|
|
 |
Strangers of a Strange Land |  |
 EARTH-X |
HISTORY |
A WHOLE NEW WORLD |
THE WATCHER |
WHAT'S NEW |
MEMBERS |
REDEEMERS |
X-LINKS |
THE BURN |
|
STRANGERS OF A STRANGE LAND! |
|
 |
POSSE Starring Posse! "Do it Leroy." "Don't punk on us Leroy!" Leroy Brown. 16, and a drop out from high school. Leroy quickly mastered the streets and back roads around his and neighboring streets. No one was better at getting from point A to point B than Leroy. Course if that were true, then how did he end up here? "You miss Leroy, and I won't." The . 45 in his hands felt cold, real cold. But no where near as cold as the one at his temple. "Do it sucker!" "Clack" The hammer came down on an empty round. "You shit!" Pulling the gun back in the window, Leroy hides his relief as the target, a six year old girl on a bike, rides safely away. "You shit! You give me an empty gun, drive me out here, and then you pull this crap!" Before Leroy can react, the gun at his temple moves back before cracking him solidly in the head. "whatdefu..." "Leroy we ain't done with you yet. Aim the damn gun!" Crack, again the gun strikes him hard to the head. Leroy had joined the Ultima's when they asked. Who wouldn't! Course if he said no, he'd be the target on the street. In this world you were either the mugger or the mugged. And he wasn't nobodies mug. If that even was a word. "C'mon Leroy. Don't fail us this time!" "Shoot man." "It was him or me, way I figure it. Here it is a year later. That cop I shot, well he was DOA before the ambulance pulled up. My boys the Ultima's thought I was cool, took me back to their crib even. Got the royal treatment. Then I waited until they all passed out in 40 ounce comas. When I left that night every one of them was dead. Killed by my hands. All 20 of them. Posse: Granted the incredible power to split off exact duplicates of himself, Posse is his own one man gang, and intends to stay that way. |
| Father Salvation! Starring Father Salvation! "Tell me my children, who is it hat will lead you in the dark? Tell me children, who is your savior?" The crowds today are less than normal, but the money flows nonetheless. Give the crowd what they wanted and they'd empty their wallets in return. "God isn't life wonderful! Out on stage, father Salvation was preaching to his latest crowd. Amongst them some of his greatest critics. Abner Downs, critic for the Times Herald, Toby Myers, public forum's publisher, and the list went on. Somehow, some way Father Salvation won them all over. Even now came the most exciting part of the show. The part were the sick, the unbelieving, were marched up to the Father in order to be saved. A touch of the palm and... "Praise Father Salvation!" The "saved" individual falls back into the waiting arms of several brawny men. After a moment to regain their footing, the "saved" are then marched off the side of the stage and out of sight. "Thank you all for your donations and please come again next week!" Taking a bow the father makes his way quickly from the stage. "Get me those readings! I want all those converted taken to the holding cells. Alert Victor that we have new converts, and someone get me my gloves!" "Here Bastion, here's your gloves." The Priest takes the black leather gloves, slipping them snugly, and quickly onto each hand. Before the intern can react, the priest's gloved fist rockets out, clubbing the intern across the head. "Father, Father Salvation, my Savior even, but you will never, never, call me by that name again!" The preacher's hand slips out of his glove, and in a movement much like he does on stage, the man known as Bastion touches the intern's head. Skin to skin contact is all it takes. "Um, oh, sorry sir, ah Father. I'll get those figures for you." The incident all but forgotten, the intern makes his way to do as he was commanded. Another of the Converted. |
 |
|
|
GRIFTER Starring Grifter! The truck never stood a chance. Grifter's stop spikes bit deeply into the truck's tires bringing it to an immediate halt. A hastily constructed paintball gun covered the windshield in multicolored splashes of paint. Blinding the driver and his gun toting helper. "Smooth as silk." Small propane tanks appear from within his trenchcoat, each connected to a pencil top torch. "First you crack the nut." The specially modified torches make short work of the van's reinforced back doors. Inside the still Smokey interior, the man known as Grifter sites his target, a specially padded crib. Padded enough that the child within is still asleep, even after the horrific wreck. "C'mon girl. Your rides here. You better hope you dad pays up." "Ting, ting!" Bullets ricochet and rebound from the metal remains of the van's doors. Wrapping the infant snugly in his trenchcoat, Grifter dives from the truck. Dodging riflefire and pistol shots as easily as most would open a refrigerator, Grifter sprints, dives, rolls and tumbles across the street. "Ain't you got something better to do?" From the right sleeve of his coat fall several small film canisters. Into his palm the innocent looking canisters fall. Then in a quick flick of his wrists, the canisters sale across the road landing before the bewildered two guards. "Tell yer boss, he offers me more he can have her." Grifter grins as the canisters explode in a blinding spray, bringing both guards chokingly to their knees. "C'mon kid, I gotta see a man about a million dollars." |
| PROTOTYPE Starring Prototype! "What do you mean the suit's not ready? Get it ready!" Lance Jargon. Electronics' and design specialist, and the only man alive capable of wearing the Prototype armor. Specialists of all kinds rush around adjusting dials and settings as Lance stands on a small alter like stage. Dressed only in a skin tight black suit, Lance watches as the Techies ready him for the next mission. "Who's next on the list?" "The mutation known as Sinkhole sir." Specs and diagrams spring up all around him. On the screens appear his target, and other relevant material. "A mutation eh? Ever miss the days when all I went after were ganglords and drug smugglers?" His joke goes unanswered, as alarms and sirens rock the base. "Target Sinkhole within range. Powering up Prototype armor mark zero." Mechanical arms erupt from the floor and ceiling around him. Each arm carries a small weapon or section of armor, while others wield tools. In seconds the orchestrated dance of weapons and equipment ends with a fully armed and armored Lance. Standing a full four inches taller, Lance is completely unseen beneath the weapons and armor grafted onto his suit. "Prototype activated!" Lance always felt a rush as the cyber bootjets ignited, carrying him out of the base and high over the city in less time than it took to tell. "OK Jarvis, what have you added on this time?" Tiny earbud style hearing aids keep Lance fully updated from his support crew below. "The mutation is thought to have powers granting him control over the ground." "Ahhhh mother nature's revenge! So tell me. What's stopping swat from just taking him out?" As Lance tops the next building before him, the truth becomes clear. "Damn is he big!" Lance Jargon. Just another man in a suit? Hardly. The Prototype armor is of a special modular design allowing weapons to be removed and replaced as needed to best suit his target. Why is he called Prototype? Because he's never needed a Mark One! |
|
|
|
CLASH Starring Clash! "Damn rent a cops." "So. We'll just go snag a bite from the food court." "GIRZ STYLE!!!" The two young women say at once. They had been busted before. Caught stealing in over half the stores in this mall alone. Both lived from mall to mall. Once they got run out of one, they moved onto the next. Through 3 states in all, her and Jem had had a fun life. Stealing clothes here, food there. Neither resembled the homeless waifs they really were. "Hey Clash? You ever get tired of the "life"? Clash knew what she meant. As sisters the two had lived this life for over 5 years now. At age ten their gypsy mother had left them alone in the dressing room of a store. She must have been caught (Clash seriously doubted that, and figured she just ran off and left them) because she never came back. Taught to steal since they could walk (both were often used as hiding places as their parents shop lifted thousands of dollars worth of stuff!), both girls knew how to "survive". "Yeah kiddo, but what choice have we got? We give ourselves up and they'll throw us in a foster..." "HEY YOU! STOP THOSE GIRLS!" "Scatter Jem!" Jem knew the drill so Clash didn't bother looking back. The malls rent a cops were probably giving chace even now. "Gotcha sis, meet ya in the food court!" Clash knew most malls had camera's through the main section, allowing them to coordinate their men to the best of their ability. Luckily she was better. "Gang way, coming through, make room." A shove here, a kick there and she was through the main crowd. A quick look left and right and she spotted just what she wanted. All malls had them. You just had to know where to look. "STOP MALL POLICE!" Damn! They weren't going to let this one go. Taking a sharp left she leaves the main floor heading back toward an unmarked door. "Gotta loose these guys. <pant> Maybe if they get their stuff..." As she slammed into the unmarked door, she found just the access corridors she knew would be there. Built along the mall's out wall, the corridors lead to every store, but they also lead outside. "She's in the security tunnels! From beneath her blouse she pulls out the book. Keeping her hands from touching it directly, she uses her sweater to move the book free, then drops it. "I didn't want it anyway." The unopened copy of the America's Most Wanted magazine was her hope of seeing if her parents were still listed. Long as they were Clash knew the truth of her and Jem's abandonment. "Use the stunner!" Oh man, that meant these guys weren't gonna fool around. Turning for a quick peek, Clash just barely sees the twin electrified darts flying towards her. "Oh!" The twin darts sink just into the skin above her right shoulder. Over 10,000 volts is then sent between the darts shocking the victim into unconsciousness. Or so they thought. "Yeah COOL!" Clash's body shivers and jolts for less than a second as her mutation activates. First a thick crust forms under the darts ejecting them harmlessly. The crust then thickens and spreads. In another second her total body is covered in the protective shell. Several more shots by the startled guards confirm her invulnerability as the next shots bounce off instead of sticking. Her strength also increases as her body copes to move the additional mass, and she begins to out pace her pursuers. "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!" Clash had to make a choice now. Take the chance and stay in the tunnels or use the outer exits and circle around to the foodcourt. "Oh! My chest!" "Hal'? Hal'? You ok man?" A fast glance back and Clash watches as the guard crumbles suddenly. The young black man clutches feebly at his chest. "That's it FREAK!" There went her choice. Clash had to get her sister and get her now > The bullet passed through her shoulder just above where the stun darts had hit before. Faster than her powers could react, the bullets exits the front of her shoulder, lodging in a cement wall before her. "Oh, Man!" The blood flows for less than a second then stops. Looking at her blood drenched hand, Clash actually peers through it. Now little more than an animated image, a ghost, she passes through walls and startled shoppers alike as she flees towards the food court. "Hal' man, you can't die on me." In his ten years as a mall guard, Davis was the best he could be. Never in all of his ten years had he ever drawn his gun. Now with his partner down, and shots fired, he could only hope that mall medics would arrive in time. "Waldens, Spencer's, Shoe Tree, Damn it where's the food court!" Her ghostly form let not a single word of her plee be heard, yet talking to herself had the desired calming effect. There on the map she found the area. One level down... ... she floated, the lower level was abuzz with chatter as the rent a cops cut a path through shoppers and workers, chasing someone Clash can't see, but who's identity she can guess. "Jem!" Swiftly she uses her wraithlike abilities to navigate through and around obstacles between her and her sister. But her powers are not without their limits. "Oh No! Not now!" Now as before, she wasn't running so much on the floor, as she was above the floor. She felt her powers fading as she lowered slowly to the ground. Still far behind her sister, Clash again pushes through the crowd. "Coming through, make way, pregnant woman here folks!" Anything to get people out of her way. Around one more corner Clash finds the food court, and her worst nightmare. "Hands above your head!" There before her stood 20 some odd mall cops. Each had either a nightstick or the more common stun guns ready, but every one of them had a gun at their side. "You won't take me coppers!" No Jen, No. Jem didn't know about the downed guard, even Clash herself didn't know what they meant to do. They had shot once already. And now wasn't time for Jem's trademark sense of humor. "We won't ask again!" They meant it too. From her vantage point amongst the crowd, Clash saw several rent a cops draw their guns. Not all of them, not enough for Jem to notice, but enough of them. "Down on the ground before we...SHE'S GOT A GUN!!!" Here it was a year later. She was still living mall to mall. It was lonely without her sister, but foraging was easier. Maybe someday she'd find her parents, but for today... "HEY SOMEONE STOP THAT GIRL!" Today, life was normal. Another day, another mall. |
| SCYTHER Starring Scyther and D. A. R. K. Labs... "Your country needs you Mr. ah, Mr. uhh?" Starlin hated names. Numbers were so much easier. Every file in his office was done "by the numbers" as he liked to call it. His house files had been that way for years. Only a file master list for outside use, allowed him to use this system at work. It was just one of the idiosyncrasies his bosses hired him for. If you asked him, Starlin could name almost every security number on the base, the real names behind those identities was another story. "Darn fish." Elsewhere a young boy no older than ten sits quietly beside a family owned stream. A small rod in his hands, the boy replaces the latest in a series of fish eaten worms. Even at age ten, the boy still carried a small . 22 rifle. Bears were common, and this time of year they were hungry from their winter long sleep. "Davis, aw yes. Now Mr. Davis your child scored high on the Lensherr test, very high." The man before him was a simple farmer. Many were in this providence of Canada. potatoes, and other tubers were commonly grown here, making this just another spud farmer as far as he was concerned. But his son now, that was something different altogether. Ever watchful of the forest around him, the boy skips another hooked worm across the river's placid surface. Yanking back on the line, the boy curses as his line is caught on something unseen below the river's surface. Mr. Davis son had been gene tested (a random test being done when children are vaccinated) and when it was matched up to the Lensherr test, well his kid was off the scale. "Is there any way I could meet Billy?" Pulling his buck knife out, with a practiced flick, the 10 year old opens the blade. He would have to cut the line again. His dad wouldn't be happy hear he had lost another lure. Stepping away from the bank, the young boy steps out into the river still tugging on his line. "Darn rocks!" Mr. Davis only nodded as Starlin talked. His boy elsewhere, Starlin continued on with his original mission. Bringing out files and charts, Starlin seems to ramble on and on. "Hey it came free!" Folding his blade back, he drops the knife into his pocket. He decided not to tell his father about the close call. A near scolding was almost as bad as loosing the lure entirely. Turning back towards shore, young Billy never has to worry about lures, fishing, or his father again. "Daddy!" "So you see Mr. Davis... Here let ME fill that for you." Taking the empty glass from the man's hand, Starlin refills it from a pitcher of lemonade nearby. "Your son would be in the greatest of... Mr. Davis?" There on the bank, Billy saw the bear. Or at least what he first thought was a bear. Facing the sun, Billy found details hard to make out. One detail that was painfully apparent was that his rifle was there on the bank. Shading his eyes a bit, Billy makes out a man, a huge man! The bear mistake was an easy one to make, considering this man and some bears could reach heights of over 8 feet! "Shunk!" > From the man's forearms just above the wrists emerge huge scythelike bone blades. Wickedly sharp, the blades are coated in and drip a light green lubricant or possibly blood. "Mr.Davis...?" The man lay slumped over in his chair. A light green drool escaping his lips. Agent Starlin pushes the man and his chair completely over, dumping both over on the floor. Walking out the front door, Starlin returns a second later carrying two seemingly full gas cans. "What do you want?" The bladed monster takes two strides before he stands face to face with Billy, still fumbling for his knife. Dropping the blade into the water, Billy looks up one last time. The man's scythe like blade moves over and down in a downward arc. Billy's life ends in a splash of blood and a choking gurgling sound. Pulling back his arm, the man's second scythe buries itself deeply in the boys chest. Blood and bone spurt out as his scythe pierces the boys body completely, a good foot of his scythed emerged out the boy's shoulder. Drawing the boy close, Scyther seems to undergo some union with the boy's dying body. As the unknown process ends, the man rips the child free in a bloody grisly display! "Knock, knock." The thumps on the door stop Agent Starlin in his tracks. Right beside the door, Starlin holds a burning match, ready to engulf the room in gas fueled flame. "Knock, knock." This time the door opens with the force of the last knock. The light from beyond the door is blocked as a giant of a man stands revealed. "Oh it's you. Get the boy?" The mountain of a man grins stepping into the room. Covered in blood and gore, the mans lopsided grin seems unreal. "I guess you did. Good." Letting the match drop just before it burns his fingers, the Agent and the man leave the home. "Let's get onto the next name on the list. A Mr. Graves." Behind the men, every trace of Mr. Davis and his son Billy go up in a puff of smoke... |
|
|
|
ARMAGEDDON Starring Armageddon The world around him appeared very different to him/it than it was to those who counted themselves organic. Every inch of his body was a scanner, able to penetrate the heart of the hottest star even one light years distant. He moved through space sliding between stars, planets, and gravitational anomalies so strange as to be beyond description. Slide was a much better word than fly, for how he moved through space. Total control over his techno organic body allowed him to stretch himself out across the stars. While one end of it remained tethered to a planet far behind the creature/machine, the leading edge it's body probed and moved onward. Only upon reaching it's limit, would the machine detract from his now millions of miles long body. It's conscious mind contained in the last spec of it's body, the creature converts the planetary mass around it's into new technology, a new body! At maximum mass the "slinky" effect would begin again as it cast itself out. In it's wake, a half consumed and lifeless planet, as it's body thinned and stretched onward toward the next. Each world bringing it one jump closer to it's intended, it's target. |
| GOBLIN Starring GOBLIN! . "We got something from the last one you brought in, but this one..." The awe was plain in the technician's voice. The cell before the two men was cordoned off by four inch titanium alloy bars. Shiny as chrome, the bars reflect back the men's image, overlaying it on the young hunch backed man within. The man's (if it was indeed a man) skin showed an unhealthy grayish color. Starlin would have sworn it was the color of the dead as the technician continued. "Subject 462546's powers may be of great short term use to us but in the long run he is a liability to this office, and ultimately the country." Even hunched over, the misshapen man towers at close to eight feet tall. Combined with his gray skin, it's blood red eyes and wicked clawlike fingernails make it a gruesome sight. "Was he like this when you found him? The skin, eyes and all?" The beast hears the men across from it. It's nose audibly sniffs the antiseptic air of the cell. Turning away from the corner, the man beast seems to fly across the cell! "Holy shit!" Gray green claws push past the bars, cutting Starlin's tie, and a large portion of his shirt, into ribbons. With a left hand draw, Starlin pulls his service piece from beneath his coat, emptying the clip between the bars. Then diving for cover as the shots go wild ricocheting out of the cell. Through it all the manbeast never flinches, never makes a sound. "What the..." Starlin had worked with enough mutations in the last year to know, sometimes his gun just wouldn't do. "No." Looking up at the dazed technician, Starlin yanks out his other . 45. The special mercury core bullets could punch a hole in four inch plate steel. #2 was his "back-up" piece. "What the hell are you talking about?" Unsure whether to aim it at the technician or the mutation, Starlin backs up the corridor, away from them both. "No, that is not how subject 462546 appeared when we apprehended him. His appearance even as of this morning was quite normal." "And this?" Starlin still had his gun ready. The beast had retreated back out of sight, but Starlin could still hear it's infernal snuffling, sniffing. "As I would have explained, Subject 462546 or Goblin as we've come to call him was very normal in his appearance this morning. Tests though, and the circumstances of his capture have caused him to mutate, to evolve. Into this. It wasn't until lunchtime that he took on this image, about the same time I coined the name Goblin. His file number 462546 spells out Goblin when dialing on a phone. I noticed that as I was calling yo..." The technician stops. He often rambled when he was exited, and any chance to see Goblin's powers at work was worth being exited for. "Anyway, his particular mutation is the cause of his appearance. Even his normal seeming adult appearance when we found him." As he talks the technician leads Starlin back closer to the cell. Starlin watches as once again the beast stands cowered in the cells far corner. "Can you believe this is only about a year old? We've done so back tracking and found some amazing things!" A "year" old? Starlin couldn't believe it. This thing in no way resembled what should be a self soiling infant still in a crib. "We think it's mother, one Melissa Anderson left it to die in a parking garage in upstate New York. It was there that it's powers first went to work. We're unsure, but we think the boy, if it is male. We really have no idea, and I'm not going to check. Anyway, we're sure the boy adopted the appearance of first a child, then an adult in order to evolve or survive. The adult appearance allowed it to survive and not be harmed. Well, until we came along." Once again hearing the close up voices, Goblin sniffs even louder, deeper, moving across the cell. Slower, more deliberate this time, the beast moves to the limits the bars allow. Starlin too judges the beasts reach and stands back accordingly. "The subject's gray tinted skin came as a result of being shot numerous time by our own agents. The bullets began to ricochet after the first couple and higher caliber firepower was brought in..." Instinctively Starlin's hand drops from "#2", his own instinct's usually were right, but he also relied on his brain. Obviously this time his instincts were wrong. His mercury cored bullets would have had little effect compared to the fire power carried by field & capture agents. "...his strange eye pigment seems to have come about after an agent sprayed him with mace. His new "eyes" don't seem to see light so much as sense it. More like a radar than sight I would guess. By the way his hunchback is a side effect of being in his cell. Seems his powers caused him to "grow", only the cell was stronger. We stopped running tests after he adapted to each one. We have taken a wait and see attitude to determine if the adaptations will wear off. If they do, we have an invaluable resource. If they don't wear off, if he keeps every adaptation he gains..." Starlin didn't need him to continue. This "Goblin" was officially the world's most dangerous infant! |
|
|
|
XOMBIE "We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Darnel Jones..." He watched the funeral proceed from the safety of a nearby copse of trees. Four men and three women huddled around the shallow hole as rain and wind whipped around them. "Who in life..." There had been a few more before the rain started, though not many. Only the close relatives were here now. Soon they would be gone as well. Then the grave diggers would go to work. The HE would go to work. "Ashes to ashes..." He knew that phrase well. Each time he had burned the corpse. He had to. Ever since the first one got away. "dust to dust." The procession was at an end. With the rain like it was he might not have to dig this one up. "Amen." The casket is lowered jerkily into the hole, as family and pastor alike wish only to get under cover. "Would anyone like to say a few words before..." "Hell NO!" A rain soaked family member says what they all feal. "He was scum in life, let him rot alone. We aint got no words for HIM!" The angered young man spits on the grave. Only one drop among many, the spit is quickly washed away in the pounding rain. "Momma, c'mon." As one, the family leaves. Unable to think of a reason to stay, the Pastor quickly follows. Soon only two workers remain. "So? We really gonna do this sucker inna rain?" Absently scooping a shovelful of dirt down on the coffin, the second worker watches as the first draws out a silver flask. "Nah! J'ss check 'es poke' ets and grab 'es rings. E'll do 'er in the morning." "I got the rings last time. You do it this time." "EH! I brought eh flask last time ay did. An dis time too." Things are settled and after a minute the two men move off towards the guard's shed, unaware of being watched the whole time. It wasn't the first time I've seen such atrocities. Won't be the last I'm afraid. Though to tell the truth, it's just this sloppiness that I'm hoping for. Moving swiftly, the unseen watcher scrambles across the flooded ground, sliding into and down the hole landing on the coffin. "OK Bruno, hope this arm was worth it." In stark contrast to the rest of his body, the mans right arm is huge. Huge and muscled. A well honed fist bashes off the casket's locks, lifting the rain soaked lids with childish ease. "Darnel Jones. Your hand has forged documents for almost 80 years. That's a hand I may have use for." Then beyond belief, the man snaps out a small mini saw and quickly cuts off the cadaver's right hand. With practiced ease he deposits the hand in a belt pouch at his side. "HEY YOU!" "Oh spit!" He had been seen. Letting the rest of the handless arm fall free, he draws out a flask similar to that of the caretaker's. "I don't have time for this! It's bad enough I had to do this in the rain!" Taking the top off the flask, the man pulls out a white rag fuse and stuffs it in, finishing the "Molotov cocktail. "NOOOOOOOOO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?" "Ah Shit!" Too late! A zippo slips into his hand as the body below him screams awakening from the dead. Xombie had seen this happen before. The very act of him taking a body part always did this. "I'm sorry, really." A well aimed throw lands the improvised explosive squarely in the zombie's lap. The now Undead creature slaps once at the flames before the bottle explodes. "That's my cue!" Slipping from the hole, Xombie watches as the cadaver goes up in a bright blue flame. It's remaining hand claws at the liquid flame covering it, the burns up into ash. The rest of the cadaver soon follows. "Blam! Blam!" Twin shots rip through his left arm. The bullets tear skin, rip muscle, and destroy bone. "OWE! Damn!" From head stone to head stone he leaps and jumps. The hand he got would be a lot of use to him, too bad he now needed a new arm. Oh well there were other funeral homes, other funerals, other bodies. Xombie: Bernie Maddiks died as a teenager over 20 years ago, and just hasn't been the same since. His casket hit by a strange bolt of lightning, Bernie was transformed into Xombie! Reduced to scavenging graveyards to replace his constantly decaying form, Bernie moves from place to place to avoid detection. Xombie must replace damaged parts of his body as they decay or are destroyed. He is able to graft parts of other dead people or animals to himself in order to repair such areas. An interesting side effect of his power is that the creature he took the parts from become reanimated as well. Xombie has been very careful to destroy these lesser-xombies, in the fears that they could eventually become like him. Unfortunately he has not always been successful. |
|
WARNING! |
|
