Chapter 5: "Time for me to fly"
Tigra startles—as a petrified projectile explodes through the wall beside her. It is actually a distracting decoy. Grey Gargoyle crashes through the door next to her and bulldozes Tigra backwards. He tries hugging her so to freeze her form for an hour. But, Tigra fleetly flips above him. From behind, the Cat catches Grey Gargoyle's arm and trips his leg. The wild woman throws fifty-four stones down the corridor successfully.
Suddenly, Fixer enters the hallway—blaster drawn, bead on Tigra.
Seconds earlier, Chemistro brandishes his Alchemy Gun and aims for Wasp in the air vent. Instantly, ether forms all around her. Chemistro figures that Wasp will do one of three things: pass-out in the powerful anesthesia, fly in retreat out of the cloud, or do what she does. Instinctively, willful Wasp fires at the grate. And, the ether ignites and explodes. The concussion blows van Dyne down the duct like a backhanded bug. The diminutive darling dents aluminum and drops dizzy and (temporarily) debilitated.
Concurrent with Chemistro's action, AIM colleagues Necker and Duffy attempt their escape. Clicking a remote, Eve opens a secret wall panel behind which there is dark, open space. Nate scoops his boss into his arms and, with her, jumps into the empty shaft. The minion and madam drop a full twenty-two feet to the basement. Duffy whimpers a wee when his two feet meet firm concrete. Minion's legs are not quite bionic yet. He gently places ginger Eve upright and gingerly staggers about on his stinging, stunned extremities.
From nowhere, a hurtling shield knocks Nate right on his ass. The whipped weapon ricochets off a wall and returns to its owner. U.S. Agent eyeballs Necker ominously. His black uniform advances from the shadows at the AIM escape tunnel. His steely stare (while silent) says to surrender immediately.
Simultaneously, two stories up, Fixer fires a blaster at Tigra. The hairy superheroine backflips before the vile villain can even blink. She adeptly dodges the discharge, which destroys a soda machine. Sugary steam issues instantly over the area. Grey Gargoyle rises and rushes. Like a guerilla in the mist, Gargoyle grabs for the girl, but he only grazes her. He would have his granite grip turn Grant to stone. But, Tigra is a living thing, and it's a given thing that she's a terrible thing to win. She deftly dodges Duval and dropkicks him like Greer the Graymalkin Grappler.
Down the hall, Fixer fires again. Into his line, his ally stumbles. Plasma strikes stony sternum spectacularly.
Grey Gargoyle rubs his charred chest, "Fixer, you feckless—'ow do you say?—f***er!"
"Excuse your French," Ebersol gibes. He holsters his hand-cannon. He has a better idea for obliterating Tigra. Tapping his weapons vest, the lout launches a mini-rocket at the angry, approaching Avenger. The she-beast springs for the ceiling and, by the claws, swings safely out of the way. In less than a second, the missile u-turns, still locked on target. 'Twould seem Tigra is toast without knowing it.
Luckily, Speed arrives before anyone realizes. Tommy takes the flying ordinance from its trajectory
and returns the explosive doodad back to its dealer. With a resounding peal, Fixer's vest shatters and scatters into his surroundings. Plaster peels, and drywall drops. The awful echo abuses Greer and Paul's ears. Instantly, the vest begins self-repair, via nanotechnology. Immediately, Speed seizes the shredded suit's collar and cruises for a nearby exit. In a centisecond, he darts a dastard up twelve flights. Upon release, Fixer skips and skids across rough rooftop until impacting the top floor's brick edge.
Eagerly, Speed is on Fixer again, "I'll fix you so fast, felonious Fixer, that it'll make your head spin." Hurricane hands spin the supervillain scientist senseless like a centrifuge separating cerebrum from skull. As bonus, Bert's breakfast departs his belly too.
Below, one moment prior, Mentallo and Plainsman hurry through the recent detonation's cloud of dust. They have just watched a blur wallop Fixer and whiz him away. Behind them, Tigra and Grey Gargoyle continue to scrap. Claws scrape stone. Hands of stone jab, jab, jab at an awfully agile target.
"Take the stairs down to the lobby level," Mentallo points the Plainsman.
"If'n the Avengers are any kind of smart," the plain fellow proposes, "They probably placed a sentry in the lobby."
"They did," the ESPer informs, "Bruce Banner awaits us below, and he could become the Hulk at any momet."
Nonplussed, the pioneer player pleads, "So why the hell 'r we head'n for him?"
"Because I have a plan," the prognosticator tells the plebian, "I predict that we safely pilot the Banner-Hulk Scylla and Charybdis, for one of us is invisible presently while the other is not."
"What?" Plainsman is further perplexed.
The skedaddling pedestrians pass Greer's garments and flip-flops near the ground floor door. Mentallo points to his head, "Through the power of psionics, Bruce-baby—or any other Avenger—can see you, but he cannot ken me."
Flumm flings open the exit, "Now please, Plainsman, plod into the lobby place and ply our safe passage past a potential powerhouse polypheme."
"That's easy for you to say, I reckon," the scout says, "You're the unseen 'no man' that this Polyphemus can't see."
"I see that you have read The Odyssey," Mentallo comments.
"Indeed, I could not perform this Apollonian alter ego were I not well-educated," Plainsman states in Standard American English absolutely free of any dialectal inflection.
The two players progress into the hotel's entry way, hoping to efficaciously exit. Banner's brow beetles upon beholding a buckskinned, body-armored man moving toward him. Spy Wasp radioed him that someone appareled so was at the AIM meeting. Boldly, Banner moves to intercept.
A story above, Tigra and Grey Gargoyle still tussle. Grey Gargoyle gropes for her, and she spins away grinning. Gargoyle grumbles and throws a punch, but Tigra gets low and ducks. Growling, Tigra goes for broke. Her great might may hurt her hefty, hardened foe yet. Hopping high, Tigra greets Grey's face with forceful feet. She flips her form upright and instantly attacks with another unrestrained kick. It knocks Gargoyle flat. Grabbing an ankle, Greer grits her teeth and grunts—determined to bust rock to gravel.
But, a dirty fighter, Grey Gargoyle boots Tigra in the groin. Gasping, she groans, releases, and retreats. "I oughta grind you to goo," she displays her sharp grill.
Gargoyle gets up. He goes for broke. Like greased lightning, he launches his head into her gut. Stalwart, the superheroine leap-frogs the Frenchman. She lunges backward impotently bashing an elbow on unbreakable body. In close quarters, Grey Gargoyle cracks her a good one.
"Consider that a French kiss," a lout's lip curls, "to stop your mouth and weaken your knees."
The Cat spits crimson and sways unsteadily. Grey Gargoyle grows gleefully cocksure. Grinning, he hitches heavy hands above his head. He drops them like a grievous gavel. Grimacing, Greer genuflects. Seemingly groveling, Tigra teeters on three limbs. Gathering oomph, Grey Gargoyle unreservedly uppercuts his unlucky opponent. The power punch slugs a hero through the ceiling and ruinously spears her into the Rowen's third story. Tigra sees birdies. Grey Gargoyle ogles her limp limbs and slack torso. He is tempted to tickle her, but he is not quite that evil. He is Paul Pierre Duval, not Pepe le Pew. Gargoyle considers slapping a stiffening touch upon her healthy, helpless hip. However, Tigra's hanging, hirsute anatomy is art enough for the strange sculptor, so he says "adieu" and ambles along.
Twelve stories overhead, Fixer feels majorly discombobulated. Certain best vest defenses are disabled, and Speed dodges the devices that do work. The speedster dashes and dances about the vast dust cloud kicked-up around the villain. Again and again, the Avenger arrives from nowhere and decks the choking and blinded churl. Occasionally, the shooter just clips the sitting duck. Downed repeatedly, the devious, dangerous Fixer deduces that he must halt Speed posthaste. Playing dead, delinquent Ebersol queries himself "How would one counter and conquer Quicksilver?"
Pietro's nephew pauses. He assesses apparently unconscious Fixer and considers binding the bad guy in some roof wires. If this opponent is out, he needs to assist other Avengers in their actions.
But, before anyone can act, Shepherd unceremoniously suffers an apparent heart attack. Suddenly, sweat squeezes from his abruptly aching head in the horrendous heat. He wheezes sharply and wraps his abruptly arrested chest. The Young Avenger cannot breath, and the blood freezes in his flesh. Bulging eyes behold his boots through blurry vision as he bows and bobs toward them trapped in tar, sloppy and soft from the outdoor heat and his sprinting's friction. Stumbling forward, Speed trips over his own feet and faceplants into icky asphalt.
"Holy s***! I have no powers again," Tommy thinks, tasting nasty tar and grit.
Feet away, Fixer hears the impact and opens his eyes. Bert beholds the boy in distress, and he smirks. Fixer stows the electrified bola, a sneaky innovation stolen from Spymaster, that he would have tried on Quicksilver or Speed. Tapping an outfit button, Techno checks his vest's flight capabilities. Nanotech has knitted circuits back together. Ebersol is a-okay for escape.
"Time for me to fly," Bert tells Tommy, "I am sure that we will fight again soon—if you do not expire currently."
Fixer leaps from the skyscraper and rockets away across the sunny St. Louis Master of Evil is sticking to the plan while the Young Avenger is stuck to the rooftop. A smart man, the intelligence agent knows that the mission takes priority. Foremost, he must deliver Argon to the CSA. Today's job is delivering contraband, not killing a mischievous, meddling, munificent mutant—no matter how amusing that murder would be.
Far below the above scene, Chemistro descends into the Rowen's dark, dank depths. In a dimly-lit basement, he releases the rungs leading down the same shaft that Necker and Duffy took. Across the underground, the evil empiricist discerns a dreadful din as someone uses a sonic gun—that something oddly progressively stifles.
"A vibranium shield has its uses such as absorbing all of that racket," voices a vigilante half-hidden behind his shield, "Now please, surrender, ma'am, before I must slug you one."
The black costume resembles Captain America's, and Chemistro reasons that he sees the U.S. Agent, a surprise guest. The sinister scientist scans left, and he sees that Agent has overwhelmed Minion, who lies messed-up. Minion's mistress, Dr. Eve Necker tosses her sonic armament aside and surrenders with raised hands. The heel hero restrains her wrists with the belt removed from her waist. And, the resolute raider readies to rip the titanium gates securing the AIM tunnel. Summoning superb strength, the super-soldier should be able to shred and unseal the bulwark between himself and the enemy of the people. Beyond the barricade, the Mighty Avenger may excitingly encounter an AIM army to beat and maybe even a MODOK to mangle. Adventure and duty beckon the big guy. He strides straight ahead.
But, to Walker's surprise, the cement liquefies beneath his boots before arrival. He sinks shins-deep into sucking sludge. Then, the concrete instantly solidifies. U.S. Agent swears a red, white, and blue streak. In the underground gloom, Chemistro grins twirling his Alchemy Gun. As Carr anticipated, Eve sprints to an electronic panel beside the rampart. The AIM AI recognizes her retinas, face, and voice. It obeys orders promptly. It unbattens the barrier and opens the gates wide.
With a fury, Walker wields his fists—consecutively cracking concrete. Chemistro catches downed Duffy's collar and drags the damaged drone for freedom. Fluid seeps and components hang from the savaged cyborg. Agent frees his feet. Nearby, he espies an escape sled sitting at the tunnel entrance. Chemistro slams Minion into it and straps him secure. The drubbed droid droops after Carr deposits the dribbling cur in the car. Agent advances. Already in the taxi, Dr. Necker discharges a snubnose at U.S. Agent. Ever agile, he effortlessly avoids the incoming ammo. However, Chemistro's Alchemy Gun is more effective. In a swath, it spews wide an injurious cloud of acid.
Chemistro announces through the deleterious defense, "Don't come any closer, Cap. This haze of hydrochloric could kill you."
"I doubt that," Agent assesses, although he halts.
Carr climbs into the sled and activates the escape's amped ignition. Raucously roaring, the rocket carriage spits fire and races away west, pinning its occupants unpleasantly, their flesh pressed and nigh flapping. The powerful propulsion forward pushes back the caustic cloud upon U.S. Agent. Undeterred, Walker boldly leaps through the acid and prays that an enhanced human heals skin quickly and that his costume doesn't embarrassingly dissolve.
Without warning, the tunnel's aperture slams shut, and the sealing steel shuts upon Agent. Or, at least his arm gets smooshed. Snarling severely, John Walker jerks and wriggles futilely for a few seconds before bashing his unbreakable shield between the set doors. He pries. He frees his limb. Circulation returns to his forearm and fingers. Agent's fist dents the doors repeatedly in frustration.
Overhead, a telepath and a trekker attempt an egress as their AIM associates did. Invisible to the eye, Mentallo manages to approach the Rowen's front door without being seen. Evident to the eye, Plainsman manages to approach Dr. Bruce Banner as a decoy.
"In that fancy garb, you must be the Plainsman," Bruce guesses. Banner blocks the bigger man's way.
"How'd you guess?" the scout canvasses.
"Wasp reported all parties in that conference room before the battle and brouhaha erupted," Banner responds, "You seem to be fleeing with the known felons taking flight."
Overhead one story, an awful crash resounds. The undercover Avenger cocks an ear to the upstairs, curious what has occurred. Cocking an ear as well, the secret cyborg electronically auscultates the outside. A progressive patter of panicked public approaches the hotel exterior. Plainsman points. Past the Rowen's windows, a rabble runs terrified.
Plainsman pushes past "puny" Banner, "Folks could be in peril. This is a job for the Plainsman!" He puffs his chest. Prancing, he proceeds for the outdoors.
Surprisingly, the slight scientist checks the strapping escapee. Suddenly, Banner is stronger than he looks.
"Hold up," Bruce seizes a shoulder in a staunch cinch, "How do I know that you have heroic intent? You have AIM associates."
"On my honor, Dr. Banner, I work intrepidly incognito infiltrating AIM. Or, to put matters in your modern parlance, I am an undercover mole. I am a good guy, like you," the supposed spy reports.
"I suppose that you could be," the Avenger allows, "However, how do I even know that you are the real Plainsman? St. Louis' savior is supposedly deceased." U.S. Agent informed Hulk earlier.
Plainsman shrugs with his free shoulder, "Well, as another noted Missourian once said, the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated."
External tumult interrupts the two men's exchange. Some party is rampaging relatively nearby. The traffic is screeching and colliding. Masonry is getting demolished. Steel is crumpling and creaking. Big, heavy things are getting tossed. People are screaming en masse. Wailing sirens are arriving in large number.
In response, The Strongest One There Is strains to show himself, and Banner's inner muscular monster manifests a bit. For example, the man's mitts marginally go green and grow a bit. But, the suppressed brute cannot come forth.
Instead, Banner merely makes macho, "Hulk will soon disassemble you if you are dissembling me. Go save St. Louis."
Half-Hulk releases Plainsman, who bolts. The semi-bot bolts right by Grey Gargoyle rampaging outside. Thus, the two-faced transporter, of Argon, makes his escape.
A moment prior, Grey Gargoyle strides to a second-story wall of the Rowen. And, he vigorously stomps out the plaster and cement. Open space invites him to spring into it. His fleeing associates could use a distraction, and the old supervillain could use some fun. Grey Gargoyle steps out.
Like a bold boulder, Grey Gargoyle breaks the pavement below. He bellows bestially at bemused and scared bystanders—who scatter in all directions. The man-monster moves over the mall between the Rowen edifice and St. Louis' Old Courthouse. The metamorphic menace mashes full maples and mutilates park benches. He monkeys with the grass, turning lawn to loam. He mashes solid sidewalk as he marches to Market Street. At Market and 4th, the malevolent marvel molds steel streetlights into pretzels and mangles six parked sedans successively. In 4th Street, Grey Gargoyle meddles with oncoming traffic like a matador making it stop. Then, he mows down halted traffic like a magnificent bull, mauling metal with his pedal. Reaching Courthouse grounds, Gargoyle petrifies mortified tourists and mobilizes them through the air. The men-missiles mar the Old Courthouse landmark, miffing many observing Missourians. The granite goon makes more mayhem—even masticating some marble masonry.
Police arrive. Grey Gargoyle merrily moons them before opening the pavement over some storm sewer. "Ta ta," the terror teases tourists and troopers. Tumbling headfirst, he takes his leave into the tunnel leading to the Mississippi.
A moment later, Wasp ventures through the vents within the Rowen. U.S. Agent and Speed radio that they each sorely lost their subjects. Chemistro, Eve Necker, and Minion got away. Fixer got away. Dr. Banner breaks in to report that he may have let one go, that Mentallo may have snuck by him somehow (he suspects), and that Grey Gargoyle may have been rampaging recently in the vicinity (he speculates). While Bruce babbles, Jan is sure that she hears cross hissing ahead. Wasp finds Tigra. She sees the seething, snarling Cat madly contorting her body and curling back her metal confines. Steamed, Tigra escapes the vent. Once upon carpet, the cranky kitty actually roars resoundingly (through the Rowen).
Miles away, traffic roars outside of Mentallo's open window. Marvin revs a stolen pick-up's engine to keep up on I-70. He has picked-up Plainsman, who sits beside him in the cab. Beside Plainsman, Argon sits in a buckskin bag. The two bad guys breathe the broiling mid-morning air in relief. Flumm lets the sweat flow freely down his bald dome. Beside him, the Psycho-Helmet sits on the sweltering seat. It scintillates in the stifling smog of the highway as the deuces speed for an exit ramp.
"I sure wish that the AC worked in this bucket," the pathfinder pulls the sticky leather from his hairy sternum, "I am from these parts. And, even I think that today is hotter than f***ing blazes."
"We'll get tutti-f***ing-frutti later," Flumm tastes his beard's brine, "Is this the exit?" A purplish glove points at a sign for Airport Road, where there might be some cooling and tasty ice cream, or other amusing occupation.
"Indeed, we're goin' into Berkeley, Missourah," the passenger informs, "Our CSA contact confiscates the contraband at yonder trusted government contractor."
"At that so-called trusted contractor?" an index finger designates large letters on an expansive facility.
"Yep, we get paid there," Plainsman nods a nose at Shaw Industries.
Abruptly, Mentallo jerks the ride hard right. The duo leave Airport Road for a Roxxon station's parking lot. Apparently pissed, Marvin plants the pick-up into a parking stall.
"Who's our contact, buddy?" Flumm, frowning, insists upon knowing.
"You don't need to know that," Plainsman explains, "I am the asset here trusted by our government. I know the operation's full plan, and you don't need to."
"The CSA trusted an ass with the full plan? The f*** they did!" Flumm scoffs.
"Well, they wadn't gonna fully trust no notorious felon like Fixer or'n you!" the Missourian makes things plain. Things are getting heated in the broiling truck.
Mentallo touches his pulsating temple, "I could rip answers from your mind, moron. But, I prefer some professional civility. So, I ask. Who the f*** are we meeting at Shaw Industries? And, why the f***ing hell are we by Shaw Industries in the first place?!"
"What in tarnation have you got against Shaw Industries?" Plainsman ponders, "For sha, the Shaw plant is a crown jewel of the St. Louis area. They majorly employ Missourians."
"They employ them to build SENTINELS!" screams Mentallo.
In the parking lot, folks look toward the two loud outlaws on the lam. Inside the station, local news reports on supervillains in downtown St. Louis. Grey Gargoyle gets central coverage, but Plainsman gets shown too—except with his hat on. Fixer was also active near the Arch, and he has a known cohort resembling the cranky driver—except the TV Mentallo wears a mask.
Plainsman scouts and scans passers-by. No one looks like he or she summons the cops for a commotion or for the capture of super-criminals. The shotgun seat quietly inquires, "What do you have against Sentinels?"
"I'm a mutant, you a******!" exclaims Mentallo.
Around the Roxxon, some fuelers stop and certain pedestrians stumble. A few people gawk at the declared mutie in the gaudy tunic, who resembles the public menace on TV. The "mutant problem" does not show-up in the Show Me State too often. Folks think that the funky fellow should maybe mosey off and motor on back east from where he, undoubtedly, came.
"Oh," the perspiring Plainsman pulls at his beard, "I should ask. . . . . What are Sentinels zactly? These ones you speak of."
"They are giant robots generated for mutant-hunting," Mentallo tells the tracker, "Time and again, some bigoted industrialist such as Bolivar Trask or Sebastian Shaw builds them to pester, oppress, and possibly exterminate the X-Men. Often, this arms dealer does business with alarmists in the American government, such as certain members of the CSA."
"So, you object to visiting Shaw on moral grounds?" the passenger guesses.
The driver grunts and gushes, "I also don't want to be detected, done in, and dissected within the hour! That experience would be even worse than futzing with a fool in this g***** heat."
A jet flies over audibly. Mentallo grits his teeth and grips the wheel hard. He expects that the Sentinels have found him. The din gives overheated Marvin chills. But, Plainsman sees that an airliner merely crosses low in the sky.
"Be calm, buddy," the hero adheres a sticky leather glove to the disturbed's neck nape, "Lambert International and other airports operate near here. That is just a flight taking off."
"I wouldn't mind taking off too!" Marvin wipes thick, filthy sweat and flings the foul stuff onto the dash like dirty dew.
"We can't, pardner," Plainsman retorts, "AIM got paid. We might as well'n as well."
"Judas priest! You've got another think coming!" Mentallo indicates that the rube is thinking like a fool and that it's a case of do or die. Momentarily, Mentallo does not care that there's a fortune to be had.
"The song is actually 'you've got another thing coming'. Know your all-American music," the Missourian mumbles.
"The song is actually British," Mentallo's finger pecks Plainsman's pate.
"Well, Marvin. Actually, you have another think coming," Plainsman pats to Mentallo's melon "I am a cyborg with automatic deadly defenses unassailable by your'n pissy p'sionics. I could kill you like a bullfrog on a fly." Fidgety, the fink draws forth an antique pistol.
"Do not bulls*** yourself, bullfrog," Flumm snickers, "If you off me, Fixer will find you and slaughter you reeeal f***ing slow. You'll wish that Looter lobotomized you again."
Frowning, the fool holsters his handgun, ""He didn't lobotomize me. He just partially blew my brains out." Plainsman shakes his head.
Silence follows for a tick. The steamy air sits heavily in the truck. The August sun scorches through the windshield. Plainsman considers fetching a sports drink in the auto stop, a. be damned. Then, Mentallo makes a surprise move. Suddenly, he dons his Psycho-Helmet, despite now looking like a supervillain.
"Who is Barney Fiddler?" Mentallo unexpectedly asks his accomplice.
"My CSA contact. The fed's money man," perturbed Plainsman realizes that he has just been mind-probed by Marv's helmet.
Marv's hand ignites the truck's V-8. "Barney can meet us in Big Muddy National Wildlife Refuge near Boonville 150 miles west of here for the Argon exchange," Mentallo states, "I have already telepathically telegrammed Fiddler and Fixer."
The wheel peels out backwards. Berkeley's local yokels give one last glance at the gauche and gaudy visitors before the driver tromps the gas, going for I-70. Over the roaring engine, Mentallo reprimands, "By the way, Plainsman, pick a Southern dialect! No actual Southerner or southern Midwesterner speaks like you do!"
Plainsman points to his mouth, ""This is my idiolect for being in character. Sorry if I sounds like such an idiot for it."
In the right seat, the passenger fumes in the high Fahrenheit as he unacceptably detours for farm country farther west. In a secret Shaw hanger, Barney Fiddler frets furiously for being taken as a Barney Fife. He flips-out over changing plans. However, the experienced agent understands foibles and fixes to meet Mentallo and companions in three hours.
Somewhere, the four AIM operatives—Chemistro, Grey Gargoyle, Dr. Necker, and Minion—are probably up to something too.
So are the five Avengers: U.S. Agent, Wasp, Hulk, Tigra, Speed.