The Dragon 2200 # 6 The Dragon: 2200

# 6

by Brian Campo (bcampo@hotmail.com)
(The kind of guy that ruins the whole fan fic hobby)

This is a work of fan fiction. The Savage Dragon and all related characters are owned by Erik Larsen, and I do not contest
that ownership. This story is in no way official and it should not be taken as such. All characters in this story not owned by Mr.
Larsen are owned by me, though I would gladly loan them out if asked nicely.

Warning: This story may contain graphic violence, sexual situations and harsh language. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't.

Visit the Dragon 2200 homepage for back issues and covers (http://www.angelfire.com/or/icffa/dragonifshome.html)

Max kept the accelerator on the floor as they crossed town and cursed that the car's top speed was only two-eighty. A wounded cop was screaming over the police band radio, begging for back up and an ambulance. He didn't sound like he was doing too well. His voice sounded strangled and there was a phlegmy quality to it that probably meant he was drowning in his own blood. The thing was, he wasn't calling for himself, he was calling for his comrades that were in worse shape then himself. That's what had Maxine scared. When they finally got on scene there were going to be a lot of dead cops, some of which she might know.
They had been headed over to the county jail to question Dr. Orifice when the "officer down" calls started coming in over the radio. Apparently the Freaks that were being transported to county had broken out of the paddy wagon and were meaning to make good on their escape. Somehow, a twelve foot tall, half human, half bull Superfreak had gotten involved in the situation and so far there were at least four cops dead as a result of it.
Dan was talking her ear off, but she wasn't listening to what he was saying. He always did this when he was nervous. He talked and talked and not one bit of what he was saying was important. It was just his way of dealing with the stress. Right now, he was complaining that he would probably miss the season premiere of "Two Violent MutherFuckers", an animated sitcom on Fox. He was just making noise so that he wouldn't have to think about what they were heading into.
Maxine could see where all the action was taking place from more than half a mile away. A building was on fire and the paddy wagon was protruding from it's side. The smoke billowing into the air was a beacon to the other cops that were coming to the rescue.
As they got closer, the details of the situation became clearer. The back of the paddy wagon had been torn open, from the inside by the looks of it. The roof of the wagon's holding cell had large puncture holes in it, like someone had shoved a giant pencil through it. Maxine could see streaks of blood all over the white interior of the holding cell as they flew past it.
The fight was on the street four stories below. She couldn't see the perp yet, but the roar of gunfire was coming out of the lower floors of a nearby parking garage. Bodies of Freaks and cops alike were scattered across the ground below the paddy wagon. They had been trampled and gored. The wounded cop who had been calling on the radio was visible, now. He was sitting on the ground, leaning up against his patrol car with a radio clenched in his right hand and his gun in the other. Max told Dan to get to that cop when they landed and see what he could do to help. She was going after the bull-man.
She brought the car in low and dropped to the ground near the entrance of the parking garage. She exited the car at a run and headed towards the sounds of the struggle and gunfire. The other cops had been smart to draw the fight into the garage. Those low ceilings were going to make it hard for the tall perp to maneuver and would level the playing field a little.
A shout rang out from inside the garage, and it was quickly followed by a scream and the crunch of bone. There was a bellow of rage, and the bull ran out of the entrance in front of Maxine. He was quite a sight. His red body was covered in blood, gore, and sweaty lather. His eyes were wild, swinging around in his head like a panicked horse. He had a massive set of horns protruding from the sides of his head that were easily six feet wide from tip to tip. Two cops were impaled on each horn, straight through their guts. They hung limply from the bull's horns and swung around like rag dolls when he moved his head.
The bull spotted Maxine and snorted loudly. With a violent shake of it's head, it slung the dead cops off of it's horns. It charged forward, lowering it's head so that it's horns were aimed at Maxine. It was fast. In just two strides the thing was towering over her. It's fore head slammed into her lower ribcage and she was driven backwards into her patrol car The bull's horns tore into the car's metal side panels to Maxine's left and right and she found herself pinned between the bull's head and the car door at her back.
Maxine clasped her hands together and brought them down hard on top of the bull's head. It huffed, bellowed, and then raised it's head, lifting her and the patrol car both straight up into the air. Max put a hand on each horn and shoved backward, pushing on the car with her back. The metal screeched as it was shoved back up the length of the horns. She was able to get her right leg up, now, and she braced her knee on the bull's snout. She shoved again, and the car flew off of the horns, releasing her. She fell to the ground and landed on her back.
The bulls raised it's head, and then threw it forward, trying to pin her to the ground. She back rolled and narrowly avoided being gored. She came to her feet just as the bull was recovering his balance. Her right arm went back and then, BLAM!! She socked him on the chin. Hard. The bull took a couple of stumbling steps backwards, trying desperately to maintain consciousness. It's eyes uncrossed a moment later and focused on Maxine. It stepped toward her and took a swing with it's right arm. Maxine sidestepped it and delivered three blows to the bull's belly in quick secession. Right, Left, Right. Her dad had done some boxing back in the second World War, and he had taught Maxine everything he knew. She knew how to lay into a person and make it hurt. The bull shuddered with each blow, and when she stepped back, it doubled over with a grunt of pain. She thought she had him on the ropes, and started to drop her guard, a mistake she came to regret a second later. With a snort, he stepped forward in a rush and shoved his left horn in the space between Max's legs. It threw it's head up, and Maxine found herself being catapulted through the air and into the third floor of the parking garage.

The cop who had radioed for help was dead when Dan got to him. Both of his legs had been broken, and he had the jagged ends of some broken ribs sticking out from his side. Since there was nothing that could be done for him, Dan went to check the rest of the bodies that were laying around for signs of life. He pulled out his gun and his radio and went from body to body checking them for a pulse. Each one he checked was dead. Normal humans just couldn't survive the wounds he had seen on them.
One of the guards that had been driving the paddy wagon was laying nearby. The bull had shoved one of it's horns through the man's chest and then up through the top of his head. Another person, possibly one of the prisoners, was sitting at the foot of one of the buildings. His chest had a hoof shaped impression in it, and the wall behind him had a human shaped impression in it. Pieces and parts to what may have once been a cyborg were strewn across the ground. Dan found the other guard from the wagon laying next to a cop car that had been knocked onto it's top. He rolled the man over onto his back and was surprised to find a wound inconsistent with the ones on the other victims. This man had been killed with a shotgun at close range.
That meant that the bull man wasn't the only perp still in commission. He started to get to his feet when he heard the crunch of a boot on broken glass. He spun toward the sound and saw Dr Orifice stepping out from behind the over turned patrol car. He had a shotgun in firing position and had it aimed right at Dan's head.

Maxine sat up and probed the back of her head with her hand and a pained expression on her face. Now, THAT had hurt. After flying through the side of the parking garage she had impacted through a BMW, a Stealth Lexus, and a cherried out classic Pinto. She would have kept going with this slide of destruction had she not run into a metal barrier next to a booth for selling parking passes. The back of her head had smacked into the concrete filled pole with enough force to snap it off at the base. She had a pretty good sized cut across the back of her head and it was bleeding at a pretty steady rate. Great. Another uniform she would have to replace if she couldn't get the blood stains out.
She got to her feet and looked out through the open sides of the garage. More cops had arrived and they were taking shots at the bull from the air. Good thinking, thought Maxine. Stay well out of his reach They were less likely to get gored that way. She preferred that some of the freak cops with some real power handled this big fella. He had killed too many humans cops all ready.
She picked up the metal pole she had cut her head on and walked back to the spot where she had entered the garage. The bull was still below her, bellowing and charging at everything in sight. The bullets from above weren't stopping him, but they were hurting enough to work him up into a frenzy. He was driving his horns into cars, streetlights and mailboxes, just trying to find the thing that was hurting him and kill it.
Max waved her arms and caught the attention of one of the cops circling over head. "Cease fire!" she shouted at him. The cop nodded in reply and picked up his radio. In a few seconds, the rest of the cops stopped shooting, too. Max pulled her radio out of her belt and turned it on.
"If there are any Freak cops up there that can take a power punch I sure could use your help."
After a moment a gruff voice answered her. "This is Jack Palin, Chalmers. What do you need from me?"
Palin was just the kind of Freak she was after. He was seven foot three and was packing around nearly three hundred pounds of nigh invulnerable muscle. He had feline features, everything from pointy ears to a tail to a coat of fur. He was the undefeated arms wrestling champ of the thirty second precinct, having beat everyone, including Maxine. He was also one of the nicest guys you would ever meet.
"I was just hoping you would help me team up on our friend Ferdinand down below." Max told him.
"Can do." said Jack. The door on one of the flying cars opened and Jack leaned out of it. "I'm ready to drop into the fray when you are." he said.
Maxine gripped the concrete filled metal pole in both hands like a baseball bat and said, "Let's do it."

Dan knew that any attempts to turn the Faustin in his hand on Dr Orifice would only result in his head being splattered all over the surrounding asphalt. The end of Orifice's shotgun was only a few feet away and it would have been impossible for him to miss Dan if he fired.
Dan chuckled nervously. "You're not mad about those little cracks I made when I was bringing you in, are you?"
"It's like the bumper stickers say. " said Orifice. "I don't get mad."
"Crap." said Dan. He made his move. He didn't turn. He just jumped backwards. He launched himself from his crouching position and brought up his gun at the same time. He fired, but not at Orifice. He fired at the back of the cop car in front of him. The high powered rounds slammed into the car's back fender and shoved it away from him. The car spun on it's roof with a shriek and the grinding of broken glass. Dr Orifice was struck by the front end of the car just as he was about to fire the shotgun. He stumbled forward, trying to keep his balance.
Dan landed on his back, tucked his head, and rolled. He came up firing, squeezing off two quick rounds. Dr. Orifice's leg disconnected at the knee with an explosion of blood and bone matter. He toppled to the ground and dropped the shotgun.
"Learn to take a joke." said Dan.

"Hey!!" Max shouted as she jumped from the third floor of the garage, instantly getting the bull's attention. He turned from the dumpster he was savaging and stomped towards her at a run. Maxine pulled back the metal pole in her hands and waited for him to get close enough. Now! she thought. She swung the short pole like Babe Ruth going for a home run. It connected with the bull's jaw and he was suddenly going in the opposite direction. He landed on his back and slid for a few feet before coming to a stop. Maxine closed the distance between them with her make shift billy club ready for another swing.
The bull got slowly to his feet, swaying like a drunken sailor. He woke up, though, a moment later when Jack Palin dropped onto his back and secured a sleeper hold on him. The bull threw itself backward into the closest wall, trying to dislodge the cop clinging to his neck. Maxine stepped in and cracked the metal pole across the bull's midsection, driving the air from his lungs. She dropped the pole and laid into him with her fists. Between Palin's sleeper hold and Maxine's assault, he didn't stand a chance. Ten seconds later his eyes were rolling back in his head and he was toppling forward onto his face.
Palin released the sleeper hold and sat back to catch his breath. "Not bad, Chalmers." he told her. "Not too bad at all."
"Couldn't have done it without you." said Maxine. She laid down on her back in the street and stared at the sky while her breathing returned to normal. "Thank god it's Friday."
"It's only Wednesday."
"Shit."

That night, Maxine lay in a bed that she could call her own with a smile on her face. She didn't have to worry about where she was going to stay anymore. She had a home.
After the incident with the bull Dan and Max had headed back to the station to clock out for the day. The cut on her head had stopped bleeding and was beginning to heal over by the time she got back to the cop shop. She changed her clothes in the locker room and confirmed her earlier fears. Barring some laundry miracle, her uniform was hopelessly stained. If this kind of thing kept up, her paychecks were going to start shrinking. Uniforms weren't cheap.
After work, Dan drove her over to the barracks to pick up all of her things and then she had spent the rest of the evening setting up her new room at Janet William's house. It was nice just to sit on the bed, look around the room and think, "This is mine."
Around eight o'clock she called up Chris Anderson and let him know that she had a phone number should he choose to call her. After a little beating around the bush, they decided that they would go out for dinner and a movie on Friday night, which made Maxine squirm with delight.
Things were good. She was tired. She fell asleep watching the HV in her room. The news kept showing this clip of Dan standing with one foot on the unconscious bull's back. He would point at the camera, smile, wink, and say, "Beef... it's what's for dinner."
His mother had thought he looked like an ass. Maxine thought it was pretty funny.

Texas Ranger Military Base, Dallas, Texas-

LOADING. . .

CYBERDATA SYSTEMS-1992
UPDATED-1996,2005,2049,2064,
2189,2100,2118,2158,2173,2198

CHECKING ORGANIC COMPONENTS
COMPONENTS INTACT AND RESPONDING

A man sits alone alone in the dark and wonders if he really wants to keep living. He has sixty seconds to decide.

20:59:00: HRS, TEXAS TIME-
RUN SECURITY PROGRAMS
60 SECONDS AND COUNTING
PASSWORD?

In his hands, he holds the picture of a teen age girl with green skin and a fin on top of her head. She is wearing a cheerleader uniform that says "Dallas Rangers" across the breasts and a smile on her face. She is the reason he has continued for the last nine years. It's not like she needs him anymore. She's grown up, become her own woman. He's been reading of her exploits in Chicago, and he feels a certain pride. Considering how she could have turned out (with her early childhood being like it was) he thought he had done well by her.

45 SECONDS AND COUNTING
PASSWORD?

CHECKING BRAIN ACTIVITY . . .
BRAIN ACTIVE AND ALERT

How long should a man be expected to live like this? You couldn't even really call him a man any more. How much of what was once John Armstrong was still alive? A few bits and pieces.
His brain had been saved from death and decomposition in the early twenty first century by an experiment intended to help altzheimers patients recover their memories and sanity. It had proved ineffective for those with altzheimers, but had proved quite successful with John's deteriorating brain cells. It had encouraged his brain to start growing new cells to replace the dead ones and it was still working today just as well as it had when they first injected him with the drugs a hundred and sixty-five years before. His brain had remained healthy while the rest of him had died away. The years had wore him away, and he had slowly been replaced by the mechanical.
Little squishy bits and little squishy pieces were all that was left of John Armstrong. A brain and a little spinal column.

30 SECONDS AND COUNTING
PASSWORD?

They wouldn't even know that he had done it to himself. They would come looking for him and find him dead. The old soldier finally died, they would say. ( Old soldiers never die, they just fade away. A bit of an old song flashes through his head and then he hears the same words from one of the thousands of Officers he had served under over the years. Was it MacArthur?) They didn't know about Cinderella, or what she could do. They would think that his organic bits and pieces had finally given up the ghost. No rumor, no scandal, just an old man finally laid to rest.

15 SECONDS AND COUNTING
PASSWORD?

LOADING: CINDERELLA.EXE
HOLD. . .

It's not like it even really suicide. He isn't doing anything to himself to cause his death. All he has to do is is NOT put in the password. All systems shut down. Blood stops flowing to his brain bits. Peace at last.

10 SECONDS AND COUNTING
PASSWORD?

There is someone knocking at the door. He knows what they have to say. It's because they always have the same thing to say
. "Colonel Armstrong, sir? There's a problem."
I'm a two hundred and eighty year old fix it man, he thinks. When the shit hits the fan, he's the man who burns the shit and cleans the fan.
What will they do when I am gone?
He knows the answer, and that is why he starts to curse.
How many times has he played this game before? How many times has he toyed with that, oh, so tempting thought of not putting in the password, just letting himself slip away? What? Twenty-four times a day? Seven days a week? Was it so bad for an old man just to want to rest in peace?

FIVE SECONDS AND COUNTING
PASSWORD?

The lieutenant is knocking on the door and John Armstrong is cursing.
Damn it, damn it!
They don't come to get him unless it's a life or death situation. They don't call in the old fix it man for trivial situations. People were in danger, most likely a lot of people. They wouldn't be coming for him if it wasn't important.
What will they do when he is gone?
They will die. No one else can do the things he can. Without his help, people will die.

RUN:/ CINDERELLA.EXE-
----CANCEL
PASSWORD? ******

PASSWORD ACCEPTED
SECURITY SHUTTING DOWN.

The lieutenant was interrupted mid-knock by the opening of the door. John Armstrong stood in the doorway and he was an imposing sight. He had seen a few over hauls since the days when he used to call himself Superpatriot, each one making him appear less and less human. The head that used to appear semi normal was now a stainless steel skull. The Lone Star flag had been painted onto it with a spray can. The flag also adorned the metal plates that covered his abdomen. What used to be muscles were pistons now. Joints had been replaced with servos. An electric pump had replaced his heart back in 2067 and it had been replaced twenty six times since then.
"What can I do for you, lieutenant?" asked John.
"Colonel Armstrong, sir? There's a problem."
"There always is." said John. 'Lead the way."

General Dobbs greeted John with a handshake when he entered the command center. This was the hub of all the Texas Rangers military operations around the world. Decisions were made here everyday that could mean the lives of thousands of people.
"Glad you could make it, John." he said. "We tried to call you, but the phones must be messing up."
"No." said John. "I disconnected it. I didn't want to be disturbed." Even while he was speaking, his eyes were scanning the bank of monitors behind the general. They were all showing long distance shots of a jumbo jet sitting out on a runway. There was a reason the footage was shot from so far away. Here in Texas, the press wasn't allowed to go near a crime scene or emergency situation until they had the express written permission of the military officer in charge of the situation. Anyone violating that order could be shot on sight. Long ago, the Rangers had got sick of the press getting in the way of a terrorist situation and the lives of Rangers and hostages alike being lost because of it.
"Well, I'm sorry that we had to bother you, but we have a situation here and we need your help. There' s a plane sitting on the runway down at the airport. It was hi-jacked just outside of Chicago by a man with electrical powers. He is demanding that a hover limo be stocked with food and supplies and that it's brought out to the plane. He is going to keep a couple of hostages until he feels he is a safe distance away and then he says he going to release them."
"Do we know what his problem is? Why he's doing it?"
"No. It looks like it all started because the plane was going to turn back to Chicago. He really didn't want to go back there, so he started killing folks and threatening to make the plane crash. We figure he's on the run from something. We're talking with Chicago police right now, trying to figure out who he is."
"Has he hurt anyone?" asked John.
"Yeah. He killed the co-pilot and one of the stewardesses. He apparently shocked them to death. He says he going to start killing more unless we get him what he wants."
John continued to watch the monitors, weighing his options, laying out possible scenarios. He would want to get the hi-jacked away from as many hostages as possible and lower the risk for loss of life. He made a decision, and prayed it would be the right one.
"We'll give him what he wants. Get him the car."


~Fin-Fan-Fic-Fanatics~Letters and comments from readers. Do I rock or do I suck? Write me and tell me what you think. If you don't want your comments put in this letters column, or if you want them taken out, please let me know.

Going by my usual method of releasing an issue every three weeks, this bad boy is really late. I do have a list of excuses, though. First and foremost would be my moving from one job and apartment to another this month. I was also working on a children's story which my wife and I are going to make into books and give out as christmas presents this year. Half of this issue was written a month ago, half was written over the last few days. The guilt was killing me, so forgive me if the last part with John Armstrong seems rushed. I just wanted to get it done and out.
On the other hand, according to my original publishing schedule of one issue every month, this issue is early. I guess it all depends on how you look at it. (excuses, excuses;)
Now, onto the letters for issue # 5:

Brian,
I don't think my complaint came off the way I meant it; sorry if it
sounded bitchy. Editing is a nitpicker for me. I don't know why I
picked on the CPR thing; it makes total sense to me now (what was I
thinking?). Mostly, I was talking about punctuation and the occasional
spelling mistake. Here's an example: "parameter?" Did you maybe mean
"perimeter?" A "parameter" is a set of guidelines "Data" operates
within. A "perimeter" is what "DS9" would like to confine "The
Dominion" within. That sort of thing. Just call me the human
dictionary, or anal spellchecker; whatever alleviates your frustration.
Anyway, I am lovvvingg the stories. Too cool. When I get my own
computer (I'm typing from work {but I'm off the clock}) I'm gonna print
'em all out. This printer doesn't work right. Until then, be in good
health, 'cause if I don't see #6 in 2000, I'm gonna have to e-beat you
senseless. :>) Kidding.

Hoping the Y2K bug isn't Chalmers' worst enemy,
C.L. Bishop
AKA Dragonfly

These are exactly the kind of letters I like. I give other people the same kind of feedback and hope they will do the same for me. It never occurred to me that there are two perimeter words. I generally rely on spell check for spelling and whether it sounds right for grammar. Thanks for the help on this and by all means, let me know when I screw up. I'd rather people let me know then let me keep on making the mistakes.
Well, here is number six. It's a little rushed, but we got the end of the world hanging over our heads and I wanted to get it out:) # 7 is on the way.

Once again, cool stuff. The thing I like most about your story is your unique characters and unique handle of certain "old" situations. Dr. Orifice is truly disgusting sounding individual. Does he have any sort of powers besides the nasty crap-hole for a stomach? The Civil War ghost character is really intriguing too. Can't wait to hear his story. Such as why is he so concerned with not being afraid? I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. Well, keep it up!

Michael "Big Mac" McKinley

Nope, he's just disgusting. I always thought that in a world filled with Freaks not all powers could be useful.
As for the ghost, after seeing Sleepy Hollow, I wouldn't be surprised if people thought that he was a rip off of the Headless Horseman. While he is a rip off, it's not of the Headless Horseman. I made him to be more in the vein of Ghost Rider. We should be seeing more of him in issues eight or nine.

The Crow: A Sinister Tune
http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo/ARNY.html

The Crow: Dark Age
http://www.angelfire.com/or/crowffa/darkage.html

The Crow:Leaving the Game
http://www.angelfire.com/or/crowffa/leavingthegame.html

Sansker:2200
Sansker: A Change of Heart (incomplete at this time)
http://www.angelfire.com/or/icffa/2200.html

Sin City: Postcards from Maui
http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo/sincitypfm.html

Sin City: Friends
http://www.angelfire.com/or/bcampo/sin.html

Spawn: 1899
http://angelfire.com/or/bcampo/DORT.html

Sansker: Strike of Midnight (only one issue, incomplete)
http://www.angelfire.com/or/icffa/strikeofmidnight.html