Shelby and Giz
are owned by Marvel Comics.
200,000 ft above the Pacific Ocean
12:45pm
My eyes stay shut, but I am very much awake. I have instead been hollow of my surroundings with what I was taught in Nepal. They use to call me WarStrike, but that's a history I wish I could forget. Before I fell to the snow, now almost eight hours ago I saw shein-li Lang before me in my head. Lang's words convinced me that maybe what I did was wrong in the past, as WarStrike, but his words was maybe a way to reinvent myself. I was conscious now, I was at a point a living weapon, and they had me in close vicinity with them. The men handcuffed me, but little else. These guys were not brain surgeons.
I listened as the men spoke my fingers sliding over the metal lock over the chain links to figure exactly how to strike. I listened to the voices three men were in the cockpit area, five surrounding me. As I thought about the situation at hand the two sides of my mind constantly battled one another. On one side of the coin I knew that I should not hurt another man no matter what injustices have inspired me. On the other hand they have spilled blood of others, not just me. I waited though; the time was not at hand yet. This I knew.
The Pilot looked to the copilot with a sheepish grin as the helicopter dives down a few feet to dodge an updraft. The Copilot smiled back patting the pilots shoulder. "Good job Caleb," The Copilot smiled relaxing in her seat as the wind sifted over the glass window of the Helicopter.
--How's everything going in there, blue Falcon?--The radio spoke in.
The Co-pilot lifted the speaker to her curled lips and softly spoke back. "He's fine… If that's what you mean."
The man on the other side of the radio made a gulping sound as he heard the voice that sounded like silk over the PA.
--Cool beans, Blue Falcon.--
The Guard on Brandon's right, shifted in his seat, as he looked to the blond haired captive, sitting with his legs crossed his eyes closed, the long wisps of blond hair flowing over his chiseled face. "Hey Schmidt he don't look like much does he?"
The Guard on the left looked over at the captive a moment as well. "Well McDonald, ever seen this guy in action?"
"Nope can't say I've ever even heard of him."
"It's a good thing too." Brandon spoke silently.
"Your awake?" The guard on the left said his pale face fading a pink flush.
"Calm down there, McDonald." Brandon said again in his hushed tone.
"How the #%@& did you know my name?"
From the cockpit an ebony head poked from behind the curtain, his shaved head casting reflections from the onboard lights. "What the hells going on back here?" What the general saw next made the lump in his throat deepen. A well-placed foot on both Schmidt and McDonald's kneecaps caused a sick pop as Brandon lunged upward to a standing position. The movement was so fast that all, The General saw a blur of Brandon's legs and him rising from his seat. Without a moments thought the general pulled his pistol from his side, and fired a shot at the now standing Brandon. Another quick movement darted the handcuffed hands of Brandon in front of the bullet, on impact it broke the chain of the cuffs. Brandon then turned to the other guards who had just locked out their much larger guns.
"You all should have left well enough alone." Brandon sneered, at the general and the guards.
"You are wanted, WarStrike."
"I'm aware." Brandon said back to the general.
The general rubbed at his raven black moustache with his free hand, "If you escape where can you go? You will never be safe."
"How touching boyo, but I doubt you can offer me safety." Brandon grunted as he pivoted to his back, sending an arm into the nose of the soldier who was sneaking behind him. As the fleshy knuckle of the ultra met the cartilage of the soldier's nose, a jet of blood streamed out over Brandon's hand. The soldier crashes to the floor, as Brandon looks back to the general. "Now that my points been made," Brandon pushes the soldier and General to the side as he walks to the hatch. Turning back to the two watching him, Brandon lifted the hatch escape latch of the helicopter.
The general still very pissed thought about his predicament, and unable to do much else, looked to Brandon as he bent down to his left. Picking up a pack tilted against the wall, he threw it at the Ultra hero. Brandon's reflexes were dynamite but as his eyes flicked he brought a hand up to the pack grabbing it. Though as he moved his weight to the pack, Brandon caught a soldier running at him in a blur. Catching Brandon's stomach with the Soldier's shoulder, Brandon was smashed into the open latch. The door lifted open. Brandon tried to grab a hold of the now swinging door with his free hand but missed.
The General slowly looked to the open door as a smile glided across his face. "Collins, shut the hatch." The Soldier went without much more that a word to the door, closing it tightly, "For I have a call to make."
Brandon could feel the wind easing about him as his body darted towards the ground. Not having too much time to react, Brandon quickly pulled the parachutes straps around his arms. The Blue eyes looked to the ground coming closer to him. Without hesitation, Brandon pulled the release rope on the parachute. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you all again soon." Brandon whispers, as the parachute caught hold of the wind currents slowing the ultra's decent.
Brandon Tark's Mansion
Beverly Hills, Los Angeles
11:30pm, October 7th
The night had came slowly now, as Giz, sat in the living room sipping on some hot tea leafing through the newspaper. The solo light emitting from the ceiling did little to luminate the large room. Sitting back in the large tanned sofa Giz pulled the cup from his lips. Giz had no idea what he'd do about tomorrow, in roughly six hours the board members from ERK were going to come and look at Tark Enterprises, how was he going to let them know the C.E.O was not going to allow a buy out. Though not even halfway through his thought process Shelby walked into the room. Gently sliding his eyes up from his periodical a smile came to the man's face. Adjusting his glasses he scanned the woman's body.
Shelby let a smile curl up to her red painted lips, as the spiral red curls spilled over her face. "Hey Giz, what are you still doing up?"
"Not much just thinking ya know?"
"Oh, I get it, mind some company?"
"No it's fine, take a seat."
"Is three a crowd?" A strangely familiar voice said, as Brandon walked into the room, snapping together the last part of the gun-bracelet to his arm, the ultra smiled
"B-b-Brandon?" Shelby yelled looking to the blonde now standing before them in the original red and blue spandex, he wore when he was WarStrike.
"Yeah it's me alright." Brandon nodded as he stepped into the center of the room. "My vacation got interrupted by some strange international guns for hire. So I guess that means I'm back in business."
"Vacation?" Giz stressed, "Brandon, everyone thought you were dead."
"Yeah I suppose so. Guess that means I'll need a mask, to go along with this get-up, I am not gonna make any mistakes this time around."
"Your not planning on going back in as WarStrike are you Brandon? I mean you just got home."
"Well I figure I should find out who was gunning after me, then try to put the Strike business behind me. Maybe make up a clone story. Giz, think you could help me there?"
"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa Brandon." Giz said flinging his arms about. "You come marching in here, after you were missing for two years and begin acting like nothing has happened? I mean where do you get off? Glad to see you old friend."
"Thanks, Giz. Shelby please would you hear me out first?"
"Sure Brandon I'm listening."
Banks International
New York City
6:45pm, October 7th
"Damn it, what the heck do you mean, he got away?" Banks yells into the intercom, imbedded in his desk. Above his desk, the comm. Screen shows the general, fidgeting a little, the reception is flawed with flickers in the video signal.
--Sir, it wasn't our fault. I mean it is Strike were talking about, the living weapon as you called him?--
"Look general where is he."
--Are indicators presume he would be heading towards his home in Los Angeles.--
"Good, send your men there, I'll be send out another division there, keep him confined there but don't act until I give the word."
--Yes sir.--
Bank's turned the communicator relay off as he pulled himself from his desk. Rubbing at his face, Banks was not happy, how would he keep his people happy waiting for product to be delivered. Tark was a businessman just as he was, maybe he should think about how he'd act in a situation that Tark was placed in. Walking back through the hall of his office building, Bank's adjusted the glasses to his face. The Janitors were still busy flocking about the clean up chores.
"Hello mister Banks." One of the janitors said to him adjusting his denim colored hat towards Nick.
"Hey Bucky." Banks says as he pulled open the door to the boardroom. The air inside was not a happy one, Banks needed to pull this back in his favor. Such things were not easy.
"We've got some good news, and some bad news." Banks began as he walked to the head of the table.
The group about the desk muttered not a distilled sound as the eyes flicked up to Banks. Those around the table were leaders to the most powerful crime families in the United States. Banks slowly walked to the chair at the head of the blackened wood table. A sift of cotton squeaked into the soundless room as Banks slipped into the chair. Leaning forward abit the thin blond woman, who lead most of the crime on the east coast of the United States, cleared her throat. Like the others in the room Andrea Dilbert, had been waiting patiently for the last few hours, but her time was quickly evaporating. Andrea had gotten a call on her cell phone a little earlier in the meeting. Problems were arising in a facility of hers in Chicago. "Are we to be kept in suspense, Mr. Banks?" Andrea's voice called out falling through the room like a smooth comb of honey.
"Of course not my dear." Banks announced as he let his index finger press into the button on the table, in front of him. Mechanical generators roar to life in sequence as the white colored wall behind Banks slipped upward to present a large TV. As the screen activates it slowly fades into a large red and white bricked house. "As it has turned out my friends, our target Mr. Tark has escaped our chariot to bring him to our facilities. So instead we have to try the field test of the weapon first." The other board members would see a blush come to Banks' face. "It seems Tark, has returned to his home."
"Banks, isn't that the tad bit dangerous? I'm mean won't the local law enforcement agencies be called." Came a new voice to the mix. The Thin red headed man who sat back in the corner almost completely in solitude was Marcus Ray; his somber attitude is what gave him his name.
"That has been taken care of already Mr. Ray. The Los Angeles Police Department will not pose a problem."
Above the Los Angeles skies
11:50pm
The four helicopters hover like a fleet of metallic boulders above Los Angeles. The Blue painted vessels had been hovering above the city for the last few hours. Inside the movement was as still. The men and women seated in the helicopters were given the message to go ahead and begin organizing the ground troops and began setting up as soon as they saw the four armed trucks move from the warehouse located off second street.
Finally rising from his copilot seat, the General removed the head set from his shaven head as he strode back into the bowels of the helicopters he manned. "Attention up, everyone." The general announced with a smile on his face. "McDonald, you are staying back. The leg injury will prevent you from helping any of the pursuits. The Rest of you will be taking the right wing of the Tark mansion. So equip up boys and girls. Lets catch ourselves a Ultra hero."
The six soldiers all rose from their seats. The crews were all still all black and blue still from the escape earlier today. Neither the soldiers nor the General had any idea that they would still be here this late into the day. Walking in one line over to the far wall, the soldiers each grabbed a gun as well as a parachute pack from the wall. Slipping the guns over their shoulders and the packs to their backs they returned their gaze to the General.
"What are you waiting for soldiers, MOVE!"
Brandon Tark's Mansion
12:02am
"So I had no choice. I could not risk the lives of you two or my business, I had to run. Now I have to clear this up so finally we can get back to our normal lives." Brandon told Giz and Shelby as he looked over to them.
"Brandon, and you think the Terrorist group is coming here now?" Giz finally asked Brandon, looking to his friend with that same look or trust.
"I'd say so Giz. So we will need to get ready."
"Ready?" Shelby exclaimed. "Yeah lets take on a whole flaming army! How do you expect to do this again? I may have missed something."
"We can do it Shelby, as a team. Just keep an eye out on the security cameras, why Giz and I prepare. I assume if they are not already here they will be very shortly."
Shelby doesn't mutter a word as she looks away from the two men. Shelby's lips almost curled at what Brandon, was saying, but deep down she supported them. They really didn't have a choice this time. Right?
Outside Brandon Tark's Mansion
Los Angeles, California
October 8th 12:30am
Heavy military boots clump to the ground from the sky, silently unlocking the m-16s they carry at their chests. Others parry over electrified fences, in quick pole volts. The Soldiers do as they are ordered through the headsets they wear under their helmets and masks. Three separate teams organized by different colors, and different frequency channels. The first of three teams is the Red Team. The twenty or so men and women in this team are commanded to set up along the roof of the mansion. Armed with Grapple hooks they find this task not to difficult. The Second team they call the Blue team. This team is by far the largest of the three teams taking on the mission. Team Blue's objective is to line around the actual building, at any sign of struggle on a blue members line of sight he or she must go in firing. Finally the Silver team is set up. The Silver team is lined up in the bushes. Fifteen members in all, it is this teams job to ready the special weapon, and apprehend the Subject, we know him as WarStrike.
A line of shadow darts over a woman wearing a red body suit. Bracing herself against the wall of the roof, she watches silently through the sky light, as the woman Shelby sits alone in the living room. The Silver team is working on the security cameras as she sits there monitoring the screen. The Plan as fed through the red teams speakers are as followed As soon as the security cameras are disengaged engage.
The Cave
Los Angeles, California
October 8th 12:32am
Five hundred or so feet under Brandon's mansion, The Cave sits. The Mansion was built originally built two miles from a series of Canyons, completely hidden from the urban world above the streets. After originally becoming WarStrike, Brandon had this place built connecting to a hidden panel in the right wing. The Cave is actually a system of Caverns, which furnish most of what WarStrike is. The First of the three Canyons is the Hanger. The Hanger is where the Warlike as well as most of the other Vehicles WarStrike uses. The Second is a laboratory that rarely gets used these days, and the third. Well the third is where Giz and Brandon now stand.
Giz calls it Guns are us. The Third Cavern is a technical center, where guns as well as armor and most of what makes WarStrike, well WarStrike. Giz takes a red and black spandex cloth from the wall, and slowly hands it to Brandon. Brandon looks quickly away from the security monitors now as the blue eyes look to the scientists' hands. Slowly, he slides the mask into his hands.
"As you can see Brandon, that's probably the only Strike mask left in existence. I altered the look of it during your absence. The S over the eye, is now just a black line, and well there's a block of yellow on the other side."
"Good. Guess we'll have to go back to Strike."
"We will figure all the matters out in time." Giz beams a grin. "Let's deal with this matter first. I've installed infrared lenses, made from a flexible plastic." Turning to the rock table behind him, Giz grabs a new gold colored shoulder pad. "This is the battery unit as well as the controller. Not only is there infrared, in the left eye but also a targeting mechanism and a zooming iris."
"Seems you've been hard at work."
"Well it's hard not to-" Giz's mouth drops as he returns to the security monitors now fuzzing with white snow.
"What is it Giz?" Brandon asks as his eyes drop to the monitors. "Looks like we've got company." Brandon slips the new mask over his face, as he looks to Giz. Giz is already to the gun rack, figuring out what weapons should be used.
Brandon Tark's Mansion
12:40am
Shards of glass break, smashing into the carpeted floor, as red clothed forms dart from the skylight in smooth precision. Gunfire echoing off the drywall, as M-16s are activated as the silent army boots clump to the ground. The seven Red Team members who have entered through the living room stand silent, as one of the red clothed forms step forward, removing her mask. Shilling the blond hair over her shoulder she looks to the Shelby who's laying on the floor in a fetal position.
"Now tell me where's Mr. Tark?" The woman says. She waits a whole of five seconds before a few rounds cascade through the room. A masked man walks in a black gun smokes as he holds it up right.
"Tark asked me to handle it. Being how I got him into this mess in the first place."
"Yes, and you WarStrike, are who we want."
"I'm okay with dying, end this mess with a bang. That's the recipe, is it not?"
Next issue: the story kicks it up a notch as Strike takes on Mr. Bank's Soldiers and meets the Secret weapon head on! Be here for next Part of "memory games"!