Ultimate WildC.A.T.S. #0.1

[tjkernan]

Ultimate WildC.A.T.S. #0.1
"By Fate We All Shall Ride"
TJKernan

Nine Months Ago

The writer Rudyard Kipling once called Milford Sound the 'Eighth Wonder of the World.'. Located within Fiordland National Park in the south west of New Zealand's South Island, the beauty of the area, filled with majestic blue water, rain forests, and small majestic peaks, is legendary.

A man stands alone at the edge of the crystal blue waters that make the fiord that leads to the Tasman Sea. He stands in stark contrast to the lush greens and brown of the rain forest behind him. His skin is chalk white, as is his hair, devoid of all pigment. His is tall and gaunt, and rumors of his amongst the locals is that he is a spirit that haunts the forest. But he is no ghost.

The man cocks his head briefly, drawing his attention from the family of seals he had been watching enjoy their play on the edge of the water nearby.

"I would suppose," declared The Key, not bothering to turn his attention from the rippling water before him, "that whomever you would be, you have, for what you personally feel, an important reason for disturbing my meditations."

Manchester black stepped forward from within the trees, "Indeed, I think I do. But, I must ask, how did you know I was here?"

The Key shrugged, but still did not turn his attention from the waters, "First off, you disturb the breeze. I have spent my time here honing some of my senses. The peace here is an excellent location of such an exercise. I have eleven senses now, I feel it is in my best interest to facilitate their proper usage..."

The Key finally turned to look at the man standing behind him, "In the second, you stink. Your flesh reeks of cigarettes and gun oil. If you wish to continue our conversation, I would suggest that you place your firearms upon the ground, in an act of good faith, and if you light up one of those foul cancer sticks here, besmirching the pristine beauty of this location, You will lose whatever good will you might yet extract from me."

"Your bloody show." said Manchester Black, as he pulled a pistol from inside his black leather duster. He also bent low and pulled another pistol from inside his left boot and placed that on the ground as well, then stood and placed his hands outward, indicating himself free of weapons.

The Key chuckled to himself, shaking his head, "And while the sir is filled with such honesty and disclosure, you might as well dispense with your parlor trick illusions, they mean nothing to one whose eyes have been trained to see beyond trifling veils."

Manchester Black laughed, as his illusion form dissipated and his true form appeared four feet from where he 'stood' seconds before.

"You are indeed, everything I heard you were." said Black, stepping forward and closer to The Key, leaving his real guns on the ground behind him.

The Key shrugged, "You flattery means little to me, so you might as well dispense with the unnecessary and tell me how you found me here and then make your request."

Manchester Black came to stand beside The Key, "When it comes to finding people, I am the best. As to what I want...well, I am putting together a little band of merry men, and I want you to be a part of it."

The Key spread his arms out wide, "And leave paradise? Why would I want to do that? What is it you want to do, and more importantly, what can you offer in compensation to entertain my interest?"

"I want to rule the world." stated Black, very matter-of-factly.

The Key scoffed, "'One hardly saves a world without ruling it.' Is that your intentions? Many before you have tried. Many fools with delusions of their own grandeur. Many have failed. In a world where new super-powered, spandex wearing oppositions to your ideas pop up fresh ever day, how exactly do you plan on achieving your goals?"

Manchester Black smiled, and grabbed for his pack of smokes, then stopped himself, "Nice quote. Emil Cioran, I believe. I always admired his pessimistic view. And I have spent years working on my plan from the shadows. Smartly. Quietly. But I need the right type of people to help me achieve my goals. That is why I came here for you."

Black continued, "I am not a fool, not do I have any delusions. And yes, as to your little quote, I do indeed intend to save this world by ruling it. Making it a much better and safer place in the process.

But enough about me, you asked what was in it for you. Well, there will be money, and power..."

The Key turned his attention back towards the water, where a family of whales could be seen out in the distance, "Money means very little to me. If you knew enough to find me, then you know I have the abilities to make whatever cash I so desire. As for power, well, I crave it not in the same way you do."

Manchester Black nodded in agreement, "No, you don't. For you, power means freedom. Freedom to pursuit your interests, such as developing your senses in peace, or finding something new and fascinating to wrap your mind around. You are a fan of keeping your brain busy, solving puzzles, defeating challenges. Well, Mister Key, I have plenty of freedom for you to ring, in that regard..."

The Key stood there for a moment, before speaking, "You know I can hear your heartbeat? Feel your pulse? Hear the change of infliction in your voice. Everything you told me there was the truth, or at very least, the truth as you perceive it. You believe in what you are saying, and that, in the very least, has me intrigued."

"Well then," said Manchester Black, "let me see if I can intrigue you further. I have a puzzle which I need you to solve. Perhaps you would like to come and help me solve it?"

The Key stood for several moments more, staring out at the whales playing in the crisp, blue water. Finally he cocked his head towards Manchester Black, and nodded.

[tjkernan]

One Month Ago

Wormwood Scrubs is one of two super-human prisons located in England. Though the prison itself has five main wings of various security degrees, catering to particular branches of prisoners, there are also several smaller wings. One of those smaller wings is known as the 'Super-enhanced wing'. Currently that wing only houses one prisoner.

Nathan Craig Jones, also known as Coldcast.

Coldcast, born in Chicago, moved as a child with his family, to Liverpool, where he grew up. He joined the military at eighteen, where he excelled at espionage and intelligence, and was soon moved to working in more covert operations. There he gained the attention of a field operative named Manchester Black, and was picked to join a small counter-terrorist squad known as the Elite.

The Elite were a very tight-knit group, and fiercely loyal the Manchester black, but Black grew ever more dissatisfied with the teams missions, and with their inability in effect any real change. So the team made the decision to leave the employ of the British Government, and go out on their own, instead selling their services to the highest bidder.

Things went already for a while, until a mission went sour, and everything cluster-fracked. The fallout was severe. Manchester and another member of the team, The Hat, died in the explosion. Coldcast was hurt in the explosion, cracking some ribs and breaking his arm, and was captured by authorities and imprisoned. He wasn't long for the United States though, as an agreement sent him back to England, where he found himself imprisoned in his own little section of Wormwood Scrubs, supposedly for treason and various other crimes committed on English soil. Coldcast himself wasn't even sure, as he had yet to get a trial or see a lawyer. Apparently, they just wanted him out of the way and out of trouble.

Being an inmate in Wormwood Scrubs wasn't exactly the vision of hard time some might envision. Coldcast was a model prisoner, and to be honest, with all the enemies he made in his years of espionage and as a mercenary, actually enjoyed the security found with his incarceration. With the money he had saved from his past endeavors, he had managed to bribe himself most of his guards, and had managed to get himself plenty of amenities from the outside world. His cell, which actually comprised the size of three normal cells in any other wing, contained a large-screen plasma television, a surround sound system, and a refrigerator stocked with Guinness Draught. His sheets were silk and he had even managed to bring in a beautiful Persian Rug he had acquired during one the The Elite's missions. If he wanted anything, one of the guards would simply smuggle it in for him, and everybody else who might know turned away, for the right price.

Sometimes, Coldcast wanted a little female 'companionship' for a few hours.

This day was one of those sometimes.

Coldcast sat in his recliner, catching up on his seasons of Monty Python on dvd, when a knock came upon his steel door.

Moments later, one of his guards, a large man named Benny, opened and walked through the door. Benny had a very large smile stretched across his face.

"Uh...Mister Jones," stammered Benny, "your...uh...guest is here. And bloke, let me tell ya, this one is a real looker..."

Coldcast nodded and waved for Benny to send the woman through.

As the young woman stepped into the entrance, Coldcast realized there was no exaggeration to Benny's description. This woman was indeed beautiful. Super-model beautiful. She looked young, perhaps early twenties. Her skin was pale and she had long-flowing hair, dyed brick red, and piercing green eyes. Her legs were long and lean, and on full display under her skimpy outfit, which also displayed her ample cleavage.

Coldcast licked his lips as Benny tipped his hat from behind the girl and could be heard slowly shuffling off down the hall. As he looked the pretty young thing up and down he beckoned, with his hand, for the girl to come closer and sit down beside him. The young lady smiled as she nodded in agreement and slowly, seductively glided across the floor. As she made her way across the floor, Coldcast felt the fires of passion begin to flow, adrenaline of anticipation filling his system.

"What is your name love?" asked Coldcast, as the young woman sat upon the arm of the chair. She smelled delicious, like a warm vanilla candle. Coldcast shifted to look down those long beautiful legs, his eyes riding up and down the curves.

"You can call me Lilly," purred the girl. Her seductive voice sent quivers of anticipation throughout Coldcast's body, "but my working name is 'Breathtaker'.

"I'll bet it is." stated Coldcast with a smile. Whatever she had cost, he decided, she was so worth it. Whichever one of the guards had located this woman, there was a definite bonus in it for him.

Lilly smiled as she ran her hands through the back of her hair, jutting her ample chest forward. Coldcast made a move the put his hand on her leg. When the young woman slid off the arm and onto his lap. She put her hand upon his chest. Strangely, along with Lilly's warm hands he felt something else there, within the palm of her hand. It was cold, piercing. The smallest sting of pain.

Coldcast started to say something, but Lilly ran her finger to his lips, stealing his breath.

"You see, darling," said the girl, pulling close to his ear as she spoke, "I am not one of the little whores you typically bring in here to play with. I bear a message from an old, dead friend..."

Coldcast tried to move, but he couldn't. The brain was willing, but the flesh would not respond. His tried to work his arms, then his legs, even his neck, nothing was moving anymore. He was paralyzed. As his eyes parted, he noticed a small, unique-looking syringe in the petite little hand before him.

Lilly continued, "Manchester Black says 'Hello'. He always wants me to tell you that he knows that you were the one who sold the team out to Red Claw..."

Suddenly, Coldcast felt all the air start to slip out of his mouth, and out of his lungs. It was like one big exhale, but no air was flowing back in. He began to gag and cough, gaspinf for an sort of breath. He found none.

Lilly's face filled with mock concern, "What is the matter sweetie? Can't breathe? That name of mine, 'Breathtaker' isn't a 'working name' like you thought. I am not a stripper, not a call girl, and certainly not a whore. Well, I don't sell my self for sex anyways. No, I took that name because of my power. Can you guess what it is?"

Coldcast felt light-headed. No oxygen was getting into his body or into his brain. He was being suffocated as the air disappeared around him.

"Goodbye Coldcast." was the last words Nathan Craig Jones heard as Breathtaker placed a little kiss upon his cheek and slipped off his lap, her attentions now focused on the two guards who had let her into the wing before she slipped back into the evening.