost because of you!”
“Do not point that at me,” Vertigo calmly warned his partner. “The American government loaned me out to you for this very purpose, make all these silly, drugged-up, hyped up thugs with guns shoot each other, with the foolish notion it would make it easier to crack down on them.” He chuckled and took a cigarette from the pack on the night table. He offered up one to El Papagayo, who took it and jammed it between his teeth. “But I liked you, and your restraint, your intelligence. So I broke ranks, knowing it would aid my true cause, my homeland, my people who need in me in Vlatava. Do not lose that veneer of culture and civilization now, not with me.”
“Get up and fight!” El Papagayo warned him again, then staggered back as Vertigo's green eyes gleamed in the darkness. “Stop that! Turn it off!” He leaned against the mantle.
“You are just another thug,” Vertigo said. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought you were more, that you were destined to be one of the villains, dueling with me against your arch-foe La Garra. But... you're just a jumped-up thug with delusions. You have no connection, you have no purpose to this story. No purpose other than to give me my Grand Guignol against the Green Arrow!”
The Parrot watched as Vertigo rose now, and reached for his black velvet cloak, sweeping it onto his shoulders. “Go and fight with your men. Leave me to prepare for the true final act.” The eyes lit up briefly as threat, and the stuffed shirt of a crime king dashed off from the room, Vertigo's laughter taunting him.
At the abandoned mall Pat Dugan clambered out from the broken balcony, bleeding from the side of his head and feeling a numbness in his left leg. None of that could slow him down now though, as he watched the battle raging on around him.
Fredric Vaux, in the haunting indigo and black, fairly swirled in time with the vortex he'd summoned, the power increasing with the working of the ritual. He released blackened flames of deepest red that crashed over Skyman's force wall. The young man stood his ground, and forced as much energy through his suit as he dared to maintain the protection as Firebrand and Shining Knight staggered back to their feet. Cracks laced the wall and finally shattered under the assault, Skyman tossed back.
Stripe staggered out from the rubble, tried not to limp as he jogged toward the young woman who weaved the magic now, directed the vortex. He could feel what they all felt: the vortex grew stronger, more violent, tendrils lashing out at the already worn mall infrastructure, and as it did, his team-mates grew weaker. “What are you two doing?” Stripe asked as he grabbed Witchazel's arm and spun her around. “I feel like I'm coming unglued! What is all this?” He held his fist ready to punch her, but delayed.
“Hey! Hands off, Grandpa!” Witchazel let out a spark from the tip of her wand that made Stripe jump back, then conducted a blast of the vortex at him, caused him to stagger back from the floor shattering under him. “You are coming unglued. Unraveled, as Mr. Vaux puts it. This is gonna undo all that stuff you guys did back in whenever ancient history and let us control Nebula Man.”
“Yeah, and what do you think you're supposed to do with us when there's enough of Nebula to finish this all?” Gimmick shouted, her bottom lip chewed up bloody from worry about her great-grandfather. “We're not gonna get unraveled, we're from here. You gotta kill us, is what you're gonna have to do, and you know it!”
“Shut up you!” Witchazel yelled back, her faced screwed up angrily as they argued. “Mr. Vaux is gonna make me a big-shot! I'm gonna rule this world, and you're just jealous!” She released another blast of power at Stripe, but the winged horse Victory swooped down for Pat to leap upon before it could strike either of them. “Stupid horse!”
“Didn't you listen to him? He sold his soul for the power to do this! Of course he doesn't care about doing this stupid ritual thing, because he's got nothing left to lose!” Gimmick strained at her bonds, wrists raw and bleeding, but they refused to give. “But now you're doing this, and what do you think is going to happen to you when it's done? You ready to make that choice? Huh? Are you?”
“What choice? Shut you up, so you stop yammering in my ears? Man, that's no choice,” she snapped, turning back to face her prisoners.
“You're heart's not in this stuff. This is dark stuff, really black crap, and you know it,” Gimmick countered again. “Aren't you supposed to torture us? I've seen it, the pain makes the vortex grow just as much as my friends fading does. But you take every chance you can to not do it! What's that say about you?”
Firebrand roared past, her fire glowing duller red as she dueled with some monstrous demon that pursued her. The young villain then turned back to watch Sir Justin's blade slice through a magical shield erected by Vaux, then watched as the magician bubbled with power and punched the gallant knight away. He laughed, his face cast in reddish glow, and then he looked at his apprentice with pride.
“You heard the young lady, torture them!” He laughed as Skyman blasted him from behind to little effect. His gaze met Witchazel's, the utter lack of humanity within the dark orbs made her shiver, Gimmick's words echoed in her brain. He already sold his soul. He has nothing left to lose.
“Yeah, torture us, get us ready for sacrifice, that's it,” Gimmick pushed her now. “It's just three more souls. What the hell, eighty, ninety years of this decision, how could that bite you in the ass?”
“Silence!” Vaux demanded angrily as he released the brimstone fire from his hands to rake over the two teens. “Children should be seen, and not heard. Unless it's cries of torment, that is!” He laughed again, then grunted as Stripe leaped from Victory and bore the villain to the ground.
“What sort of monster are you? Taking joy out of hurting kids? Corrupting them? That make you feel like a big man? Does it?” Pat sat on Vaux and punched him with each question, ham hands smashing into the thin, malice-masked face again and again until his knuckles were bruised and bloody.
“Are you done?” Vaux laughs and beams of golden light erupted from his eyes and raked Stripe's face, the hero forced to stagger away. “Now, my apprentice, do it! Finish this! Seize your moment, your power! Take it!”
“What do you mean?” Witchazel prepared to hand the magic back to him, with the Soldiers down and out, struggling to get back into the fight. “Here, finish it yourself! You're the big bad mentor guy, it's your moment. I'm just the sidekick.”
“No, this is your chance. Your moment of maturity, of growth, of reaching adulthood and full power! Take it!” Vaux demanded of her now, dead eyes staring at her angrily. “Do it!”
He has nothing left to lose.
“You do it! It's your stupid master plan!”
Gimmick grinned, and glanced at Mickey, who had born the brunt of the torture until now, and just hung rather limply. He looked back at her and let himself smile in return, through cracked lips.
Streets of Nuevo Laredo The large gun-toting gang swaggered through the city streets and cleared them of pedestrians, hunkered into their homes in fear. Everyone sensed the building tension, the violent storm about to begin, but the number roaming lanes made things seem different.
<“El Papagayo has given the word!”> announced one of the gangsters, as he addressed his troops. <“There will be no more screwin' around with the others, the upstarts, the wannabes! Tonight we take 'em all out, and we stamp our names on all crime! Anyone—I mean anyone at all!—that is in one of our target buildings, or doesn't get out of our way to get there, gets put down like a dog! Tonight, blood runs deep!>”*
*translated from Spanish
The gang let out excited whoops and several shots into the air, and started out for their targets, to hunt down their rivals with high-powered weapons and massed numbers. The quiet Thump! Thump! Thump! from the air went unnoticed at first as a result. They heard the high-powered whine of a motorcycle that rattled the electrified air that immediately followed, and no one failed to hear the “Yeee-hah!” that cut the crowd with the heavy bike.
They scattered like pins in a bowling alley, and then picked themselves up immediately, most of them humiliated and some furious at being thrown off-balance. They turned to face the idling cycle, and its rider. But the Vigilante just smiled from under the white Stetson, two antique but sterling clean Peacemakers pointed out at them. “Howdy, boys. Y'all disperse, git back home and we all will just ferget about this kerfluffle. How's that sound?”
“Yo, Grandpa!” the leader replied, shotgun hefted up toward him. “You got big ones but we gots you outnumbered by two dozen guys, and hundred a'bullets to twelve. Ya really wanna do this?” They laughed and leveled their weapons at the cowboy.
That's when the shadow of the sleek futuristic helicopter fell over them and Bradamante leaped out from the side. She slammed the point of her spear into the pavement in the rear ranks, a wave of reddish energy cascading from the impact point and hurtling a dozen of the thugs away. “Bradamante loves this superheroic age!” the heroine called into the earpiece. “These powers rocketh on toast, as she'd put it!”
“This is just the first group,” Maya replied from her cockpit as she hit a pair of switches and fired smoke canisters into the rest of the group. “Let's keep our focus, hun.”
Greg tugged up his bandanna and flipped down a protective lens from the brim of his hat, and then walked slowly toward the group. He fired slow and steady, each shot smashed a hand and forced a weapon to the ground. From the other end of the group, Bradamante held her shield up to stop the fusillade hurled her way, then struck back. She swept the haft of her spear over three gangsters and threw them back to the ground, then slapped the flat of her spearhead into another one's head to put his lights out.
“Where do you think you're goin', son?” Greg called out to the leader, who ran now. “You got somethin' we need to learn. Let me show you a little somethin' I taught a certain Amazon Queen back in the Big War.” The loop of rope dropped around the gangster's chest and arms, and hauled him backward with a confident tug. Greg turned back to Brenda and with a wink, added, “Drives historians crazy, they just can't figure out lassos got into Amazon culture.”
“You are such a liar, sir,” Bradamante replied as they converged on the bound criminal.
“Liar? Back in the day, these were tall tales, m'lady,” Greg answered with a laugh. “Now then, you gonna tell us what we need to know?”
Three blocks away, another group of the Parrot's killers marched on a boarded up building, and paused with suspicion at the open doorway. They pressed up close to the dark quiet opening, a curtain of pointed weapons uncertain how to proceed. This should be a barred door, potentially steel-backed, hard to batter down, guarded to the teeth by other thugs with guns ready to fire back.
Instead, an ochre mist began to filter out of that space, then more cascading from the darkness. It drove them back, then from that strange mustard-colored cloud came pacifier bullets, red splatters striking the center of the gang and sent them retreating faster.
Cloaked by the dark interior, Bonnie's knees shook, but she kept her hands steady and fired the dum-dum bullets, each thok reassuring her as she peered out at them through her red wrap mask. She and her partner had already battled the gangsters in this building, and had waited for the ambush. Now she paused in her gunfire to let that partner into action.
Wing hurled out from the cloud, and with swift precision, sliced through their ranks. Scarlet, as she called herself for now, stepped up into the doorway and resumed her shooting; between the stinging dum-dums and the tornado of kicks and punches, the battle ended swiftly.
“We have this location shut down,” Wing reported to Maya. “What do you have for us next?”
“Just a moment, boss, we are getting that information now.” There was a pause, and Wing turned back to Bonnie.
“You did very well. Lee would have been proud.”
“Yeah, I can say the same for you, with that smoke stunt. He's been wondering when you'd start up.” She winked mischievously, and leaned against the wall to calm herself. “I can't believe you guys do this. Like, all the time. No powers, just guns, kicks, cool jackets.” She tugged her own leather duster closer around her. “And a lot of swagger. I noticed that here, a lot swagger.”
“You don't have to do anymore. None of us will think of you as anything less than a Soldier, even if you want to stop now,” Wing assured her. He took one of her hands, held it up to remind her of the burn scars under the glove. “You earned it.”
“Thanks. I'm not wafflin'. I'm not cuttin' out. I'm just kinda ramblin' on adrenaline, is all,” she assured him.
“Okay, we got the other safe house, and Papagayo's compound,” Maya's voice interrupted. “You think you guys can handle some more punks?”
Wing looked at Scarlet, at the way she shoved herself up from the building and eyes lit up. The second wind filled her up and he approved. “Yes. Just give us the address, and we are on our way. You give Vigilante and Bradamante the air support. I will contact you if there is a need.”
The copter turned and headed toward the estate, already under assault, littered with broken and bleeding criminals and guards. Within the walls of the main building, darkened and haunted by the sounds of gunfire, cries of shock and yelps of pain swiftly silenced; El Papagayo stalked past his warriors, his hands clutched tightly on his assault rifle close to his chest. Even in the shadows, he could see his people scattered in a vicious trail, most bleeding from skillful slices to their legs and arms, crippling them for the time being.
He knew there was just a single room left ahead, his private room, where he did all the important business, and he pressed up against the wall. He peered around the corner, saw the smashed down glass door and growled angrily. He knew La Garra was fast, but not fast enough for the hail of bullets he could fire. He spun around now and charged into the large open space to find nothing.
“Where are you, puta?!” he screamed, unable to see the shining eyes above and behind him.
Like the literary feline, La Garra's wicked grin parted the darkness, and then a yowl announced her presence. She smashed into him from behind. She quickly tore the weapon from his hands, and sent it smashing through a window, far from reach. This gave him the chance to roll with her tackle, and he brought a knee up into her side, throwing her off and gave him the moment to spring back up to his feet.
It was not quick enough, as she had already crouched then pounced again, her forearm cracked into his jaw and thrust him back into his desk. She landed over him, bent backward over the heavy mahogany furniture, her muscled thighs straddling his slim chest. He looked up at the claws that caught the moonlight, the ferocious anger in those brown eyes, and he swallowed hard. He saw the hand sweep down toward him and closed his eyes.
A second later, he opened them, still breathing, fingers gingerly experimenting at his untouched neck. “No pain?” he asked. “¿Por qué no hay ningún dolor.” Then something stung the corner of his eye, then needles started to prick the length of his face. His hands pressed against the bloody ribbons, and then he screamed in pain as he felt the long tears.
“You break out of prison, you put my town in danger again, you hurt Mr. Mangold or any of his family or friends again,” La Garra hissed, then licked the blood from her nails, “Y la próxima es el cuello!” She pulled his head up and repeated in his ear, “Hear me? Your neck, next time.”
“Vertigo!” Oliver Queen called out as the estate grew quiet. The last of the gangsters were unconscious now, and the hero bore the marks of the hard-pitched fight. Cuts along his arms, a split lip, and a gash on his thigh did nothing to slow him down; a half-dozen arrows remained in his quiver, and one of those plucked out and nocked as he picked his way down the hall. “It's all over you, you sleaze! You perverted little freak, I'm putting an end to all of this!”
The hall began to twist around him now, each new footstep harder to place as the floor shifted, and the ceiling slipped in the other direction. “Oh dear me, then,” Count Vertigo taunted the archer from behind. He walked along the wall, boots stepping on portraits and left his mark. “How terrified I shall be.”
Ollie spun around and fired, the broadhead hurtling off into the dark distance harmless. The spin had made it worse, the walls wobbling and spiraling continued. The Count kicked off the wall and in a beautiful arc, backlfipped and kicked Green Arrow in the head, to land behind the hero and rabbit punch him. “It took three of you archers the last time, and you still had to cheat. I am a noble of Vlatava and you are a yeoman serf!” He grabbed the hard-backed quiver and used it to shove Oliver into the wall, a crack of his head off the thick wooden beam leaving stars in his green eyes.
“I wish to thank you, Arrow,” Vertigo said as he punched Ollie once, then a second time. He staggered away from the blows as Vertigo continued. “Now that my competition is eliminated, I can make even more money so that I might free my homeland at last.” He reached out and snatched one of Ollie's arrows from his quiver, then grabbed his bicep to spin him around. “But now our time is at an end.”
Green Arrow was ready though. He twisted his bow to hook Vertigo's upraised arm at the wrist, then spun around with all his might. Vertigo's back struck the wall, and then felt the air forced from his lungs when Ollie's knee kicked up into his diaphragm. Oliver took a hop back, and then pivoted again, the hooked arm used to thrust Vertigo through a glass door and sent him skittering across the hardwood floor.
“No momentary setback will save you this time, archer!” Vertigo snarled and unleashed his powers on Green Arrow full force. As he stood, confident he had incapacitated his foe, he came to realize that Oliver still stalked toward him. “How? How are you--?”
He paused now as he saw Ollie's grin then followed by Ollie's fist shattering his nose. The power vanished in a heartbeat of lost focus, and then Green Arrow was on him. Vertigo looked up, could see the domino mask's green lenses shielding Ollie's eyes, plugs guarding his ear drums, and there was some kind of humming. Some damnable rock music he hummed as he battled Vertigo. Ollie brought his forehead down to smack the broken bridge of his foe's nose, then sent him rolling away with a kick as he plucked up his hat and put it back in place.
“Ugh...uh...” Vertigo crawled toward a door, with labored breathing through smashed nose and a now-broken rib.
“Uh-uh,” Arrow said now, the lenses shifted up, the plugs turned off. “You have nowhere to go now, you twisted little bastard!” He drew back on the broadhead and aimed it at the broken villain. He released it and it drove through Vertigo's knee and into the floor as the villain screamed in pain.
“You win...you...you w-win, archer,” Vertigo said, hands up and begging. “I surrender. I turn myself in.”
“No. Not this time,” Arrow darkly answered as he stepped up over Vertigo now, his last arrow in place.
“Think about this a moment, son,” Vigilante said. He appeared at last, out of breath from running, leaning now as he saw he could stop. “Think about this real careful. Killin' is killin'. Murder is murder.”
Oliver shook with fury, the string drawn back taut and ready, the arrowhead eager for vengeance. “Soldiers sometimes have ta kill. I respect that. We don't murder. That kind of choosin', that's what got you on this road, remember? People choosin' their own justice, their own system, instead'a doin' what they're supposed ta do, the right way.”
“I hate you,” Oliver Queen said as he stepped away from the prone and bleeding villain, not shooting in the end. Both Greg and Vertigo knew he spoke to them both.
Back in Dos Rios “It is time for your destiny, girl!” Vaux roared as he stepped up to Witchazel, his six foot height looming over her petite form. “You have come this far, you will not stop now! Turn back when ultimate power is at your fingertips!”
“I'll do what the hell I want, big-shot!” She stepped back from him, afraid of him, but the defiance burned in her eyes. “I'm not that much of a noob. If I want to become a soulless little prick for the rest of my life, it'll be my choice, not yours! You want Nebula Man, you do it, but I ain't gotta jump just 'cause you yell it loudly enough!”
He lifted up his hand, the burning ball of hatred clutched in it and prepared to hurl it at her. Before he could though, he was shoved as hard as it was possible and threw the aim off, a large section of floor exploding near the apprentice and making her yelp.
“You!” He turned and his hand grabbed Hayley by the neck, hefted her off her feet. “You will pay for this!”
She held her bloodied hands up over her face and got ready, but fiery chains roared out from the tiny embers his previous explosion had sparked. They grabbed him and at Mickey's direction, tugged him from Hayley. Tugged him from her and toward Stripe.
“Beating on little girls? Really? That's all you got?” Pat taunted as a big fist crashed into the side of Vaux's head and spun him away.
Now that Witchazel no longer controlled the ritual, and Vaux had not taken it back, the vortex started to diminish. The nebulous hand that attempted to drag the horrific cosmic being out of the galactic void started to lose cohesion. Then a blast of magenta force tore into Vaux, and shredded the sorcerer's mightier aspects, the hand in the vortex turned to wisps of wishing.
Firebrand joined the assault now, the twin beams of energy hammering Vaux. As he careened away and ducked behind a column to escape, he found the Shining Knight.
“You, varlet, are a poor champion of Chaos,” Justin said and slammed the flat of his blade into Vaux's skull, and used the momentum to force it into the thick concrete. With more fire available, Mickey (freed by Pat) forged arrows to strike his back, and then Skyman exploded the pillar to throw the battered villain onto his back.
The vortex sputtered away, and vanished altogether as Vaux passed out at last, a large empty space where the fountain had once been. Slowly, the Law's Legionnaires surrounded the villain, Pat between the two teen-agers and helping them to stand up.
“Now then, if she had an ounce of brains...” Gimmick muttered as she looked around, then nodded. “Yup. She booted.”
“Well, you made it now,” Skyman told her with a clap on her back. He then started to tear strips of fabric from his suit to bandage up her torn wrists.
“What do you mean?” she asked him as she didn't fight her uncle and grandfather taking care of her.
“You have a nemesis, young lady,” Shining Knight told her.
“Oh. Oh, I guess I do. I'm an honest-to-goodness super-hero now.” She grinned and then squeaked in pain.
“So, Mickey, the question now is, how are you gonna top this date?” Firebrand asked the son of Vulcan with a saucy wink.
Back south of the border The Seven Soldiers dragged their collections of battered, broken and bleeding criminals and pushers and shooters to the center of town as those few police who still worked the region called in the military to help them. El Papagayo and Count Vertigo watched bitterly, and refused to acknowledge each other, then stared as Wing and Scarlet, Bradamante and Maya also dragged in other gang leaders and influential corruptors. Green Arrow and La Garra stood near Vigilante; they felt half-empty, exhausted, the long hunt having come to an end for now. He put an arm around her waist and hugged her, and she stroked the uninjured shoulder.
“What do you think is going to happen?” El Papagayo finally shouted as Mexican infantry started to shackle the horde of criminals nervously, warily. “What do you think this means? Juarez warned you once, Arrow!* I told you already, Cat! This is just the tip!”
*referring to their encounter in Green Arrow #19
Arrow perked up now at the threat, the reminder, and he stepped up and looked at the frightened townspeople. He addressed everyone, with Vigilante at his side. “These people are done living in fear! You say I live a pretend life, Parrot! You say those of us in the masks lives in a simple world, well yeah! It is simple. Very simple. Go back into your holes, do your dirty business because yeah, it's always gonna happen, and people are gonna want their vices. But don't you dare make a mistake in thinking you can scare us. People get to live their lives, they get to live it without fear, they get to read about what's happening without being terrified, cops and reporters and cleaners and mechanics and everyone gets to do what they want knowing that the rule of law is going to protect them. You live in the fantasy world. You live in a place where you think we won't touch you. Get this straight, Parrot, Werner, and pass it to Juarez and everyone: seven Soldiers just kicked your asses because we can. If you let your stupid, grubby, grimy games get out of hand again like this, then so help me God, there's gonna be more Soldiers than you can count to tell you why that is a really, really bad idea!”
“Big words, Arrow,” Count Vertigo said now. “But know this. I look forward to going back north, and working with your government again.” He gave the most terribly smug look at Ollie's furious reaction.
“Actually, Mr. Vertigo,” Maya said and received a sneer at him for not using his title, “unlike the United States, you'll be pleased to know that Mexico does have an extradition treaty with Vlatava. I can assure you, you're going home.”
Vertigo's face blanched as he was dragged into the last of the transports. “No! No, wait, no! I have information! I can tell you things, important things! We can make a deal!” He helplessly watched his arch-enemy laughing at him until the door slammed shut.
“Are we done here?” Bradamante asked her companions.
“Very done,” Maya confirmed to the six costumed heroes. “Mexican officials have communicated to our foundation, and very curtly informed us that we are a twenty minutes from overstaying our welcome, or they may well have to open up an official case about this intrusion.”
“Very well then, back to the chopper, and let's go check up on the rest of our guys.” Greg clapped an arm around Yolanda's and Ollie's shoulders as the group headed for the helicopter. “Good work, kids. Ya made an old deputy proud.”
“Felt good actually,” Ollie admitted. “Wrapping all this up, it felt good. I'd have liked to do more to that little bastard, but you made the right call.”
“I'm ready to clean things up back at home,” Yolanda said. “Thanks, Greg. For everything. I don't show it, and I'll deny it, but it's genial being a Soldier. Pretty cool indeed. And I can't wait to get back and tell Gimmick what she missed.”
“Oh, don't y'all worry about her bein' bored. You missed out on some stuff, goin' all prodigal kids. Trust me, there's gonna be a lot of tale-tellin' in short order.” Greg grinned and escorted them into the copter and took a last look behind them. He settled into the back of the copter as it started to lift up into the air, and watched the six of them talk about what had happened, who had done what: the eagerness in Sally's voice; the weary relief as Ollie and Yolanda leaned into each other; Wing and Brenda discussing the tactics that had been used. He tucked his hat down over his eyes, leaned back, and folded his arms over a chest swelled with pride in his family.
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