The Dragon 2200 # 7 The Dragon: 2200

# 7

by Brian Campo (bcampo@hotmail.com)
(who is thinking about holding a round table interview with himself. )

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)

Clint Eastwood Memorial Airport, Dallas Texas- Paul Heston let out a WHOOP! of joy when he saw the white limo skimming out over the tarmac. They had finally come to their senses and granted him his demands. Now, THAT'S how you got their attention. You kill a couple of hostages right at the start and let them know that you mean business. Then you tell them exactly what you want and say if I don't get it then you better start digging some six feet holes and lots of them. Every time they use the phrase, "I'm sorry. We can't do that.", you kill one passenger. Once they figure out that their negotiators aren't going to work they start listening to what you have to say.
Paul pounded his fist on the window he was looking out of and laughed. He might just get out of this mess after all. He turned and walked back up into the first class section of the plane. Once he had taken the plane hostage, he'd had all the passengers move to first class so that he could keep an eye on them. The situation was anything but comfortable for them; they were crowded into a space that was designed to hold only a third of their number. All eyes snapped to him when he walked in the room. He leaned against the door jam, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled at them.
"Well, there's good news and there's bad news." he told them. "Good news first. If everyone can behave themselves for just a little longer, this will all be over very soon. The Rangers have decided that they are going to give me what I want, which means that I can get out of your hair."
They all looked very relieved.
"But. And here's the bad news." continued Paul. "I will need to take a couple of hostages with me, for insurance purposes."
The pilot of the airplane raised his hand. "I'll go." After he said the words, he looked like he might get sick.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not looking for volunteers." said Paul. "I already have who I want picked out." He looked around the cabin and located the boy and the girl that had been sitting next to him when he first got on the plane. "You two. Get up here."
"No!" shouted a man that Paul recognized as their father. He stood up and put himself between Paul and the two children. "You're not taking my kids. Take me if you want, but not my kids."
"I take who I want to take." said Paul. He clenched and unclenched his fist and took a step towards the man. "Get out of the way."
The father of the boy and girl stood his ground. Everyone standing within a few feet of them felt their hair stand on end
"Fine." said Paul. He took another step forward and poked the man in the chest with his index finger. The man convulsed and fell backwards onto his kids. He hit the ground with a thump and didn't move. Paul had hit him with enough electricity to knock him out, but not enough to kill him. "Anybody else want to argue with me? I got plenty more if you need some of that."
No one said anything.
"That's what I thought. You!" He pointed at the boy. "And you!" He pointed at the girl. "You come with me."
The boy and the girl started to cry, but they did as they were told. They stepped over their father's unconscious body and followed Paul.
"The rest of you just be good and nothing will happen to these kids here. You try anything stupid..." he smiled maliciously. "well, they're in for a shocking experience."
He led the children toward the back of the plane to one of the rear exits. He had given the Rangers strict instructions on how and where he wanted the limo delivered to him. The car was to be parked right below that entrance and then the driver was supposed to beat feet back towards the hanger. Paul would exit the plane holding hands with both of his hostages. If any Rangers were within sight, or if anyone took a shot at him he would dump ten thousand volts into each hostage and kill them instantly. If he felt he was being followed, he would kill one hostage. If he was allowed to escape unmolested, he would release both hostages unharmed.
Paul pulled up the lever on the door and shoved it open. He stepped back quickly, waiting to see if anyone was waiting outside. Nothing happened. Next to the door was the pull switch for the inflatable slide that would allow Paul and the kids to get to the ground. He pulled on it and the slide exploded out from a compartment below the door. Once it was inflated, Paul put the little girl in front of him and cautiously stepped out into the doorway. He scanned the tarmac below, but couldn't see anybody other than the limo driver hoofing it back to the hanger. They were playing it smart and playing it straight with him. Paul grabbed the hand of the little boy and then stepped out onto the slide. Together, the three of them slid to the ground below. He led the kids to the limo with a hurried walk.
"Open the door." he told the little boy. He continued to look all around for any movement that might indicate a sniper.
The boy did as he was told.
"Look inside. Tell me if there is anybody in there. If you lie I'll kill you."
The boy stuck his head in the car door and looked towards the front and the back of the car. "There's no one in there." he said.
Paul shoved the boy inside and then stepped into the car, pulling the girl in with him. The kid was telling the truth. The spacious interior of the car was empty. He shut the door behind him and engaged all of the locks.
"Sit down." he told the boy. He drug the girl up into the front of the car and pushed her into the passenger seat. He took the driver's seat and started the engine. The gas tank was full, good for over a thousand miles. This is going TOO well, he told himself. You better keep your eyes peeled. He dropped the car in to drive and pressed down on the altitude pedal.
Ten minutes later, he was had the throttle open wide and was headed down through the southern Texas sky at one hundred and eighty MPH. He checked the rear view mirrors every few seconds, but there was no indication that was being followed. He figured that it would be less than an hour until he was crossing over into Mexico. From there he would be able to get another car and find someplace to hide.
Despite what he had told the Rangers, he had no intention of releasing the two children. To him, they weren't just hostages or insurance. They were also investment capital. He knew what the children were worth in asian markets. When he could get as much as 35,000 for the two of them there was no way that he was going to let them go. With that kind of money it would be easy for him to set up shop somewhere outside of Chicago or Texas. He could reenter the states later when the hunt for him had cooled down some. He could even use some of the money to buy himself a new identity if it looked like he would need one.
Paul turned around part of the way to check on the boy. The kid was curled up in one of the limo's seats and staring at him.
"What's your name, kid?" he asked as he turned back around to face the front.
"Devon" said the boy. It was clear from his tone and expression that he didn't like Paul.
"Well, Devon, why don't you look around back there and see if they gave us anything to drink? Make yourself useful."
The boy did as he was told. He got up from his seat and started opening the little cabinets by the limo's wet bar.
"What's in there?" asked Paul, as he glanced in his rear view mirror.
"Just a bunch of canned food. Tuna fish. Soup. Peanut Butter. Bread." said Devon.
"Try the fridge." Paul told him.
Devon flipped open the catch that held the fridge door closed and then opened the door. He stared into it for a moment and then glanced up toward the driver's seat. Back at the fridge, back at Paul.
"Well?" said Paul. "What's in there?"
"I think maybe you should come look at it." said the boy. He stepped back away from the little refrigerator.
"What are you talking about, boy?" said Paul. "It's a simple question. What is in the damn fridge?"
The boy remained silent.
"Goddamnit." said Paul. "I can see we're going to have some problems, you and I." He put the car on cruise control and pushed himself up out of his seat. "I don't have time for this kind of shit, you little brat." He moved quickly in Devon's direction and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. "Now you listen to me. When I say "leap", you leap. When I say, "What's in the goddamn fridge", you tell me what's in the goddamn fridge. You got it?!"
The boy wasn't looking at him. The boy was still staring into the fridge. Paul turned to see what he was looking at and stopped. The inside of the fridge was filled with metallic tubing and pistons. It occupied every square centimeter of the small two foot square space.
"What in the hell?"
The tubing began to move. It began to turn and twist in on itself like a bucket filled with snakes. Pieces came apart while others formed together. There was a loud whirring sound and a hand snapped out of the refrigerator. It was quickly followed by a half formed arm. The hand latched onto Paul's leg and it jerked him towards the fridge. He let out a shout of surprise as he was yanked from his feet.
A foot emerged from the fridge and then so did a leg. It planted itself firmly on the floor of the limo while a hip and shoulder began to form out of the tubing. Something human shaped was coming out of there.
The boy had retreated back to his seat and was watching the ordeal with a scared look on his face. His sister did the same from the front of the limo.
In a panic, Paul leaned forward and wrapped his hands around the thing's arm. He started feeding voltage into it. High voltage. He started burning up all the energy he had been saving up since he had taken the plane hostage. The thing seemed unaffected by his assault. It was almost all the way formed as it stepped all the way out of the fridge, the last snaking tendrils of metal tubing were finding their place in the body now. Paul recognized his attacker.
It was the SuperPatriot, or what ever he was calling himself these days. The one who had turned his back on his country.
It grabbed him by his upper arms and then it shoved him back against the hull of the hover car.
It spoke. "You're under arrest." said the Ranger. "As a terrorist in the state of Texas, you have no rights. Any resistance on your part can and will be met with lethal force. Do you understand?" The thing's right hand and arm formed into a six barreled cannon which it aimed right at his head.
Paul clenched and unclenched his fists, drawing up every bit of power still in his body. "Oh, I understand perfectly, pig. But if you think I'm going to let you take me in, you're crazy." He laid both hands on the cyborg and unleashed one massive burst of power. SuperPatriot shuddered, but didn't let go of him.
The cyborg's eyes began to glow a bright red. Something inside of him began to making a loud whining sound.
"Very well." said SuperPatriot.
Then Paul knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of his power. All the energy he had shocked the cyborg with and much, much more rushed back into him His muscles tensed so hard he thought that they might tear loose. He jerked and thrashed in SuperPatriot's grip and he started to scream. Something was cooking, and he suspected that it was himself he was smelling. The back of his head struck the roof of the car, and then everything went black.

At nine o'clock that evening, the white hover limo returned to the airport. When it's doors were thrown open, two children raced out of them and into their parents welcoming arms. A moment later, Texas Ranger John Armstrong stepped from the car dragging behind him the unconscious body of Paul Heston. The news crews were given permission to come closer and they arrived just in time to get a few pictures of the hero retreating into the darkness of the airplane hanger.
And that's how things got done down here in Texas.

Friday night, Chicago- Chris pushed Maxine up against the wall outside his apartment door and then leaned in quickly for a kiss.
"Aw, God!" he said a second later, as he leaned back away from her, clutching at his right eye.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" said Maxine. She was trying to appear sympathetic but it wasn't selling as she was about to break out in laughter. This wasn't the first time a guy had nearly blinded himself on her fin.
"You could have put my eye out with that thing!" said Chris. He was opening his eye slowly, checking if he was still able to see. His eye was watering pretty good, but it wasn't seriously hurt.
Maxine pushed her fin back over her head with her hand and said, "Ok, it's safe now. C'm'ere." The seductive way she smiled made him want to loosen his collar.
Chris hesitated for a moment and then leaned in to kiss her. Successfully this time. "I should invest in safety goggles." he told her between kisses.
Maxine let go of the fin, letting it slap down over the top of Chris' head while she grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. He shoved his hand into his right trouser pocket and began fishing for his keys while she stuck her hand in his left pocket and fished for something else.
Dinner had gone well, both of them had found themselves feeling comfortable in the others presence. The conversation was kept light, but there was definitely signals passing back and forth between them. Little glances, smiles, and stares that lasted a little too long. When the tension got to be too much for them to stand, they asked for the check. The serious heavy petting had started when they got out of the restaurant and into Chris' car. They had sat there for a moment in uncomfortable silence, and then Maxine had crawled over into his seat with him and they locked lips. When they came up for air several minutes later, he asked her if she would like to come over to his place. "Sure." she said. She had retreated back to her own seat so that he could drive. They stopped several more times along the way to resume steaming up the windows. Getting up the stairs to his apartment had been an adventure. Maxine had tried to ascend them backwards, not wanting to turn away from Chris. She had ended up falling on her ass several times, each time eliciting a round of laughter from both of them.
Now, just minutes later, he was pressing up against her and making little frustrated gasps and grunts.
"Are you going to get that in there anytime soon?" Maxine asked.
"Almost got it." he told her. He jiggled his hand around and then added a little pressure.
"You want me to do it?"
"No. I got it." There was a click, and his apartment door opened. Chris reached down and grabbed Maxine by her ass and then tried to heft her up onto his hips. He didn't get her off the ground.
"Don't." she told him. "I weigh nearly two hundred pounds. You'll throw your back out."
"No shit." he wheezed as he let her go.
She backed into his apartment dragging him with her. He grabbed the bottom of the white T-shirt she was wearing and pulled upwards. She let him pull it up over her head and then began to fumble with the buttons on the front of his shirt. He went to work unlocking the mysteries of her bra clasp. Tearing at each others clothes, they moved into his bedroom and fell on the bed.

Later that night, they lay in Chris' bed catching their breath. She was propped up against the head board on a couple of pillows while he rested his head on her belly. He traced the contours of her leg with his index and middle fingers, a slight frown on his face. She ran her fingers through his sweat dampened hair and stroked his head affectionately.
"I'm sorry." he told her after a few minutes of silence. "I didn't know."
"Sorry? For what? Didn't know what?"
"I didn't realize that this was your first time. If I'd known, I would have. . . I don't know, taken it a little slower, made it special or something."
"I hate to burst your bubble," Max told him. "but you are not my first."
"But, I saw the blood. . ."
"Just another side effect of a Freak healing factor. Everything on me and in me heals back to normal, including broken hymens."
He rolled over so that he could look her in the face. "You mean that every time we. . ."
"Yep. You get to deflower me every time."
"Get to? Doesn't it hurt?"
"For less that a second, and then the healing starts and it stops hurting. I've had more uncomfortable things happen during sex, believe me."
"Is it wrong of me to think that's weird?"
Max laughed at him. "No, it's ok if you think it's weird. Can you live with it?"
He rolled back over. "Hmmm, let me see. My girlfriend with a great personality and the body of a super model is a perpetual virgin. It's going to take a little time, but I think I can live with it." He paused "It's those toes that are buggin' me."
Maxine laughed and thrust her hips up, throwing him of her. Chris rolled onto his back while she crawled up on top of him, straddling him.
"Feel up to another round?" she asked.
"Apparently so." he said, glancing down between them at his crotch. She followed his look and saw that he certainly appeared to be willing.
"Be gentle." said Maxine. "It's my first time."

Still later that night, Max crawled out of bed and put on her panties and Chris' button up shirt. The shirt was a little too tight in the chest and shoulders for her to button up, but it would be fine while she went exploring. She hadn't really had an opportunity to look his apartment over when she came in (as she was otherwise occupied at the time) and she wanted to see what it looked like. He was snoring lightly, so she was quiet as she snuck out of the room.
It was an old loft. Walls had been put in to separate the rooms but they only went up ten feet in the rooms thirty foot height. It gave a nice open feel to the place. Spacious. There were some skylights in the ceiling that let in plenty of natural light and you could see the stars through them.
As she had always suspected he would be, Chris was a very neat person. Everything had it's place and was in it's place. His kitchen was immaculately clean, a rare thing for a bachelor apartment. All of the food in the cabinets was healthy and carefully organized by type and date. It was the same for the other rooms in the house. In the bathroom, the toilet seat was down, there was no toothpaste in the sink, and the shower had no mildew. This guy was just too good to be true.
His studio was a complete contrast. This seemed to be the room where Chris let himself go. There were piles and piles of photos and equipment, everything from huge lights to developing tanks to racks of chemicals. He didn't just do photography for the police it seemed. There was also some portrait work and even some landscapes. The walls were covered with pictures he had taken, some of disasters, some of children in a parade, hundreds of events and places from around Chicago. There was even a pictorial cut out of a Life magazine he had done about a Freak family here in Chicago.
And there was a picture of Maxine. It was hanging right above his work table where he could look up and see it any time. It looked like he had taken it on the day they met, the day that Maxine had accidentally killed the girl in the Gorilla suit. It showed her standing a few feet away from an ambulance with her thumbs hooked in her belt. Dan was standing right beside her, a concerned look on his face. Her eyes were red and puffy because she had been crying.
She heard a creak behind her and she turned around. Chris was standing in the doorway. He was dressed in pajama bottoms.
"Hey." he said. He rubbed the back of his head and looked like he was trying to wake up. "I woke up and you were gone."
"I was just looking around your place." she said. "I hope you don't mind."
"No. That's just fine. I thought you had left or something." He walked up to her and put his arms around her. She leaned back against him and rested the back of her head on his shoulder.
She turned back to the picture on the wall and said, "I didn't know you had taken this that day."
"Well, the best pictures come from when the person doesn't know they are being photographed."
"If you would have asked I would have smiled for you."
He chuckled at that. "I like this one better. All the pictures I see of you in the paper, you always look mad. You've got this "Dirty Harry" look on your face and you look like someone is about to get their head torn off. This is the first time I had seen you with your defenses down. It appealed to me."
"I usually am mad. Reporters tend to make me that way."
"I was going to be a journalist once upon a time. It turned out that they wanted me to be a little more cruel than I was willing to be, so I looked for another line of work. You got to have a little pit bull in you to work in the press now days."
"Well, you seem to do well without it." said Maxine. " When did you do Life magazine?"
"About four years ago. Boy, that family had it rough. No work, high rent, they almost ended up on the streets. I helped Barry get a job doing construction after I did that pictorial. I still see them every once in a while." He leaned close and kissed her on the neck. She tilted her head to give him better access.
"Are they doing well?"
"They're getting by. Barry's still working at the same place." His hands were moving across her chest and belly now, and she got the feeling that his mind was no longer on the conversation.
"I have to be at work in a couple of hours, you know."
"That's too bad." he said. "It's my day off."
"Do you think that they would buy it if I called in sick?" She reached back, grabbed his pajama bottoms, and pulled him closer.
"I doubt it, Little Miss Healing Powers."
"Then can I use your shower?"
"You sure can." More kisses on the neck
"I may need help"
"I'm a helpful guy." he said.

The next morning, Dan was waiting for her outside the women's locker room with a box of doughnuts and some coffee. He had already managed to get some of the glaze from the doughnuts on his tie and there was powdered sugar on the bottom of his nose. As usual, he was oblivious to both. He looked a little uncertain when he saw the smile on her face
"You ok?" he muffled through the food in his mouth.
"I'm fine." she said.
"Doughnut?" he held the box out to her.
"No, thanks." she said. She started down the hall, still smiling. She was headed to the briefing room.
"I came by my mom's this morning to pick you up." he said as he tried to keep up. " You weren't there."
"I stayed out late last night. You know how it is."
"Oh, she locked you out. She used to do that to me all the time."
"No, I stayed some place else."
He stopped in his tracks and his mouth fell open. Light bulbs were going on in his head. "Wait.... NOOOOOOO! You didn't.... aw, man, I don't want to know!"
"That's alright, cause I'm not going to tell you."
He continued to stare at her with eyes wide open. "With the PSYCHO?!?!?!"
"Shut up, Dan. It's a nice day. You aren't going to ruin it."
They entered the briefing room just as everyone else who was on this shift was filing it. Max took a seat toward the back and slouched down in her chair. Dan sat in the chair behind her. Captain Hughes came in with a stack of papers and went to the podium at the front of the room.
Max felt a tap on her shoulder and she rolled her eyes. Dan leaned forward so he could whisper in his ear.
"Did you check his freezer?"
"Shut up, Dan."
"Any packages that look a little funny?"
Hughes cleared his throat, and gave Dan a glare that shut him up.
"Good morning, everyone." said Hughes. "First off, I wanted to let you all know that last night the Texas Rangers caught the man who tried to kill Officer Chalmers earlier this week. He hijacked a plane and was apprehended while he was trying to escape."
A little cheer went around the room.
"The Texas government has agreed to extradite him to the states to face charges as long as we agree to send him back when we are done with him. He'll be arriving here in Chicago monday afternoon under the custody of a..." he checked his papers. "Ranger John Armstrong."
Max grinned and tapped her feet excitedly.
"What's your problem?" whispered Dan.
"That's my dad!" she told him. "My dad's coming to town!"


~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.

Well, I had been warning you guys that this series was going to have sexual situations and this issue I made good on the threat. I tried to keep it tasteful, and I hope no one was offended. (I'm lying. I really don't care.) I guess Maxine just got a different kind of action this time around.

Onto the letter:

Brian,
I had started reading #6 on the 17th, but didn't get to finish. I
finally read the rest of it today (Merry Christmas, by the way). Excellent.
So, Superpatriot is still around, huh? Interesting. I'm guessing Maxine
isn't his natural daughter? Doesn't matter- I'm along for the ride, anyway.
She is adopted. I've mentioned it a couple of times, mainly way back in issue # 1.
I'm curious to see how the hostage situation plays out- the ghost
character intrigues me. There's something oddly familiar about him- like
I've seen a similar character somewhere. I read that you had Ghost Rider in
mind, but that's not who I'm thinking of. I think the character I'm thinking
of was from some non-comic story. Maybe you've just tapped into an archetype.
All I know is, somebodies getting ripped off:) Actually, now that I think about it he reminds me a lot of the Red Knight from The Fisher King.
I was very surprised to see that you're married?!? Wow. I had
tremendous respect for your writing ability before, but now, I am truly in
awe. Anyone who can juggle a family and this kind of time taking creative
pursuit derserves his props. You da man! And your wife must be a true
saint. Congrats on all fronts. (By the way: personally, I'd be interested
to see the children's story, just to see the difference in your writing
styles. Just a thought).
She is a saint. She puts up with more bullshit out of me then anyone should have to. She's the one that has to hear all my ideas in their undeveloped stages ("what if I had a lady who was one big yeast infection?" "what if I had a guy named Dr Orifice?" "How about a group of girl scout assassins?") She just rolls her eyes and sighs.
I'll get the children's story properly formatted for the net and post it sometime. Here it is: Brother Two-Legs
Jack Palin was kind of cool. "...One of the nicest guys you would ever
meet." In other words, you were trying to say that he's "a real pussycat,"
right? :)
I realized that I was six issues in and I had only mentioned one Freak cop. There are more than just Maxine. I'll be introducing more as time goes by. However, I can't write like Erik and have a huge cast. I tend to focus on only a few characters at a time.
Looking forward to the next issue, and thanks for the update on DC Beyond
(on the HEROES message board).
No problem. I really dig those guys and want to help them stay visible.

Merry Christmas,
C.L. Bishop
AKA Dragonfly

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