Chapter 6: Who Watches the Watchmen?
"Does it bother you that you're breaking several laws right now?"
CJ grinned as he looked at Erin. The two of them were standing in the basement lab of headquarters. It was nearing 4 a.m. After everything that had happened in the last few hours, sleep was the last thing on anybody's mind. Earlier, a child had been possessed by a demon, which is a common occurrence on the job. But an out of the blue attack at a local pub by a horde of Inferi, an advanced form of zombie, had left the team baffled.
The young scientist paced around a stainless steel examination table, tracing his finger along its edge. Sometime after the chaos, he inconspicuously managed to pull the torso of a dead soldier from the wreckage of the bar that was obliterated during battle. Destroying Inferi proved difficult until Riddle performed a type of alchemic spell that caused a cave-in of the establishment, burying the zombies and burning the ground so that escape weren't feasible. The Philadelphia Police ordered two construction crews to unearth the remains, which constituted of just that: heads, torsos, arms, legs, or less than that.
Wearing a butcher's smock and a pair of Ecto-Goggles on his head, CJ pulled on a pair of examination gloves about to perform an autopsy on the corpse. "Well, you've always said you wanted to learn a little bit more about the biz", he joked, as he poked the petrified body with his scalpel.
"Yeah", Erin said. "But stealing the corpse of a serviceman in the middle of the night from a crime scene?
"There was no dogtag present, so he's open game", CJ reasoned, thumbing over towards a jar on a shelf containing the dismembered head of the deceased.
"I take it you're not much of a God-fearing man", she asked.
"Mom's a Catholic, but we never went to mass. Why?"
"Just wondering."
He pulled the goggles over his eyes.
"Anyway", he said, "the last batch of zombies that attacked us in Dalton were manipulated under someone else's power. Brian believes the same method was used to control guys like this poor soul on the table. So, as Sherlock Holmes would say, the improbable solution would inevitably end up being your correct one."
"And what would that be?"
Having pulled the formaldehyde jar from the shelf, CJ unscrewed the lid. Seeing the look of apprehension flash across the secretary's face, he said "It's all right. I had Brian put two whammy's on it, so it's positively, undeniably, dead." Holding it as he would a football, he placed it on the table.
"As I was saying, the last time we faced zombies, they had a highly advanced form of nanotech lodged into what was left of their brains, giving whoever was pulling their strings complete and utter control. However..." He peeled back a flack of skin from behind the ear. "As you can see, no nanobots are present between the occipital lobe and the cerebellum. Now take a look at this." Using the scalpel and his fingers, CJ showed a rather large chunk of flesh over the front of the dead man's head. Erin traced the chunk with her fingers. She looked slightly green.
"Gross", she winced. "What is that? A tumor?"
"I thought it was too, but the x-rays I took prove otherwise." He handed Erin a black strip of film of the x-rays. She looked at it confused. "I see you don't get it either", He said, pointing the growth on the man's skull. "It's almost Trekkian in execution."
"Trekkian?"
"In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Khan got control of Chekov and Captain Terrell by putting alien slug creatures known as Ceti Eels in their ears. They wrapped themselves around Chekov and Terrell's brains, putting them under Khan's control. The aliens themselves had a devastating tragedy, in that they fed off their host, killing them slowly."
"Um…ok."
"I have the DVD if you want to watch it sometime. It's quite interesting"
"No thank you, I can do without", Erin smirked. "So what is that growth?"
"I want to say that it's like the space slugs", CJ said pointing to the growth. "If I'm lucky, they may end up being an unknown mollusk."
"A worm that reanimates the dead", Erin said. Her words, CJ noticed, dripped disbelief. "Why would that be lucky?"
"First dibs on Nobel prize material", he smiled. But, it's not that farfetched. If supernatural poultry can turn Dr. Spengler into a Werechicken, it's not beyond the realm of possibility that someone has discovered a way to reactivate the dead through Phylum Annelida."
"I know I shouldn't laugh and no disrespect to Dr. Spengler, but that sounds so cartoonish."
CJ cocked an eyebrow.
"So, you're saying that somehow these earthworms were implanted into the soldiers?"
"What strikes me as odd, just as I mentioned, is that this man–or any of the men–were not wearing their dogtags." Taking his gloves off, he gazed at the corpse. "My dad used to be Army Intelligence, and I can't remember not being surrounded by military personnel throughout my life. They always had at least some form of identification. The tags serve as a rundown of that soldier's identity: name, rank, blood type, or anything of the like should he or she be captured or killed."
"Without it", Erin said, "he's just another unidentified corpse."
"Exactly. Now, why would military intelligence send back over six-dozen bodies without their identification?"
"Just because this one didn't have a tag doesn't mean that the rest of zombies didn't have any. It might have got lost during the fight."
"I doubt that. Salina and Andrew didn't see any ID's or tags on them either. There must have been a clerical error in Washington that ordered the removal of the tags."
"It doesn't work that way," she replied.
"Then if it's under the command of high-ranking officials, like the Joint Chiefs of Staff; they'd have to make that call, right? So, why would they make such a tall order", CJ wondered while leaning against the table. "It doesn't make sense."
Erin stared for a moment, exchanging glances between CJ and chancing looks at the dead man. "Maybe it didcome from the Joint Chiefs. If the person who performed the autopsies found it unusual, being an army doctor, they had to follow protocol and remove the dogtags. He must have kept the files on the soldiers, but destroyed the tags."
CJ remained attentive. "I'm following you. Go on."
"Now, let's say that this same doctor still has his files on record. What would the odds be that his report still has a wealth of information, such as names, dates...the name of the rogue military advisor?"
"There's a slim chance", CJ said. "But the odds would be really high. To obtain that report would take larceny on a grand scale, not to mention official access to confidential files and entry to the database where it's held. We'd be indicted on a myriad federal charges."
"And 'borrowing' a corpse beyond a police barricade isn't illegal, Dr. London?" Erin feigned innocence in her assessment.
CJ cracked a sly smile. "I stand corrected. Fine, you've hooked me. Now where to look?"
"Pennsylvania's FBI branch is in Independence Hall", Erin replied. "The offices are being repainted this week
"And you know this how" He asked.
"It was noted in the newspaper yesterday. People will be roaming in and out. It'll be easy; we won't get noticed. If we're lucky, half the rooms will be closed off to the public."
"Okay, that settles the where. I can probably take on the how."
"There's a painter's store up the block," She said.
"Isn't it closed by this time of day?"
"Don't worry, I'll handle it," She smiled. "I have my methods."
Erin saw CJ's expression fell grim.
"So it's just me and you?"
"It's gonna' have to be. I'd really rather not bring the others into this right now. There's no need to wake them up now; we've all been through enough as it is. So, are you with me?"
"CJ, I need to get out more. This would be the best date I've had in…"
"In?"
"Let's just leave it at that."
CJ took off his smock and grinned and then wheeled the torso out of the way. "I'll be upstairs", he said, after putting the head back into its container, leaving Erin standing in the middle of the room. "And by the way, we're taking your car."
"No, wait, CJ…"
Chapter 7: Angelus
In another room, Rob Statler wasn't able to sleep. Much like his two co-workers, he'd found the excitement of the previous night nerve-wracking. Hunched over an old workbench that he'd bought in Stratford, New Jersey, he'd been dexterously toiling on a redesign of an old project.
Inspiration came to while watching TV during a slow day at the shop. The ECU was working fine and there wasn't any paperwork. He wondered whether or not the outdated Wi-Fi communicators that the group used would one day fail during a mission.
Boredom crept in until he saw a commercial advertising the Harris-Comm Sidekick II. He thought nothing more of it until now. Last night's events made him remember that commercial. His thoughts wandered as the tweezers in his hands poked and prodded the gears inside a rectangular silver object. A bead of sweat dripped from his brow as he connected wires into the back panel of a miniature monitor. He rubbed his eyes, starting to feel exhaustion in the late hours of the morning. His best work was done alone. The device was nearly finished, save for adding a few more parts and a battery component. As he neared the completion of his machine, heremembered what made him leave home after he got his life together and joined the service. From Camden, New Jersey, across the world, and back. Life had come full circle for the stoic Doom Patrolman.
"There's never any sleep in Mr. No-Ghost's crib is there?" Rob turned around at the sound of his nickname. Brian stood in the middle of the doorway.
His muscles loosened, as he concealed his expression of forlorn nostalgia from his friend. "No one's called me that in a while." he said, while wiping his hands on a cloth as the pleasantness returned in his tone of voice.
"Couldn't sleep, you know?" Brian replied looking around the workshop. "Didn't know if you'd be down here." He stepped into the light holding two bottles of Budweisers. "Thirsty?"
"Thanks", he said, taking one of the beers. Rob cracked the top open with his bare hands and drank 3/4 of the bottle before Brian had a chance to blink.
"Hit the spot."
"Yeah, I can tell." Brian's eyes then leered towards the workbench.
"Just something I began last week and re-started a little while ago." Rob said, noticing Brian's sudden interest.
"What is it?"
"After what happened last night in the bar, I decided to upgrade our communicators." Rob lifted the lightweight object in his hand. It lay in the center of his palm. " I've never mentioned this before, but I visited Gallaudet University when I was stationed in D.C. for a short time. While there, I noticed how dependent the deaf community was on pagers and TTY systems. As addictive as they are for casual use, they're also handy in tight situations. I built my own as a prototype to replace our communicators for compact mobility.
"What's that at the front of it?" Brian asked while opening the latch.
"That's the digital screen. It's not like a video screen, like you see with most of today's cell phones, but it's sort of like the ones used in Closed Captioned movies."
"Where's the keyboard?"
Rob grinned. "There isn't one. That's the beauty of it. The system is voice-activated."
"Dick Tracy V2.0."
"From what Andrew told me, it seemed like the Wi-Fi's signals were blocked by a rogue agent. While CJ and I were eating dinner down town, there was an interference prohibiting us from getting in contact with he and Salina. Since the communicators weren't malfunctioning and you mentioned before that magic may have blocked the signal, what type of power could distort a radio transmission?"
"Elementary magic", Brian replied. "A basic spell like that could block any signal within a five mile radius."
"That's some serious shit."
"Yeah. What you really want to know is how powerful the person was who conjured it. Magic itself can leave a certain ectoplasmic residue in the air."
"Is that a fact? CJ's readings confirmed that there was an immense surge of PKE within the vicinity. And from what I hear, other than you, the only person around that could produce something like that is your friend, Riddle." Rob said as he turned around to put the new communicator back on the workbench.
Brian almost choked on his beer; Rob didn't notice.
"Brian, if there's something you should tell us about Riddle, now would be the time."
Brian lowered his head. "You're right," he sighed.
"For a sorcerer, knowledge is corruptible. Material possessions and wealth pale in comparison to achieving a level of power that most people can not comprehend."
Rob sat down on a leather chair with his arms folded, reclining against the bench as his curiosity piqued. "So, I gather Jason became one of the corrupted?"
"You weren't there, man. You had to see it", Brian said. "Jay's whole thing had always been to augment his abilities to become better than any other mage alive. You heard him say earlier that he thought the title of a mage is meaningless? There was once a time when that's all he cared about. He obsessively spent weeks searching every curio shop in Tibet, Beijing, Shanghai, and the Ryukyu Islands to find books or scrolls that would teach him whatever he needed to know to reach that zenith."
"But, one day he finally went over the edge; I remember it well." He laughed nervously. "He wanted me to go with him to Hokkaido to find another one of his cherished books; I teased him calling them 'dusties. It took us a day and a half to reach the mainland. When we arrived at a store that held the only copy of his book. Jay got into a heated argument with the shopkeeper. He'd been there before looking for a book written by Donte Mezzuchelli. The Mezzuchelli manuscript, The Fountain, was written back during the time of Spartacus. The author was burned at the stake for promoting witchcraft. For whatever reason I forgot, the keeper banned him from ever coming back. He never told me the full story on that.I would ask him, but he kept quiet about it. The book was important to him. For lack of a better word, Jay was stubborn and returned anyway. "
"The owner was a magician; he loathed Jay, so much that he scorched the floor around him to scare him away. His persistence overshadowed his fear. I'll never forget the tension between those two as they stared cold at each other. Jay's eyes were dark and listless. The longer the scene transgressed, the less I recognized my friend. Then, the owner raised his hand, leered at me and snapped his fingers. A second later, I stood on the outskirts of the shop confused. I was teleported out of the building into the street. I stepped forward wanting to be let back in, but the keeper mounted some sort of telepathic shield that blocked my away. It grew quiet; too quiet. I squinted, trying to make out what they were doing through the store window from the other side. Then the silence ceased, because a moment later, without warning, the building combusted into a million shards. I covered my face to avoid the ricocheting debris. When I opened my eyes, I looked up and saw the shopkeeper hovering 70 feet in the air in a vice-like grip. Jay did it. His hands were behind his back, as he stood in the center of where the store used to be. The keeper was petrified in intense, silent pain. Jay then turned around and remembered I was still there in the distance. He picked up his book, and said it was time to leave."
"What happened to the shopkeeper," Rob asked.
Brian imbibed the last of his beer. He extended his arm, letting the bottle drop as it shattered on the floor.
…
On a night where it seemed that no one could sleep, Jason R. Riddle sat alone in an apartment on the west side of town. The window shades were drawn, so that no light could escape in. He stared at his gloveless hands and studied them as though it were the first time he'd seen them. His left hand was scared. A gash along his palm from when he foolishly caught the edge of a katana in Tokyo ran a long a torrid path from his middle finger down his forearm until it ended at the end of his elbow. The tip of his smallest finger was missing, due to another accident involving a chef's knife. The flesh between his forefinger and thumb was stitched as a result from a fateful meeting with a blade long ago.
Then there was the right hand...
Riddle sat back for a moment and reached for a pack of Newports lying on the mantle beside him. He did not pull anything out of the box. Instead, he turned it over observing it as he ruminated over the past. Life and death are in the power of the tongue, but true power lay in the hands.
Brian…
…
Rob rubbed the stubble behind his chin and surveyed his stout friend.
"How does a man like that live with himself?"
Brian shrugged. "I don't know, but after that I kept him in close watch. When we returned home, he challenged our teacher in defiance. Matters only got worse from there.
Rob finished the last of his beer. Brian could feel his stoic glare pierce through the dim lit room.
"The expression on your face tells me you're wondering why I trust him after telling you all of this", Brian said.
"The thought crossed my mind."
Brian sighed. "Because, I have a feeling that I'm meant to…even after what I had to do to him.
"I found him standing over Master Gen's body, his neck was snapped clean. He knew I was there when he heard me enter the sanctuary. It was as though we faced each other for the first time. I realized just how far he had fallen from grace and was not the same man I once knew. His became cold and unfeeling. He said it had to be done, that he had to kill our Master for his insubordination. He believed Gen was unfit for his authority and had purposely held us back. For that, he deemed it necessary to kill him. Jason swore that he was meant to rule the world of magic and act as the supreme mage. He was out of his damn mind. At that point, no one could stop him; I knew if I acted against him, he could kill me. I broke the middle finger of my left hand when I lunged forward and decked his jaw. We fought hard. I got the wind knocked out of me when he returned the notion. He was too strong and knocked down. I didn't bother getting up for a few seconds. He then walked forward and lectured me on what he believed was true power. I didn't care to listen to the rants of a mad man. When he grabbed my head, I pushed his arm away and blinded him with a bright flash of my own manifestation. The saturation burned his retinas. When the chance came, I did something that I still regret to this day."
"There are a series of spells called the 'Forbidden 7', that no wizard, should he learn them, ever perform them on another human being. Each one has the power to mutilate, dismember, paralyze, and kill a person in the most terrible way imaginable."
Brian's voice quivered, as he found it difficult to speak. His eyes watered as he continued the story, though some parts were left out because there were certain facets that he couldn't bare to express to his friend.
"You can't stop me." Riddle said stepping back.
"How could you, man," Brian asked. "The Master loved you like his own son. He only wanted the best for us." His eyes never diverted from the still body of their slain Master. Brian's heart sank.
"You are so fucking naive Bri."
"Jaso–?"
"No! You never understood. This was all just a game for you. Look at yourself. You came to us wanting to learn magic tricks because you thought it was cool. You live in your pathetic little comic book world idolizing your hero Doctor Strange? You're a joke. You're a fat, fucking joke. This is the really real world, son. I've lost respect for you a long time ago. We could never be friends. Who do you think you are to challenge me? I'm Jason Riddle dammit! I am your superior. I AM YOUR GOD!
" What the hell are you talking about?"
Riddle grinned, "I'm talking about true power! Absolute and unequivocal power! It's all that matters, all that we should reach for. Gen didn't have the intestinal fortitude to seek it."
"You've crossed the line, Riddle. You're insane!"
"Am I? I tried to change Brian. I really did. I wanted to go back to that same ignorance that marked me like the blood of Abel. But, I'd rather reign in hell than serve in heaven. If I have to make Earth my personal hell, then so be it!"
He unleashed a bolt of lightning at Brian's chest that engulfed him in a lasso. He pulled him forward and grabbed his neck. Riddle clawed his fingers into his flesh as Brian winced in agony. He intensified the grip.
Brian didn't give him the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He remained silent and concentrated, remembering in thirty seconds all the lessons that Master Gen taught him. Brian clenched his fist.
"Don't think I don't know what you're doing", Riddle said coldly. "You're going to try the Superman way out of this aren't you? Dissolving' the ground from underneath both of us. Predictable..."
Riddle's grin faded as he looked in his adversary's eyes. He noticed that Brian was now the one grinning.
"Didn't you know," Brian grunted, "Superman's a dick!" He materialized a flaming blade and swung fierce. The right hand of his crazed, former friend caught fire as he raised his arm to shield the blow. Riddle relieved his grip and was mortally wounded.
Chapter 8: Fried Gold
CJ removed his glasses and replaced them with contact lenses.
"Why couldn't we use one of the Ectos?" Erin asked, while turning onto a busy intersection that took them into Chestnut Street.
"Because they would draw too much attention."
"OK, but just so you know, if my car gets damaged, I'm billing the company."
"I've seen the way you drive, but fair enough."
Erin shook her head.
"OK, so how did you get the painter's overalls?"
Erin said. "I know the store's owner. He was asleep until I banged on his window"
"What'd you tell him?"
"The truth."
A blank expression crossed CJ's face.
She grinned roguishly. "All I said was it's a matter of life and death if he didn't help us."
"Poured it on thick didn't you?"
"Well, that and the top buttons of my blouse were undone."
"I'm impressed. Didn't know you had it in you."
She laughed, "You can put your tongue back in your mouth, fanboy. It was a one-time thing." Erin slowed down and pulled to a stop. "We're here."
Independence Hall is as much the nation's capital as Washington, D.C. The Hall stands as an icon in American history, appearing on the back of the United States $100 bill. But they didn't waste time admiring the history.
"The office we're looking for is on the upper level. Wait here, I'll be right back," She said. Erin was right about that section of the building being repainted. Dawn had long since passed, as the public roamed the corridors. Paint canisters and blue tarp lined along the side of the walls.
"I just spoke with the foreman. He said we can only go as far as the second floor, which is good because it'll look like we're working."
"And after that?"
"Then we're on our own."
"Nice." CJ looked behind Erin, noticing a Federal Agent keeping an eye on the paint crew; he had a gun. CJ said a silent prayer, hoping that his mug wouldn't end up on next week's episode of America's Most Wanted.
…
"CJ, I've been meaning to ask you", Erin said, grunting a little bit as she lugged the heavy paint can. "how did you gain access to a federal pass key?"
"I used to work for the government when I lived in Florida before I became a Ghostbuster. I had a friend who worked on my sector's division for paranormal side-projects. His name was Hideo Tanaka. I nicknamed him "Hide", but his parents called him Gabe."
"Gabe? Why?
"His family is full-blooded Japanese, but Hide/Gabe was born in East Orange, New Jersey so instead of calling him Hideo they just naturally call him Gabe."
"That still doesn't make any sense."
"He was one of those types of scientific fundamentalists who are so far into their beliefs that they couldn't fathom a cosmic deity could snap his fingers and create the universe in six days days. He was a bit of a stiff. Can you imagine someone like that?"
Erin flashed him a Cheshire grin. "I can try…"
"He never knew how to have fun. I always thought he only got into the paranormal just to disprove it..."
He stopped mid-sentence, grabbing Erin's elbow. He pulled her as they ducked into an empty room.
"What are you doing?" Erin asked.
"I thought I saw some Feds", CJ responded, edging the door closed as he peered through the crack. He heaved a sigh of relief as two assistants briskly walked by.
"Did I forget to say how illegal this is?" CJ said.
"You might have mentioned it."
"We need to ditch the supplies. They're slowing us up. Is there a quicker way up to the main office?"
"Service elevator?", Erin droned, pointing in the direction that the two assistants had just come from. "I think it should be on."
"We'll risk it", CJ said taking off the overalls, revealing his familiar uniform. Erin's eye fell to his left hip.
"Think you might cause a panic when they see that?" she said, pointing to the Proton Pistol.
"Painters with proton packs aren't in fashion this year," was CJ's retort as he took Erin's overalls and tossed them in a desk. "Let's go."
…
"Excuse me," someone said getting the attention of the foreman. He turned around, startled a little bit when tapped on his shoulder. Behind him was a stout young man, with dark shoulder-length hair and a goatee.
"Yeah?"
"Are they doing work today on the Hall?" the young man asked.
"Yeah, we are. Who are you?"
The young man grinned and stuck his hand inside his pocket. He rummaged around for a few seconds before pulling it back out. His fist was clenched.
"Son, if you've got nothing else to do, get the hell–"
The foreman never finished his sentence as the young man raised his fist. He backed away a few inches before the young man blew a white, grainy powder into his face.
"What's your childhood trauma?" the young man asked. The foreman wiped the powder from his face and looked at him quizzically.
"What are you talking about?" He tried calling out for one of the agents standing outside his office door, but his voice cracked as he started to choke. Grabbing his throat, he felt as though his lungs were filling up with bile. No, he thought, not bile. Water. Good God I'm drowning! Dayton fell to the ground, rocking back and forth as he clawed at an invisible force, trying to get air in his lungs. He spat up phlegm as the stout young man stood over him.
The young man looked behind him to see a tall, older man walking towards him. He was dressed in a dark bodysuit, draped with a svelte overcoat and white belt wrapped around his waist. The man's hair was receding, graying, and bald at the top of his head. What hair he had left was tied back.
"Well done", he said, patting the stout young man on the shoulder. Producing from his coat a P-38 Walther silencer, he shot the foreman twice in the chest. The stout young man looked at the Disciple confused.
"Show no mercy," the Disciple said. "Come, we have visitors to greet."
…
Erin stared at a computer monitor, her fingers tapping against the keyboard as she connected to the Pentagon's terminal, while CJ leaned over her shoulder. Apprehension grew, as he drummed his fingers along the butt of his proton pistol.
"So far, so good", Erin said, almost in a tone trying to convince herself not to be nervous. She shifted in the chair, causing it to squeak. "OK, we're in. Now what?"
"Hide said to pull up the file on a Dr. Merton Pettigrew, case file 00-11-90-05." She did this and sure enough, there was the name PETTIGREW, Merton Harkness. A brief bio noted him among the physicians dispatched to Iraq between the years 2002 and 2004. She clicked on the name, which led her to a series of folders, each one marked by years and dates.
"Looks like Pettigrew spent a lot of time in Baghdad", she said, pointing to the screen. "Do we have a date?"
"Look for one about a month from yesterday", CJ said. "When I called Detective Madison, he said the bodies had been missing from Baltimore for two weeks. The transport plane never made it's destination, but the pilot and crew were found dead tied up in the bathroom."
"Found it." Erin moved the mouse cursor towards the folder and clicked it on it. A display message appeared: CLASSIFIED. "We need a password."
"Lemondrops."
"What?"
"Hide said that Dr. Pettigrew's password is Lemondrops. It's a weird thing with him." Erin rolled her eyes as she punched in the letters. The folder opened. She frowned as she noticed something wrong on the screen.
"We got a problem, Ceej."
"What is it?"
"How many bodies went missing?"
"About six dozen. All were supposed to be shipped back over here."
"Then someone's been here before us", Erin said pushing the chair back, letting CJ take a look at the screen. Written in plain words were the listing of several wounded soldiers and a few dead ones. No autopsy reports or a listing of the commanding officer that would have had to sign the autopsy.
"This isn't right", he said.
"These are dummy files", Erin said simply.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that the real files were probably destroyed by Pettigrew..."
"Damn."
"Someone didn't want them to be seen. Dr. Tanaka and Detective Madison told us was information they were given. They must've not had any idea the files were stolen."
"This reaches higher than I thought."
"Indeed, Dr. London," said a voice in the office.
CJ and Erin turned around in shock.
Chapter 9: Pre-Crisis
Adrik Thorsen stood wide-legged with his hands folded behind him as he stared at the two unconcious figures before him.
"Truly pathetic", he said smirking. His boots thudded against the carpet as he walked towards CJ and Erin. The office was dark, save for the whirring light emanating from the monitor. Thorsen took his time to study the face of the young scientist. He had aged since the last time they faced each other. Not long ago, CJ was nothing more than a child, someone playing hero.
"Shall I kill them now?"
Thorsen looked at his servant. "My dear fellow", he drawled. "Has your murderous rage grown so that you cannot contain it?" His servant looked down at his feet, dejected. Earlier, he would have struck him for showing such weakness.
But this time, Thorsen was pleased.
CJ came to, moving his hands slowly before regaining his senses. He opened his eyes.
"After all we've been through, Dr. London, don't tell me you don't recognize an old friend?"
The gravelly, chain-smoked British accent rang through CJ's ears as he turned towards its direction. His heart skipped a beat as he tried to remain composed.
"Thorsen", was all he could say.
Thorsen grinned, looking down on him. "Ah, so you do remember my name."
"I wouldn't care to repeat it", CJ said, as he sat up. He took quick notice of the General's follower the brooding in the shadows. He could not get a good look at the face, but acknowledged that he was there. Next to him, Erin was still out cold. H hoped she was all right.
"Always the cut-up I see. Not so strong without your merry band of Rogues behind."
"Do me a favor, Spooky", CJ replied, his right hand inching slowly towards his Proton Pistol, "shove it!" He whipped it out with the quick accuracy. Blue and yellow fury shot from the muzzle towards Thorsen; it did not hit its mark.
"What the deuce?" CJ stared at the hole in the wall he had made.
"Looking for me?" Thorsen smashed his fist into the side of CJ's face, knocking him to the other side of the room and slamming into the side of an oak desk. The pistol fell at Erin's side.
"What is it that they say about old dogs and new tricks?" Thorsen said mockingly.
CJ grunted as he struggled to move. His ribs were broken.
"How much use is your education", he said, "against this?" He grabbed CJ by the left arm, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Smoke rose, as Thorsen gleamed at the smell of Dr. London's burning flesh. CJ clenched his teeth, repressing the urge to scream.
"Jesus!" he groaned." Everything below the elbow was gone, the wound hemorrhaged. He grabbed his stub in an attempt to stem the blood flow.
Thorsen sneered. "Dr. London, do you hear yourself?" He kicked him twice in the stomach, causing CJ to cough up blood. Thorsen bent down and grabbed him by the hair.
"I don't know about you, son, but I'm having a ball."
Thorsen did not blink, or seem surprised, when he heard the click of a gun chamber.
"Have we met, my dear?"
Erin had gained consciousness while Thorsen was occupied. She found a black pistol revolver in the drawer of the computer's desk. Her hands shook as she held the gun. All the while, attention was drawn to the locked office when security got wind of the commotion. Personnel banged outside of the door.
"Let him go", she said. Thorsen turned slowly. Erin never met him, but was all too familiar with his reputation from Doom Patrol's case files. He had initiated everything that occurred in Dalton, in an insane attempt to turn the world into his personal nether realm.
…
The three Ghostbusters walked over towards Thorsen as he breathed heavily. "No", he said. "It—it will not end like this." He was weak. His hand reached for the spear, but Salina kicked it away.
"As a duly designated representative of the city, state, and county of New York, I place you under arrest."
But Thorsen smiled and said:
"He warned me that I would fail. I should have listened."
"Who warned you?" Rob asked. "Speak up!"
Thorsen laughed maniacally, "You fools!" He muttered a spell underneath his breath. The Ghostbusters watched astonished as Thorsen disappeared before their eyes, his high insane laugh filling the air.
…
"Let him go", she repeated.
"You're not going to shoot me", Thorsen said.
"You don't think I will?"
Thorsen grinned at her as his eyes narrowed. He turned back towards CJ.
"I hope your last thoughts of your teammate is how much he fucked this up." He placed his hand on CJ's chest. It burned worse than before. CJ never saw it coming, as he felt a million tiny needles prod into his body. He finally screamed in pain. Erin cried and watched helplessly as his entire body began to be pulled apart by these needles, his face was a mask of agony and horror.
That was enough. She aimed with the intent to kill.
Three shots fired into Thorsen's back, knocking him on his side. She fired again, the fourth bullet embedding itself in Thorsen's arm. CJ was dehydrated; his eyes were rolled into his head.
The look said it all: This is bad.
An angered Thorsen fought back. He conjured a circle on the ground that engulfed CJ in bright yellow light. The young scientist sunk into the floor as though it were quicksand. Erin dropped the gun and dove forward, but she was too late. CJ's hand disintegrated, as the scientist disappeared inside the circle of light, a scorch mark from where it had been placed. "No!" She screamed. She looked over at Thorsen; blood pooled from his wounds. He was still breathing. She retrieved the gun and cocked back the hammer. Two rounds were left in the chamber.
Thorsen turned his head towards her. He smiled.
Suddenly, Erin was knocked on the ground as something struck her head, causing her to lose the gun. Her back landed on a sharp object sharp object. When she looked up, her eyes grew wide as she saw what hit her.
"Brian?" Thorsen's servant, the stout young man, looked puzzled at Erin.
"Who?" He said hovering over her. There was no recognition on his face.
Thorsen rose to his feet and dusted himself off, as if the bullets had not had any effect on him. "As I told the dearly departed Dr. London, old dogs learn new tricks. I did not meet you before, Ms. Cummins..."
This shocked Erin. How did he know her name?
"...But I am sure your loyalties are just as misplaced as your employer's. But, you are brave, so I am going to offer you a chance."
"A chance?"
"A chance for your own continued existence. Renounce what you believe in. Renounce your God, your friends, and join me in the next stage of humanity's evolution."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I'll make you beg for hell."
Erin realized then what she had landed on. It was CJ's proton pistol. Her glance remained on Thorsen
"Why did you do all this," She asked, stalling for time.
"What kind of villain would I be if I revealed my plan before victory? You'll find out soon enough."
Erin jerked the pistol from underneath, but didn't fire. Instead, she threw it at Thorsen, catching him momentarily off guard and ran for her life. She burst through the door, pushing away security as she darted down the corridor through a crowd of bystanders. Security followed her in hot pursuit.
Thorsen shook his head and rubbed his wounds.
"Women."
"She's gone", the servant noted in a thin voice as he leaned over the computer desk. Thorsen cast an icy glare.
"Let her."
"Master?"
"Let her run to her friends. Let her run to false security. Now, come; we mustn't waste time."
The servant looked at Thorsen dumbfounded as the man glided past him, a smile playing upon his lips.
"And what are we to do of them," the servant asked, pointing at the Hall of patrons and the remaining security positioned by the door with their firearms drawn.
Thorsen's eyes glowed red, as everyone looked on, "What good is being evil if you don't take pleasure in your work? No witnesses. Dispose of them."
The servant smiled, "With pleasure, my lord."