(posted Friday, September 03, 2004)
OOC: This story is based entirely on a couple of screenshots Major Ursa and I stumbled into while on patrol. Once you see them, you'll understand. The dates don't really match up with ether of our officail bios, so we will probably be tweeking them some time soon. On a personnal note, I hope we don't offend anyone, it's JUST A STORY.
I wake up screaming. Again. I put my hands to my face, but instead of feeling warm flesh on flesh, I was greeted by the “clink” of metal on metal.
“Sleepink in your armor again Sergei?” I say to myself. “What are you comink to?” I take off my helmet, and get out of bed. My face is covered in cold sweat from the horror of the nightmare. THE nightmare. How long had it been? 6 years? 7? The memories wouldn’t go away. Memories of my 1st mission for Workers Champion. Memories of Paris.
<Fade to black>
I stand at attention in front of Workers Champions desk. The Huge man sits behind a tiny desk, the air around him seems to crackle with energy, with power. He looks up from the folder containing my dossier and stares me in the eye. I find myself wishing to hide inside my helmet.
“So, you are wanting to be Super Hero” He says. This is a statement, not a question, so I dont answer him. “Six months ago you finding this armor in your house. Why you nyet reports this immediately?”
“Sir, the armor was nyet operational.” I manage to say without a stutter. “Is taking this long to replace old vacuum tubes with latest computer technology. Many components are missink, but I havink restored basic functions. If I havink another 10 kilos of Pluto...”
“Da, Da.” He cuts me off. “I am reading all this in your files. I understand you are having the power to stop a moving car without leaving a trace?”
“Da.” I reply. “I can to generate an Elector Magnetic Pul...”
“Good” he interjects “I am having a simple mission for you. You will to be taking orders from Major Ursa. My secretary will to giving you tickets to Paris.”
<Fade to black>
I pace back and forth on a cobblestone path next to the Seine River smoking a cigarette. The summer air was still warm, yet I wear a trench coat to cover my armor. I carry my helmet and gloves in a duffle bag thrown over my shoulder. It’s late at night, but I had passed several young couples on my way here. Young lovers who didn’t even take their eyes off each other as I walked past. I wonder what they would have said if they knew what I was carrying, what I had become.
“Sergei?” says a thick Russian voice from behind me. I spin on my heel and see a man less then an arm length away from me.
How had he gotten so close without me hearing? “Da, I am Sergei. You must to be the Major,” I say. He nods, steps close and offers me his hand. He has a grip like a steel bear trap! I can’t see much of him in the poor light, but what I do see was enough to convince me to never start a fight with this man. He is shorter and lighter built then me, but I’m wearing a full suit of powered armor. He is wearing a commando suit of all black with some pieces of body armor, slung over his shoulder was the largest gun I have ever seen. His hair is cropped short, but his beard is full and thick. None of that fazes me, it is his eyes. Unblinking eyes, bright as silver coins and hard as diamonds.
“The missun is a simple assassination,” he says flatly. Almost under his breath I hear him say “Nyet like Dallas.” He continues “The target is wealthy capitalist. The bodyguard has been bribed. He will to ensure the targets car is driven into a tunnel, where we will be waiting. You stop car; I takes care of rest.”
“Assassination?” I mumble “But I was thinking…”
“Do nyet think Comrade” he cuts me off. “Do nyet ask questions, just to do as ordered. Da?
“Da Comrade” I say quietly.
An hour later I am fully armored and hovering in a tunnel in downtown Paris. I have my back pressed against the roof, and have a clear view of the entrance and road. My COM unit crackles “Target is moving, be ready Comrade”. I have no idea where the Major is, but I ready my EMP generator. “Target is black BMW, motorcycles are following, moving at high speed”. What was that about motorcycles? “Target is at entrance”. I see the car coming down the ramp, What!? It’s moving much too fast, well over 100 mph!
“Orders” I remind myself, and as the car approaches I fired the pulse. The engine dies immediately, but the driver pulls the steering wheel to the right, then over corrects, and loses control. The car slams hard into the concrete support pillar and comes to a dead stop. Before I can move, I see the Major bounce on top of the car and lean into the ruined back seat.
I drop down from the roof and fly over to wreck. My COM unit crackled again “Primary mission accomplished,” says the Major “driver is dead too”. I look into the passenger compartment. The driver and fat man in the back are clearly dead, both their heads caved in. The blonde lady in the back is still alive. Badly hurt, clutching her chest, but clearly alive. Wait, I recognize her! Is famous Englander Princess! Major sees her as well, says "Damn!" and moves to her. The Major is going to help her... he touches her neck, taking her pulse, his shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, then his posture straightens. In one swift motion he twists her head violently to the side.
Our eyes meet, for just a second I am seeeink a fleeting moment of guilt, quickly replaced with that "hard as diamonds" gleam. Before I can speak he says “No witnesses”.