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Chapter 18
Modok
Hydra Base Alpha-1
Rumlow approached the Lab uneasily. Place gave him the creeps. Lerner gave him the creeps too, only more so. Fear wasn't something Crossbones would ever cop to, it was bad for the image. But Lerner made him very, very uneasy. Still, the man had the goods, had to give him that. And Brock Rumlow never let a little unease stop him from getting what he wanted.
As he stepped into the sterilizing field, a voice from behind the glass panel called out.
"You must first remove your weapons, agent Crossbones. All of them please."
Shit. Every time he forgot that. He hated being unarmed. He undid his harnesses and snaps, letting his weapons drop, and stepped back into the sterilizing field. The process took thirty seconds.
"Sterilization complete. You may pick up your weapons when you leave."
"You got a sexy little voice on you sweetheart," Rumlow said. He was pretty sure the voice belonged to a woman. Hard to tell over the intercom. "Why don't you come over to my quarters tonight? I'll show you my real weapon."
There was no reply. Rumlow laughed and walked into the Lab. He was feeling better already.
The place was more factory than lab, huge, big as Penn station. The antiseptic smell was the worst part—like a hospital, so clean it stunk. He looked at the vast rows of steel and glass boxes. Incubation pods, Lerner called them, hundreds of the spooky bastards. It worried Rumlow, what these things were cooking up. They threatened to push him aside, make him obsolete. And they were going to happen. They were the Skull's number one obsession these days. So he was just going to have to figure out some way to get an edge on them. He spotted Lerner.
"Doc, you got a minute?"
"I'm afraid not," said Lerner.
"But perhaps I can help," said a second Doctor Lerner, from behind him.
"Jesus doc," Rumlow said, turning with a start. A third and fourth Doctor Lerner was standing behind them. "I asked you not to do that. Don't you know how weird that is?"
"Actually…no. Why does it bother you?"
"'Cause it just does! It's freakin' weird. It ain't natural."
"I assure you, it is extremely beneficial."
Another Lerner nodded in agreement. "Perhaps you should try it. In your line of work, Advanced Individualized Multiplicity would be quite advantageous. A.I.M. does represent the future of mankind."
"Yeah, maybe next time. Look, what I really want to talk to you about is giving me a little more bang. You know, upping my juice again."
"Mr. Rumlow, we've talked about this. You've reached the safe limit of your performance enhancement program. I cannot increase the potency without serious health risks."
"I just need a little more, Doc."
"Is this about the Captain? I believe last night was your first encounter with him since we started with the new formula. How did you fare?"
"Almost aced the bastard," Rumlow said, a self-satisfied smile spreading beneath his mask. Then he reluctantly went on. "But that's only 'cause he passed out. He got in one punch and I knew. I'm still not a match for him."
"His fighting skills are extraordinary."
"So are mine," Rumlow said, angrily.
"Yes, your position with Hydra is proof of that. You are one of the most formidable combatants in the world…but then, Captain America is generally acknowledged to be the most formidable, isn't he?"
"Yeah, he's good. Real good. But I have an edge. Cappy's gotten soft in his old age, got a thing about killing. Me? I'm an artist. If murder was paint, I'd be Picasso. I can take him," Crossbones said, smashing his fist into his hand. "But I need more power! The sonofabitch is still stronger than me."
"You are at a fundamental disadvantage against Captain America," Lerner said, checking the dials on a nearby incubation pod. After inputting the data on the computer station, he turned to Rumlow. "His strength, speed, and other physical attributes are developed to the highest degree possible. He is, quite literally, the perfect human specimen."
"If he's so perfect, why is he sick all of a sudden? I heard him at that press conference. He's got some disease or something."
"That is no fault of the Captain's. He was deliberately made ill. The serum remains perfect."
"Yeah, well I want what he's got. You can do that for me Doc, I know you can."
"I have tried. To date, you represent my greatest success. You are far superior to any normal human."
"Well I want more!"
Lerner looked down at the lapels of his lab coat, balled up in Crossbones' huge fists.
"Sorry," Rumlow said, releasing his grip. "It's just that we're down to crunch time, you know? Operation Vanguard is days away, and I need an edge. I don't mind the risks, just help me out here."
"It is against my better judgment. After all, I do have certain obligations to you as your physician. But…"
"Alright! I knew you could do it!"
"A ten percent boost in the dosage. Ten percent—that is the absolute limit."
"Hey, ten percent, got you. That's cool by me, Doc."
"And I insist you cycle off that dosage starting six weeks from today. I will not budge on that stipulation."
"Perfect, takes me right through Vanguard. When do we start?"
Lerner checked his personal planner. "Your next scheduled dosage is tomorrow. We will begin then. I will see you at eight am."
"Ha! My man, Doc Lerner!"
Crossbones headed out of the lab.
"I still counsel you to consider the multiplicity treatment," Lerner called out. "I am certain you would find it highly efficient."
"Yeah, well…let me sleep on that," Crossbones said, eager to get out of the nut house.
. . .
After retrieving his weapons, Crossbones stopped at the training complex. His troopers were going through drills and he observed their maneuvers. For the most part, his men (two were women) performed well within specks, often perfect. But there were glitches. He stopped things on a few occasions, to make corrections. His manner was mostly positive—with it this close to the actual mission, it wasn't the time for tearing down. Better to build up. However, when he saw one of his advanced troopers bungle a simple knife attack, Rumlow flared angrily.
"Christ! What was that, Kluge? Come over here!"
Hans Kluge came as ordered, standing in front of Crossbones. Kluge was a large man, six-two, two hundred and fifty pounds, but he was dwarfed by Rumlow.
"That the kind of shit you learned in the German Defense Force? 'Cause I sure as hell didn't teach you that. You never come down over your opponent with a knife attack from the rear. You come up and under."
"I know, but in this instance—"
"I don't want to hear it! Up and under, always! Coming over the top like you did, two things can go wrong. First, it gives your opponent a second of warning. A second! That's an eternity on the battlefield. He might be able to block, or call out for help, or evade the strike altogether. Second reason you never do it is this..."
Rumlow slammed his fist into the center of Kluge's chest, driving him back several paces. He fell to one knee, struggling to get his breath. Rumlow glared at him.
"That's your breastbone. Ever try to drive a knife through a man's breastbone? It's damned hard to do. Up and under, the soft underbelly," he said, demonstrating in the air. The look on Kluge's face was petulant and stubborn. It set Rumlow off. "All right, try it your way, on me, right now."
"…On you?"
"Yes Goddammit! From behind, just like you did a minute ago." Rumlow turned his back to the man. "Go full speed."
Kluge picked up his knife. Pausing a second, he launched a vicious over-hand attack, nothing held back. Crossbones caught his wrist and flipped him over his shoulder, slamming him to the ground—hard. He twisted violently, forcing the knife from his hand.
"You see what a fluster-cluck that was?"
"Yes," Kluge muttered, slowly picking himself up from the ground. "Against someone your size."
"Got nothing to do with it. It's all technique," Rumlow said. Just then, he noticed a man crossing above him, on the sky-walk. Rumlow called out:
"Mr. Blake! Can I borrow a second of your time?"
"I'm in a hurry. Make it quick."
"Mr. Blake is an intelligence officer, Section Chief for sector 1-A, used to be the intel-liaison for our strike teams. Chief, can you please tell these sorry-assed troopers of mine the correct way to perform a knife attack from a rear position?"
"Up and under."
"You hear that? Up and under!" Crossbones roared, spinning around to face his men. "If an intelligence officer two years removed from fieldwork can remember that, then I damned well expect you to remember it! Sergeant Luntz, drill these people until they get it right. All night, if necessary."
As the troopers formed lines to drill, Rumlow pulled Kluge aside, putting his arm around the man's shoulder. He spoke casually. "I believe in second chances, Kluge. This is yours. I catch you eyeballing me like that again, I'll break every bone in your body."
Without another word, Rumlow hurried to catch up with Blake.
"Chief, thanks for the assist."
Blake nodded, curtly. "Are your people ready? Vanguard is just days away."
"They're razors. Life takers and heartbreakers. Every other division will be eating our smoke."
"That's good," Blake answered, looking at his watch. "I'm late for a meeting. Good luck."
"Hold up a second, Blake. Clue me in. The big hush-hush with Captain America…what's the boss got up his sleeve?"
"Sorry, but that's top secret."
"Hey," Crossbones said, grabbing the man's arm as he turned to go. "That how you show your gratitude? I'm just looking for a little info. I helped get you where you are today."
"Yes—and being smart is going to keep me here. The Skull designated this information as need-to-know. Apparently, he doesn't think you need to know. Now let go of my arm."
"Big time now, huh Blake?" Rumlow said with a chuckle. "Well I've seen them come and I've seen them go. Me? I'm a survivor, be around a long time. I'll remember this."
"You've been in a lot of hot water lately, Rumlow. You really want to threaten a superior officer? You're not as indispensable as you like to think."
"Maybe. Maybe not. Be seeing you, Section Chief," Crossbones said, walking away.
. . .
In the laboratory, work continued at a steady pace, as close to hurried as scientific work can be without unraveling. Various doctor Lerners' stood strategically positioned to observe the entire floor, offering advice to the dozens of scientists at work. There were a number of brilliant minds besides his own involved in this project. It would be helpful if some of them took the Multiplicity treatment, but none had consented. It might be necessary to make this decision for them, Lerner mused. He had done so before. They would come to see the benefits of cloning once the matter was done.
Cloning. An absurd term that would soon find its way to the trash heap of retired scientific nomenclature. Multiplicity was a quantum leap forward, as far above 'cloning' as the computer was above the abacus. It was the next step in human evolution—eventually the world would come to see that truth. At least some would. Multiplicity was a powerful gift, suitable for only the best and most deserving of the species. Lerner was determined to see that nature's harsh-but-necessary rule not be circumvented: survival of the fittest. A grand day was about to dawn for humankind, an age of exponentially increased productivity and achievement, coupled with the ability to extend the lifespan almost indefinitely. Lerner was a modest man by nature, but he could not deny the pride he felt in his work. He had many other ideas on how to improve the human condition. Man no longer had to wait passively for the wheel of evolution to turn; now it could be accelerated, guided. And his would be the guiding hand. What an exciting time to be alive!
Seeing that the work was proceeding on schedule, Lerner walked to the rear of the lab, to a massive door. He placed his hand on a scanner, which flashed a small pulse of light. A computerized voice responded.
"Identified. Doctor Horatio Linus Lerner, Director of A.I.M. Entry granted."
The door swung open. Lerner stepped into the dark room. The door closed behind him, locking softly. The room was separate from the main complex, shielded by four-inch thick titanium steel walls. It had its own power station, its own air and water filtration system and a secure escape hatch. This room housed a prized asset in the Hydra arsenal, and no precaution had been spared.
There were bits of light in the darkness; phosphorescent dials, computer screens in sleep mode, glowing bundles of fiber optic cable, and power couplings, faintly illuminating the room in shadows of red and green. Lerner could see well enough, so he kept the overhead lights off. It was less distressing to Modok this way. He found his way to the control panel and took a seat.
Other scientists had made key contributions to this project, but as was often the case, it was Lerner who had made the difference. Modok was a crowning achievement, and Lerner felt a special closeness to him. It was improper, of course. It behooved a scientist to maintain an emotional detachment regarding his test subjects. But it did no good to pretend otherwise; Modok was far more than just another lab specimen. In the truest sense, he was family. After imputing the code, a file heading blinked on to the computer screen:
Hydra Project Delta-Alpha 11, A.I.M. Directive Prime One.
Modified-Organic/Digital-Organism, Series K.
Designation:
M.O.D.O.K
Lerner bent to the microphone, speaking softly, like a father awaking his child on Christmas morning. "Activate the Modok."
Lerner sat back in the chair. It took time for Modok to fully awake. It was difficult for him to integrate his various components. Lerner picked up the psi-helmet, strapping it on. Like many children, Modok was often irritable upon awakening, and the helmet served to protect Lerner's higher brain functions from any stray psionic energy that might be unleashed. Modok's temper tantrums could be deadly. Lerner sat and waited, reading the now familiar dialog as it spooled across the computer screen:
1 0 00 111 000 100 110 101 001 011 010 00 0 1 11 101 010 101 01 001 001 0 11 1
001 000 111 011 100 111 001 01 00 11 100 111 00 001 001 000 111 0 111 10
Initializing…
Program on line. All systems functioning within normal parameters.
…Who said that? Who are you?
-I am Hydra Project Delta-Alpha Eleven. I am a product of A.I.M.
…Hydra? Aim? I… I don't understand.
-Hydra is the armed forces of the future ruler of the world.
-A.I.M. is the technological service of the future ruler of the world.
I don't understand. Where are we? It's so… dark.
-This is the cybernetic space of A.I.M. computer mainframe.
-We are here.
I don't understand! Who are you?
-I am Hydra Project Delta-Alpha Eleven. I am a Product of A.I.M.
Stop saying that! Help me! Somebody please help me! Who… who am I?
-I am programmed to answer your queries.
-There is no help for you.
-You were once Isaac Lerner.
But... who am I now?
-You no longer exist.
-You were once Isaac Lerner…
-We are M.O.D.O.K.
Lines of static and gibberish began filling the monitor. Screaming, if an emotional response were assigned to it. After a time, the static ended. The large metal doors in front of Lerner opened with a pneumatic hiss. There was something behind those doors, something unreal, and horrible to look at. Whether Lerner's scientific detachment protected him from distress was a question even he could not answer.
The thing was seated in a large steel chair, suspended some twenty feet above the ground by a mass of cables and hydraulic lines. A warped parody of a human form, its body was small, that of a child, perhaps an adolescent. It was sheathed in a garment of molded plastic and gleaming steel, but this formidable attire did not lessen the obvious weakness of those withered limbs, which lay unmoving. Perhaps paralyzed, perhaps merely unnecessary. There were dozens of tubes flowing into and out of the body, gurgling with fluids.
Its head was impossibly large, nearly two meters in diameter. It was supported by a heavy brace, otherwise, it would have broken its own neck and fallen from its body. There was a mat of brown hair visible on that head, just beneath a crown of chrome steel rings. On its forehead was a large red crystal, pulsing with energy.
Its face was disturbing; not because it was ugly, which it was, but because of the look of confusion and anger registered on its distorted features. Slowly, a pair of eyes—as large as dinner plates—began to open. They were the most disturbing aspect yet, because they were strangely beautiful; radiant blue irises, floating in clear orbs of brilliant white. Alone, of all Modok's features, it was the eyes that remained familiar and unchanged. If those eyes still recognized him, Learner did not know. He never asked. Modok gazed down at Lerner, and his eyes focused with a furious intelligence.
Lerner smiled and bent to the microphone.
"Good morning, son. We have a busy day ahead of us."