Chapter Text
Xanadu War 1
Commerce Tower. Nine hundred feet of non-stop, cutthroat, unrestricted capitalism. A wealth engine of unmatched power. The business happening in here at any given minute rivaled that of some wealthy nations in terms of real money moved. Not quite matching any of the so-called G8, but it sometimes approached that level. There was power in this building. Sam could feel it. As he leaned out over the edge of the observation deck on the roof, giving in to just a little vertigo, he smiled at the thought. He knew, money wasn't really power, it just looked like power. You couldn't become Pulsar, or The Irredeemable Possum Girl, or even Menace, with just money. The Battle of Xanadu had proved that. That weak-ass cabal of desk-bound CEO's that'd tried to oust Menace hadn't just failed in their goal; they'd been opposed and embarrassed by a barely prepared city populace and its small population of supers. He'd laughed at the visuals provided by agents positioned atop this very tower. The tower Menace had covered in black solar-cell glass and bloody red highlights then renamed the "Spire of Infernal Might". Fuck, what a nerd.
Today, he was preparing to take this city back, or see it burn. It wasn't that different from taking down some other socialist upstart government. And that's what Menace was, a socialist upstart. No matter what they called the programs, Special Resident Salary, Unlimited Free Medical Samples, and Absolute Housing Requirements, all translated to universal basic income, free health care, and free housing. The unions were already taking over. Even now, businesses suffered because nobody wanted to work for anyone that wasn't union affiliated and paid guaranteed wages. Wages that now had an effective minimum, an altogether too high minimum, under the Municipal Freedom To Work Agreement the unions had forced all employers to sign with the city.
"Sir?"
He turned to the questioning voice. "Agent Mattock, report."
Agent Mattock looked like her name, blunt faced and burly young woman. She was tough, quick to take correct action, and a mean fighter. He liked that. Not his type though, he preferred…what did he prefer again?
"Eleven simultaneous operations sir." The agent interrupted his moment of indecision. "They got almost everyone. A few escaped, or Menace had them ignored, it's hard to tell just how much they know based on their actions. Those still mobile are making their way to exfiltration points. No information yet on whether they're being tracked. Fifteen casualties are on their way to hospitals, we're assuming they're effectively captured. No deaths reported yet."
That made sense. Menace wasn't one for killing. They'd let the mercs do that, even as they'd added a bonus to the contracts for live capture. Mercs assaulting two businesses that were about to resist being tossed from the city was one thing, Menace knew what the killing of American agents would bring. Of course, it didn't matter, Uncle Sam was about to bring that anyway.
He'd donned his supersuit for this day. It fit like an old friend. It was, really. Knee high black boots, blue pants and tactical belt, above that a blue and white lined top with a double row of brassy rivets that curved down his chest like an old Colonial Rebel coat. No mask, no helmet, though these days he wore a slick set of wraparound shades with a HUD in them, and an American flag patterned bandanna covering his blonde crew cut. He'd had his suit updated over the years, with the latest in low profile armor, hemostatic linings just in case he did manage to get wounded, and an ever-changing array of the latest handy tools for his utility belt and chest rig. The pair of Colt .45's hadn't changed, except to be replaced with one custom-made set after another over almost ninety years. All in all, not much changed at all from his days slaughtering Nazi's with his sister Columbia. Sometimes he missed having her in the field with him. Like now. She always had smart ideas. The thought slid away as the noise rose again.
The noise railed at him, raged within his brain. Millions of fears, hates, needs, reactions, raw intuition and drive. He could always feel it, driving him to action. It kept him sharp, always on the lookout for the next threat, ready to spring into action at any instant. Some days it was all he could do not to take immediate and gratifying action. He figured it was a minor miracle he'd held back long enough to reach this day. He'd had to distract himself far away to do it, but he'd managed it. A plan to really beat Menace at their own game. Fuck his handlers, he knew impulse control. Nobody knew more about impulse control than he did. He'd fucking show them.
Uncle Sam sighed and with titanic internal effort, quieted the noise. He turned his thoughts to the situation at hand. It was too bad so many quality mercenaries were about to get stuck in this city. He liked Mercs. There was nothing more American than selling your skills for profit, making a real career out of war. It was even better when he could buy them. Not for this job, though, too many security risks. He'd be sure to give them all lucrative, long-term contracts if they made it through this alive. Under the command of some proper American Green Berets, of course.
"Agent Mattock, you should probably leave. Get to your rendezvous and get any agents you can out of the city."
"I'd rather not sir." Her voice was stony and unfriendly.
He cocked his head at her. "Do I need to make that an order?"
"First, sir, you're not in charge of my section. Technically, and legally, you're not in command of anything."
He glared at her.
"Second, sir, I don't support this operation. Xanadu has been a critical source of actionable intelligence for decades, even more so under the permissive legal environment created by Menace. Your actions here have curtailed dozens of ongoing operations. Operations that would have had terrorists imprisoned or killed, their activities severely restricted or halted altogether. You're not making the world safer for anyone, least of all Americans. I consider you a threat to the security of the CIA and the nation and have acted accordingly."
"You…" a lot of recent problems with his plans suddenly made sense. He'd never believed anyone could betray him, not the Uncle Sam. He was a hero, a patriot, a god fucking ICON.
"I admit you hindered me a little when you murdered my courier. But I managed to make contact with new assets at the funeral. You know, the one you assaulted with a huge number of critical combat assets, most of whom died, further hobbling the CIA's covert operations globally."
"You fucking…" He growled, but she pressed on.
"The truth is, sir, you've been a rogue agent for decades now. The so-called End of History event back in the ninety's showed everyone who had eyes to see what you were capable of fucking up. I don't know all the details of your plan, but I'm not going to let you roam free to monitor your endgame. I'm removing you from the board, and handing you to another player to be a pawn."
"YOU TRAITOR BITCH!" He roared as he drew his weapons.
He was too fast for her. He was too fast for most people, almost everyone ever, in fact. And the custom triggers and actions of his dual .45's let him unload at his maximum rate. In a second, he'd unloaded both magazines of hollow-points and was reaching for reloads, HEAP [High Explosive Anti-Peronnel] rounds this time, when he realized he hadn't hit her. A translucent wall, like smoked glass filled with drifting particles, was between her and him. His rounds floated in the stuff. Stopped dead like they'd hit a wall of ballistic gel. He'd heard of tech like this, and he turned at the sound of thrusters behind him.
He looked up into the roiling sky, filled to bursting with a storm, and ready to unleash all hell on the city, just as he was. They were just as he'd read in the reports. The boots, the armored bodysuit, the big gauntlets, the weirdly long limbs, that smooth and featureless black mask that drank up the light, the cloak of infinite darkness that defied the wind in it's gentle, dramatic billowing. His superhuman eyes could just see the trickle of particles leading from one edge of the cloak, to the roof, and into the wall of…who knew what he wasn't a techy. No one had ever managed to get a picture of the person behind the mask, the mega-genius behind Evil Tech's rise and conquest of Xanadu. The evil mastermind that was undermining America was faceless, unknown to anyone, except to perhaps one or two individuals too powerful to be taken down for interrogation.
Menace looked down at him impassively. Impassive being the only expression anyone could take from their featureless mask.
In the distance, an air raid siren began its mournful wail.
It was more than he could take. His control was slipping. In his last moments of lucidity, he thought back to the start of all this. When it'd all started, the day he'd decided to take down Menace, things had been going so well…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over a year ago, a few weeks after the Battle of Xanadu…
This was going to be a good day.
Weapons fire scattered off the armored carapace of the assault truck and the turret Sam was manning. He grinned joyfully. He was finally going to get her. That fucking terrorist bitch Possum Girl. It didn't really matter that they'd crossed the border into Mexico during the chase; or that he'd had this truck air-dropped to him in flagrant violation of Mexican sovereign airspace; or that they were down tearing down, and tearing up, the road with heavy weapons fire and high explosives. He was going to catch her. She'd fought him off and, lets be honest, beaten him so many times. Even when he'd won, she'd escaped. All the while undoing decades of work keeping America's unfriendly neighbors from slipping into socialist hellscapes and terrorist breeding grounds.
KUN!KUNKUNKUNKUN!
He let off a burst with the chain cannon he was manning, shredding one of the other terrorist technical next to Possum Girl's truck. She responded by hurling a belt of grenades at his vehicle. His superhuman eyesight could see all the pins were pulled. They detonated just under the front of his vehicle, but the tires and underbelly were armored. And frag grenades just weren't enough. Not that it would stop her fighting. He'd always liked that about Possum Girl, she never quit for anything. You couldn't use hostages, superior force, supposedly superior tactics, nothing cowed or fazed her. She'd keep coming, or flee to regroup and come at you in the dark with murder in her eyes and poisoned bamboo spears in her hands. She was like him in that way. The grenades were just a party favor, letting him know she was thinking about him; specifically, how to kill him. Or how she was going to eat another of his fingers or ears. That thought made him shudder. She always made that threat, that she was going to eat him and take his power, in their hand-to-hand bouts. She'd made good, partially, more than once. He often wondered if she could really do it.
He rotated the turret to take aim at her vehicle and she responded by hefting a hunk of armor carapace, armor she'd personally ripped off this very truck, and intercepting his burst of fire.
KUN!KUNKUNKUNKUN!
The burst fire slowed his truck and the impacts translated through Mindy and her makeshift shield into the truck she was in, giving her a little boost.
KUN!TING!
The weapon jammed. Same swore and tried to clear it. He looked up from what he was doing just in time to duck into the crew compartment as the hurled slab of armor sheered off his turret, and might have shred off him at the waist. Yikes. He popped back up out of the hole to look, and saw that the superhuman throw had sent the truck Possum Girl was in halfway out of control as the driver struggled to deal with the sudden force. The technical skittered across the road wildly and his own truck started to catch up. He pulled his 45's and raised a little salute to Possum Girl. She snarled and flipped him off. Pretty standard. What wasn't standard was the long hunks of rebar she pulled out of her trucks compartment. Was she about to-?
VVVRREEEEEE~!
He dodged the makeshift spear, and couldn't help but turn and watch as it buried itself halfway into concrete highway divider that'd been behind him. He swore, mainly in the knowledge that it would certainly have totally skewered him and been fucking painful if he hadn't dodged, and turned back to see her raising another. Not aimed at him, aimed at…aw fuck. He leapt from the turret in the same instant she hurled the rebar spear, right through the front tire. This time the armor didn't help. The spear punched the armor, the tire, and lodged in the thin armor behind that protecting the undercarriage. He could see it all happening in his minds eye because his superhuman combat focused brain, with decades of fighting experience and a couple years of experience fighting her, had seen her through so many things with more than enough force to do exactly that. She loved to throw nasty stuff at him. There'd been a nasty incident with a port-a-potty last year and she'd laughed at him as she was yanked into the sky by an escaping cargo plane.
His assault truck was crashing and he was mid-fall to the pavement as he started firing. Perfect aim and superhuman rate of fire poured 14 rounds of copper jacketed lead into the rear tire of her technical. He'd run out of armor piercing and explosive rounds a while back, but this proved to be enough as the tire shredded at high speed and the rear end whipped sideways. The driver, apparently some kind of genius madman, actually managed to guide the careening truck to the side of the road towards the railroad tracks. It didn't matter, she was running out of tools, out of ways to escape. He could almost sense it. Without a way to run, she would face him. And he was fresh and ready this time. No ambush, she was on the back foot. It made her dangerous and vicious, but he had the definitive advantage this time. He'd finally, finally found a poison that could affect her. It was the reason she was running. And the reason he had to catch her now. The chem-techs had told him they suspected that if she had time to recover from it, if he couldn't get another dose in her and keep dosing her, she would become immune.
He could see her from here, in the little glances as he rolled to bleed off the impact of his high-speed fall, she was tired. Really tired. Tired in a way he'd never seen her before. It was almost a shame, but he'd had plenty of great fights with her. The best in years, maybe the best since the biggest battles of the war that'd made the skunk works mad scientists turn him and his siter into superhumans, with the heart, the ideals(for Columbia), of an entire nation, with all the power of that nation bound up inside of them. That was why he'd always known he could take down Possum Girl eventually. Nobody could defy his nation forever. Not even the Soviets had managed it, and not even Communist Chana would manage it in the end. He was that power, manifest and concentrated. He rolled to his feet, and started to run as he reloaded. Possum Girl had pulled her comrade from the truck and was carrying him as she sprinted for the tracks. He could hear her panting desperately from here. It was admirable, her trying to save her comrade. He respected that. He decided he wouldn’t' shoot her through his body. The bullets wouldn't slow her, not really, and he didn't need to be cruel in this moment. The guy would likely get a little hurt when he tackled her, but that couldn't really be avoided. He poured on the speed, he was gaining. He holstered his guns while running. She glanced back at him, grinned, and leapt.
At first, he thought it was a mistake. She couldn't outrun him by leaping. She'd panicked, right? But she never panicked. The instant of confusion passed when he spotted the train. Xanadu Rail Service High-Speed Passenger line. It was picking up speed after coming out of the town they'd just left behind, where the final leg of this chase had begun. Her arc was perfect, he could already tell, she would land atop the train just as it was about to pour on the speed. But that couldn't be right, even if she had the arc and timing perfect, which she did, those trains had defenses against unwelcome boarding. She would need…
…she waved it at him as she peaked in her arc. A black little device, about the size of a credit card, but transmitting the codes for Obsidian Emergency Boarding Services. They couldn't be forged, transferred, or tampered with, and they were good for once use per year only. It was the very latest from Xanadu Rail Services, and nobody seemed to know how to get one, only that seemingly random people received them. She landed atop the lead engine and set her comrade down. He staggered only a little but seemed unhurt. He wished he'd shot the bastard now. Then, Possum Girl waved cheerfully at him and they both disappeared into a hatch. He simply stared, defeated. There was no point in trying to shoot the train, that would activate it's defenses and then millimeter wave radar would sense every weapon he and his team had, and fill them all full of heavy weapons fire. He would survive of course, he could toss his weapons away fast enough, and take cover in time, and survive way more than a human could. But as he turned, depression and defeat washing over him, the noise rising, he knew he couldn't. These soldiers had followed him across two countries and a dozen fights, they were all haggard, exhausted, and still moving relentlessly. He couldn't do that to them.
The noise started to rise again. This time it was fear, anger, shame, a total rejection of reality in places. He let it fill him for a moment, let it hone his focus to a perfect razor's edge. Thoughts and impulses flooded him. His fingers twitched on imaginary triggers. His blood thundered in his ears it was loud, so fucking loud, they never ever stopped, driving him on and on and on. There was no peace, not ever, he couldn't sit still. He couldn't let this pass. It wasn't just another fight this time, he'd had her! He'd fucking HAD her! Fuck! Fuck Fuck! A thousand more ideas and intents raged through him. He forced it all into a goal, an intent, not a plan but a purpose.
"Sir?"
He looked up. He realized he'd been screaming "FUCK FUCK FUCK" aloud. The Delta Force team leader was looking at him with concern. Colonel Darryl Payne, good man, gorgeous wife, two hilarious kids, collected African art, big Star Trek fan, said he was descended from a line of African kings in an old empire whose name Sam had forgotten. He always forgot the details like that. Payne was an outstanding soldier who'd fought like hell for this mission. And now it'd been for nothing. A third of the team dead or maimed, for nothing. It wouldn't be for nothing. He wouldn't allow it.
"Just, frustrated, Colonel."
"Why didn't the train defenses light her up?"
That was Sergeant…Patricia Peace, it was important to remember the names of your team. Sometimes it was hard because he'd had so many teams. He tried to write all the details down after each mission. Like a report, but about the people who'd served with him. The first time he'd forgotten the name of a teammate who'd died during that first war, he'd been scared of ever forgetting another. He had them all recorded at the Library of Congress, so he could never forget them. He would never forget another hero that served with him. He blinked and the reminder fled, bringing him back to the present.
"Obsidian Emergency Boarding Services, it's new. I saw her waving the device mid-air." Sam explained. "Something Menace implemented."
Menace…aptly named. They would pay for this.
"Fuck…" Peace said down on a rock and drank the last of her water. "Fucking hell."
"We’ll get her next time." Payne said stolidly. He was like that. Stoic, reliable, like a fucking mountain of confidence for his team. "Sir, we should probably move. I'm down to tussle with some Federales, they're mostly corrupt anyway, but we're low on ammo and…" he glanced at his haggard team, "…we're not in top form right now."
Menace would pay for this.
Same took a deep breath, the crystal of purpose now hard as diamond inside his mind. "Right. Commandeer some transportation and let's get to the border. Destroy any classified material, the usual drill. I'll make a roadblack."
Menace would pay for this.
As his team terrified some civilians out of a couple of trucks he dragged concrete barriers across al the lanes of traffic. Then he reached into a bag full of bribe money, wondering why he still had it, and tossed the remaining stacks of American dollars at the frightened civilians.
"Sorry for the trouble, we're in a hurry." He said in Spanish.
Then he hopped into the back of one of the trucks next to Peace and they roared off down the road. Peace was already dozing, even with the wind and noise. The mark of a real professional, sleeping literally whenever you might have a moment. He could watch for her. He never needed sleep and she knew it, relied on him for it. The whole team did. It was only fair, he could do more than anyone, so it was always fair that he should do more.
Menace would pay for this…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Present Day…
Menace…was beating the tar out of Uncle Sam.
Sam had always known Menace was a dangerous combatant. Sam had known from the beginning it was nearly always Meance in the armored suits that battled heroes, particularly The Scrubs and later Pulsar alone, through the streets of Xanadu. It was easy for him to spot the drones, they just moved differently in a way he couldn’t really explain. The CIA had developed numerous Vis to specifically spot these kinds of things and he could outperform all of them at spotting a Menace drone vs confirmed real footage of Menace. Sam knew everything there was to know, infer, or extrapolate about Menace. And it was precious little given the beating he was now taking. As he was being smashed through a cinderblock wall, Sam decided there was a better than fifty-percent chance that Menace was still fully capable of taking on Pulsar in a straight up fight.
This revelation alone was probably earth shattering. But in the moment, it wasn’t nearly as astonishing as the feeling of his ribs shattering. He just couldn’t get used to that, no matter how many times it’d happened.
He staggered to his feet, coughing blood, vision doubled, ears no longer really ringing as repeated direct hits from the Tuned Disruptor had disintegrated basically every part of his inner ear. The world swam as his body fought to figure out where the fuck “up” had gone. Injuries aside, he was feeling lucid again, focused, all the pain and exhaustion was muted the noise that usually reigned in his skull. He hadn’t felt like this in years. Near death, with perfect clarity. Except that his eyes refused to look in the same direction right now, but who cared when it was finally quiet? In the silence he put it all together. He could see the real endgame. Not his petty little grievance with Menace, but the new path all this would build. He wondered how things might have turned out if he could think like this all the time. He started to laugh.
“Something funny?” Menace’s distorted voice asked from everywhere.
“I see it, Menace. I’m gonna win an’ ain’t nothin’ you can do ‘bout it. Matter’fact, yer gonna help me do it. Now, kill me an’ get started.” He laughed again. “S’fukkin rich. Glad I figured it out at the end.”
“I’m not going to kill you, Sam.” Menace said, “That wouldn’t be useful to me.”
As the Machine Net struck him in the back, wrapping him in cables even he couldn’t break, Sam saw a new path open up, and the realization shocked him into unconsciousness. Menace stood over the unconscious form of the cable-wrapped Uncle Sam and, for a moment, they entertained the temptation to truly remove him from play. With a twitch, they could turn him into a passive effect on the grand board of real politic games that wove around Xanadu like a hostile cocoon. But a dead opponent was a useless one. A waste of potential. No, his masters had allowed him to fuck around, now they would all find out.
“I could kill him if you won’t.” Said a rough voice behind him. The kind of voice you got from smoking literally radioactive cigarettes because no other poison could even touch you. The Irredeemable Possum Girl stood at the end of an alley, a long knife in her hand, and murder in her eyes.
“No, you won’t.” Said another voice.
They both turned to see Agent Mattock, three other agents flanking her, step out of a beefy black SUV. Mattock had a gun and her own long knife, as well as an expression such deadly determination Menace almost stepped back. There was no earthly way she and her fellow agents, even on their best and luckiest day, could hope to take on Mindy, who had regularly given Uncle Sam fits of frustration over the past few years. Not even if she was cursed, deaf, blind, and possibly comatose.
“We’ll be taking him back.” Mattock said sternly.
Mindy started to growl but Menace cut her off with a wave. “I’ll deal with this. Get back to the job I hired you for.”
“Was gonna do that anyway.” Mindy growled, but sheathed her knife. “I just had some time to kill on break.” She backed away, pointed teeth bared at the agents she really wanted to slaughter.
Menace’s helmet regarded the agents. “You, on the other hand, are going nowhere but to a containment facility.”
“That wasn’t our deal.” Mattock objected, reaching for a weapon.
In the same moment, six of Menace’s duplicate drones emerged from cloaking fields, weapons of various ingenious non-lethal designs leveled at the agents.
“I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it further.”
Mattock glared, “Really? You’re quoting Darth Vader?”
“I am far more dangerous. Now, you can resist, or go peacefully. The difference is in the headache you will have later.”
Mattock may have had a far different approach to how she defended her nation than Uncle Sam. She may have disagreed with most of his methods and actions over the past five decades. But Sam had made one very big impression on most CIA agents over his long career, and that was when you’re outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered, you fight like hell and see what happens anyway.
Mattock chose the headache. She and her agents actually seriously damaged a drone in the process. They still ended up bound for Menace’s containment facility.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Office of the President of the United States of America
2 Hours later...
“...captured in broad daylight.” Finished the CIA analyst briefing the president. “We currently have no assets inside Xanadu who can confirm the location of Operative Eagle or his team.”
“What the fuck was Sam doing in Xanadu anyway?” the president demanded to know, “He’s supposed to be dealing with foreign terrorist threats.”
“Two months ago, Operative Eagle dispatched Operatives Eagle One and Eagle Two to handle his assignments and targets.”
“I thought the decoys were just for public appearances.”
“Apparently, Operative Eagle has had them enhanced using CIA resources. Internal Investigations is still trying to unravel that operation.”
The President turned to the CIA Director, who was looking about as stoic as possible for a human being. Which, of course, meant that this was all incredibly embarrassing. “Your super-soldier went rogue; I don’t suppose you have a good explanation for this?”
The Director shrugged, “It may not have been planned, but this is an opportunity.”
“Explain that one to me.”
“Xanadu has taken direct action against American operatives and the companies they used as cover. There’ve been a lot of casualties too. We are now in a position to force a number of concessions onto Xanadu. Menace may run the city, but they’re no longer Mayor, and they can’t really dictate Xanadu policy.”
If Menace had managed to bug the president’s situation room, they might have laughed at that. Of course, they would mean they found value in hearing anything the President had to say.
“So, we don’t have to intimidate Menace, we have to scare the mayor of Xanadu.” The President concluded.
“Correct. I’ve sketched out a plan if you’ll just give the agent here a moment to put it up on the screen...”
As the Director laid out the surprisingly thorough “sketch” of a plan, the President began to nod along, looking more and more pleased as the presentation progressed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Can I help you sir?” The Xanadu Rail Lines ADAA or Automated Departure/Arrival Agent (commonly referred to as “Ada” by regulars) asked.
The black suited agent presented an official-looking document for the machine to scan, which it did automatically to any document of identification offered to it. It was always very helpful and very good at reading even damaged documents.
“This is a federal warrant so search this train for terrorists.” The agent said.
“Please identify yourself.” Ada replied, it’s tone somehow colder, a very small amount of that ‘eager to help a customer’ tone vanishing from its responses. It was supposedly a non-sentient intelligence. Even so, the agent felt a chill run down his spine. He knew the feeling, the feeling before an operation was about to go very, very, badly.
He offered his badge anyway.
“Thank you, DEA Special Agent Brian Gorecki.” The warm, friendly tone was suddenly back. “If you would like to book passage, your preferred accommodations are available!” The tone changed again, that single degree colder, like a shard of ice pressing against the back of his neck, “However, the Xanadu Corporate Sovereignty Treaty of 1955, all attendant amendments to said treaty, United States Federal Law, and United States Code, as well as Xanadu Corporate Law, does not allow for any form of Federal inspections of Xanadu Passenger or Cargo trains.”
Brian was a regular traveler on Xanadu trains. To him, the ADAA was an old travelling companion. But he did have his orders, so for the moment, he stuck to the script. “These rails are on American soil and so is Xanadu. You can’t stop me from inspecting that train.”
The voice that responded made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his adrenaline spike. If the last tone had been like a shard of ice, this was chilled steel with a razor edge. Still the same voice, carrying the promise of deadly force. “The United States Government is welcome to test that assumption at its convenience.”
Special Agent Gorecki of the DEA was an old hand at dealing with deadly situations, where the wrong move could get people killed. He’d seen the results of other standoffs, the deaths, the embarrassment to his agency, and learned. He’d never made the news because he’d done it better, stayed calmer, been more patient, and been better at making sure everyone else stayed calm and patient. He looked around the station; so clean, so well maintained, exactly what Xanadu Rail Services was known for. He looked at the ten agents waiting with him; his hand-picked team, all trained by him or those he trusted, utterly reliable and professional. He looked at the people in the station; going about their business as they tried not to gawk at the DEA agents with their evidence cases and poorly hidden sidearms. And he glanced at the ceiling; where he could, if he squinted a little, spot the panels that hid the “high energy deterrent devices”, ready to drop down and lay out his team in an instant without so much as ruffling a single hair on a paying passenger’s head.
He made eye contact with his second-in-command. Laura Quinn, short, redheaded, and entirely without a shred of nonsense about her. His protégé who he meant to take over for him when he retired, and possibly the only person he trusted more than himself. She nodded wordlessly and turned to the rest of the team, quietly giving orders. It was time for plan B.
“Ada, I’d like eleven tickets to Xanadu.” He said finally, as he unbuckled his shoulder holster and handed it to his second, which she and the other agents took to a locker kiosk. The lockers had better security measures than some banks. It was the Xanadu Security Guarantee, after all.
“Of course!” ADAA replied brightly, its warm tone washing over him, “Would you like to charge this trip to your usual expense account, Special Agent Brian Gorecki?”
“Yes, thanks. I don’t suppose you can pass on a request for me? I want to meet either the Mayor, or Menace.”
“The Mayor’s regular Town Hall meeting is scheduled for-” ADAA suddenly paused as was silent for a minute. Brian tried not to hold his breath until it suddenly spoke again. “Congratulations! You’ve been upgraded to Obsidian Class thanks to the generosity of Menace, Tyrant of Xanadu, proud owner of Xanadu Rails Services Incorporated! Your complimentary casual festive shirts and travel kits will be waiting in your cabins. Thank you for traveling with Xanadu Rail Services, and again, congratulations on your upgrade!”
The little printer spit out ten, matte black tickets, and ADAA went silent. Brian handed out the tickets and the eleven agents boarded with only their suits, laptops, and phones. In their individual cabins, they found not only bright Hawaiian shirts and travel kits which included high quality toiletries, but other causal clothes, all of which fit perfectly.
Brian met with Laura in the lounge after they’d changed. He’d already decided to visit a good tailor in Xanadu, he never looked this good in comfortable clothes and he wanted more. And Laura looked good in ways that, had he not been aromantic and asexual, might have had him contemplating unprofessional actions. He had no doubt she was turning other heads, though.
“This is creepy,” she said, sitting down across from him. It hadn’t been creepy enough for her to turn down the free mezcal at the bar though, “Perfectly tailored clothes just waiting for us? Did you notice they’re also perfectly made to hide one or two concealed weapons? I found a Mark 8 Evil Tech stun-glove, a Type 5 Resonance Gun, and a collapsible Breaker Baton, in my compartment.”
Brian nodded, he’d found similar tools in his own compartment, just the kinds of things he’d have wanted for an undercover assignment, assuming the Federal Government was willing to buy from Evil Tech’s Non-Lethal weapons line.
“Something tells me we’re expected.” He said, and asked, “Did you see the news?”
Lauren rolled her eyes, “Fucking FBI dumbasses. They deserve their headaches.”
Brian grinned, “Yeah, but did you see Preston do that full one-eighty when those two deterrent beams hit him at the same time?”
Laura laughed, “I asked the cabin assistant to gif-capture it and send it to my phone. That’s pure gold.”
“Well well well, Gorecki and Quiin, I suppose I’m not surprised.” Said an approaching voice, “Mind if I join you?”
The woman who sat down at the table was one of the roundest Brian had ever met. Brittania Stragg was medium height, somewhat plump, full of massive blonde curls, and about the most pleasant person anyone could ever hope to meet. And Brian knew that beneath that comfortable and sweet personality, was the physicality of a professional power lifter and some of the sharpest investigative skills he’d ever had the pleasure of working with. As she sat down in one of the comfortable chairs, a robot server came by.
“Hello dear,” she said to the squat machine, “could you bring me my usual vegetable medley drink? The spicy one?” The robot beeped affirmative, “And another of whatever these two are having.” The machine beeped again and trundled off.
Laura raised her glass and drained it. “Didn’t know Postal Inspectors could afford the good stuff.”
“Oh, we can’t.” Britt said, her eyes twinkling, “We ride and drink for free on Xanadu Rail. All part of the Post Office’s agreement with Xanadu.”
Brian raised his cola to Britt as well, “So, what takes you to Xanadu?”
“Oh, you know, we heard all the domestic investigative agencies were mobilizing for some kind of big investigation and nobody invited us. Rude, don’t you agree? We never get invited to the good parties at the law enforcement conferences either.”
Laura chuckled, “So you decided to invite yourselves, as usual.”
Britt winked, “You think anyone could stop me?”
Brian shook his head, “Who would dare try? Say, where’s Reggie?”
Britt sighed, “Finally retired, if you can believe it, and picking fights with his HOA instead of grilling mail fraudsters into cold sweats.” The robot returned with their drinks and she sipped her red one contentedly, “We’re probably going to meet Menace, I assume you have a plan?”
Brian shrugged, “Mainly, try and keep the situation from escalating. As for DEA business, we’re supposedly looking for weapons Xanadu isn’t allowed to have. What about you?”
“I’m tracking a series of suspicious packages moving through the mail system and vanishing into Xanadu. I suspect someone of moving something illegal into Xanadu via the Postal Service, but I need to figure out what it is before I track them down.”
“You don’t suppose our investigations could be related somehow...”
Britt nodded knowingly, “Maybe, maybe, why don’t we make this a joint endeavor. We’re the senior agents on site, after all. Nobody else got invited to Xanadu, if the news reports are any indication.”
“Agreed.” They shook hands.
“I hope Menace doesn’t let this all get out of hand. They’re being rather rough, if you ask me.”
Brian shook his head, “No way. Menace always plays ten steps ahead of everyone else, minimum. This is just a little saber rattling, loud, sure, but that’s all. Even the casualties were restricted to other sovereign corps who’ve expatriated themselves and started following Xanadu’s lead by offering corporate citizenship.”
“Hmm...” Britt sipped her drink thoughtfully, “I do hope you’re right, Brian, I really do.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The so-called “news anchor” finished her summary of events leading up to the failed inspection attempts at Xanadu Rail stations, a badly slanted summary that omitted the fact that three inspection teams had indeed boarded the trains, after purchasing tickets, and were now on their way to Xanadu. She was then joined by two experts, one supposedly a 20-year veteran of international corporate sovereignty and the other claiming to be an expert in interactions between Xanadu Corporate Law and United States Federal Regulations. Between the two of them they managed to rack up a dozen or so sound-bites that would be spread around the news cycle like thin mayonnaise. Naturally, they reached no conclusions, even when the host asked for them. The perfect epitome of opinion-news-expertise, full of information, signifying nothing at all.
It was the other news channels that really got the propaganda machine spinning. One channel, claiming a dedication of “objective reporting” and “no spin news” had its opinion analysts spinning hard into right field. They ranted and argued with each other over how traitorous Menace was, or how the current administration had failed to keep them out of power. They managed to grudgingly agree that the current administration must assert its dominance over Xanadu, or risk all of western culture sinking irrevocably into a mire of decadence and degeneracy. The same conclusion they always reached. Impressively, one of the “experts” managed to slip the phrase “dick-slapping” past the live censors, in reference to the relationship between Xanadu’s municipal government and the president’s administration. The tiny scandal would later reveal he’d bribed the techs to let it pass.
Another channel, once a pioneer in investigative reporting when cable news was new, now mired in corporate mediocrity and risk aversion, presented a “comprehensive” report on Xanadu/US relations. Starting with the conglomerate making history by becoming the first “Sovereign Corporation” in history decades ago. There were holograms, interactive maps, multiple experts who managed to get one or two sentences in before being replaced during commercial. It only took an hour. An easy task when you ignore the many complexities presented by Xanadu’s very existence and the many new developments resulting Menace’s mayoral reign followed by their corporate takeover.
PBS presented a documentary followed by a panel discission made up of insightful and informative experts in the fields of corporate and federal law, supervillain historians, and international relations experts. They reached several correct conclusions; so naturally were dismissed by everyone else in media and government.
Everyone, unfortunately, managed to agree that Menace had some unknown goal in mind. Menace always started fights when they had some seemingly unrelated goal that they wanted to keep attention away from. Nobody considered the idea that Menace might be fed up with interference from the United States. It was utterly outside the realm of possibility that Menace had decided that if America was going to fuck around in Xanadu, it would now find out.
The concept was, of course, absurd.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Uh...Colu- I mean, Colonel?”
She’d been waiting in the Capitol Café for almost twenty minutes. These days, hardly anyone recognized Columbia for who she was. Especially dressed in a US Army dress uniform that disguised her build, even if nothing could disguise the six foot two frame that matched her brother’s. With her voluminous blonde hair pulled into a severe bun, and a pair of sunglasses disguising her violet blue eyes, the illusion was complete. Just a common soldier, if a remarkably tall, statuesque one. She hadn’t worn her “field uniform” in over a decade, though she knew the techs at DARPA kept it up-to-date, just in case. She had bigger things to deal with these days than punching random terrorists. Things that had to be done the right way. Columbia, the super-soldier, wasn’t the right person to advocate in front of Congress. Colonel Clara “Columbia” Rothe, however, knew all the players, had known everyone longer than some of them had been alive, and moved around the halls of power effortlessly, assembling coalitions to make serious legislature. She usually did this in civilian dress, because it wasn’t appropriate for the military to be involved in politics. But the appointment had requested her in a military advisory capacity.
The wan-faced kid who approached her today couldn’t have been more than 25, too skinny for his rumpled suit and clip-on bow tie. She was supposed to be meeting with a congressional aid, for a about the new budget. She wanted more money for veteran’s support. There wasn’t much hope with this congress, but she had to keep trying; it was the right way to do things. She only hoped it wouldn’t end up diluted like the last one she’d pulled her support from.
“I...I’m Swiper.”
She sighed. “I should have you arrested.” She started to leave.
The self-declared Swiper moved with surprising speed, a cold, clammy hand grabbing her wrist with the strength of panic and desperation. She paused.
“Please,” he hissed, “If someone doesn’t listen, millions could die. Just read this.” He pushed a manilla envelope across the table.
It wasn’t the right channels. It was technically illegal. The rules for secret information and need-to-know existed for good reasons. Rogue actors just brought chaos. She searched for the right words, the right actions, but his desperate brown eyes, his tone, the panicked beating of his heart she could feel through his clammy hand, all made her pause. After all, technically, she was cleared to see any level of secret information. She didn’t like to use that privilege, didn’t like to be set above regular soldiers, but it was still true. She sat back down and opened the envelope.
She read swiftly. A talent from her youth, enhanced by the process that had made her what she was now. Combined with decades to hone it since the war with the Nazis, she absorbed the report in a matter of minutes.
“I’m not sure I agree.” She said carefully. She preferred to keep her words few, and concise. Dissembling and easy conversation was more Sam’s realm of expertise.
“No but consider this pattern, not compared to Menace’s behavior recently, but when they were first stating out, especially when they were making their reputation.”
“You’re contending that Menace does not have some broader plan, that they’re reacting only to actions taken by outside operators.” Columbia reminded him, “That entirely contradictions all threat assessments made to date.”
“Because all the threat assessments that reach people like you are carefully vetted, ma’am. And any disagreement with what the leadership has decided is dogma gets squashed. But Menace didn’t even plan to become Mayor, much less take over the entire Xanadu conglomerate. The pattern now perfectly matches the election at the time. In other words, this is not Menace, professional villain and expert manipulator, this is Menace who fucks around to find out.”
“Two instances do not constitute a pattern.” She pointed out.
“Just wait and see what happens when the military gets deployed.”
That took her back, deploying troops on American soil? That simply was not done. How could it be justified? At most this situation was an economic standoff, with a few skirmishes between Xanadu and American law enforcement. Never mind that it had happened before, over her objections back then as well. “No such orders have been given.”
“They have, unofficially, there’s two full divisions quietly gearing up and hiding it behind readiness exercises.” He slid a second envelope across the table, and she didn’t hesitate to read the contents this time.
She was sliding the papers back into the envelopes when she heard, well before she spotted, the marching steps of a team on their way to a target.
She slid the papers back to him. “You’d better go.” She looked at the side entrance. Nobody was approaching from there. Sloppy. “That way, nobody’s coming from there. Hide. If I decide I agree with your conclusions, I’ll contact you.”
He hesitated, then seized the envelopes and bolted for the exit. Panic had him moving with remarkable agility and speed, though she suspected he’d pay for it later. She sipped her drink as the capture team rushed into the café, drawing eyes from everyone. The apparent team leader approached her.
“Colum...Colonel, have you seen this man?” He offered a picture.
The kid looked healthier in the picture, like he’d at least eaten recently, but she recognized him. She nodded, “Posed as a congressional aide and tried to sell me on some kind of conspiracy to start a war on American soil. Not very convincing evidence.” A lie, his conclusions were logical, even if they did fly in the face of conventional thinking.
“You saw the information he had?”
“I glanced at it.” Technically true. She’d only needed a glance. “It’s nothing to worry about.” A lie, she was extremely worried. It was times like this her reputation for stoicism helped a lot. She wasn’t great at expressing emotion, too many ways to let out the wrong reaction.
“If he tries to contact you again, let me know.” He handed her a card. It seemed he was with the FBI.
“Hmm...thanks for all your hard work. But since this isn’t really a meeting, I have other things to be doing. If you’ll excuse me.” She meant it; he probably was just an agent doing his job. They didn’t need her help, after all, two agents had already run out the exit “Swiper” had taken. “I’d help but, I avoid getting involved in the cases of domestic agencies.”
The agent nodded absently. “Of course, have a good day, Colonel.”
He and his team hurried off and she was left to make her way back to her apartment, all the while wrestling with too many rules that made up her world. It kept coming back to her oath, the ultimate oath, her highest oath, to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. But who was the real enemy? She had to think, she needed to get information, and she needed to avoid letting anyone who might try to stop her know what she was up to.
She had to act. She had to act but it had to be the right action. Rules and ideals, rules and ideals, she felt them all pressing on her mind, wrapping around her will. She had to act and the only way to act was to find the right action.
It was the only way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brittania Stragg[USPS-IS], Brian Gorecki[DEA], read the name tags. Each had been stamped with their names in black and embossed with the seals of their agencies. Other domestic agencies were represented as well. The Internal Revenue Service, Food and Drug Administration, Department of Energy, Alcohol Tobacco Firearms & Explosives, even the FAA and a US Marshal had arrived. All gathered in an extremely well-furnished conference room, complete with a food service spread that covered every possible taste. Brian noticed, it covered every possible taste, in the room specifically. His favorite early morning foods, drinks, and snacks were here. And everyone else, he had noted, seemed to revisit specific parts of the table as well. It was uncanny. He’d heard about Mind, and their ability to read people, but it was something else to actually experience it. It was targeted advertising taken to an almost precognitive level.
The ATF agent was young, slightly battered, and nervous. Brian knew that feeling. It didn’t bode well for a Federal Agent to make the news so spectacularly. He’d been in the bar of his complementary five-start hotel, plotting his next moves with Quinn, when she’d spotted the news feed behind him and groaned. He'd turned just in time to see the high-speed chasing coming up on a Xanadu Rail terminal. In the lead, a battered, bright cherry-red, Evil Tech Roadster Super, jets of red flame shooting from one of its battery packs as the driver apparently kicked the door right off the body and hung out the side, firing a weapon at their pursuers. The ariel footage clearly caught the impacts of Evil Tech Foaming Shells hitting the pursuit vehicles. Little blots of pink rapidly turned into huge blobs of foam that wrapped around tires and blocked the intakes of the old internal combustion engines common in government vehicles. As their pursuit slowed, the driver leapt from their vehicle, hitting the pavement and rolling as the damaged car veered off the road, slammed into the guard rails, caught air, and exploded. They’d stood, and sprinted for the terminal, randomly firing non-lethal foam rounds behind them, and waving something small and black in front. The news feed identified the figure as Public Enemy.
Brian had met Public Enemy once, about a decade ago. He’d been working on taking down a rather nasty dealer in Razor Eye, a Human Enhancement supplement that worked primarily on the visual cortex. It did amazing things, but it also tended to lead to severe mental breaks in about 20% of users. Everything from violent paranoid psychosis to months long dissociations. They’d ended up sharing information. He’d told PE where to find the dirty cops he was looking for, and PE had given him critical intel on the Razor Eye distribution network in town.
Public Enemy hadn’t been hunting the cops to harm them physically, they’d been looking for evidence on them. Their primary activity was distributing evidence of police crimes to the public. They were also the kind of superhuman that showed up at protests to fight cops when they turned violent. Public Enemy was wanted for assault charges in most major city jurisdictions, and a lot of rural ones too.
As he’d watched, Public Enemy was let into the station without so much as a twitch of automated defenses. The remaining pursuing vehicles were a different story. Police cars and unmarked agency cars had tried to charge the gate, only to be stopped by heavy foam cannons. Officers and agents had tried to shoot at the cannons only to be stunned. He’d even spotted the agent that had actually made it to Xanadu as he dropped his weapon, walked to the kiosk, and bought a ticket. The agent in charge had been stunned trying to shoot out one of the cannons. The rest had either given up on been trapped in disabled vehicles. All in all, it’d been a damn mess. He wondered what the agent had been thinking. He clearly didn’t have a plan and it was doubtful he could capture Public Enemy alone, much less get them out of the city. P.E. was superhuman with what most agencies called the “Super-Soldier” profile, enhanced strength, agility, reactions, and regenerative abilities. They’d never shown their face, left behind traceable physical evidence, or a digital footprint. And they’d been operating this way for almost 15 years.
“Poor kid,” Britt said, joining Brian in watching the poor lost ATF agent, “I heard his orders are to continue pursuing Public Enemy, but the whole rest of the team he was with have been blacklisted from all Xanadu Transit services.”
“Maybe he’s got the talent to actually pull it off alone.” Brian said.
They glanced at each other for a beat and then laughed.
“So, any clue what this little gathering is all about?” Brian asked.
“Some, but my contact asked me not to spill. It’s a special surprise from Menace.” Britt answered cryptically.
“Well, this oughtta be good.”
He was about to continue speculating when the door to the conference room opened and in walked a familiar figure. She had dark brown skin, lined with age, black hair now gone mostly pure white, dark brown eyes, and while she didn’t have a particularly powerful build or imposing height, her mere presence silenced the room. She was dressed in a modified version of her original super-suit, now all black to match the uniform color of the Xanadu City Security Division, but her shield remained the same. It was battered, the matt black slightly bleached by wear, the shine of exotic alloy gleaming from chips in the paint, but it was still the unmistakable symbol of Black Shield. Like her shield, Black Shield herself was marked by age and battle, but she carried herself with every bit of the superhuman strength she’d had since she first appeared on the superhero scene more then fifty years ago. Pushing her late seventies seemed to have done nothing to slow her down.
People moved to their assigned seats without even being asked as Black Shield approached the head chair of the conference table. She set her shield on the table with a soft bell-like sound and everyone watched her, waiting.
“Thank you all for coming.” She said, “I’m Chief Constable Marie Cork, many of you may recognize my original public alias of Black Shield. I’ve been asked to inform you all of your slightly altered status within the city following the capture of all federal agents operating illegally within the Xanadu Special Corporate Sovereignty Zone.” She paused to let someone interrupt, but nobody did. “Of course, most of those agents captured were from the CIA and other foreign agencies. Those from domestic agencies are already awaiting trial for mostly minor violations of Xanadu Corporate Code and Sovereign Trade Regulation. I can already assure you most judgements will be light, fines and public service at most, because most of the violations committed were quite light.”
“Excuse me,” the US Marshal interrupted, His name plate identified him as a mister Ryan Davis, Inspector Deputy Marshal, “But I thought the CSD wasn’t a police force.”
“We’re not.” Black Shield’s response was flat, toneless.
“Then who arrested our agents?”
“Most turned themselves in when informed of their violations. Frankly, most were repeat offenders and have been through this process before. Others had to be detained without consent because they refused to appear before a tribunal and tried to leave the city without making reparations. Those individuals were arrested via the city bounty system by citizen volunteers or by Constables if they opted to resist arrest violently. But only one of them attempted that.” She looked pointedly at the Marshal. “Your deputy sustained minor injuries while resisting arrest and is being treated at the central hospital. He’s free to file an injury complaint and receive compensation, of course, but he’s fine.”
“But-“
“I don’t have time to address every complaint at the moment. You can handle that at our headquarters, which any service kiosk or tourism drone can direct you too. Now, if there are no more urgent questions?” She paused, her and pasture indicating she expected silence, which she got. “Good. Now, you are all free to pursue whatever investigations brought you to Xanadu. You may ask for assistance from any Watch Constable and they will aid you to the limit of their specific responsibilities.”
“And if we need to arrest someone?” the ATF agent asked.
“If they’ve broken any Xanadu Regulation or Corporate Code, you can place a bounty with the City Criminal Court. If the only law they’ve broken is a United States law, you’re on your own, and I recommend you don’t break any Xanadu codes while attempting to apprehend your target. Especially don’t start any fights. The CSD is charged with the security and safety of Xanadu Citizens, we will step in if you endanger citizens, and fine you if you destroy private or city property. A more detailed set of rules of engagement and a primer on city regulations has been sent to your complementary rooms. You have all been provided with blocks of offices at the City Center. You’re free to call in any assistance you need from your respective agencies, provided the individuals who attempt to join you aren’t already blacklisted by our transportation services. If you have questions or concerns, bring it up with your City Watch liaisons.” She motioned to a line of uniformed constables as they filed into the room and lined up behind her.
As the meeting broke up Brian turned to Britt, “What would you say to a joint operation?”
“I’d have to take operational authority to grant you Postal Service level access in Xanadu.” She replied, “But it could work, I know you’ll have a top flight team, and my access is protected, even Menace couldn’t revoke it if they wanted to. I have assurances from Mind.”
“You trust them?”
“I trust Mind more than I trust Menace.”
“Ok, I hereby grant cede operational authority to the United States Postal Service. Should we invite that poor ATF kid?”
Britt shrugged, “Not sure it’d be appropriate unless Public Enemy has committed some sort of mail crime.”
“Yeah. Still, I feel bad for ‘im. I’ll have Quinn offer him some resources. Data access, maybe a field analyst, a secure laptop, directions to a good tailor. I think he slept in those clothes.”
Britt nodded, “Never hurts to make new friends. Let’s gather up your team and check out our new workspaces. If we’re lucky, we can clear them of bugs before Menace or the Government makes their next public moves.”