Silver Sable's Wild Pack
Issue #1 – "One Life To Live"
Plots by Barry Reese, Script by D. Golightly
The dark alley was coated with rainwater even though it hadn't rained for two days. The dank back streets of New York City always seemed to hold back the moisture, as if they were afraid to let go of that which brings life. The residents of those alleyways and crawlspaces had mixed feelings about the dampness…they could drink amply but whatever shelter they managed to erect was soon washed out.
A bottle of whiskey clattered to the paved ground of the alley, empty. Its contents had been drained hours ago but the owner had held out a long hope that there would be a few drops left over in the bottom.
The derelict, forced by economical circumstances that were beyond his control, had forced him to live in that alley. At least, that's what he told himself every night before he passed out behind a dumpster. He usually fell asleep wishing and dreaming of the things he had lost, the things he had left behind, or the things he never had the opportunity to have.
Money, a fancy car, an expensive wristwatch, polished shoes, a tailored suit, gorgeous women… they could have all been his if Fate had dealt him a winning hand.
Just before he dozed off into an alcohol-induced slumber, the sound of someone running through the collected puddles of rainwater snapped him back to attention. Was it someone coming for him? Would he have to defend himself just like so many other nights spent on the street?
He leaned forward to see around the dumpster, peering as much as he dared. The sounds of footsteps racing toward him grew louder as he matched them up with a sight that was both extravagant and frightening.
A well-endowed woman was running down the alley, clutching her side to hold back little gouts of blood from spilling out. She was dressed in a slick silver bodysuit that clung to her all the tighter from her exertion and sweat. Her hair, the most flamboyant part of her, bounced back and forth as she ran. It was even brighter than her bodysuit, reflecting the very moonlight that somehow managed to squirm its way down into the dank alley.
She hoofed by the bum without regard to him, even kicking a small splash of water onto him as she ran. He was too stunned to wipe the water off his face. Was he dreaming? Had that really been whiskey he had chugged down?
He watched the woman reach the end of the alley. It was a dead end and she appeared frightened when she realized that. She paused, catching her breath while she looked around the alley for another way out. She muttered something in a language the derelict didn't understand as she slowly let her hand off of her side. Blood poured down her leg and onto the grimy floor of the alley, blending its crimson color in with the refuse that society had chosen to forget.
He almost pitied her. She looked out of her element, afraid, tired, and worn. She was breathing heavily, as if she had been running for quite some time. What was she running from? Who was she?
She suddenly looked up toward the rooftops, startling the drunken man that watched her so intently. He listened to try and figure out what had caught her attention, because when he looked up all he saw was blackness. Another sound rustled, but it was nothing like footsteps. It was more of a soft slithering and it almost sounded organic somehow.
He stared, trying to focus on the same spot that she did, but found it difficult with all the blackness that night had brought. Then, almost as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes, the darkness shifted and moved, accompanied by that slithering noise. A pair of blazing white eyes suddenly formed in the center of the dark mass that had been there all along, hidden by its own black skin.
The creature crawled down the fire escape and plopped down into the alley, landing almost exactly in between the bum and the woman. Its entire body looked like a moving shadow, swirling around inside itself even though it was vaguely humanoid in shape. Muscles protruded from its appendages, implying that whatever it was it had the power to do what it wanted. It faced the woman, its white eyes locked on to her. A large mouth formed under the eyes, complete with jagged teeth and a rolling red tongue. A white spider-like symbol appeared on its back and chest, familiar in its design.
"How many times do we have to kill you?" the creature said. Its voice was deep and resonating, somehow perfectly matching the way it appeared.
"You're the one that's going to die," the woman replied. Her one hand was clasped back around her gaping wound, desperately trying to hold back her lifeblood.
"Oh…we think not."
The creature lashed out with its right arm, a dark tendril of blackness leaping out and reaching for the woman's throat. She dodged to the side, wincing as the pain from her wound distracted her. The tendril missed initially, but it whipped around, lashing about for its intended target.
It slapped her across the face, drawing a streak of blood back as it returned to its owner. The creature drew its tongue across the tip of the tendril before it was reabsorbed back into its body, relishing the taste of the woman's blood.
"You taste even better than the last one," it said. "We will enjoy ripping your throat out…yes, we will."
The creature leapt at the weakened woman, bounding into the air and closing the gap between them in less than a heartbeat. It fell on top of her, grabbing her shoulders and pressing her back against the alley wall, its tongue lazily dropping out of its mouth and wavering in front of her face. Spittle dripped down in long strands but she met its gaze, all semblances of terror removed from her expression.
Her other arm suddenly sprung out, slashing against the chest of the creature. It fell back, more surprised than hurt, looking down at the cut on its torso. A long tear had been carved across the white spider-like symbol from a gleaming knife that was delicately balanced in the woman's hand. She smirked, trying to push herself up off the ground.
"And more defiant than the last one as well," the creature said. "But it will take more than that to kill us."
The darkness of the creature's skin swarmed over the slice in its chest, sealing it back up. In mere seconds all evidence of the attack was gone. It lunged forward once more, this time sending a tendril out ahead of it. The almost sentient strand of its skin rammed straight into her stomach, making her fall forward. Her eyes opened wide and blood dribbled out of her mouth. She tilted her head back enough to see the impressive rows of teeth that comprised the creature's mouth split impossibly apart.
The derelict cowering just a few dozen feet away tried not to scream in horror as he watched the creature close its mouth around her neck, chomping down with a sick satisfaction. Blood sprayed until several feet, coating the wall with dark liquid. The sound of flesh tearing covered her own muffled screams as her fire in her eyes died away.
The creature yanked back, his teeth still lodged in the woman's throat. Her head dangled around her shoulders, barely held to the rest of her body except for the spinal cord that kept it attached. Its long tongue licked the drops of blood off of its dazzling teeth, sucking the hot liquid down ecstatically.
Another tendril slowly worked its way up her dead body, not restricting itself from appreciating the curves of her athletic form. It finally reached her scalp, weaving its way between the strands of silver hair. The derelict saw a line of blood drool down across her lifeless face as the tendril poked into her forehead and proceeded to cut around her head.
It wasn't a dream after all. It was a nightmare.
The creature grabbed a tuft of her hair and pulled, popping open the top of her skull. Red and pink matter rested beneath, which seemed to hold the creature's attention for a moment. Then it crouched down and scooped up what its tendril could, devouring the luscious and soft brain.
The drunken man passed out from the horrific site that seemed like it belonged in a monster movie. His opened the next morning to look directly at the dead woman, her body still lying there yet ravaged.
He wished it had been a dream, but he realized that even nightmares can sometimes cross over into real life.
"Early this morning police reported the discovery of the body of a young woman who had apparently been viciously attacked in the alley between 8th Street and Mars Avenue. An area known for muggings and sexual assaults, this is the third incident this year that police have reported in this particular alley.
"The woman, positively identified by her dental records, was the Symkarian diplomat to the U.S., Silver Sablinovia. More commonly known when associated with her mercenary Wild Pack as Silver Sable, she was thought to currently be out of the country until her body was found by officers on patrol.
"The attack has been described by one source as 'extremely vicious' yet authorities have not released specific details concerning the incident. Captain Brian Hilliard stated in his press release this afternoon that the police have no reason to believe that this was a message to visiting diplomats from other countries. Captain Hilliard ended the briefing without taking any further questions, simply stating that details would be given to the public as they were made available.
"
The newscasts, special updates, exclusive interviews, and "complete coverage" continued almost obnoxiously over all the major networks, even those that weren't specifically geared toward news. Silver Sable's reputation had grown considerably over the years ever since her initial encounter with Spider-Man, which had resulted in international recognition for both her and her Wild Pack.
Her unique style and appearance had made her just as recognizable as any Hollywood star, making the sudden announcement of her death more shocking than people might have assumed. Her countrymen in Symkaria held a national day of morning in her honor, thousands of them bearing a silver armband to show respect.
Her remains were quickly sealed away and then moved to her home country. The transport cavalcade looked like a parade, with a total of thirteen cars as part of the procession to the airport. Security was kept tight as a precaution, although unknown to those partaking in the transport there were several other eyes watching them to ensure the safe arrival of her body.
The various vigilantes and heroes that called the city home laid a careful watch over Silver's remains, making sure that none of her enemies would take the opportunity to defile an international hero. Captain America waited at the airport while Iron Man flew high overhead the procession, monitoring even radio signals generating near the cavalcade's path.
Spider-Man, carefully swinging from tower to tower to the city limits, also devoted time to the transport. Still somewhat feared by the populace, he had chosen to stay out of sight as best he could. The last thing they needed was a riot caused by his presence, but he still made the effort to take responsibility for the safe arrival of Silver Sable's body.
As the coffin that held her remains was loaded onto the private jet that the Wild Pack used to travel the globe, the entire world looked on to make peace with the departure of a noble woman.
"I told you that I was not to be disturbed," Ernst Sablinovia said sternly. "What part of that did you not understand?"
The plush offices of Silver Sable International were decorated with the most exquisite furniture and art that money could buy. Always pushing that form followed function, Ernst made sure that his image would displace the rather questionable operations of the family company. Ernst's office in particular, on the top floor of their headquarters in Symkaria, was filled with the finest wood, priceless sculptures, and delicate tapestries from decades long since passed.
As he stood up from behind his desk, Ernst wished that his office was filled with more lethal adornments so that his uninvited guest might think twice about staying.
"I have only come as a grieving man, stricken with the loss of his wife," the intruder replied. His dark hair matched the shade of his tailored suit, underneath of which was a body in peak physical condition. "Surely you can't be surprised by my presence…Father."
"Your marriage to my daughter was a sham at best," Ernst shot back angrily. "Do not ever refer to me as 'Father' ever again."
The enigmatic man known to the select few only as the Foreigner smirked and bowed slightly in response. His hands casually held behind his back, he took a few steps into the room and paused, admiring the art on the walls.
"My only daughter is being buried this afternoon," Ernst said. "I have to leave for the airport now. Why are you here?" Ernst asked.
"As I said; I am nothing but a grieving husband."
"More like a treacherous leech."
The smirk disappeared from the Foreigner's face, replaced by a look of contempt. "There is nothing I want from you, old man. I'm merely here to accept my legal responsibility to my wife's estate."
"You don't even legally exist," Ernst stated. "How can you possibly hope to lay claim to anything of my daughter's when there isn't even a record of your marriage?"
The Foreigner pulled a slip of paper from inside his jacket pocket, holding it out for Ernst to take. He turned back to stare at the tapestries as Ernst unfolded the paper, shocked by its contents.
"This is a duplicate of a marriage license," he said with disbelief. "It's…obviously a forgery. This proves nothing."
"I'm afraid it does, Father. As you no doubt know, I have literally hundreds of identities in place all over the globe, which I can assume anytime I wish. When your daughter and I…consummated our love, the name you see beside hers on that slip of paper is the man I was at the time. Legally, my fictitious self is entitled to her estate by right and by law."
The Foreigner swiftly walked back to the entrance, pausing when he reached the doorway. He turned back to face Ernst and couldn't help but smile again when he saw the look on his pseudo-father-in-law's face.
"Nice to see you again, Father. My lawyer will be in contact with you soon."
He closed the door as he exited, soliciting a scream of pure aggravation from Ernst Sablinovia. A small sculpture worth several men's salaries smashed against the door, shattering to now worthless pieces.
She felt cool liquid wash over her skin, slick and silky like condensed air. Her eyes popped open, stinging as the liquid flushed away. What little light was able to reach her pupils made her cringe even more.
She reached forward toward the light, confused and disoriented. Her hand smacked against a glass wall, stubbing her fingers slightly. What was this? Where was she?
She felt the liquid begin to move once more, its soft embrace being torn away from her. It was almost painful to lose it. She looked down and saw that she was lowering down to a metal grating as the liquid was flushed out beneath her.
There were several electronic chirps from somewhere nearby, then the glass wall…no, a tube…slid back and allowed fresh air to fill her lungs. No longer supported by the liquid, she fell forward and hit the floor hard. She slipped down onto her side and threw up what seemed like gallons of the liquid, her lungs sucking in oxygen. She gasped several times, both from the need to breath and the shock of her situation.
Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkened room. She noticed rows upon rows of monitors, each displaying scrolling bits of information that seemed foreign to her. She shivered, noticing for the first time that she was naked and that the cold stainless steel floor wasn't helping to warm her.
She feebly stood up, using the tube she had fallen out of for support. The back of the inside of her tube was also metal, shiny enough for her to see her reflection in. Her damp, hair hung around her bare shoulders, clinging to her smooth skin. She didn't know the person looking back at her in the reflection.
She turned around, desperate to find anyone that could help her. She was alone and scared, with no idea of who she was or what was happening to her. She managed to cross the floor to the rows of monitors, hoping that there would be some type of communication device there that she could use to find help. There were several switches and buttons per monitor, but none of them were labeled. Each monitor had exactly the same setup, but there was no way of telling what might happen if she were to start hitting things randomly.
Deciding that someone would eventually have to come if she accidentally did something wrong to the systems, she flipped the first three switches in front of her. A series of lights snapped on, illuminating different sections of the room around her. She spun around to see what she had done and was horrified at the site now on display before her.
There were several other tubes just like hers spread throughout the room, each with their very own woman inside that looked nearly identical to her.
Her bottom lip quivered uncontrollably. What was happening here?
She began to hyperventilate. She had to get out of there, no matter what. Things weren't making sense, and she was beginning to wish that she hadn't woken up at all. Stumbling to the far side of the room where she saw a cabinet, she ripped the door open and rooted around inside for something that might be useful. She was moving on pure instinct, unsure of what she would even try and do.
Her hands fell on top of a pile of silver garments that felt like latex or possibly nylon. She unfolded them and pulled them over her still wet skin. The fabric clung to her tightly, but seemed to fit well enough. Her legs now more stable under her, she ran for the only door she could see, not wanting to spend another second with the hellish scenario in the room. She burst out into a long hallway, nearly tripping over herself in her haste.
"Hey!" someone called.
A man wearing white body armor was walking toward her with a gun leveled at her head. His eyes were covered by a pair of goggles, but he looked to be in his mid thirties. He slowed his approach as she returned his gaze.
"Oh, shit…" he swore.
The woman leapt at him, taking advantage of his hesitation. Before he could react she had smacked the barrel of the rifle down and spun into his stance, bringing her elbow up to slam into his nose. Blood squirted out from under his nostrils as she followed through with the hit, pressing her hip against his stomach and flipping him onto the ground in a perfectly executed judo maneuver.
She held onto his arm as he fell, yanking back hard in the wrong direction with it. The man cried out as his shoulder dislocated, but the woman moved like she didn't hear a thing. She quickly bent down and shot the side of her hand out, catching him just under his chin. The man fell limp to the ground, dead from a crushed windpipe.
She let his arm drop to the side of his lifeless body. Stunned by her own actions, the woman cautiously picked up the dropped rifle and began to sprint down the hallway. There was no telling how many other guards may come looking for her. She had to escape quickly.
Finding a stairwell, she ran up several flights before finally finding a window. Smashing the butt of the rifle against the glass, she shattered the pane and opened up her exit to freedom.
The woman's silver hair glistened in the moonlight as she leapt out into the night and into the countryside of Symkaria.
TO BE CONTINUED