The Origin of MASK
Chapter 7: Fast Food, Part 1
By Qweb and/or Jelsemium
Matt Trakker fled for his life, in virtually the opposite direction from the armored, flying car that could so easily have saved him.
The usually blond inventor clutched his briefcase under his arm like a football and ran, head down at full tilt, pursued by the soft purple sports car known as Manta, which was driven by the hard, red-haired killer known as Vanessa Warfield. Overhead he could hear the ominous beat of Switchblade's rotors as helicopter pilot and criminal genius Miles Mayhem served as spotter for his band of villains, the international organization of evil known as Venom.
Matt cursed the luck that let the Venom agents get between him and the car they couldn't possibly know was a deadly weapon. The car they probably didn't even know was his, come to think of it.
He cursed himself, too, for walking straight into their trap. He'd thought he was being so clever. But he'd thought that before, hadn't he?
Him, Matt Trakker, inventor, philanthropist, benefactor of mankind, loving father, total moron!
He'd discovered the worldwide activities of Venom almost by accident when they stole a toy from Bruce Sato and sold it to Trakker Toys. Bruce had traced the toy to Trakker, and Trakker had traced it to Venom, learning about the scope of Venom's criminal enterprise in the process.
Matt had realized there was no law enforcement agency in the world capable of handling the high tech battle masks and the shape shifting combat vehicles Venom used to enforce their will on the innocent. Trakker swore to fight them, to create his own masks and his own vehicles to defeat Venom on their own terms. He thought he'd been discreet as he collected the information, materials, weapons and men he needed to form MASK, the Mobile Armored Strike "K"ommand.
But only a few days ago, intelligence agent Buddy Hawks had penetrated the MASK Headquarters' security and led Matt and his friends — Bruce, Alex Sector and Hondo MacLean — on a merry chase through the Trakker mansion, before they all finally realized they were on the same side. Buddy had become suspicious of Trakker's intelligence gathering, proving he hadn't concealed his trail as well as he'd thought.
Still, that incident had turned out to be some more of the serendipity that Alex claimed was proof that MASK was destined to exist. It had brought them formal recognition by the Peaceful Nations Alliance, Buddy's former employer. And it had brought them Buddy, master of disguise, expert at infiltration and top notch mechanic, to raise the number of MASK agents to five.
But Matt had thought it safer to come to Brubaker Industries in Los Angeles alone. He'd left — he thanked God he'd left — his son, Scott, at the Bonaventure Hotel with Bruce, while he took Thunderhawk to pick up a vital new MASK component, a frequency generator that could range through the entire electromagnetic spectrum from X-rays to radio waves, from lasers to ultrasound.
In addition to the flying car, whose weapons were now fully operational, Matt had taken his briefcase, which contained the computer link to MASK Headquarters in Nevada. He had figured he could use the computer to call Bruce for help if he needed it.
Now he knew he wasn't going to get the chance.
Trakker Enterprises had done business with Brubaker Industries and Matt knew they were creative enough and reliable enough to put together the component he'd designed. He wasn't personally known there, however, so he had no qualms about picking up the device ordered under a false name.
But when he came out, Venom was waiting for him.
What Matt couldn't know was that his peril was, perhaps, saving MASK from discovery. Mayhem had been on the point of checking out some mysterious goings on in Boulder Hill, Nevada, when he'd learned about a more interesting proposition.
His call for information on unusual weaponry components had brought a return call from a disgruntled technician at Brubaker. He had told Mayhem about the spectrum component, not much about it, just that it existed.
Security in the building had been too tight for even Venom to risk, not when they knew someone had to carry the device out of the lab. Mayhem had waited patiently in Los Angeles for the component to be moved. He was rewarded by a phone call from the same technician when Matt arrived.
It was fortunate that the technician didn't know who Matt was, even more fortunate that Matt had given in to Buddy Hawks' "melodramatics" and had worn the disguise the ex-intelligence agent had devised for him. It had allowed the famous man to walk among strangers unremarked, unrecognized by his public — and by Venom. It was the one good break he'd had in a day of bad ones.
When Matt walked out the door, he found that Sly Rax and Vanessa Warfield, faceless behind their masks, had blocked off the sidewalk, keeping him away from any of the cars on the street.
Behind them were Piranha, Rax's wicked looking black motorcycle with the streamlined sidecar that separated to form a car or a submarine; and Manta, Vanessa's flying sports car. Switchblade thundered overhead.
"Hand over that briefcase!" roared Mayhem's voice from above.
Matt tried to retreat inside, but the energy whip from Vanessa's mask lashed toward him. He ducked, rolling out of the way, and the bolt smashed the thick plastic doors to rubble.
Matt leaped to his feet and ran.
Behind him, he heard a powerful roar as the Venom vehicles were started. In front of him he saw the black Bronco, Jackhammer, charging forward, lasers blasting.
Matt darted around a corner. Then the corner wasn't there any more as a laser hit disintegrated it.
"Stop it, you fool!" Mayhem roared over the radio. "You might damage the component."
"Sorry, boss," replied Dagger in contrition.
He'd forgotten his instructions again. Dagger frowned behind the blank-eyed Torch mask that covered his thick head and brawny shoulders. Then he smiled as he remembered. He could kill the man if he wanted to, but he wasn't supposed to take any chances on hurting the briefcase.
He threw Jackhammer into gear again and obediently followed Mayhem's directions to rejoin the action.
Matt dodged through the maze of streets and alleys, bowling over pedestrians who then had to scramble to get out of the way of Vanessa's single-minded pursuit. Matt hoped to lose her in his twists and turns, but Mayhem, flying overhead, kept her on the right track.
Heart pounding, Matt turned at random down a side street and found himself on a street mall. Pedestrians walked down the center of the blocked off street, browsing in shop windows. Patrons sat at an open-air cafe. Children frolicked in a small playground as their mothers rested their feet.
Matt hadn't meant to lure Venom into a large crowd, but it was too late.
Sturdy sawed-off telephone poles held an anchor chain across the road, barricading the pedestrian-only block. With casual disregard, Manta extended a buzz saw blade from its side and scored through the barrier without even slowing down. Laser blasts tore up the cobblestones around Matt's feet as a warning to stop; but he didn't.
The explosions sent shoppers scrambling for doorways, screaming in fear as the car rushed past.
Matt dashed around a corner, past a silvery pizza delivery truck standing at the curb. The deliveryman and his customer had frozen in the act of exchanging a large pizza for ready cash. Both looked open-mouthed in the direction of the screams.
As Matt pounded past, he caught a glimpse of the deliveryman's startled brown eyes. Then he was past, swerving across the street, leaving behind an impression of a hunted animal. The pizza driver wondered who was chasing him.
The customer's toddler saw the running man and laughed at the new game. He darted past his mother and into the street, as Vanessa took the corner on two wheels and roared after Matt.
The deliveryman dropped the pizza and threw himself into the path of the heedless car. He scooped up the child and rolled clear, feeling the car's passage tug at his hair and clothes.
Slowly he stood up, soothing the sobbing child absently as he frowned after the disappearing car. Then determination glinted in his eyes, as he handed the child to his tearful mother.
Matt was thinking if he could just duck his pursuit for a minute, he could call on Bruce and the heavily armed Firecracker pickup for help, when a dark form darted out of an alley, brushed against him, and threw him back against the wall.
Winded by the impact, Matt could only watch as Rax spun Piranha around in a tight circle to end up facing his prey from 20 feet away. The ominous form of Jackhammer idled down the alley to Matt's left, covering any escape to either side. Behind him, he would hear the all too familiar roar of Manta coming up slowly as Vanessa saw her quarry in Mayhem's neatly organized trap. Matt could almost hear Mayhem chuckle as he looked down from the helicopter.
Rax stepped off his cycle.
"Give me the briefcase," he demanded.
But Matt couldn't. It wasn't just the Spectrum component, which could make a deadly weapon in Venom's hands; there was also the computer link to consider. With that, Venom could finish MASK before it got started. They could track down Matt's friends and add the MASK weapons to their own arsenal.
Matt was exhausted, almost too weak to move another step, but he couldn't let Venom have the briefcase without a fight.
"If you want it, come and get it," he said calmly, hoping Rax would come close enough to be jumped.
Rax shrugged and didn't move an inch. He fingered the chest piece of his mask.
"It's your funeral," he said, and it was no figure of speech.
Matt realized Rax would just kill him from a safe distance and take the briefcase off his stiletto riddled body.
The inventor tried to ready himself to jump, forward, sideways, anywhere; but he hadn't the strength. He stood still, shuddering, panting, exhausted; but his head was held high.
Rax began the command to his mask, "Stiletto … "
Matt couldn't watch the Venom agent's obvious enjoyment. He closed his eyes and prayed for the safety of his soon to be orphaned son. Behind him, he heard a heavy engine roar toward him and wondered if Vanessa was jealous of Rax getting the kill. There was the sound of a collision, tires squealed, and then something brushed past his nose as Rax finished, " … Fire!"
There was no pain, just a sound like a handful of gravel hitting a tin roof and Matt found himself blinking at the quilted silver side of a pizza delivery truck that stood between him and the indignantly shouting Rax.
"Hey, fella, need a lift?" said a calm Texas voice as the passenger door swung open in invitation.
Matt found himself looking into the same brown eyes he'd seen earlier. The young man's face was concerned and friendly, but Matt hesitated, wondering if this was a Venom trap. He was unwilling to leap from the familiar frying pan into the unknown fire without at least looking first.
The pizza truck driver looked out his window and saw a dozen sharp spikes protruding from the side of his hand polished truck. He saw Rax leap back on his cycle and start the engine. In his rearview mirror, the young man could see Jackhammer start up and began rolling. He also knew that the purple car he'd sideswiped in his cavalry charge wouldn't stay stuck on the sidewalk for long.
All things considered, the Texan figured this wasn't time for niceties.
He reached out and clamped strong fingers around Matt's wrist.
"C'mon," he urged, pulling Matt aboard. "I know your mama prob'ly told you to never take rides from strangers, but you don't want to end up lookin' like a pincushion, do you?"
His logic was inescapable, as was his grip.
The truck leaped forward, dumping Matt on the passenger seat. The blond inventor strapped himself in hastily as the pizza truck swayed wildly, picking up speed, heading straight for the brick wall at the end of the alley.
Matt wondered if his rescuer was crazy. The alley was so narrow, the truck's side mirrors scraped sparks from trashcans as they banged past. Matt saw there was a T-shaped turn at the alley's far end, but it was so tight he couldn't imagine how the Texan could get the truck around it without backing and filling and allowing their pursuers to catch up.
But the Texan didn't seem worried about it. He just raced toward the wall full tilt, with Jackhammer on his heels.
At the last instant, the Texan hit the brakes, yanked the wheel and accelerated again, apparently all at once. The truck slewed sideways in the intersection as the front end stopped while the rear kept going. The turn was so nicely timed that the pizza truck's rear fender just kissed the brick wall before the delivery van was racing off at a right angle to its previous path. All without losing a second in the turn.
Jackhammer wasn't so lucky. With the pizza truck blocking his view, Dagger hadn't realized the wall was so close. When the Texan made the truck "disappear," Dagger didn't have time to stop.
A tremendous crash filled the alley with noise and debris.
Piranha slid sideways as Rax tried to avoid the intersection-blocking wreck. Manta left skid marks along half the alley and finally stopped with its nose just bumping Jackhammer's fender.
From above, Mayhem looked down on his balked allies as the pizza truck sped away free as a bird.
"Dagger, you idiot," he yelled unsympathetically. "Are you still alive?"
"I guess so," the big man replied unsteadily, picking his masked head off the dashboard. "Is it morning already?"
Mayhem snorted.
He ordered Vanessa to take Dagger in Manta, then he began to follow the pizza truck.
"That'll teach those owlhoots," the driver said with satisfaction, heading for the hills in true western tradition.
Matt looked in the rear view mirror and sighed.
"We're not out of the woods yet," he said, pointing out the helicopter, which swooped low toward them.
The young man whistled and rammed the accelerator down again, scooting out from under the chopper's thunderous pass.
"Whoo-wee! You sure got some high-powered enemies, mister," he said. "By the way, my name's Dusty Hayes."
The driver thrust one hand at Matt. The inventor took it quickly to get both Dusty's hands back on the wheel sooner.
"I'm Matt Trakker."
The truck swerved involuntarily, which was fortunate since it caused Switchblade's laser blast to hit wide of the mark.
Dusty stared at Matt in open-mouthed astonishment. Matt had to laugh as he removed his disguising cheek pads, dark wig, mustache and sideburns. The young man had taken pursuing thugs, attack helicopters and laser blasts in his stride; but the mere mention of the famous Trakker name threw him for a loop.
Amusement was blotted from Matt's face. Switchblade roared straight at the truck, trying to force it off the road. Matt flinched back as the black chopper filled the windshield.
Dusty whipped his attention back to the front, then slipped the truck to the side almost casually. The chopper surged past.
The Texan turned his gaze back to Matt.
"Matt Trakker," he breathed, as if he still didn't believe it. Then a broad grin crossed his expressive face. "Danged if you ain't, at that. I'm right pleased to meet you."
Matt was forced to shake the driver's hand again. He thanked Dusty for coming to his rescue.
The grin fled as suddenly as it came, as the driver saw Switchblade coming back for another pass. Dusty gritted his teeth in determination.
"Don't you worry, Mr. Trakker," he said, aiming the pizza truck straight at the returning chopper. "I won't let these varmints get their hands on you."
Matt gulped as Switchblade seemed to get bigger and bigger.
"If we're going to die together, at least you could call me Matt," he said.
Dusty chuckled. "What if we don't die?"
"Then you can call me anything you want!"
Dusty laughed, apparently from pure enjoyment, as the pizza truck hurtled toward the helicopter.
"This fella don't have a death wish, does he?"
Matt tried to match the other's casual tones.
"I doubt it. He's a businessman at heart, even if his business is crime."
"Then he won't hit us," Dusty said with supreme confidence, maintaining his position in the middle of the road.
Matt lost his pose of poise; but Dusty was right. It was Mayhem who played chicken, yanking Switchblade high into the air, away from that lunatic on wheels.
"This guy doesn't scare easy," Mayhem muttered. Into his microphone he said, "Rax, Vanessa, where are you?"
"Just coming up on you now," Rax replied.
Even though Mayhem hadn't been able to slow Dusty down, the super-powered Venom vehicles had easily overtaken the well-tuned, but elderly, pizza truck, once they'd gotten past Dagger's involuntary blockade.
"We've got company again, Dusty," Matt said.
Dusty glanced into the rear view mirror.
"These folks are persistent," he said. "They sure want you bad."
It made sense to Dusty. A rich, famous man like Matt Trakker would make a good target for terrorists, or even just ordinary kidnappers. But Matt shook his head.
"They're not after me. They want this," he said patting the briefcase. "They don't even know who I am. I hope," he added under his breath.
"Must be pretty important," Dusty commented.
"In their hands, it could be a deadly weapon," Matt said shuddering at the thought.
"Then we'd best not let them have it," the Texan said.
"You don't have to be involved in this, Dusty."
"Looks like I already am."
"These people are dangerous," Matt warned. "And they're awfully good at what they do."
"So am I," Dusty laughed, then added more seriously. "Look, I've been drivin' these streets for more'n a year now, Matt. I know them like the back of my hand. I can lose these folks, if you'll trust me?"
Matt smiled. The young man's confidence was infectious, and Matt certainly had no reason to doubt his skills. Without understanding exactly how or when it happened, Matt's fright had been turned to stimulation. He realized suddenly that he was starting to enjoy himself.
"Of course I trust you," he said. "You haven't lied to me yet."
Dusty threw back his head and laughed.
Switchblade landed in front of the pizza truck, blocking the road. Manta and Piranha closed from the rear. Dusty calculated the narrowing margin of safety with a trained eye.
"Then let's give these owlhoots a drivin' lesson, Dusty style!"
He wrenched the wheel aside. The pizza truck seemed to leap from the roadway, bounding away cross country. Manta and Piranha skidded to an astonished halt. Then all three Venom vehicles took off after him.
Matt set his jaw to stop his teeth rattling and held on tight as the truck picked up speed on the downward slope. He saw they were headed for a stretch of the 405 Freeway that wound into the San Fernando Valley.
"Isn't there a fence along there?" he asked.
"Sure is," Dusty confirmed.
Matt decided not to ask.
The engine roar took on a whining note as if overloading. It coughed.
Dusty did something complicated with gears, choke, accelerator to smooth out the sound.
And all the time he murmured sympathetically, "C'mon, baby. I know you're not built for this, but you wouldn't let ol' Dusty down, would you? After I bought you that air filter, and those spark plugs?"
Matt didn't believe it when he heard the whine give way to a purr.
"That's my baby," the Texan crooned. "Remember the little engine. 'I think I can. I think I can'."
The purr redeveloped into a full-throated roar.
Matt shook his head at his imaginings. It was silly to think the truck understood Dusty. The man was just vocalizing as he manipulated the controls to get the most out of an engine he'd obviously tuned himself. That's all it was, Matt told himself, but he marveled that a pizza truck could take the strain of this cross-country chase.
"I sure hope Ol' Man Hopkins' neighbors haven't made him see the light yet," Dusty said aloud to himself, or maybe to the truck.
Dusty didn't need to worry. The pile of trash next to the freeway fence had reached epic, almost legendary, proportions. Not his neighbors, nor Caltrans, nor the city council could make Hopkins clean up his mini-dump, and everyone else was afraid to touch it. A mass of dead brush, two-by-fours and old boards, the trash pile formed an unsightly mess — and a ramp pointing at an angle up the freeway.
"You're not … "
"Sure am," Dusty answered.
He eased up on the accelerator, jollied the speed to just the point he wanted, and hit the ramp. It only gave a little, just enough to give him some spring, like a diving board.
The truck flew into the air over the fence and landed on the freeway shoulder as cars in the outer lane scrambled for safety toward the middle. The pizza truck slid smoothly into the traffic lane and headed north, as Dusty watched the rear view mirror.
Vanessa took the dare. Manta hit the ramp too fast and leaped into the middle of the freeway, skidding across the traffic lanes, sideswiping the center fence, before Vanessa straightened it out and headed after Dusty. Brakes screeched and threw sparks as innocently bystanding cars tried to avoid her mad entrance.
Rax didn't take dares. Besides, he always fell off Piranha when the cycle went airborne.
Lasers blasting, he ripped a hole in the fence, searing the paint of an unfortunate semi that happened to be in the way. The big rig driver yanked it out of the way as Rax burst through the hole he'd made and began weaving through the traffic.
Drivers tried to get out of the way of the three speeding lunatics, though Dusty tried not to endanger anyone else. Rax and Vanessa weren't so careful. They bulled their way through wherever there was a space, and sometimes where there wasn't.
"I'm getting tired of this game of tag," Rax complained.
He opened fire with his lasers. And got a rude surprise when the unarmed pizza truck fired back — or so it seemed.
The polished, quilted steel sides of the insulated truck were as good as mirrors for reflecting the beams of light. The quilting threw the blasts in all directions, up to singe Switchblade's underbelly, sideways through Manta's windshield to fry the seat between Dagger and Vanessa, and backwards to scorch the freeway pavement and make Piranha dance like a nervous horse.
"Rax!" screamed Vanessa, Dagger and Mayhem in unison.
"Okay, so that wasn't such a good idea," Rax admitted. "Anybody got a better one?"
"Yes, cut him off, you fool!"
Mayhem could see an interchange coming up. He wanted Rax and Vanessa close to the pizza truck, so they could take any ramp it did.
Dusty slipped into the left lane of the long, two-lane ramp, which went under the east-west Ventura Freeway, then up over the north-south 405. Rax and Vanessa dodged through the traffic to come up on Dusty's right, to keep him from taking the Ventura west. They wanted to box him in and make sure he could only head east.
"Got him," Vanessa said.
Dusty didn't know Buddy Hawks, but the Texan was in complete agreement with him on one thing. Dusty didn't like to be "got" either.
He dodged left, off the ramp just before it hit the tunnel. The heavy truck plowed through huge oleander bushes, plunging away from the interchange, back onto the 405 freeway he'd left moments before.
Caught in the right lane, cut off by other traffic, the Venom vehicles were in the tunnel before they could react. As they came up on the bridge, they brought their vehicles to a screeching halt, ignoring horn blasts and curses from the drivers behind them. Rax and Vanessa looked down and saw the pizza truck disappearing in the distance with Switchblade pursuing.
Mayhem sputtered angrily over the radio.
Rax removed his mask and slammed it down violently in Piranha's sidecar. He put his elbows on the handlebars and stared moodily after the truck.
Vanessa pulled her head back in Manta.
"See you around, Rax," she said.
Dusty and Matt studied the balked Venom vehicles in their mirrors.
"That's two down," Dusty said.
"You can't get rid of Vanessa that easy, cowboy," Matt warned.
"What's she gonna do? Fly?"
In the next installment:
Venom hunts from the air.
Dusty takes to the hills
And Mayhem loses his taste for pizza.