Ult. Wonder Woman #14: Where is Diana Prince? pt.2

[jackalope]

Ultimate Wonder Woman #14
The Wonder and the Vision: Where is Diana Prince? pt.2

“My help?” Mike Schorr looked at Diana's face, which looked back with a sense of hesitation. He frowned, “What's wrong?”

Words broke from her mouth in a super-fast babble of Greek, of which certain words were emphasized with wild gestures of her hands. The rant seemed to culminate with her clearly pointing at him and the city that existed outside his window, and her finally shouting the names which Schorr was sure were ancient Greek gods, if he remembered rightly. Unfortunately all he seemed able to reply with was his best, I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-talking-about (but I'm trying to look supportive) look. She stood for a moment looking at him then turned, rubbing her hand across her forehead, then paced on the floor.

Sighing, she walked over to the couch beside him and fell back on it. Without looking at him she slowly spoke. “I need my things. Your poolicemans took my weapons and my armour and now I wear...” She pulled at her jacket. “<I feel naked...>” she added to herself.

Trying not to stare at her, he carefully replied. “They'll be at the police-station. The FBI wanted to take them, but the Chief convinced them that we had to hold onto them until we wrapped up the Dr. Cyber case.”

“They are my weapons; you did not win them from me in battle!” Her eyes flicked at him with an angry undertone but on meeting his, she dropped them slightly embarrassed. “The items, they are sacred tools made by gods, from where I came. I took without... adeia?... I did not ask, I stole them.” He watched her mournful expressions as she confessed to him, and inappropriately started to smile. “I am guardian of these items and I must,” she turned to him, “why are you smiling?”

He shook his head, trying to stop the curl of his lips. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to, please.” He gestured for her to continue.

“And I need Hermes' sword back, he would be angry if he know I lost it, and my armour, and I need the Lasso of Hephaestos.” Schorr stifled a laugh. Diana's face grew serious. “Why do you laugh at me? The Lasso makes people true...” Mike laughed more, holding his side to not hurt himself. Her face looked blankly at him, which made him chuckle more. “Why do you laugh? I not joke. Lasso make people tell true. Everybody lie here!”

He wiped the tears, “I'm sorry, really. It must be the pain medication they have me on. For the wound. It's just, Hermes will be mad with you?” He held his face still. “And everybody lies here...” He chuckled again. She hit his arm. He stopped and winced, and she held her hands out.

“I am sorry. I did not remember your wound.” Her eyes were large and apologetic.

He waved his hand. “It's ok, no I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.” He sighed, still smiling, “Every time I see you something crazy seems to be going on, I'm a dog, or you're fighting robots or angry redheads, and now you're looking for ancient gods' lost and found.” She pushed her lips to the side, and her eyes met his, she seemed unsure. He scratched his hair. “I just, it's nice to see you, here, that's all.” His face moved an inch towards hers. He shook his head again. “Shit those drugs are stronger than I thought.”

She turned he head away, her face slightly flushed. “I am sorry you were shot, I not fast enough to stop it.”

“Really, don't worry about it,” he sighed.

She stood and walked around the coffee table, then looked to him. “Will you halp me?”

“All I can do is tell you were they are.” She smiled. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, scribbling to get it to work. He started to draw out a floor plan, “The evidence room is located in the basement level on the South side of the police building, I don't know how you are going to get in there...” He held up the rough map, and she leant forward, taking it gently. Looking at it, she folded it and pushed it in her pocket.

“Thank you.”

“Do you need any money or anything? Food?” She shook her head. Scratching his chin he asked, “You said everybody here lies... what about? Are you looking for something?”

She wiggled her foot. “There is a girl missing, Diana Prin...”

A knock at the door interrupted her. Mike Schorr pushed himself up. “That will be Harold, don't worry, he won't say...” Turning back towards her, she was gone. The visitor knocked again. “Ok, ok, I'm coming.” Slowly walking he made his way to the door. Opening it, he looked at the blond man standing in front of him.

Tom Tresser removed his sunglasses and held up his high level government I.D., “Sorry for interrupting you this evening Sergeant Schorr.” Through smiling teeth he continued, “If it was at all convenient for you I was wondering if we could talk about this woman,” he held up a surprisingly clear picture of Diana, leaping with her sword drawn, “-designated Wonder Woman.”

*

Somalia

A huge African man stood in the gun turret of a huge armoured jeep. Behind him, a convoy of fifteen more jeeps, each filled with armed men waited for their leader's decision. The leader narrowed his eyes, the scar that traced along one brow and cheek, and circled around across his lips, curled as he smiled. Ahead of them the last wafts of smoke passed across the bodies that lay in piles, across the streets, half out of doorways, against walls. The man drew in the stinking air, marred with the stench of flesh starting to rot. He held up his fist. The driver cut the engine and scarred leader stepped down off the jeep, his boots hitting the blood drenched mud.

A few of his soldiers followed, cautiously holding their automatic rifles ahead of them. The leader strode through the corpses, stretching out his muscled arms, taking in the carnage.

“<Who did this?>” called one of the drivers.

“<Ethiopians? Their army has been active near here...>” another suggested.

A third turned over a corpse. “<This was no Ethiopians, this is the works of devils. Look.>” Those nearby gazed upon the body, chest ripped open, the place where the heart was now only an empty hole. They turned over another, only to reveal the same thing. One of the men crossed themselves, another swore.

The leader turned, “<Enough of your whining!>” He scowled at the men, “<You remember who we are! Who leads you! We are the only devils out here.>” He pointed to the outskirts of town, “<We camp out here tonight. I want you all to smell and dream of battle.>” He turned back to the slaughtered township and shook his head in admiration.

*

Once the men had set up fires, the flies moved away, keeping towards the dead, creating a constant buzzing hum that filled the background. The men were gathered around their leader as he stood in the middle of three campfires. He held up a machete. The fire reflected off it, as it reflected off each of their eyes. His voice boomed through the crowd. “<Life is given to us freely. As babies we do not know what to do with it. We grow, but as we get older we get no wiser. And then we learn of death!>”

The soldiers stare intently at their leaders, like he is more than human, like he is a god. Like he knows the answers to all things.

“<Death gives life meaning. Death is the answer to the question of life. When we are given the gift of life, the only thing we can return is death. Each life we end is our gift to the world. Each man or woman cut down is another person saved from life. The blood we spill, colours the earth. The screams they cry, adds music to our air. The smell of dying, lingers sweet to our noses. When we sleep we dream of war. We live for death, and in doing so we die so that we live. We are the children of war.>”

The watching leap to their feet, raising their own guns and machetes above them, shouting a furious war cry that echoes through the night. The leader turns and walks through the crowd, leaving them to their cheers and shouts. He walked out into the darkness. He wanders towards the village, the sound of flies becoming louder. He reaches a body of a woman, lying across a mud ditch in which blood pooled. He waved his hand and the swarming flies dispersed. Crouching down, he tapped the murky liquid, sending ripples out that cleared red blood of the brown mud. Closing his eyes, his nose flared. He sighed.

“What is it?”

“Master,” the pool of blood vibrated with the disembodied voice, “how's the Old World?”

“Bloody, diseased, hungry, as always Duke, fun.” The dark skinned leader's voice dropped, “Now what have you called on me for?”

“News,” the blood replied, adding, “important news. The Great and Powerful Oz is calling on his children to come seek council with him.”

“Zeus has left Olympus? Something has obviously got him fearful.” The African man placed his chin on his hands thoughtfully. “He has taken mortal form? Who?”

“Get this- a man named Maximillian Zeus.”

“Father always did had a sense of irony. And of anything else?”

“Else?” The blood hesitated. “There is progress on the Bialya front is slow but steady, I'm sure that we will push through something next year...”

The huge man shook his head. “I was thinking more in regards to the Tree of Light?”

“Uh...”

“These fucking red rings keep flying at me, I've got a pocket full of them, but they won't stop.” Ares shook his head. “Forget about it. Report back to me when you have proper news. Tell father I will be back in the new world within the month.” He stood back up, kicking mud into the pool. His head flicked back and forth, eyes scanning the night in front of him. A scream came from the camp. The huge black God turned at a blurring speed, his hand gripped the thin wrist of the clawed hand that grasped at his chest. He looked at the feline hybrid woman that stood in front of him, his eyes flicked hungrily over her near naked form, across her pale breasts and up to her short red hair. He smiled and leaned in close to her, “I thought I smelt pussy...”

At barely visible speed, her claws slashed across his face. She tried to pull back but his hand remained tight around hers and she hissed at him. He ran his free hand across his face and looked at the blood which faded and the scratches healed into nothing. He wagged his finger at her. “Bad kitty-cat.”

She struggled to pull free, but he just laughed. He leg aimed at his face but he just caught it and threw it down. “Let me go!”

Ares' eyes narrowed. “So kitty can talk. I thought I smelt American. And if I'm not mistaken- Ancient Egyptian...” Her dark look let him know he was right. “So you are the Devil terrorizing my land? Taking the hearts as sacrifice to yourself, that's very...pro-active.”

Cheetah finally wrenched her arm free. “Not sacrifices to me, to my Lord, the Glorious Sun, Slayer of the Wicked, Keeper of....”

“Blah blah blah, the Great God Ra, right?” Angrily, she nodded. “And how's he enjoying them, he must be super proud of you, truly grateful, I mean I've heard the stories of hearts being ripped out of chests right across this continent. He must not shut up about you right? Has he invited you back to his, you know, and given you a tickle under the chin- told you how much he loves you?”

She hesitated. “He has not... I cannot seem to communicate with him.”

Ares nodded knowingly. “Well, I mean times have changed, you- Mafdet is it? You haven't been out in a while. He's probably just really busy.”

She bared her pointed teeth for a moment then frowned. “What should I...? How do I...?”

“Get him to notice you?” Ares continued, “Well slaughtering people here probably won’t do it, I'm afraid to say. Perhaps if you tried some white people- leaders perhaps, or there's talk of heroes... I'm sure Ra would love that.”

“I, my host remembers that there are some in... America,” Cheetah said nodding. Ares shrugged. Cheetah glared at him once more. “Perhaps if that does not work, I will try the heart of a God.” A gust of wind marked her disappearance into the night.

Ares smirked as he whispered to himself, “Gods damned daddy issues...”

*

Gateway City, Police station

“It looks fully gold.” The police man held the bagged lasso in his hand, “Got a bit of weight to it too.”

“It's not gold,” the other cop grabbed the bag off him. “Gold doesn't glow like this.” He placed the bag on the evidence desk and pulled out some gloves.

“What are you doing?” the first cop asked, looking around the room, “That's evidence.”

“Thus the gloves.” Unzipping the bag, he carefully pulled the lasso out.

“What are you doing?” the first policeman asked again, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Chill man, I'm just going to try it out.” He swung it around a couple of times under him and made it form a hoop. “Man I wanted to be a cowboy when I was a kid.” He pulled it back in and wrapped it around his arm, “I used to dress up like a cowboy right into my 20's for fun, I still do sometimes- you know for sex games and the like.”

The other policeman looked at him, frowning slightly. “O.. K...”

Still working the tying the rope up he continued, “This one time, I got this girl to dress up like an American Indian, with the feathers and everything, man she was wild, let me tie her up and everything.” He smiled, remembering it.

“..Riiight.” The other cop nodded.

“I met this guy once, and we did this whole Brokeback Mountain thing, just for a night, but shit, what a night!” He laughed to himself.

“Dude, what the hell?” the other cop asked, stepping back.

“What?” He looked down at the lasso, wrapped around his hand and bare elbow. “I kissed your wife at the Christmas work function last year.” He frowned at this confession. “I don't know why I told you that.”

“What?” The other cop's face contorted in anger.

“She has really soft breasts.” He tried to duck, but the fist hit him square on in the forehead, knocking him back into the evidence shelves. He looked up, blood trickling from a gash. “It's this lasso, it's making me tell the truth!”

“You felt up my wife?!”

“Yes!” He dropped the golden rope in fear. “No! I mean, forget that. We are the police, and we have a rope that makes people tell the truth...” His eyes widened, “Think about it!”

The angry cop scratched his chin, the fury slowly fading from his face. “We might get a promotion.”

“That's my lasso.”

The female voice made the two cops turn to see an attractive dark-haired woman, holding a sword, with black leather armour under her arm. “It does not belong to you.”

“How the hell did you get in here?”

She shrugged. “Could you please hand me the Lasso?”

The standing cop reached for his pistol but stopped when he felt a blade resting under his chin.

“Please.”

The standing cop nodded, and the other handed the lasso over. She took it carefully and tied it to her belt. She turned back to them, making her face serious and arching her eyebrow.

“You can't handle the truth!”

Laughing, she ran.