Cowman

After the meeting with Medb had ended, Kirke made his way to the room that had been set aside for him. True to her word, Medb's men had brought the trunk. Leaving it for the moment, Kirke pulled off his overcoat and jacket, tossing them on a chair. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before and had been in costume for over 12 hours now. His joints cracked and popped as he stretched, removing his flak vest and shirt.

It was then that he noticed the two pieces of smooth metal laying on the bed. Snatching the note he read the brief message, his face darkening a little. Did they think he was stupid? It didn't take a genius to know that these things were mystical somehow, and messing with magic that you had no idea about was an easy way to wind up dead or worse.

Still, he couldn't just throw them out in case they WERE useful somehow. Being careful not to touch them with any bare skin, Kirke wrapped the metal in torn pieces of sheet and shoved them into the inner pockets of his coat. He wasn't sure wether someone was actually asking for his help or just trying to set him up or use him. The latter was the most likely scenario.

Walking wearily into the bathroom he turned on the sink, sticking his head under the faucet and letting the water soak his hair and face. Straightening back up he let the water run down his back and shoulders as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Frown lines creased his forehead and he could feel the scar that ran along his jaw line as he scratched at the three day growth of whiskers. A plethora of scars were scattered up the length of his arms and several more slashed across his chest and gut. There were even more on his back. They didn't bother him, they were reminders. Reminders of why he had to be the best. Because he had no fancy armor or magic talisman to keep him alive out there. He was just meat and bone. Kirke liked meat and bone. He knew what they could take, what he could ask of them.

He winced suddenly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bottle of Aspirin and dumping a few into his mouth. His left arm was giving him hell again, but he had no one to blame but himself. A couple of heroes, some ninja and his sidekick, had stumbled upon one of his jobs. After a short chase over some rooftops in King's Row, Kirke had managed to catch both of them with a flash grenade, blinding them for a few precious seconds.

The kid took a round through the shoulder and went down. Kirke brought the gun to bear on the mentor, focusing solely on him. A mistake. The kid wasn't as out of it as he'd assumed and had thrown her sword at him, impaling his arm. It caused his shot to go wide, grazing the heroes forehead. Neither hero was in any condition to follow him as he fled the scene. He only made it about a block before he had to stop and tie it off before he passed out from blood loss. The scar reminded him never to assume anything.

Walking back into the main room Kirke briefly considered going through the trunk now, but finally decided it could wait. Falling into the other armchair he scooted it over to the wall, just behind the door (if someone came in the door would hit the chair, waking him up). Leaning back he allowed himself to fall into a light doze.

((I wasn't sure if Medb had anymore to say or not. If she did go ahead and say that Kirke is still there. This scene will take place after she has finished.))

What?

((Sorry. I was around the whole time, but was just letting the Blind Guardian guy-story run through. I probably would have waited for Medb to talk again, but didn't want anyone to think I had bailed.))

Kirke glared at the glowing gem from behind his goggles. He HATED magic. However, the momentary distraction gave him a chance to think. This soul that she said was passed down through her family was most likely the very reason why she wanted Book. She had said herself that he was an expert on soul transfer, so she probably wanted him there to make sure she wasn't possessed by this thing when her father died.

Of course he could be off base. Maybe the dead king only infected the male members of the family, but he kind of doubted it. It fit so well with Book's prescence that he was almost sure of it. He looked again at the stone in Medb's hand, thinking about the possibility of going up against a demon.

He had learned to prepare for anything in Paragon City and had found a few ways to combat such things. Not with magic, of course. Magic was too unpredictable. Iron worked well against many supernatural types as did silver. Holy water worked on most demons and vampires, though there seemed to be some different "species" of both that weren't affected by the stuff. Unfortunatly, all he had with him was his two Desert Eagles.

"If it's not too much to ask," he said, though there wasn't any real politeness in his voice, "I'd appreciate it if some of your men could pick up some equipment for me. I'm sure you already know where I'm holed up at the moment. If they could bring the large box in the far right-hand corner I'd be grateful."

The crate was locked and he had the key. Medb's staff probably had the means to break it, but hopefully they wouldn't think about it. Besides, it was just supplies and ammunition; nothing she could object to him having. Giving her men free permission to enter his base would appear to be a major mistake on his part, but he moved himself around a lot of the time anyway. Abandoning the place after this whole mess was over would be standard procedure anyway. And the seeming blunder would help enforce the others' opinion of his inferior status. He knew that many considered him as little more than a small time thug with delusions of grandeur. Kirke didn't really care what they thought; hell, he even enforced the image sometimes. The minute people think that you're below them you have an advantage.

The Cowman - In reality it's just my nickname (can't remember how it got started other than I like cows). In the game it's just cause the guy's insane. He has no idea why he calls himself that. Just random silliness really cause he doesn't look anything like a cow.

I have others, but way too many to mention. A lot of my characters just use their own names.

[ QUOTE ]

The woman rubbed her hand back and forth on her forehead as if trying to think of something. "I don't know why, but I feel like I'm forgetting about another potential road block..."


[/ QUOTE ]

Kirke frowned under his mask. That last statement made him uneasy, and the woman's suddenly confused-looking actions made it worse. Up until now this Medb had seemed to have laid everything out perfectly. Now she seemed to have let something slip her mind.

This new development seemed completely uncharacteristic from what he had seen so far, and it had sent off warning alarms in his head. He hid his trepidation though, asking another question instead.

"This ancient spirit," he said, the slight disdain in his voice still intact. "How is it passed on exactly? If we kill your father will it die with him or just pass on to the next person in line?"

"I take it that this person who can ruin everything ISN'T your father," Kirke said flatly. "Just what should we be expecting here?"

So, she chose Book because he had an intimate knowledge of ghosts and stuff, Kirke thought. It still didn't explain why she had picked him over one of the other meta-powered villains, but he let it go for now.

"So just who is this guy who can ruin everything? And why is Jeeves here so useful against him?" Kirke was starting to feel like nothing more than a pawn, being set up right where Medb wanted him. And pawns had a nasty habit of being sacrificed.

"Linch-pin?" Kirke wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried at this distinction He certainly hadn't expected it. He glanced briefly at Mr. Book, trying to determine his reaction, but the creepy aristocrat's face was unreadable.

"Why us?" he asked suddenly, eyes narrowing behind his goggles. "There are quite a few rather 'talented' people here. How are we so important?"

Kirke's every instinct told him to refuse and leave, but this whole situation was really gnawing at his curiosity and he just HAD to know what would happen ('that attitude is going to get you killed someday,' he scolded himself). Besides, he reasoned as he followed the other two through the door, if it turned out to be a trap the posh guy with the powers would most likely be their main target, and he might be able to slip away quickly.

Kirke listened quietly but intently to the introductions until it seemed to be his turn. He stayed silent for just a second (a small show of rebellion) before speaking, keeping his voice steady.

"Kirke. Marcus Kirke. Born about 25 years ago, not planning on dying anytime soon. No powers, no minions, and not much free time," he almost growled, looking pointedly at Medb. "There are a lot of heroes around now-a-days and that needs to be balanced out. That's what I'm doing here."

Someone pointed out the literal army of gangs and occult groups that infested the city, but Kirke waved it away.

"Nothing but two-dimensional thugs. I'm talking about real villains. There aren't too many left anymore." He finished his little speech abruptly, partly to keep his bad attitude apparent to the others and partly because he was surprised with what he had said.

What had made him openly admit all that information? Especially announcing that he had no powers. Stupid. He hadn't been able to stop himself though, it had seemed so natural. Now that Kirke thought about it, all of those gathered seemed to be talking a little too openly, especially for a group of villains. All except for "Nomegeh" of course. He was sure that she was still hiding something, but even she had freely listed a couple exploits her supposed boss had been involved in. Surely not a good idea.

Kirke began to wonder if some outside influence was at work. Some sort of odorless gas being pumped into the room perhaps. Heck, this Medb seemed wealthy enough to have her own team of telepaths on hand using some form of powerful psychic suggestion. Not enough to control any of them openly of course. Kirke was pretty sure that would be impossible with most of the room's occupants, but perhaps enough to make them a little loose with personal information.

Resolving himself to think more carefully about what he said in future, Kirke leaned against the wall directing his attention back to the conversation.

The Cowman stood still, not saying anything. He looked back at the device, the last images of the dark room disappearing as the portal they jumped through winked out. He turned and looked at the clean, undamaged room they were now in. He looked at the three new heroes that had seemingly shown up from nowhere. He looked back and forth between the clean, clothed Melissa and the gooey (and rather naked) Melissa he had carried from the other room. He finally straightened himself up, his clothes in tatters and his hand still smoking from the black ooze, and spoke very calmly and plainly.

"I think I'm gonna cry."

As Mystic disappeared into another reality (or back to the original reality, the Cowman had no idea which it was) his flight aura quickly dissapated from the air. The Cowman found himself falling onto the top of another computer terminal.

He steadied himself against the blast of wind that the "Guard" kicked up and watched as much of the black ooze was swept towards the wall. Unfortunatly it didn't clear the whole floor and the metal surface couldn't stand up to the corrosive liquid anymore.

The room shook as part of the floor collapsed, and more was soon to follow. Glancing around for the others he caught sight of Corvus. Flashing by a twisted hulk of black muscles, she flew for the spot where Mystic had vanished. The artery in one of her wrists had obviously been punctured, leaving drops of crimson to fall through the air behind her. In the next instant she had gone, just as Mystic had. Well, he wasn't one to go against a good idea.

"Looks like we're abandoning ship," he called to the guy in white. As he prepared to follow Mystic and Corvus his eyes suddenly spotted a lump of something lying on part of the floor that had been cleared.

"Hey, it's the dead lady," he mumbled, leaping over to her. More of the floor gave out near them. The Cowman grabbed the prone body by the scruff of her neck, the thin coating of ooze on her burning into his hand. Turning towards the portal he suddenly found himself looking at the large black monster from before.

"All right," he said softly, "round 2." Unsheathing his sword he crouched low, building up as much tension in his legs as he could. The creature lunged towards him, arms reaching out to crush them. At the last second, the Cowman pushed off the ground. The jump which would normally send him flying high into the air, shot him up over the thing's arms. His sword flashed in a wide arc as he flew by its head, catching it in the neck. The now headless monster fell to the ground.

"Mess with the best, die like the rest," the Cowman chuckled as he glanced back at the fallen creature. His smile quickly disappeared as he saw more of the black insects pouring out of the monster's open neck and several other creatures materializing out of the shadows.

"Uh, no offense though," he called as he finally reached the portal. He was blinded by a flash of light and suddenly found himself and the girl falling onto the well-lit floor of the room. He groggily sat up, looking around at the other heroes in the room.

"But, it wasn't a dream. You were there... and you were there... and you; actually," he said looking at the back of the large blue armored guy, "I've never seen you before."

During his futile attempts to free himself from the creatures, the Cowman's gaze happened to pass over the device. One of Mystic's flame powers had cast a brief glow over the room and he was able to make out an image seeming to float within it. It was like another image that Mystic had said they had seen before the Cowman had arrived.

An exact duplicate of the room they were now in, only it was well lit with no corrosive black ooze or nasty little bug monsters. There also seemed to be a cyborg-looking guy walking around. His view was cut off suddenly by the dimming of the flames and another monster trying to take a bite out of his face.

Then flame was erupting around him, not close enough to burn him, but he could still feel the blistering heat. Falling backwards, he rolled quickly through the fire. The black creatures squealed in pain, falling away in flaming chunks of black meat. As he rolled away from the flames and stood, he could already hear more of the things scurrying towards him. The scratches and chunks of skin and muscle that the monsters had torn off burned and ached, but it was nothing he hadn't taken before.

Making a jump towards Mystic and the others, he managed to get back within the aura of flight that the scholarly hero had cast earlier. Floating a little awkwardly over to the others he hovered there, upside down with his arms crossed in front of him.

"Okay, who else isn't having a good time anymore?"

The Cowman pulled himself groggily from the small crater in the wall. The room was still dark with only the randomly flickering attempts from Mystic and Corvus. But there was someone else in the room now.

Shaking his head to clear it, he heard the newcomer announce himself. Well, he chuckled to himself, there was already some kinda demon, so why not someone from the other team.

A sound suddenly made him pause. It seemed to be coming from inside the very crater he had just vacated. A soft, chittering or scurrying noise, almost insect-like. Squinting his eyes behind his goggles, the Cowman leaned closer, attempting to see what lay within the shadows.

There was a brief flash of glowing eyes before a swarm of small dark somethings flew forward. Cowman fell backwards as the things slammed into him, instantly swarming around him. In the strobe lighting of the room the creatures could not be made out clearly as a few broke off from the main group and skittered or buzzed towards some of the others.

Luck once again favored the Cowman as he fell onto a computer terminal instead of the corrosive black liquid. The small bits of darkness still swarmed around him, biting and slashing. He lashed out, knocking some away, but more always seemed to immediatly take their place.

"I'M NEVER ACCEPTING ANOTHER INVITATION AS LONG AS I LIVE!!!" he shouted, clawing at the dark swarm that engulfed him.

The tension in the room seemed to suddenly increase dramatically. This was exactly what Kirke had been afraid of. Get to many big names in one room and egos were bound to crash.

Kirke couldn't help but think how whoever had planned this little meeting was either a genius or an idiot. A meeting between this many of these types of people were always either very profitable or an outright disaster.

Though one thing still puzzled him. Why was he here? He seemed to be the only villain present that had no special powers. He hadn't seen Dr. Book show any obvious powers, but the way the man carried himself seemed to suggest otherwise.

Any nervousness he felt though was well hidden. In his relativly short time as a villain, he had gotten used to dealing with people more powerful than him. Hiding your reactions was a valuble lesson in survival, and Kirke had learned it well.

"Please do," he said in response to Mr. Dark's last statement. "I gotta say, I'm getting really tired of standing around like an idiot waiting for someone to tell me what's going on. I'm not in the habit of meeting with anyone and all this cloak and dagger crap is wearing thin."

He crossed his arms in front of him, making sure that the movement made his coat flare a little, giving a brief flash of the guns underneath. He knew that it was an empty threat to most of the people in the room, but it was important that he appear unconsirned.

"What? Is something on my face," the Cowman asked at Mystic's exclamation. Noticing that the man's attention was actually behind him, he turned to look over his shoulder, catching a brief glimpse of the monstrosity in the fading light.

"Crap in a hat," was all he was able to mutter before the thing slammed one of its massive hands into his back. Cowman felt the tiny razors ripping through his jacket and slicing into his back as the arm slammed into him.

The blow sent him flying across the room and slamming into the wall. Luckily his borrowed flight remained functional, keeping him from plunging into the ooze below. Groping a little in the darkness, his hand suddenly found the hilt of his sword.

"Maybe I'm lucky after all," he thought happily as he pulled the blade free of the wall. He could barely make out the creature in the flickering light, but was able to pinpoint its head. Pushing off the wall, the Cowman flew towards the monstrous form. Raising the sword with a cry he brought in crashing down right between the thing's eyes.

A small tink echoed briefly in the room and for a second the Cowman just stared at the seemingly unaffected monster head before him. The black creature sent another blow at Cowman, sending him crashing into the other wall.

"Or maybe my luck's just as bad as ever," he mumbled from the crater in the wall, as the black monster roared triumphantly in the middle of the room.

"The lady said something about needing dark, so I assumed she meant the lights," the Cowman said, flailing about a little as his sudden flight left him hovering upside down.

"I never thought she meant the black acid-goo down there, but I don't understand any of this mystical crap anyway. Maybe we should just chuck her in and see what happens."

This last statement may have seemed sarcastic coming from anyone else, but the Cowman stated it simply and plainly, as though it were just another viable option.

As the cloaked woman brushed past him, Kirke was reminded of the name she gave, and how it had sounded strange to him. Running her name and the name of her supposed boss through his mind a couple times it finally hit him what had bothered him.

"Hmmm, unless I'm spelling it wrong, n-o-m-e-g-e-h... 'Hegemon' spelled backwards," he thought to himself.

"Coming up," the Cowman pulled his sword from it's sheath and sent it flying into a fuse box across the room. Electricity sparked and crackled around the sword for a brief second before the whole room was plunged into darkness.

"What's she mumbling about?" the Cowman shouted over his shoulder as he beat at a puddle of black ooze with a stool. Giving up once the seat dissolved, he hopped onto a computer console as the liquid spread quickly over the floor.

As they all moved to safety, a sound suddenly brought everyone to a halt, holding their breath until they heard it again. A long, low metallic moan echoed through the room as the floor began to succumb to the corrosive blackness.

Kirke wasn't the brightest of men, but he wasn't stupid either. He knew his niche in the villain racket and was careful not to step too far out of it. He may have had inclinations to improve his position, but this was too much, too fast. A step-up this big was dangerous.

"Yeah, it's real pretty. But what exactly are we doing here?" The revalation that the card he had found on the dead guy had actually been meant for him only served to make Kirke more nervous than before. Behind his goggles his eyes darted about the room taking in his surroundings, and he didn't like what he saw.

Normal firearms weren't going to do much good in this situation, but he stood straight and met the woman's gaze head on. After all, a villain should recognize a more powerful opponent, but should never let them know it.

"Well, she's dead," the Cowman stated plainly after nudging the obviously still alive woman with his boot. "What if we just filled the whole room up with cement and called it a day?"

Suddenly, the orb that Melissa had fallen from began to leak. A thick stream of liquid darkness spilled from it, even though no cracks could be seen. The Cowman crouched down by a patch as it oozed across the floor, curiously dipping his finger in it and holding it up to his face.

He watched as the black stuff dripped back down to the floor, suddenly realizing that his finger seemed to have liquified and dripped along with it.

"Um... that's not a good sign," he said, as the ooze continued to flow across the floor.

Kirke swore under his breath. This was not how he wanted this to play out. He thought briefly about trying to slip away quickly. After all, that was one of the advantages to being a villian, you could run away and not feel guilty about it.

Taking a look at the figures below, however, he dismissed the idea. From the looks of them these were serious players and could probably take him out before he could get far enough.

Sighing, he stood from his hiding place and jumped down from the window. Trying to look as confident as he could he returned the stares of some of the others. But he was starting to feel nervous. From the looks of things he was getting out of his league, and that was a sure way to end up dead.