Embedded Files
HUNDRED ACRE HORROR
MADNESS
The crime scene now belonged to the FBI. With several dozen agents and local police dead or injured, Bethany Sergeant had made the top ten most wanted list in a single act. The morning news was abuzz with what few details the FBI had allowed them to have, including the involvement of Stacy Solutions in the attempt to defuse the bomb.
And that some of its employees had perished in the blast.
Sarah mourned as she watched the news from her hospital bed. This all fell directly on her shoulders. She’d been the one in charge, the one whom had ordered Rubix in with the bomb squad. She was the one who dragged Rubix, Bridget and Fiona to the farm to assist the FBI with the disarmament of any M6 bombs they might find. So she alone was responsible for their deaths.
Assuming they were all dead. Of course, given the potency of the blast, that seemed like a very valid assumption.
She remembered very little after turning to run for the barn. There was a flash and a rumble, and then the shockwave overtook her. And then...and then she woke up here. A nurse had told her that she had suffered a concussion and several broken ribs, but had largely escaped unharmed. A doctor had come in later to elaborate, and to prescribe treatment. She was told that she needed several days or weeks rest before exerting herself again.
That wasn’t going to happen, even if her accelerated healing factor weren't already taking care of her injuries. She had to find out about her staff. She had to ensure that work at Camp Minden continued safely and unimpeded. She had to make sure that the EPA didn’t pull their contract over this incident. And she had to bury any dead, and contact any next of kin.
No one was willing to tell her anything about her team. The police and FBI agents whom had checked in on her had simply said that the investigation was ongoing and that they would let her know of any survivors or bodies found. They hadn’t been that blunt about it, thank goodness, but that was the gist. ‘We’ll let you know when we know’ was about as good as she would get for now. So, after a few quick calls to arrange for experts to take her team’s place and to ensure that nothing had gone wrong at Camp Minden, she settled in for a late breakfast. She’d call their EPA liaison, Wanda Wendle, once she’d had a little time to rest.
There was a knock at the door. It was Jenkins. He looked about how she felt, but he showed no signs that his injuries were inconveniencing him. He gave her the same cold stare she’d always seen on his face. He entered the room without waiting for her invitation, and came to stand at the foot of her bed. Unlike her, he was not in a hospital gown but in a fresh suit.
“You look well,” Sarah said with a weak smile.. “Do you have some kind of mutant healing factor or are you just immune to injury?”
He didn’t even crack a smile. “I don’t have powers, ma’am. I was simply further from the blast than anyone else, and managed to miss the tree when I was blown back.”
Sarah shivered. Evidently she had managed to miss hitting it as well. She shuddered to think what shape she would have been in had she collided with it. But then again, maybe that wasn’t possible. After all, she had danger sense. No, spider-sense. Evidently she had acquired some of Spider-Man’s powers from the blood transfusion that had saved her life and cured her rapid aging. Perhaps she’d automatically dodged to miss the tree, and just couldn’t recall because of the concussion.
She would never know. But there was something she needed to know. And Jenkins was not one for social calls. He knew something that she needed to know. “Did anyone else on my team survive?”
He glanced out the window. Evidently even he didn’t like to stare someone in the face when giving bad news. “The mutant technopath and the mage survived. Evidently whatever precautions they took prior to the explosion paid off. They are both in critical condition, but are expected to recover.”
Anger swelled in her at his callousness. They have names, asshole, she thought. She didn’t care if he had no bedside manners. They were people and deserved some respect.
But the omission of one person stopped her from reaming him out. She took a deep breath. “What about Bridget?”
“I’m afraid she suffered a head injury when the bomb squad’s truck rolled in the blast.” He paused, and fidgeted for a moment He looked somewhat uncomfortable. It was as if he knew he should be comforting at this moment, but had no idea how to do so. “She bled out within seconds. She died at the scene, along with one of the agents working with her on recon.”
Tears filled Sarah’s eyes, but she managed to remain stone-faced. She closed her eyes and wiped the tears away. As difficult as she was to work with at times, Bridget was a good person with the strongest work ethic. And she was brave. Even before today she’d been involved with risky conditions like those at the farm. It was her bravery and profound genius with munitions that had landed her a job with Stacy Solutions in the first place. Even to those whom had barely known her, like Sarah, the loss was a heavy one. “Thank you, Jenkins,” was all that she was able to say.
Jenkins nodded, hesitated for a moment, and then departed. Sarah waited until she felt sure no one else was in earshot, and then let herself cry. The remains of her breakfast were forgotten. After a time, she dried her eyes and swung her feet off the bed. Her chest and head ached and she felt dizzy, but at least the tingling was gone. She steadied herself, and stood, then walked to where her clothes lay on a chair. She couldn’t lay around any longer. She had to notify Bridget’s family, and the staff at Camp Minden, of her death. Then she had to call Wanda and see if she could salvage the contract. Sure, she was in pain, but she had to be tough.
It was what Bridget would have done.
#
Gabriel had allowed himself the luxury of a good night’s sleep, but not before setting a few things in motion. First, he had drawn his own blood and set his equipment up to analyse it. He wanted to be sure that the injection of the modified Spider-Goblin formula had, indeed, cured his rapid aging, and watch for side effects. Second, he had started his auto-scanner to scan in every bit of paperwork, with crime scene photos, he’d acquired last night. He wanted to be able to sift through the data on his computer, where analysis would be easier.
And then he had slept.
After cleaning himself up and wolfing down breakfast, he’d returned to his private lab. It was still somewhat in shambles from his transformation, so he took the time to straighten up. While doing so, he checked his phone. No calls from Sarah. Making a mental note to call her once he’d seen the bloodwork results, he set to work.
There was a Pooh Doll on his desk.
This was no surprise. At one of the crime scenes he’d investigated, the one in the Morlock tunnel, he had found one unexploded doll that the police, in their mishandling of the investigation, had overlooked. Moisture had seeped into the circuitry, preventing it from detonating. After diffusing it and making sure there were no tracking devices or cameras hidden inside, he had returned it to his lab before investigating the Jerry Porter murder. Now, he would give it a proper analysis, and piece together its origin, and through it, hopefully, trace the bomber.
He searched the doll for maker marks first. He wasn’t hopeful, but you never knew. Perhaps there was something that the bomber could not easily remove, or the bomber was sloppy, or, like most bombers, looking for attention and hoping to be caught.
His search found nothing, so he changed tactics. He took material samples and ran them for analysis. Once he had that, he’d canvas manufacturers for matches, then make some phone calls. Eventually, he’d figure out who purchased the combined materials, and he’d have his bomber.
Next, he carefully removed the bomb from the doll. The actual explosive, it seemed was some kind of liquid. He’d run that for analysis once his equipment was free. He was about to set out analysing the construction of the bomb when his printer started up.. His blood analysis was ready.
Gabriel breathed deeply. This was the moment of truth. Was the risk he had taken with the Spider-Goblin formula worth it? He had risked a descent into madness, and he still wasn’t sure if he wouldn’t go mad anyway, all to end his cellular degeneration and to become the hero he knew Spider-Man to be. He steadied himself, and moved to the printer, where his results were waiting.
All results were positive. He was cured.
He let out a sigh of relief. And then, despite himself, he started laughing. And crying. He wasn’t going to die. Not like that. Not from an accelerated, near-exponential aging that would put him in an early grave looking like the Crypt Keeper. No, he had hope now. He had a future.
He was sullen again. That future had been bought with the blood of a hero and the villainy of a madman. He now owed his life to two men, one whom he respected and honored but owed way to much already, and, one whom he despised. The latter, though, was only justice. Osborn has poisoned his DNA to begin with; it was only right that he provide the cure. But Spider-Man, Peter Parker, was an innocent in all of this, and one whom Gabriel had wronged. All the more, he owed that man a debt. He would do what it took to atone.
For the moment, though, he needed to check in with Sarah. He glanced at the clock; 10:30 am. She’d be on the job site now, unless the oh-so-pleasant Wanda Wendle had dragged her into a meeting. He picked up his phone to make the call.
That is when he noticed the missed calls. He’d had his phone on vibrate, so he hadn’t noticed them. They had come in between one and two in the morning. They were Louisiana area codes, and not numbers he recognized. He looked them up quickly. They were from the Minden Police.
His heart sank as it raced. Had there been a problem with the conversion process? Had Sarah or one of their employees been injured? Had the worst happened, and the entire facility gone up in a massive explosion? He hadn’t been monitoring the news these last few days. Anything could have happened. He listened to the first voice mail.
“Mr. Stacy,” said the voice of an older woman, “this is Sergeant Irma LaFrance of the Minden, Louisiana Police Department. The FBI has asked me to try and contact you regarding your sister, Miss Sarah Stacy.”
What followed was a tale that filled Gabriel with dread. Stolen M6 propellant. An abandoned farm. An explosion. Dozens of people dead. Mercifully, according to Sergeant LaFrance, Sarah was alive and had only sustained minor injuries. She left the number for the police station and the hospital where they had taken Sarah, and then urged Gabriel to call. Then the message ended.
Urgently, Gabriel called Sarah. Even though he’d been assured she was fine, he had to hear it for himself. The phone rang through to voicemail. He hung up and immediately redialed. Voicemail again. Redialing, he raced to his computer and began searching online for the next and fastest flight to Louisiana. Anything could have happened after that message was left. An unseen injury could have led to a major organ rupturing; Sarah could be dead or dying right now. All because he’d become too focused on his mission and lost focus on his other responsibilities. If she perished, his only living family, he didn’t know what he would do.
#
Sarah let the calls from her brother go to voicemail. She was on the phone with Wanda Wendle, the head of the EPA, a few senators, and several other government bureaucrats, and couldn’t very well place them on hold for a family chat. Besides, she wanted to make Gabriel sweat. He’d basically abandoned the business and placed everything on her shoulders. Maybe now, with the farmhouse explosion all over the news and the possibility that she’d been injured or worse weighing on his brain, Gabriel would stop playing private eye and get to work.
Wanda was full of recriminations, mostly, Sarah felt, to cover her own ass. Why hadn’t Sarah notified her immediately of the missing barrels of M6? Why hadn’t she involved the police and FBI right away instead of relying on “some mutant with a wrench and a laptop?” One of the senators insisted on a congressional hearing on the incident, to take place today. The rest of the call was her trying to explain herself over the rest of the participants agreeing that she must appear before congress, and she’d better get to Washington D.C. pronto.
So, once the call was over, she booked her flight and packed. Her phone kept ringing, and she kept letting it go to voicemail. She was busy. When she was ready, then she’d answer Gabriel’s calls. Maybe.
On her drive to the airport, she placed a few calls to check on the Camp Minden project. Her new experts, hired locally, had arrived, and all was proceeding according to plan. Once checked in at the airport she called the hospital to look in on Rubix and Fiona. Both were in stable condition and recovering well. Neither were conscious as yet. Deciding it was best to stay on their good side, she called the Guardians’ leader, Dr. Alexander James Greene, to give him an update. She found him very amiable, though of course he was very concerned about Rubix. She could tell that he and Rubix were close friends. He assured Sarah that he and a few of the Guardians would be in Louisiana within the day to stay with Rubix until she had recovered.
“That’s very sweet of you,” she said.
Dr. Green’s reply was immediate and genuine. “That’s what you do for family.”
Sarah pondered that last statement after the call was done as she boarded her aircraft. Yes, she thought, that is what family should do. Family should put each other first, keep tabs on each other, not race in after the fact and try to save face. She glanced at her phone. The calls had stopped coming in while she was in the cab. He’d evidently given up trying her cell, though he probably was waiting by his own phone for her to call back. She felt that she’d made him suffer enough. Once she was settled into her seat, she called his phone.
Before she even had time to speak, she heard Gabriel’s worried voice. “Tell me you are alright.”
She felt some satisfaction in the genuine fear in his voice. She decided to play up her injuries a bit. She moaned a bit, then paused. The dead silence on the other end was delicious. Finally, she spoke. “Yeah, I guess I’m ok. My head aches a bit, and my ribs are killing me. But I’m fine. So, I assume you know what happened?”
“What the police didn’t tell me I gathered from network news.” He paused. “I’m sorry I dumped all of this on you, Sarah. I should have made myself available, shared in the decision-making. Bridget’s death is my fault.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Gabriel to take on yet another guilt-driven burden. “Bridget was a munitions expert, and it was my call to involve her. You have no reason to take the blame for her death.” She meant it, but since he was feeling guilty, why not use that to get him back on track. “But since you do owe me for abandoning your job to chase down criminals, I could use your help. Congress is demanding that I meet with them this afternoon to discuss their “serious misgivings” about our company’s handling of this contract, and I could use as much ammunition in our favor as you can give me.”
“I’m all ears. What do you need.”
“Frankly, I need a lawyer. We never officially hired one. Specifically one who specializes in business law and government contracts. You might as well get a criminal lawyer, too, in case they try to press charges against us for the loss of their agents. Frankly, I think that we’re going to be scapegoated here.”
“I know of a few criminal lawyers who might help us. I’ll make some calls.” He paused. “I know that this isn’t a great time, but while I was waiting for you to call me back I ran some tests on one of those exploding Pooh dolls like the one that killed that teenage girl. The explosive used was modified M6.”
Sarah’s heart sunk. She had put the connection between Camp Minden and her brother’s investigation aside for as long as she could. Reluctantly, she told Gabriel about the Owl doll. As she feared, this rekindled his focus on the bomber.
“This is serious, Sarah. That much missing M6 could fuel this Bethany Sergeant’s pogrom against metahumans for a long time. Or be used for something big. You don’t think she’ll try another superhero team attack, do you? Should we warn the Fantastic Four or the Guardians or…”
Sarah cut him off. “I already have had contact with Dr. Greene at the Guardians, so I’ll pass on the warning to him and ask him to let other super teams know, as well. What I want you to do is turn over whatever you’ve learned to the police and…”
Now it was Gabriel’s turn to cut off Sarah. “The police don’t give a damn about metahumans like us. As long as this maniac doesn’t attack normals they won’t lift a finger. Besides, most of what I know I got from the police, and not in a very nice way.” He paused for a long moment. “I’ll get you your lawyers, but then I’ve got to track down this Bethany Sergeant and put a stop to her vendetta.”
“Gabriel, stop.” Sarah was getting both frustrated and worried. She knew that Gabriel was more than capable of handling himself in a fight, but she had put that kind of obsession with self-described justice in the past, and desperately wanted him to, as well. “You’re not a cop and you’re not a superhero. You’re also not entirely well, or have you forgotten that you’re body is slowly killing itself. If you won’t give what you have to the police, give it to Peter Parker. He’s the superhero.”
There was another long pause. It made Sarah extremely uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that always preceded bad news. “Gabriel?”
“I already have a spider-man on the case.” Another pause. “Me.”
Sarah felt absolutely frigid. To her core. She couldn’t catch a breath. Weakly, she stammared “What did you do?”
Gabriel spoke slowly, cautiously, as though trying to soften what was to be devastating news. “When I cleaned out that lair that Norman left us, I didn’t destroy any of it. I knew you were dying of the same degeneration that I was, and I knew that Parker’s blood had cured you, at least temporarily. I was afraid it wouldn’t last, so I set about to find a permanent cure.”
It didn’t seem possible, but Sarah actually felt colder. She wasn’t hearing this. Not this.
“I knew that the Goblin formula would do the trick, but that way lay madness. I needed to find a way to modify the formula so that, if I had to use it on you, you wouldn’t go insane. So I experimented with mixtures of that formula with the leftover blood from your transfusion.” He paused again. “Understand, I did this for you. At the time, I had no intention of using it on myself. But I couldn’t get the injustice of what happened to that girl, to all of those victims, out of my head. And I couldn’t trust that my body wouldn’t give out at a crucial moment. And the formula would actually make me better able to handle any threat that might stop me from attaining justice.”
No, Sarah kept thinking. Please, please, no.
“And I had all of that gear left over, and the spare goblin costumes. And I owed Peter so much. I made him a suit. All decked out with equipment that could help him do what he does best. I just could never face him to give it to him. And I needed an edge beyond what the formula would give me. So,” he paused again, “Arach-Knight was born”
“What?!” It came out of her mouth before she was even aware of it. And once unleashed, her rage just kept going. “Are you out of your mind? Of course you are; you’re a goblin now. Just like daddy. I thought we were better than him, Gabriel. I thought we were going to do good in this world.”
Gabriel actually had the nerve to sound angry. “I am not a goblin. I told you, I modified the formula.”
“With spider-blood. Do you know how bat-shit crazy that sounds? How did you even get any of that?”
Gabriel was silent for a moment. “I came to the hospital not long after I found Osborn’s lair. I found out about the transfusion, and immediately feared that it wouldn’t last. So I followed the staff worker in charge of disposing of the remnants of the transfusion, and took a sample when he wasn’t looking.”
Sarah went from icy cold to boiling over with fury. “So you went dumpster-diving for blood?! That’s messed-up, Gabriel. That’s the kind of thing ghouls do. The kind of thing Goblins do!”
Sarah could hear Gabriel fuming. She didn’t care. “So, what, you’re some kind of spider-goblin now?!”
He was talking through his teeth, in that controlled rage she knew too well. “I used our father’s own formula against him, and cured myself in the process. I used his tricks to make it possible to mold myself into the kind of man I want to be. A man like Spider-Man. I took my new name in his honor.” He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. “And you should be happy that I did take up this case, since it obviously directly involves Stacy Solutions and the woman who murdered one of our own. I’ll find the killer, the thief, the madwoman who started all of this. And I’ll save our company in the process. Once Bethany Sergeant is in custody, the government won’t have any further case to pursue, since they’ll have their scapegoat in the actual villain.”
Sarah couldn’t take it anymore. “You’re a reckless, insane, and selfish jackass. You want to go get yourself killed, I’ll be damned if I try to stop you!”
She shut off the phone. She was fuming. Of all the reckless, self-serving, idiotic nonsense! I can’t believe him! Fuck it! I’m taking over the company, effective now. He can go wash cars for a living for all I care. The instant I get back I’m buying him out and he’ll be lucky if I ever speak to him again!
She heard the sound of glass breaking and metal rending. She looked down. In her grip, she had crushed her cell phone. Her strength was even greater than she had recalled. More side-effects from her transfusion. She tossed the broken phone into her day bag. At least she couldn’t suffer a call back from Gabriel.
Crossing her arms, she watched the pavement roll by as the plane started forward for takeoff. And in the faint reflection in the glass, she saw a tear running down her cheek.
#
That could have gone better, Gabriel thought. He slammed his phone down on his desk. He managed to not break it. It was, for him, a measure of his self control. Still, inside, he was seething. His sister had just basically told him to get out of her life. His sister! The only blood he had that was worth having, after all that they had been through together. That she would abandon family so readily, when he had done all he had done for her, for Peter, for that girl. She had called him selfish! None of this was for him! It was for them!
He stood quickly and spun on his heels, looking out the office window. The view from Stacy Solutions’ floor of Chelsea was not spectacular; the building was one of the rows of old brick buildings in the borough, and his window faced the top of an old, currently leafless oak whose branches even now obscured the street below.
He wasn’t really looking at the scenery, anyway. His gaze was inward. Was Sarah right? Was this what he had secretly wanted all along? Was he so desperate to abandon his real father that he unconsciously sought to make himself into the man he wished was his father? And was his genetic tie to his real father so strong that he could not help but be the monster that, in the end, was the fate of all in the Osborn line. Look at Harry, his half-brother. He had died because of his commitment to the emulation of their father. And Gabriel did have goblin venom in his blood. Was he fooling himself, and was really destined to become some kind of spider-goblin after all?
He shook his head. It was amazing. He had set out to protect his sister, to ensure her survival, and instead he had driven her away. He had set out to honor Spider-Man, and now, what? Was Arach-Knight a tribute or a disgrace?
He thought of Mia.
Gabriel turned and sat back at his desk. Turning on his computer, he pulled up the Camp Minden files. Rubix had done her work on the Stacy Solutions remote server, so he had full access to all of her findings. That, combined with his own work, made finding Bethany Sergeant’s lair extremely easy. He could access his crime lab computer from his private tablet, which was on his desk. Before the day was done, he would have Bethany Sergeant and turn her information over to the feds. They, at least, wanted her for something other than metahuman homicide, and would take her capture seriously. Hopefully, they’d get to her before she did something truly terrible.
Arach-Knight would be in the shadows, of course, in case something went wrong. The Feds should be able to handle her, but you never knew. Besides, if he did this, if he caught this woman, he would happily retire Arach-Knight, give his gear to Peter, and resume full responsibilities at Stacy Solutions. He would feel atoned. He would put spider-men and goblins behind him and focus on making the world a better place and trying to rebuild his relationship with Sarah.
#
It was early Friday morning before the file was complete. Gabriel, as head of Stacy Solutions, presented his file to the Manhattan office of the FBI in person. He spoke with several agents before he finally turned over the file, and was assured that the FBI would move in on Bethany Sergeant immediately. When asked how he had acquired the information, he cited Rubix’s work as well as an anonymous source he could not name, which the last agent he dealt with accepted without comment. Evidently that was a regular thing that the FBI had to deal with. He left feeling very good about himself.
He was unable to reach Sarah, so on the taxi ride back to his home he checked with the lawyers that he had arranged to meet her in D.C. He had arranged for Jennifer Walters, a.k.a. the She-Hulk, to represent the criminal side of the case, and a D.C.-based firm for the business law portion. Jennifer confirmed that the hearing had been moved to today, this afternoon, and would keep him apprised of developments. She also told him that Sarah’s phone had been damaged, and that she would be unreachable directly until it had been replaced. Jennifer then let Gabriel know that Sarah had been asking about forced buy-outs, and that Gabriel might not be president of Stacy Solutions for very much longer.
It was an issue, but one for later. If necessary, he’d hire his own lawyer. But for now, he had one final mess to clean up. Once at his apartment, he donned his costume. Arach-Knight was soon swinging towards the lair of Bethany Sergeant.
She had proved easy to trace, once he had all of the pieces. Among the information Rubix had found was that a woman with the same signature style as Bethany Sergeant had signed a rental agreement at a building in Mott Haven that used to be a toy factory that closed about a year ago. She rented it six months ago. Parts and materials identical to those used in the construction of the Pooh dolls were ordered shipped to that factory’s address multiple times since. He was sure that her base was there. And the amount of material purchased hinted that she had enough supplies to build several thousand of these deadly dolls.
What was she planning? He had no idea, but he was sure that it was horrible. And though he felt certain that the FBI would take every precaution, he wasn’t going to just trust that Bethany Sergeant would go down easy. She was highly trained and determined, and from her photos and internet history, certifiable. With someone that unpredictable, you left nothing to chance.
It was midday when he arrived. The FBI was already surrounding the building, and there was a chopper overhead surveying the scene. Passers-by were starting to collect at the barricades, and, as normal, cell phones were recording everything. The building itself was a five-story, c-shaped, brick structure with loading docks on the middle and bottom sides of the inner part of the C. There were a few wooden doors for workers, and the windows only started on the second floor. Smoke stacks stood dormant on the upper arc of the C, though how recently they had been fired was tough to call.
Arach-Knight was getting very good at stealth. He crept slowly to one of the adjacent brick buildings, a warehouse that was in use by a different company, which he accessed via a small alley between it and another warehouse. He found shelter in a large overhang, and clung there, patiently observing the scene.
The FBI had taken its time cordoning off any hope of escape. Now, they seemed ready. Without word, they rushed the building form all points of entry. They stopped at the doors, agents at either side, and then, at a signal from the head agent at the street, used battering rams to smash their way in.
At the impact, the doors exploded outwards. The blasts were all-consuming. When the dust cleared, all of the advance agents lay disfigured and unmoving.
As the agents at the street recovered from shock, Arach-Knight caught movement from the smoke stacks. He immediately zoomed in with his sensors. What he saw filled him with dread.
Owls. Dozens of them. All flying on modified wings, all racing for the helicopter. With a jerk, the copter veered and tried to avoid the incoming flock of dolls. It was too slow. The ‘birds’ slammed into the propellor and stabilizer, the explosion ripping both apart. It fell like a stone, landing on the FBI’s main command vehicles. It caught fire, and quickly exploded, killing even more agents. The rest fell back to adjacent buildings, radioing back to headquarters for help and orders.
That was enough. Arach-Knight launched forward, configuring his mechanical limbs into wing formation and rocketing forward. He reached a window, cut off the wings and rockets, brought his feet forward, and smashed clean through. Behind him, the window frame erupted in another explosion, which only propelled him further forward. He landed with a roll and stood up, ready for anything.
Except this.
He was inside a forest. There were fake oak trees and fake maple trees. They stood in random places around the factory floor. In between trees the machines to make toys stood idle. And all around, in every conceivable spot, there were dolls staring at him. Hundreds of Winnie The Pooh’s, Eyeores, Piglets, Owls, Rabbits, Kanga’s, Roos, even a bunch of heffalumps. It was a nightmare of highly-explosive cuteness.
Surveying the horrifying recreation of the Hundred-Acre Woods around him, Arach-Knight felt ill. If he had been allowed a childhood, a part of it would have died seeing this. “What, no Tigger?” he groaned.
“That’s the most wonderful thing about Tiggers,” a high-pitched, female voice said with an unnatural cheeriness.
Arach-Knight spun round towards the sound of the voice. Up on a foreman’s platform, a figure stood looking down on him, her hands resting on the safety railing. He recognized Bethany Sergeant immediately, but that was not the first face he saw. She was dressed in a black body suit with an orange shirt and skirt on top, each of which had tiger stripes. The belt was pink with a belt buckle in a stylized T-shape with an imbedded orange and black F. A tiger tail, evidently animatronic, curled playfully behind her. And wrapped around her head was that face, an angry Tigger face, that only made her own mad face look all the more crazy.
She giggled in delight, clasping her orange gloved hands together and casting her eyes wistfully to the sky. “I’m the only one!”
#
Ok, he thought as he dodged razor-sharp blades shaped like Kanga, I take it back. Norman Osborn is eccentric. That lady is crazy!
He made for the nearest "tree", then, once out of Bethany’s sight line, bounded up. He clung to the ceiling, staying out of view of Tygger-woman down there.
Bethany lept down from her balcony. Her tail coiled up behind her, and she bounced up again, and then landed on her feet. “Worrawaroo!” she howled in that chalkboard-scratching, high-pitched voice. “Do you actually think you can hide from a Tygger in her own forest? She looked up directly at him. “The forest has eyes, you know.”
Arach-Knight noted that all of the dolls were following him with their eyes. She must have some kind of clear glass heads-up display he couldn’t see. Well, if she liked razor-edged combat so much, he could return the favor. He leapt down towards her, unleashing a flurry of spider-rangs.
She leapt back, landing on her coiled tail. As he landed where she had been moments before and started after her, she bounded around the room, dodging as he fired at her with electro-shock blasts from his gloves. Despite his best efforts, she managed to stay one bounce ahead of him. “Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy! Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!”
With that, she hurtled more kanga-rangs. He rolled, the deadly blades passing just by him. And all the time, the deziens of the Hundred Acre Woods kept a watchful eye.
Enough of this, he thought. He fired a wide stream of webbing at the bouncing madwoman. “You just killed dozens of good men and women. For fun! Tonight, you pay for that. Now keep still!”
The web hit her in the back. She spun round, a kanga-rang in her hand, and slashed at the web. Although strong, the webbing was vulnerable to shearing forces. It cut quickly, and the maniac was on the run once more. “Good people? Ha! Liberal liars and mutie-spawners, that’s who I killed.” Soon, he’d lost her in the maze of trees and dolls. "And I have some filthy Fiends to slay today," he heard her say from somewhere in the forest. "Starting with you."
This was getting him nowhere. He just wasn’t agile enough to keep up with her. He had to try something else, or this maniac would escape to kill more metahumans.
Like him.
Beneath his mask, he smiled. Well, if she liked hunting metahumans, he would be happy to indulge her.
He leapt up, heading for the balcony where he’d first seen him. “You’re being rude, Lady Tygger. You never even offered me a tour. So I guess I’ll just go exploring by myself.”
She leapt from behind a tree, knocking him down. Those gloves had claws, and they dug into his costume. “Lady Tygger?” she mocked. “It’s sweet that you recognize a lady when you see one. But don’t insult my family by denying them due homage. It’s Flying Tygger. As in the old Flying Tigers Air Force unit my granddaddy flew with in World War Two, and the flying kick that I’m going to use to snap your head off you neck!”
Her kicks came hard and fast, but Arach-Knight was well-trained. He rolled out of the way, falling and tumbling beneath a ‘fallen log’ in the forest. Behind it was some of the factory’s equipment. He grabbed a doll off the log and threw it under the machine, then fired at it with a electro-blast. He covered his eyes as it exploded.
It was a calculated risk. The bomb should be muffled enough by the machinery that the explosion would not set off other bombs. If he was lucky, the padding from the dolls would insulate the unstable M6 from detonating. Then, he could feign injury, let Flying Tygger come to finish the job, and catch her unaware. One quick web-up later and she’d be caught.
Unfortunately, he’d figured incorrectly. The detonation, due to its proximity to the support beams for the foreman’s office, ruptured the padding on some of the dolls hanging there. This triggered secondary explosions on those supports, and the platform twisted. With a wrenching of metal, the whole foreman’s office came crashing down.
Arach-Knight dove to the side, narrowly missing the crushing force of the collapse. He slammed into a tree, bruising his left arm and ribs. He stood slowly, then quickly glanced around. He could see no sign of Flying Tygger, but she would soon come to check her handiwork. He had to set up his ambush, and fast.
The foreman’s office lay partially crumpled, the right side of the structure on the ground floor, the left resting on some of the machinery. It was bent and distorted, but still relatively intact. The doorway lay open, the door having come off and disappeared somewhere on the factory floor.
Smiling grimly, he darted through the doorway. He made sure to play up his injuries, in case she was watching him. This was the close quarters he needed. All he had to do was lay down and play that he was dying. When she came to finish the job, he’d have her.
Inside, the foreman’s office walls were covered in Winnie-The-Pooh artwork, designs for the inside of the factory, and other assorted items along that theme. There was a toppled computer on the floor, its screen busted by the collapse. But one wall, over a wall-mounted desk, was different from the others. It had maps of the area around New York City Hall, newspaper clippings, and transcripts of police radio chatter. Other paperwork was held in binders, scattered about the desk and floor.
Curiosity, and a sense of urgency, forced Arach-Knight to forestall his trap to get a better look at these documents. He knew that Flying Tygger had to have planned something big for all of these explosives. She wouldn’t have stolen so much M6 if she didn’t want to do something big. And the map made it clear that City Hall was the target, or at least someone or some group in that area. He had to know what she was planning, in case that plan was already under way. Even if he captured her, the bombs might already be in place and ready to explode. If so, he might have to abandon the idea of trapping her and just chase her down.
The binders had clippings of various news reports detailing an upcoming rally by metahumans of all stripes at city hall. Evidently these metahumans, united by various slights and mistreatments by various branches of city government, not the least of which was the handling of crimes against that community, had united them under a common cause. They were to rally today. There would be hundreds of average, non-superhero metahumans and their supporters and families rallying for equal treatment under the law.
As he read about all this, and Flying Tygger’s notes, his heart sunk. All of this was public knowledge, but because he kept his head in the sand, never reading the newspaper or blogs or watching tv, he’d missed what was this maniac’s obvious target. Now, he was miles away from the target of Flying Tygger’s attack, and the rally was starting in minutes.
He had to get there. Now.
From far away, over a bullhorn, he heard Flying Tygger’s mocking, taunting voice. “Did you find my Tygger’s Den, darling? I hope you liked my little scribblings. But now I have to dash. Places to go, Fiends to fry. And since you and your fellow freaks and socialist nazi leftist cronies have despoiled my lovely forrest, now I’ll have to burn it down and plant a new one elsewhere. So, TTFE: Ta Ta Forever!”
Arach-Knight went cold. She had bombs peppered throughout the building. She meant to blow it up. With him inside.
He ran out the door and took flight. He made for the nearest window. He had seconds, at best. He had to go, now.
#
A news helicopter had arrived on the scene of the FBI shootout. More FBI were arriving along with local riot police backup and bomb squads. EMTs were working under guard to rescue what agents they could from the crashed copter and ground vehicles. Reporter Amy Roper sat in the back of the copter with her cameraman. He filmed her as she pointed out the partially-opened side door of the copter.
Amy surveyed the scene as the cameraman waited for the network to switch the live feed to them. It looked extremely serious down there, and while tragic, that made for good action reporting. A maniac stockpiling bombs in an abandoned toy factory surrounded by, and in battle with, federal police was the kind of story that got ratings, national coverage, and might catapult Amy’s career into a gig with one of the big cable news shows.
The cameraman gave the signal.
Amy prepared to give the performance of her life. Somber, serious, with just a hint of high-stakes action. That would sell her as a serious newswoman for sure. She opened her mouth to speak.
The toy factory exploded, shrapnel flying all around. Then the whole building collapsed. Below, agents ran for their lives as the wave of debris cascaded outward from the rubble. The shockwave hit the news copter in a wave of turbulence.
Amy grabbed on to the safety handles beside her for dear life. She screamed. “What the hell just happened,” she shouted, staring at the collapsed building in shock. “What the hell? Did you see that? Holy shit!”
That clip would be played over and over, and although the cable news stations would ignore her, would cement her as a top Youtube celebrity for years.
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