Argh! I swear, I will write a *semi*-decent X-Men fanfic one of these
days!! I swear to Stratos! (Let's all hope the Great Gryphon doesn't cheat
me out of thie one, too!)
AHCD: Dämon doesn't own X-Men or anything Marvel. At all. Period. The Almighty Horsey Calendar of Doom has spoken.
Me: Self-centered little arse, isn't he? Long live insanity, yo!!!
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^_^ Prologue ^_^
Shadowlion didn't live in New York, never had, never intended to. Too many people. Too much noise. Of course, those were her excuses for not living in *any* actual city her entire life. Rural areas, like farmland, didn't suit her either. For lack of cable. Small towns worked just fine. Although, given the choice, Shadowlion would've gratefully taken her life to Dresden, Ohio, instead of Avon, Indiana. Dresden has hundreds of Longaberger baskets. Ah, sweet heaven!
But, just because Shadowlion hated cities, that didn't mean a vacation to one was entirely out of the question. Her and that weird southerner, Beauregard, were the ones that convinced Beau's mother, aptly named Tiger, to take them to New York. Imagine: stuck on a whole-day roadtrip with an Australian bushranger and a New Orleans prettyboy. Oh yeah. That's definately Hell on Earth if ever that was possible.
Thankfully, *this* particular story isn't meant to tell about Shadowlion and Bladerunner's little misadventures in New York. It's what happened afterward.
^_^ Shortly After the Alkali Lake Incident ^_^
{Reports of flood damage are minor, and Alkali Lake's waters are quickly receding,} evening Channel 13 News anchor, Scott Swan (the white-haired wonder, as Shadowlion often said), reported on the recent devastation of local homes and businesses near Alkali Lake, which had happened only a week before.
"And they found nothing!?" Tiger, now legally Panthera, spat at the television. She cursed under her breath. "Beauregard, turn the damned thing off!"
"Whatever," Beau mumbled, changing the channel back to Saturday morning cartoons on channel 4. "What do you expect them to find? The lab was practically destroyed anyways. What they find will only be considered normal."
"Adamantium is *not* normal, Blade," Panthera scolded, her voice a low, angry hiss. "Especially for what they used it for." She accentuated her remark by showing off her claws, the ones that were just like the ones the man she called Wolverine had. Her claws, as well as Beau's own set, were a constant reminder of their life in the Alkali Lake mutant experimentation facilities, underneath the dam destroyed a week prior.
"Look at the bright side, Tiger," Shadowlion said from the adjoining computer room, "they can't do it again now."
Panthera sighed. Leave it to Shadowlion to look at it that way. The young girl wasn't bred an optimist, but after everything that had happened, starting when they found that half-dead mutant on the shores of the Hudson, her outlook had changed, maybe for better or even for the worse. Panthera found it hard to believe that, after Shadowlion's parents had been murdered and the rest of her family fleeing into exile for their own safety and leaving the thirteen-year-old behind, Shadowlion could look at the bowl as half full. The more she thought about it, the cloudier it became. True, she was nearly like a mother to Shadowlion, and Beauregard the overly-obnoxious older brother the girl hadn't had in the first place. But, they shouldn't have ever been able to replace what Shadowlion had lost upon seeing her parents shot. They could only fill part of that, and even with the addition of that new mutant, Shadowlion should've still seemed . . . distant. It wasn't like that, though. Maybe it was the little demon's way of coping with loss: act like it never happened and move on with your now miserable life.
'Demon,' Panthera thought, stifling a melancholy laugh. 'She may act like one, but calling her one will never help her.'
Although, there was still the chance that Shadowlion's occasionally positive demeanor held some truth. Living in Avon, while seemingly quiet to the normal self-centered, mind-your-own-business, small town human, was a living nightmare for mutants. There was an underworld, a gang, of sorts. The Mutant Hunters. "Old guys with too much beer, too much free-time, and too big guns" as Beau described them. And they were. The Mutant Hunters was a small band made up of about fifty people, mostly men, and mostly drunken hicks. They would often go out and shoot to kill resident mutants and their families. Normal folks didn't know about the Hunters, but God look upon the ignorant *mutant* who didn't know about them! The police never said anything about it either. If any of those "normal folks" found out about the Mutant Hunters, one of two things would happen. One: the Mutant Hunters would gain so many followers in such a short amount of time, the entire mutant population would be run out of Indiana. Mutants counted as the general workforce, too, and if said event was to take place, there would go the Midwest's economy. Right down the drain. Two: there could be a revolt. The police would have bigger problems dealing with protestors than to just keep the whole issue quiet.
Such was the life of a mutant in Indiana. And to the Mutant Hunters, Shadowlion lost her entire family. But, all things considered, her and her friends, Beau, Panthera, and the strange new guy, known to the Hunters as the Bellevue Wildcats, were fairly well-off. The Wildcats were a few scrappy, renegade mutant revolters, bent on bringing down the Hunters, all recruited and led by the scraggiest telepath in the world, the elusive Shadowlion. Their base, if that's what is it to be called, was usually Shadowlion's "abandoned" house. But mostly, the Wildcats received their funding, primitive weaponry, and wicked cool uniforms from an entity known to them as the White Dragon. White Dragon had become mostly a story, more than a real living mutant, considering it was only the Wildcats' heirarchy that ever saw him. And even though Panthera was one of those who saw the man, she still found it hard to believe that the snow-white skinned, demonic-looking man revealed to her, Beau, and Shadowlion as Anton Wagoner, could even possibly exist. The only thing that kept his prescence a truth was the large sums of money he invested into the Wildcats and their warriors.
White Dragon had not approved of Shadowlion's recruiting the strange new mutant, a genius that called himself Toad. But, even though White Dragon knew full well how brash and sporadic young Shadowlion could be in her decisions, she often made near perfect choices on recruits, even though Toad had recently revealed his prior job working for the Brotherhood, the one union that challenged White Dragon, Shadowlion, and their Wildcats. White Dragon found it hard this time, though, no matter how often he noticed the caring way Shadowlion regarded Toad, to accept the new recruit willingly. The old German balked when Beau delivered the news that Toad was officially with the Wildcats, and very nearly threatened to cut funding.
Oh, but that wouldn't've served *Anton's* purpose at all. The Wildcats were his ticket back to the top, his one way to get back the power and supremecy he and his family had lost in 1945. They were his new army, his new Reich, and his one and only chance to fly the Swastika above New York someday. Problem was, Shadowlion had quickly discovered Anton's purpose for funding and supporting the Wildcats. That was where he lost much of his future power. Shadowlion wanted a cut. If the country was to be won by the Wildcats, it was to belong to their leader. Anton would have his Reich. There was no doubt about that. But Shadowlion would never give up her one chance to prove that mutants weren't evil, even if it meant decreeing it as a law to make the two factions, human and mutant, live in peace. Of course, she sadly realized that a thirteen-year-old would make a poor world dictator, and gave up much of her possible rule back to Anton. But never all of it.
"Panthera," Shadowlion continued, "you realize it will do you no good to hide your thoughts from me. I've been called 'demon' for a long time, even by Ant- White Dragon himself. Imagine that. My name is, if you'll remember, Dämon. And you'll remember that Dämon *does* in fact mean Demon in German."
"Courtesy White Dragon the Heartless," Panthera snapped back. "He's cold and unfeeling, Shadowlion, that's why he calls you that. He doesn't realize he's actually insulting you, mate. *He's* the demon!"
Shadowlion snorted. "He's not completely heartless! He has a son and a daughter, Panthera, and a grandson even, that he would do anything for. And he'd do anything for us. He deserves the title 'The Heartless' as much as I deserve the name 'Dämon'. You know that as well as any of us." Shadowlion entered the living room with her painful-looking, four-legged gait. That oh- so-painful-looking gait was, however, what made her name Shadow*lion*. It was part of her mutation. Shadowlion was, essentially, a throwback. Her skeletal system was incredibly primitive: her spine attached to the back of her skull, instead of the base of it, making her capable of her trademark lion-walk. Standing up straight like a normal human was the problem.
She stopped to stare out at her backyard. Her plain, normal-looking backyard. There was the quaint little light blue and black shed, the dog kennels, and the giant trampoline, all enclosed in a pretty six-foot-tall cedar privacy fence. From the looks of it, there was nothing unique about it or the house. But, underneath that dark green Kentucky Bluegrass, was a military base that would make the CIA envious. The base that housed the elite fighters of the Wildcats Reich, the ancient Egyptian weaponry Anton was famous for, and the fleet of modified jets, planes, and Blackhawk and Apache helicopters.
The Wildcats Air Force. That was a force to be reckoned with. Every plane, from the World War Two Mitsubishi Zero's equipped with jet engines, to the modern F-18 Fighting Falcons with stealth technology, every single aircraft capable of vertical take-off and landing, was the Wildcats pride. The most powerful of the jets being Shadowlion's modified Mitsubishi Zero, Spike. That plane had everything: stealth technology, homing missiles, smart bombs, two seperate machine guns, and a jet engine that made it capable of attaining a maximum speed of Mach three. Spike was the fleet's engineer, Anton's son, Aryan's, greatest achievement. And Aryan promised never to design and build a plane as destructive as Spike ever again, for the safety of the world.
Shadowlion layed down, her legs stretched out behind her and her arms curled up in front of her, like a lion. She casually watched Anton's German shepherd, Rätsel, restlessly pace his kennel. "When're Mortimer and DeSoto coming back?"
"Lord knows," Beau mumbled, half asleep and ready to call it a day, even though he hadn't moved an inch since nine o'clock that morning. "It's Saturday afternoon, on a holiday weekend. I doubt Meijer's is a ghost town today."
"Holiday weekend, huh? Which holiday?"
"Independence Day, Shadow," replied Panthera in an annoyed tone. "Get with the program, mate. You've lived here for nearly as long as we have. I would *think* you would know your holidays by now!"
"Tiger," Shadowlion said, exasperated, "we're cut off from the public! We can't go out there for fear of being shot! It's a wonder we even know which movies are showing at the Regal up the freakin' road!"
"We *do* have cable, y'know," Beau sniffed disdainfully.
"Oh yeah! It all makes sense now, Shadow!" Panthera moved as though she was going to jump across the room and strangle Shadowlion. "We can't go out there because those rednecks might shoot us up, 'cause we're freaks! Right? Well then why the hell did we send Toad and Águila out to the local supermarket?"
"Because they volunteered, Panthera," said Shadowlion smugly.
"Águila has bright red wings," Panthera said flatly, "and Toad has that greenish complexion. A kid with cardinal wings and a--"
"Okay, so maybe DeSoto, or any of the Diego's, wasn't the greatest candidate. But Mortimer, what's wrong with him? I mean, look at Zachary Armentrout. He had that weird grayish complexion and all anybody ever said to *him* was 'Why do you always got a black eye' !"
"Everybody still hated Armentrout," Beau interjected evenly.
Nobody bothered to argue with Beau; he had made a logical point. Nobody had the chance either. A winged boy dropped down in front of the sliding glass door, and Shadowlion leaped back, startled.
"Águila!" Shadowlion roared, angrily unlocking the door and yanking the little nine-year-old boy in.
"Soy arrepentido, Señoritas Löwe," DeSoto said quickly, bowing slightly. "Pe- Perdí . . . "
"What did you lose, DeSoto?" Beau asked patiently.
"Mortimer, señor," mumbled DeSoto. "Soy arrepentido. Soy *muy* arrepentido. Realmente. ¿Me perdonará usted?"
"Well? What did he say, Beau?" Panthera asked cheerfully.
"He says he's sorry. It seems him and Mortimer got seperated somehow," Beau said, confused. He glared at his mother for the gleeful look she had on her face, then looked patiently to DeSoto. "Alright now, DeSoto, where do you last remember seeing Mortimer?"
"Uh--"
"En el inglés, por favor," Shadowlion growled.
"Sí. Last remember . . . when we crossed Rockville . . . there was a big crowd . . ." DeSoto paused, trying to set his thoughts in order, and then translate them to English. "We tried to go through the crowd, but . . . when I get to Cazuela's, Mortimer is gone!"
"Great," Shadowlion said frantically, "he's wandering around Avon somewhere without any idea where Austin Lakes is! Águila! Why didn't you try to find him?"
"I try!" DeSoto cried. "Believe me, I try! But he was nowhere near Regal. Knew one of you could help. Or maybe my father?"
"Azul-Halcón is busy, Águila," said Panthera. "Shadow? You can help, right? I know you've been dying to get out and see the town again."
"White Dragon wouldn--"
"Who cares?! It's not like there's a bloody law against going out in public!"
"Australians scare me," Shadowlion whispered to herself. "All right, if you insist. I go solo, though, got it? The 'Spanish Wonder' here can stay with you guys."
"I don't know--" Beau sat up, but didn't bother to finish what he was going to say, because he knew it would be pointless to argue with Shadowlion. That was the wonder about Beauregard. Both of his parents were known for liking to fight and argue, but Beau avoided confrontation like the plague, electing to smooth-talk his way out of a bad situation rather than shred somebody, even though he was more than capable of doing it. He nodded towards DeSoto and the boy trudged dejectedly to the closet door under the stairs which led to the Wildcats' underground compound. "There's the walk of a confused cardinal," Beau said, waiting for his mother to hit him for being philisophical again. The blow never came, thank God.
Shadowlion didn't bother to contradict him either. She bounded up the stairs to the second floor, where four nice, decent sized bedrooms were. The four bedrooms were reserved for the two leaders, and any two members of their chosing. Panthera chose to have her son sleep in one of those bedrooms, but Shadowlion didn't necessarily like anybody, even if they risked their lives to fight for her Reich. So, the other west-side bedroom sat vacant since the establishment of the Wildcat Reich. Until after her and Beau's trip to New York. After that, Toad occupied the final room, angering many of the senior officers that believed they deserved a topside room more than some new recruit. But arguing with Shadowlion over her choice of favorites was likely to get you thrown out of a plane somewhere in the Yukon.
In Shadowlion's room, there hung several posters for Disney's "The Lion King" and a flag for the IUPUI Jaguars, along with her prize bow and the rusty iron tent pole she enjoyed using in a fight on occasion. Hanging from the top shelf of her dresser were nearly a quarter dozen crosses, all different styles and given to her by a quarter dozen different people. On the bookshelves framing her white whicker desk was her Mitsubishi Zero model, her boom box, and her alphabetized CD collection. In one corner of the room, in a glass case, were a pair of black panther paws, modified and rigged with steel-titanium braces and adamantium, retractable claws. They were sized to fit Shadowlion's own hands as tight as leather gloves, function as weapons, and support Shadowlion's lion-like gait. Once they were on, her hands were useless as actual hands. But the paws that they became were more deadly than anything her own human hands were capable of.
These were slipped on quickly and Shadowlion left, leaving through the back door downstairs without a word to Beau or Panthera. Beau glanced over at Panthera.
"I have nothing to say, except what Anton said: 'She is Puma's great- granddaughter.' ~You~ figure it out," Panthera said.
The gate to Shadowlion's backyard was triple-locked: a basic bolt, a combination lock, and a padlock with a well-hidden key - Shadowlion's claws. Her claws, as well as Panthera's and Beauregard's, were excellent lock picks, meaning that the need for a key was nonexistent. They were the only three in the town able to open that door, unless someone intended on blowing it up.
Locking it again from the outside, however, was impossible. Somebody from inside the compound would have to come out and lock it again. That somebody was whoever was monitoring the surveillance cameras and area scans, if they were awake.
Shadowlion made certain the nobody else in the surrounding houses had decided to be out in their backyard. Luckily, this neighborhood wasn't exactly the stereotypical All-American neighborhood that is shown on television, and most people were content to sit in their La-Z-Boys with a bowl of nachos watching Nascar. In other words: nobody was outside. Passing by Sandy's yard was a different story. The scraggly, tawny dog rushed at her, baying and snarling. Sandy attempted to jump the fence, but thankfully came short, and resorted to jumping up and down on her own side.
"Shut up!" Shadowlion spat, trying not to be loud enough to catch her neighbors' attention.
Not wanting Sandy's barking to alert her owners, Shadowlion slunk off, walking down the easement between the houses on her own street and the houses on the cauldesac behind them. She finally reached the property line between her ex-friend's old house and his neighbors; in front of her lay a street, another line of houses, then a broad line of trees. Hoping against all her family's damned bad luck, Shadowlion sprinted across the street, not stopping until she reached the trees. She relaxed her caution a bit, and proceeded to follow the long line of trees that would eventually take her out to Rockville Road, the main thoroughfare for Avon, and the widest and busiest road in the town. Hard to cross inconspicuously. That was when the danger really started. The chances of her getting caught were nearly tripled. And if she somehow managed to find Toad, then she would have to make it all the way back with him.
"Life sucks, man," Shadowlion said to herself. She made no noise walking in between the trees. It wasn't as though any ~human~ could've heard her; it was the horses in the field on the opposite side of the treeline from Austin Lakes. They would most likely sense a feline presence should Shadowlion happen to make a noise and get their attention. She like the horses, though, even if they were a threat to her. Shadowlion had always loved horses, and she was thrilled to death when Anton presented her with a beautiful black Holstein stallion she named Angel. Angel was one of Anton's strange genetic experiments with animals: incorporating the mutant gene into an animal's DNA. The stallion was one of few successful experiments. Ironically, Angel's mutation were his giant falcon wings, his fire-colored mane and tail, and his ability to speak. Angel was considered one of the Wildcats, and was given the codename "Pegasus". Shadowlion had wanted to have Pegasus fly her to the Regal Cinemas down the road, but that would've attracted some unhealthy attention. "And if the humans didn't kill me, Anton would, and Angel would end up in a glue factory."
"Oh I would, would I?" said a multi-pitched voice that reminded Shadowlion of Shaggy off the cartoon "Scooby-Doo".
Shadowlion stopped and looked into the horse paddock. There wasn't the usual two or three gray mares, but Pegasus, head high and wings clamped tight to his sides. His position looked incredibly painful. The stallion trotted towards the paddock's fence in a bouncy parody of the Spanish high- step. Pegasus was a ridiculous animal, even if he was beautiful.
"Alright, Black Beauty, what're you doin' here?" Shadowlion asked in an exasperated tone.
"DeSoto said you were going out to find the new guy again, man! I came to, like, bring you back. Anton says--"
"Grr . . . damn Anton! And all his stupid rules!" Shadowlion snapped.
"Uhm--"
"Go home, Angel. Now. Haddaway hyem!"
Pegasus hung his head and nickered softly. Shadowlion only literally said "haddaway" to him when she was angry with him, and he couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. "But . . . I wanted to help you, man. Anton told me to bring you back, but I, like, wanted to go on a mission! Just for once. We haven't done anything actually exciting since the first news of Alkali Lake came to Indiana," Pegasus whispered ruefully. He looked up with big, brown, puppy dog eyes. "Please?"
Shadowlion sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't go out of your way to attract attention. No loud talking, no showing off you wings . . ."
" . . . and don't make faces at the little kids," Pegasus finished. "Yes, I know. But at least let me fly you to Regal. It will be a lot quicker and I promise after that I won't be any trouble." His long face brightened as he smiled wide. "Pleeeeeease?" he said in a cheesy voice.
"I can't win with you, can I?" Shadowlion shook her head in defeat. "Alright. We'll fly." She climbed over the barbed wire fence, trying not to tear her clothes on the barbs. Pegasus knelt down so Shadowlion could climb on his back since it was Wildcats code to ride bareback (for reasons not even Anton knew). He backed up, making strange noises like a school bus in reverse. When he reached an area clear of trees and fences, he snapped open his wings and flapped them a few times to stretch them, then leaped straight up into the air, flapping furiously to gain altitude before the paddock's owner came out and tried to shoot the "abomination". Pegasus' wings, no matter how large they were, were like a falcon's, which meant he was incredibly fast. He spiraled into the clear sky, circling for height. Shadowlion clutched his mane and laid as flat as she could, waiting for the moment when the stallion would go into his distance-eating dive. She wasn't frightened of the Holstein's strange flying manuevers, but she knew what the consequences would be if she didn't hang on.
As Pegasus tilted into a dive, Shadowlion looked up ahead of them at the movie theater on the other side of town, and prayed and hoped that her and her horse would be able to find Toad before the mutant hunters did. "Oh gods. Stratos help us if they should ever find him." He eyes narrowed. "Stratos help ~them~ should they ever find him."
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That's it! I am uploading this immediately, so I can't delete it! Mwahahaha! I am smarter than . . . ME!
AHCD: Dämon doesn't own X-Men or anything Marvel. At all. Period. The Almighty Horsey Calendar of Doom has spoken.
Me: Self-centered little arse, isn't he? Long live insanity, yo!!!
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^_^ Prologue ^_^
Shadowlion didn't live in New York, never had, never intended to. Too many people. Too much noise. Of course, those were her excuses for not living in *any* actual city her entire life. Rural areas, like farmland, didn't suit her either. For lack of cable. Small towns worked just fine. Although, given the choice, Shadowlion would've gratefully taken her life to Dresden, Ohio, instead of Avon, Indiana. Dresden has hundreds of Longaberger baskets. Ah, sweet heaven!
But, just because Shadowlion hated cities, that didn't mean a vacation to one was entirely out of the question. Her and that weird southerner, Beauregard, were the ones that convinced Beau's mother, aptly named Tiger, to take them to New York. Imagine: stuck on a whole-day roadtrip with an Australian bushranger and a New Orleans prettyboy. Oh yeah. That's definately Hell on Earth if ever that was possible.
Thankfully, *this* particular story isn't meant to tell about Shadowlion and Bladerunner's little misadventures in New York. It's what happened afterward.
^_^ Shortly After the Alkali Lake Incident ^_^
{Reports of flood damage are minor, and Alkali Lake's waters are quickly receding,} evening Channel 13 News anchor, Scott Swan (the white-haired wonder, as Shadowlion often said), reported on the recent devastation of local homes and businesses near Alkali Lake, which had happened only a week before.
"And they found nothing!?" Tiger, now legally Panthera, spat at the television. She cursed under her breath. "Beauregard, turn the damned thing off!"
"Whatever," Beau mumbled, changing the channel back to Saturday morning cartoons on channel 4. "What do you expect them to find? The lab was practically destroyed anyways. What they find will only be considered normal."
"Adamantium is *not* normal, Blade," Panthera scolded, her voice a low, angry hiss. "Especially for what they used it for." She accentuated her remark by showing off her claws, the ones that were just like the ones the man she called Wolverine had. Her claws, as well as Beau's own set, were a constant reminder of their life in the Alkali Lake mutant experimentation facilities, underneath the dam destroyed a week prior.
"Look at the bright side, Tiger," Shadowlion said from the adjoining computer room, "they can't do it again now."
Panthera sighed. Leave it to Shadowlion to look at it that way. The young girl wasn't bred an optimist, but after everything that had happened, starting when they found that half-dead mutant on the shores of the Hudson, her outlook had changed, maybe for better or even for the worse. Panthera found it hard to believe that, after Shadowlion's parents had been murdered and the rest of her family fleeing into exile for their own safety and leaving the thirteen-year-old behind, Shadowlion could look at the bowl as half full. The more she thought about it, the cloudier it became. True, she was nearly like a mother to Shadowlion, and Beauregard the overly-obnoxious older brother the girl hadn't had in the first place. But, they shouldn't have ever been able to replace what Shadowlion had lost upon seeing her parents shot. They could only fill part of that, and even with the addition of that new mutant, Shadowlion should've still seemed . . . distant. It wasn't like that, though. Maybe it was the little demon's way of coping with loss: act like it never happened and move on with your now miserable life.
'Demon,' Panthera thought, stifling a melancholy laugh. 'She may act like one, but calling her one will never help her.'
Although, there was still the chance that Shadowlion's occasionally positive demeanor held some truth. Living in Avon, while seemingly quiet to the normal self-centered, mind-your-own-business, small town human, was a living nightmare for mutants. There was an underworld, a gang, of sorts. The Mutant Hunters. "Old guys with too much beer, too much free-time, and too big guns" as Beau described them. And they were. The Mutant Hunters was a small band made up of about fifty people, mostly men, and mostly drunken hicks. They would often go out and shoot to kill resident mutants and their families. Normal folks didn't know about the Hunters, but God look upon the ignorant *mutant* who didn't know about them! The police never said anything about it either. If any of those "normal folks" found out about the Mutant Hunters, one of two things would happen. One: the Mutant Hunters would gain so many followers in such a short amount of time, the entire mutant population would be run out of Indiana. Mutants counted as the general workforce, too, and if said event was to take place, there would go the Midwest's economy. Right down the drain. Two: there could be a revolt. The police would have bigger problems dealing with protestors than to just keep the whole issue quiet.
Such was the life of a mutant in Indiana. And to the Mutant Hunters, Shadowlion lost her entire family. But, all things considered, her and her friends, Beau, Panthera, and the strange new guy, known to the Hunters as the Bellevue Wildcats, were fairly well-off. The Wildcats were a few scrappy, renegade mutant revolters, bent on bringing down the Hunters, all recruited and led by the scraggiest telepath in the world, the elusive Shadowlion. Their base, if that's what is it to be called, was usually Shadowlion's "abandoned" house. But mostly, the Wildcats received their funding, primitive weaponry, and wicked cool uniforms from an entity known to them as the White Dragon. White Dragon had become mostly a story, more than a real living mutant, considering it was only the Wildcats' heirarchy that ever saw him. And even though Panthera was one of those who saw the man, she still found it hard to believe that the snow-white skinned, demonic-looking man revealed to her, Beau, and Shadowlion as Anton Wagoner, could even possibly exist. The only thing that kept his prescence a truth was the large sums of money he invested into the Wildcats and their warriors.
White Dragon had not approved of Shadowlion's recruiting the strange new mutant, a genius that called himself Toad. But, even though White Dragon knew full well how brash and sporadic young Shadowlion could be in her decisions, she often made near perfect choices on recruits, even though Toad had recently revealed his prior job working for the Brotherhood, the one union that challenged White Dragon, Shadowlion, and their Wildcats. White Dragon found it hard this time, though, no matter how often he noticed the caring way Shadowlion regarded Toad, to accept the new recruit willingly. The old German balked when Beau delivered the news that Toad was officially with the Wildcats, and very nearly threatened to cut funding.
Oh, but that wouldn't've served *Anton's* purpose at all. The Wildcats were his ticket back to the top, his one way to get back the power and supremecy he and his family had lost in 1945. They were his new army, his new Reich, and his one and only chance to fly the Swastika above New York someday. Problem was, Shadowlion had quickly discovered Anton's purpose for funding and supporting the Wildcats. That was where he lost much of his future power. Shadowlion wanted a cut. If the country was to be won by the Wildcats, it was to belong to their leader. Anton would have his Reich. There was no doubt about that. But Shadowlion would never give up her one chance to prove that mutants weren't evil, even if it meant decreeing it as a law to make the two factions, human and mutant, live in peace. Of course, she sadly realized that a thirteen-year-old would make a poor world dictator, and gave up much of her possible rule back to Anton. But never all of it.
"Panthera," Shadowlion continued, "you realize it will do you no good to hide your thoughts from me. I've been called 'demon' for a long time, even by Ant- White Dragon himself. Imagine that. My name is, if you'll remember, Dämon. And you'll remember that Dämon *does* in fact mean Demon in German."
"Courtesy White Dragon the Heartless," Panthera snapped back. "He's cold and unfeeling, Shadowlion, that's why he calls you that. He doesn't realize he's actually insulting you, mate. *He's* the demon!"
Shadowlion snorted. "He's not completely heartless! He has a son and a daughter, Panthera, and a grandson even, that he would do anything for. And he'd do anything for us. He deserves the title 'The Heartless' as much as I deserve the name 'Dämon'. You know that as well as any of us." Shadowlion entered the living room with her painful-looking, four-legged gait. That oh- so-painful-looking gait was, however, what made her name Shadow*lion*. It was part of her mutation. Shadowlion was, essentially, a throwback. Her skeletal system was incredibly primitive: her spine attached to the back of her skull, instead of the base of it, making her capable of her trademark lion-walk. Standing up straight like a normal human was the problem.
She stopped to stare out at her backyard. Her plain, normal-looking backyard. There was the quaint little light blue and black shed, the dog kennels, and the giant trampoline, all enclosed in a pretty six-foot-tall cedar privacy fence. From the looks of it, there was nothing unique about it or the house. But, underneath that dark green Kentucky Bluegrass, was a military base that would make the CIA envious. The base that housed the elite fighters of the Wildcats Reich, the ancient Egyptian weaponry Anton was famous for, and the fleet of modified jets, planes, and Blackhawk and Apache helicopters.
The Wildcats Air Force. That was a force to be reckoned with. Every plane, from the World War Two Mitsubishi Zero's equipped with jet engines, to the modern F-18 Fighting Falcons with stealth technology, every single aircraft capable of vertical take-off and landing, was the Wildcats pride. The most powerful of the jets being Shadowlion's modified Mitsubishi Zero, Spike. That plane had everything: stealth technology, homing missiles, smart bombs, two seperate machine guns, and a jet engine that made it capable of attaining a maximum speed of Mach three. Spike was the fleet's engineer, Anton's son, Aryan's, greatest achievement. And Aryan promised never to design and build a plane as destructive as Spike ever again, for the safety of the world.
Shadowlion layed down, her legs stretched out behind her and her arms curled up in front of her, like a lion. She casually watched Anton's German shepherd, Rätsel, restlessly pace his kennel. "When're Mortimer and DeSoto coming back?"
"Lord knows," Beau mumbled, half asleep and ready to call it a day, even though he hadn't moved an inch since nine o'clock that morning. "It's Saturday afternoon, on a holiday weekend. I doubt Meijer's is a ghost town today."
"Holiday weekend, huh? Which holiday?"
"Independence Day, Shadow," replied Panthera in an annoyed tone. "Get with the program, mate. You've lived here for nearly as long as we have. I would *think* you would know your holidays by now!"
"Tiger," Shadowlion said, exasperated, "we're cut off from the public! We can't go out there for fear of being shot! It's a wonder we even know which movies are showing at the Regal up the freakin' road!"
"We *do* have cable, y'know," Beau sniffed disdainfully.
"Oh yeah! It all makes sense now, Shadow!" Panthera moved as though she was going to jump across the room and strangle Shadowlion. "We can't go out there because those rednecks might shoot us up, 'cause we're freaks! Right? Well then why the hell did we send Toad and Águila out to the local supermarket?"
"Because they volunteered, Panthera," said Shadowlion smugly.
"Águila has bright red wings," Panthera said flatly, "and Toad has that greenish complexion. A kid with cardinal wings and a--"
"Okay, so maybe DeSoto, or any of the Diego's, wasn't the greatest candidate. But Mortimer, what's wrong with him? I mean, look at Zachary Armentrout. He had that weird grayish complexion and all anybody ever said to *him* was 'Why do you always got a black eye' !"
"Everybody still hated Armentrout," Beau interjected evenly.
Nobody bothered to argue with Beau; he had made a logical point. Nobody had the chance either. A winged boy dropped down in front of the sliding glass door, and Shadowlion leaped back, startled.
"Águila!" Shadowlion roared, angrily unlocking the door and yanking the little nine-year-old boy in.
"Soy arrepentido, Señoritas Löwe," DeSoto said quickly, bowing slightly. "Pe- Perdí . . . "
"What did you lose, DeSoto?" Beau asked patiently.
"Mortimer, señor," mumbled DeSoto. "Soy arrepentido. Soy *muy* arrepentido. Realmente. ¿Me perdonará usted?"
"Well? What did he say, Beau?" Panthera asked cheerfully.
"He says he's sorry. It seems him and Mortimer got seperated somehow," Beau said, confused. He glared at his mother for the gleeful look she had on her face, then looked patiently to DeSoto. "Alright now, DeSoto, where do you last remember seeing Mortimer?"
"Uh--"
"En el inglés, por favor," Shadowlion growled.
"Sí. Last remember . . . when we crossed Rockville . . . there was a big crowd . . ." DeSoto paused, trying to set his thoughts in order, and then translate them to English. "We tried to go through the crowd, but . . . when I get to Cazuela's, Mortimer is gone!"
"Great," Shadowlion said frantically, "he's wandering around Avon somewhere without any idea where Austin Lakes is! Águila! Why didn't you try to find him?"
"I try!" DeSoto cried. "Believe me, I try! But he was nowhere near Regal. Knew one of you could help. Or maybe my father?"
"Azul-Halcón is busy, Águila," said Panthera. "Shadow? You can help, right? I know you've been dying to get out and see the town again."
"White Dragon wouldn--"
"Who cares?! It's not like there's a bloody law against going out in public!"
"Australians scare me," Shadowlion whispered to herself. "All right, if you insist. I go solo, though, got it? The 'Spanish Wonder' here can stay with you guys."
"I don't know--" Beau sat up, but didn't bother to finish what he was going to say, because he knew it would be pointless to argue with Shadowlion. That was the wonder about Beauregard. Both of his parents were known for liking to fight and argue, but Beau avoided confrontation like the plague, electing to smooth-talk his way out of a bad situation rather than shred somebody, even though he was more than capable of doing it. He nodded towards DeSoto and the boy trudged dejectedly to the closet door under the stairs which led to the Wildcats' underground compound. "There's the walk of a confused cardinal," Beau said, waiting for his mother to hit him for being philisophical again. The blow never came, thank God.
Shadowlion didn't bother to contradict him either. She bounded up the stairs to the second floor, where four nice, decent sized bedrooms were. The four bedrooms were reserved for the two leaders, and any two members of their chosing. Panthera chose to have her son sleep in one of those bedrooms, but Shadowlion didn't necessarily like anybody, even if they risked their lives to fight for her Reich. So, the other west-side bedroom sat vacant since the establishment of the Wildcat Reich. Until after her and Beau's trip to New York. After that, Toad occupied the final room, angering many of the senior officers that believed they deserved a topside room more than some new recruit. But arguing with Shadowlion over her choice of favorites was likely to get you thrown out of a plane somewhere in the Yukon.
In Shadowlion's room, there hung several posters for Disney's "The Lion King" and a flag for the IUPUI Jaguars, along with her prize bow and the rusty iron tent pole she enjoyed using in a fight on occasion. Hanging from the top shelf of her dresser were nearly a quarter dozen crosses, all different styles and given to her by a quarter dozen different people. On the bookshelves framing her white whicker desk was her Mitsubishi Zero model, her boom box, and her alphabetized CD collection. In one corner of the room, in a glass case, were a pair of black panther paws, modified and rigged with steel-titanium braces and adamantium, retractable claws. They were sized to fit Shadowlion's own hands as tight as leather gloves, function as weapons, and support Shadowlion's lion-like gait. Once they were on, her hands were useless as actual hands. But the paws that they became were more deadly than anything her own human hands were capable of.
These were slipped on quickly and Shadowlion left, leaving through the back door downstairs without a word to Beau or Panthera. Beau glanced over at Panthera.
"I have nothing to say, except what Anton said: 'She is Puma's great- granddaughter.' ~You~ figure it out," Panthera said.
The gate to Shadowlion's backyard was triple-locked: a basic bolt, a combination lock, and a padlock with a well-hidden key - Shadowlion's claws. Her claws, as well as Panthera's and Beauregard's, were excellent lock picks, meaning that the need for a key was nonexistent. They were the only three in the town able to open that door, unless someone intended on blowing it up.
Locking it again from the outside, however, was impossible. Somebody from inside the compound would have to come out and lock it again. That somebody was whoever was monitoring the surveillance cameras and area scans, if they were awake.
Shadowlion made certain the nobody else in the surrounding houses had decided to be out in their backyard. Luckily, this neighborhood wasn't exactly the stereotypical All-American neighborhood that is shown on television, and most people were content to sit in their La-Z-Boys with a bowl of nachos watching Nascar. In other words: nobody was outside. Passing by Sandy's yard was a different story. The scraggly, tawny dog rushed at her, baying and snarling. Sandy attempted to jump the fence, but thankfully came short, and resorted to jumping up and down on her own side.
"Shut up!" Shadowlion spat, trying not to be loud enough to catch her neighbors' attention.
Not wanting Sandy's barking to alert her owners, Shadowlion slunk off, walking down the easement between the houses on her own street and the houses on the cauldesac behind them. She finally reached the property line between her ex-friend's old house and his neighbors; in front of her lay a street, another line of houses, then a broad line of trees. Hoping against all her family's damned bad luck, Shadowlion sprinted across the street, not stopping until she reached the trees. She relaxed her caution a bit, and proceeded to follow the long line of trees that would eventually take her out to Rockville Road, the main thoroughfare for Avon, and the widest and busiest road in the town. Hard to cross inconspicuously. That was when the danger really started. The chances of her getting caught were nearly tripled. And if she somehow managed to find Toad, then she would have to make it all the way back with him.
"Life sucks, man," Shadowlion said to herself. She made no noise walking in between the trees. It wasn't as though any ~human~ could've heard her; it was the horses in the field on the opposite side of the treeline from Austin Lakes. They would most likely sense a feline presence should Shadowlion happen to make a noise and get their attention. She like the horses, though, even if they were a threat to her. Shadowlion had always loved horses, and she was thrilled to death when Anton presented her with a beautiful black Holstein stallion she named Angel. Angel was one of Anton's strange genetic experiments with animals: incorporating the mutant gene into an animal's DNA. The stallion was one of few successful experiments. Ironically, Angel's mutation were his giant falcon wings, his fire-colored mane and tail, and his ability to speak. Angel was considered one of the Wildcats, and was given the codename "Pegasus". Shadowlion had wanted to have Pegasus fly her to the Regal Cinemas down the road, but that would've attracted some unhealthy attention. "And if the humans didn't kill me, Anton would, and Angel would end up in a glue factory."
"Oh I would, would I?" said a multi-pitched voice that reminded Shadowlion of Shaggy off the cartoon "Scooby-Doo".
Shadowlion stopped and looked into the horse paddock. There wasn't the usual two or three gray mares, but Pegasus, head high and wings clamped tight to his sides. His position looked incredibly painful. The stallion trotted towards the paddock's fence in a bouncy parody of the Spanish high- step. Pegasus was a ridiculous animal, even if he was beautiful.
"Alright, Black Beauty, what're you doin' here?" Shadowlion asked in an exasperated tone.
"DeSoto said you were going out to find the new guy again, man! I came to, like, bring you back. Anton says--"
"Grr . . . damn Anton! And all his stupid rules!" Shadowlion snapped.
"Uhm--"
"Go home, Angel. Now. Haddaway hyem!"
Pegasus hung his head and nickered softly. Shadowlion only literally said "haddaway" to him when she was angry with him, and he couldn't figure out what he had done wrong. "But . . . I wanted to help you, man. Anton told me to bring you back, but I, like, wanted to go on a mission! Just for once. We haven't done anything actually exciting since the first news of Alkali Lake came to Indiana," Pegasus whispered ruefully. He looked up with big, brown, puppy dog eyes. "Please?"
Shadowlion sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. But don't go out of your way to attract attention. No loud talking, no showing off you wings . . ."
" . . . and don't make faces at the little kids," Pegasus finished. "Yes, I know. But at least let me fly you to Regal. It will be a lot quicker and I promise after that I won't be any trouble." His long face brightened as he smiled wide. "Pleeeeeease?" he said in a cheesy voice.
"I can't win with you, can I?" Shadowlion shook her head in defeat. "Alright. We'll fly." She climbed over the barbed wire fence, trying not to tear her clothes on the barbs. Pegasus knelt down so Shadowlion could climb on his back since it was Wildcats code to ride bareback (for reasons not even Anton knew). He backed up, making strange noises like a school bus in reverse. When he reached an area clear of trees and fences, he snapped open his wings and flapped them a few times to stretch them, then leaped straight up into the air, flapping furiously to gain altitude before the paddock's owner came out and tried to shoot the "abomination". Pegasus' wings, no matter how large they were, were like a falcon's, which meant he was incredibly fast. He spiraled into the clear sky, circling for height. Shadowlion clutched his mane and laid as flat as she could, waiting for the moment when the stallion would go into his distance-eating dive. She wasn't frightened of the Holstein's strange flying manuevers, but she knew what the consequences would be if she didn't hang on.
As Pegasus tilted into a dive, Shadowlion looked up ahead of them at the movie theater on the other side of town, and prayed and hoped that her and her horse would be able to find Toad before the mutant hunters did. "Oh gods. Stratos help us if they should ever find him." He eyes narrowed. "Stratos help ~them~ should they ever find him."
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That's it! I am uploading this immediately, so I can't delete it! Mwahahaha! I am smarter than . . . ME!