The Age of the Mask

by JJAndrews

For decades, masked heroes and villains have fought each other across the world. Now, only a few remain to continue the battle. Many believe the Age of the Mask has died. However, as the forces of evil rear their heads once more, the heroes of the world, divided as they are, must unite to fight again. Amongst them, the hero of Paris, The Phantom. (M for violence and swearing)

The Age of the Mask

I own nothing but my OC's

AN: Hi, so, before you start reading, this story is a superhero AU of Phantom of the Opera but it also contains other characters from a historical setting or musical as well as OC's. I hope you enjoy.

The Mystery of Mister Coal

Part One

December 1st 2034

The Age of the Mask, the nickname given to the forty year period of super heroes and villains fighting each other, is considered over. In Britain and the USA, the vigilantes now work as agents for their governments. In Germany, the last remaining vigilante has vanished, believed to be dead. Across the world the super villains are in prison, retired or in the ground. The last active vigilante, the Phantom, roams the streets of Paris at night defending his city from crime and corruption. Yet, now the Age of the Mask is about to resurface in its final bloody crescendo.

The freezing night wind blew through the air of Paris, clouds of snow silently danced through the night chasing those caught outside to run for their homes. However, one man wasn't heading home. In fact, Eric Destler was leaving the block of flats he made his home in and headed out into the storm. He wore a heavy black coat with a scarf tied tight around his neck and thick gloves over his hands. His face was clean shaven but had some wrinkles stretching out from the corners of his eyes showing his sixty two years of life. His greying black hair was slicked back beneath his smart trilby but his most distinctive feature was the sculpted white mask covering half of his face. He walked alone through the streets, passing a few tourists brave enough to be out and some drunks too stubborn to accept the idea of going home. Eventually Eric made it to his place of work, the Populaire Theatre. It was a large building with the front designed to emulate a Roman temple with steps leading up to a large set of glass doors and ticket offices. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door, eagerly stepping in out of the cold and locking the door behind him. The Entrance Hall was a large chamber made of polished marble leading to a set of marble steps which took the audience to the auditorium. It was dark now with no audience coming to see a show that night. Eric walked to a door in the side of the Hall with a "Staff Only" sign above it. He pushed it open and walked down a long corridor which ran the entire length of the building. Halfway down the corridor he came to a wooden door with the name "Eric Destler, Owner and Manager" written on it on a gold plaque. He pushed the door open and passed the small office at the front for the use of his secretary. He walked past the desk in there and went straight into his private office. The room was spacious with a large set of windows at the back which were covered by thick curtains, a couch was against one wall in front of a coffee table, a desk with a computer, pens and paper was in front of the window and on the wall opposite the couch was a full length mirror large enough for two people to stand before it and see themselves easily.

He hung his coat, hat and scarf on a peg on the wall and stood in front of the mirror showing Eric Destler wearing his smart suit, polished shoes and his trademark mask. He stepped up to the mirror and slid a panel in the wall next to it out of the way revealing a handprint scanner. He pressed his palm against the cool device and a few seconds later a clicking sound snapped from behind the mirror which slowly swung open revealing a dark alcove and a hole with a metal ladder attached to it leading to a dark chasm below. Eric stepped in, closing the mirror behind him, and started to climb down the ladder, motion detector lights flickering on as he travelled down. Eventually he made it into a narrow passage way underground with the walls covered by bones. Eric walked along the passageway, the lights turning off behind him as he made his way towards the end of the passage. When he reached it he found an underground lake and at the edge of it was a wide metal platform. Eric stepped onto the platform and a second later it automatically started moving across the lake. Slowly it moved towards a rock wall which moved upwards like a curtain revealing a hidden cave. The platform moved into it and then dozens of lights switched on revealing the base. Rising up out of the water was a gravel beach and then a flat area of rock a hundred square feet wide. A floor of thick metal grating covered the rock and on it was built a forensics lab, computers, work desks with tools and an armoury. At the centre of the platform was a tall stand holding a suit of body armour. Eric stepped up to the armour and looked at it. It was made from a black knife proof body glove with pieces of black painted titanium infused plastic attached to the torso. The legs were protected by larger plates and over the shins, knees and feet were armoured boots. The arms were protected by black shoulder guards, armour plates and gauntlets over the hands. Around the waist was a black utility belt and a flowing black cape which shimmered like metal in the light hung from around the neck, connected together by a clasp at the neck. At the top of the stand was a polished black helmet which would cover the entire head, not even leaving his eyes or mouth exposed.

Eric changed quickly, removing his day clothes and putting on his uniform. The last piece of his normal clothes he took off was his mask and he slowly placed it on the stand before putting his helmet on his head. For a few seconds there was complete darkness but then it activated. The internal power cells turned on and in front of Eric's eyes was a projection of what he was facing. He walked towards the armoury, four racks loaded with weapons, and he made his selection of them. He attached smoke and flash grenades to his utility belt as well as acid pellets and incendiary grenades. He also pulled out a combat knife with an ivory handle, a dozen Combat Cords, five foot long black cords which were weighted at each end making them very useful weapons in combat. With everything ready to go he strode past the water's edge, reflected in it was the dark warrior of Paris, the Phantom.

When he was younger, in his early days fighting crime, the Phantom often wondered how superheroes in the films could stand on roof tops perfectly unmoving when he himself was almost blown down by the wind once every week. Now though, after forty years of fighting crime, he could stand for hours on end. He remembered someone once on the ground taking a picture of him believing he was a gargoyle. In the freezing wind the Phantoms black cape billowed around him, snow landing on his armour, everything in motion but the Phantom remained still. Looking down below him he could see the warehouse which his source told him housed a major drug operation. He had been waiting for over an hour and in that time nothing had happened. Then he saw it. A black lorry was driving carefully towards the entrance of the warehouse. It was large and he was sure it was what he was waiting for. Pressing a button on the side of his helmet his vision zoomed in on the license plate. It was false and the one he was looking for. Grabbing the edges of his cape he jumped down off the building and glided towards the lorry. It was not easy, even after years of practice, but he managed to negotiate the winds and landed on the top of the vehicle and pressed himself against the roof so anyone on the ground wouldn't see him. The lorry took him into the warehouse and at once the Phantom could make out the smell of at least a dozen different drugs. Shouting filled the air as the lorry stopped and then there was the clanking sound of the lorry doors being opened.

'Move it up!' someone shouted as the Phantom slowly slid over the side of the lorry. 'I want this stuff loaded up ASAP!'

'Got it boss,' said some else.

The Phantom landed in a silent crouch and looked around him for cover. Nearby was a large group of crates so he vaulted behind them. No one saw him but from where the Phantom was he could see his enemies. A dozen men armed with AK47's modified with silencers, scoped and torches stood around the doors of the lorry. They carried their weapons professionally, clearly they were well trained. There were another six men carrying baseball bats and machetes, they were all young, new recruits to organised crime and with less discipline. Men and women wearing overalls were carrying large crates to the lorry to be loaded up. However, the Phantoms attention went to the office on the other side of the building. It looked empty and a man wearing a suit, who was probably in charge, stood by the lorry. No one should be on the office. As quietly as possible the Phantom sneaked around the walls of the warehouse, making next to no noise as he moved to the office. It was walled off from the rest of the warehouse by tall frosted glass panels. The Phantom kept crouched low as he went into the office where he saw a computer on a desk but no paperwork. There was also a master switch for the lights which the Phantom pulled down at once plunging the entire warehouse into darkness. The Phantom could already hear the gasps and shouts of fear and surprise at the darkness which engulfed them. Activating his night vision the Phantom pulled out one of his cords and a few flash grenades and charged across the warehouse towards his enemies. He threw the flash grenades at his enemies who were left reeling from the sudden blasts of light.

The Phantom threw himself into his opponents midst. At once, in the near complete darkness, the workers and most of the criminals armed with bats and machetes ran away. He let them go, they were no threat to him. The professionals though, as well as their boss, they were important. Using incredible skill which defied his age, the Phantom tore through them. A criminal lined him up perfectly with the light from his rifles torch but before he could pull the trigger, the Phantom swung his cord and ensnared the end of the rifle and pulled it away, sending it through the air and crashing into another man. The Phantom then swung his cord again and ensnared the man around the neck before yanking it back snapping his neck. Before the corpse hit the ground the Phantom kicked the gun from another man's hand and then punched him in the jaw knocking the man down. One by one the Phantom tore through them, either killing each of them or leaving them unconscious until the only one left was the one in charge of the operation. The Phantom stayed back, hiding in the darkness as he watched the criminal spin in the spot with his large calibre pistol held in both hands.

'Stay back!' he shouted. 'Stay back or I'll kill you!'

'You'll try at least,' the Phantom told him, changing his voice slightly so his accent was different. 'You'll fail.'

'NO!' the man shouted and emptied half of his ammunition in the wrong direction.

The Phantom was glad to see the man then turn in and run in the general direction of the office. The vigilante let him enter it. Through his night vision, as the Phantom followed him, he saw the criminal fumble around looking for the master switch. As silently as possible the Phantom entered the office and stood behind the man as he finally found the switch and pulled it. When the criminal turned around his jaw dropped.

'Good evening,' the Phantom said as his opponent pulled up his pistol. The Phantom however deftly caught his wrist and held it tight, drawing a gasp of pain from the criminal as he dropped the gun.

'Let me go!'

'No. You will answer all of my questions.'

'Fuck you!'

The Phantom grabbed the man with both of his hands and threw him through the closest glass divide shattering it in a waterfall of glass shards. The man landed on a pile of shattered glass and whimpered in pain.

'I suggest you try being a little more polite,' the Phantom advised him as he walked towards the criminal, his boots popping the glass under him. As he walked he picked up some larger shards of glass and dropped them into the man's palm. He pressed the heel of his boot against the glass and applied enough pressure to cause pain but not cause much damage.

'What do you want?' the man asked, defeated.

'Who do you work for?'

'I'm a member of the Higson Gang. We're moving these drugs all over France and one weird shipment to London.'

'Why?'

'What?'

'How is the shipment to London weird?'

'They're erm, they're not really drugs. They're illegal but that's, erm, because it's dangerous for chemists or some shit like that. Look, I just follow orders. I don't question them.'

'Who was it who will get the shipment to London?'

'Some guy named Coal. Mister Coal.'

'I understand. Explain everything to the authorities.'

'What? You're not going to kill me?'

'No. Cooperate with the police. Tell them everything and you'll get time off prison. Never break the law again.'

'Thanks,' he said just before the Phantom kicked him in the head knocking him out.

'You're most welcome.'

The Phantom walked back into the office and looked at the computer. It was still on so he pulled a USB drive from his belt and pressed it in. The programme on the USB stick set to work and began downloading all of the files from the computer and sending them to his own computer. It didn't take long and soon the words ALL DATA TRANSFERRED appeared on the screen. The Phantom took out the UBS stick and left the warehouse, heading back towards his base across Paris.

...

Christine Chagny, formerly Christine Daae, growled as the alarm clock screeched into life. She kept her face buried into her pillow, trying to keep away from waking up but in the end the clock won and then she jabbed her finger into the clocks alarm button turning it off. She slowly sat up and looked to see it was just after six in the morning and then looked to the other side of the bed to see Raoul wasn't there. Christine picked her night dress up off the floor next to the bed and threw it on over her head before leaving the bed room. She and Raoul lived in a large apartment overlooking the river. The kitchen and living room were open planned and one wall was a window through which they could see Paris. The snow was falling lightly now but Christine at once looked towards the kitchen where she saw her husband waiting by the toaster.

'Morning,' she said and kissed him on the cheek before sitting at the table.

'Sorry I forgot about the alarm.'

'It's alright. I'm meeting up with Meg later anyway. What's for breakfast?'

They took turns making breakfast when neither of them were going to be at work.

'Toast, scrambled egg and coffee,' he answered before jokingly adding, 'happy anniversary.'

'That was last night,' she reminded him.

'A whole year,' Raoul said and shook his head. 'It's hard to believe.'

'Yeah. I still think of you sometimes as that arrogant little prick who stopped me charging that machinegun.'

'I still think of you sometimes as that lunatic who wanted to charge at a machinegun.'

The two looked at each other and laughed at the old memories. Their years as vigilantes had brought them together and their memories of those days in many ways kept them together. Just then there was a knock at the door and Christine rolled her eyes.

'I'll get it,' she said to Raoul and then walked over to their front door. She opened it up and her jaw dropped in surprise when she saw who it was. 'Erik. What are you doing here?'

'I need a quick word with Raoul,' the man in the mask responded.

'Well, come in,' she said and she looked back at Raoul who was already waiting for Erik to come over. He stood in the kitchen as Erik calmly walked in and sat down at the kitchen table.

'What do you need?' Raoul asked him.

'Last night I attacked a warehouse being used as a depot by a drug cartel. I managed to secure intelligence on drug movements across the country. I've already passed that on to the police but there was one shipment of drugs going to London.'

'What's that got to do with us?' asked Christine.

'The drugs are going to the Chagny warehouse there. I need information on the drug shipment and who they are going to.'

'I'll need the order number.'

'Excellent. The order number is five, nine, one, three, two, eighty seven. You still have the secure email address?'

'Of course.'

'In that case send me everything you can get on them later.'

'No problem Erik.'

Erik stood up and smoothed out a crease in his coat and turned to leave. However, he then turned to Christine and reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large white envelope.

'Sorry I forgot to send it to you yesterday,' he said to Christine and then at Raoul. 'Happy anniversary.'

'Thanks Erik,' said Christine as Erik left their apartment.

The husband and wife looked at each other after Erik left and were silent for a few moments.

'Well, that happened.'

'Is he trying to bring us back?' asked Raoul.

'Maybe,' Christine responded. 'It's never easy to tell what's going on in Erik's head.'

'You've known him longer than I have. If you can't tell, no one can.'

'True. I reckon Antoinette could.'

'Suppose so.'

'Right then. Breakfast?'

'Oh shit,' Raoul said as he looked at the burnt toast in the toaster.

...

London

It was early in the morning as a lone man walked through a dark grave yard. Instead of snow there was rain. The man protected himself from the rain with an umbrella and from it he could hear the constant pattering of the water beating down towards him. He was wearing a smart suit, extremely expensive and tailor made for him specifically. His trousers, tie and jacket were a dark blue, his shirt was white and his polished shoes were black. Over his suit he wore a heavy black overcoat and on his finger was a gold wedding ring. In his free hand he held two bunches of roses he had bought earlier that day. The man's face showed he was about forty years old with black hair turning gray at the temples, his eyes were light blue and a scar from a knife crossed his left cheek and a bit of his ear lobe. Eventually he came to the first grave, small and simple. It was made from marble and there were no other flowers there. The man kneeled down in front of it, ignoring the water on the ground soaking through his trousers, and read the inscription.

Lucy Barker.
Beloved mother and wife.
Died tragically at her own hand.
May she live forever in God's Kingdom.
Born January 11th 2001
Died October 1st 2028

The man left the first bunch of flowers there and stood up, looking at the grave for a moment before turning to walk towards the second grave. It was easy to see. The second grave was a monument. A large marble sarcophagus was buried half into the ground. At the head of the sarcophagus stood a tall statue, life sized but standing on a plinth to make her look taller. He looked up at her and saw the face he had known for years. Her mask covered her entire face except for her eyes and mouth. She was wearing black armour and from her shoulders hung a black cape, stroking the plinth below. In her hand the statue held a fighting staff and a pistol was strapped to her leg.

He bowed his head to the statue and read the words etched expertly onto the sarcophagus. The grave itself cost thousands to make, all of it donations from the public and the extra money left was given to charity. Over a dozen bunches of flowers were left there in memory of her.

Ellen Martha Kelly
The Shadow Spirit
Hero of the United Kingdom and the world
Trusted friend and vigilante who fought for justice in an unjust world. Died fighting in the Newcastle Riots of 2032
Born April the Third 1630
Died September 1st 2032

He left the flowers there with the others and nodded once again at the statue before turning to leave. He walked through the cemetery and back to his car waiting outside. He climbed into it and drove through the streets of London. It was busy, as always, and his drive to HQ took a while. Eventually he reached the base in the City of London itself. It was the business capital of Western Europe, only equalled by Berlin as the leader of the European Confederation. HQ looked like one of the many tall buildings in the area. He entered an underground car park and locked the car behind him as he walked towards the lift close by. He stepped in and pressed his access card to the scanner which took him straight to the twelfth floor. He stepped out of the lift and entered a long corridor with no windows but many doors. He walked along the corridor and then reached room number 129. He pressed his card to the scanner outside the door and then a moment later it opened. The man stepped in and saw the familiar office. It had no decoration except for a picture of a group of men in army uniforms on one wall. Sitting behind the rooms desk was a stocky man with no hair but a short gray beard. His suit was simple and efficient.

'Harris,' the man said and looked at him.

'Essex.'

'I understand your mission to the Ukraine went well.'

'Of course. Major Mative and his men were able to take out the Confederate missile base.'

'Good man Mative. I don't know how he has so many guts, the number of times he's been shot.'

'Well,' said Jason Harris, 'if the SAS taught me one thing it's that every time you get shot at you get stronger.'

'Hah. You should have stuck to the regulars Harris.'

'I don't think so. Have you read my full report?'

'Of course Harris. Now, there is another matter.'

'What is it?'

Essex reached under his desk and pulled out four folders which he passed to Jason. Jason took them and flicked through each.

'Kidnappings. I thought this job was for police, not MI7.'

'The thing which makes these kidnappings important is who they are. Mrs Claudette Winterstride, philanthropist and charity organiser. His Grace the Bishop of Basingstoke, speaks for itself. Lord Foster, owner of the Foster Oil Conglomerate and Mister Anthony Kershaw, trust member of a dozen charities. Pillars of society all of them.'

'What is it this time? Terrorists?'

'Maybe,' he said and reached into a desk draw where he pulled out four small cards. 'These were found at the homes of each of the kidnapped people.'

Jason took one and examined it. It was black and a drawing of a crack went up the middle of it. On one side of the crack was a normal looking face, white against the black background. On the other side of the crack the face was red with a mad smile across his features.

'I have a bad feeling about this,' said Jason.

'Our best men are investigating it,' Essex told him. 'When we find something, we're deploying you in as Saint George.'

'Very well Essex. Anything else?'

'No. You can head home.'

'Thank you.'

Jason turned to leave and quickly left the building.

AN: So, that was the opening chapter and what do you think of it. I loved writing this and I hope all of you liked it as well. So, please review and let me know your thoughts on it.