Post by DiscipleofBob on Oct 23, 2015 23:24:33 GMT -5
Agents of SHIELD #12:
Highway to Hell
Highway to Hell
A lone motorcycle sped across Route 66, pulling off the highway to stop at the Eagles Diner, a small greasy spoon twenty miles from the nearest gas station. Other cars kept driving, since the diner was now as it was often populated with a pack of Harleys positioned out front, decorated with the logos of the Hell's Angels. The diner was a favorite hangout for this chapter, and the business and protection the gang brought in more than outweighed the lack of disgruntled tourists eating there.
This lone motorcycle was not one of the Hells Angels, and it immediately drew their attention. The sound of the unfamiliar engine was enough to turn heads, and the man in the blue motorcycle jacket and helmet getting off and headed inside was starting to draw crowds. The biker stepped up and sat down at the bar, keeping a polite distance but otherwise paying the staring crowd no mind. He grabbed and perused a nearby menu.
A middle-aged waitress walked up with notepad in hand. "What'll you be havin', hon?"
Steve Rogers unhooked his helmet and placed it on the counter alongside the menu. "I actually can't stay long, so a cup of joe, black, and if you wouldn't mind a slice of that apple pie," he replied, pointing at the small glass tray.
"Comin' right up." It didn't take much prep. She cut a slice from the serving dish and put a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top before putting it on the counter in front of him before pouring the coffee.
Rogers pulled out a small road map from his jacket pocket and studied it while he sipped his coffee.
A heavyset Hells Angel sat next to him, his face concealed in a thick, unkempt beard and sunglasses. "Nice bike you got out there. Where'd you get your hands on a replica like that?"
"Replica?" Rogers shook his head before correcting. "Actually, she's a restoration."
"It's the best damn restoration I've ever seen for a 1945 Harley Davidson W-Series Custom Special," said the biker, wondering if the bike's owner was just boasting so he could brag about his antique motorcycle.
"Close. 1939 actually, and yeah, she's aged well. Hasn't seen a lot of miles the past few decades but she still runs like a dream."
Even though it was through the glass of the diner windows, the biker took a closer look from afar. As a motorcycle aficionado, a second look pointed out certain parts that weren't used after 1940, confirming Rogers's claim for him. Now he was legitimately impressed. "Never thought I'd see one of those outside of a museum."
"It's be a shame to keep anything that still works locked in a display case," Rogers replied with a smile, inwardly appreciating his own irony.
"Can't argue with that," the biker chuckled before looking down at the map in Rogers's hand. "Where're you headed, stranger? You need directions or something?"
"Just making sure I'm still on the right highway. I'm going towards Camp Lehigh. Do a bit of sightseeing. You know if this is the right road?"
The biker nodded, "Good luck. They only run tours on the historical bits a few times a year. Most of the rest of the time it's still a functioning army base."
SHIELD, actually, but whether that was a slip up in the biker's knowledge or memory, or if that was the public perception SHIELD had carefully cultivated, Rogers saw no need to correct him. "I'll press my luck. Thanks."
"Anytime." Rogers gave the biker a nod as he left a twenty for the waitress and left.
The biker watched as Rogers started his motorcycle, revved the engine, and pulled back out onto the highway. He chuckled to the rest of his gang. "Got a lot of balls coming in here. Helluva fanboy, but at least he has good taste and appreciates what he's ridin' between his legs. Otherwise I might've been tempted to take it from him." The Hells Angels shared a good laugh until the sudden revving of more engines shut them up. Some looked outside the diner windows. Some were quick enough to dash outside. But all of them were too late and too stunned to stop their motorcycles revving to life and pulling away, driverless as they steered into formation in pursuit of the blue biker.
"What the hell?"
Rogers had wondered if the biker gang would let him go so easily, especially with such a valuable antique bike, although he knew it was an antique in age only. It handled even better than the last time he remembered riding it back in 1945. The sun was just dipping below the horizon over the distant Appalachians.
He passed a semi going the other way, and in his rearview mirror with the light of the semi's headlights he saw the gradually approaching biker gang. Maybe he hadn't gotten off as easy as he thought. Pressing a button on one of the handlebars, the solid chrome rim of the front wheel popped open and shot out his shield, Captain America catching it in one hand and strapping it to his back just as he'd done back in Germany.
The swarm of bikes was almost upon him. Three of them actually moved to drive side by side. Rogers wouldn't make the first move in case this was just the biker gang was just messing with him. But all his preconceptions about the situation changed when he saw the motorcycles riding on their own power.
"Well, I've heard of 'look ma, no hands' but this is ridiculous." The lead motorcycle suddenly swerved and crashed into Cap's bike, nearly running him off the road if it weren't for his experience and the quality of his bike.
"This actually make things easier!" Rogers grinned as he took the bars with one hand and equipped his shield in the other, swinging back over and crashing into the motorcycle shield first.
As soon as he did, the silhouette of the driver shimmered into existence: a lanky humanoid horned creature with a pointed tail, long claws, and sharp teeth. The one he crashed into flew off the bike, hurtled onto the highway and vanishing into a puff of smoke. Without a driver, the bike veered off the road and careened into the earth in a violent explosion of dark flames.
The demonic drivers of the other motorcycles faded into existence as well, still partially translucent shadows but nonetheless with physical form. The two near Captain America let out an otherworldly screech which was soon echoed by the rest of the demon bikers behind Rogers.
Every day Rogers thought he couldn't be surprised anymore, and every day he was proven wrong.
The choppers behind him were speeding up, but giving Captain America a wide berth as they kept distance, at least while the other two demons swerved up close and personal, somehow controlling their bikes with only their legs as they lashed out with their claws, growling like jackals.
The shadowy claws scraped across his shield without leaving a scratch as Captain America struggled to block attacks and keep control of his bike as the whole flock of motorcycles approached 90 miles per hour. One of the monsters reached down and tried to slash at Rogers's front tire. When he saw the maneuver, Rogers immediately popped a wheelie. The shadow slashed at air, lost its balance, and Rogers brought the wheel back down on the creature's head. It too vanished into a puff of smoke as its bike went out of control and crashed into the other monster attacking him.
Just when he thought he had room to breathe before the next attack, the shadowy demon bikers raised a clawed hand each, dark balls of fire forming in their palms.
Rogers's eyes widened as the first fireball let loose, exploding a few feet away from his position. Even if these things all had the same terrible aim, he couldn't risk it. He mounted his shield on his back, it would do better to protect him there anyway, and pulled out his sidearm. The long straight highway made it possible to look back to aim and fire.
The demons launched a barrage of fireballs, getting close but not quite managing to hit Rogers as he swerved back and forth across the highway. Most of his own shots missed as well, but the few he knew were dead on passed right through the monsters with no effect.
Knowing what was and wasn't working against them, Cap holstered his pistol, grabbed the brakes, and suddenly decelerated just enough to throw his bike in the center of the crowd. Already having trouble hitting him, the demons lost their aim entirely at Captain America suddenly closing the distance.
He hurled his shield to the left while swerving to the right, knocking one motorcycle off the road as the shield ricocheted off three more riders before returning right to where Captain America predicted. Two somehow managed to keep their balance, but the one in front fell off his ride as his bike crashed to the highway and exploded engulfing another rider as well.
Two remaining bikers were rearing back to launch fireballs at Cap, who could only attack so many mounted enemies at once. They went under an overpass, something Rogers would have paid little attention to except for the beacon of flame that leaped off said overpass onto the highway. It crashed in a large explosion that Rogers only barely managed to steer out of unscathed. The two demons and their bikes, however, were vaporized.
Unlike his shadowy pursuers, the newcomer definitely had physical form. Its motorcycle was some twisted, modified chopper with a metal chrome skull mounted on the front that glowed with hellfire along with its exhaust and engine. Even both its wheels were ablaze in constantly rolling fire.
The rider of the hellbeast of a vehicle matched it perfectly, wearing a black leather motorcycle suit studded with iron spikes and chains draped around his torso. Most astonishing was the rider's head, a grinning skull engulfed in flame.
"You must be the guy in charge," Rogers reasoned aloud, even though there was no way to be heard traveling at that speed with an infernal explosion riding right beside him. "Wanted the kill all to yourself? Give it your best shot then!" He swerved over to ram biker, but unlike the rest of the shadow monsters, this one didn't wipe out at the drop of a hat.
Quickly righting himself, the biker with the flaming skull unraveled one of the chains around his torso, turning out to be surprisingly long, twirled it through the air and whipped it at Captain America's motorcycle, wrapping around the handlebars. Cap wasted no time taking his shield and slamming it edge first into the chain and severing it, though the infernal rider had already pulled and used the leverage to ram his own bike into Cap's.
His bike was sturdy and he could ride it well enough to fend off the attacking minions, but the sheer strength behind his enemy nearly ran Captain America off the road. Rogers managed to right himself and the two bikes started crashing into each other trying to take control of the lane.
Even under his helmet, Captain America was only inches from the rider's face or lack thereof, and could see a dark void in its eye sockets, one that conveyed a deep malevolent sentience, even as felt the heat from the flames nip his skin even through the SHIELD gear. "Stop screwin' around, numbskull! I'm on your side!" the skull suddenly yelled. Cap was legitimately too stunned to react, only barely managing to keep his bike from crashing. "I'm with SHIELD! The name's Ghost Rider!"
"Did Fury send you?"
"We'll talk later, but right now, we got company!"
Somehow managing to glance at his rearview mirror, in the distance Captain America could see shadows form and take the shapes of the same kind of shadowy bikers that were after him before, but this time they were flanking something else taking shape in pursuit of them: a large ebony black 18-wheel truck. "Bout time the big guy showed up! I was starting to worry he'd bail on us!" Rogers's new ally cackled as he pulled out his chain and twirled it over his head until it caught fire and immolated the air above him.
Hoping he wouldn't eventually regret it, Captain America and Ghost Rider suddenly swerved around leaving deep skids in the highway. Both of them burnt rubber, but Ghost Rider's tracks were literally on fire as they turned to meet the road demons head on.
A few of the hell bikers pulled ahead of the pack, some with oversized, outstretched claws to slash at their prey, some forming projectile fireballs. With one hand steering, Cap took his shield and slammed the edge into the first demon's arm to sever it, before holding it near the highway to catch the next motorcycle by the wheel, flipping it and the rider over. While Cap bobbed and weaved through the remaining bikers the crashed vehicles and ensuing explosions engulfed most of the rest.
On Ghost Rider's side, the flaming skeleton charged past one demonic biker and his whirling fiery chain easily burned through the demon's shadowy form, instantly vaporizing the creature. The end of his chain hooked onto the motorcycle, allowing Ghost Rider to drag it behind him, scraping along the highway. With undoubtedly supernatural strength, Ghost Rider pulled his chain and swung the motorcycle over his head, hurling it at the rest of the demon bikers before him.
The possessed truck, without any inclination towards its own self-preservation, jerked suddenly to fill the entire highway with its carriage and hopefully catch both riders. Captain America was forced to lower his motorcycle to one side as much as possible, barely making it under the carriage with only his shield bracing him from the highway.
Ghost Rider suddenly accelerated his chopper to turbo, even more flames pouring out of it as the chopper briefly took air long enough to lift off the road and hit the side of the truck. Instead of crashing violently like any other vehicle in that scenario, Ghost Rider's bike actually rode along the side of truck, burning a large track into the hull, defying gravity and as much common sense as possible. Ghost Rider even managed to hook his chain around the rims of one of the rear wheels and yank off a tire with sheer force before riding over the truck and landing on the other side.
Both motorcycles, once they survived passing the suicidal truck, quickly righted themselves and turned back around to face the truck. As it turned back around itself, honked its deep horn, but the noise was corrupted, as if the machine's foghorn-like sound combined with the painful screams of the demon possessing it. Cap could just barely make out the overweight trucker in the driver's seat, and only just enough detail to see the various thorns coming out of his skin and other warped features.
"What is that thing? What does it want?" Captain America called out to his daredevil ally.
"The driver's human. He was just convenient enough for a demon to possess its rig and therefore him," Ghost Rider explained. "You get the driver to safety, even if he starts getting rough with ya. I'll take care of the rest. Don't worry, I'd let myself go back to hell first before letting such a sweet ride like yours get thrashed." As the truck started to steer back towards them, Ghost Rider eagerly revved his engine. "You take the right flank, I got the left!"
Being decidedly out of his element, Rogers couldn't disagree with the plan. On opposite sides of the road, both charged back towards their enemy. Maybe the truck was planning to do the same thing as before. Maybe the demon possessing it didn't care whether it worked or not. All Rogers knew was that he couldn't rely on the same kind of experience he had with human enemies to predict its next action.
Trusting the one calling himself Ghost Rider, at top speed Rogers pulled his leg up and balanced as much on the seat as he could, preparing to jump. "NOW!" the flaming skull yelled as he threw a chain to Cap's motorcycle. Cap extended his arm to barely catch the edge of the possessed truck. Anyone else would have just had their arm torn off, but Captain America managed to pull himself with one very painful lift and launch himself on top of the truck's cabin.
Ghost Rider caught Captain America's motorcycle by the handlebars and ignition, and suddenly a stream of hellfire twirled along the chain from Ghost Rider until it enveloped Cap's motorcycle as well. The hellfire did more than just fill the engines and immolate the wheels. The carriage morphed and twisted from the influence of Ghost Rider's powers, growing metal thorns and chains of cold iron. What was once a patriotic decal suddenly enveloped the entire front of the bike, turning into a black, screaming bird of prey with outstretched talons. Even the engine filled the air with a high-pitched noise like an eagle descending on its prey.
A thick, chubby arm covered in fleshy spikes shot through the cabin ceiling to try and punch Captain America off, but the super soldier easily dodged. He grabbed ahold of the passenger side edge and flipped down, crashing through the passenger window feet first, using his full strength to knock the possessed driver out the opposite side. Not knowing how much injury the human host would suffer, Captain America followed through and leaped out of the cabin himself, grabbing the possessed driver and relying on his vibranium shield to absorb the impact of them crashing onto the highway.
As he did so, the chain connecting Ghost Rider's chopper and Captain America's now screaming eagle cut through the grill of the truck like a fiery chainsaw, slicing through the entire truck even as Captain America was kicking the driver out.
Captain America and the portly possessed demonic driver skipped along the side of the road eventually to a stop. Rogers quickly regained his bearings and stood up. The truck driver grinned with sharp, black fangs before croaking in a distorted voice, "FOOLISH CAPTAIN! MY MASTER WILL MOUNT YOUR SHIELD ON A WALL AND YOUR HEAD ON A PIKE!" Captain America slammed his shield into the demon's face and knocked him out.
Ghost Rider slowed to a stop nearby, along with Captain America's own motorcycle. As soon as he withdrew his chain, the corrupting hellfire left Rogers's bike and it returned to normal, without a scratch as the Rider promised. The truck was a molten pile of slag, still burning in the middle of the highway, but now it looked like simply a bad wreck, no strange demon parts or dark hellfire remaining. Even the flames of the Ghost Rider himself died down, the more exaggerated parts of his chopper became more normal. No more flames or spikes or excessive chains. The Rider himself was still wearing a black leather bike suit, but the spikes were now regular studs, and instead of a flaming skull, the Rider was now a normal-looking biker, with long-disheveled blond hair and a short, scruffy beard.
"Goin' my way, Cap?" the now normal biker smiled.
"I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time, but nothing quite like that. Mind explaining what's going on, Ghost Rider? Who are you, anyway? What's your role in SHIELD?"
"Relax, Captain," the biker said as he reached in an inner pocket and pulled out a small badge and tossed it to Rogers. It was consistent with the other SHIELD insignias Rogers had seen before. "When the flames are off, the name's Johnny Blaze. I'm on the Night Shift."
Rogers examined the badge closely, reading the logo on the front. "Supernatural Hazard Intelligence and Forensics Team?"
Johnny chuckled. "Fury sure likes his acronyms. Apparently SHIELD has a hell of a marketing department. I'm sure that task force you're on will get its own cute little name soon."
Rogers remained somewhat suspicious. "Fury never mentioned your unit."
"Fury likes to keep things compartmentalized. I'm surprised you haven't heard of us. Apparently all the other agents dread being put on the Night Shift with freaks like me. He's got separate units for everything apparently. We're not really supposed to know about each other except when absolutely necessary."
"What exactly does the Night Shift do?"
"We handle all the really freaky shit like this. Stuff the rest of the world would still kind of freak out over if they knew existed. Monsters, undead, demons, possessed trucks..."
"Got to admit that's a new one, even for me," Rogers admitted.
"Welcome to my world, Cap," Johnny laughed as he looked over the surviving trucker, whose strange growths were already receding. "He'll live, and not as a demon's plaything. Whatever had its hold over him is gone for now."
"Why was this thing targeting me?"
Blaze shrugged. "Hell if I know, and that's not a pun. Fury just had a hunch that someone or thing might attack you while you were separated from the rest of your team, and sent me to keep an eye on you. Good thing he did too. I take it this was your first demon incursion?"
Rogers had to think for a bit. "I saw a lot of crazy things in the war. Some things you wouldn't believe..."
"Oh, I don't know. Ever since I got this gig I've had a much more open imagination," Blaze commented.
"The gig with SHIELD or the gig with the flaming skull?"
Blaze laughed. Although he was now a normal human, something about his laugh cackled similarly to his demonic alter ego. "Either applies pretty equally, doesn't it?"
Captain America nodded and boarded his bike. "I guess things are only going to get stranger from here. Do I need to worry about anymore demonic attacks?"
"Not at the moment. These things leave a pretty big footprint when they're on the move. I can practically smell the brimstone coming a mile away, hazard of the trade and all that, and one of the other guys on my team uses tricks from Ancient Egypt to scry for those kinds of shenanigans," Blaze said as he boarded his motorcycle. "Smooth ridin' Cap. And watch out for Fury. He keeps threatening to send agents over to the Night Shift to keep them in line," he laughed as he rode off into the night, leaving Rogers to continue his journey and think about a lot of questions he needed to ask Fury when he got back.
To be continued...