Post by oprahwindfury on May 26, 2015 17:11:45 GMT -5
NYC Flea Market
I’m Jamie Madrox, and this, this is far from Noir. Snarling, a Hummer-sized Flea crashes over tables, kiosks, huts, and every other booth of selling.
“More Ghostbusters.”
“Huh?” Madrox said.
“Oh,” Madrox began, shaking his head, and rolling his eyes.
“You’re the psychic dupe. Why didn’t you see this coming?”
“I can’t see the future I can only read minds.You knew that.”
“Knowing and recollecting aren’t the same.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really?” Madrox said, swiping an arm towards his mind-reading clone.
“You’re right.” The psychic dupe said.
“You know you can collect me, yet you can’t.”
“Guys.” A third dupe said.
“The Flea is like, killing stuff.”
“Some effort from you.”
“I helped..” The Apathetic dupe said; barely.
“Remember, Jamie-Prime. This only happened because you spread yourself too thin again.”
“Jamie-Prime? That’s way too sycophantic for you to ever call me.”
“Rarrgh!” CRASH!
Flea-Market Eating Flea, wings sputtering, it begins moving. Inches from the ground and then higher, as it looks to have more of a spring in its step than a hover.
“Stop it! Stop that thing, Mr. Madrox or else I’ll see you in court!” Shouted a small, balding man from Nepal named Bardi.
Bardi Denal. COO of the flea-market sellers board. He owns numerous kiosks across malls in the United States. He’s only recently begun moving his shops to flea-markets. Looking to Top Shop his way to millions in the vendor game.
“Small claims court. He doesn’t have money or know-how to really try and take us down.” Psychic dupe said.
“Yeah, but I really don’t exactly have the ability to pay rent on time either.”
“Mr. Madrox. I hired.”
“We hired.” Cried a woman from the mob, she and other shop owners have gathered. “Yes--we hired you to boost sales in at our establishments. Not to make a national incident out of it.”
“Guys. I got this. You’re being way too pessimistic, and those kinds of thoughts only end in more bad results. Stay positive, let the professionals handle it.” Jamie said, resting his arm over Bardi in a caring manner.
I’m such an ass. Positive thoughts got me here. Getting hired by this place--this den of consumerism to boost sales. I decided it was best to let the dupes out, giving each and every one a mission--the same mission; sell shit. Everyone had the same thing to say and do. Walk around in a disguise better than a fake mustache, shouting, This is literally the best deal ever!
“Why should we stop it if it’s leaving?” Apathetic Jamie added.
“You weren’t hired to do this!” Bardi said.
“Technically, I, wasn’t hired to do any of--” SMACK!
Jamie-Prime’s hand grabbing the head of his apathetic self, thrusting it downward, Non-caring Jamie absorbed back into him. Bright streaks of white and gold encompass the dupe and creator.
“He never fights getting absorbed.”
“Just like his master.” Said Bardi.
“Bardi. Bardi. Bardi.” Jamie said.
“You want to see me fight? I’ll show you how it’s done.” Madrox firmly places two fingers under his lip, letting out a flat note, instead of a large sharp dupe call.
“What was that? That was way too wet to be a whistle.” Psychic dupe said.
“I’ve sent out a mental call to the other dupes. You sure your plan is going to work?” “Course I’m sure. The best part of being the multiple man is the perspective I gain every time one of you guys returns home.”
Crashing and landing. Crashing and landing. Crashing and landing. The Flea-Market Eating Flea has devoured most of his surroundings, leaving an obvious trail of carnage of and footprints. Towering together, arms in legs in arms, the dupes have made a human pyramid, with Madrox Prime atop the 20 or so foot tower.
“Here it comes!” Shouted Bardi, the lone shop owner or customer remaining.
“Masks on!” Bardi and all of the Dupes, place a doctors mask just over their mouths, and arm over their faces. Each and everyone one unleashing a can of bug spray at the giant the Flea. A cloud billows slowly, making a green mist, which lingers its way into the Flea-Market Eating Flea’s vicinity. It hovers, coughing and falling. Wings expanding, it knocks back a whiff of bug spray; taking out the bottom portion of the tower. “Wha-Whoa!” Jamie said, tumbling backwards down the pyramid of himself, absorbing several along the way, making his fall all the harder. Popping from him, in a glow of light is a dupe. Just as Jamie making contact with a dupe can return it; hard enough contact with any surface can make one emerge.
“Ugh--That’s it, I’m done with small jobs. I gotta find either a real job or a team or find a way to make money, without constantly putting myself in the middle of peril.”
“I know you’d be bored.”
“I don’t care what you think, Psychic Jamie.”
“Jeez. I’m not psychic Jamie, though. I popped out when you hit the ground.”
“ Are you the only one left?” Jamie asked, being helped to his feet by his dupe. Taking in the sights and sounds of a Flea gone wild on a Flea Market, the dupe responds.
“Where are we?”
“Some shitty little flea-market in NYC.”
“You didn’t run around here shouting something over and over did you?”
“Me and about 20 or so other dupes.” Fingers pinching between his nose.
“Jesus, Jamie. Don’t you remember anything I brought back from my journey?”
“I send a lot of dupes out on journeys, and you, no matter how handsome you may be, you look just like all the rest.”
“I was sent to study all the cosmic anomalies in the world and the universe that I could find. It’s a tough gig for a guy who’s first thought before that was splitting time between dividing your attention to the things that need to be done.”
“The Literal Line. Placed here, on this very sidewalk.” The cosmic-knowing dupe said, pointing a finger towards the ground.
“The literal place where all the literal things in the world are stored. A single crack, where-”
“Several mother’s backs were broken.” Jamie quipped.
“No. Not quite so simple. It would’ve taken all of the dupes you assembled saying that to take effect.” I picked literally the worst course of action for this mission. And, I’ve been a total dickhead to my dupes. Not considering what I sent them out for once they’re gone. “So, You’re telling me that the reason this happened was Because I had my dupes run around and shout, this is literally the best deal ever!?”
“I believe so. Your combined will power along with the customer’s old and new found desires to buy things created a literal manifestation of this place; The Flea-Market Eating Flea.”
“Don’t tell the guy that hired us.”
Planet Ligra
Mandahal Star System
Milky Way Galaxy
Sunset bathes the landscape, cascading light across Glacelli Howkrum Mountains. Low in the basin, resting beneath their star’s glow is Ligra, capital city of the self-same nation. Up to his usual lot in life and not doing much of anything, Dragoon, as he was named by his Shaman at birth. A word meaning to drag someone into something. No definition could be more apt for him, or for his present predicament. Guarding a gate to their military base near the outskirts of town, extending into the Glacelli Howkrum Mountains. “Soldiers leave and soldiers die. I’m right here, not dieing. Not passing. Not existing in this war. Waiting on becoming an inevitable casualty.”
War has begun between the Dragon-Men of Ligra and the Deviants led by Ghaur. Dragoon has been stationed as the first warning call against any further attacks from Ghaur and his deviants.
“To think a war could begin over an STD. An STD I never contracted.” Dragoon said, pacing about the tiny watch room he’s been stationed in. Cameras around him, as well as a door way with an aperture to communicate with passing soldiers. He’s garbed in the common green of Infantry.
His sole responsibility as a scout/watchmen is to not die while telling the others they’re under attack.
“How could they all be so stupid? How could they all fall for a ruse as simple as Ghaur’s?” Arriving from space, with a vessel known as Lemuria, Ghaur, who at the time had disguised himself as a Queen of the Deviants by the same name. He assured the Dragon-Men that his name was very beautiful in his Deviant language.
“The king took him and his little bastard in. And he even slept with him, allowing Ghaur to alter his DNA.” Ghaur had left his homeland, after altering his own species DNA to the point that they could not live. He left, with his one perfect clone of himself, Lugner, just a baby at that time.
“One by one, he had sex with, and altered the DNA a quarter of the population. Creating little deviants along the way. I’m not staying here any longer and dealing with a war that isn’t mine.”
Dragoon is aware of all comings and goings from the Glacelli Howkrum Military outpost. He’s decided that today is his best time to leave the planet for good.
??Slowly, he watches the guard exchange outside the ship bay. Aware that Naz will leave for a snack once the guard he relived is off the clock. He works the later hours, and doesn’t think anything will come of it this late. He’s not all wrong. Dragoon is the only one who would enter the hangar, as it requires clearance. Clearance only someone from the Dragon-Man army would possess.
??Entering a small, single person plane, Dragoon opens the hatch, taxiing his ship on the runway as sirens begin blaring.
??“Naz. You had to watch this time. Too late for me to give up now!” Dragoon said, dropping the ignition into full gear and screaming from the outpost. Off-world to his destination of Earth. Naz had not caught Dragoon going AWOL. He would not be caught dead guarding the hangar, either. Instead, he was caught dead in the break room, overran by Deviants, who strolled past the former outpost of Dragoon.
S.C.U.M Labs (Scientists. Creating. Unique. Masterworks.)
NYC.
Johnathan Ohnn cannot wait. With giddiness not felt since he was a boy, or since the last time he did something first. And not a, man is this arduous first, flailing about like when he first bed his husband. No, It was a great first, an unexpected first. A first to call and tell the world about. Arms in sleeves, as with his legs. Zipping up the center, his Spot-Suit is complete. Johnathan has been working on this for his entire life. Setting the coordinates on his forearm, he plans on visiting the ghost town of Tombstone, Texas.
??In 1870 a contagion overran the population, decimating them and the wildlife surrounding the city. Cause for the massive outbreak is still unknown to this day. And only until this day. Johnathan Ohnn cinches on his helmet.
??“All systems online?” Johnathan asked.
??“Yes.”
??“All vitals good?”
??“Yes.”
??“Spot-Suit, repeat after me if you have the same coordinates. Tombstone, Texas, USA. 1870 AD.”
??“Yes...Detecting massive areas--”
??“I know. That’s why I wanna go there.”
??“Launching...”
Tombstone, Texas
1867
??“Mama. Can we get outta here?”
??“Why, Matthew, we only just got to the city.” Said his mother.
??Matthew and his mother have rode into town from their house on the outskirts. Each on horseback, Matthew has an uneasy feeling about this. “You’ve been begging me all week to get to the city so you can catch outlaws.”
??“I’m a kid, Ma. I’m not gonna catch any vagrants.”
??“Heh--It’s so cute when you talk like that.”
??“’Fraid talkin’ is all I’m good for.” Matthew said.
??Their progress halts, both horses nay, forcing mother and son to rise, then settle their steeds.
??“You will no longer oppress me or my people. Your ruler. The president of this land has set us free and if you will not let us be free--” He was cut off, getting shoved to the ground.
??“Nigger. I didn’t hear you right? Did you just say that Lincoln is my President?” An aging Haitian man, a witch doctor. A man who has had enough. He’s watched both his sons be slain by this Sheriff. Both of his boys who fought alongside white-men and saved their lives during the Civil War.
??He was not meant to be treated as a lower-class, as “Less than dirt is all you treat me and others.” He said, scooping powder from his waste and dirt from the ground.
??“Less than dirt is what we shall all become.” He said, ingesting the dirt and powder. “Savage.” Deputy said.
“What the hell’s that nigger doing?”
“Let’s leave the King of Africa to his dinner.” Said the Sheriff turning away. Popping before him, as he attempted to enter the saloon. The Witch Doctor expels spit.
“Ah--what the fuck? He fucking spit in my face?” Without remorse or order, the deputies fire their pistols. Felling the witch doctor, completing his spell. Wiping off the eyes of the sheriff,
“Sir, we took care of’em.” Red eyes, purple lips, and whiter skin, the Sheriff takes a bite from his deputy.
“Matthew! Matthew! The store can wait--we gotta get home.”
“Right behind you!” Said Matthew.
Although just a teenager, Matthew has seen his fair share of death, but nothing like this.
Tombstone, Texas
1870
“Let me out! Let me out or at least kill me!” Matthew Hawkins screamed. Fist bloody, pounding at the barrier preventing him from leaving his city. 3 years is a long time to survive on beer, old bread, and vegetables he’s grown on the rooftops. He would have slayed and killed animals, but they’re all infected too. Dropping to his knees and pounding, Matthew may finally be giving up.
“What did I do? What did my Ma do to deserve this?”
He’s fought off the temptation to become them. The endless. He started calling them that as they always come in a swarm, like the endless night he faces. Lone star in Tombstone, Texas. Matthew Hawkins has come to this. He’s chosen to become endless, and if he’s going to die here, he may as well rest in peace. He slides to his feet, marching slowly, while drawing his twin-pistols from his side. He’s got to ensure that whomever he does ingest is good and dead. He’s put in a lot of thought. Trying to decide who would taste good and who wouldn’t. To eat it raw or cooked or if that would even matter. Does it have a taste?
POOF!
“Confirm coordinates.”
“Tombstone, Texas, USA 1870. Threat levels high. Chance of becoming infected are very high.”
“Looks like 1870 was too late. No reason to not celebrate, though. I just fucking time-traveled.” Johnathan Ohnn takes a moment, allowing the dust to settle, and his surroundings to sink in.
“Jesus. This place is a...”
“Tombstone.” Matt Hawkins said, firing a shot at Johnathan Ohnn.
“Uh--Dodge, or something”
“You can move on your own.” The bullet veers from Johnathan Ohnn.
“Dammit! I thought I fixed it from doing that.” Hawkins said. Looking at his jammed gun. He’s adjusted it to increase the accuracy of his shot. Occasionally though, his bullets veer in one direction, instead of crossing and confusing his target as intended.
“A survivor? This is great. What happened?” Ohnn said, waving from the ground at Hawkins.
“I ain’t falling for this one. You’re one’a the endless, right? Ain’t cha?”
“Endless? No. I’m here to help. To get you out of here?” Hawkins begins walking towards him.
“Get me outta here? How the hell do ya plan on doing that?” Hawkins asked, gun-raised at eye-level.
“I can, but you have to help me.”
“Heard it before.” Hawkins said, firing a bullet at Ohnn.
“Spot.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere! I’m gonna get shot.”
“Yeah, not just one gun, but two, cause you’re messing with the Two-Gun Kidd, and no one leaves alive!” Stream of six bullets, crossing one another in paths.
“The trajectories of his bullets are going to be off, Johnathan.”
“You’re a computer from the future and these bullets are super heavy. Which means if they even knick the Spot-Suit I could be trapped here. Open a Spot, now!” Demanded Johnathan Ohnn.
An opal-shaped black hole is generated, his bullets zing through. Spot is quick in opening another portal, dropping the bullets behind Two-Gun Kidd, who gets hit with the sound of the shots emerging.
“Arghh! My ears.” Ringing is all Hawkins hears, covering his aching earlobes with his gun-clenched fists. The bullets still moving with some momentum, collide into the forearm of Spot, sending sparks into the air.
“Aghh Dammit! Can you take me home?” Hearing recovering at a very good rate, Matthew Hawkins is aggravated, and not going to let this kill escape him. He’s never allowed any body else to leave, so why start now.
“You are home. Welcome to Tombstone, Texas!” Walking slowly while reloading.
“I came here to help you, you asshole. Not to get shot at and potentially stranded in the past!”
“Coordina--Coordina”
“C’mon you stupid thing, work! Get me--” Two-Gun Kidd covers his face,Johnathan Ohnn created a spot portal big enough to envelop both of them.
Lykos & Whedon Attornies at Law
NYC
“S.C.U.M” Evangeline Whedon groaned, lifting her head from her desk.
??“It’s gonna be fine. We’re lawyers, Vange. We’re gonna be good regardless of the outcome.” Karl Lykos said. Standing above her in their office, hand resting on her back. “That part doesn’t bother you? I can’t even look at the evidence without getting sick.”
??“You shouldn’t.” Said Karl, pulling gruesome photos from her hand. Evangeline is a hemophiliac. The merest sight of blood induces a panic attack, forcing Evangeline to pass out.
??“You don’t need to make yourself sick over this. This will all blow over.”
??“I’m terrified to say that I wish I had your stomach, but I don’t.” In the past three weeks there have been a string of disappearances. Bodies vanishing from one crime scene to another. The bodies have been tracked back to S.C.U.M Labs and.
??“Dr. Victor Frankenstein. He’s our client. No matter what he’s done. It’s our civic duty to defend him.”
??“And the other guy?”
??“Johnathan Ohnn. His isn’t so bad. He saved a guy from a diseased city trapped in time.”
??“Even though he put Matthew Hawkins into shock when he came to the future.” “Even though, yes. He still didn’t do anything bad. Matthew Hawkins needs to be kept under observation until we know he’s cured--or safe.”
??“See, you do care. You really should have been a doctor.”
??“Then we couldn’t spend all this time together.” Karl said sneaking in and snagging a kiss.
??“I know.”
??“You’re cold-blooded, Evangeline.”
??“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Frankenstein Manor
NYC
Weeks Ago
Tweeting in harmony, the birds do sing as they have before. Trapped in their cages, seeking the experience of communication. Even if it is, at its best the basest form of human language. Told through the poetry of music, emanating from the happy chorus of birds. Victor’s wife, Elizabeth sits, listening.
??“Victor, this is wonderful. They’re singing my favorite song. How did you find the time to teach them this?” She said, hugging him in a warm embrace. This gesture was enough she was sure. Enough to quell the stench that had become their interactions. All the moments of passing him in their own home. Petrified of discovering what he’s working on. She’s know his work for S.C.U.M Labs is important and must be completed. Smiling deeply, he forces the separation with his words, not his touch.
??“Teaching them was simple. All that needed to be done was finding every species of bird that could be taught to sing and then allowing them to learn at their own pace the favorite songs of my love.”
??“You’re amazing, Victor.”
??“Please. I may be amazing.” He said, unclinching from the hug.
??“These birds were not. It took me months. And the last three appeared to have never heard music before. Tone-Deaf birds, that’s what I’ve had to deal with. And for what?” Heated at his last words, Victor’s demeanor changes, as Elizabeth has begun cowering. “For you, my lady.”
??“Victor. Perhaps you need a night off from this. From your work. To ease things on your mind.”
“A break. Your birds were my break. Your perfumes are my breaks. My work must resume!” He said, throwing up a dismissive hand.
??“But, Victor. We need to have fun, like we used to. To go out--”
“Enough. I’m going to continue working.” He said, returning to his work station.
“If you’re going to stay in here can you--” Elizabeth slams the door on her way out of the home.
“Lock the door and close the windows.” Victor said.
Hours that seem like minutes pass. Victor is deep in his work, watching the tissues of the human body react as they have to cloning; negativity. He can’t find anything willing to adapt to his theories. To grow and allow appendages to be returned. Humans and all animals should be capable of health regeneration. An idea that has seen him turned away from the medical field, and forcing him into the hands of S.C.U.M. A clandestine organization, the only one wiling to support scientists with radical ideas on the world and universe.
Victor had hoped his research wouldn’t come to this. His research had already come so far. Winding the dial, the police scanner turns on, a 187 near here.
?? “The perfect spot for a fresh sample. Fresh samples are the only thing I’ve been able to get to react to my studies.”
??In a flash of lighting, Victor takes no time in placing on his rescue worker attire. He looks the part, he tells himself, slipping on his driving gloves and nametag. S.C.U.M will go to any lengths to please their personnel,including supplying Victor with an Ambulance, police scanner and all the goodies for collecting human parts. The last few times he’d stolen just and arm or a leg or an ear. This time he would need samples.
West Side Highway
NYC
KRAKOOM!
Quarter-sized rain drops fall as Elizabeth Frankenstein drives her car home from dinner. It was, as it always is; dinner with friends. Lyla and Ezra are sure to dish about their boyfriends. Neither wanting to spill more than puns over fish. She enjoys their company, and wishes she’d taken them up on their offer of a ride home. She’s beginning to grow weary, red-wine washing away her motor skills.
Pulling alongside the overpass, rain reflecting his brights. He stops, calling in the pick up on his scanner. Something he’s sure they’re onto at this point. A Hubcap spins away from the car, now coming to view under heavy rain.
“Elizabeth?” He asked, perplexed, hoping his instincts were wrong. Several cars pass alongside the road, slowing, splashing water at him. Cranking their necks as he is, to see the damage done.
“Elizabeth!” He said. Reaching into the window, mangled face of his wife staring back, her waist being cut by an unbuckled seat belt. He places two fingers upon her neck, feeling the pulse beat back at him.
“Victor..”
“Shh! You’re weak, but I can fix you.” Victor said, leaning into the car.
He carefully pulls her seatbelt from her cut, where supported by broken glass it had begun digging into stomach. Blood spills, organs show, her breathing increases. More cars pass, craning their necks, and wheels as well, smacking into her car. Body partially removed from the car, Elizabeth is whipped to shredded wheat by the fender-bender. Victor falls onto the road, holding onto the top portion of his wife.
??“Elizabeth. No!” He said crawling, watching the life exit her.
??“I”m going to find you, all of you, and make you whole again, Elizabeth!” He screamed, torrent falling on his head from the skies above.
I’m Jamie Madrox, and this, this is far from Noir. Snarling, a Hummer-sized Flea crashes over tables, kiosks, huts, and every other booth of selling.
“More Ghostbusters.”
“Huh?” Madrox said.
“Oh,” Madrox began, shaking his head, and rolling his eyes.
“You’re the psychic dupe. Why didn’t you see this coming?”
“I can’t see the future I can only read minds.You knew that.”
“Knowing and recollecting aren’t the same.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really?” Madrox said, swiping an arm towards his mind-reading clone.
“You’re right.” The psychic dupe said.
“You know you can collect me, yet you can’t.”
“Guys.” A third dupe said.
“The Flea is like, killing stuff.”
“Some effort from you.”
“I helped..” The Apathetic dupe said; barely.
“Remember, Jamie-Prime. This only happened because you spread yourself too thin again.”
“Jamie-Prime? That’s way too sycophantic for you to ever call me.”
“Rarrgh!” CRASH!
Flea-Market Eating Flea, wings sputtering, it begins moving. Inches from the ground and then higher, as it looks to have more of a spring in its step than a hover.
“Stop it! Stop that thing, Mr. Madrox or else I’ll see you in court!” Shouted a small, balding man from Nepal named Bardi.
Bardi Denal. COO of the flea-market sellers board. He owns numerous kiosks across malls in the United States. He’s only recently begun moving his shops to flea-markets. Looking to Top Shop his way to millions in the vendor game.
“Small claims court. He doesn’t have money or know-how to really try and take us down.” Psychic dupe said.
“Yeah, but I really don’t exactly have the ability to pay rent on time either.”
“Mr. Madrox. I hired.”
“We hired.” Cried a woman from the mob, she and other shop owners have gathered. “Yes--we hired you to boost sales in at our establishments. Not to make a national incident out of it.”
“Guys. I got this. You’re being way too pessimistic, and those kinds of thoughts only end in more bad results. Stay positive, let the professionals handle it.” Jamie said, resting his arm over Bardi in a caring manner.
I’m such an ass. Positive thoughts got me here. Getting hired by this place--this den of consumerism to boost sales. I decided it was best to let the dupes out, giving each and every one a mission--the same mission; sell shit. Everyone had the same thing to say and do. Walk around in a disguise better than a fake mustache, shouting, This is literally the best deal ever!
“Why should we stop it if it’s leaving?” Apathetic Jamie added.
“You weren’t hired to do this!” Bardi said.
“Technically, I, wasn’t hired to do any of--” SMACK!
Jamie-Prime’s hand grabbing the head of his apathetic self, thrusting it downward, Non-caring Jamie absorbed back into him. Bright streaks of white and gold encompass the dupe and creator.
“He never fights getting absorbed.”
“Just like his master.” Said Bardi.
“Bardi. Bardi. Bardi.” Jamie said.
“You want to see me fight? I’ll show you how it’s done.” Madrox firmly places two fingers under his lip, letting out a flat note, instead of a large sharp dupe call.
“What was that? That was way too wet to be a whistle.” Psychic dupe said.
“I’ve sent out a mental call to the other dupes. You sure your plan is going to work?” “Course I’m sure. The best part of being the multiple man is the perspective I gain every time one of you guys returns home.”
Crashing and landing. Crashing and landing. Crashing and landing. The Flea-Market Eating Flea has devoured most of his surroundings, leaving an obvious trail of carnage of and footprints. Towering together, arms in legs in arms, the dupes have made a human pyramid, with Madrox Prime atop the 20 or so foot tower.
“Here it comes!” Shouted Bardi, the lone shop owner or customer remaining.
“Masks on!” Bardi and all of the Dupes, place a doctors mask just over their mouths, and arm over their faces. Each and everyone one unleashing a can of bug spray at the giant the Flea. A cloud billows slowly, making a green mist, which lingers its way into the Flea-Market Eating Flea’s vicinity. It hovers, coughing and falling. Wings expanding, it knocks back a whiff of bug spray; taking out the bottom portion of the tower. “Wha-Whoa!” Jamie said, tumbling backwards down the pyramid of himself, absorbing several along the way, making his fall all the harder. Popping from him, in a glow of light is a dupe. Just as Jamie making contact with a dupe can return it; hard enough contact with any surface can make one emerge.
“Ugh--That’s it, I’m done with small jobs. I gotta find either a real job or a team or find a way to make money, without constantly putting myself in the middle of peril.”
“I know you’d be bored.”
“I don’t care what you think, Psychic Jamie.”
“Jeez. I’m not psychic Jamie, though. I popped out when you hit the ground.”
“ Are you the only one left?” Jamie asked, being helped to his feet by his dupe. Taking in the sights and sounds of a Flea gone wild on a Flea Market, the dupe responds.
“Where are we?”
“Some shitty little flea-market in NYC.”
“You didn’t run around here shouting something over and over did you?”
“Me and about 20 or so other dupes.” Fingers pinching between his nose.
“Jesus, Jamie. Don’t you remember anything I brought back from my journey?”
“I send a lot of dupes out on journeys, and you, no matter how handsome you may be, you look just like all the rest.”
“I was sent to study all the cosmic anomalies in the world and the universe that I could find. It’s a tough gig for a guy who’s first thought before that was splitting time between dividing your attention to the things that need to be done.”
“The Literal Line. Placed here, on this very sidewalk.” The cosmic-knowing dupe said, pointing a finger towards the ground.
“The literal place where all the literal things in the world are stored. A single crack, where-”
“Several mother’s backs were broken.” Jamie quipped.
“No. Not quite so simple. It would’ve taken all of the dupes you assembled saying that to take effect.” I picked literally the worst course of action for this mission. And, I’ve been a total dickhead to my dupes. Not considering what I sent them out for once they’re gone. “So, You’re telling me that the reason this happened was Because I had my dupes run around and shout, this is literally the best deal ever!?”
“I believe so. Your combined will power along with the customer’s old and new found desires to buy things created a literal manifestation of this place; The Flea-Market Eating Flea.”
“Don’t tell the guy that hired us.”
Planet Ligra
Mandahal Star System
Milky Way Galaxy
Sunset bathes the landscape, cascading light across Glacelli Howkrum Mountains. Low in the basin, resting beneath their star’s glow is Ligra, capital city of the self-same nation. Up to his usual lot in life and not doing much of anything, Dragoon, as he was named by his Shaman at birth. A word meaning to drag someone into something. No definition could be more apt for him, or for his present predicament. Guarding a gate to their military base near the outskirts of town, extending into the Glacelli Howkrum Mountains. “Soldiers leave and soldiers die. I’m right here, not dieing. Not passing. Not existing in this war. Waiting on becoming an inevitable casualty.”
War has begun between the Dragon-Men of Ligra and the Deviants led by Ghaur. Dragoon has been stationed as the first warning call against any further attacks from Ghaur and his deviants.
“To think a war could begin over an STD. An STD I never contracted.” Dragoon said, pacing about the tiny watch room he’s been stationed in. Cameras around him, as well as a door way with an aperture to communicate with passing soldiers. He’s garbed in the common green of Infantry.
His sole responsibility as a scout/watchmen is to not die while telling the others they’re under attack.
“How could they all be so stupid? How could they all fall for a ruse as simple as Ghaur’s?” Arriving from space, with a vessel known as Lemuria, Ghaur, who at the time had disguised himself as a Queen of the Deviants by the same name. He assured the Dragon-Men that his name was very beautiful in his Deviant language.
“The king took him and his little bastard in. And he even slept with him, allowing Ghaur to alter his DNA.” Ghaur had left his homeland, after altering his own species DNA to the point that they could not live. He left, with his one perfect clone of himself, Lugner, just a baby at that time.
“One by one, he had sex with, and altered the DNA a quarter of the population. Creating little deviants along the way. I’m not staying here any longer and dealing with a war that isn’t mine.”
Dragoon is aware of all comings and goings from the Glacelli Howkrum Military outpost. He’s decided that today is his best time to leave the planet for good.
??Slowly, he watches the guard exchange outside the ship bay. Aware that Naz will leave for a snack once the guard he relived is off the clock. He works the later hours, and doesn’t think anything will come of it this late. He’s not all wrong. Dragoon is the only one who would enter the hangar, as it requires clearance. Clearance only someone from the Dragon-Man army would possess.
??Entering a small, single person plane, Dragoon opens the hatch, taxiing his ship on the runway as sirens begin blaring.
??“Naz. You had to watch this time. Too late for me to give up now!” Dragoon said, dropping the ignition into full gear and screaming from the outpost. Off-world to his destination of Earth. Naz had not caught Dragoon going AWOL. He would not be caught dead guarding the hangar, either. Instead, he was caught dead in the break room, overran by Deviants, who strolled past the former outpost of Dragoon.
S.C.U.M Labs (Scientists. Creating. Unique. Masterworks.)
NYC.
Johnathan Ohnn cannot wait. With giddiness not felt since he was a boy, or since the last time he did something first. And not a, man is this arduous first, flailing about like when he first bed his husband. No, It was a great first, an unexpected first. A first to call and tell the world about. Arms in sleeves, as with his legs. Zipping up the center, his Spot-Suit is complete. Johnathan has been working on this for his entire life. Setting the coordinates on his forearm, he plans on visiting the ghost town of Tombstone, Texas.
??In 1870 a contagion overran the population, decimating them and the wildlife surrounding the city. Cause for the massive outbreak is still unknown to this day. And only until this day. Johnathan Ohnn cinches on his helmet.
??“All systems online?” Johnathan asked.
??“Yes.”
??“All vitals good?”
??“Yes.”
??“Spot-Suit, repeat after me if you have the same coordinates. Tombstone, Texas, USA. 1870 AD.”
??“Yes...Detecting massive areas--”
??“I know. That’s why I wanna go there.”
??“Launching...”
Tombstone, Texas
1867
??“Mama. Can we get outta here?”
??“Why, Matthew, we only just got to the city.” Said his mother.
??Matthew and his mother have rode into town from their house on the outskirts. Each on horseback, Matthew has an uneasy feeling about this. “You’ve been begging me all week to get to the city so you can catch outlaws.”
??“I’m a kid, Ma. I’m not gonna catch any vagrants.”
??“Heh--It’s so cute when you talk like that.”
??“’Fraid talkin’ is all I’m good for.” Matthew said.
??Their progress halts, both horses nay, forcing mother and son to rise, then settle their steeds.
??“You will no longer oppress me or my people. Your ruler. The president of this land has set us free and if you will not let us be free--” He was cut off, getting shoved to the ground.
??“Nigger. I didn’t hear you right? Did you just say that Lincoln is my President?” An aging Haitian man, a witch doctor. A man who has had enough. He’s watched both his sons be slain by this Sheriff. Both of his boys who fought alongside white-men and saved their lives during the Civil War.
??He was not meant to be treated as a lower-class, as “Less than dirt is all you treat me and others.” He said, scooping powder from his waste and dirt from the ground.
??“Less than dirt is what we shall all become.” He said, ingesting the dirt and powder. “Savage.” Deputy said.
“What the hell’s that nigger doing?”
“Let’s leave the King of Africa to his dinner.” Said the Sheriff turning away. Popping before him, as he attempted to enter the saloon. The Witch Doctor expels spit.
“Ah--what the fuck? He fucking spit in my face?” Without remorse or order, the deputies fire their pistols. Felling the witch doctor, completing his spell. Wiping off the eyes of the sheriff,
“Sir, we took care of’em.” Red eyes, purple lips, and whiter skin, the Sheriff takes a bite from his deputy.
“Matthew! Matthew! The store can wait--we gotta get home.”
“Right behind you!” Said Matthew.
Although just a teenager, Matthew has seen his fair share of death, but nothing like this.
Tombstone, Texas
1870
“Let me out! Let me out or at least kill me!” Matthew Hawkins screamed. Fist bloody, pounding at the barrier preventing him from leaving his city. 3 years is a long time to survive on beer, old bread, and vegetables he’s grown on the rooftops. He would have slayed and killed animals, but they’re all infected too. Dropping to his knees and pounding, Matthew may finally be giving up.
“What did I do? What did my Ma do to deserve this?”
He’s fought off the temptation to become them. The endless. He started calling them that as they always come in a swarm, like the endless night he faces. Lone star in Tombstone, Texas. Matthew Hawkins has come to this. He’s chosen to become endless, and if he’s going to die here, he may as well rest in peace. He slides to his feet, marching slowly, while drawing his twin-pistols from his side. He’s got to ensure that whomever he does ingest is good and dead. He’s put in a lot of thought. Trying to decide who would taste good and who wouldn’t. To eat it raw or cooked or if that would even matter. Does it have a taste?
POOF!
“Confirm coordinates.”
“Tombstone, Texas, USA 1870. Threat levels high. Chance of becoming infected are very high.”
“Looks like 1870 was too late. No reason to not celebrate, though. I just fucking time-traveled.” Johnathan Ohnn takes a moment, allowing the dust to settle, and his surroundings to sink in.
“Jesus. This place is a...”
“Tombstone.” Matt Hawkins said, firing a shot at Johnathan Ohnn.
“Uh--Dodge, or something”
“You can move on your own.” The bullet veers from Johnathan Ohnn.
“Dammit! I thought I fixed it from doing that.” Hawkins said. Looking at his jammed gun. He’s adjusted it to increase the accuracy of his shot. Occasionally though, his bullets veer in one direction, instead of crossing and confusing his target as intended.
“A survivor? This is great. What happened?” Ohnn said, waving from the ground at Hawkins.
“I ain’t falling for this one. You’re one’a the endless, right? Ain’t cha?”
“Endless? No. I’m here to help. To get you out of here?” Hawkins begins walking towards him.
“Get me outta here? How the hell do ya plan on doing that?” Hawkins asked, gun-raised at eye-level.
“I can, but you have to help me.”
“Heard it before.” Hawkins said, firing a bullet at Ohnn.
“Spot.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere! I’m gonna get shot.”
“Yeah, not just one gun, but two, cause you’re messing with the Two-Gun Kidd, and no one leaves alive!” Stream of six bullets, crossing one another in paths.
“The trajectories of his bullets are going to be off, Johnathan.”
“You’re a computer from the future and these bullets are super heavy. Which means if they even knick the Spot-Suit I could be trapped here. Open a Spot, now!” Demanded Johnathan Ohnn.
An opal-shaped black hole is generated, his bullets zing through. Spot is quick in opening another portal, dropping the bullets behind Two-Gun Kidd, who gets hit with the sound of the shots emerging.
“Arghh! My ears.” Ringing is all Hawkins hears, covering his aching earlobes with his gun-clenched fists. The bullets still moving with some momentum, collide into the forearm of Spot, sending sparks into the air.
“Aghh Dammit! Can you take me home?” Hearing recovering at a very good rate, Matthew Hawkins is aggravated, and not going to let this kill escape him. He’s never allowed any body else to leave, so why start now.
“You are home. Welcome to Tombstone, Texas!” Walking slowly while reloading.
“I came here to help you, you asshole. Not to get shot at and potentially stranded in the past!”
“Coordina--Coordina”
“C’mon you stupid thing, work! Get me--” Two-Gun Kidd covers his face,Johnathan Ohnn created a spot portal big enough to envelop both of them.
Lykos & Whedon Attornies at Law
NYC
“S.C.U.M” Evangeline Whedon groaned, lifting her head from her desk.
??“It’s gonna be fine. We’re lawyers, Vange. We’re gonna be good regardless of the outcome.” Karl Lykos said. Standing above her in their office, hand resting on her back. “That part doesn’t bother you? I can’t even look at the evidence without getting sick.”
??“You shouldn’t.” Said Karl, pulling gruesome photos from her hand. Evangeline is a hemophiliac. The merest sight of blood induces a panic attack, forcing Evangeline to pass out.
??“You don’t need to make yourself sick over this. This will all blow over.”
??“I’m terrified to say that I wish I had your stomach, but I don’t.” In the past three weeks there have been a string of disappearances. Bodies vanishing from one crime scene to another. The bodies have been tracked back to S.C.U.M Labs and.
??“Dr. Victor Frankenstein. He’s our client. No matter what he’s done. It’s our civic duty to defend him.”
??“And the other guy?”
??“Johnathan Ohnn. His isn’t so bad. He saved a guy from a diseased city trapped in time.”
??“Even though he put Matthew Hawkins into shock when he came to the future.” “Even though, yes. He still didn’t do anything bad. Matthew Hawkins needs to be kept under observation until we know he’s cured--or safe.”
??“See, you do care. You really should have been a doctor.”
??“Then we couldn’t spend all this time together.” Karl said sneaking in and snagging a kiss.
??“I know.”
??“You’re cold-blooded, Evangeline.”
??“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Frankenstein Manor
NYC
Weeks Ago
Tweeting in harmony, the birds do sing as they have before. Trapped in their cages, seeking the experience of communication. Even if it is, at its best the basest form of human language. Told through the poetry of music, emanating from the happy chorus of birds. Victor’s wife, Elizabeth sits, listening.
??“Victor, this is wonderful. They’re singing my favorite song. How did you find the time to teach them this?” She said, hugging him in a warm embrace. This gesture was enough she was sure. Enough to quell the stench that had become their interactions. All the moments of passing him in their own home. Petrified of discovering what he’s working on. She’s know his work for S.C.U.M Labs is important and must be completed. Smiling deeply, he forces the separation with his words, not his touch.
??“Teaching them was simple. All that needed to be done was finding every species of bird that could be taught to sing and then allowing them to learn at their own pace the favorite songs of my love.”
??“You’re amazing, Victor.”
??“Please. I may be amazing.” He said, unclinching from the hug.
??“These birds were not. It took me months. And the last three appeared to have never heard music before. Tone-Deaf birds, that’s what I’ve had to deal with. And for what?” Heated at his last words, Victor’s demeanor changes, as Elizabeth has begun cowering. “For you, my lady.”
??“Victor. Perhaps you need a night off from this. From your work. To ease things on your mind.”
“A break. Your birds were my break. Your perfumes are my breaks. My work must resume!” He said, throwing up a dismissive hand.
??“But, Victor. We need to have fun, like we used to. To go out--”
“Enough. I’m going to continue working.” He said, returning to his work station.
“If you’re going to stay in here can you--” Elizabeth slams the door on her way out of the home.
“Lock the door and close the windows.” Victor said.
Hours that seem like minutes pass. Victor is deep in his work, watching the tissues of the human body react as they have to cloning; negativity. He can’t find anything willing to adapt to his theories. To grow and allow appendages to be returned. Humans and all animals should be capable of health regeneration. An idea that has seen him turned away from the medical field, and forcing him into the hands of S.C.U.M. A clandestine organization, the only one wiling to support scientists with radical ideas on the world and universe.
Victor had hoped his research wouldn’t come to this. His research had already come so far. Winding the dial, the police scanner turns on, a 187 near here.
?? “The perfect spot for a fresh sample. Fresh samples are the only thing I’ve been able to get to react to my studies.”
??In a flash of lighting, Victor takes no time in placing on his rescue worker attire. He looks the part, he tells himself, slipping on his driving gloves and nametag. S.C.U.M will go to any lengths to please their personnel,including supplying Victor with an Ambulance, police scanner and all the goodies for collecting human parts. The last few times he’d stolen just and arm or a leg or an ear. This time he would need samples.
West Side Highway
NYC
KRAKOOM!
Quarter-sized rain drops fall as Elizabeth Frankenstein drives her car home from dinner. It was, as it always is; dinner with friends. Lyla and Ezra are sure to dish about their boyfriends. Neither wanting to spill more than puns over fish. She enjoys their company, and wishes she’d taken them up on their offer of a ride home. She’s beginning to grow weary, red-wine washing away her motor skills.
Pulling alongside the overpass, rain reflecting his brights. He stops, calling in the pick up on his scanner. Something he’s sure they’re onto at this point. A Hubcap spins away from the car, now coming to view under heavy rain.
“Elizabeth?” He asked, perplexed, hoping his instincts were wrong. Several cars pass alongside the road, slowing, splashing water at him. Cranking their necks as he is, to see the damage done.
“Elizabeth!” He said. Reaching into the window, mangled face of his wife staring back, her waist being cut by an unbuckled seat belt. He places two fingers upon her neck, feeling the pulse beat back at him.
“Victor..”
“Shh! You’re weak, but I can fix you.” Victor said, leaning into the car.
He carefully pulls her seatbelt from her cut, where supported by broken glass it had begun digging into stomach. Blood spills, organs show, her breathing increases. More cars pass, craning their necks, and wheels as well, smacking into her car. Body partially removed from the car, Elizabeth is whipped to shredded wheat by the fender-bender. Victor falls onto the road, holding onto the top portion of his wife.
??“Elizabeth. No!” He said crawling, watching the life exit her.
??“I”m going to find you, all of you, and make you whole again, Elizabeth!” He screamed, torrent falling on his head from the skies above.