Red America: Western Front
Chapter Thirteen: Raw Meat
David North stared dumbly at the blonde woman in front of him, who had fixed his gaze lazily with her ice-blue eyes and placed her pistol directly against his sternum. He could feel its cold steel through his uniform, and he knew that at this range, even a small weapon like that could mangle his innards quite comprehensively, leaving him to cough up his own lungs before he bled to death. The woman, Emma Frost, was the one that he'd talked to in the mess hall, but he knew that he hadn't said anything about this to her – he wasn't that stupid, no matter what Wade might have said before this situation arose, so how could she have found out about this? Desperately he tried to find any kind of clues he might have inadvertently dropped, but he kept coming up completely empty in every possible way... until it dawned on him with horrifying clarity, causing his stomach to churn unpleasantly. She was a telepath. She had to be. He realised then that his moment of inspiration must have been obvious to her, as she smiled thinly and nodded, with a look of satisfaction draping itself over her coldly beautiful features.
"Well done, Comrade North," she smirked. "Commissar Braddock set me the task of rooting this little conspiracy out while she was busy doing her job elsewhere, and so here I am. You gave me quite a chase, I'll admit, but I'm afraid the game is up now. I'd shoot the two of you right here and now, just for the hell of it, if Commissar Braddock didn't want me to keep the two of you alive so that you could be court-martialled and executed later." She paused, raising her eyebrows thoughtfully. "It's such a shame you couldn't let General Doom's death be the end of all this, you know. I'd have thought that seeing the old fool get thrown off a building might just have convinced you otherwise, but apparently your concept of loyalty outweighs your common sense." She snorted scornfully, her face returning to its original disdainful expression. "In any case, you'll soon be as dead as the old man, and I shan't mourn you."
"Is that right?" Wade said, rising to his feet and drawing his pistol while Frost had hers pointed directly at David. "You'll have to kill us first." He raised his gun in a fraction of an instant and tried to empty the magazine into Frost's side before she could switch her aim, but before he could even tighten his finger around the trigger of his weapon, he was collapsing to the floor, clutching his head and screaming wordlessly. His gun clattered to the ground a few metres away from him, thrown there by his wildly convulsing hand. David swore for a moment that he could see sparks of some kind of energy wreathing Wade's skull, but as quickly as they appeared, they vanished, leaving Wade curled into the foetal position on the floor of the gymnasium. Curdled blood from his nose, ears and eyes dripped on the pristine floorboards, pooling in a bright corona around his face. As he lay on the ground groaning, Frost moved over to him, keeping her gun trained on David as she did so, and stood over his prone body with an expression that bordered on total physical disgust.
"Don't tempt me," she said, her eyes narrowing. "I could still kill the two of you and claim it was self-defence, you know. Even if she does want the satisfaction of watching you two die, I doubt Commissar Braddock would care enough to double-check whether or not I was telling the truth." Wade tried to push himself up at that moment, but was knocked back to the floor as Frost's boot connected brutally with his sternum. "That was for not doing as you were told," she spat. "Get up and follow me." Hauling himself to his feet, still coughing a little, Wade reluctantly slouched through the door ahead of Frost and David, a pained expression crossing his face as he glowered at the psychic woman. Wheezing a little, he held a hand to his chest where her boot had almost caved in his sternum, a small trickle of blood dribbling down his chin as he did so.
As the three of them walked down the corridor, David started to curse his loyalty to both the corpse of General Doom and to the apparently clinically-insane Wade. Why hadn't he listened to his first thoughts of self-preservation? And why hadn't he thought with his head instead of his privates when Frost had shown up? Common sense should have told him not to trust anyone, but, like a typical man, he had fallen foul of a pretty face, and it had been his undoing. He clenched his fists, feeling the skin of his knuckles tightening uncomfortably, but kept his gaze on the corridor in front of him just in case the mind-witch was eavesdropping on his thoughts. If you're listening, bitch, you can go to hell.
"Oh, come on now, Comrade North, don't be so rude," Frost said, confirming his worst fears. "And yes, you should have been more careful. Still, I can hardly blame you for that – I was altering your perceptions a little so that you'd be more receptive to me. Standard KGB infiltration technique, I think you'll find."
"Why? Were you afraid I wouldn't find you attractive if you didn't?" David spat back scornfully. Perhaps this sort of thing cut both ways, and he could knock her off-balance a little...
"Please don't insult me, David," Frost said, an icy tone coming into her voice and letting David know that he'd succeeded, if only a little. "You haven't had a woman speak to you the way I did in years. I could have been covered in warts and grown an extra head while we were talking, and you still would have been putty in my hands."
"You're really not my type," David replied. "I'd have just fucked you and then left you alone before you woke up. Simple casual sex, that's all it would have been. You're nothing special, Frost. Just another KGB honey-trap with a gun." He felt the barrel of her pistol jab into his spine, and despite the cold feel of the barrel as it pressed against him through his shirt, he felt a stab of satisfaction that he was getting to her. And then her other arm snaked around his throat and pulled him close to her, close enough that he could smell the delicate perfume she was wearing, its faint floral scent totally at odds with her uniformed appearance.
"I know what you're doing, you traitorous bastard," she hissed, spittle flecking his ear. "You think I don't know these techniques inside out? I've been doing this since I was eighteen. You think I'm going to let a damnedamateur beat me?"
There was another click then, to his left. David looked over to see Wade holding a small single-shot self-defence pistol directly to Frost's temple. It was attached to an armature that extended up into his sleeve, and had evidently been spring-loaded for use as a last-resort weapon. The weapon looked too small to do real amounts of damage at any range longer than this – but this close up, it would do plenty. "Don't move, sweetie," Wade snarled, his eyes full of barely-suppressed rage. "Drop the gun. Now. And if you try that mind-stunt again, chances are my finger's going to pull this trigger anyway, and that would mess up your pretty face real bad, wouldn't it?" Frost scowled at him as he ushered her away from David and up against the wall, taking her gun from her and then kicking it down the corridor. It skittered into a corner, ricocheted off the wall, and came to a dead stop almost in the centre of the passageway.
"You wouldn't dare," Frost said, in a tone that indicated that even she didn't believe what she was saying. "You wouldn't dare."
Wade smiled crazily, his eyebrows arching almost to the middle of his forehead. "Really? You think so?" he said, pressing the gun against the bridge of her nose, right between her eyes. David swore he saw her flinch a little as the gun barrel touched her skin, which gave him an odd sense of satisfaction. "Care to test that theory, huh?"
"You idiot," Frost said, scorn dripping off her voice as a renewed confidence seemed to flood into her. "Where would you go?"
"Hey, uh, correct me if I'm wrong, Comrade Frost," Wade began, "but you're the only one who knows about us other than Commissar Braddock, aren't you? If that's the case, I'd start being polite if I were you." Then, without taking his eyes off Frost, he said "Go get that gun, Dave. Time for us to get out of here."
"I'll find you," Frost hissed. "As soon as you leave, I'll find you. You're dead, both of you."
"Is that so?" Wade chuckled, and then cracked her across the face with the butt of his gun, sending her sprawling to the ground. "I'm already dead, honey. You don't scare me." He kicked her in the stomach with relish, evidently enjoying the opportunity to extract a little bit of vengeance from the situation, and then knelt by her unconscious form, pressing his pistol to her temple. Seeing what he was about to do, David grabbed his elbow and stopped him from firing, causing Wade to glare up at him with a crazy light in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing, Dave?" he hissed. "This bitch knows who we are! We have to kill her, or she'll rat us out!"
"I know," David replied simply, "but I'm not going to let you kill her. Not like this, not when she can't even defend herself."
"Are you serious?" Wade said as he looked at him in disbelief. "You really think she'd do the same for you?"
"No," David said, "but then again, I'm not her. I've had enough of this, Wade. We should just get out of here while we still can."
He could see Wade struggling with indecision for a moment or two before he pushed his pistol back into his sleeve and then opened his hands. "Okay, Dave, we'll play it your way this time," he said, through clearly gritted teeth. "But this is all on your head, understand? When they catch us, you're on your own..."
Commissar-Colonel Elisabeth Braddock ran a finger slowly down the soot-blackened side of the remains of the ruined Iron Man suit, examining the residue that coated its tip with detached interest and a lingering sense of frustration. The meat-splattered innards of the suit had been cleaned thoroughly when the recovery crews had arrived to salvage what they could of the wreckage, but there was still a decidedly organic odour clinging to the twisted metal and melted plastic coating of the cockpit, a stink of liquefied flesh, bone and faeces that had made her want to gag when it had first hit her. Fortunately, it was dull enough now that she could safely ignore it, which she felt extremely relieved about. She turned away from the wreck in disgust, leaving the technicians in the vehicle bay to continue dismantling the salvageable parts of the suit, in the hopes of duplicating the intact technology and improvising the rest – the notion of large numbers of the heavily-armoured suits as support for ground troops was too tempting to ignore, after all, especially with the rebellions she'd heard about in South America becoming more and more frequent. As she left, she saw one of them carrying away the Gatling cannon that had formed the suit's weapon arm, the connection wires and ammo feed trailing along the floor as the scrawny man struggled to keep hold of it. Rolling her eyes, she put a hand to her temple and planted the idea of asking for help into his annoyingly stubborn brain. Instantly, he called out to one of his colleagues and the two of them carried the cannon to wherever it was they were supposed to be taking it, preventing any damage to its precious circuitry. Elisabeth wondered why someone would risk something so important for the sake of saving some of his male pride – but then she sighed, realising that she had her answer already.
Walking towards the lift in the corner of the vehicle bay, she tapped the button that called it a couple of times, chewing her lip thoughtfully as she did so. When the lift arrived, she stepped in and pressed the button that would take her to Doctor Pym's laboratory. She tapped her foot as the lift hummed upwards gently, and watched the digital number above the keypad on the wall clicking steadily higher until the lift reached the floor that she wanted, pinging softly as the doors opened. Clenching her fists, she walked towards the door of Pym's lab, wondering what she was going to find on the inside.
As the door opened, she had her answer. Doctor Pym was hunched over the body of one of the test subjects, most of whom had been sanctioned as soon as they had returned to human form a few hours earlier. The corpse had been slit down the middle, and Pym was busily examining a collection of extracted internal organs, including the man's heart, lungs and liver. "Subject's internal organs appear to have suffered no ill-effects from the transformation," Pym said into a small tape-recorder, clicking it off and placing it back on the work-surface next to him as he began slicing open the man's small intestine with great interest.
"Busy, Doctor?" Elisabeth said, making Pym almost drop his scalpel in shock. Turning to face her, he nodded sheepishly.
"Yes," he said. "I'm looking at the bodies of the test subjects – perhaps I can find out what triggered that transformation, and build in some kind of suppressant into the next batch."
"I wouldn't bother with that, Doctor," Elisabeth said, scorn dripping off her words as her hand moved to the catch on the holster of her pistol and popped it open. "Perhaps I should sanction you like I did these soldiers. I see no reason to continue with this research or with you, if you're just going to keep wasting my men like this."
"Wasting your men, perhaps," Pym replied, a little more confidently, although he was still mindful of the gun at her waist, "but not your women, apparently." He turned towards an annex of the lab and called out "Corporal Walters? Would you join us, please?" The door to the annex opened, and Corporal Walters stepped through. Elisabeth gasped, unable to hide her shock at what had happened to the young soldier. She had grown at least a foot in height, her skin was covered in fine green fur, and from her upper jaw protruded two needle-sharp canine teeth. Her mousy-brown hair had become almost a mane of long green tresses which were tied back with a simple elasticated band of fabric, and her eyes gleamed with liquid green light. A feline tail twitched and swayed behind her back.
"I don't understand," Elisabeth said, her voice almost a whisper. "How is this possible?"
"You see, Commissar," Doctor Pym began, "it seems that the presence, or absence, of testosterone is a crucial factor in the way the serum works. If I were to, let's say, lose my temper, I'd turn into one of those monsters as well, but if I were to inject you with the current version of the serum and the same thing happened to you, you would turn into a controlled hybrid like Corporal Walters. Therefore, it seems to me that either we create female-only battalions of super-solders, or we find a way to cancel out the effect testosterone has on the transformation."
"That's right," Corporal Walters agreed. "Right now I'm working on a way to duplicate the effect my DNA has on the serum."
Elisabeth raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You're working on it? I thought you were just a volunteer?"
"Jennifer is a clever girl," Dr Pym said, smiling broadly. "Apparently her aptitudes at school included a firm grasp of chemistry and biology. I'd thought I needed a new lab assistant for a while now anyway, so she fit the bill rather nicely."
"The serum is a tough balancing act," Corporal Walters said, "but I think I can get everything more or less straightened out. We can start testing again when that happens. Until then it might be a good idea to keep what happened out there today our little secret."
"I know my responsibilities, girl," Elisabeth snapped, angry that her toes were being trod on so brazenly. "You can rest assured that not a word of this will get out to the troops. Any test subjects I find for you in the future will have no idea what happened to their predecessors. And you would do well to remember your place, Corporal Walters... show me such disrespect again, and you'll regret it. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes... yes, sir," Corporal Walters said, sounding suitably chastened.
Elisabeth smiled thinly. "Good. I'd hate to lose another good scientist today." Turning on her heel, she marched out of the lab's entrance, saying "Proceed, Doctor. I'll expect a progress report within the week." As she stepped into the corridor, she put her hand to her temple, feeling a telepathic message enter her brain. She listened to it intently, and her lip curled back in rage as she heard about the actions of the two traitors that she had tasked Lieutenant Frost to apprehend. Quickly, she told Lieutenant Frost to make her way to the nearest sick bay to get some treatment, and then switched her attention to her adjutant.Lieutenant Wagner, she said. I need to deploy the Crimson Commando again. Has he already gone back into his hibernation chamber?
No, sir, Lieutenant Wagner replied. He is a few hours away from being deactivated yet. I'll recall him as soon as possible and send him to your office.
Thank you, Lieutenant, Elisabeth said, feeling relieved that she would not have to go through the arduous process of thawing Clint Barton out again. Within the next fifteen minutes would be ideal.
Yes, sir. Expect him there in ten.
Excellent, Elisabeth said, flexing her fingers and cracking her knuckles one by one. Remind me to cite you for a decoration for efficiency, Lieutenant. I'll be in my office. She cut the telepathic connection at that moment, and marched down the corridor towards the elevator, feeling satisfied that she had made her feelings on this matter even clearer. Perhaps with the execution of these two traitors in the near future, General von Doom's beyond-the-grave scheming would finally be over and done with. Until that time, however, she had to concern herself with other matters...
"Tony Stark's dead, Logan. I killed him myself." Kitty let Logan digest that statement for a moment, before she lit a cigarette, took a drag and exhaled a grey plume of smoke into the musty air of the rebel safe-house in New York. "Backstabbing fucker sold us out to the Russkies because we wouldn't let him bring his goddamn metal suit back to New York with us. I tried to explain that he'd be able to build another one when he got here, but he wouldn't listen. He escaped and switched sides just like that." She snapped her fingers. "I didn't get it then, and I sure as hell don't get it now. I mean, he spends years building that thing to kill Ivans, and he throws that all away so he can join them? What the fuck kind of sense does that make?"
"Tony was a proud man," Jubilation said in a small voice, from behind Kitty's left shoulder.
"What's that, little darlin'?" Logan said, motioning for Jubilation to come closer. Kitty knew that he'd heard her just fine – he just wanted her to feel more confident around him. She'd seen him do it several times before with several new recruits, all of whom had become valued friends and resistance members. "What did you say?" Nervously, chewing her lip as if she was regretting having spoken at all, Jubilee edged towards the front of the group standing in front of the wooden table which formed the centrepiece of Logan's sewer-based command centre.
She took a deep breath. "The Iron Man suit was what kept him going, all the time he was looking after me. Kitty asked him to leave it behind." Kitty saw tears forming in the girl's eyes as she spoke, which Kitty really couldn't blame her for, and Jubilation's voice cracked a little as she said "Tony took care of me for eight years, ever since my parents got 'pacified' by the Ivans, and now he's gone. Where the fuck am I supposed to go now?"
Logan dropped his head onto his chest and rubbed at the inner corners of his eyes with the index finger and thumb of his right hand. "Damn it, Tony. Damn it," he said in a voice that was almost a whisper, before he raised his gaze back to Jubilation again. "It's okay, kid. We'll take care of you." Glancing over to a female rebel, he gestured to Jubilation with one hand. "Hey, Mel – find the kid a bed, would you?"
"Can do," the woman replied cheerfully, flipping her long crimson-streaked white hair over her shoulders and beckoning to Jubilation. "Come on, sweetheart; I'm sure we can make you as comfortable as we can. It's really quite nice down here... once you get past the smell, I mean. And I reckon we have some good chow on the go this way, too. Only I don't eat pork, so if you're looking for something that's not kosher, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed..." She continued babbling cheerfully to Jubilation as the two of them went down a tunnel on the east side of the chamber, and Kitty felt relieved to see the younger girl breaking into a welcome smile for the first time since they had left San Francisco. If Jubilation was going to survive here, the first thing she would need was a sense of humour.
When Jubilation was out of earshot, Logan turned back to Kitty and said "Val should be back in an hour. I want you to tell her everything you just told me, and then I want you to take a couple of days to recover a little. Find a safehouse in Brooklyn or wherever and just rest up for a while – seems to me like you guys could use the rest."
"Thanks. I'll get right on it," Kitty replied. "But before I do that –"
"You have to go and check on your boyfriend," Logan said with a short burst of laughter. "Right. I hope Madrox knows what a lucky guy he is."
Kitty rolled her eyes, gave Logan a brief thumbs-up, and then walked down the nearest tunnel towards what passed for the hospital wing of the rebel base. As she entered the small chamber, she saw Madrox lying in the corner, with his legs and chest covered by a thin blanket and with a threadbare pillow underneath his head. "Hey, you," she said as she sat down next to him, kissing him gently on the mouth and slipping one of his hands into her own. "How are you doing?"
"Well, I don't feel like my insides are made of minced beef any more, so that's a plus, I guess," Madrox said, mustering a weak smile. "Remind me never to listen to you ever again, will you?"
"Oh, you just can't help yourself, sweetie," Kitty told him. "I'm just too cute for you to resist."
Madrox rolled his eyes. "You keep telling yourself that, Kit." He paused, his eyes lighting up with a remembered memory. "Say... when am I going to get that month of daily sex you promised me?"
"Damn. I was hoping you'd forgotten about that," Kitty said, snapping her fingers in mock-annoyance. "Maybe when you're all healed up – but don't count on it. Even I have my limits, you know."
"That's not what you used to say," Madrox said, winking.
"Oh, shut up, you idiot," Kitty retorted, before she leaned close and kissed him on the forehead, cheek and mouth, drawing him close to her as she did so, so close that she could almost feel his heart beating. "I'll be back to check on you later – I have to go and check something with Lorna. Logan said we could take a few days to recover, so it looks like we'll be spending a lot more time together."
"Can't wait," Madrox said. "I love you."
"I love you too," Kitty replied. "I'll see you soon."
Clint Barton stood respectfully at attention as he watched Commissar Braddock stand up behind her desk. "At ease, Mr Barton" she said, before gesturing to the chair in front of her. Clint pulled the chair out and then sat down, rocking the chair back onto its hind legs as he leaned back into it.
"So, sir, what can I do for you?" he said, deciding the direct approach was the best one. "Why am I not in deep freeze again?"
"I need you to erase some rogue soldiers for me," Commissar Braddock said, handing him a sealed envelope with Top Secret: Eyes Only stamped on it in large red letters. "They were following through on a plot to kill me left behind by General Doom, who I'm sure you're very familiar with, and have escaped justice. I need you to hunt them down and sanction them as quickly and efficiently as possible, since I suspect they will try again at some point. Even if they don't, treachery like that still needs to be stamped out." She pointed at the envelope in his hand. "That's all the information that you'll need. Lethal force is authorised, naturally."
"Thank you, sir," Clint said. "Anything else I should know?"
"No, Mr Barton," Commissar Braddock said. Then she stepped round her desk, pulled him up to his feet by his collar, and kissed him hard on the mouth before releasing him. "But consider that an incentive to come back in one piece, Crimson Commando. I'd hate to lose a good soldier..."
End?