Post by jackalope on Jan 16, 2013 7:13:23 GMT -5
Ultimate Ex Machina #4: Ring it in
January, 2013
Jetting through the air, he circles the Queen hotel, leaving only a jet of flame behind him. Timing was everything. A fire in China-town kept 'Big Blue' busy, whilst some project announcement had the target out of the way. It gives him 6 minutes, 8 max. He smiles; he'll still have time for a cigarette. He sees the tall apartment block approaching. He slows the jet and lands on the balcony of the top story apartment. From his belt he pulls a pick to break the glass. He pulls it back over his shoulder. Pausing a moment he drops it by his side. He tries the door. It slides open.
He works methodically, moving from room to room, opening drawers and pulling the few prints off the walls. The place is a minimalist's dream, white walls, chrome kitchen. Surprisingly little technology.'What could that mean? part of him wonders. Who gives a shit? the other part of him replies. He flips over a coffee table and looks for anything under the rug. Nothing.
Moving into the bedroom, he pulls out the drawers throwing their contents on the floor. Finally he moves to the closet. Opening it, it's full of suits. He reaches through to the back. Pushing he hears a click. A door enters into a small chamber. 'Just where he said.' Inside the parts of the suit that makes up the Great Machine hang from the walls. As are the weapons. So tempting... He shakes his head. He was paid to take two specific objects. Only two. He spots the small black rectangular boxes, like 90's cell phones. He grabs them and puts them in his belt. He closes the door and moves back into the kitchen.
He switches the two boxes on and looks in the reflection of the TV. Apart from the slight distortion, he's completely disappeared. He takes off his helmet and laughs. Easiest 40 grand I've ever made. He lights a cigarette. Dragging it in with a satisfied breath he stubs it out on the table and tosses it on the floor. He places his helmet back on and walks out to the balcony. He tilts his helmeted head and looks back into the apartment.
“I better burn the evidence...”
A ball of flame engulfs the room. Unseen and unheard, Firefly rockets into the sky.
* * *
Mayor Hundred looks out at the Press gathered in Southside Park. The day is overcast, but even so, the cleanup effort has really changed the area. He regrets the police presence, which he's kept to a minimum at the edges. It was only at Commissioner Angotti's insistence that they were there at all, but 'Suicide Slum' still had a reputation that was hard to shake. Journal gives him a nod.
He smiles, “It is great pleasure that, with the help of S.T.A.R. Labs and the local representatives of Southside district, I would like to present you with the future of energy in Metropolis.” Behind him a curtain drops and a 12 ft diagram of a tower is revealed. A barrage of camera flashes hit his podium. “This is the Aether Harvester. At 68 feet tall, it stands as an example of next-gen energy production. Completely clean, the Aether Harvester utilises solar and wind energy, as well as higher atmospheric fields, to produce cheap, renewable and reliable energy. With the support of the city council, I intend to have the first tower built here in Southside, with the aim of providing free energy to its residents.” He let his final words sink into the crowd before moving on to: “Questions?”
The Press shout out all at once. He holds his hand up, keeping control. He points to the woman at the front.
“Yes. I would like to confirm your last statement. Did you say you would be providing free electricity to the residents of Southside district?”
“Yes,” he takes a quick breath. “For too long the residents in this area have been second class citizens in this city. Between the storm last month, and the alien battles, a proper standard of living has not been maintained. Yet, travel a couple of hours to New Troy and see how they are living there. With the assistance of the Borough President of Southside, Parco Delgado, we have chosen this site as the best area for this project to take place. As the first people to host this energy generator, the residents of this area will be the first to benefit, but I don't intend it to end there. If approved it will only take five of these machines to provide near free energy for the entire city. I say near free as there will be building costs and maintenance, but really, the efficiency of these things is astonishing.”
As hands shot up for more questions a voice cuts through, “What about claims you are only using Southside as a testing bed for an untested, possibly unsafe energy device?” Nearby journalist turn to see Matty Roth, who pulls his cap down lower.
“Untrue. The Aether Harvester has been thoroughly tested by technicians and scientists at S.T.A.R. Labs. It contains no radioactive material, produces no toxic waste and doesn't harm wildlife. I'll get Dr O'Neal to talk answer any questions about the technical aspects in a moment.” He turns, smiling to the balding man in the tweed, who briefly returns his own. Mitchell turns back and points to another hand.
“Do you expect any resistance from the council in passing the budgets in order to pay for these energy generators, or being able to secure the land to build these towers? Councilman O'Donnell has been very vocal in his opposition to every stage of your energy reforms.”
“Any resistance? As much as I'd like to believe 2013 is the year that the Metropolis city council is unanimous in support of my vision, I somehow doubt it.” There is a twitter of laughter from the crowd. He continues, “It's true that Councilman O'Donnell has been especially persistent in his opposition to this project, but I'm hoping that everyone will see that the benefits of these towers far outweigh the costs of installation, and they are a necessary step to keep Metropolis the City of Tomorrow.” Cameras flashed again. He waits a moment. “Alright, one last question then I'll pass the stage onto the people with the technical knowledge...”
“Is it true,” a voice suddenly calls out from the crowd, “that you're not an animal lover?”
“I'm sorry,” Hundred says, trying to find the voice's owner. “I didn't understand...”
“Is it true you're not an animal lover?” The crowd steps back from a man in a dark blue rain cloak with a hood over half his face.
The Mayor's eyebrows rise. “Pher...” Suddenly from the outskirts of the park, dogs charge, barking and running at full speed. Over two dozen of the canines attack. The police are suddenly being mauled, whilst the remaining dogs are headed to the crowd of journalists. Screaming. Bradbury pulls the Mayor back, shouting to get a car ready. Running. Mitchell watches as the cloaked man remains standing still, his hands lifted slightly at his sides. A dog leaps at the podium. Bradbury's gun is already smoking before Mitchell hears the bang.
Another wave of dogs is running towards him. He finds it strange, almost as if everything is moving in slow motion. He's sure some of the dogs are miniature poodles. It would almost be amusing if... He sees blood gush from the throat of a woman. “Fuck.” He hears the sound of the car behind him. Growling. He starts to back away. A jaw has got hold of his trouser leg. A vicious looking bulldog growls at him with bloodshot eyes. His own eyes squeeze shut as he hears his bodyguard's boot connect with his attacker, and the subsequent whimper.
People are still filming. He hears the cameras as they observe the action. Silence them, the thought passes through his head. No. There are more important things. He opens his eyes and points at the cloaked man, just as two police men tackle him to the ground. As he is pulled towards the car, the scene is horrific. Those not screaming, or lying on the ground, are desperately trying to kick at the animals. Three of the animals charge at him. One is shot dead before he is thrown in his black car. The door slams just at the other two slam themselves against the car window.
“DRIVE!” Bradbury shouts.
Mitchell is panting. He closes his eyes. He sits up. “Journal!”
“I'm here,” his shaken blond assistant calls from the front seat. Her makeup is streaked from the tears that stream from her eyes. She seems on the verge of crying.
He sighs with relief. “Thank fuck.” He looks out the back window. He can still see dogs chasing them in the distance. Two police cars pass them, sirens blazing. “Shit,” he closes his eyes trying to gather his thoughts, “OK. Take me to the police station.”
“No,” Journal says, swallowing her tears. “You need to go to the hospital. You're bleeding.”
He follows her eyes down to his hand. Blood is running down the fingers on his left hand from a huge gash.
* * *
“MATTY!”
Matt Roth looks up to see Zee running towards him, her pale dreads bouncing. He pushes himself up from the back of the ambulance where he sat just as hits him with a huge hug. Her lips kiss his neck and face with an earnest fear. “I was so scared. I just heard.”
“I'm ok Zee. You should head back to work.” Matt looks sheepishly at her boots. She tilts his chin until he is looking at her. “I climbed up a tree. I should have tried to help, everyone, more, but after one of them bit me I just ran. Tried to get away. Superman turned up but he could only move them to a holding pen. Half of them had been killed anyway. The rest had to be knocked out. TheymightstillbeputdownIdon'tknow...” He takes a breath. He uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes. “Fuck.”
Zee guides him to sit back down. She lifts the bandage covering his lower right arm. He gasps and she lowers it gently. Running her hand through his hair, he leans forward, resting his head against her stomach. “Come on, I'll take you home.”
“It was weird Zee,” Matty says, standing. “It seemed like he knew who was doing it...”
“Who?” Zee takes his arm, moving through the police, ambulance workers and injured. The shaken journalists are all reporting their stories.
“The Mayor, I think Hundred knew him.”
* * *
Out from the car, he takes no questions from the media who have been waiting. Day is turning to night. Bradbury pushes the door open and Hundred and another four police bodyguards enter.
The Mayor strides through the police station with his teeth clenched tight. The police are in full swing. The noise of the phones ringing, along with the interlinked network of computers. He balls his hands into fists, the pain from his bandaged hand adding to his frustration. The police, noticing his determined eyes, part to give him a free path. Marching through to the Commissioner's office, he pushes the handle, only to find it locked.
A young cadet, sitting by the door tries to talk to the Mayor. “Commissioner Angotti will be free in a few minutes; I can ring through to...”
“UNLOCK!”
With a loud click Mitchell pushes open the door and walks in, shutting the door behind him.
Commissioner Angotti and another man look up at the Mayor. “Ah, Hundred...”
“Where the fuck is he?!” Hundred walks up to the desk. “Tell me you caught him Amy, tell me you caught Pherson!”
“I was just going over what's happened in the case with...” she starts.
“No,” says the man in the chair. “We haven't caught him.”
“Who the fuck is this guy?” Mitchell asks angrily. “And what the hell do you mean you haven't caught him? He was right there, I saw him!”
“I'll let Detective Turpin explain,” the Commissioner gesture to the officer in the shirt and tie. “He's the man who's heading this case.”
Mitchell looks over the haggard looking man. Balding and husky, Hundred recognises the flicker in the man's eyes, equal parts intelligence and stubbornness. He reaches out his hand. “I'm sorry detective; it's been one of those days.”
“It's understandable Mr Mayor.” Dan Turpin returns the shake firmly, nodding. He stands reaching to the folder on the desk. He flicks it open and spreads the photographs out. “This is what we've gathered so far from some of the cameras in the crowd.” The gruesome bodies of humans and dogs lying in unnaturally posed positions. “Seven dead; three police, three journalists and this guy.”
Stripped of his raincoat the man looks like a normal guy, thin, blond hair. “Who is this? This isn't Pherson.”
“We're waiting for an I.D.” The Detective pulls out another photo. “When the policemen tackled him to the ground, this was wrapped around him; it's actually what killed him, and one of the policemen.”
“A snake?” The creature laid-out looks massive.
“It needs to be confirmed, but it looks like a black mamba. Luckily Superman was able to stop the thing before it killed more people. We think Pherson threatened the victim into asking you the question, while he sat back and watched.”
Mitchell nods, sitting down. “Fuck. Do we have any leads? I mean, are we going to be able to tell the Press anything? They're going to want answers.”
Angotti shakes her head. “We've got teams sweeping the area, but he could be anywhere by now. The dogs were pets in the area. 17 were killed by police, the rest seem to be recovering fine but we're reluctant to return them in case they've got some sort of sleeper command.”
“Jesus. Everyone is going to be looking at their pets differently now.”
The detective turns to the Mayor. “Have you made any enemies recently? Pissed off anyone we should know about?”
“No.” Hundred frowns. “I've told you everything I know about Pherson. You should be looking for him, not questioning me.”
“This isn't just about the attack Mitchell,” Angotti admits.
Hundred looks confused.
“There was a fire in your apartment.” Turpin's eyes scan over the Mayor's shocked look. “Well a fire and a robbery we're guessing but we don't know what, if anything has been taken. We don't know if it is connected, but obviously it's suspicious.”
Hundred rolls his eyes. Can't catch a break. “Everybody alright?”
“The fire burnt up your living room before the sprinklers kicked in. Everything else is fine.” Turpin shut the file and sat down. “Now the question is- what do we do now?”
“What?” Hundred looks at them. “Go public about Pherson?”
Angotti nods.
“If it helps catch him,” Mitchell sighs. “But I want him caught.”
* * *
“...Police are recommending you keep animals inside until further notice and limit walks to well-lit areas. The suspect behind the attack, one Jack Pherson, is believed to be able to control animals. Authorities ask anyone who sees anyone matching his description to call in, and to not approach the suspect in any circumstances.” The television shows a sketch of a Caucasian man, unshaven, with a mop of dark wavy hair hanging around his face.
A crunching sound is followed by the noise of a plastic bag being moved. “I find,” a voice speaks as he searches through the bag for another Cheeto, “that they can never get my eyes right.” Jack Pherson turns to the teenage girl to his right and asks, “What do you think?”
She slowly turns to see his left eye, glowing purple. She carefully turns back to the huge gorilla sitting on the other side of her and then down at the tiger at her feet. Utterly terrified, she says nothing.