BLACK WINGS Chapter 9- No Sympathy by Justin Anderson
June 28, 2002. Washington, 9:11 AM Cletus Kasady. It thrilled him, sitting on the small bed in his special cell. People running in panic, trying to find a solution, even a cause, to his being here. They thought they were somehow rid of him. But here he was. And they weren't going to do a thing about him. He stared at the ceiling, keeping an eye on the tiny camera watching him. They had sealed him away securely, the room lined with bullet-proof glass, two layers of it. In between, a force shield in case he broke out. But he would break out, and he would leave this place. It was only a matter of time. Slight echoes from the hall. He kept his watch on the ceiling. "Somebody's TheeEEERE! Don't tell me...." He tapped his fingers together rhythmically, continuing to watch the ceiling. "Hello, Doc Kafka," he said joyfully. Jumping from the bed, he stared at his old psychiatrist and her accompaniment of guards. "I bet you RAN straight down here when they told you, right? Still think there's hope..." "Why not? It's happened before," she said. "Suuure.." Cletus sat on the bed, staring away from the doctor. "Give it up. Your idea of sanity is getting old. The Black Wings is a mistake, and I certainly doubt YOU had anything to do with it. The only way you're getting rid of me, is ta kill me. And I don't see you here to do that!" 9:38 PM. The Pentagon General Peterson paced around his desk. "This is just great. What happened to information control?" he asked. The newspaper article didn't concern him. It was the drawing they had printed, sent in by an eyewitness. The drawing wasn't the worst part. It was the facial expression. "The shit has really hit the fan on this one. And I get to clean this up!" He pointed towards the door, his advisors leaving. He grabbed his receiver. "I want Agent Henry Johnson in my office, now!" He waited. Agent Johnson opened the door, saying, "you wanted to see me?" "Yes. Come in. You were going to check on a supposed document, correct?" Agent Johnson removed a yellowed sheet of paper from his jacket. "I did. It's falsified, most likely done by a member of the Ancient Order. Someone wanted Cletus Kasady to believe Domientius driven him insane," he explained. "I can probably guess why," General Peterson replied. "Yes, sir. Someone manipulated him. I'm not sure who, but there aren't many of us left." "A lie," General Peterson said, "which wouldn't have been so bad if Carnage hadn't come back. We'll be lucky if Cletus ever wakes from that coma..." The phone rang. He answered, listening carefully. "Right... I'll be there immediately." He grabbed the gun from his desk, slipping it in his jacket. "You're coming with me. This Jonathan Screl they brought is is not talking. It's time I took a crack at him. I'll beat him senseless if I have to, but I will find out what happened." "You think he provided Carnage with a cloned body?" Agent Johnson asked. "Do I need to answer that?" 9:54 AM, Washington, D.C. Jonathan Screl was a fairly short man, going bald. He looked less like a person and more like a cartoon character. He remained smug as General Peterson stared at him. "We know you worked for Aram Jacobs. We know you gave Carnage a cloned body. You do know cloning in this country is now illegal, right?" "I do. But, the damage is done. Shame security at that airport had to hassle me, make me drop my briefcase. And they had to find that document," he replied. "Right. Interesting document, actually," General Peterson said. "It details how you produced a clone body from an old blood sample. Why an old sample?" "You know why. But in case you forgot, the DNA of the immortals from those experiments can't be cloned," Screl explained. Peterson rummaged through the stack of papers, pulling another of interest. "Why did you make that deal with Carnage?" "That's for me to know. You probably won't live long enough to find out."Peterson picked up a video cassette, sticking it in a VCR he had wheeled into the room. "I viewed this earlier. The tape you were carrying... But lets watch it again." He hit play. Carnage appeared on the screen. "Cletus! If you're watching this, then the procedure was a success, and you've been revived. To you, it will feel like a coma. You will have time to catch up later. Right now... I am dying. Without a human host, I will fall apart. And with your mind housed inside, I can't bond. The... only thing... you need to know is that your old body is walking... around... it went sane. Just... kill it. KILL IT!" The video stopped. Peterson turned to Screl. "I don't know why you made this deal. You you made it with the Devil. You'll be locked away until we have you executed. Along with Carnage. The damage may be done, but don't think this is over." 3:11 PM, Washington, D.C. Cletus sat at a small table, reading through several old newspapers and magazines. He had a lot to catch up on. In a way, he was upset that he had not been able to watch the towers fall, to watch thousands die, falling to their deaths as the planes hit their targets. But it reeked of a bad joke. Osama bin Laden irritated him. A terrorist leader, wiling to let underlings do his killing. All talk, no walk. And this was barely a real killing. Hijacking planes and flying them into targets, well too easy. Besides, he couldn't even understand the idea of a suicide attack like this. Killing yourself in the process defeated the purpose, he thought. 'The whole world's losing it', he thought to himself. He heard another magazine fall onto his cell floor. It had been shoved through the tray slot. General Robert Peterson was standing outside his cell. "I see you have some real catching up to do. Thought you might want this, just hit the racks today. The Middle East is praising you as a hero." Cletus picked up the magazine. "Oh, fuck the Middle East. After I'm done with the locals, they're next. Goddamn bastards, all cowards. They think they know terror? They fly planes into buildings! I work with my bare hands! I do the real thing, not some imitation killing! And how can you bring terror to someone if they're already DEAD?" he shouted. "You ask me, they're all asking for it. The whole world is, I'll kill 'em all..." "Unless we kill you first, of course," General Peterson said. "Finally, someone in this place who gets it!" Cletus shouted. "That, I do... only we need you alive until all our tests are done." "You do that... and you'll pay for it." August 8, 2002. Arizona, 3:21 PM It had only been a week since Cletus was released from the hospital. Or, what remained of him. Cletus seemed to be gone. His identity was in question. Carnage had come back and taken the name once again. No one knew what to call him, aside from Black Wings. He wasn't sure, either. He was withdrawn, a shell of a man. He was able to get up to get something, but he simply sat and watched television most of the time. Never spoke, never slept. The door to the small Arizona farmhouse opened. General Peterson entered, a guard staying near the door. "I know you can hear me. Carnage is locked away. He'll be dead soon, we need him alive until the tests are finished. And we have the man who gave him his new body. He'll be dead soon, too." The Black Wings stared at the set, not once showing any sign of listening. "Well... I'd better go." He left, wondering if he'd done any good. August 14, 2002. Maryland, 2:12 PM "That's right. Keep digging," the man shouted. "But I'm tired..." "Shut up!" he screamed. He was drunk, and the ground was soft. The child kept digging in the mud, the hole growing deeper. He watched the child dig. "Okay, that's good. Good boy." "Can I see my mommy and daddy now?" the child asked. "Well..." Walking to the edge, he examined the small pit. Around three feet deep. The child, only about eight, too weak to run, waited. "...no" He shoved the boy in, pushing him down. Grabbing the shovel, he broke the kid's leg with a single swing. He laughed as he filled the hole in. August 23, 2002. Arizona, 5:12 PM "...these bizarre kidnappings involve the child seemingly being buried alive. So far, all six children have been found in such graves, autopsies revealing the children to have had their legs broken..." The Black Wings took notice. While he avoided the news, he'd been too lazy to change the channel today. "Police believe thirty-six year old John Ackerson of Annapolis to be involved. So far, he has not been located for questioning. If you see this man..." He took notice of the photograph on the screen. August 26, 2002. Arizona, 1:31 PM The front door opened. Agent Johnson entered. "I'm sorry if I'm- Private! Get over here!" He stepped towards the pool of blood. His escort took notice. "What... is that?" "I don't know. Don't touch it," he said. He went for the phone, dialing as fast as he could. "Yes, this is Agent Johnson. Get me through to General Peterson immediately!" He waited, staring at the object on the floor. "Yes, General. We have a problem. You know that chip that was inside Cletus's head?... yeah, that one. Well... Cletus is missing..." Virginia, 5:22 PM "That's it, keep digging little girl, and I might let you see your mommy tonight." Watching the hole, he stepped up to it when it was deep enough. "That's... very nice. Now, I need to reward you..." he said. As he raised his hand, a tendril fired out of the woods and grabbed his wrist. Another reached out and took the young girl. Before Ackerson could make a move, the tendril pulled back hard, breaking his arm. He screamed. Stumbling, he stood in shock as a figure dropped in front of him. He was picked up by the throat. Fighting with his good arm, he felt himself slammed into a tree. As he noticed his attacker's face, he felt his feet touch the ground. But before he could run, a kick shattered his left knee, his right knee following in short order. He fell into he shallow grave, screaming in pain. He was silenced by a single gunshot. The figure moved quickly, grabbing the girl. "He can't... hurt you anymore... I'm taking you.... home." "He was going to do bad things to me, wasn't he?" "Yes," the stranger replied. "What's your name?" she asked. "My... name? Call me.... call me... Black Wings..." Notes: Set within the Marvel universe, I will be using my own continuity, mixed with new characterizations for some established characters from Marvel's story universe. These stories are a sequel to my fiction series Maximum Carnage. Cletus Kasady, Carnage, and others are copyright Marvel Comics. Jack Arden, Raicaak, and others are copyright myself. Other characters appearing may be owned by separate parties. I make no claim of copyright on any character I do not own, only on these stories and those I do own. Characters used without permission/not for profit. These are strictly fan stories. Permission to reprint extends to placing this text, unaltered, elsewhere online. It may not be altered, and especially NOT TO BE SOLD, unless Marvel wishes to license this series from me. Black Wings song and lyrics copyright Tom Waits.