Vanguard: The Complete Second Season: A Superhero Serial (Vanguard: The Collected Seasons Book 2) (13 page)

Blindside picked up a new signature. She activated the stealth mode and followed the signal and saw an old man hiding behind one of the homes, his eyes glowing and vacant. She raised her arm and fired an inhibitor, dropping him to the ground.
 

Almost instantly, Bruiser felt his head clear. All the anger and resentment that had made him see red was suddenly gone. He relaxed and Zero dropped down from him. Spark came over with Coldsnap leaning against her for support and Blindside approached, dragging Animus behind her and dropping his unconscious body in the center of the group.

“Sorry about that,” said Bruiser, looking at Spark and Coldsnap. “Dunno what came over me.”

“This guy did,” said Blindside. “Is that all of them?”

“Boss, I’m picking up another signal incoming,” said Spark.

The Hellhounds looked up at the sky and saw the Exemplar lowering from the clouds, his face contorted in anger. Blindside smiled beneath her mask. “The big man himself.”

The Exemplar flew down at top-speed, fists-first. He struck the ground with such force that a shockwave rippled out from the impact, throwing the entire team except Bruiser off their feet.
 

Bruiser grabbed the Exemplar and held him up, using the hydraulic arm to deliver a series of powerful blows. About a dozen struck before the Exemplar grabbed the fist. He strained against it and Bruiser tried to put more power into the hydraulics. The machinery strained against the force and the Exemplar broke the hand off, exposing sparking wires. The Exemplar then fired a powerful energy blast into Bruiser’s chest, which proved enough for the large Hellhound to release him.

Spark channeled massive amounts of voltage into the Exemplar’s body. Pain rocked through his form, pushing the limits of his nigh-invulnerability. He tried to fire energy blasts at her, but the charge threw his motor skills off and he had difficulty aiming, hurling blasts in random directions. He fell to his knees and pounded at the ground with all his strength. Each blow sent a tremor through the earth, and Spark stumbled, her concentration faltering for just the briefest of instants.

Coldsnap encased the Exemplar’s body in ice, freezing him solid. While he was held prisoner, Zero threw several blows, the force of his fists augmented with his forcefield. The Exemplar strained against the ice, trying in vain to break free. Zero cleared away as Bruiser approached, using the remaining arm on his suit to batter his opponent.

“Playtime’s over,” said Blindside, readying an inhibitor. “It’s time to clean up.”

The Exemplar channeled his power into his hands, the heat from them melting the ice around his body. Cracks appeared in the surface and he pulled his arms up, breaking through the crystalline prison. He grabbed Zero by the throat and threw him into Bruiser. The Exemplar fired a blast at Blindside, but she dodged and went invisible.
 

He picked up large chunks of the broken ice and hurled them at Coldsnap, then pounced at Spark, clearing the distance and grabbing her by the throat. Spark placed her palms on his chest and channeled electricity into his body.
 

Spark was struck from behind by the Ferryman, falling to the ground. He helped the Exemplar to his feet, supporting him as he struggled to stand. The Ferryman looked at the Hellhounds and saw they were already recovering. Time was short.

Something hit the Ferryman’s face and he was thrown back. More blows came, moving swift and fierce, but there seemed to be nothing in front of him. The Exemplar was weakened from the attacks inflicted on him, but still he fired a single blast from his palm that struck the invisible Blindside in her back, a sound of pain escaping her lips.

The Ferryman struck where he heard the sound come from and Blindside was knocked back. The teleporter held up his hands and opened up a tear in space and time. His eyes fell on his leader.

“Go, now!”

“But what about you? What about the others?” asked the Exemplar.

“Just
go!
” The Ferryman’s insistence was unlike anything the Exemplar heard from his friend before. “You’re too important!”

The Exemplar didn’t want to leave the people who had become his family behind, but he had no other choice. The Hellhounds were too strong and soon, he would be taken prisoner just like them. He’d recover and then he’d find out just what the hell happened here.

Once the Exemplar was through the portal, the Ferryman closed it up. Zero leapt at the portal, trying to follow their target through. But it was closed before he could enter and he jumped through empty air.

Blindside gritted her teeth and slammed her open palm against the Ferryman’s chin. She punched him in the chest and then slammed her elbow against his face. Once he fell to the ground, she fired an inhibitor disc at him, then became visible again.

She opened a comms channel with the ship. “Blindside to Big Brother—mission complete. Ready for retrieval.”

“Copy that, Blindside. What about the big man?”

Blindside sighed as she gave her report. “Negative on the big man, he managed to escape.”

The brief moment of silence on the other end felt like an eternity to Blindside as she waited for a response. When it finally came, it was no additional relief to her. “Zeus won’t be happy, Blindside.”

“No shit,” she said. “Just get down here so we can clean up and go home.”

CHAPTER 3

Jim Ellis disembarked from the aircraft clad in a crimson exoskeleton. The yellow lens that covered his right eye flashed data into his retina as he entered commands into the control console hidden within the gauntlets on his forearm.
 

The man by his side was dressed in a black uniform with a red patch on the shoulders, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Enclosed in the red circle was the silhouette of a three-headed hound. He was older than Jim by a good fifteen or twenty years, but still kept in great shape. In his hand was a small tablet computer.

“This is Tora Bora?” asked Abram Zukov, his accent colored by his Russian heritage.

Jim gave a nod. “Yup. The mountain fortress of the Red Fist.”

“The surrounding area seems pretty desolate. No life-signs that I’m reading.”

“Still helps to be careful, Abram,” said Jim. “Those mountains are capable of hiding some pretty impressive stuff. The Khagan had Lee under his control for a while, and during that time, there’s no telling what he was able to build for him.”

Lee Parker, a young special forced to be a slave of the Red Fist due to the mental conditioning of the man known only as the Analyst. Lee possessed technopathy, a unique ability that enabled him to communicate with machines, and also granted him a design capability unparalleled.

“You think he built something capable of fooling our sensors?” asked Zukov.

“After what happened on Olympus, nothing could surprise me.” Jim closed the panel on his control console. “Let’s go. Be ready for anything.”

The pair moved down the ridge, walking towards the mountains of Tora Bora. Jim had explored them once before. When he still went by the name Gunsmith, this place was where Vanguard began their final mission. The Red Fist’s brainwashed specials attacked them in these mountains and they were then imprisoned inside.

Jim approached a hole in the surface and peered inside. He could see inside a deep cavern. When the Exemplar battled a brainwashed Paragon, they burst through this spot. And now it would be the means of his entrance. He signaled to Zukov, who came over to him.
 

“Get night-vision ready, doesn’t look like there’s any more power flowing,” said Jim.

They hooked rappel cables to the edge of the hole and lowered themselves inside. Jim’s lens automatically adjusted itself to the light and Zukov hit a switch on the side of his sunglasses, activating a night-vision mode.

After a bit, they reached one of the catwalks and released the cables from their belts. Zukov peered over the edge of the railing. There were definite signs of a battle—scorch marks on the rocks and metal, mangled railings, and even a destroyed catwalk.
 

“Do you really think we’ll find anything here?” asked Zukov. “There’s little chance Azarov would remain in such a place.”

“He stayed in Virey for some time,” said Jim. They spoke of Erik Azarov, a twisted Soviet scientist whose experiments attempted to create a super soldier to battle the Americans. A man whose brutality earned him the nickname of the Cold War Frankenstein.

“He was still working for my government at the time, though,” said Zukov.

“Fair point. If nothing else, maybe we’ll find some clues that can lead us to the next step in our search. Azarov and the Analyst are the only members of the Red Fist who are still at large.”

“And also the most dangerous.”

“You don’t have to tell me, I experienced it first-hand,” said Jim. “This place is a labyrinth. Let’s split up, we’ll cover more ground that way.”

“Very well, although I still think we won’t find much.” Zukov went down a stairwell to one of the lower levels.
 

Jim continued to explore the one he was on. As he moved down the corridors, he got a sense of
deja vu
from when he was held captive here. The doors along the hall he currently walked through housed prison cells. One of these cells was where he and the rest of Vanguard were held along with the Exemplar. One of the doors had been broken off its hinges—courtesy of the aforementioned special’s superhuman strength. Jim glanced inside and saw nothing, then continued on. He tapped the comms link on his ear.

“This level clear. Going down to the next.”

He descended the metal staircase onto the underlying level. A corridor here was absent of any doors, save for one at the end. Jim took hold of the handle and tugged on it. Locked. He pulled harder, the servos in his suit activating and breaking it open. Inside, he had to cringe at what he witnessed. He covered his nose from the stench.

The room was far larger than he expected, with body parts strewn around. The gurneys against the wall were stained with blood and gore. On a workbench, he found the remains of notes scribbled in Russian but not much else.

“Abram, I think I found Azarov’s lab.”

“Anything useful?”

“A few notes but nothing more. Looks like he took everything when he left.”

“Or someone else did. Keep looking, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Roger that.”

Jim collected the notes and left the remains of the lab when the scanner over his eye flashed a notification against his retina. The scanner was picking up an additional life form, and what’s more, it was reading as a special. He reached down to his thighs, drawing free the crimson teleforce blasters affixed to his armor. Jim moved down the corridor slowly, keeping careful watch on any movement from his scanner.

“I’ve got a target,” he said into the comms.

“I see it,” said Zukov. “I’m en route.”

The eyepiece directed Jim from the T-junction down into another corridor and here he found a man sitting on the ground, dressed in a form-fitting red and yellow suit, his head completely bald without a single speck of hair. Once Jim spotted him, he aimed the weapons at the target.
 

The man looked up at Jim. There was something familiar about him, but Jim couldn’t quite place it. The man squinted, studying the Gunsmith armor. “You’re one of them. One of the Khagan’s.”

“No, you got it all wrong,” said Jim. “Who are you?”

The man’s body erupted in flames and Jim suddenly realized why he was familiar. He shot from his spot, taking to the air and blazing past Jim, flying into the main chamber.
 

“I won’t be anyone’s puppet again!” he shouted.

Jim cringed from the heat, his suit quickly working to cool his body temperature down. “Abram, it’s Pyre!”

Pyre had worked with the Red Fist but as far as Jim knew, they were all taken captive. All except for a select few who helped take down the Khagan. How the pyrokinetic was free, let alone in Tora Bora, was a mystery the man once called Gunsmith intended to see solved.

Jim ran out from the corridor and saw Pyre streaking towards the exit. He raised his blasters, the scanner interfacing with his guns and locking onto the target. Once it was a lock, the scanner beeped, the crosshairs flashed red, and Jim pulled the trigger.

Energy blasts flew from the barrels of the weapons, striking their target in the back. Pyre arched his chest forward upon impact and spun in the air, glowering at the attacker. He dove for Jim, arms extended out in front of him and jet-streams of flame shooting from his closed fists.

Jim sprung to the side to avoid the attack, firing blindly as he hit the ground, blasts that Pyre easily dodged. Pyre’s arm flung out in front of him as if throwing a ball. And indeed he did—balls constructed of fire that shot at his target.

Jim jumped over the railing to avoid the strike, falling towards the ground. He held out his arm and a grappling hook shot from his gauntlet, hooking onto the opposite railing and allowing him to swing from it. He released the grapple and landed on the catwalk of a lower level.

Pyre spun to keep up with his enemy, flying after him and throwing out more fireballs. Jim rolled to avoid them, returning fire whenever he found an opening. But as Pyre concentrated on Jim, he didn’t realize there was another to worry about.
 

Zukov approached the railing of the catwalk and fired a teleforce blaster of his own, striking Pyre in the back several times. That gave Jim an opening to release several blasts of his own and the special plummeted.
 

Jim fired his grapple at Pyre, the cable wrapping around his ankle. Jim braced his leg against the catwalk railing and held firm as the cable tightened, breaking Pyre’s fall just before he struck the ground.
 

Both Jim and Zukov raced to the bottom of the chamber where Pyre lay, winded from his injuries and exertion. The flames had died out and just to be safe, Zukov affixed an inhibitor against Pyre’s chest. When the special looked up and saw the symbol on Zukov’s uniform, his eyes went wide in fear.

“No! Not you, not again!”