FIC: A Most Marvellous Adventure (7/?)

177A Bleecker Street, New York City

"Thank you for all joining me here," Strange began, his oddly reassuring gaze passing over them all. "It's come to my attention that Frank Drake has been captured by The Cult Of Sangre."

Faith leaned over to Xander as a mutter ran through their group. "Frank Drake?"

Xander half-looked away from Strange and to her. "An occult detective who also happens to be the human descendant of Dracula."

Faith raised an eyebrow. Human descendants of the most notorious vampire ever? That was a new one on her. She looked towards Strange as the Sorcerer Supreme began talking about the information that Drake had that they couldn't afford to fall into vampiric hands. "Why haven't they just turned him?"

The magician looked towards her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why haven't they just turned him?" Faith repeated. "Surely that's the simplest way of getting his information out of him?"

"It would be," Strange smiled, "except Drake and his companions asked me to cast a spell whereby should they become possessed or enchanted, any of their 'dangerous' or 'specialist' knowledge would be lost." The magician paused. "Any of their knowledge has to be freely given."

"Or tortured out of the poor bastard," Faith pointed out.

Strange's face fell. "Quite," the magician nodded, "the spell's fatal flaw if you will." Strange looked around the group. "We'll be going to Boston," Faith's stomach somersaulted, of all the places she'd been to since escaping prison, Boston was the one she'd always avoided, "and making a rescue attempt tonight."


Boston, MA

Faith watched from the shadows as Ghost Rider and Valkyrie stalked out of the shadows to grab the two sentries outside of the sprawling four-storey, colonial style mansion, tearing their dark red robes from the vampires before staking them. "For the record," Faith grumbled as she pulled the robe over her head. "This plan blows."

"If they hear us coming, they might well move Drake to another place while we fight our way through to them," Strange re-explained. "If you secure Drake for us, then wait for us to come for you, it'll be safer, you can guard him until we get in, and we can hold the majority of them off you."

"And won't they sense we're not vampires?" Faith continued with the scepticism. Hey, if you find something that works for you, Faith was of the opinion you should milk the hell out of it. For her, it was the three 'S's, sexiness, sassiness, and scepticism.

"My cloaking spell will make them think you're 'like them'," Strange explained.

"Oh getting' up close and personal with a bunch of vamps," Faith shuddered. "Who do ya think I am, B?" Seeing the others' blank looks, she shrugged. "Never mind, let's hustle."

There was that at least, Faith comforted herself as she and Xander started towards the darkened house. At least in this dimension, she wasn't the failure, the bad seed, the mad dog, that every one looked down on either with pity, fear, or hatred

Faith steeled herself as she entered the mansion's hallway, expecting a whole bunch of vampires to come down on her sweet lil ass. Instead they strode through the entrance hall, into the kitchen, Faith steeling herself not to help the weeping girl being passed around by the five laughing vampires there, knowing her companions would save her as soon as they got the signal Drake was free.

Faith came to a halt when she realised that Xander was shooting the weeping girl one of his 'business is about to pick up' looks. "Hey man," one of the vampires grinned at them, his stubbly face leering at her from under his hood, "the girl's for play, not food." The vampire threw back his head and laughed. "Not yet anyway!"

"Yeah," Faith grabbed Xan's elbow and started leading her friend towards the back of the mansion, "we'll look forward to that. But we've gotta job to do." Her fingers dug into Xander's elbow. "Remember?"

Xander winced as he dragged his eyes from the victim and to her. "Yeah, I remember. Come on."

Faith allowed Xander to lead her through the kitchen and into the darkened rear room. Seeing her companion's eyes harden and mouth open, she shook her head warningly, pulling hard one of her ear lobes to emphasis the vampires' superior hearing. Xander nodded reluctantly before heading down the darkened stairwell.

"Hey," Faith sauntered into the basement, experienced eyes taking in the circumstances immediately. The man she assumed was Drake was manacled to the far wall, blood trickling down from his mouth, eyes swollen and glazed with pain, and a combination of welts and bruises adorning the man's otherwise naked torso. To his right stood one vamp with a cattle-prod and to his right, another wearing brass-knuckles, by the stair well, with his back to them stood a third.

Even as Faith took this all in, Xander stepped forward, the sword pulled out of the robes sliding up and through the back of the demon's neck. "I'll guard the stairwell, you deal with the other two."

"Five by five!" Faith leapt forward, sidestepping the cattle-prod as she butted the other vampire in the mouth, grabbed the demon's wrist, holding its knuckle-duster still, and rammed a stake into its chest. Even as the vampire burst into dust, she was wriggling away from another attempted electrifying before kicking up and into the vampire's arm. The demon cursed as it dropped its weapon, Faith swooped in as the vampire glanced down at its falling cattle-prod, and staked the demon. Faith glanced towards Xander and grinned, the sounds of the fighting in the floors above them filtering down. As missions went, you didn't get any milk-walk than this.


South Boston, Later that night.

Faith stared around the depressingly-familiar rundown neighbourhood that she'd grown up in. All around where the places she'd remembered, the parlour where she'd gotten her tat done, the amusement arcade she'd spent any cash she'd managed to steal from her mom, the school she'd occasionally attended, and even the bars she'd far more often frequented.

And just up the road was the tenement building she'd been dragged out of for the last time when she was twelve after one too many visits to the ER.

"Why are we here?"

Faith glanced at her companion. She'd figured on sneakin' down here on her own, but Xan had followed her, just like the smelly but sorta cutely faithful mutt he was. "You know how you said we don't exist in this dimension?"

"Well, more exactly I said I couldn't find us," Xander corrected. "And we're certainly not who we were back in our dimension. I guess with all these far stronger heroes there's no actual need-." Xander clamped his jaw shut at her glare.

"But our families might live where they did?" Faith queried.

"Maybe," Xander shrugged, "but I had nowhere to even start with mine, what with Sunnydale being non-exist-." Xander's eye narrowed as he looked at her. "You think your mom-." Xander paused then looked in the direction she was looking. "If you want to I'll come with you to see her."

"Nah," Faith shook her head, "fuck it. She had twelve years to try and be a decent mom, she failed. I ain't got nothin' to say to her."

"You got a second chance, maybe she should get one too."

"What?" Faith spun to face her companion, eyes flashing. "I know you ain't comparin' me fuckin' up once to that bitch lettin' down her kid for twelve fuckin' years!"

Xander met her gaze. "I don't give a shit about her, it's you I care about. Maybe seeing her will help you heal -."

"Whatever," Faith was surprised when it was her rather than Xander who looked away. It always knocked her off balance when Xan talked about caring, like she didn't have the tools to know what to do 'bout it. "This was a mistake." Faith looked around. "Look," she pointed to the left, "I know a grunge club down there that's wicked. We gotta few hours 'til we gotta be outta here. Come on!"

"A grunge club," Xander sobbed brokenly. "Where's an apocalypse when I need one?"

Xander's mournful plea tugged a smile from her. "Ah, come on ya piker."


SHIELD Heli-Carrier Over The Pacific Ocean

Fury looked around his coldly official boardroom, all gleaming metal and efficient function. It was one of those all so exciting weekly briefings that always brightened his day. "Okay," he growled. "What's the first item on the agenda?"

It was Contessa de Fontaine, an immaculately put-together Italian beauty who's fashion model appearance belied her effective reputation, who spoke first. "SHIELD agents managed to intercept a dealer attempting to sell weapons-quality nuclear material to the North Koreans on Saturday." The Italian aristocrat hesitated before continuing. "The Mandarin appears to have disappeared off the grid."

"Disappeared off the grid?" Fury growled. The Mandarin was one of Asia's foremost crime lords, a man who routinely toppled nations on that continent, and frequently caused chaos on a world-wide basis. Fury liked to keep a tab on him at all times. "That's a little vague. When did we last have him and where?"

The Contessa's high cheeks coloured at his rebuke, but her answering tone was unfazed. "It was in the Chechen Khan Province of Outer Mongolia on Tuesday afternoon. He was meeting with a local bandit leader for reasons as yet unspecified. Wednesday morning he was gone."

"Reasons as yet unspecified?" Fury shook his head. That wouldn't do at all. "Pick up the bandit leader and shake him down. Back-track the Mandarin has far as we can, I want to know what he was plotting, who he was working with, and where he's gone."

"Yes sir," Contessa nodded as her fingers tapped at her palm-pilot.

"Next," Fury growled.

"Sin and her gang were picked up during a Berlin robbery on Sunday." G.W. Bridge growled, pride briefly swelling the black man's thick chest even as he ran a hand through his whitened hair. "But our surveillance team lost Baron Mordo in Düsseldorf," the African-American glanced at the Contessa, "on Tuesday night."

Fury's eyes narrowed. Two super-villains disappearing on the same day was a pattern, and he didn't like patterns, particularly ones like that. "Find him," Maria Hill, his deputy director interrupted for him, "next."

"Our agents got wind of an illicit cargo being delivered on Howland Hook Marine Terminal," Dugan reported, the thick-set world war II veteran's red moustache bristling with pride. "Bio-weapons."

"What were these bio-weapons?" Fury queried.

"Drugs that briefly accelerated the body's production of adrenaline by between 400 – 600 percent, temporarily creating a super-being," Dugan explained.

Fury raised an eyebrow. That was a new one on him. "Who were they were destined for?"

Dugan's face fell. "We're not sure. Obviously it's one of the big-wigs, the Kingpin, Hammerhead, the Hood, or the Owl, but we're not sure which." Dugan shrugged his broad shoulders. "We thought it wise to get them off the street rather than risk their buyer supplying his gang with them. We got the chemist though, apparently he has no idea who he was making the drugs for, only that he was being paid an eight figure sum to develop the drugs."

"Make tracking down this chemist's benefactor a priority for our East Coast division," Fury instructed. "It's unlikely this gentleman put all his eggs in one basket."

"I've already started an inspection of the bank accounts of the nation's various chemist prodigies for suspicious activity," Dugan replied.

Fury nodded. "Next."

"SHIELD agents picked up Al-Qaeda's number three man in Afghanistan on Monday," Clay Quartermain reported. "Another team prevented a bombing in Seville by ETA on Wednesday."

"Good work," Fury nodded brusquely.

"There's something else," Quatermain put in. "In the past fortnight, over two dozen people known for their good works have been murdered in sacrificial manner, their eyes and heart removed. There's not been more than two of these murders in any country, but-."

"Oh come on," Hill shook her, a sceptical sneer on her otherwise pretty face. "This is just some mass hysteria cult. This should be left to the local police forces and Interpol, we have super-villains, rogue states, and terrorist organisations to deal with!"

"No," Fury shook his head, interrupting Hill's tirade. "I don't like patterns. I want a full report on each and everyone of the murders, with any additional incidents."


Jamestown, Virginia

"I got ya covered Harris!" Faith roared as they burst out of the darkness, the cowled cultists spinning away from their spread-eagled victim to confront them.

Faith had the briefest glance of a red, horned face and flashing fangs as one of the cultists lunged at her, then she was ducking under a claw-swing and kicking it in the mid-section then grabbing it in a front face-lock and twisting. The creature's neck snapped as she leapt into the air and thrust-kick another demon in the face, knocking it on its ass.

Faith released her grip on the demon's throat in time to grab the handle of a descending hatchet, reverse its swing and bury it in the attacker's face. Blood gushed out of the demon's wound as it fell away even as Faith ducked under a back-handed hatchet swing and swung her hastily-drawn short sword up in a diagonal swing that the demon jumped out of the way of.

Only to get caught in a shotgun blast from the Ghost Rider that turned him into screaming ash. Faith glanced around in time to see Xander football-tackle a demon stood over the would-be sacrifice victim, knocking away the candle he was attempting to light some yellowed parchments with.

Faith started forward to help her bud, only to stop dead when he grabbed the demon under the jaw and by the side of the head, and twisted. A crack rang out, the demon's back arching as it slumped lifelessly to the ground. And just like that it was over, the Defenders having totally wiped out the cultists.

"Here miss," Faith watched as Xander began unfastening the weeping woman who'd almost been sacrificed, pulling his jacket off and putting it over her. Faith shook her head, strangely jealous of her friend's ability to empathise with strangers. Whenever she tried it came off forced. "I know you've had a fright, but you're safe now."

"This is a strange place for a sacrifice," Strange commented as he scooped up the parchments that the cultist had been attempting to burn.

"Strange?" Faith's brow furrowed, as far as she was concerned anywhere was a strange place to carve another human being up. "Strange how," Faith snorted, "Strange?"

Strange glanced towards her, his eyes troubled. "In 1622, Powhatan Indians slaughtered settlers here. It's a place with a bad history." Strange shoved the papers into an inner pocket. "I'll investigate these papers, try and find out what they were planning."