Ultimate S.H.A.D.E. #11: Halloween Interlude

[jackalope]

Ultimate S.H.A.D.E. #11
Halloween Interlude: Tricks and Treats

Lyta rubs her eyes as she enters the kitchen. In her red boxer shorts and old black t-shirt she shuffles past the Bride, who it sitting reading the newspaper. Lyta reaches up into the cupboard and pulls down a box of cereal. She grabs a bowl and the milk from the fridge. Hitting the switch on the kettle she sits down opposite Bride.

“What's Time got for us today?”

Bride turns a page. “Nothing.” She sips her coffee.

Lyta pours the cereal and adds milk. “Really? Nothing nothing?”

The Bride lays the newspaper on the table and leans forward. “Yeah, it's a S.H.A.D.E. thing; Halloween is almost always a day off.” She sips her coffee and looks lazily at the paper in front of her. “By the way, thanks for letting me stay with you. My place is really quiet without Laura around. I hate thinking of her stuck in the hospital wing. I keep worrying she'll die and her ghost will turn up at the end of my bed in the middle of the night- you know, to say goodbye and everything. At least if I'm here she might not realise and move on without visiting.”

With her white blonde hair sticking out messily Lyta stares at Bride. The spoon of cereal still in her mouth she says, “That happens?”

Bride sips her coffee again and shakes her head. “I don't know, I've heard it does.” Seeing Lyta's look she cracks an embarrassed smile. “I know it's silly, with what I am, what we do.” She sighs, “...to be superstitious.”

Lyta gets up and puts some coffee powder in a cup. “Want another?” Bride nods. Lyta takes her cup. “I've been meaning to ask, you're staying with me, which is totally fine but,” she places the cup down in front of the Bride, “what's up with you and Frankenstein?”

“It's complicated.”



Father Time strolls through the stream of pedestrians turning off up some steps, to a doorway, pushed open by a professional looking doorman. Inside the lobby is a minimalist's dream, shined granite floors and a white desk, large floor to ceiling windows flood the area with the white light of the overcast day outside. The receptionist looks up at the Indian gentleman, and with a smile as white as the desk she sits, she greets him.

“Welcome to Infinity Incorporated, how can we help you today?”

Removing his jacket, Time glances casually at the cameras set in the corners of the lobby. “I have an appointment, 1 o'clock- Time.”

Tapping some keys, she beams her shining smile at him again. “Of course, the General is expecting you. Floor 29.” Still smiling she looks to the white coloured elevator doors, only barely discernable from the surrounding wall. Folding the jacket over his arm and holding it with his umbrella, Father Time walks over to the elevator and hits the up button. Almost silently the doors glide open.

The ride up is smooth and fast. Time tries not stare at all of the miniature cameras but the lifeless background music makes him fidgety. Finally the door opens and he steps out. The hallway is a stark contrast to the bottom floor, red carpeted floor and wood panelled walls lead down a few steps to a room guarded by a huge hulking grey figure in a bowler hat. Time smiles.

“Marshal, my boy, good to see you. How long has it been?” The grey figure walks towards Time, who raises his arms.

“100 years Time,” the grey man says, patting the Indian man down to his legs. He stops at a pocket. Father Time reaches in and pulls out a pipe. The huge grey creature nods, then gently takes his umbrella and coat, “...at least.” He pushes open the door and Time follows him in.

“Well you haven't aged a day.” Inside a fireplace casts out heat onto a number of large leather chairs, most unoccupied. The walls are lined with ancient paintings and the stuffed heads of a selection of exotic animals (a few extinct). Suits of armour, European knights and Japanese Samurai, stand in the corners, along with the preserved body of what at first seems to be a bear, but on closer examination, Time recognises the more ape-like features of a Sasquatch. In the centre of the room the General sits, wrinkled but with an intelligence that comes with surviving, wearing the military jacket of some old forgotten nation. He sips the glass his holds in one hand, than takes a long drag on the cigar that he holds in the other.

“There's the Time.”

“Ah, General, how I've missed your wit.” Father Time walks to the chair opposite his. A feminine looking dark haired male looks up. The Indian man smiles, “Orlando, currently male I see.”

Orlando raises an eyebrow. “Time, I saw one of yours the other week, big blue man, dressed like a fifties gangster. Little knobs on his neck.” Orlando taps the ash off the end of his cigarette and pushes himself up. “Ruined a perfectly good game of poker as well...” He walks past Time and towards an adjoining room. “Let's not have that happen again.”

Father Time lowers himself down in the now free seat. “What's got him so bitchy?”

“That time of the century...,” the General sighs. “Thank you Marshal,” he nods to the hulking man, who nods and leaves. “Now Time, what has brought you to so kindly grace us with you presence?”

Father Time pulls out a small box of tobacco and starts to pack his pipe. “I see you've been busy. Taking the Infinity club into the spotlight, are you sure that’s wise?”

The General smiles, “We can't all stay in the shadows, now can we? One must move with the times. Change or die, as they say.”

Striking a match, Father Time lights his pipe, puffing in the smoke a little he continues. “But Infinity Incorporated, Infinity Entertainment, Infinity Arms, Infinity Petroleum... Are you sure that it is wise? Isn't someone going to wonder where the money comes from? Where you come from?”

The General's smile remains unchanged except for a slight hollowing of it. “You think we are the dirtiest company out there Time? We would not even make the top ten. And do you think anyone cares that a bunch of old guys happen to have a lot of money that they are using to fund companies? In this day and age, gods Time, it's practically expected!”

“But no one knows how old that bunch of guys is, now do they?” Time releases a stream of smoke from his nostrils.

“In these interesting times, do you think anyone would really care? Flying men in Metropolis, fastest men alive, wondrous women, sometimes out in the open is the best place to hide.” The General takes another sip of his whiskey and sighs. “But Time please don't patronise me by expecting me to believe you came all this way to give me advice about my little venture.”

Time looks around the room. “No, you are right. I came here to warn you, there is a man who is wishing to gain... club membership. One Professor Ivo. Just a young man, no more than 66, but he has dreams of becoming one of you, of us, and he knows about Infinity.”

“And he does not qualify? Or is there some other reason that I should be worried?” General Immortus narrows his eyes, “Is this personal Time?”

Time pushes himself up. “He is a bad person Immortus.” He turns and walks to the exit and stops, “If he contacts you, I trust you will let me know.”

“We're all bad people Time,” General Immortus calls after him, “Even when you change your face each year, you don't change all those things that you've done.”

Father Time walks back into the darkened corridor.



“I can't believe the Weird and Niles just wanted to play video games rather than get out of the base for a night.” Lyta is suddenly surrounded by a swarm of eleven kids dressed in Halloween costumes, giggling as they run ahead of her. “Maybe I can believe it.”

Robotman passes her, running after them with extended arms outstretched. “Come back! I will net you!”

Bride laughs. “Come on Lyta, it's good to get out, the Jersey Devil kids are enjoying themselves. It's the first Time off the base since they got here.” She looks at Lyta in her black dress, with a thin layer of fake tan on. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

“The scariest costume I could think of...” The Bride raises an eyebrow. Lyta turns her face slowly towards her, “Ann Coulter.” Both crack, their smirks turning into full on laughter, until they are leaning on one another for support. Panting Lyta stands back up right. She turns her head and sees Frankenstein strolling a couple of dozen feet behind them. She looks to Bride. “You should go talk to him.” Bride turns to watch him. Lyta nudges her, “he looks lonely.”

“He always looks like that.” Bride stops and Lyta continues on, speeding up to catch up with Robotman and the kids. Bride walks to Frankenstein and smiles hesitantly. “Hey Frankie, how's things?”

His face neutral, Frankenstein replies, “Things are fine, thank you Bride.” He continues walking and she matches his speed. They walk for a while in silence, then he speaks, “And yourself Bride, how are you?”

“I'm good,” she studies his face, trying to figure out what he's thinking. “We should probably talk maybe, about us?”

“Us?” Still unreadable.

“Yes, you and me, what we are to each other.” She bites her bottom lip.

“To each other...”

She can't tell whether this is a question or a statement, what his inflection is, what he means. She shakes her head and stops. “God dammit, Frank, why can't you just tell me you're thinking? What do you want?”

He slows to a halt but stays facing away from her. “What I want, Bride, does not matter.” He slowly turns to face her. “It does not matter because it has not changed. All that matters is what you want because in the end, that will be all that either of us can have.” His expression is the same but now it seems to her slightly unreal, like a mask that has been worn for so long that the wearer has forgotten that there was ever something under there.

“I just don't know if you thought that now we are working together that we would...,” she stops. His eyes remains locked to hers. She shuts her eyes. “I know that you were told that I was made for you, but,” she sighs, “no one consulted me on the subject, and in truth I can't see us being any more than just friends. I'm sorry that this probably isn't what you want to hear but it's the truth, and you at least deserve that.” Her eyes still scrunched closed, she waits for his reply.

“Understood.”

Opening her eyes she catches him walking past her. She turns and watches him walk into the distance. In the background she hears a chorus of children's voices shout, “TRICK OR TREAT!”



In S.H.A.D.E.s base H.Q., in a room lies Laura De Mille, formerly known as 'the Face,' her face now does not resemble her as is once did. It seems puffy and to hang limply on her head. Beside her Dr Jules Brun, still known as 'the Brain,' sits, his body is lying forward on the bed, his hand holding hers. His sleeping eyes are also red and puffy.