This story is set prior to the events in "Black Ops," shortly after
Kane first went rogue.
The Titan
The world's greatest man reclined in the velvet
cushioning of the chair. Surrounding him were
furnishings of incredible splendor. From the thick
carpet on the floor, to the chandelier hanging from
the vaulted sceiling, and everywhere between, the room
was palatial. Mahogany shelves covered the walls,
filled with rare and wonderful manuscripts and strange
artifacts, and suits of knightly aroms stood like
sentinels at intervals, antique weapons hung above
them. The furniture was incredibly expensive, and
magnificently, almost obcenely comfortable.
It all made the man glad that he'd killed the previous
owner.
The very late, possibly lamented Sen. Ralph Nugrazzi
of New Jersey had possessed great wealth and a lovely
mansion that was very far away from the rest of the
world. He had also been in the wrong place at the
wrong time. The senator was one of the few men in
what was laughingly called "the government of the
United States" to know about the Darwin Experiment.
Applied genetic engineering at it's height. The
creation of a perfect human who could serve as the
ultimate covert warrior.
It had all gone wrong, of course, and the senator,
touring the facility at the wrong time, had fled when
the Darwin Experiment had gotten loose. Fled in his
private helicopter, fleeing towards this private
retreat. He never knew about the stowaway on board
until after he had landed and gone to bed that night.
Now the world's greatest man, the Darwin Experiment,
lived alone in the palace, reading the books in the
library, watching telivision, surfing the internet,
drinking in knowledge like a sponge while he pondered
his next move. He thought he had the groundwork for
his plan laid out now. It began with the perfectly
logical premise that he was the pinnacle of human
evolution. That meant the rest of the human race was
obsolete.
The book he read was titled "The Bible Code," and the
world's greatest man was fascinated by it. He thought
that if he knew Hebrew, and had a copy of the Torah,
he might be able to make very good use of this
knowledge. In fact--
There was a loud crash as the north window imploded,
and a costumed figure with a Desert Eagle .50 caliber
magnum semi-automatic rolled across the floor, gun
trained on the Darwin man's forehead.
"So you're Judas." The gun had a laser sight built
into the barrel, and a telescopic sight mounted above
it. The world's greatest man could feel the tiny do
of light above and between his eyes, and smiled.
"Is that what they now call me? 'Judas?' I must
admit, it is better than 'the Darwin experiment' by
far. But it still lacks a certain something. You
must be the one called Deathstroke." Judas stood,
slowly. The laser-dot didn't move an inch from it's
position on his forehead.
"So you've heard of me."
Judas smiled. "Of course. You are the world's
greatest assassin. The best of the best. I knew that
you would be the first one they'd send for me. Are
your orders to kill me, or capture?"
"They want you alive, but they'll take you any way
they can."
"Splendid! But this game has gone on long enough.
Let us move on to the next phase."
Deathstroke didn't move visibly, but somehow he seemed
suddenly to be even more lethal than before. "Don't
move. Don't even breathe. Even you'd have trouble if
one of these rounds went through your head."
"Quite so. However, I have anticipated your arrival,
and the manner in which you made it. I have been
prepared for some time now." Judas did move then,
simutaneously twisting his body aside and throwing the
book in his hand. Deathstroke fired twice, but only
grazed the side of Judas' head. Then the genetically
altered titan siezed the gun, and twisted it's heavy
barrel as if it were a pipe-cleaner, casting it aside
with one hand while casually tapping Deathstroke's
chin with the other.
******
"Awake, mercenary?" Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the
Terminator, opened his eyes. He was still in the
library, but was now within a cage, stripped of
clothing and weapons. On the other side of the bars
and mesh stood Judas, wearing only a loincloth.
"It's time for a little game, Mr. Wilson. I will
release you, and you will take one of these fine
weapons on the wall, and I shall take another. If you
win, you may kill me, or deliver me to my creators."
"And if you win?" Wilson's voice was raspy, his
throat dry.
Judas smiled. "You shall see. Now come, and let us
face each other as warriors!" The artificially created fighting man
pressed a button on a control panel, and the side of the cage behind
Deathstroke slammed down. He wheeled, and ran out of the cage,
headed for the weapons rack on the wall. He snatched up a katana,
ancient steel razor-sharp and diamond-hard, and turned to face his
nemesis.
Judas stood before him, muscular body gleaming in the light of the
chandelier. In his huge right hand he held a medieval broadsword, in
his left, a remote control. He pushed a button, and the powerful
sound of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony filled the room.
Deathstroke entered Hasso no Kamae, the kendo stance that left the
sword held vertically next to his face, and stood waiting for the man-
shaped being before him to make a move. Judas obliged, lunging
forward with a sweeping cut along a low plane. Deathstroke lowered
his guard to parry, and Judas spun his heavy sword with incredible
speed and dexterity, bringing the double-edged weapon of destruction
down in a purely vertical cut that looked like it could split the
mercenary in two. Deathstroke threw himslef backwards, however, and
Judas' blade hissed through empty air.
Now it was time to go on the offensive. Deathstroke stepped back in,
closing the distance he had opened, and launched two cuts in quick
succession, both high vertical head blows. Judas caught both of them
with his own sword, and riposted with a thrust at Deathstroke's
chest, which was parried a hair too late. A red line opened up on
the soldier's body that stretched from the solar plexus to below the
left nipple. A flesh wound.
Deathstroke tried to open Judas' belly, recovered from the expected
parry, and struck again, this time feinting for the right wrist and
cutting high at the shoulder. Now it was the other man's turn to
bleed as a deep gash was opened along the right biceps.
The genetically engineered warrior disengaged, stepped back, and
grinned. "Very good, Mr. Wilson. Very good indeed. This has been
great sport. But I am beginning to grow bored with it." Suddenly,
the huge man plunged forward, cutting again and again, faster than
Deathstroke could track, let alone parry. Wounds, shallow and
painful, opened up on his arms, torso, and legs. His sword was sent
flying out of his grasp, and with a single mighty kick, Judas
launched Deathstroke backwards to the floor.
The mercenary lay dazed for a time, Judas standing over him with
sword-tip at his throat. Then the creature spoke.
"Do you know why I insisted upon this little game, Deathstroke? It
is because I needed to be sure. You see, I believed myself to be a
superior form of being, the living embodiment of the Nietchze's
Ubermensch. I felt that it would be only right for me to claim my
true place as master of this earth, and reduce Homo Sapiens, the
Untermenschen, to the nothingness that you deserve. But, before I
could act to fulfill this grand design, I needed to test myself
against the best that my predecessors had to offer. I had to
demonstrate to my self that I was indeed worthy. This, I have done."
Judas dropped his sword, struck Deathstroke a sharp blow on a
pressure point, and tossed the other man back into his cage, which
was then resealed.
"I shall let you live, Mr. Wilson, for a time. I have no need to
kill you any earlier than the rest of the species. And I want you to
deliver a message to my enemies.
"I am no longer their Darwin Experiment, and I am not their Judas.
Let them instead know me as Kane."
End
Kane first went rogue.
The Titan
The world's greatest man reclined in the velvet
cushioning of the chair. Surrounding him were
furnishings of incredible splendor. From the thick
carpet on the floor, to the chandelier hanging from
the vaulted sceiling, and everywhere between, the room
was palatial. Mahogany shelves covered the walls,
filled with rare and wonderful manuscripts and strange
artifacts, and suits of knightly aroms stood like
sentinels at intervals, antique weapons hung above
them. The furniture was incredibly expensive, and
magnificently, almost obcenely comfortable.
It all made the man glad that he'd killed the previous
owner.
The very late, possibly lamented Sen. Ralph Nugrazzi
of New Jersey had possessed great wealth and a lovely
mansion that was very far away from the rest of the
world. He had also been in the wrong place at the
wrong time. The senator was one of the few men in
what was laughingly called "the government of the
United States" to know about the Darwin Experiment.
Applied genetic engineering at it's height. The
creation of a perfect human who could serve as the
ultimate covert warrior.
It had all gone wrong, of course, and the senator,
touring the facility at the wrong time, had fled when
the Darwin Experiment had gotten loose. Fled in his
private helicopter, fleeing towards this private
retreat. He never knew about the stowaway on board
until after he had landed and gone to bed that night.
Now the world's greatest man, the Darwin Experiment,
lived alone in the palace, reading the books in the
library, watching telivision, surfing the internet,
drinking in knowledge like a sponge while he pondered
his next move. He thought he had the groundwork for
his plan laid out now. It began with the perfectly
logical premise that he was the pinnacle of human
evolution. That meant the rest of the human race was
obsolete.
The book he read was titled "The Bible Code," and the
world's greatest man was fascinated by it. He thought
that if he knew Hebrew, and had a copy of the Torah,
he might be able to make very good use of this
knowledge. In fact--
There was a loud crash as the north window imploded,
and a costumed figure with a Desert Eagle .50 caliber
magnum semi-automatic rolled across the floor, gun
trained on the Darwin man's forehead.
"So you're Judas." The gun had a laser sight built
into the barrel, and a telescopic sight mounted above
it. The world's greatest man could feel the tiny do
of light above and between his eyes, and smiled.
"Is that what they now call me? 'Judas?' I must
admit, it is better than 'the Darwin experiment' by
far. But it still lacks a certain something. You
must be the one called Deathstroke." Judas stood,
slowly. The laser-dot didn't move an inch from it's
position on his forehead.
"So you've heard of me."
Judas smiled. "Of course. You are the world's
greatest assassin. The best of the best. I knew that
you would be the first one they'd send for me. Are
your orders to kill me, or capture?"
"They want you alive, but they'll take you any way
they can."
"Splendid! But this game has gone on long enough.
Let us move on to the next phase."
Deathstroke didn't move visibly, but somehow he seemed
suddenly to be even more lethal than before. "Don't
move. Don't even breathe. Even you'd have trouble if
one of these rounds went through your head."
"Quite so. However, I have anticipated your arrival,
and the manner in which you made it. I have been
prepared for some time now." Judas did move then,
simutaneously twisting his body aside and throwing the
book in his hand. Deathstroke fired twice, but only
grazed the side of Judas' head. Then the genetically
altered titan siezed the gun, and twisted it's heavy
barrel as if it were a pipe-cleaner, casting it aside
with one hand while casually tapping Deathstroke's
chin with the other.
******
"Awake, mercenary?" Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the
Terminator, opened his eyes. He was still in the
library, but was now within a cage, stripped of
clothing and weapons. On the other side of the bars
and mesh stood Judas, wearing only a loincloth.
"It's time for a little game, Mr. Wilson. I will
release you, and you will take one of these fine
weapons on the wall, and I shall take another. If you
win, you may kill me, or deliver me to my creators."
"And if you win?" Wilson's voice was raspy, his
throat dry.
Judas smiled. "You shall see. Now come, and let us
face each other as warriors!" The artificially created fighting man
pressed a button on a control panel, and the side of the cage behind
Deathstroke slammed down. He wheeled, and ran out of the cage,
headed for the weapons rack on the wall. He snatched up a katana,
ancient steel razor-sharp and diamond-hard, and turned to face his
nemesis.
Judas stood before him, muscular body gleaming in the light of the
chandelier. In his huge right hand he held a medieval broadsword, in
his left, a remote control. He pushed a button, and the powerful
sound of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony filled the room.
Deathstroke entered Hasso no Kamae, the kendo stance that left the
sword held vertically next to his face, and stood waiting for the man-
shaped being before him to make a move. Judas obliged, lunging
forward with a sweeping cut along a low plane. Deathstroke lowered
his guard to parry, and Judas spun his heavy sword with incredible
speed and dexterity, bringing the double-edged weapon of destruction
down in a purely vertical cut that looked like it could split the
mercenary in two. Deathstroke threw himslef backwards, however, and
Judas' blade hissed through empty air.
Now it was time to go on the offensive. Deathstroke stepped back in,
closing the distance he had opened, and launched two cuts in quick
succession, both high vertical head blows. Judas caught both of them
with his own sword, and riposted with a thrust at Deathstroke's
chest, which was parried a hair too late. A red line opened up on
the soldier's body that stretched from the solar plexus to below the
left nipple. A flesh wound.
Deathstroke tried to open Judas' belly, recovered from the expected
parry, and struck again, this time feinting for the right wrist and
cutting high at the shoulder. Now it was the other man's turn to
bleed as a deep gash was opened along the right biceps.
The genetically engineered warrior disengaged, stepped back, and
grinned. "Very good, Mr. Wilson. Very good indeed. This has been
great sport. But I am beginning to grow bored with it." Suddenly,
the huge man plunged forward, cutting again and again, faster than
Deathstroke could track, let alone parry. Wounds, shallow and
painful, opened up on his arms, torso, and legs. His sword was sent
flying out of his grasp, and with a single mighty kick, Judas
launched Deathstroke backwards to the floor.
The mercenary lay dazed for a time, Judas standing over him with
sword-tip at his throat. Then the creature spoke.
"Do you know why I insisted upon this little game, Deathstroke? It
is because I needed to be sure. You see, I believed myself to be a
superior form of being, the living embodiment of the Nietchze's
Ubermensch. I felt that it would be only right for me to claim my
true place as master of this earth, and reduce Homo Sapiens, the
Untermenschen, to the nothingness that you deserve. But, before I
could act to fulfill this grand design, I needed to test myself
against the best that my predecessors had to offer. I had to
demonstrate to my self that I was indeed worthy. This, I have done."
Judas dropped his sword, struck Deathstroke a sharp blow on a
pressure point, and tossed the other man back into his cage, which
was then resealed.
"I shall let you live, Mr. Wilson, for a time. I have no need to
kill you any earlier than the rest of the species. And I want you to
deliver a message to my enemies.
"I am no longer their Darwin Experiment, and I am not their Judas.
Let them instead know me as Kane."
End