Initiative 2028

Strange

Once upon a time, Earth was protected by a great mystical guardian. Trained by the greatest mage of a age, the Ancient One, Stephen Strange came down from the mountains and moved to New York, becoming the Sorcerer Supreme of our dimension. He faced threats beyond human comprehension, battled powers and forces across the universe and other dimensions, and saved creation itself from destruction.

Sadly, his time is past.

John Kale stood behind police tape as he watched the old mansion burn, fire fighters and emergency teams fighting to put out the flames. The brown haired young man chewed his gum thoughtfully, even as the heat washed over him and the other onlookers. He wore a simple pair of jeans, work boots, a t-shirt and a leather jacket, slightly worn.

"That's where that Satanist lived, Hellstorm!" one yokel said, pointing as he excitedly talked to his friends, all of them gawking at the flames.

"Hellstrom, not storm," John corrected, giving the boy a disdainful look.

"You one of his friends?" the tallest of the men demanded, looming over John threateningly as his buddies watched.

"No, I just can't stand stupidity," John answered calmly, meeting the man's eyes. Flatly he added as the man swelled up with anger, "You really don't wanna do that."

"Aarrr!" the man gave a incoherent yell, swinging blindly at John.

If John had been a nicer man, he'd have found a way to resolve things peacefully and avoid a fight. He could have talked the man down, maybe, or otherwise resolved things. But at that point, John wasn't feeling too terribly nice.

Ducking under the wild swing John snatched up some dirt from the ground and flung it into the other man's eyes. His cry of range turned to one of pain as he clawed at his eyes, then John stepped smartly forward and clobbered him one. The first blow staggered him, sending him reeling backward, then John followed up with a solid blow to the face.

"You bastard!" one of the big goon's friends said, but it was a weak curse. The brutal efficiency in which John had stopped the big man had scared all of them, made them wonder what else he might be capable of.

"All right, break it up," one of the cops trotted over, taking in the scene with a casual glance. Looking over the locals he said, "Get out of here, or you're spending the night downtown."

"And me?" John asked dryly, looking down pointedly at the unconscious man.

"Jack is a asshole," the cop shrugged, "he spends most of his weekend in a holding tank anyway." He knelt down beside the big man, "Wanna give me a hand?"

"Sure," John helped get the stunned man to his feet, each of them holding one arm.

Dropping the man off at the paddy wagon John took a moment to watch the dying flames, then turned to go. He had come here looking for Hellstrom, hoping the man might know what had happened to his mother, Jennifer Kale, or what had happened to Stephen Strange. It looked like he struck out on both questions.

It didn't take much effort to open a gate once John found someplace secluded, and the young man vanished from the remote town. He reappeared in another place, the bustling metropolis of New York. A homeless man screamed as he saw John appear from nowhere, then the poor bastard pissed himself and fainted.

Striding by John dropped a dollar beside the old man then carried on out into the streets. It only took a few minutes to reach his hotel and take the elevator up to his floor. Walking down the hall he headed to his rooms, then hesitated. 'Someone's inside,' he realized, reaching into his jacket for the artifact he had hidden.

"Come in, Mr. Kale," the voice said before he could bang down the door.

John raised his eyebrows slightly, then opened the door and strode in as cocky as he could. Sitting on the bed was a striking redhead, dressed in what could charitably be called a hankie. Well, there was more fabric than that, but not much, with straps of cloth binding her breasts, a thong, and leather boots topped by a stylish cloak.

John could nearly feel his hormones rushing looking at her, then he shook himself. 'I shouldn't be turned on this fast,' he thought, mentally raising his defenses.

"Oh, nicely done," the woman flashed a grin.

John felt his mind clear a bit, and as it did he realized he knew who she probably was. "Satana?" he asked, pulling out the Wand of Watoom and holding it in front of him protectively.

"Indeed," the demonic succubus nodded, looking at the baton with amusement. "I thought that was destroyed years ago," she noted.

"You know as well as I that mystical artifacts are near impossible to destroy forever," John shrugged slightly. He frowned, "What are you doing here, lady?"

"I'm no lady," Satana laughed softly. She looked at John thoughtfully, "You've been looking for mages. Why?"

"It's personal," John said shortly.

Satana tilted her head to the side, "You're looking for something. Or possibly someone?" Her eyes widened slightly, "Where is dear old mommy these days?"

John gestured, streamers of magical energy grabbing Satana and pinning her against the wall even as he growled, "Don't you dare mock her."

Satana didn't fight, in fact there was a odd degree of kindness in her eyes as she said, "I fought beside Jennifer Kale, boy. I'm here to offer my help."

John frowned, studying her as he said grimly, "I'm listening."

"You went to my brother's home and found it in flames," Satana said, "well, he's not alone. Modred the Mystic, the Man called Voodoo, Baroness Mordo and others are all gone, all hunted down by a unknown foe." She met his eyes, "I'll help you, in exchange for your saving me."

John released her from her bonds, his mind trying to grapple with everything she had said. "Is there a Sorcerer Supreme?" he asked, frowning.

"Not that I know of," Satana shook her head grimly, "the Eye of Agamotto was lost years ago, as were most of the related artifacts."

The younger man began to pace the room, even as Satana sat back on the bed. "And do you know who's doing this?" John asked.

Satana flashed a smile, "Best question yet, but you should have asked it earlier."

"Huh?" John blinked.

"Me," Satana said with a broad smile.

Before John could react the window facing out to the street exploded inward, scattering glass all over them. He yelped in alarm, shielding his face as a armored figure stood up in the center of the room, outer shell gleaming in red, silver and blue.

"Surrender," the soldier in a Iron Patriot armor ordered.

"Like hell," John bolted for the door even as he threw a spell using the Wand. The magic curled around the armored figure but he broke free almost instantly. 'Damn it,' John cursed as he shoved the Wand into his pocket.

Magic was powerful, John knew, but it also had some pretty harsh limitations. On one hand he could do things like fly, levitate objects, transform things and other stunts, but the magic he used was useless against iron. Clearly someone knew about his weakness and added raw iron to that thing's shell.

John ran by the elevator, realizing it could be too easily rigged as a trap and went for the stairs. He'd like to teleport out, but opening a gate took time and concentration, and he doubted his advesaries would give him either. He practically flew down the stairs as his thoughts raced, wondering if there were going to be goons waiting for him.

Reaching the lobby John was relieved to not see any soldiers or cops, but he did see the manager looking around nervously. He was tempted to give him a talking to, but he decided there wasn't enough time assuming Satana and her armored buddy was after him.

The street was quiet, so quiet that it took John a moment to realize how empty it was. That was when SHIELD agents and Initiative troops dropped out of the sky, along with Satana and her Iron Patriot. John tensed a moment, seriously considering fighting, then decided that getting killed like this would be pointless.

"You planning on fighting?" Satana asked as she dropped down to the street, the Iron Patriot staying airborn for a clear field of fire.

"No," John folded his hands behind his head, "you got me."

A few minutes later and John was in some kind of iron power damper, Satana sitting across from him in the troop carrier that was hauling them down the street. "So," Satana sexily crossed her legs, "you have questions?"

John scowled at her across the compartment. "Why should I assume you'll tell me the truth?" he asked gruffly.

"You don't know," Satana smirked, "that's half the fun. Well?"

John ground his teeth together, but decided asking wouldn't hurt. "Why are you capturing mystics?" he asked.

"Because you're a dangerously unpredictable factor in the President's plans," Satana shrugged casually. "Even ignoring the time travel possibilities, mages wield incredible powers."

"The President?" John's eyes went wide.

Satana sat back casually, "Mind you, I don't know if the orders came directly from her, but they clearly came from a very high level. Gyrich or Stane, at least."

John's thoughts raced as he considered what the hell was happening. The President of the United States, or at least members of her Cabinet, had sent out capture or kill orders against mystics across the country. 'Assuming she's not lying,' he thought.

"You're bound for Dreamland, the new prison President Richards had built in Nevada," Satana informed him, "we're housing the mystics in iron bound cages there."

"Is Jennifer Kale there?" John demanded intently, staring at her.

Satana hesitated, then reluctantly shook her head. "No," she confessed, "in fact I don't know what happened to Jennifer. The last time I actually heard from her was back during the near Zombie incursion in 2015."

John slumped in his seat, muttering, "She left a note with my father then, saying she'd be back as soon as she could." He shook his head, "That's the last we heard of her too."

There was a long moment of silence as the transport rumbled along, Satana looking at him thoughtfully. "How would you like a job, helping me out with whatever the bosses ask us to do?" she finally asked him.

"How do you know you can trust me?" John asked, studying her.

"You have your agenda, finding your mother," Satana said, "I can respect that. And if you cross me I'll kill you."

"At least that's clear," John said. He hesitated then answered, "Let me think about it."

"All right," Satana sat back, "but don't think too long. The offer goes off the table once you hit Dreamland prison."

To be continued...