DC2 Showcase Vol. II #4

[HoM]

DC2 Showcase Vol. II
Issue Four
Featuring stories from Ellen Fleischer, Don Walsh & Charles HoM
Cover by DrDread
Edited by Charles HoM and Chris Paugh

[HoM]

”Choice of Evils”

By Ellen Fleischer

Thanks to Kathy for the beta!

[HoM]

“Why Batsie! I never knew you cared!”

“Grab on.” The vigilante shifted the thin titanium cable three inches to the left, so that it brushed the white-gloved hand.

Joker removed one hand from the concrete windowsill and raised his shoulder in an amused shrug. “Sure, whatever ya say, Bats! Far be it from moi to talk you out of saving my neck.” He took hold of the line, eyes dancing. “Hoist ‘er up!” He crowed. The line began to move. “Faster! Faster! Mush! Mush!”

The upward motion stopped.

Joker glanced up. “Giddyap? Kutrash? S’il ver plate?”

The line began ascending once more.

“That’s it!” He chortled. “I thought that might be the magic word, hee-hee-hee!”

This time, there was a growl from above, followed by “shut… up.”

“Ooh! Sorry, Batsie. My bad. I thought you liked infield chatter. Or is THAT why you ditched the first little birdie?”

The cable stopped again.

Joker sighed. “Silver plate.”

The line was still.

“Hellooooo?”

Silence.

“Well if you’re going to sulk, I don’t think I want to hang around.” With that, he let go of the cable and plummeted.

“JOKER!” Batman launched a second grapnel line, knowing that he was moving too slowly. The buildings were too close together, there was too much wind… too many excuses…

“HAHAHAHAHA!” Joker rose higher, wearing a contraption that seemed to marry a parachute with a propeller blade. “Admit it, Bats. I gotcha! I gotcha good, this time!” He hovered several feet out of reach.

Batman pulled up the first line and prepared to cast it.

“Sorry, Bats,” Joker tutted. “You already had your shot and you blew it. Besides, that thingy-do you have on the end looks really sharp. Might even tear my ‘chute… and me eighty stories up.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Can’t have that on your conscience now, can you? Life’s tough.”

The cowled crusader said nothing, but his jaw clenched visibly.

“Adios, Bat-Buckaroo! Sayonara, Capibara!”

The propellers whirled louder as Joker spun about and sailed off.

Batman threw the line. The grapnel whistled as it arced through the air. It looped itself twice about Joker’s ankles, then went taut. Even though he’d braced himself, the weight of criminal and contraption nearly wrenched his arms out of their sockets. Grunting, Batman backed up, dragging Joker down to the rooftop.

As soon as the Clown Prince was over the roof, he unfastened his harness, dropped, and rolled the last six feet to the concrete surface. He tried to get to his feet, but fell flat, his legs still tangled in the cable. An instant later, Batman was upon him.

“Police will be here in a minute,” Batman snarled in his ear. His knees pressed into Joker’s upper arms, pinning him to the ground.

Joker twisted his neck, trying to look up into the vigilante’s face. “You should’ve let me fall, Bats. One boomerang-bat could’ve knocked out the propeller. You’d probably get a ticker tape parade and bimbos swooning in your arms, for your trouble.” He sighed mock-sorrowfully. “Now… I’ll be out before you know it, and the fun will start all over again.”

“I don’t kill, Joker.”

Joker made a rude noise. “Sure, you do. You’ve killed hundreds over the years."

“No. You’re wrong. I am not responsible for your actions.”

Joker laughed. “I’m insane, Bat-boob! Neither am I!”

The police chose that moment to burst onto the rooftop. They quickly took Joker in hand.

“Aren’t you going to bring the Bat, too?” Joker demanded. “He’s almost as guilty as I am!”

Batman walked up to Joker and looked levelly into his eyes. “We are nothing alike.”

“Attaboy, Bats! Keep sticking to that line!” Joker grinned. “We both know the truth.”

It would have been easy to dismiss his diatribe as the ravings of a madman. Three weeks later, though, the Joker escaped from Arkham Asylum, again. Before his recapture, he detonated a Smilex bomb on a school bus. Sixteen middle-school children lost their lives, as did the driver. And for many nights, their faces, like Joker’s words, haunted Batman’s dreams.

[HoM]

The Crimson Avenger
in
“The Sting of the Scorpion!”
Act III: Right Places and Wrong Times
Written by Don Walsh

[HoM]

The twin Colts roared to life, spitting out smoke and lead. Lee Travis, the masked vigilante in the red cloak and mask, felt something strong and heavy slam into his chest. Thick-corded arms wrapped around his chest and squeezed as the momentum of the tackle smashed him hard into a wall, air driven from his lungs. Past his own grunts, he could hear a cry of pain and cursing and a stumbling thud, and this helped him to put his focus back on the man who had him grappled and driven into the thin plasterboard that cracked around them.

Lee fought down a moment's panic as he struggled for air, and then brought his arms together. He thrust the barrels of his guns hard into the soft temples of his enemy. The heated metal and forceful strike and reflexive recoil from weapons pointed at his head caused the man to jump back. He clutched his wounds as the vigilante lashed out with a vicious back-hand, the pistol clubbing the thug's head hard and he dropped to the floor.

Lee had no time to take stock of the situation however, for one of the other intruders stepped up to him now, a callused hand grabbed his wrist and twisted it around so that it was battered against the edge of one of Victor Maxwell's counters. Lee felt the gun fall from his numbed fingers, but tried to pay it no mind, instead jabbing his forehead up into the man's nose. He hear a crack, feel something let go in the man's face and grinned wickedly at the thought of the broken nose. As he pulled himself upright, he reached back down for his pistol and sought out Maxwell.

“Did these robbers hurt yo--”

Something heavy and hard struck the side of his head and he crashed through a glass-topped counter, coins and shards scattered under his collapse, and then he slipped to the floor.

“One guy,” Victor Maxwell grumbled as he clutched the heavy wooden bat in both hands. He puffed a little from the exertion and looked at the three thugs. “And the lot of you couldn't handle him? Pathetic. How does the Dark Cross hope to succeed if one masked man does so well against three of our number?”

“He got the drop on us,” said the man with the broken nose as he clutched at his face. “You saw--”

“I saw nothing! I saw nothing. You three, get him out of here and then kill him! Quick! I can't have three known reprobates and a masked man lying around my shop,” Maxwell ordered as he went to collect a broom and dustpan, muttering angrily. “As for the coin, I think it's safer in my hands. I'll pass it back up the channels a different way. You three need to get out of town and quick after you finish this guy off.”

“Yes, sir.” The three men slowly gathered together, one man clutching his shoulder where he'd been shot and holding doors for the other two, who picked up the unconscious Crimson and started to walk him out of the room.

Maxwell continued to mutter as he began to pick his small shop back up after the fight. He'd have to get new help in now, get the coin out fast, and had to arrange for one more murder, a tough one. Claudia Barker's boss might not be in so good a position to get back at me for her death, but he still runs a paper, dammit, ran the dark thoughts in his head.

0-0-0-0-0

Wing sat in the car anxiously, nervous for his employer and friend. He'd heard a couple of shots, but held his place until he could see more. Unlike Lee, Wing had no disguise, and didn't want to do anything that would throw his boss's masquerade into peril. So he sat and waited to see what would happen following the discharges.

He drummed his fingers on the steering column, and shifted in his seat and leaned in one direction then another, and then a third way. He attempted to gain better vantage points to peer up and discern what was happening, but nothing helped. He saw the baleful windows of Maxwell's shop and no other indicators after the gunshots.

Then a car came around the corner from behind the building, and sped down the darkened street. He couldn't be sure, it looked like three figures in the car, but it pulled away from him fast. There was nothing but instinct to guide him, but he felt his heart stop for a moment and then he brought his own car to life and stepped on the gas to roar on after them. He couldn't shake the feeling that in the other car was his boss, and Lee Travis would need his help.

Wing How was correct, of course. In the backseat was the Crimson, his hands bound at the small of his back, the thug with the broken nose at his side. The man with the injured arm held one of Lee's own guns in his good hand, pointed at the unconscious crime-fighter, while the third man drove quickly down the streets, weaving through the light late night traffic.

“I think we got a problem, Rudy,” said the injured man with the pistol. He could see the sleek dark blue sedan as it relentlessly closed the gap between them.


“Huh?” Rudy glanced into the rear view mirror and grumbled. “Who the hell is following us?”

“Can't be the cops,” said the man with the broken nose as he peered out the back window. “I don't recognize it. Could it be for this guy? Or maybe Mr. Maxwell sicced some people on us too? Maybe?”

“Don't be paranoid, Bruno,” Rudy growled as he twisted the steering wheel, darted around another car and sped down the new street. “We'll lose this knucklehead, whack the masked man, and be on our way out of here.” He hunched up tight against his dashboard and slammed down on the pedal harder.

But Wing How liked his cars, and he liked souping his cars up and he loved driving them. With skill and persistence, he gained on the other car, now sure he was on the right track. At the worst, they had to be up to no good, or why would they be trying to evade him?

“Claude, blast the guy!” Rudy hollered as he felt sweat bead up when he noticed he couldn't shake Wing.

The man with the injured shoulder leaned out of the passenger window and aimed the gun. It wasn't easy, it was his good hand, but his good hand was his off-hand and he was on the wrong side of the car to aim well, and as shots fired out, they struck nowhere near Wing's sedan. Bruno stared at the sedan closing in on them, and swore.

“Give me the gun, Claude,” he snapped as he turned to his partner. “You can't hit worth spit!”

Lee smiled as he cracked his eye open to see no one paying him heed anymore. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then he tucked his legs up as tight against his chest as he could and swung his arms under his body. It wasn't easy, and he caught his heel, and he kicked himself for not making it smoother...but he hand his hands in front of him now and he grinned as he saw the front of his car draw even with the backseat of the kidnappers' car.

“It's just a damned chink!” Bruno cried out as he turned to face the source of the bump that shook their car now. Wing was skillfully attempting to ram them to one side. “Damn it, give me the gun!”

“No gun for you until you clean your mouth out with soap, young man!” Crimson snapped angrily as he crashed into Claude's wounded face with his fists clutched into one mean punch.

“He's up! He's free!” Claude cried out as he spun around in his seat to see the Crimson in action.

“I see that!” Rudy snarled as he struggled to maintain control of the car. “Shoot him already!”

Lee didn't waste a moment, and hurtled himself into Bruno. He tangled up with the other man to keep Claude from gaining a clear shot. As Claude struggled to move around the seat and shoot the masked man, Crimson found the door handle and popped it open.

“AHHHHH!” Bruno screamed in horror as he felt open air at his back and then fell out onto the pavement. He bounced away from the car as the chase continued, and Lee struggled to grasp the wildly swinging door, his feet struggled for purchase on the running board as Claude stared in horror.

The door swung out fully, and Lee clung to it in horror as the wind roared in his ears. He looked eye to eye with Claude and watched the angry criminal level the gun at him. Then the car shuddered and started to lose control. Tires screeched as Rudy struggled to maintain control, and the passenger door pivoted back toward the car. Quickly Lee lunged up for the roof, bounced over the metal surface and fell off toward the running boards of his own sedan. Wing peeled away from the enemy car as Lee threw his shoulder into the passenger-side window. Now he balanced precariously on the door as Wing sped away from the chase, and the other car crashed into a lightpost.

Lee stumbled the rest of the way into his car. His face was pale, his arms and back ached, and there was a pain in his side. He tried to look up at his chauffeur and savior, but couldn't see him. He panicked for a moment.

“I'm blind!” he cried out in shock as his bound hands reached for his face. “No I'm not blind!” he exclaimed just as loudly. He shifted the cloth mask that bound his upper head, and set the eye-holes back in place.

“Have you considered spirit gum, Mr. Travis?” Wing asked as he threaded the sedan through the traffic and streaked away into the night. He spoke as if nothing unusual had just happened, and stared straight ahead at the traffic. “I understand it works quite well. We can't have you going blind too often, after all.”

0-0-0-0-0

“Edmund Landry?”

A weary-looking face stared up at the two police detectives as they stood at the front door, badges displayed for the resident. He nodded his head slowly and stared up at the two cops as he stepped back from the front door.

“Come in,” he offered as he moved to the side and let the men into the living room, littered in papers and boxes and remnants of another life Ned Landry had lived for a long time. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“I'm Detective Rohmer, this is my partner, Detective Smith,” the larger of the two men said in introduction. “We're here investigating a pair of murders. The second victim was this woman.” The gangly red-headed Smith showed a photograph of Christine Vail out to Ned.

“Christine,” Ned murmured as he took the photo and sank slowly into a chair. He stared up at the two police officers. “When? How?”

“Yesterday morning, Mr. Landry,” Smith replied. “Beaten, pretty viciously too.”

“She worked for you, right, Mr. Landry?” Rohmer asked as he pulled out his notebook from his coat pocket. “Back at the Globe-Leader?”

“Yeah, she worked for the paper,” Ned replied in a low voice, torn between shock and anger. “File clerk. I had to fire her, she wasn't...working out.”

“And then she was seen on the arm of Lee Travis, who bought out your paper,” Smith said for confirmation, his sallow face with a leering grin. “Offer was made not a couple of weeks later, and the turnover was just as fast?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Why wasn't she working out, Mr. Landry?” Rohmer asked. “We want to stop a killer. We don't care about anything else that's not homicide, so please...just tell us what you can.”

“She found some stuff. Improprieties. I've been in the game a long, long time,” Landry answered after a long drawn-out silence. He looked around at the collection of files and correspondence and awards he'd been packing up. “It's a rough business, the news game. Especially when you're dealing with sharks like the Hearst papers, or Travis's upstart group. Christine...she was a good girl. Too good, actually. She found stuff and didn't like it. When Travis made his offer for my paper, he'd been dating her, of course. I'm sure he knew what she knew. He had to have told her. I didn't think she'd get involved in dirty dealing like that, but what do you know? Silly skirt gets the high society dinner and dancing treatment from a guy with a Hollywood smile, guess the good part goes out the window.” His voice grew more bitter as he spoke, and tugged a cigarette out from his shirt pocket as he finished.

“So, you could say there's some hard feelings in all this, Mr. Landry?” Smith asked with a smirk.

“I didn't kill her! What good would that do? I've got money from the sale, not as much as I could have gotten, but damn, it's business!” He stood up hard and glared at Smith. “I got money, I'm packing up, and I'm moving on. What good would getting some stupid dame killed do me?”

“But I have to point out, you are moving,” Smith countered.

“The timing is odd,” Rohmer added. “But you say that Travis, he'd know about your...improprieties, as you call them? Used them to get a good price? Maybe this Vail girl, she'd be aware of that?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Travis did, and yeah, Christine, she was always poking her nose in places. She'd have made a good reporter, honestly. If she wanted.” He shrugged as he puffed on his cigarette.

“And what about this woman?” Smith asked as he handed Landry a picture of Doreen Naylor.

“What about her? She didn't know anything. Never seen her before. Never worked for my paper. She a Hearst girl?” He handed the picture back to Smith, who pocketed it.

“No. No connection to the papers or anything,” Rohmer answered as he folded up his notebook. “We'd ask you not to finish moving just yet, Mr. Landry. Thank you for your time.” He shook the former newspaperman's hand and he and Smith left as pieces started to fall into place for the detectives.

0-0-0-0-0

“Are you sure he's okay, Wing?” Claudia Barker asked as the limousine wound its way through morning traffic. The young woman sat in the back of the vehicle as Wing drove her from her apartment to the newspaper, and thumbed through a pile of mail. “That whole ordeal last night sounds dreadful.”

“He is a bit beat up, but he's fine, Miss Barker, and eager to get back on the case,” Wing answered with the occasional glance at his passenger through the rear view mirror. “Anything of interest I should report back to him?”

“Not really. Bills, offers, marketing, the usual. Oh! This is exciting.” Claudia slipped out one envelope and began to open it up. “From my sister, Charlotte.”

“Will you be needing me during the day, Miss Barker?” he asked as he pulled the car up to the front of the building and quickly hopped out to open the door for her.

“Hm?” She glanced up from the letter, a smile on her worn face. “No. No, I don't think so. She's coming for a visit, isn't that great?”

“Your sister?” Wing glanced down at the letter in her hand and noticed the address of a convent on the envelope. “She's a nun?”

“A sister, actually,” Claudia corrected her.

“You mentioned she's your sister.”

“My sister's a sister. Nuns don't leave the convent, sisters do. She's a sister.” She laughed and shook her head. “Thank you, Wing. I needed a laugh.”

“You're welcome, Miss Barker. We'll get through this, and Mr. Travis will be free and clear and the culprit caught.” He held the main door open for her and left her with the words, “And in time for your sister's visit, I'm sure.”

0-0-0-0-0

Lisa Mathers was tall, and walked with a distinctive swaying grace, one she'd cultivated over the years of her young life. Each step caused her every lush curve to flow like smooth cream, which worked well for that was the complexion of her skin. She heightened every small element of her looks, from the lustrous chocolate-brown hair that swept her slim shoulders, to the crystal-blue eyes under fluttering lashes. She knew how to make up her face and flatter her body with the right clothing, and there was never a lack of suitors at her door as a result. Her special guests had places of honor on her dresser top, perhaps a half-dozen framed faces staring out in the deepening purples and oranges of twilight as she prepared herself for the evening's entertainment. She flashed each of them a wave and tugged up a silken slip from a draw and dropped it over her head as she straightened back up.

A half-dozen framed faces stared out and watched in mute, useless witness as the leather-clad figure stepped from the shadowy balcony and lashed out with a vicious whip that snarled around Lisa Mather's swan-like neck. Her choked off cry left little sound as the figure snapped up the other end of the whip and tugged tightly. Lisa struggled as best she could. She kicked and she clawed and the rawhide as it bit her tender flesh, and her eyes bugged wide open and stared out at the men who looked back at her last moments of life.

With a thud, Lisa Mathers dropped to the floor, limp and still. The whip was coiled up and then brought down, again and again across her back. It shredded the slip and ripped up the soft alabaster flesh. And when the beating was done, the whip snapped out and cracked across the picture at the center of the framed faces.

“You'll taste my lash after your harlots are finished, Lee Travis!”

To Be Continued.

[HoM]

Aquaman
in
"Down Among The Dead Men"
Part One: "The Depths Below."
Written by House Of Mystery

[HoM]

"Have you ever dreamt you were drowning?"

*

"--Core Station Zero, are you reading? This is Nemo One, are you reading me?" Daniel Bradley looked up at his supervisor and semi-shrugged. "No reply, ma'am, nothing at all."

Laura Robertson typed over Bradley's shoulder and looked at the readings that came up. "I can see that, Dan. The signal is going through but we're getting nothing. That really is quite weird."

"Has this happened before? Is there a chapter in the manual I missed on how we deal with this kind of thing?"

Laura shook her head slowly. "How long since we lost contact?"

"Uhh, an hour. It could be nothing, you know? They could be changing the batteries on their transceivers. Or they've forgotten to change the batteries on their transceivers." He wiped his brow, and turned to her. "You know?"

"I'm sure it's nothing, just--" A small light on the console began to flash. "Ok..." She typed into the keyboard frantically, before pushing Dan out of the way to get easier access to the computer. "What in the name of..."

"What does that light mean?"

"It means," whispered Laura, as she continued to type, "that I need to get the cameras online... Because..."

The screen in front of them lit up with a view of the sea, and a man decked out in scuba gear floating above the waves.

"... We've got company."

*

The straightjacket held him together as he shook violently. He rocked backwards and forwards, his head darted left and right, and tears and snot and saliva dribbled down his face. He wouldn't stop talking, rambling, muttering, and they watched him from the two way mirror that was attached to the wall. "She was dead and she was coming for me and I couldn't do anything about it and she kept dragging herself toward me closer and closer and I couldn't get away fast enough and the walls were closing in and too tight too tight and I couldn't breathe--"

Chief Lazlow turned the microphone off and sipped his coffee. "What happened to him?"

"We don't know." Laura shook her head. "We got him on board and he attacked Louis, so we threw him in the cell."

"And you just happened to have a straightjacket handy?"

"Yeah, the guy who paid our wages insisted-- Who would have thought they would actually come in handy though?" Laura smiled. "Besides, this is the world we live in, sir. I'm just rolling with the punches."

He chuckled slowly. "'Sir'? So what's he saying?"

"Listen." Laura turned the microphone back on.

"--Didn't know! We didn't know and when it came out of the cold and the water and the ice it came alive and it turned us inside out and showed us how we worked and thought and it saw me and laughed and then my mother she began to follow me and I couldn't get away through air lock and water and she's here and she's looking at me--" He ran toward the mirror, spitting at the glass and screaming. "--She's looking at me! She sees me and she knows what I did!" His forehead collided with the surface and the mirror cracked. Blood flecked across the glass and Laura and Lazlow took a step back in surprise. "She knows I killed her!" He reeled back, his head and hair matted with his own blood. "She knows!"

"He's killing himself!" Lazlow burst out of the observation room and into the cell, and with a great effort pulled the man down to the floor. Laura was behind him, and quickly administered a sedative. "What the Hell happened down there?"

Laura stared at the sedated man and shook her head. "I... Don't know..."

*

<Fear.>

<Terror.>

<Afraid.>

"I hear you. And I'm coming."

*

Nemo One floated above the water softly, the waves lapping against the floating structure like they would a still, sandy beach. Weather simulators had ensured that even in typhoon-type weather it would stay together, as long as all doors were sealed and the magnetic anchors set to the sea bed. It's main task was to relay messages from the sea bed station, 'Core Station Zero, to Nemo Two, the Metropolis based main examination station. What they were doing down below the waves was top secret. What they were hoping to achieve, also, was top secret. All the world knew was... Nothing. Nemo One wasn't in the headlines. It wasn't in the back pages. Nemo One was just a thing that existed. And would continue to exist. At least, that's what the designers and investors had hoped...

"We need to go down there." Lazlow looked to the others around the table. To his left was Jonah Strong, chief of security. Where as Lazlow was tall and thin, long blonde hair tied in a ponytail behind his neck, Strong was just that, big, dark skinned and built like a brick house. His muscles creased out of his uniform like mountains, and his smile terrified everyone because he never stopped. Annie Wilson, tech expert and chief engineer of the overall project on the other hand, was beautiful, soft skin belying her nimble fingers, ready to fix any problem that they faced. Her curly red hair was uncontrollable, no matter what she did, so she usually let it flit about around her head. Her goggles attempted to fight the onslaught that was her locks, but alas... Next to her was Richard Mathams, member of the Nemo One security force and All-America quarter back, but also a damned good shot with a harpoon gun, and that ingratiated him to Lazlow almost immediately; finally, at the other side of the table and reading print outs concerning 'Core Station Zero, was Laura Robertson, second in command, and then Chief Lazlow himself. "We don't know what's going on down there, and we can't know without going down there ourselves. I've sent out a communiqué to Nemo Two back at Metropolis, but they're two days away. We need to go down there."

"Are you serious?" Mathams stood, and shook his head. "We don't know what's going on down there, and you're sending us down with them? Isn't that a bit... Insane?"

"You're paid well enough not to give a damn about your sanity, Rich. But to sweeten the pot, there will of course be a bonus to all of you who go down with Laura and me."

"Well I've wanted to get down to Zero for a good long time. My first tour down there didn't last long enough," Annie Wilson grinned, and pushed her red hair out of her eyes. "You know I'm in. Even without the bonus, I would have. But you can't take that back now. That's a verbal contract we've all just entered into."

Jonah laughed. "Sure, sure, I've had the boys set up the sub. We're ready to go when you are, Chief."

"Thanks, Jonah." Lazlow smiled. "Don't worry. The higher ups know what's going on. Help is on the way. We're just the first wave. I don't want my friends down there alone, not without knowing what's happened."

Laura gathered up her papers, and stood. "What's the worst that can happen?"

Annie shook her head slowly. "I cannot believe you just said that."

*

Rich was loading his weapon.

Lazlow didn't want weapons to be the main priority down there, but Jonah was insistent. They didn't know what was down there, so they had to be ready for anything. The investors wouldn't want to lose billions of dollars worth of time and equipment just because they were under prepared. Lazlow was poised for the counter argument of 'they're going to lose billions of dollars worth of time and equipment anyway if they're prepared and over-zealous', but he didn't want to start an argument with a man who was loading automatic weapons with low-impact rounds into a submarine. Designed not to pierce the hull of a ship, but if they hit you... You weren't going to get up. Alive, that was.

"We're deep."

"Deep is an understatement," mused Laura. She checked all the readings. Double checked them. "You've trained for this, right, Rich?"

Rich gulped down the massive lump in his throat and nodded. "Sure. Of course. Wouldn't be on that floating death trap if I hadn't trained to die a little deeper that intended."

"Yeah, well 'Core Zero is in sight. Radar is picking up some weird vibrations, but we haven't accounted for the sonics the generator is throwing up. They aren't answering hails so we'll be docking in ten seconds. Everyone get ready."

"Yup," Lazlow checked his own pistol, holstered it, and then pushed himself against the cold steel of the submarine hull. It was cold. The shiver told him he was still alive, but nothing much else. It made him dread.

There was a shudder of metal on metal as the back port of the submarine latched onto the main port of the 'Core Station. Laura bit her lip as she turned the steering wheel slightly, and then pulled down a lever that made the back compartment of the craft hiss. "Ok, we're a go-go."

"Good to know," Jonah stood up, and pressed his hand against the back hatch. "How's our environment? We wet suiting it?" He checked his weapon, and then back to Laura.

"O2 is good, water levels are..." She tapped her screen. "They're non-existent. That's got to be good, I guess." She smiled. "No wet suits. 'Sides, we get in, there are diving suits at every junction in case of emergency. Wayne Enterprises designed them, they stabilize as you rise up, so the pressure doesn't blow you up from the lungs out." She grinned. "Just so you know."

As the back hatch opened, new air hit a wall of stale air, and danced together until the stench of stagnant oxygen hung heavy in the submarine. Annie stuck her tongue out and stepped out into the darkened corridor, her foot squelching as it made contact with the metal floor. "Whoa, I forgot how bad the air tasted down here." She cleared her throat. "Actually tastes worse than last time, damn…"

Jonah perched in the hatch, and looked at her feet. "Did you just step into a puddle?"

"Huh? Probably?"

"That doesn't make sense." Jonah climbed out after her, and readied his weapon. "No sense at all."

Annie's gaze slowly drifted down to her shoes, and she lifted up her foot. Her eyes widened as she did so. "God..."

Rich followed Jonah, and headed to the end of the long corridor, and stooped by the door. "Clear."

"You ok, Annie?" Laura was next out, Lazlow waiting for everyone else to be out before he followed. "What is it?"

"It's... Water. But how? You can't access the Station from here, can you? You certainly can't enter this hatch manually... So if there's water..." She looked at Laura. "Something's here."

"Or someone spilt their goodnight glass of water." Lazlow smiled and patted Annie on the back. "Don't panic."

"So what's the play, Chief?" Jonah lowered his weapon and typed in the security code on the door leading into the main Core.

Lazlow picked up a phone that was next to the door, and pressed zero. "This should link us to the main operations." He looked at his watch and tapped his foot. "Really. It should." His back teeth ground together. "But it's not. Ok. So we're going to have to make our way there ourselves."

"Ok, I have to ask, we've all seen, uh, Deep Blue Sea, right? And.. Sphere? Does anyone see the connection there?" Rich checked his weapon again. He was nervous, and a thin veil of sweat was over his brow. "Anyone?"

"Samuel L. Jackson?" Laura grinned. "Come on, Rich. Let's just get this over and done with. People don't vanish. 'Sides, like Chief said, Nemo Two was informed. We're ok! Things look fishy, we head on back to the sub, and we're back to the surface."

"'Fishy'? Really? You're an idiot." Rich slung his weapon at his back. "So how far away are we from operations?"

"Five levels. Seems like we're running on auxiliary power, so we need to get the generators up again. Rich, Jonah and Annie head to the engine room. Laura and I will head to operations. That sound good?"

"Chief," Jonah stepped forward, and leaned toward his ear. "I don't want us to split up. I know it's a freaking horror cliché but if there is something here, then we'll be better off sticking together."

Lazlow nodded. "We'll be fine. You trained me yourself, didn't you? The priority is figuring out what the hell is going on. We've got to get this place back to full workings, so that's what we've got to do. And I need to find out what happened to the hundred strong crew. Christ, they should be bumping into us every five minutes." He sighed. "I'm in charge. So that's what we're going to do."

Rich sighed. "Great. Alright, let's all be lambs and go off for fun and games." He nodded at Annie, and she followed him into the flickering darkness of the corridor, behind her, Jonah followed.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Laura smiled and approached Lazlow, who was recovering a gun from the submarine, and stroked his chest. "You and me against the darkness?" She shivered, and rubbed her arms slowly. "Doesn't it fill you with chills?"

"I've never been a fan of horror films, Laura." He leant forward and kissed her, and then passed her a gun. "But I'm not an idiot. So lock and load. We go by stairs. The complex is ten floors tall in total, the bottom two are the water storage, we're on the fifth, and we to be on tenth. They're going down, we're going up. So let's roll."

*

The sides of the Station creaked under the pressure of the water. Annie smiled as Rich flinched at every sound, and then let out a soft laugh that made him turn. "What?"

"You know, I was present when they designed these walls, and I have to assure you, we're safe. Reinforced titanium walls, support struts built out of promethium. That's the strongest metal we, as humanity, got our hands on. So you really need to stop flinching. We'll be fine. I promise."

"Why do people keep doing that?" sighed Rich, as he trudged onward. "It's like no ones ever seen a Carpenter film, or an Argento... You have all these ridiculously derivative gore porn flicks glutting the market, and you forget the very serious lessons taught by the greats. Never split up! And look what we did. Never go down in the basement--"

Jonah coughed loudly, and Annie and Rich looked back at him. He smiled slyly and spoke. "We're in a deep sea exploration station. There is no basement."

"We're descending to the engine room. Please. Don't have sex--"

"You're safe there, then, Rich," laughed Annie. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"And you've got nothing to fear from me, either, love," winked Rich, as he continued. He was enjoying this. Even though the subject matter was not the most positive, it allowed him to focus, to think past the fears he was feeling as the metal croaked and creaked. "There is no such thing as a random noise. If you say 'What was that?' and you seriously mean it? Hell, we're getting out of here, alright?"

"Says you, Rich. We've got a job to do, and we're not leaving without getting it done." Jonah looked around. "I think we're here." He pointed to a sign that read: ENGINE ROOM and grinned. "Let's get going. Sooner Annie here gets it done, the sooner you can regale us with your top five, all time favourite, desert island horror films." He laughed, and then opened up the room leading to the engine room.

*

"Where is everybody?" Lazlow entered operations and folded inward. He'd tried to hope for the best, that maybe they were all sleeping, or maybe they'd had a party and not told anyone, or maybe they were going to surprise everyone and shout 'Boo!' (and probably get shot by Rich, but it would be a laugh for everyone but the corpse). There was no one. "Laura, check the internal sensors. Discounting the lucky three in the engine room, and us two here, how many heat signatures are there in this entire place. The lower the number, the more I'm going to cry."

"Oh, lord." Laura stared at the screen, and then her eyes flicked up to Lazlow. "One. There's one."

"One?!" Lazlow ran over to her and checked the 3D display of the complex. "Where?!"

"Here." The two turned around suddenly, and were met by a strange sight. A man, taller than Lazlow, taller than anyone on Nemo One, dressed in gold and green, his hair long and unkempt and a scraggly beard that covered most of his lower jaw, stood in the doorway. "All around here, they weep, because something has been released in this place, something that terrifies all those around. My name is Arthur, and I am king of these waters; and you need to leave before whatever walks these halls kills you too."

To Be Continued.

[mockingbird]

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