There are some days where I dont know who I am, what I know, or even what memories are mine. Sure, some heroes in this city have two souls in one body, some have spectral helpers, or are just plain schizophrenic, but I have an even better excuse.
Im a clone of myself. At least, thats what they told me.
My name is Stephanie Curtis. I think. As of today, Ive been a registered hero in Paragon City for three months, but Im not even sure exactly how long Ive been alive. It makes doing my job a bit
difficult at times, to say the least.
How is the subject progressing?
On schedule, doctor.
The genetic enhancement?
Taking hold as expected, sir. Though
there have been a few minor issues.
Such as?
Subject demonstrates unusual amounts of rage and uncontrolled aggression, marked by sudden loss of higher brain function when provoked.
Does this lessen subjects effectiveness in any way?
No, doctor.
Very well. Continue monitoring.
I woke up the first day in a small cell. No idea of where I was, who I was, or what was going on. I know its cliché, but I cant deny the truth of the first memory that is truly mine. I wore a white jumpsuit with Crey Bioengineering Department #43104 printed in blue lettering, and nothing shared the cell with me save a stark white cot and a small camera mounted on the wall.
I stood, staring at my surroundings. I could smell things in the air, scents I could tell were far off, yet still strong. I could hear footsteps and whispered conversations from people I couldnt even see. I could see the minutest detail in the room, from the cracks in the floor to imperfections in the bars on other cells yards away, almost down to the microscopic level.
Glancing at myself for the first time, I took stock of my appearance. Stark white hair, almost to my waist. Grey skin, covered in a fine grey fur. Tiny claws in place of fingernails on each hand and foot. I had no way of seeing my face. My muscles were toned, though I didnt know why.
I paced the cell. Called out for someone, anyone. No response. I lay down on the cot, realizing there was nothing more I could do.
Have we determined the extent of the improvement?
No, doctor. Subjects sensory awareness and agility remains at near metahuman levels, but we will not know the level of the auxiliary enhancement until more rigorous testing is undertaken.
I woke again, this time to several white-masked men entering my cell, accompanied by something vaguely robotic, glowing with blue sparks and looking very powerful.
You will come with us, the robot said, but I could tell it was human, and very, very strong.
I followed them meekly out of the cell, down a brightly lit cement hallway into a pitch-black room. The robot-man strode to the opposite side of the enclosure, and the other men left, closing and locking the door behind them. Lights were lit, stinging my already-sensitive eyes.
You have but one option, subject. Fight, a voice called from a hidden speaker.
I merely stood, weak-kneed, leaning against the nearest wall.
Fight! the voice ordered again, and this time the command was punctuated by the robot-man rushing at me, fists raised, now bathed in red energy.
I instinctively leapt into the air as high as the room would allow, narrowly avoiding the strike. He seemed to be moving slowly, but I knew it had to be a trick of my senses. He lunged again, and I ducked down and nimbly scampered between his legs, again dodging the attack.
This technique would not last, as I soon realized he meant to do me real harm. Giving up on the fist attacks, he instead aimed his hands at me and they exploded into a blue and white corona, and the blast struck me full in the chest, knocking me off my feet and searing my jumpsuit. I could smell my singed fur, and the pain dizzied me.
He sensed my weakness, and followed the bolt with a savage uppercut to my chin. I flew into the air, and fell limply to the floor. The taste of blood was strong, metallic in my mouth. I could sense myself falling into and out of consciousness, and wondered why this man had beaten me so savagely.
Stepping back, he regarded my immobile form.
Some fighting machine you are. Ive bested better children at the company picnic.
I suddenly felt a rage build inside me, and suddenly the blood vanished from my mouth, my burned chest knitted back instantaneously, and I began to crackle with energy of my own, only it was green, and seemed to revitalize me.
He noticed the change as well, and nodded.
Very good, Power Tank 26. You may exit the exercise, the voice boomed again. The man led me back to my cell, where I collapsed onto the cot, falling immediately asleep.
Subject seems to have taken to the engineering well, doctor.
Yes, the last eight took the hit to the chin and expired immediately. This subject possesses great potential, but there is one piece missing.
The days that followed were the same routine: wake, fight, sleep. At least, it could have been days. Weeks, months, or years could have passed. As time progressed I learned to fight back against my attackers, and they always changed. Some set me on fire, others savagely beat me with fists, still others used bladed and blunt weapons to try and damage my flesh. Through it all, I always emerged unscathed, as the green energy instantly healed any wound I received, and let me concentrate on subduing my opponent.
I was a gifted acrobat, nimble and almost supernaturally fast. I found I could move at breakneck speed, becoming a blur and nearly invisible. I used this to my advantage in the scuffles, reasoning that at some point there would be a reason for my confinement and all the fighting.
Subject has retained super speed ability, and is progressing well in hand-to-hand combat, and has bested some of our top trainers without use of a weapon, doctor.
Very well, then. It is time we explain to the subject its mission, and provide it with its means.
Yes, doctor. Immediately.
The gloves fit perfectly, almost like a second skin. They were black with green circuitry, encasing my hand and wrist, throbbing with power. I used them in only one exercise, discovering they discharged razor-sharp claws of some metal Id never seen at a moments thought. Following my, well, dissection of this last opponent, I had never felt such rage, such fury. I retracted my claws, and the voice boomed.
Subject #43104, it is time you were given your purpose. You are charged as the first of your kind to defend Paragon City from its most dangerous threat: so-called Heroes. These vigilantes take law into their own hands, costing innocent lives almost every step of the way. They seek to destroy we who have given you these abilities, who have nurtured and protected you. They seek to kill you for what you stand for. The gloves you wear are your tools, use them passionately and without abandon. You must kill those who seek to kill you. You must never lose sight of your mission. You must give no quarter, no mercy. You will be a champion of Paragon. You will be the first of its Protectors.
For some reason, I believed the voice. I believed I combat those who would seek to destroy me, destroy the lives of innocents, destroy the institution who had trained me. The gloves, which I found I could not remove, were explained to contain a liquid titanium alloy that, at the merest thought, would oxidize and form razor-sharp claws. I still dont understand the technology behind them.
I couldnt tell you how long I wore that yellow and blue suit, complete with shiny helmet. I hunted and killed countless heroes, protecting the city from their lawless and destructive rampages, every night returning to the non-descript building I knew as my home to return to my cell. I never knew where I was, other than Paragon City. I would venture over seas, across islands, into abandoned warehouses and labs, protecting the assets of the voice I referred to as Crey. Heroes would invade our peaceful facilities, subdue our guards, making them disappear somehow. Though I never saw them outright kill anyone, I never hesitated to repay them in kind. My claws never grew dull, and each night when I returned I would spend hours washing heros blood off of them.
Until that night. That night I met the heroes who would show me exactly what I needed to see.
______________________
I was sent out that night on a special mission: to kill the members of an elite team investigating what they called corruption in the Crey hierarchy. I was to silently infiltrate a laboratory they were raiding and surprise them. Simple, for one as skilled as myself.
I entered the lab through a secret passageway, known only to my superiors, to find utter devastation. Our scientists were savagely beaten, blade marks had destroyed countless pieces of equipment, and the strong smell of ozone from energy and electricity blasts filled the air. I tracked down the source of the offenders in a hallway, and presented myself to them.
What is that? one of the spandex-clad buffoons asked, flames spouting from his hands.
I have no earthly idea, but in that suit shes kind of hot, one said, strangely surrounded by the same green emanations I had seen on my own body.
I merely stood there, examining the six costumed do-gooders for weaknesses. I was already tired from my exertions that day, and wanted to destroy them as quickly as possible.
Well, I suppose we could always ask, the one who was obviously the leader said, his robotic armor and blue and red coloring almost silly in its appearance.
No need. I am the Paragon Protector, and I am here to kill you.
My claws extended and I sank into a fighting stance, fluid motion adorning my every movement.
The leader reacted, quickly shielding his companions in what appeared to be force fields as the green-shrouded one moved as if to engage me.
I merely flipped onto my hands, bringing my legs over my head to kick him brutally in the face, sending him flying. The flame-wielder began to sear my costume with his blasts, but I waded through them and sank my left claws deep into his abdomen.
He gasped, feeling the cold titanium react to his hot flesh, and went limp. I raised my other hand to impale him through the throat when the robot encased me in some sort of bubble, rendering me unable to attack.
Magia, get to work on Devils Fire, right now. I think Manticore was right!
What do you mean, Pax? the green one said, now standing, rubbing his chin, seemingly unaffected by the vicious blow I had given him.
I fought, struggled to get free of my invisible prison, but to no avail.
She said Paragon Protector, right, Qwiz?
Yeah, so?
Theres been something my contacts have been saying about a new weapon Crey was planning to create to kill heroes, using heroes themselves.
I still dont get it, the healing one said, her task on the firey hero complete.
After the Rikti War, Crey Industries removed bodies of dead heroes without permission, but no one knew why. We know they have an extensive genetics and cloning division, and there were rumors...
What? Now it was my turn to be startled.
Take off your helmet, the one called Pax ordered.
I take orders from no one but the voice, I spat.
Look, its either you take off your helmet or you go straight to the Zig, and they arent too friendly to lithe young women in there, or so I hear. Besides, you dont even get fresh air.
I thought about this momentarily, and I decided that I could kill them as easily without my helmet, so I acquiesced.
A look of shock, almost recognition, adorned the healers face.
Oh my God, thats Stephanie Curtis! She used to be called Crimson Claw! I teamed up with her once in Atlas Park before the war! But she never had claws, and certainly never killed
She fell to her knees, completely overwhelmed.
Magia, whats wrong? Pax said.
Stephanie Curtis died in the initial attack on Paragon by the Rikti. Her body was never found.
_________________________
The woman buried her face in her hands.
Mags, what do you mean? the wounded one asked, having recovered from my blow.
She sobbed once, then continued.
Dont you get it? I saw her die in that first wave. She was struck in the chest by an energy ray from one of the Rikti capital ships, and the entire upper half of her body just
vaporized. The ray knocked a building on top of her, and her remains were never recovered. I dont know how, or why, but shes standing in front of us.
I simply stared, this information coming out of nowhere. Its a trick, I thought. They are sneaky, these heroes, and will do anything to save themselves. They have me incapacitated, why not just kill me and be done with it?
So what do we do with her? the armored one said.
I dont know, the woman said, but we cant just teleport her out of here. We need answers, and we need them fast, before we find another one of these we cant handle.
Fair enough, back to base folks. Well take this subject with us, the robot said, and vanished.
Stephanie, if you even remember that name, Im so sorry about what happened, but we have to figure out what happened to you, and how we can stop it, the woman said to me, before placing her hand on my arm and transporting me to an unknown destination.
We reappeared in what looked to me like my building at Crey, but more lavishly furnished. Where at home there were simply cots and bars, here there were lighted screens with various data, lamps, tables, large generators, and several other heroes lounging on couches and practicing fighting techniques with advanced training robots.
Welcome back, yall, one hero said, lazily sauntering up to us, what do we have here?
Well, its a little bit of a problem for us, A.G. Apparently this is a dead hero from the war, who has somehow been resurrected and placed in the employ of Crey Industries. We found her in a Crey lab while on a task force for Manticore, and we brought her back here to find out exactly whats going on, the robot said, having removed his helmet to reveal a youngish male face.
Craziness, good Lord. I dont even know, but she looks right mean, yall.
She was indeed correct. I was mean. I also realized that with this many heroes around, they could easily overpower my regenerative abilities. I was a killer, but I was no fool. I would escape, somehow, and relate this incident to the voice.
Youre right, Aurora, the other woman said, who I now realized was the one they called Mags, but we can contain her in one of our stasis fields until we figure out something to do with her.
Fair enough, but dont ask me to babysit. She looks like she could right tear me a new one.
I growled at her, something in her slight frame and pigtails causing my claws to extend from my gloves, and the heroes stepped back.
Kittys got claws, nice, another new hero said, and I turned.
He was tall, and had a blue fedora on, his blonde hair sprouting out from under it. I could feel his body sapping the warmth from my own.
Names Temper, Chilling Temper. Pleased to make your acquaintance, chica.
He extended his hand, which began to glow with the same red energy I had seen so many times in training. The one with pigtails had the same power, I noticed.
I drew in my claws, accepting the hand. I said nothing.
Real conversational, aint she, C.T.? Aurora said, laughing.
Well, just because I have more manners than a pissed-off Hellion doesnt mean I have to be nice to you, kiddo. Go back to nursing your fragile little ego, girl.
Yeah. Right. Whatever.
C.T., Aurora, stop. Now is not the time, Pax said, dismissing the two youths with a wave of his armored hand.
Right, Pax. Good luck with Kitten Caboodle here, Fedora said, wandering off to sit in front of the screens.
I simply stood and waited for my chance to escape, but saw nothing that would possibly aid me. The walls were solid, no doors were evident, and it seemed to me that the building wasnt really in a place, in that sense, but a projection or hologram.
They led me into a side chamber, and left me, activating a force field to keep me inside. As they left, I saw the training enclosure, the cold steel bars, the blood, the sights of my captivity, and something inside me snapped. I extended my claws and threw myself at the force field, singing my suit and sending searing pain through my arms and chest. I paid no heed to the pain as I sent my claws again and again into the withering energy wall, doing nothing to damage it. The skin on my arms began to bubble and smoke from the laser, and my regeneration struggled to keep up.
I kicked, slashed, even tried to bite my way out of my cell, burning every square inch of my body beyond pain, beyond sensation. I eventually passed out, still feebly dragging my left claws down the steel wall.
_______________
We cant leave her in there, somethings wrong with her. She doesnt respond well to captivity.
Obviously, Pax. The Stephanie I knew would never voluntarily work for Crey, so she had to have been kept locked up there. Its probably some form of post-traumatic stress disorder.
What do you remember about her before the war?
She was a mutant, but not a particularly powerful one. She had super speed, was stronger, faster, and more agile than a normal human, but not extraordinarily so. She hung out around west Atlas most of the time, taking out Hellions and Clockwork, but never took on anything more dangerous. She had the same hair and fur, but no claws like that. She was simple, and kind, but I visited her in the hospital once after shed taken a beating from a gang leader. She was in for two weeks, and wasnt back on the streets for another three. Nothing like the regenerative ability were seeing from her now.
Anything you can think of to explain this?
Well, we tried removing her gloves, but theyre fused into the nerves in her arms, and the claws seem to respond to the release of adrenaline into her bloodstream. To remove them would mean amputating her arms just below the elbow.
Thats not an option. The healing abilities?
We drew blood, and sent it off to the Phalanx headquarters. Our medical facility isnt capable of advanced genetic testing. I know her original mutation didnt show these abilities.
When are we expecting them back?
Numina said shed send someone over this afternoon.
I awoke on a lab table, my armor hanging on a tree to the side, and my wrists bound to the railings on the table. My gloves were encased in a steel cage, and the claws were rendered useless. I realized fighting was useless, so I waited for something to happen.
The door opened, and the pigtailed one, Aurora, Magia, and Pax strode into the room, followed by another, red-haired hero I hadnt seen before. She wore green, and was very slim.
I didnt expect you to come, Psyche, Pax said, graciously allowing the woman to come to my bedside.
Stephanie, Stephanie, do you remember me? she said, placing her hands on her hips.
I looked at her blankly, simply baring my teeth.
Apparently not.
Psyche, can you do anything? What did her blood work show? Pax said, leaning against the doorframe.
Numina said most of her genetic makeup matched the Registration Bureaus data on one Stephanie Curtis, but there was a significant difference in the way her stem cells reproduced.
What do you mean, Sis? Aurora said, having taken a seat in the farthest part of the room away from me.
Basically, a normal human, or mutant for that matter, only reproduces stem cells at a certain rate, with a normal healing speed. Stephanies genetic signature shows an ability to almost instantaneously heal any wound, internal or external, up to a certain point. The power can be overwhelmed if enough injury is taken at one time. As far as fighting is concerned, if you cant kill her in about fifteen seconds she cant die.
So how could this have happened?
We compared the results to those of other samples taken from so-called Paragon Protectors over the course of the last few weeks, and the answer seems pretty clear to me. They were all ex-dead heroes, as well. Same story, bodies never found after the war. Same genetic differences from their registration data. I think its safe to say Crey Biotech stole the bodies and cloned them, tinkering with the mutant genome as they saw fit. Some of the samples we took were from power combinations wed never seen, things that would kill a normal mutant during the course of the powers evolution. This regenerative ability is definitely rare, though.
So what we have here is a clone of Stephanie Curtis, all memories conveniently removed, built from a test tube to be an efficient, soulless killing machine.
Exactly. Except for one thing: Stephanie has something implanted in her skull, at the base of her medulla oblongata.
Which means what?
Im guessing its some sort of synapse response device, designed, like the gloves, to respond to the release of adrenaline. I would think it subjugates all higher brain function, driving her into an insensate rage.
Explains her behavior in the detention area.
Right. Also, though, it might have a radio receiver on it, something her Crey handlers could use to turn her rage on and off, cover their own [censored].
Wouldnt put it past them.
So what are you going to do?
Well, I think first thing we remove the device, and try and make sense of it all.
__________________
So, here I am now. The rage modulator, as it came to be called, was removed, and suddenly I held no animosity toward any of the heroes. It was discovered that the device also received low-frequency radio signals, supplanting the voices control and developing my behavioral patterns.
Without the behavior modification, I felt no urge to return to Crey, to resume my old life. Well, my second life.
After a small probationary period, I was allowed to register with the Paragon City Bureau, and I told them my name was Feral Fury. Aurora had suggested it, saying shed never seen someone as small as me get as furious as I did in the detention cell.
I didnt retire my armor, though. I modified it, changed the pattern and added my own emblem to the chestplate. I found it fit me better than anything my colleagues could provide, and allowed me to move freely while fighting. Hanging on to this vestige of my second life reminded me of how Crey Industries had robbed me of my dignity and humanity, and I vowed to wear it when I made them pay.
I refused the offer to join the group of the heroes who had saved me, electing instead to find my own place and figure out how best to go about saving myself. Im on my third life now, as Feral Fury. I guess what they say about cats is true. I just hope I dont get to nine, otherwise I might just have to die. Again.
