"Do you remember the name... von Lichtenstein?"
Finn was in President Bubblegum's office, standing in the center. She was sitting on her desk, her legs crossed and her arms propped. The look on her face was tense, perhaps even afraid. "Yes I do," he answered.
She nodded slowly. "He's the reason I called you here. Years ago, I had him incarcerated in Treesap Rock; that's the codename of a little-known prison complex in Alaska."
"I'm aware of this as well Ma'am," Finn said. "I was a part of your security detail when you visited the place. So was..." he stopped himself, deciding not to bring up his brother again.
She continued, "von Lichtenstein has killed more people than the Bubonic Plague. The Great European War was his stomping ground; his chaotic paradise. It was thanks only to a team of remarkable men led by Codename: Billy that he was finally captured, and his rampage of death ended."
"I definitely know about Billy," Finn was bashfully scratching behind his head. "He's a... personal hero of mine."
Bubblegum rose to her feet, and walked back over to the window, both her hands were clasped behind her back. "von Lichtenstein has escaped from Treesap Rock. We don't know how yet. My staff only got the call from the Prison Warden last night. But he's free, and he's out there."
He couldn't see her face, and had no idea what expression it had. "I... think I see where this is going.".
"I wouldn't hand this assignment to anybody lightly, Finn."
Finn was nodding, his arms crossed. "If you think I'm the right guy for the job, then I'll try not to disappoint you, President Bubblegum."
"Finn." She snapped, then recomposed herself, her back still to him. "von Lichtenstein is dangerous beyond imagining. You have to understand that. I'm sending you to your probable death."
"Well..." he wanted to counter her pessimistic appraisal. "If Billy's team was able to beat him..."
Her head was shaking, slowly, solemnly. "This detail is not written anywhere in the history books: More than half of Billy's team was killed, by von Lichtenstein, before they were able to corner him. Out of a team of twelve, only he and two others survived the mission."
The dread sank in. The revelation that his childhood hero had come so close to failure, and endured real sacrifice to accomplish his mission caused his perspective to sober; to darken, well out of his comfort zone.
She took a long breath. "A man like von Lichtenstein was never meant to exist in this world. With his ability; his talent for dealing death, he could kill anybody he wanted." Her next inhale had breaks in her breath. Finn still didn't see her face. "He may even... no, I know that he'll come for me. Sooner or later."
Even Bonnibel Bubblegum was afraid of this man. Finn suddenly wanted to take this as seriously as possible. "Who did he work for? During the war, I mean."
"Who else? Our, and Britain's enemy. The Union between the New Roman Empire, and the young nation of Germany. Together they formed a military superpower of nightmarish scale, and threatened to swallow all of Europe. The United States, Great Britain; an important ally and trade partner of ours, even Russia, all paid an immense cost to gain a favorable position in that... 'Great European War,' a position from which to negotiate a ceasefire."
"Which led to a lasting peace," Finn completed. "But the Union remains a significant military threat to this day, and the political parties which started that war are still in power."
President Bubblegum turned, and headed back to the front of her desk. She was slightly amused at Finn's history knowledge. "It's a precarious diplomatic climate, to be sure. It could lead to another war, even worse than the last. However..." She was shaking her head. Then she looked up at his face. "That kind of thing, you needn't concern yourself with. Your concern is finding von Lichtenstein, and stopping him, by any means necessary."
He nodded at this, happy to have a job with a far more straightforward solution. "I'm authorized to use lethal force against him?"
"Any, means, necessary." She repeated solemnly.
"I'll understand if I can't know, but why did you keep him alive in the first place?"
"You can. Your clearance became high enough as of your assignment to this mission. He got his orders directly from his leaders in Rome. We thought... that we could get something out of him, to implicate them."
"And you couldn't break his legs or something?" It seemed ridiculous to Finn, to keep such a dangerous person in top condition. To the point of being every bit as dangerous as before as soon as he escaped confinement.
She shook her head. "Cruel and unusual punishment is forbidden by the Constitution. The law must be upheld, warts and all, or else we have no law."
"I... understand, I guess." He was looking away, deep in his own thoughts. "I'll need a team. For the von Lichtenstein manhunt, I mean. Equipment as well. A couple of good but low-profile vehicles wouldn't hurt either. I-" he stopped himself, scratching behind his neck bashfully. "I don't know if you're the one to talk to about that kind of thing."
Bubblegum reached behind and took a dossier that was laying on her desk. She handed it to Finn, who accepted it without a word. "That contains all the intelligence we currently have on von Lichtenstein, most of it gathered before his capture during the war; known associates, his criminal record, everything. Any future intel we gather on him will be shared with you posthaste."
Finn weighed it, it was quite thick.
She then handed him a small binder. "This contains the codenames and credentials of a large list of operatives from various agencies, including the P.S.S. You can choose any one and any number of them for your team."
Finn was nodding at this. "Where do I start?"
"This is going to come to you as news. In fact it will be broadcast as breaking news in about an hour. It will be where you'd want to start. The Abadeer Estate in New Florence has been attacked."
Captain Ruth B. Gilligan of New Florence's Banana Corps Department had brought all the men he had on call. As soon as he heard of the Abadeer Estate being attacked he immediately occupied the place, taking advantage of jurisdiction law to search the home of one of America's most notorious kingpins. He was in a circle of police cars and armed officers that formed around the mansion in the center high ground of the estate. The area was littered with the bodies of foreign mercenaries. The task to gather them up and attempt to ID each one was ignored.
His men had found and arrested a large number of Abadeer's people, who were in the outside sheds and minor structures, manning machine gun nests. They didn't dare shoot cops, as the legal penalties for doing so were insurmountable.
The situation was under his control. He had the estate, and it was almost a guarantee they would find incriminating evidence, putting Hunson away for good. The mercenaries who attacked the place were not his problem nor his department, so he didn't bother with them.
Then, as if instantaneously, the mansion caught on fire. Every section and every room inside showed blazing orange through the windows. Ruth B. Gilligan couldn't believe it. All of the evidence and arrests awaiting him inside the building had been suddenly taken from his hands. There was no way he could send his men in there.
He immediately turned to a random officer and fingered him. "You! Alert the Fire Department." The officer complied, halfway entering the driver's side of his car to use the radio.
Ruth turned back to the fire. It had started up too quickly, and in too many places at once to be an accident.
As if to compound his encounter with craziness, he heard gunshots behind him, in the direction of the gate. He turned, and what he saw was a halftrack the size of a combine harvester, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere, rolling across the green fields. The two men near the two cars parked to block the open gateway were shooting at it as it approached them. Ruth had no answer to any of this as he observed the scene from his spot in the perimeter around the burning mansion.
The halftrack did not slow down, and the two policemen at the gate dove away just in time to avoid getting hit. The hulking vehicle ramped up onto the two cars blocking the way, flattening the front halves of both vehicles as it cleared the gateway, escaping into the city proper.
Finn's reaction to this was so strong that he showed nothing on the surface, remaining still. "Who, and why?"
"It happened at roughly the same time as von Lichtenstein's escape. The attackers were foreign mercenaries, and we suspect that their payroll came from Rome in Italy. Therefore we're assuming, until new intelligence is gathered, that whatever reason they sprung von Lichtenstein has to do with the reason they attacked the Abadeer Estate. There's also your brother's involvement to consider."
"Jake is my brother." Finn stated. "We're not related by blood, but we grew up together. Why am I, of all people being given this mission if there's a family element that could get in the way?"
"I handpicked you to lead this mission," Bubblegum said. "And specifically wanted to brief you myself. Your track record is beyond exceptional, and your loyalty beyond question. I could care less who your family is. I choose you."
The Purple in Marcelini's system had taken a spike when she drove the halftrack out the concealed entrance from the underground garage and out onto the field. The two cops firing at her, their bullets bouncing off the windshield, her nearly crushing them, and flattening their cars as she made her escape. It was all exciting, when she knew her normal, un-purpled self would find it terrifying and unnerving. She had no idea who injected her with it, when or why, and it still got to her that she executed a man back at the mansion. But overall, it was an experience. Not a trauma, or an ordeal, but an experience.
As she drove through the streets of New Florence, she noted that the streets were empty and cleared. Obviously marshal law had been declared on account of the foreign planes and her house having been a warzone.
She looked over at Jake, who had his shirt off, revealing his stocky, muscular upper body, and the entry and exit bullet wounds on his left side, which both let out trickling streams of blood. He was tearing up his shirt, turning it into a makeshift bandage.
"Might want to call your retired Army surgeon now. The sooner you see a doctor the better," she said, looking back over toward the road. She knew that he had a portable phone.
"Oh splitz! Thanks for reminding me." He took out his portable camera phone as he rolled down his window. He then tossed it out the window onto the sidewalk. "Can't well be having the P.S.S. trace me through that. Good call, Marcy."
"Jake what the flip?"
he waved her objection down. "I can't make any phone calls, especially not through that."
"Then what about your doctor?"
"I will send somebody to go and get him, soon as we reach the Nightosphere. Speaking of which, are you sure you know where you're going?"
Marcelini turned the massive vehicle rightward at an intersection, barely slowing down. The halftrack was headed east, in the direction of the docks. "We'll have to ditch the vehicle before we get close. Can you walk?"
"There's a row of garages behind the nightclub. We can park in one of those."
"Wait, really?" She'd been to the Nightosphere before. There were indeed rented garage spaces near the building, but she'd always thought they were used by random renters.
"Yeah, like I said: The place is a safe-house."
The docks, and the ocean became visible over the next hill in the city. The surrounding architecture became pointedly more modest. The Nightosphere was reached by way of a little-known one-way street off the main street, but she didn't take that way, as they were headed for the garage, which was accessed by a different road.
The area they came to was formed around the docks. It was a sector of the city referred to as Wizard City, on account of its residents being kooks, eccentrics and bearded bums who came to the docks looking for work, and usually ended up finding it from employers who would actually hire them. If not at the docks, then at low-end restaurants, retailers, pubs and apartment complexes. Like a confined culture that accepted its own by having those doing the accepting being its own themselves. Most of the owners of the buildings and establishments were also kooks and eccentrics.
"Marcy..." Jake was trailing. "You saw what happened to your home, right? As we were escaping?"
The Purple in her system had subsided. "Yeah, it was attacked. That's why we're in this situation right now." She slowed down as they went downhill, and turned the halftrack onto a smaller street. Even here the streets were deserted.
"No, I mean... after that."
She shook her head, having not a clue what he was talking about. They reached a turn into an open asphalt space, in front of a building comprised of a row of large garage doors. The Nightosphere was on an elevated concrete platform above, which could be reached via a stairwell.
"It was on fire, Marcy. The whole building, in flames."
She slowed the vehicle in the asphalt clearing, bringing it slowly to a complete stop before putting the shift stick to neutral. She was leaning forward, looking down. "I'm... trying, Jake. I'm trying not to get emotional about this until we're in the clear."
Jake was surprised, having no idea that this was her mindset. "Marcy, I'm..."
"Something's probably happened to my dad, too. But I can't think about that right now."
"Sorry..."
"You have a way of opening one of these doors, right?" She asked in dismissal of the previous topic. The halftrack was still parked in front of the garage building.
"Oh, yeah... I think this rig's got a key somewhere." He got to work opening the glove box and browsing his right hand through it.
In an open room of the P.S.S. headquarters, Finn Werecanine was standing in front of a lineup of individuals who all wore casual civvies, but carried themselves erect, standing at attention like trained military people. They were the team which Finn had chosen for his mission. It was several hours after he left the Gold House, and that's all the time it took to assemble the people he wanted.
Finn had an open binder in his hand, and read off it. "Thank you all for accepting this mission. I'm Finn Werecanine, the acting commander. You may address me by my codename: The Dog Man." He walked to the end of the row. "Your code names are as follows. You're encouraged to review those of your teammates and commit them to memory:" He passed the first, who was a woman,"Fionne." He continued walking passing each person in turn. "Cake," he said to the second of the only two females in the team. "Lumpy, Gum Ball, Marshal and Monochrome." he said to the last four as he passed them. "And finally B.M.O." He said this to a computer screen on a wheel tray. "None of us get to see him in person, but he'll be our support from afar."
"Hello everybody!" B.M.O.'s high-pitched, effeminate voice declared from the speakers next to the monitor as it displayed the waveform of the sound.
Finn went back to his spot at a distance from them. "This mission comes from the President herself. Its importance, as well as its hazard cannot possibly be over-exaggerated. Before you're all briefed, I'd like to offer you each one last chance to back out. Your refusal, should you choose, will not be placed as a negative on your records, and there will be no hard feelings."
Not one of them spoke out or raised a hand. They wanted this.
"Excellent." Finn said. "Our mission is this: We're gonna go on a manhunt."
On a deserted road in Alaska, a lone man drove alone in a police car. There was no key in the ignition, but rather the wiring had been tampered with. As was the driver's door lock. A single, flat head screwdriver lay in the passenger's seat as the only tool he needed to pilfer the vehicle.
His hair went past his shoulders, and was void of pigment, his skin nearly as much so. A pair of dark bags settled under a pair of green, dispassionate eyes.
He pulled up to a gas station in the outskirts of a nearby port town. No other cars were visible in the lot. He got out, wearing a long, black wool coat against the mild cold. After filling the tank of his stolen cop car, he walked into the building.
The clerk was standing, still and calm behind the counter. To the left after entering were rows of shelves, and past the counter on the right was a small enclosed back room. The green-eyed man had his left hand in a coat pocket as he walked up to the counter, standing counter to the clerk and saying nothing, but wearing a calm, yet strangely exaggerated crooked smile on his face. He looked to the right, at the police car parked outside.
The clerk, nervous, looked that way as well, then back at the green-eyed man. Still saying nothing.
His small grin, that subtracted zero concentration from his eyes, became harder as he started nodding. The clerk had said nothing about the fact that he drove a cop car, but clearly wasn't a police officer.
His left hand was out, still maintaining eye contact with the clerk as he aimed a suppressed pistol at a wall to his left and fired several quiet shots, through the wall into the backroom.
There was a pained cry of death that came from the room. Two more men, armed with machine guns ran out of the door from the backroom, their guns readied to shoot him.
He turned his head for one of his green eyes to see them, and shifted his outward-aimed pistol further left. He fired two shots in rapid succession. Each went through the forehead of each of the two armed men. They dropped on the floor, dead before letting off a single shot.
Now ignoring the clerk, the Green-eyed man turned around, walking calmly toward the shelves. A foot-long razor blade was in his right hand, held underhand. He came to the end of a shelving unit he couldn't see past, and stabbed his blade into the space round the corner, not slowing his calm walk.
The blade went into the skull of another armed man, who was ducking behind the cover of the shelving unit waiting to shoot him when he passed by. He pulled his blade out, letting the man drop dead. One more popped his head out from the next shelving unit, his machine gun, in a split second, being lowered to fire at the green-eyed man.
He didn't get the chance. A pistol shot found its way to his head the instant it popped out of cover.
The ambush men were from the local Banana Corps department, and they were all dead. the green-eyed man slowed his breath, back down to a deliberate pace as he lowered his weapons. He picked up a snack food bag, turned around and walked back to the counter.
The clerk was terrified, cowering as the green-eyed man set the bag on the counter. His weapons were stowed, and he looked calm. The snack food was a soy imitation of escargot; a French dish that involved cooking snails.
The Green-eyed man continued looking at the clerk, not reacting or retaliating at the fact that he had cooperated with the cops that tried to ambush him. He opened his mouth to speak, in a smooth, low, calm voice: "Do you feel... cold?" His head crooked as he asked this, ever so slightly.
