Palaquinn

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 7

“Preposterous!” Clockstopper fairly stood on his chair, even so it barely lifted his head above the seated audience.

“I must protest this foolishness from going on any further! I mean really! If miss Ichimura could not read living material and this “Machine” is alive as she states, which I highly doubt, then how could she have “read” it in the first place!”

The angry little man hopped off his perch and strode the floor looking angrily at the gathered members in the city hall. He snarled as he pointed at IronHorse.

“Ladies and gentlemen I say this machine is duping you all! He is in league with Miss Ichimura and Miss Estavez! This is travesty and bad comedy! He was already sentenced once for being a rouge killer in 1868 what more proof do we need?”

In the back the gaunt figure that had counseled Clockstopper gave a grim smile as he eased back into the crowd. Another face watched the proceedings with interest however. Her face was un-emotional, even cold, and her eyes never seemed to leave the form of IronHorse. Her clothes were prim and neat, and she had a certain edge about her, as if with a look she could cut steel.

If one listened closely, one could barely hear the whirring of gears, like a high precision clock, and a small muttering of the woman under her breath.

Maria meanwhile was watching the little man with mounting anger. She wanted nothing more than to grab a chair and hurl it at the man who was causing her friend so much pain. IronHorse just sat there in the middle of the hall. He had not moved since Kitsumi had read his past up until the point he became alive. He simply stared at his hands and the floor.

“I ask the City Representative to strike the nonsense about this machine from the record and let us fact the fact that this machine is a killer!”

The City Representative flushed with anger, but had to admit the testimony was suspect. “Please, miss Ichimura, if you can not read living material how could you read IronHorse?”

“Because that message was left by Raven’s Whisper to be heard.” The voice boomed throughout the hall as the main doors burst open. A Native American man strode in unconcerned about the faces in the hall. He stood tall and proud in his black costume decked with the feathers of ravens. His dark eyes watched all in the hall and he strode to the City Representative. The figure thrust a document into her hands.

Shadow-Form meanwhile slipped into the room and sat next to Sparkle and Maria.

“Shadow, is that who I think it is?” Sparkle whispered. Shadow merely nodded and leaned into the group with a whisper.

“I had to hunt to find him, and low and behold he’s in the middle of Perez Park sitting on a pile of Hellion thugs while his Imps were keeping them in place. He was reading an ecology textbook to them and shouting why they should not be beating on trees.”

Maria looked at Shadow and then at the dark man who stood in the center of the room with his arms crossed. “Who is he?” She whispered.

“Father Raven.” Shadow stated simply. “Avatar of the Native American God, Raven.”

The City Representative at this time had turned from red at the intrusion to white. She looked at the man and then at the documents. Clockstopper meanwhile was not to be denied.

“Who ARE you? How dare you intrude on these affairs!” He was about to rant on when Father Raven looked at him with a fire hotter than the sun.

“Paragon City code 802. When a certified representative of a higher power wishes to testify he may. Precedent set by Guardian Angel in Azaroth Vs. Bishop West in 1987. Now do shut up.” This left the little man gasping and staring at the man. Father Raven ignored Clockstopper and strode to the prone form of IronHorse. Gently he laid his hand on the massive metal man’s shoulder.

“Old Friend…” Father Raven whispered. IronHorse looked up and then his eye-visor flared in shock.

“Raven’s Whisper?”

“No… But I am his descendant. My people spoke much about you. More so than would be heard in the courts in 1868. Indeed, one of the members of my tribe tried to defend you in court but was thrown out before being able to speak a single word.”

“I don’t remember that. They didn’t let him get near me I guess.” IronHorse sighed and looked into the eyes of the spitting image of his oldest friend.

Father Raven turned and looked at the gathered crowd.

“I shall summarize quickly. I have just given tribal documents passed down from generation to generation among my tribe that clearly exonerates this MAN.” He slapped IronHorse on the back and looked at Clockstopper daring him to disagree.

“My ancestor, Raven’s Whisper, wrote down everything that transpired the night in question. This he passed to four Braves as they traveled to four other tribes so the documents would be held in safekeeping. The documents detail the exact whereabouts of IronHorse, his role in averting a great disaster, and the role he had in holding off a horde of undead outside of Dudley Arizona. The documents are notarized, and signed by the Braves who witnessed IronHorse that night.”

Father Raven whirled and looked at Clockstopper and those few remaining supporters of the angry little bigot.

“These documents were denied in the original court case of IronHorse because, like him, my people were not considered human. I hope in this day and age there is more enlightened views of humanity. The documents prove IronHorse is innocent of the past charges, and that he should walk out of here a free man.”

Clockstopper gaped like a fish as Father Raven gazed at him in hatred. The City Representative read the documents again and again.

“These…” She muttered. “These are real and official. I’d like to have them examined for authenticity, but the tribal seals…” She looked up into the crowd and then at IronHorse.

“I see no further reason to hold this being here any longer. These documents prove he was innocent in the past, and the evidence given also shows he was acting in defense of the city and human life in the present. I ask only a waiting period for these documents to be examined, and for miss Estavez to keep watch over IronHorse until such time his AI license is properly applied.”

The crowd literally erupted and several people charged the floor to congratulate IronHorse. Maria hugged him tightly and wiped tears away. Why this metal man meant so much to her she was not sure, but seeing him free made her feel better than ever before.

Clockstopper yelled and cursed but could not be heard above the din. He even considered charging the monstrosity before a hard grip locked about his arm and pulled him from the crowd. The gaunt figure looked hard into Clockstopper’s eyes, and for once he could see the sunken eye-sockets and pale grey skin of the figure.

“You still wish to get revenge upon the metal man yes?” The voice was a harsh and foul smelling whisper. Clockstopper gagged but found himself helpless in the gaunt man’s gaze. “My master thinks he may be able to help you. Come with me then.” Without another word the gaunt man dragged Clockstopper out of the building before he could be missed.

Father Raven meanwhile walked to IronHorse’s side and patted the metal man on his shoulder. IronHorse stood, and gripped Maria’s hand while he shook Father Raven’s with his free palm.

“Thank you…”

“No IronHorse, thank you. Raven’s Whisper spoke highly of you in his journals. He called you a true friend of the land and his people. I also must tell you to not regret or feel guilt for what happened. Ed, your father, lives in you still. Just as Raven’s Whisper does.” With a subtle gesture Father Raven pressed a small bag into IronHorse’s palm. The machine man looked down and saw the small shaman’s neckband.

“They… They took this from me in the courtroom in 1868!”

“Yes… It took some finding, and I was going to offer it to the spirit of my ancestor but, I found that he wanted it to come to you. Don’t ask me how.” He smiled and then bowed to Maria.

“Take care of this lug miss. He is one of a kind.” Before Maria could answer the Native American man vanished in a cloud of feathers and a large raven flew out the doors.

Cops swarmed about IronHorse, Maria hugged his arm, Sparkle and Shadow came up and congratulated him, and Kitsumi smiled and wished him well along with all the others.

A lone figure stayed in her seat and watched the room slowly empty. She stood stiffly and then placed a hand to her ear. In a muffled whisper she spoke to mid-air.

“Lord Nemesis, I can confirm it is him. The being you sought during the Civil War walks and functions again, and he is all you said he was…”

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 6

The girl parted her lips and began her reading. "IronHorse's first coal fire was ignited at 16:11 on October 14th, 1864…"


The visions were coming in clearer than ever before, Kitsumi had to pause for a bit and take a deep breath after rattling off the date and time of the mechanical man’s “birth.”

"Um… Hello?”

Kitsumi started and almost opened her eyes. The voice was familiar. It had a deep timbre’ and was somehow very calming.

In her mind, she formed the name and focused as she did while chatting with her sword.

“Mr. IronHorse?”

“Heh… Just IronHorse Mam. I’ll be damned if I know how I’m doin’ this with y’all but I hope you don’t mind if I tag along with you.”

“Tag along?” Kitsumi was confused by the statement but she could hear the deep chuckle of the machine man again.

“Yeah. Ya see, I don’t rightly remember much before I… well before 1866, so I figured since you’re strollin’ down memory lane I’d hitch a ride and find out myself.”

Kitsumi wanted to ask more, but the past seemed to jolt forward again. The history of the being she touched began playing itself out as if it were some old movie.

“Let me know if there is anything I can do Miss Kitsumi.”

“For now, just hush. I need to focus.”

Inhaling again she watched the scenes of the past play out, and in a dull monotone she rattled off the names and places where the events were taking place.

It was in Chicago, and young Edward Thorp had just fired up his creation “IronHorse, the locomotive man” for the first time. There was a bout of applause and then the breaking of a bottle of champagne on the hull of the machine. After the party, Edward sat staring at the machine shaking his head.

“You’re little more than a glorified suit of armor.” He whispered. Kitsumi winced as she heard the voice. It was almost the same as that of IronHorse himself! It lacked something however. The voice seemed weak in comparison.

“Holy Crow… I guess, I guess that’s my dad huh?” Kitsumi heard IronHorse whisper. She mentally shushed him again and kept on listening.

“Glorified armor for a certified fraud.” Edward sighed and placed his head in his hands. “At least you’re lucky though. You don’t have to worry about being something other than what you are. I envy that in you.”

“As well you should Mr. Thorp.”

The new voice cut as a knife edged in ice. A figure strode forward. Kitsumi rattled off the name of the man but could do nothing to describe the air of palpable malevolence about the man.

“Mr. Dumas! Welcome sir!” Ed nearly fell out of his chair trying to greet his financer for the IronHorse project. “He’s all ready to go for you sir!”

Andre Dumas snorted and looked at the massive metal man.

“Not much to look at is he?”

“Well sir, IronHorse was designed to be a show-piece for your railroad. He’s stronger and more powerful than any locomotive on the lines now. He was never built for looks, but built for power.” Ed smiled at the hulking figure and wiped off an errant oil-spot with a rag. “True American engineering here. Better than any automaton yet. Even those Nemesis things.”

“But, am I to understand that this wonderful automaton can not operate on its own?”

Edward fell back and looked hard at Andre.

“How… How did you…”

Andre grinned the smile of a predator and sighed.

“Even the great Nemesis engines that ravage the union troops to the South are not without some human component Mr. Thorp. I’ll grant you this body you have built is impressive, but without a mind, he’s little better than the locomotives you based him upon.”

Edward swallowed hard and sighed.

“He… he does have a mind sir… Me.”

“HUH?”

“IronHorse Shut up!” The mental words rang out and almost washed over the scene knocking Kitsumi’s concentration loose.

“Of course Mr. Thorp… You are the brilliant mind behind this beast’s engineering but that’s hardly…”

“No sir, I mean I am its mind. Watch.” Ed walked towards IronHorse, began working some valves, and opened a hatch in the metal man’s back. Without another word, he climbed inside and then the hatch closed promptly.

“That’s… That’s my secondary water tank…” IronHorse whispered. “’Tain’t nothin’ else in there…”

Kitsumi sighed and could feel that IronHorse told the truth… There was nothing in that area Mr. Thorp opened in the present day but water for the boiler. But in the past…

In the past IronHorse stood up and saluted Mr. Dumas.

“Here you go sir! See? He has a mind, but no one else but you and I know this. Even the other engineers don’t know. I kept this design aspect quiet so we can at least have SOMETHING that looks like its operating on its own. Granted it is sort of like that old Chess-Playing automaton but at least it’s a sight better than the Nemesis things. Trust me Mr. Dumas, with this baby at your rail-shows we will pack them in!”

Andre stroked his goatee and grinned. He nodded simply and then pointed hard at the moving metal man.

“I want you to ensure that just you and I know about this Mr. Thorp. I wanted a true thinking machine for my show, and this is hardly it, and definitely won’t be if others found out. The presence of this metal man may pack crowds in, but finding out it is little more than a puppet will definitely hinder the show. I assume you’re the only one who can drive it?”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Keep it that way. And be prepared to move in the morning.”

With that Andre whirled about and marched from the premises. There was a hiss of steam and the hatch opened on IronHorse’s back again. Ed climbed out slowly and wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Hot… Hot in there.”

Time lurched forward, dragging the minds of Kitsumi and the present day IronHorse along with it. Kitsumi rattled off the shows, how Mr. Thorp drove the machine. How he was constantly browbeaten by Mr. Dumas.

She also described how Ed had become friends with the rail workers and other showmen. They all nick-named him “The Doc” and liked him. Especially since he kept their meal ticket, the shows big draw IronHorse, running like, well like a fine tuned machine.

“April Twenty Second, 1866. The Dumas Rail-Show enters a small Arizona town named Dudley.” Kitsumi rattled off the date and time as the images whirled past. It was coming up on the critical timepoint.

Kitsumi and IronHorse bore witness to the show going up, and the draw of almost the entire town to each performance. They also saw Indians from a local reservation come to watch, although they never applauded. It was there Ed became friends with a local Shaman as well.

“The Shaman was named Raven’s Whisper and he came to the camp to heal one of the workers.” Kitsumi rattled off. IronHorse just watched now… being told to shut up so many times finally stuck.

Ed was amazed by the Shaman’s skill in healing and soon took to talking with the man. It was here that Raven’s Whisper expressed serious doubt about Andre Dumas and his reasons for coming to Dudley.

“The Earth has secrets here Mr. Thorp. Old and ancient ones. I have no doubt of the prosperity the train will bring to these lands, but ask at what cost. Mr. Dumas is looking for some thing Mr. Thorp. Count on that.”

Ed would have, and even had begun to suspect the same. Their shows always seemed to be away from big towns, and out in the open. Dumas always seemed to come away from each area with something new he loaded into his personal cars, but never spoke of them. The frightening thing was, Ed suspected Mr. Dumas of much more. One only had to walk past his car at night and he’d get the feeling of something twisting in his stomach while the air seemed to freeze. It was unnatural, but Ed, poor old Ed, never had the strength to confront his employer. He feared being exposed as a fraud with his puppet. He had promised the world a thinking machine, and Ed could not stomach being thought of as a liar.

In addition to his guilt, Ed was being worked ragged by Andre. The shows became longer, and more strenuous. It put the body of IronHorse to the test, but it always met the challenge. It also forced Ed to work and re-work designs for the body to make sure IronHorse was constantly at his peak condition.

Then… on September 20th 1866.

“You want me to what Mr. Dumas?”

“I want you to perform Mr. Thorp, we have paying guests and you being at this town festival would be good for our image as a rail-line.”

“But that’s well over a 14 hour day!”

“Indeed… You should be fine Mr. Thorp. That… Thing of yours has met every other challenge, and now I need BOTH of you to do this. There will be a substantial amount of monetary compensation waiting for you if you accept.”

Sighing, Ed looked at the machine. He didn’t want to… Hell, he didn’t even really have to, but Ed nodded. Ed was never a strong willed man.

The day began almost before sunrise and lasted through parties, showing for the townsfolk, dances, lunches, dinner, and then well into the night with feats of strength and daring.

Ed faltered in the suit by the time the day was over, and the both of them staggered back to the train-grounds outside of town to rest.

“Hot… hot in here.” Ed whispered as he began to drift off. The fumes from the coal and the heat from the burner had finally begun to take their toll on his body. He coughed again and again.

“Oh No…” IronHorse whispered.

Kitsumi was impassive but she could feel it. She knew Ed was dying, and she knew there was nothing she could do to help. As she continued, a tear ran down her cheek.

Ed coughed again and fumbled with the latch of the suit but he was too weak to open it. The best he could do was hit the lever and dump the contents of the boiler. Silently he prayed that this would make the heat go down. He felt tired, so very tired and even through the heat he laid his head down, and closed his eyes.

“At approximately 11:32pm Edward Thorpe died.” Kitsumi reported. Bother her and IronHorse were dimly aware of the gasps and some tears from the crowd in the courtroom.

“Someone else is there in the night. Raven’s Whisper has entered the makeshift machine shop.” Both Kitsumi and IronHorse wondered what the shaman was doing there. His kind face looking into the eye-visor of the massive metal man. Gingerly the Shaman reached out and caressed the metal.

“It is rare that a man makes something like this without the intent to make a weapon or something to [censored] the Earth.” The Shaman began. His voice echoed through the ages and suddenly Kitsumi and IronHorse both had the unnerving feeling that the Shaman was looking directly at both of them.

“This form was created not out of arrogance, not out of greed, but out of desire. Mr. Thorp wanted strength, but not just of body, but of spirit as well. He poured his heart, mind, and skills into this machine. It is a temple to intelligence, but also to strength. It is a pity that this strong body never had the strong spirit that both it and Mr. Thorp so desired.”

“But now, now the places I guard are threatened by one who would open doors that should forever remain shut. It was through the likes of him that the Old Ones first even knew of us. I have need of a man, no, something more than a man to help us keep the darkness at bay. I wished to plead with Ed to help us, but his strength was never there. He was chained by his body and forever thought himself weak. And now… now I feel his spirit leaving.”

Raven’s Whisper looked hard at the metal body. He looked hard and nodded as if he came to a deep conclusion. “I can feel the eyes of history, and those who read it. I can feel the heart of a man, and he is a man, beating in a metal shell and filled with the strength of a thousand men. You may think I stand speaking to shadows, but I stand speaking across the gulf of time. What is born here tonight has a higher purpose. He is to be strength, kindness, intelligence, and above all a guardian on the likes of which man has never seen. I can feel you watching, but your eyes are not for this moment, but know what I do now, I give to the world as a new guardian, a new creature, a new hero for all time.”

“Edward Thorp, your body hindered your hidden strong spirit, IronHorse your strong body lacks a soul to make you truly live. Your fates have always been intertwined, but now you become one… Arise IronHorse, the Locomotive Man!”

There was a flash of light and Kitsumi as well as IronHorse were blinded. A shout went up from the people in the courtroom. Kitsumi’s cough had people rush to her side, but her hand never left the arm of IronHorse.

'I… I don’t know what happened. It’s, It’s morning now. September 21st 1866 and…”

Abruptly the visions stopped. Kitsumi looked up dumbfounded and then stared at IronHorse.

The city representative looked at Kitsumi expectantly.

“Well? Do you need a break Miss Ichimura?”

“No… No, but I can’t read living material.”

The spectators went silent as they stared at Kitsumi. Even IronHorse tilted his head.

“What miss Ichimura?”

“I can’t read living material, and at precisely 6:45am on September 21st 1866 IronHorse became… Alive.”

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 5

Kitsumi waited as the security guard opened the door for her and stepped into a storm of tension. A middle-aged woman currently held the courtroom in thrall as she issued a rebuke directed at a short high strung man who scowled and glared defiantly at her in return, but kept silent.

The same silence filled the courtroom as the same woman, whose tag in front introduced her as 'City Representative' stared at Kitsumi. The rest of the courtroom followed her line of sight and all attention belonged to the newcomer.

Kitsumi studied the room quickly seeing Maria whose face lit up in joy when their eyes met. Maria waved her hand, beckoning Kitsumi to join her and a striking lady with pink hair, with whose appearance directly represented the voice that Kitsumi knew to belong to Anna Keldowski. Between the two of them, was an iron monstrosity. Kitsumi paused for a second regarding the machine man's appearance from behind briefly before making her way down the aisle.

Kitsumi walked quickly and quietly, hoping that people would find something more interesting to look at. But this was not the case. The courtroom was juxtaposed into two entities, one side glowered at her coldly, even angrily, and the other side viewed her with warm jovial smiles.

Kitsumi reached Maria who had stood up promptly. Maria gave Kitsumi a quick hug. "Thank you for coming to save us."

"I feel like the crème filling in a Twinkie," Kitsumi whispered to the mechanic. "Half the people here look like they want to devour me, the other half look like they want to savor me."

“Kitsumi? That had to be both the most provocative and dirty analogy I have heard in a long time.” Anna stated while the young woman took a spot behind the defense’s table.

Maria muttered under her breath while trying not to laugh. Anna descended into a fit of giggles but it was IronHorse’s outburst that seemed to grab the most response. It was a single word filled with mirth and joy and rang out in the tense air of the courtroom. His eye visor filled with a glowing pink of a grin as the word left body.

“HA!”

Everyone who had been looking at Kitsumi suddenly looked at IronHorse. Anna slapped a palm to her forehead as Clockstopper sputtered in indignation.

“Whoops…” was IronHorse’s next word. The Paragon Police suddenly began to laugh as well. Long and hard.

“WHY ISN’T THAT MACHINE PROPERLY SILENCED?!?” Clockstopper leapt from his seat and stood on his table pointing at IronHorse in a manic fashion.

“Hey Pee-Wee, I don’t have a MOUTH genius. All this mask is doin’ is wreckin’ my chance to have a nice conversation with the ladies at my table.”

Maria paused just long enough to let her head fall forward with an audible thunk on the table.

Clockstopper stood there with a noticeable twitch forming above his left eyebrow. A small amount of froth seemed to form slowly on the corner of his mouth. Before he could begin a full-fledged rant however, both Anna and the City Representative stepped in.

“Ahem! Ah yes… I see miss Ichimura has joined us.” The City Representative began. “You may now give testimony for miss Anna Keldowski.”

Anna quickly stood again and took her position on the floor while the bailiff helped Kitsumi into the witness stand. Anna smiled and then brought over the stack of packing invoices.

“Miss Ichimura, Do you recognize these invoices?”

“Yes I do.” Kitsumi responded to the first question, shifting slightly in her seat until finally settling on the wooden chair comfortably.

“Do you remember clearing these papers?”

“Yes, I cleared these at approximately 11:15am on the date listed in the register.” Kitsumi pointed at the form.

“Did you inspect the contents of the crate at any time?”

“No, I did not. This was a private shipment. There was no need for me to open the crates, nor did I have legal right because I was without cause.”

“Are these your signatures here, here and here?”

“Yes ma’am that is my signature on both spots.” Kitsumi responded in agreement.

“Very good… Your witness Clockstopper.”

The little man was red with fury as he took the floor. Everything that Anna and Kitsumi had talked about had shot holes in his case. He forgot about the bylaw of the one-year grace period to the law, or the fact that the thing was built in the 1800’s…

He walked towards the witness stand and stared hard at Kitsumi.

“I… Miss Ichimura! Have you at any time experienced mental pain, trauma, or strange feelings while in the presence of the contents of the crate?”

Kitsumi studied the opposition intently as he presented his question, “No sir.”

“Uh… Huh. Can you in any way CONFIRM that this… This THING here, represents the contents of this supposedly destroyed crate?”

“Possibly,” Kitsumi responded much to the shocked look from Clockstopper. “I have a photocopy of the packing slip in the inventory folder that I presented as I arrived. The packing slip bears the same date and crate number on it that is on my receiving register. Even though this was a private shipment, since it was so large, I requested to make a copy of it, should there be any damages or questions to its ownership. The packing slip lists the contents as; ‘Quantity 1 – IronHorse, circa 1800’s Steam powered mechanical man, dismantled.’”

“The packing slip is stamped with the date and time when I processed the paperwork, and my initials are included underneath in the space provided, ‘KSI’ for Kitsumi Sakura Ichimura.” Kitsumi responded pointing to the bottom of the form that Clockstopper had quickly flipped to in the provided manila folder. “I am the only employee at the museum with those initials, you can verify that if you wish via the employee contact lookup. My LAN ID is KSICHIMU. Alphabetically I fall between Kevin R. Holden and Lance B. James both by first name and last name.” Kitsumi said with a cheerful giggle.

“Um… No… No further questions your honor.” Clockstopper looked smug but shaken.

The City Representative nodded and then looked at Maria, Anna, Kitsumi, and IronHorse.

“Miss Keldowski?’

Anna nodded and then took to the floor. She grinned at Clockstopper who glowered in the corner trying to make some kind of case now that his seemed to be scattering into the four winds.

“So now that we have proven that this AI has only been active in this day and age for the sum total of 4 days, we can all agree that he still has 360 to conform to the law and apply for an official AI license. In addition, because the crate received by miss Ichimura was a personal shipment to miss Estavez, we also must conclude that the AI in question is the legal property of Maria Estavez. That means, under Paragon code 40b, that as long as the AI’s owner is with the unlicensed AI and takes responsibility for its actions, the AI is free to be in public. Forcible removal of the AI from the owner’s custody reverts all responsibility to the individuals who take the AI.”

Anna turned and grinned at Clockstopper again before swatting a new sheaf of papers in her hand.

“Now the account of the events at the museum as detailed already for the court, have been told by three different sources! All of which agree that the AI, IronHorse, did NOT attack the museum, but rather defend it from an attack by the street gang known as the trolls.”

Anna handed the written accounts of each person, Maria, Hank, Carl, Frank Harris, and IronHorse, to the city representative.

“In addition, we have a contact with M.A.G.I. that supports the evidence that Trolls were going to attack the museum in the night in question.”

Again, Anna handed more documentation to the city representative. The woman was looking at each piece of paper critically and sighing as she looked at Clockstopper.

“So as it stands, we have an AI, in the presence of its owner, operating in public long before the limit for AI application has expired, coming to the rescue of his owner AND saving the museum from a bomb attack as shown by forensic evidence! In addition, Freedom Corps members, specifically under the recommendation of one Clockstopper, forcibly took the AI into custody. From here we have a signed affidavit by Shadow-Form that Clockstopper made several verbal threats to the AI who then responded with force to defend itself.”

Anna whirled and looked fiercely at Clockstopper. “The subsequent damage to the Freedom Corps vehicle, the street outside of its Steel Canyon base, AND damage to one city police vehicle are then the fault of Clockstopper, because the AI was in HIS possession at the time!”

The room went dead quiet as Clockstopper’s face went white with anger.

Anna looked at the crowd gathered and gestured imploringly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, IronHorse here is in no violation of the law, he has no reason to be chained, and he should be treated as a HERO! He SAVED the life of miss Estavez as well as protected the museum from imminent destruction! Is this how we treat one such as him?”

Murmurs went through the crowd and increasingly, people began to look at Clockstopper and his supporters as if they were trying to hang an innocent man. Clockstopper himself however paused, as someone in his group, a man he had never truly seen before, leaned over and whispered into Clockstopper’s ear.

This stranger seemed unnaturally pale and wore drab, and almost outdated clothing. However, whatever he whispered had the necessary effect, as Clockstopper rose for rebuttal seemingly renewed.

“Miss Keldowski… I have but ONE question. Despite everything said here, how can you deny the evidence from the documentation that this MACHINE was already tried once for being responsible for the death and destruction of an entire town of over one hundred people?!? Both you and I have the paperwork to PROVE that this machine was ordered to be disassembled and to never again be re-activated because of its faulty nature! How do we know that the things it committed before will not happen again?”

Anna paused and then looked at IronHorse. The massive metal man however was staring at Clockstopper with intense hatred. Even Anna could tell the shift in color from his eye visor from pink to red was not a good sign. Maria even had to shift in her seat to get away from the increasing levels of heat IronHorse was putting out.

Maria looked about terrified and then looked at Kitsumi. It was as if a bolt of lightening had struck her as her face suddenly brightened.

She leaned over and whispered into Kitsumi’s ear.

“Hey… Kitsumi, you are the best at finding the history of items at work. Look if the museum uses you to track and date objects… can you do the same for IronHorse? You can find something right? I hope you can prove to these people that IronHorse never DID those things… You… you have to try to find something.” Maria’s eyes almost filled with tears and looked at her friend imploringly. “You can prove it for me too… Prove to me that I am right about him… Please.”


Kitsumi looked at the distraught girl with a look of compassion. "I know that you trust him, and I hope that everything is as you hope it is with him. I could try to find something but that might take too long, trying to locate the proper resources and documents."


Kitsumi's eyes widened with an expression of revelation. "There is a better way though I think. I don't want to do it, but I don't think I have a choice. I can't abandon you two." Kitsumi talked out loud for both her and Maria's benefit.


Quickly she turned to Anna. "Anna, I have an idea, if you can get me up on the stand I can attempt to prove his innocence, but I will need a recess to have some documents faxed here."


Turning back to Maria, "Don't worry sweetie, I think we can win this."


Anna stood up in her seat. "Your Honor, I would like to request a fifteen minute recess to consult with my clients on this issue, and to have some documents faxed here."


The City Representative looked up at the clock on the wall. "Granted. You have fifteen minutes until we reconvene."


Kitsumi was up in a flash as soon as she was clear to go. The girl whisked out of the room and down the hall to an administrator's desk. "Excuse me miss, can I borrow a phone and your fax machine to have some urgent documents faxed here immediately for the court session."


The elder woman sitting at the desk looked up. "Sorry honey, but I can only allow..."


"It's Ok Rosie. She's with me." Anna had quickly followed Kitsumi out of the courtroom to find out more concerning Kitsumi's plan.


"Oh, then it's quite alright, as long as you are with Miss Keldowski." The woman offered a cheerful smile.


"Over here Miss Ichimura." Anna dragged her by the elbow to the fax machine and phone.



* * * * *



Kitsumi and Anna rushed back into the room just as the Representative reentered. Anna was carrying a stack of papers and had a very pleased look on her face.


The room went silent as the City Representative announced that the session was now resumed.


Anna stood up and walked up to the podium. "I would like to recall Miss Kitsumi Ichimura to the stand. I would also like to present Miss Ichimura's case records from the Paragon City University's Department of Psychology."


Anna presented the stack of papers to the representative. "If you note the highlighted sections; you will see that Miss Ichimura is a certified psychometric." The room was soon filled by whispers and hushed talk.


Anna paused for a second as Kitsumi moved up to take the stand. After the room quieted down she resumed. "Psychometry, is defined as the ability to retrieve information from an inanimate object. The psychometric picks up emanations, emotions and history from an object; this can be the history of object itself, or the past, present or future of the owner."


"Comments were made concerning her unbelievable accuracy in all tests performed. Not only does she have the ability to read an object, she is also able to determine its entire accurate timeline, however it is also noted that this she did not at the time of the study have the ability to also read the future of the object."


The volume of the crowded room increased as Anna paused, but with a sharp look from the podium, the noise settled.


Without waiting for an invitation to continue Anna proceeded. "Miss Ichimura has the ability to read inanimate objects, which should be more properly defined as, 'non living tissue,' which the studies conducted confirm." Anna quickly pointed to a highlighted paragraph.


"Miss Ichimura, is everything spoken by Miss Keldowski correct?" The City Representative looked over her rimed glasses at Kitsumi.


"Yes, your honor, that is all correct." Kitsumi smiled sheepishly, at her secret finally being exposed.


With a nod she looked over to Anna next. "Alright then, Miss Keldowski, you may continue."


"Miss Ichimura, for the record, have you attempted to 'read' the entity known as IronHorse prior or post reassembly?" Anna approached Kitsumi with professionalism.


"No, I have not." The psychometric responded.


"In your opinion, do you have the ability to read the entity on trial?" She next asked of Kitsumi.


"Yes, in my experience, I should not have a problem reading him for more accurate information." Kitsumi confirmed.


"OK then Miss Ichimura. With the Representative's permission, I would like for you to do what you need."



"Granted Attorney Keldowski." Anna winced at the title slightly as the woman looked around the room and announced from her seat up on the dais, "For the record, Miss Kitsumi Ichimura will psychometrically be attempting to read the entity known as IronHorse. Miss Ichimura will present her findings linearly if possible."


"Miss Ichimura, I require that you present your finding out loud for the entire court room. In the meantime, the courtroom will remain silent. Anyone who violates this order will be arrested; this includes Law Enforcement officials as well. This session once begun will 'Not' be interrupted."


"Now if the recorder is ready please precede Miss Ichimura." The recorder nodded in affirmation.


Kitsumi stood up from the bench and walked to the large mechanical man. She looked at IronHorse sitting quietly on the floor and gave him a reassuring smile. She breathed slowly, calmingly focusing on him alone.


The girl stopped right beside him and settled in a chair provided by the Bailiff next to him. Gingerly she placed her hands on his chest and closed her eyes.


The girl parted her lips and began her reading. "IronHorse's first coal fire was ignited at 16:11 on October 14th, 1864…"

IronHorse: The locomotive man INTERLUDE

Tiguar had run… Run the entire time. In his drug induced haze all he could do was run.

At first he had run to the back of the building to check in with Ragnar and his crew only to find them laying in pools of their own blood. He swore he saw something bolt into the night soon after but he did not care. He had heard the sirens and began to run.

He ran all the way back to Atlas Park… and from there to the Hollows.

At least in the Hollows he was safe.

Tiguar ran again. He ran to the secret tunnels only he and the other trolls knew of. He ran to the passage and dove into the rocks below. Still he ran. Other trolls stared at him as he ran past even the largest of ogres without bowing in respect.

He ran directly to Atta’s great hall and fell before the neon glow of the troll-king’s throne. The words “HAPPY HOUR” blinked on and off in a red haze.

Atta leaned over his chair and snorted at the runt who had dared to come into his hall unannounced.

“What you want Runt? You best have good reason to disturb Mighty Atta.”

“DEAD!” Tiguar cried. “Ulf! Ragnar! Even Trogdan! Dead!”

“WHAT?!?” Atta roared. He cracked the arms of his throne with his mighty grip as he stood. Even the strongest of his guards backed down when they saw Atta’s rage. “Tell me… Tell me you have the gear runt.” Atta hissed. The red lights from his throne making him look increasingly like a vision of some devil than the troll king.

“We never find boat with big wheel Atta…” Tiguar howled and lay prostrate before his ruler. “We was attacked! Big metal-man! Not Clock! He crush Trogdan’s skull like… like rotten melon!”

“Metal… Metal Man?” Atta snarled. “New Hero…”

Atta was about to come over and smash Tiguar’s head in for failing him and daring to return when a dark voice filled the cavern.

“No… No Atta. Bring him to me.”

Tiguar looked up and a puddle of yellow slowly formed about his lower body. He prayed Atta would kill him, maim him, even make him into an outcast. Anything as long as he was not given over to the owner of the dark voice.

Even Atta winced as he heard the sound but he nodded wordlessly. His eyes glazed over as they always did when he heard the voice beckon him. Reaching down Atta grabbed Tiguar by the back of the runt’s neck and drug him, literally kicking and screaming, to the hole behind the throne. It was a dark pit and every troll had learned to live in terror of it. The hole had become Atta’s favorite threat now, but when he was ordered to use it by what lurked below, he always did the bidding.

The other trolls in the massive cavern scattered as Atta lifted the heavy lid to the hole and unceremoniously tossed Tiguar into the black depths.

Even as Tiguar began to scream, Atta slammed the lid back in place and shook his head violently. The others knew that he was coming out of his haze, and when Atta did that he wanted his Superdine. Four ogres ran to him carrying vials of the stuff. Atta cracked each open and drank the contents. His eyes growing yellow with each draught, and his muscles seemed to swell and strain under his skin.

Tiguar meanwhile screamed, but did not hit a stony bottom. Something, something in the blackness had caught him. That same something quickly carried him through tunnel after tunnel. So many twists, turns, and roundabouts that Tiguar was hopelessly lost in moments. Not that his fear-addled brain would let him register direction anyway.

Tiguar was dropped outside a pool of light. In which sat a simple desk piled with books and objects. A figure sat at the desk. It was clothed in tattered remnants of the robes worn by the mightiest of mages within the Circle of Thorns. These once noble vestments were mere rags now. The gaunt figure also had the hood of the robes firmly in place upon his head, but what caught Tiguar’s attention were the horns… Not horns like his trollish brethren but antlers like those on a deer or elk.

“Tell me little Tiguar.” The hissing dark voice rasped. A chair flew from the darkness and slammed into the prone form of Tiguar scooping him up and pulling him close to the figure. “Tell me everything you saw. Down to the last detail. Leave nothing out.”

Tiguar was shaking now as he began to stammer.

He told of the entrance of the museum, of how Ulf and Trogdan killed the pudgy human in the blue suit. How Trogdan caught the woman, and how they first heard the train whistle.

It was there the dark figure raised his hand.

“Train Whistle? You heard a train whistle?”

Tiguar nodded. “Yeah, and then it got all steamy on end of hall. Then BIG man come. Big metal man! Larger than Clocks, and all gray and old. He… He smash us…”

The dark figure drug his nails across the wooden desk. A gesture he had done before obviously from the deep grooves in the surface. “Name. What was the things name?”

Tiguar whimpered and shook his head. “Don’t… Me no know…”

The figure whirled and stood in one gesture. Eyes, eyes filled with falling stars stared out from under the hood of the figure. He gestured and suddenly Tiguar was lifted from the chair and slammed into the waiting grasp of the skeletal hand of the gaunt man. Nails like talons dug into Tiguar’s neck and a biting cold seemed to fill his body. He tried to turn his head but the figure kept him in a tight grip and forced Tiguar to stare into his eyes.

And the figure saw…

He saw the scrawny boy named Timothy being beaten up.

He saw the boy vow to do anything to be the best.

He saw Timothy’s drunken father beat the boy and his mother.

He saw Timothy in High school talking to a slightly green skinned fellow.

He saw Timothy drink the entire vial of Superdine and go on a rampage, killing his father, mother, and sister before his fury was spent. Most of his brain became fried at this point from the drug and the rage, but Timothy blocked those memories… reasons why he never took more Superdine. Reasons why he was a runt again.

He saw past these to Timothy falling in with the trolls, and under Ulf.

He saw the battle at the museum.

And he saw IT… He heard the whistle just as Tiguar had, Saw the figure just as Tiguar had, but heard the woman… the woman being held by Trogdan whisper a name.

“IronHorse…”

“NO!” The claws severed the neck and ripped through the bone of the spinal column. Tiguar looked in shock at his body as his head lolled back and hung by bone fragments and ligaments.

The figure tossed the body to the floor and then howled in rage. The unholy sound echoed through the caverns and up into the Hollows. The trolls hid from the sound, the outcasts plugged their ears, and the Circle… The Circle knew that the dark one had awoken and that nothing would be the same for them.

The figure sat defeated in his chair, dragging his talons across the wood of the arms. He looked to the broken body of the young troll again and hissed in displeasure. He gestured to the thing and a dull black glow enveloped the form.

“Get up… and get out of my sight.”

Flesh melted from the mangled skeleton of the body and the skull hung limply from the shattered vertebrae. The skeletal remnants of the troll quickly moved to obey the master and went into the tunnels. Into the blackness of the caves filled with more of his kind. The dead walked in these halls and now Tiguar was just another runt in another army, but finally free of the memories that plagued him…

“IronHorse…” the dark figure whispered. “What whim of time and fate conspired to have you be here and now? Or have you been awake for longer than I?” The figure slowly reached into one of the drawers of the desk and withdrew an old folio. He leafed through the weathered old pictures until he came to one. A photograph taken in 1864.

A massive metal figure stood in the background of the old black and white photo. Next to it, on a podium decorated with ribbons and balloons, stood a dark man with angular features. He was dressed in a fine suit and had the poise of a politician. A gleam of a smile filled the man’s mouth.

The same teeth grinned from beneath the hood of the figure.

“I wonder if you would recognize your old employer now IronHorse? I wonder if you would recognize old Andre Dumas?”

The talons clawed at the wood again and the smile turned into a gritting of teeth. “I came too close last time, and I will not be denied again by the same mockery of life. I shall see you broken before me IronHorse. And this time, I shall rip your soul from that metal shell just to hear it scream…”

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 4

Maria sat rigid in her chair. The skirt and blouse she was wearing today itched like mad. Dressing up was never really her style. However, she sat next to IronHorse in the massive courtroom and did not scratch the tingling sensation in her calf despite her instincts to do so.

“Now, just for the record again, this is just a hearing. We need to clear up a few things about the incident on the night of October the 12th at approximately 1:45am.”

The person speaking was the city representative from City Hall in Atlas Park. She was an attractive woman, but her face was cold and her movements were precise and sharp. She had a glare that could scold even the most brazen of heroes and the room was silent when she spoke.

At the moment, she was representing the City in the whole mess here. Clockstopper and a few of his supporters fell into that category, but lines were sharply divided even among that group. The Paragon Police department refused to side with the city in the matter and was only lending evidence for the hearing. Carl was even sitting behind Maria and IronHorse in the courtroom doing his best to lend support. Hank was drumming up support in the precinct as well as acting as a witness.

Maria appreciated that. She was scared to death.

IronHorse on the other hand seemed to be perfectly fine. Jovial even. That was one hell of a trick considering he was heavily manacled and chained down to a heavy concrete slab placed behind the bench for “the defendants.” Clockstopper insisted that the “Rogue Machine” needed to be restrained. IronHorse submitted only as long as Maria was present.

“She’s going to read the report from the Paragon Police now.” Maria heard a voice whisper. “Then the prosecution will make its case, and then we make ours.” Maria nodded and looked at the woman speaking. She had a bright smile and a kind face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue behind simple glasses. Her clothes were professional, and well suited to this room, but her stark pink hair offset any tone of “Lawyer.”

“I still can’t believe you’re a lawyer…” Maria whispered to Sparkle or Miss Anna Keldowski here. Sparkle giggled and popped her gum as quietly as possible.

“Being a hero doesn’t pay ALL the bills. Besides, I found that working on retainer for a super group has a hell of a lot of benefits. I make sure we get a fair shake, and people get treated right.”

The pink-haired lass smiled brightly at the massive metal man and patted his well-polished and oiled shoulder. Before coming to the courtroom out of the “Holding Cells” Maria had worked IronHorse over with a brillo pad and almost a gallon of polish. She was still fuming that they had held him in a cell like a prisoner. IronHorse again let that slide off his back like so much water. She shuddered again and looked at Sparkle.

“Besides, I’m not going to let ANYTHING happen to this big lug. We owe him enough of an apology as is.”

IronHorse chuckled as his eye visor glowed a cheery pink. He would have laughed as well, but Clockstopper insisted that the “Dangerous Machine” be restrained in every way… including a mask akin to that seen in “Silence of the Lambs.” Not that it really stopped his voice because he didn’t really have a mouth. He just put on the act to shut the little robo-racist up.

Maria sighed and leaned over to Sparkle.

“You REALLY think we have a case here? I mean the Cops and you guys support us. I have the packing invoice still, but the crate was… well Tin-Man here used it for fuel on the first night we met. And what if they go historic? Every document that has records of IronHorse either paints him as a tall tale or monster.” Maria turned to her friend and looked at him with her big brown eyes.

“He’s not… He’s not a monster.”

Sparkle smiled and put her hand on Maria’s palm now. She nodded and tapped her nose.

“Don’t you worry. Shadowform has done more research on your big friend here, as well as several interviews.” IronHorse nodded and mumbled something before sighing in exasperation as Clockstopper whirled to make sure he could not talk… for the hundredth time. “Trust me… she has ways of finding out the truth and she is CONVINCED that IronHorse is innocent.” Sparkle stated. “Not only of things at the museum, but in the past as well.”

IronHorse jerked his chain at that and looked at Sparkle in shock. She only grinned and chuckled.

“She refused to tell me how she meant to prove it, but she was dead set on clearing your name of ALL charges. Past and present. I’m not sure what you and her talked about big guy, but it made a hell of an impression.”

IronHorse shrugged in a strained fashion… the chains only allowed so much movement.

Maria sighed and shook her head. She looked to the courtroom and saw the sea of faces. Heroes, police, civilians, and lawyers. She was tense and worried. If this did not work, then under Paragon law, IronHorse would have to be taken apart. She felt her stomach churn at that thought. How she had gotten so attached to the tin-man in so little time she had no clue. But as she watched him sitting there, she knew he had to be saved. Her eyes drifted to Clockstopper. He was glaring at IronHorse with hatred intense enough to melt steel. The little man was bandaged almost from head to foot and the report from Freedom Corps said he had several broken ribs. Sparkle said most of the damage was minor but still. With Clockstopper’s constant glare at IronHorse, she knew that if they lost it would not be another packing crate for the big guy.

It would be a furnace.

Maria fought back tears of worry and began to whisper a prayer in Spanish not only to God but also to her father to watch over them both.

Neither God nor her Father truly heard the prayer, but IronHorse did, and he had to do his best not to snap the chains that held him so he could lean over and hug Maria tight and chase her demons away. For now however, he had to play the captive, and for Maria he would do that.

The hearing proceeded simply and quietly. The reading of the report went almost unheard by Maria until Clockstopper began to yell that the Paragon Police had fallen under the thrall of the Metal Monster. That started a vicious shouting match and threats from several officers to revoke Clockstopper’s Hero License. The word psychopath was shouted and the little man was set to explode just as the City representative stepped in.

“ALL OF YOU! I should hold you all in contempt. No more outbursts from EITHER side. You so much as twitch Mr. Clockstopper and you will be expelled from this room. The same goes for the Paragon Police.” The icy fury coming off the woman chilled the room. Everyone fell silent but Clockstopper was obviously fighting the urge to lunge at the police.

“We will now hear from the prosecution on this matter.” The city representative turned over the floor and Maria sighed.

Meanwhile, in a back room on the far side of the Courthouse, Shadowform sat and wrote furiously. Her fingers were a blur on a keyboard of a junky old PC while her tail wrote notes on a scratchpad. Everything from the past day of talks with IronHorse, as well as her research into historical records and documents were being written down. Once all the notes were there, she stood and began to pace.

IronHorse operated for four years, but admitted to only truly being conscious for two of them. From 1864 to 1868, he was a main attraction in a traveling railroad show owned by a man named Anthony Dumas. A little known rail-baron who had a rather seedy background. They traveled from state to state before the infamous attack on the small town of Dudley Arizona and the nearby Indian reservation.

That was where the story diverged. IronHorse told of how it was in that time he truly “came to be.” He could not explain how really but he knew he woke up one day, and in his words: “Whammo! There I was!” He admitted to dreaming about Hopi shaman and hearing drums in conjunction with that night, but beyond that, he could only speculate.

“No shaman I knew of came to the rail-grounds for the show. They came after the shows to help some of the workers and I got to talk to a lot of them. I figure it was just a mixing in my dreams.” Shadowform jotted down the quote and mumbled. She doubted the “mixing of dreams” motif. Especially when IronHorse described his dreams from when he was disassembled. They were too accurate, and in some cases… intimate. Especially when he described being put back together by Maria.

Shadowform blushed and shook her head. Snorting sulfur fumes, she went back to her notes.

He stayed in that town for almost 2 years because the moment he awoke he began to fight against his “owner,” Mr. Dumas. IronHorse told many stories then. Things that were not in the books of tall tales about the west, or in historical documents.

He met Buffalo Bill Cody, who was only in the military at the time, but even then offered to buy IronHorse from Dumas. His offer was rejected but he wrote to IronHorse often. The metal man wished he held onto the letters, but he used them for fuel and to cover any correspondence with someone who was trying to convince him to just leave Dumas.

Not because he was afraid of Dumas, but more along the lines of wanting to keep an eye on the rail-baron.

There was the story about the strange raid into the town by odd circus folk. This had caught Shadowform’s attention and the story was captivating. It was horrid in implication that this demonic troupe of circus folk roamed about and found towns to “feed” upon. The feeding consisted of kidnapping children and, changing them. IronHorse refused to elaborate on how they were changed, and only said that he was damn glad of his iron hide cause it could NOT be warped by the “critters.”

“Possibly… Fae? He is akin to Cold Iron…” Shadowform whispered now. It was another mystery for another time.

The main problem was the story he told about the night in question. He claimed that he was nowhere NEAR the town when it was attacked. “A damn stupid mistake.” He whispered. His voice filled with regret. Shadowform noted that on her pad and pondered it again.

IronHorse left the town because something was attacking the reservation. He called them wolf-like things, but from the description, Shadowform was convinced it was a pack of werewolves. The way they hit in a team and took down the strongest warriors just by better tactics. IronHorse came out because he made friends with several of the braves and one of the shamans.

The pack hit in the night and IronHorse met them head on. She made a note about the metal man’s lack of subtlety but for something made out of Iron and Steel, subtlety was not really needed.

The fight was brief. The werewolves were clearly overmatched and beaten within an inch of their hides to hear IronHorse tell it. She was skeptical of that at first until she looked at the damages he caused in the Trolls and Clockstopper.

Those were with a few punches. Just one shattered a stone covered Ogre’s skull like a walnut, and a restrained punch broke seven of Clockstopper’s ribs even THROUGH his armor. Correlating that with the fight IronHorse described with the wolfmen… a “knockdown, drag out, ball to the wall brawl” in his words, seemed to describe a fight that would have leveled a building easily. Even with the noted healing powers of werewolves, a punch that can level an ogre in a blow would give a wolfman some definite pain.

However, the pack obviously had other motives. They grabbed the shaman friend of IronHorse and ran. He blindly followed trying to save his friend and came to an old abandoned mine. The descriptions were hazy here because IronHorse didn’t look much, just followed.

He told of tearing through several doors and finally a massive set of stone blockades before entering what he called a temple. “It was lit by torches and was filled with what I at first took to be folks from the town. Well they were of a sort… But these folks were residents of the cemetery and not the town.” IronHorse found some kind of lair filled with the walking dead.

He described the battle as lasting all night. He was swarmed and swarmed again to the point of barely being able to move. However, he kept on fighting. He even admitted to running low on fuel and in an act of desperation, grabbed one of the fallen zombies and stuffed the bits into his furnace. “Don’t EVER wanna do that again. Not that I felt bad about it but the STINK… Whoooeee! I can’t smell much but I smelled THAT!”

He lost count of how many he had beaten or torn apart when he heard the scream and then the explosion. A wall of fire ripped through the tunnels and incinerated the zombies. He lost track of the wolfmen and the force of the explosion blew his battered form up and out of the tunnels.

When he landed the mine collapsed and the only thing he found was the spirit bag of the shaman. He took that back to the reservation and found it was a smoking crater, as was the town nearby. What disturbed him the most however was that not a single body was found.

“The spirit bag was taken from me at the trail. Dumas claimed it was evidence I killed the shaman. No one listened to me… I kept on sayin’ that I never woulda hurt Raven’s Whisper. But no one listened…” That last quote gave Shadowform pause again. Raven’s Whisper was the name of the shaman.

Wolfmen, zombies, shamans, buried temples, and disappearing towns. No wonder they didn’t listen. It sounded crazy, or at least it would have if Shadowform were a normal person. To her it sounded like a bad day at her job. However, she could not reconcile the different groups. Obviously there was magic afoot there, but where did the wolfmen fall in? Moreover, the zombies, were they working with or against the wolfmen?

Shadowform began to pace again and snorted in frustration. What did it all mean?

The name of the shaman came back again. Raven’s Whisper.

That was the place to begin. She knew the dark paths and the ones lit by the fires of the occult. She knew of the nature spirits and of the men who could speak with them. She knew who could help here and where he could be found. The question was, would he help?

It was never easy speaking with a God… Especially one who was masquerading as a Hero.

Shadowform needed to speak with Father Raven.

Back in the courtroom much bluster and grandstanding had taken place. Clockstopper had given his piece trying to implicate IronHorse from attacking the museum to planting the troll bodies as a diversion. He claimed Maria either was an accomplice or mind-controlled by the thing, and the Paragon Police were under the same effects.

It was weak, it was paranoid, it was wild speculation, and not a bit of it held water. Yet Maria watched in silent horror as Clockstopper’s supporters nodded and whispered.

When he was done, he looked about smugly. Maria covered her face and sighed. She didn’t see the Paragon Police, almost in unison; give Clockstopper the finger behind his back. She didn’t see the sighs and eye rolling of the others in the crowd. All she heard was the little man’s speech and the old legal documents he waved about showing that IronHorse was a threat.

The same old legal documents she used to find his missing crate in the first place.

She was scared for her friend. Maria hated to admit it but she was even more afraid than when she sat by her father’s bed when he was ill. She was scared for IronHorse and felt as if there was nothing she could do.

Sparkle stood and tried not to giggle when Clockstopper sat down. She looked at Maria and quickly placed a hand on Maria’s shoulder.

“Hey… Calm down. Look you need to relax or something. The little runt has no case against us. We just need to clear IronHorse for the AI code. Prove he was not activated until recently and should be grandfathered in under the code since he was built in 1864. It’s a snap!” The pink haired lawyer popped her gum again and grinned broadly. She squeezed Maria’s shoulder and then took the floor. Maria watched, feeling a bit better.

“If I may,” Sparkle began. “I think Clockstopper’s opening statement was enough to support OUR case that my client is innocent of all charges. Including those he was accused of in 1868. I’ll get to that part presently. But for now lets cut to the chase shall we?”

The people looked at Sparkle as if she was a breath of fresh air. Even the city representative grinned a bit. After the bile Clockstopper spewed, having someone like Sparkle up there was a welcome relief.

“O.K. Lets clarify a few things. First off, yes IronHorse can be classified roughly under Paragon code 40b as an AI. However, that code didn’t even EXIST in 1864, which is the date of my client’s manufacture. Both carbon dating of metal taken from him, as well as the historical documentation provided by Mr. Clockstopper show this.”

Sparkle spun on her heels and grinned a white grin at the little man.

“But the code also states that an AI has one year to register and be approved for an AI license under the code. My client has only been active in this day and age for four days!” Sparkle strode across the floor and grabbed a sheaf of papers.

“I have documentation here showing that he was not even in the museum until three months ago and up until 4 days ago was totally inert as separate pieces in the crate.”

“So where is this crate?!?” Clockstopper shouted. The city representative gave him an icy glare but Sparkle sighed a humble breath and gestured apologetically.

“The crate was unfortunately destroyed. However the paperwork on the crate was not, and to prove the crate existed, and my client was interred within I’d like to call as a witness… Miss Kitsumi Ichimura. Head of shipping and receiving at the Paragon Museum of Science and Industry.” Clockstopper cursed and dropped his head to the table. Sparkle grinned and shrugged as Maria shook her head.

Maria had never really dealt with Kitsumi except when boxes came in. She checked everything that entered the museum and had detailed records on everything. Kitsumi had a memory like a steel trap and forgot nothing. If anyone would remember the crate IronHorse was in, she would. Hell, she would probably be able to describe to the court how Maria was dressed that day, and how she smelled of cigar smoke and 40 weight motor oil from working in the machine shop.

“Miss Ichimura is on her way. She was involved in the other troll attack on the museum and is dealing with the Paragon Police in the matter now. She will be here presently.” Sparkle grinned and waved to the police in the stands. A few nodded and smiled back.

Maria still had the jitters and sighed deeply. Nevertheless, in her heart she knew that she would not calm down until IronHorse was free.

And that rested upon a small Japanese girl, and a Half Demon woman who was looking for Native American God masquerading as a superhero.

Thankfully, she didn’t know that last part…

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 3

“So uh… Either one of you have any kids?”

Hank and Carl chuckled while looking out of the windshield of the squad car.

“Well I’m a confirmed bachelor and Carl has three little ones.”

“Oh Jeeze… Carl I am SO sorry for getting you all mixed up in this. I swear I’m gonna set this right somehow.”

“Hey IronHorse, no worries. We not only have your side of the story, but I’ve seen how nutso that freak hero Clockstopper can be. Besides, the Paragon Police department is backing you on this thus far. Everything from the scene backs up your story and Miss Estavez gave a statement that supports your side of what happened. Last I head on the radio is that she is on her way.”

IronHorse grunted and sighed.

“I do have a question for you though big guy.” Hank asked. “When you grabbed a squad car and hoisted it, did you even THINK to check if anyone was in it?”

IronHorse stood as he had for almost the past hour now. In the middle of the street in front of the Freedom Corps headquarters in downtown Steel Canyon with a police car held over his head. Hank and Carl sat inside and sipped their coffee while talking to the iron giant. Outside however, the scene was damn well near pandemonium. A barricade had been erected and police as well as heroes had the area secured. There was a strange tension in the air as the police and several heroes argued loudly with some of the other heroes. IronHorse sighed again.

“Frankly boys… I was so ticked at that point I lost my head. As soon as I heard you two shout however I froze dead. From there its… well.”

“Its become a media circus and a damn mess is what it is. Scared the hell out of us you did.” Hank sighed and looked at the floor of the cab. “And made me spill my coffee.”

“After seeing what Clockstopper would have done if I had NOT began bluffing though? About the throwing you or ripping the gas tank open?”

Carl coughed and winced.

“Don’t even kid about that Big Guy. In my little opinion Clockstopper is a sociopath only kept on by the FC to keep rogue AIs off the streets. They BARELY control him as is, and there have been several blocked investigations into his attacks on civilians, police, and even the police drones.”

“Lovely… I pissed off the local psychopath.”

Hank snorted and did his best not to laugh.

“Fill us in again as to what happened big guy. Right now its your word against his and ours. The PD is backing you but we want to make sure the story is clear.”

IronHorse sighed and grunted.

“Its Arizona all over again…” He sighed. “O.K. It went down like this…”

The blast had torn apart most of the front of the museum, leaving a huge crater in the steps and a blown out hole in the front entrance. IronHorse covered Maria with his body and could still feel the aftershocks rattling his frame. Chunks of cement rattled off his plates and rang out as they connected with his boiler.

“Maria?”

“Yeah… Oh my God… Oh IronHorse…” Maria was clearly rattled when the massive metal man stood up. She stared at him, and at the dents and crumpled parts of his body. For everything that had happened, he stood there as if this was just another day.

“Whoof… Now THAT was one hell of a party!”

“You’re loco you know that tin-man?! But… I owe you my life. My God IronHorse, if you were not here…”

That’s when the sirens sounded, from all over. IronHorse winced and looked about. He could see the squad cars screaming towards them and defensively stepped in front of Maria. That’s when he was thrown back and up into the air.

“CLOCKWORK!” Came the shout. “DAMN YOU! What new Machine is the King rolling out now! Fear not lady!”

“What the…” Maria was able to say just before being gently lifted into the air and pulled away from the front steps.

She floated over to a woman dressed in blue spandex with feathers up and down the sides of the garish outfit. She smiled gently at Maria as she moved her out of the way of several other blue and red clad people as they charged up the steps.

“SMASH THE CLOCK!” The smallest of them screamed. He wore some kind of armor and had several gears worn on a belt like pelts of animals. His mangy red hair and beard barely covered the symbol of a fist emblazoned on the front of his chest-plate. His eyes were masses of red fire however.

Meanwhile IronHorse slammed into one of the remaining walls of the building before being surrounded by three blue and red costume-wearing people. One was a small woman with a ball cap on backwards. Her bright pink hair stuck out in pony-tails as she looked at him.

“Hey Trunk? I don’t think he’s a clock…”

A massive man strode forward and looked down as IronHorse began to get up. The figure had the same blue and red costume but his face was the texture and shade of fresh bark. His hair was a mass of leaves and his eyes shone with a bright green light.

“I think you’re right Sparkle. He has an aura Mother Earth can feel… I don’t know how. No other machine feels like this one.”

The third figure sat perched on the rubble nearby and watched without saying a word. Her skin was a purple/black shade and the horns on her head curved over and again to form some impressive spirals.

“It has a soul.” She whispered.

“Of COURSE I do!” IronHorse finally got to his feet and vented some steam in frustration. “What in THE hell kinda greetin’ was that? I mean I was already almost damn well near blown to bits. I don’t need y’all trying to finish what a buncha green skinned thugs could not do!”

“Trolls… I can feel their souls departing.” The dark figure whispered. Trunk looked at her.

“Shadowform, your lead was right then. And we owe you an apology stranger.” He offered a wood hand in apology and IronHorse was about to take it when he was suddenly thrown up in the air again and then blasted out of the air by a chunk of the main pillar from the ruined entrance.

“LIES! It’s a damn CLOCK! Are you all BLIND?!? KILL IT!”

The furious man in armor focused again before IronHorse could come out of the daze he was in. Another chunk of rock lifted into the air and rocketed towards the Locomotive Man. Trunk however, already seemed to grow an axe from his body and split the massive piece of stonework in two.

“CLOCKSTOPPER! CEASE! He is no CLOCK!”

The little man seethed with fury as IronHorse found himself unceremoniously dropped to the ground. “GAH!”

Maria meanwhile pleaded with the woman to help her friend.

“Is that guy nuts! IronHorse SAVED me! Leave him alone!” The woman looked at the little man and then to Maria and then to IronHorse. She made some gestures with her hands, and then sighed. Grabbing a tablet and marker at her side she began to write.

~That is Clockstopper. He thinks the machine man is a clockwork. He is trying to protect you.~

“But he’s NOT a clockwork!” Maria shouted.

“We know.” Trunk stated as he helped IronHorse up. Sparkle and Shadowform assisted as well, and kept Clockstopper at bay.

“You’re all BLIND!” The little man roared. “Paragon code 40d!” He suddenly shouted and stood with a smug grin. Shadowform snarled at him while Sparkle let out an audible sigh.

“What… What’s that?” Maria asked. The feather-covered woman was already writing.

~Paragon Code 40d. All unlicensed AIs are to be taken into custody for questioning and possible disassembly.~

Maria looked at the woman in horror. Trunk meanwhile looked at Clockstopper in fury. “You little…”

“You KNOW the law! We take him in! ARREST HIM!”

“Like HELL you will!” Shouted Maria. Suddenly she found herself locked in place and hovering as the little man looked at her.

“Assisting the rogue AI huh? I should CRUSH you…” A dark hand suddenly appeared next to the little man’s throat. Claws popped out and slowly caressed the pulsing veins in his neck.

“It is enough we are taking in an innocent man. You harm her and I will feed the shadows who still lurk here your soul next.”

Clockstopper gulped as Shadowform looked into his eyes. Maria fell to the ground and the feather-covered woman quickly ran to her. She pressed her hands on Maria and a dull green light seemed to flow from her body into miss Estavez.

The wounds and even the fear from the night seemed to vanish from Maria’s mind. Meanwhile three feathers fell from the woman’s cloak. Maria’s anger however, was not lessened in the slightest.

“Silent Dove, watch over her. We will escort out GUEST downtown and clear this up. I’m sure the cops will want to hear this.”

“HEY!” Maria shouted. Clockstopper however took the chance to run forward and slam a pair of manacles onto IronHorse’s wrists. She could see that the machine man’s eye visor had turned a deep hellish red. He was angry, but he was holdin’ it in.

“HEY!” Maria shouted again even as Silent Dove placed a re-assuring hand on her shoulder. IronHorse looked over at Maria and shook his head.

“Maria, calm down. I’ll go with these folks and get this mess all sorted out. Just… Just be ready if this turns into Arizona again.”

Maria winced at the reference. IronHorse meant the kangaroo court that had ordered him taken apart back in 1864. She would be damned if she let that happen again.

“Don’t you DARE hurt him!” She shouted. Trunk nodded simply as Sparkle ran off and quickly came back with a massive paddy-wagon emblazoned with the same blue and red colors as the group wore. Clockstopper watched IronHorse smugly and didn’t take his eyes off the locomotive man for a second.

“You have my word miss, this being will come to no harm.” Trunk stated. He opened the back of the wagon and ushered IronHorse in just as the cops came screaming up in their cars. Silent Dove moved to them quickly and the last IronHorse saw of Maria was her being ushered to the steps by paramedics and Silent Dove.

He sat on a bench in the back of the wagon as Trunks and Sparkle took to the cab of the vehicle. Shadowform and Clockstopper sat in the back with him. From the looks of it this wagon was a mobile lab, as well as prison. As soon as he had taken his seat Clockstopper pressed some button and rods of energy erupted from the floor and ceiling to cage IronHorse in.

“Is that REALLY necessary Clockstopper?” Shadowform hissed. The angry little man however just stared at IronHorse with ill concealed hatred.

“You’re a Clock. I don’t care what they say.” He whispered. “And I’ll tear you apart before they have a chance to stop me.”

Given the circumstances, IronHorse still enjoyed his first ever ride in a vehicle like this. It was strange but it sort of reminded him of the presidential cars of the railroad. It was also a hell of a lot smoother of a ride.

“You have an old soul.” Shadowform spoke to break the silence. Clockstopper snorted and moved to a work area.

“Don’t know about that.” IronHorse stated simply. “Just woke up three days ago after a hundred and forty year siesta.” Shadowform’s eyes went wide and gently reached out to touch IronHorse.

“Ah ah ahhhh little demon.” Clockstopper snarled. “No touching the prisoner. No talking for that matter either. I don’t want you making some kind of rash connection to him before I interrogate him.” Shadowform whipped around and snarled.

“What makes you think Trunk is going to allow that? You KNOW we don’t trust you when it comes to interrogations. And I will be damned again before I let you harm this man.”

“THAT is NOT a man!” Roared the little man. “IT is a THING! Nothing more! IT LIES to you and you believe it! IT probably lied to that idiot woman as well! IT killed the trolls and would have killed the woman! IT will be interrogated by me because I am the expert at AI and I will determine if IT needs to be taken apart.”

Looking at IronHorse again, Clockstopper snarled under his breath in a barely audible whisper. “And you WILL need to be taken apart.”

Shadowform shook her head again and looked at IronHorse. The massive metal man sat staring at Clockstoper. The light in the mechanical man’s eye visor was a deep red now, and she could feel the anger coming off him in waves.

“You know RUNT.” IronHorse stated. “I met men like you back when I was working the railroads. Didn’t like them.”

Clockstopper turned and walked to the caged machine. He prodded IronHorse with a wrench through the energy bars.

“Oh YEAH? Like I’m even gonna listen to you. Not like you can do anything to me. those are EMP bars. You try to pass through them and you’ll lock up just like any other clock or machine menace.

Shadowform suddenly looked up and then looked back and forth between IronHorse and Clockstopper. The wagon had slowed and almost stopped.

“I’m gonna interrogate you and then take you apart piece by piece before smelting you down.” Clockstopper snarled, heedless of Shadowform’s presence any longer. he jabbed IronHorse several times with the wrench.

“Miss.” IronHorse asked gently. Shadowform looked back at him and winced from the hellish fury glowing in his visor. “Are we almost stopped?”

“Yes.” Shadowform stated. IronHorse nodded and then looked directly at her.

“Then I’m gonna say right now I’m sorry for this, but I’m done bein’ pissed on by a bigoted little twerp.”

Before anyone could move there was a huge vent of steam from the locomotive man. In a single motion he snapped the manacles holding his wrists and threw a single punch at Clockstopper. The fist connected squarely with the little man’s chest as he stared in shock.

The small body of the angry little man was blasted through the wall of the wagon and out into the street before colliding with a lamp pole which quickly crumpled and snapped from the force of the body slamming into it.

Clockstopper was out like a light.

IronHorse however charged forward and grabbed the sides of the hole formed by the little man. He ripped with all his might and tore the wagon asunder before jumping out into the street. Shadowform stared as the metal man looked about.

Trunks and Sparkle however had lept from the cab and were ready to charge IronHorse.

“And that’s when I dove for the car and hoisted you guys up.” IronHorse finished. Hank whistled.

“Hey.” Carl asked as he crumpled his coffee cup. “Why didn’t the beams effect you?”

IronHorse chuckled. “Well Clockstopper said they were EMP beams. Yeah they would screw up electronics and such, but I’m totally steam-powered baby. Those beams were about as effective as trying to cage a tiger in tissue paper.”

Carl laughed and shook his head. Hank meanwhile grabbed the radio and listened in.

“Seems Shadowform has just issued a statement to the press and just supported everything you said. Clockstopper is denying everything however and even calling into question her integrity, her being a demon and all.”

“WHAT?” Carl shouted. “Shadowform has been a model hero for years! hell she stopped the circle several times! how the hell can that little [censored] challenge his own teammate!”

“Whoa whoa… Hang on. Hey IronHorse, is THAT Maria?” Hank asked. He pointed through the crowd as the police barricade broke open to allow an angry looking woman to come charging through.

“Yep!” IronHorse stated. “And she looks like she could spit nails! Be nice boys!”

Maria ran up and without stopping hugged IronHorse with all her might. He was warm still but felt… different. Not as hot as before.

“IronHorse what the HELL are you doing?” She shouted. “Put the car down! Freedom Corps and the Cops are going to let you go into my custody!”

Carl leaned out of the window and looked down at Maria. He tipped his hat and smiled.

“Don’t be mad at the big guy.” He stated. Maria however fumed and resisted the urge to give the cop the finger.

“Look, they finally have restrained that nut Clockstopper. You don’t NEED them as hostages anymore. The city said they will listen as long as you are given into my custody!”

“HOSTAGES?!?” Hank shouted as he leaned out the other window. “He didn’t even know we were IN here until it was too late! And even then he never threatened us! It was all that little psychopath! Said he would sacrifice us to stop the monster!”

“Yeah before Trunk *****slapped him.” Carl snorted. Maria sighed and looked at IronHorse pleadingly.

“Please… Just put the car down. They had me convinced you were holding these guys hostages.”

“Naw…” Carl stated. “We yelled that stuff except the part about him needin’ his mechanic. Even the bits about him going to rupture the gas tank.” Maria held her head in frustration. IronHorse however began to laugh.

“Look tin-man… just put the car down.” She hissed through clenched teeth.

“First off, tell me what you mean by custody.” IronHorse stated. Maria sighed and dug into her pockets.

“The law states that you are an unlicensed AI. I know that’s not right, but you have to be claimed and proven to be the property of someone or else they have every right to take you apart. So… I showed them I owned you.”

“WHAT?” IronHorse shouted. Maria held up a document to his face. It was a packing invoice signed and notarized by Maria and the postal service.

“I… well to be honest with you, I won your crate in a poker game, but I paid for the shipping and stuff. The invoice proves whatever was IN that crate is mine. That’s you tin-man.”

IronHorse began to laugh, loud and long now. “Heh… Sure as hell beats bein’ owned by ole Dumas. As long as you don’t expect me to do trick or nothin’ I’ll go along with this gag.”

“It’s not a gag IronHorse. This is serious. There’s going to be many questions to be answered. They already called the head curator, as well as the person responsible for all incoming shipments. Everyone will want to know what the heck happened, and how you fit into all of this. And it does NOT look good for you to be holding a manned police car over your head! So PUT IT DOWN!”

“Can’t.” Was IronHorse’s one word answer. Hank and Carl, who had obviously know this all along suddenly broke out into gales of laughter.

“What do you MEAN you can’t?” IronHorse’s eye visor faded to a dull pink. Maria knew he was smiling and braced herself for the answer.

“Heh… I ran outta steam about as soon as I had the car above my head!”

“WHAT?!?” Maria shouted. Hank and Carl meanwhile continued to laugh.

“Yep… Boiled off all the water in the fight with the trolls and giving that little [censored] the beating he deserved. Last bit of steam was used to hoist these boys and I locked up. Thanks goodness my furnace kept the heat up or I woulda fell asleep and started snorin’!”

“You… You’ve been BLUFFING about tossing the car this WHOLE TIME?!?”

IronHorse chuckled again. “Yep… Could not move if I wanted to. Guess my boiler-tank has a crack for all that steam to escape.”

Maria slapped a hand to her forehead and began cursing in Spanish again. She whirled and then stared icily at IronHorse.

“First I’m gonna re-fill your tank. then I’m gonna weld that broken seam shut… AND THEN YOUR MOUTH!”

IronHorse laughed again. “Heh… See? THAT’S why I shouted I was not doin’ anything until I saw my mechanic!”

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 2

“Miss! Miss can you tell us what happened?”

“Are you all right miss! Will you give a statement?”

“Are you the owner of the mechanical man miss? What is its name miss?”

“Him.” Maria whispered. “His name is IronHorse.”

“The creature’s name…” the reporter began before a cup of hot coffee hit the man square in the back of the head. He yelped in pain while Maria stood scowling fiercely at the reporter.

“HIM! He is a HE you smug jackass! NEVER call IronHorse an it or a creature! You hear me? NEVER!”

The throng of reporters backed off but the shouted questions continued. Maria shook her head and sat back down.

Paramedics draped another blanket about her shoulders. Officers and firemen huddled around her while EMTs checked her pulse. Her eyes however returned to the ruined façade of what was once the front of the Paragon Museum of Science and Industry.

Most of the fires had been put out, but the structural damage had been severe. But no matter what the reporters said or what the public saw, she knew that if it hadn’t been for him, not it, HIM, the entire building and all the exhibits would be destroyed right about now.

“IronHorse…” She whispered.

A young officer finally fought his way through the crowd to the young woman. He wore an old fedora and a trench coat excessively big for him. Even with all the madness going on about him, she had to snicker. “You’re trying too hard hotshot.” Was the first thing she said to him.

“Pardon? Are you… Are you Maria Estavez?”

She sipped her new cup of coffee brought to her by one of the older cops, who was still snickering at the use of the old cup of coffee.

“Yeah… And I mean you’re trying to damn hard to look like a detective. I mean come on, who told you, you could raid Bogey’s closet?”

The young officer coughed and straightened his collar. The older cops snickered again.

“Miss, we have a lot of questions.”

“Same here… Where is he?”

“He, miss Estavez?”

“IronHorse. Where is he? Once this all went down and you finally showed up, he was whisked away. Where is he?”

The young officer coughed again and shook his head. He pulled out a notepad and pen and did his very best to look official.

“Well the machine in question…”

Maria stood and glowered at the man. Raising her arm with the cup of coffee, one of the other officers intercepted her before she could throw it.

“Um… the PERSON in question is in Freedom Corp’s custody at the moment. I can tell you more if you please answer a few questions.”

Unmitigated hatred flowed out of Maria’s eyes as she looked at the young officer. “Call him a machine, a creature, or an IT again and I’ll make sure you’ll be choking on a pair of nuts… your own.”

The young officer’s eyes went wide and flinched as he took a few steps back. Regaining his composure, he took off his hat and sat down on the steps near Maria.

“Given the situation I’m going to let that slide. Look, we got off on the wrong foot. I’m detective Frank Harris. I just want your account of what happened tonight. We can get a full statement at the station later but I want you account now.”

Maria sighed and nodded as Frank started taking notes.

She could still feel his arms pressed about her. The warmth of the metal and the tenderness of the gesture behind it.

Yet, she still didn’t want to let him go outside.

“You look… well you look like a massive clockwork…”

“Oh jeeze… I saw a feature on those little buggers on the news. First off, I’m a hell of a lot better constructed than those little twits are. Second, I look better and I have more of a vocabulary.”

Maria sighed and began to pace. IronHorse had covered a LOT of ground in his reading since he never needed sleep. He had learned an incredible amount, but still, every so often, she needed to correct him on things. Anything mechanical however, he seemed to know backwards and forwards.

She looked at him worriedly.

“Look… It’s not just that you KINDA look like one, it’s the fact that there are other AIs in the city and Paragon as well as the world has put certain restrictions on such things.”

“Say what?”

“AIs… Artificial Intelligences… THINKING MACHINES…”

“Look Maria, I told you. I’m not artificial. Sure, the body may be prefabricated, and the parts can be swapped and repaired, but ME… I’m alive and NOT something anyone made.”

Maria sunk to the floor and began cursing under her breath in Spanish. IronHorse chuckled and shook his head.

“Um… I don’t think it’s physically possible to tie that in knots while riding a camel.”

“You… You understood that?!?”

“Maria… I was on the railroads LONG before even the stuff happened in the courts. I picked up a lot from the workers. Hell, I speak Spanish, Gaelic, and even Cantonese. I know a little Hopi as well, but I’m more partial to their music than anything.”

“You… You spoke with the workers?” She sat down amazed IronHorse chuckled and dropped to the concrete floor beside her.

“Yep. Not like I’d wind up with the big shots in their little wagons and trailers. I was just a machine to them regardless of if I could talk or not. Property… That was the final court ruling as well. I was nothing more than property and at the liberty of whomever could prove they owned me.” A vent of steam punctuated an exasperated sigh. “So I took up with the workers and loved them like a family. Hell, I was even taught a little kung fu. Not much mind you, just how to throw a punch and get more power. Heh… Sure helped in drivin’ rail-spikes.”

“Wow… I mean just wow…” IronHorse chuckled again and shook his head. He offered his hand to Maria and helped her up.

“Look for three days I’ve been readin’ books and watchin’ this little box and learning all about this future I stepped into. I’m dyin’ to see it, despite the fear. Hell, half of life is knowin’ when to tell those little fears to shut the hell up. But look… if you’re really that scared, we can wait, but you ain’t getting off the hook without doin’ two things for me.”

Maria looked at him critically. His eye visor was a cheery pink and she knew he was smiling.

“O.K. tin-man… What you want?”

IronHorse laughed. “I FINALLY watched “The Wizard of Oz” last night so I get the joke now. But honey, I have enough heart for anyone! As for what I want… One, I’d like some music.”

Maria nodded and waited for the next question.

“Two… I want you to tell me about yourself.”

“What?”

“Look… All the conversation has been thus far has been either about history I missed or about history I saw. Time to change pace. If I can’t get outta here, you’re not leavin’ either till I know about YOUR history.”

Maria laughed and grabbed a chair. IronHorse nodded and looked at her expectantly.

“Well if you want my history, lets narrow down what kind of music first.”

IronHorse chuckled and reached over to grab a book. He handed it to Maria whose eyes went wide with shock.

“Blue Man Group? You want to hear Blue Man Group?”

“Hey, you were the one who left their DVD here. I want to hear their music! I like the drums and stuff… very cool to watch. TOTALLY different from the stuff I used to hear.”

“Hopi drums?” Maria asked. IronHorse chuckled.

“Yeah and Cantonese singing. But I TOLD you that story! Now you tell yours!”

Maria skipped that part for Detective Frank Harris. It was something she was amazed she even told IronHorse. About how her mother died when she was very little, but how her father brought her up in their garage. How she was more of a tomboy than anything and how she kicked a lot of “vato” [censored] to get where she was. Her father killed himself trying to pay for her college, and died from cancer. It broke Maria’s heart, but she fought on to get her degree in engineering history.

A strange degree, but it put her with things she loved. Not just machines but OLD machines. Classic cars like her papa worked on, as well as the steel and steam monsters of a bygone past. She really had no family, and the few friends she had were amazed how she could throw everything into “Hunks of metal.”

“Every Machine has a soul Bonita…” Her father used to say. “Once you can touch that soul, even the oldest piece of junk can come to life and be good as new!”

Every machine has a soul… She had forgotten that phrase until she met IronHorse. She never believed her father in that, even though he could work miracles in things. She was bright to be sure, and could assemble even the most dilapidated piece of outdated machinery, but never had her father’s touch.

Until now… Until she had a legend in front of her. Something out of Americana folklore and tall tale myths. The story of IronHorse was just that, a story. Of the machine man who could do amazing things. Of the nightmare when he went berserk and how man triumphed over him and took him apart.

It was a Golem tale… A dream, and yet, here he was. Denying the things and filling in the holes in the folk tale. Never revealing how he came to be, even if he knew how. Still Maria marveled…

“Every Machine has a soul…” She whispered.

“Pardon miss Estavez?” Frank asked. She shook her head and cleared the memories.

“Oh… yeah. The music. I went to go get the CD he asked for from the music library. He needed to stay in the back near the warehouse because the main floors really can’t support his weight too well. I know… they can hold a train but not him? Well remember most of the exhibits are stripped down to bare necessities for display and are never run. IronHorse was fully assembled and running full steam. On bottled water and coal no less.”

Maria remembered going towards the main halls so she could hit the music library. It was no big thing that she worked late, as most people knew her as a workaholic. She spent hours on the machines. The old trains, cars, boats, engines, and even old clockworks were here and in great condition because of her and her long hours. But Maria had no one to go home to. No papa and no boyfriend. No man really wanted anything to do with a grown up tomboy turned antique grease monkey.

She was pondering those things, and how IronHorse somehow got her to blush at the drop of a hat. Something only her father could do when she heard noises.

It was nothing big at first, but the crashes were definitely not Bobby, the night guard.

It sounded like someone was wrecking the place.

“Me no find it!”

“Stupid! It no on car! Atta say it be on boat with big wheel!” A loud crash ended the sentence.

“So where boat with big wheel?”

A rough scaly hand grabbed Maria on the back of her throat and hoisted her in the air.

“Tiguar not doin’ his job Ulf! He left puny alive!”

TROLLS! Maria thought. As if the green fingers, small horns and protruding fangs on her assailant were not hint enough.

She was hauled into the room where three of the brutes stood. Two still looked faintly human, if it were not for the green skin. She could see their muscles bulge under their clothes however, as if straining to be free. Their eyes were yellow with jaundice and dilated with the effects of superdyne. They twitched nervously and snorted the air.

The largest of the three had a set of horns growing from his bald green dome. Tusks were taking shape in his mouth and he glowered at Maria. Now Maria was a good-looking woman, a fact that did not escape her. But in all the years of being looked at as a piece of meat by other men… she had never so distinctly felt like it was a critical truth until that troll looked at her with hungry eyes.

“Me punish Tiguar later… She look good. Dinner then?”

One of the puny two laughed. The other, obviously Tiguar winced and shuddered.

“RUNT!” the larger troll shouted and suddenly his fists were encased in stone. He backhanded the little troll and sent him flying into a pillar near the main entrance. “Get gift from Atta! He say cover tracks so we leave no tracks! Or building!”

The thing holding her laughed.

“BOOM!” It chuckled. “BOOM!”

Ulf eyed Maria again. She was sure he was Ulf as he was the only one with a decent vocabulary… for a troll.

“Boat…” Maria coughed.

“What you say meat?” Ulf barked back. “Trogdan. Let meat speak.”

The grip around Maria’s neck loosened but did not release. She coughed and gulped air into her burning lungs.

“Boat… I know where the boat is.” Ulf nodded and grinned a toothy grin.

“You smart meat… You may live to be more than dinner… Me bang you first now.”

Maria began cursing the foul thing in a stream of Spanish. The impressive stream of obscenity was cut short however by Trogdan’s tightening grip.

“You point to boat meat! You show Ulf NOW!”

He raised his stone-covered hand and readied another backhand. Maria watched in horror knowing that a blow like the one he hit Tiguar with would probably kill her.

That’s when the train whistle sounded. It was louder and more piercing that anything she had ever heard. The trolls staggered back and looked about, thinking another guard was about, until the floor began to shake.

“I THINK the little lady would appreciate it if y’all set her down.” The voice was dull and fierce. She could feel the vibrations in the floor as something BIG kept moving forward.

“IronHorse…” She coughed.

The trolls turned and stared gap=mouthed at the thing coming down the hallway towards them.

“You hear me BOY? I said put the lady down… or be PUT down.”

Maria dangled from Trogdan’s hands like a rag doll, but she could still see. She could make out clearly how IronHorse’s hands seemed red hot and had steam escaping the vents on the sides. She knew he somehow was venting the enormous pressure that made him move into his hands… his fists…

“You clockwork?” Ulf asked. “SMASH! Talking Clock thing!”

Trogdan and the other runt began to laugh. The runt raised his gun and sprayed a hail of bullets at IronHorse.

He kept on moving forward. The floor was groaning with his weight and every step shook her captors more and more.

“Boy… You best put that pea shooter down before you make me mad.” The second runt shook but emptied his clip regardless before charging up and hitting IronHorse with a devastating blow to the gut.

On the other hand, it would have been devastating if the troll hit flesh. Instead, he punched hot Iron and Steel and promptly broke his hand. Maria could head the bones shatter as the troll howled in pain.

IronHorse meanwhile reared back. “Say G’night Gracie.” He hissed as he punched the troll dead in the head.

The massive fist, the first that drove railroad spikes and pushed full boxcars, slammed into the body of the troll.

Maria, in her report to Frank was blunt in sating that before the punch she knew it was a troll. Afterwards, and once the body went smashing through the front pillar and out the main glass doors and into the street, she was sure it was hamburger.

Under her breath however, she promised to not let IronHorse watch any more old vaudevillian acts… God only knows what other cheesy phrases he picked up.

Trogdan finally dropped Maria at this point as he rushed IronHorse. He had to be the same type of troll as Ulf because he pulled an entire shell of stone about himself.

“What… You like coverin’ yourself in dirt son? Boy, where I come from that’s not a combat tactic… that’s called bein’ a pig.”

Trogdan obviously didn’t like that, as he hit IronHorse with a solid blow across the jaw that sent the locomotive man staggering back. When his head whipped back up Maria could see a dent in his front grill, and that his eye-visor had gone hellish red.

Two quick jabs from IronHorse slammed into the gut of the rampaging troll. Stone flew off and the sound of metal ringing filled Maria’s ears. Another punch slammed home on the face of the troll and sent him staggering back. He shook it off however and seemed to let the stone covering his body flow… slow into his hands to form a massive mallet.

“ME SMASH YOU!” Roared Trogdan as he whipped around and slammed the hammer into IronHorse’s thigh. There was the sickening sound of crushing metal and grinding stone. Maria shielded her eyes but peeked between the cracks of her fingers.

The hammer had torn up a good chunk of IronHorse’s outer leg casing, but had done no real damage. Steam vented from his arms and back and then the troll looked up in time to see two glowing red fists clasped into a ball over IronHorse’s head.

“Funny… I thought the same thing ugly.”

Again, Maria did not describe the sickening crunch of stone and then bone she heard as the blow landed on top of the skull of Trogdan. It was akin to watching Gallagher hit a watermelon she recalled. Even with his stone hide, the troll had no chance.

Ulf stood there and then roared.

“They WEAK! Atta say I best! Me SMASH you!”

IronHorse reared back and launched a massive fist at the charging leader. Ulf somehow CAUGHT the punch between his hands and held it barely from his chest. His biceps strained and sweat poured from his body. His eyes however, were filled with hatred flowing through a drug-induced haze.

“What you do NOW metal man? Me STRONGER THAN YOU!!” Maria scrambled for cover and tried to get away. She was terrified that this beast could stop her only chance of survival, but she was also terrified for her friend. Until he spoke up that is…

“Boy….” He asked in a perfectly comfortable tone, as if he was talking to a small child. “Who the hell said I was done throwin’ the punch?”

Vents on the side of his massive fist suddenly snapped open to full and a great gout of high-pressure steam acted as a jet to rocket the first back forward.

Ulf barely had enough time to look in shock as the massive ball of iron slammed him dead in the chest and propelled him into the wall. The crater formed from the impact was also filled with the smell of cooking flesh from the quick steam broil of Ulf’s hide.

Maria looked in shock as IronHorse quickly waved off the heat from his hands and ran to her side.

“Maria! Are you O.K. Hun? Good Lord… what WERE those ugly freaks? Oh Lord if you’re not all right…”

“Hey hey hey… Big man. I’m O.K. But… But you saved my [censored].” She watched as his eye visor moved from red back to pink.

“And a damn fine [censored] it is at that. You SURE you’re O.K.?”

Maria let him help her up. She found herself blushing from the comment a second ago. Any other man she would have decked… but IronHorse for some reason…

“You kill Ulf! Me Kill you ALL now!” Maria watched in horror as the last troll… the runt Tiguar, lit and threw a bundle of dynamite right into the main doors before running away. Before she could cry out, before she could even curse, IronHorse had grabbed a chunk of the broken pillar and threw it at the incoming load. It knocked the bomb partly out the doors and allowed IronHorse time to grab Maria, pull her behind one of the displays and the shattered pillar, and cover her with his body.

“The explosion ripped apart the front façade of the building, as well as the front steps and the old steam engine we had there. However, if IronHorse had not acted, most of the building would be a pile of rubble right now.”

Maria chugged the last of her coffee and pulled the blanket tight around herself. Frank had not looked up but continued to take notes.

“AFTER it all happened did the cops show up. Which makes me wonder why the hell we even have alarms anymore. But as soon as you did, a group of spandex wearing twits came out with you, and grabbed IronHorse shouting “Clockwork Minion!” before we had a chance to blink.”

Frank nodded and looked up. “Those were representatives from Freedom Corps. They have been corrected about the status of the… of IronHorse. We still have a lot to cover however Miss Estavez, like how you covered for his existence, his status in relation to the Paragon AI act, and how the damages are going to be…”

Another officer broke the conversation by running full speed towards Frank and Maria.

“Detective Harris! Detective Harris! We have a problem!”

“What is it Jones?”

“HERE!” The officer thrust a phone up to Frank’s ear. Grumpily he took the receiver and listened in. Slowly the color began to drain from his face.

“Um… Miss… Miss Estavez? We need to get you down to Freedom Corps HQ in Steel Canyon NOW.”

“Why? What is it? Did they hurt IronHorse?”

Frank shook his head and lowered the phone.

“Um… no… It… Uh… HE has knocked out three Freedom Corps members and is now holding a squad-car over his head saying he’s gonna start playing shot put unless we get you down there. Shouting something about “I’m not doin’ ANYTHING without my mechanic!””

Maria slapped her forehead and sighed.

“Every machine has a soul…” She whispered. “So why did I get stuck with the Loco one?”

IronHorse: The locomotive man CHAPTER 1

“Lady… Can y’all tell me what I missed?”

Maria still had that one simple phrase running through her head as she gazed at the metal man in wonder. It had been about three days since she had fired up IronHorse and she still could hear those first words ringing in her head.

And there he sat. Almost the exact same spot where she had left him last night. The only difference was he was watching a different tape, and a few more notebooks had been filled beside him.

Maria still was still reeling from meeting IronHorse, but soon he was far more shocked to find out over one hundred years had passed since he was last awake. His eye-visor seemed to change shades with his moods, and when she told him what year it was, well the usually bright red light went pink with shock.

“Two… THOUSAND and four?” He had asked. She nodded mutely. Heck she found it hard to talk and only barely mumbled the year as an answer to his first question.

“Two thousand… Holy Mary Mother of God… What happened? Did the courts forget about me? Guess so if over a hundred years passed…”

A massive gauntleted hand rose and smacked himself in the fore-head. He sank to the floor and sighed, steam escaping all of his joints.

“This’ll make it a SIGHT harder keepin’ my promise.”

Maria, after picking herself off the floor, came over to the locomotive man. Initially she thought he was weeping. Perhaps for some lost family or something. Instead, she found him scratching in the dirt with his finger. It was all numbers, ratios, and equations. Something she never fully understood.

“Whoof… By my reckoning… This load of coal ya’ filled me with should last about half a day. Only a half load huh? Worried I may have done something?”

Again Maria nodded and IronHorse snorted. The steam wiped the numbers off the floor in a cloud of dust.

“Y’all should really clean more. And despite whatever you heard… well probably read by now. I didn’t do anything like what the courts said I did. It was that damned Anthony Dumas.”

“Du… Dumas?” Maria stammered. The massive metal man nodded as he stood and looked about the room.

“Yep, Dumas. He was the bugger that framed me and stuck my bits here.” He ran a hand along the crate he was packed in. With a gentle squeeze he reduced it to splinters and smiled. “Nice to see my tomb become fuel for a new life.” Before Maria could act IronHorse has ripped the packing crate to shreds and pushed the majority of the aged wood into his furnace. He sighed as his eye-visor lit up with a brilliant ruby red flare.

“Man… That’s like eatin’ a 12 course meal after starvin’. Never tasted anything so good.”

Slamming his grate shut he dusted off his hands and then paused. A slight squeak from his wrist caught his attention. “Hey… Y’all got some oil here? Seems you missed a spot puttin’ me together.”

“What?” Maria whispered.

“I said… Y’all missed a spot puttin’ me together.” Her eyes were wide with shock. This seemed to let loose a series of laughs from the locomotive man.

“Look. You know my name but I don’t really know yours.”

“Ma… Maria. Maria Estavez.”

IronHorse thrust out his massive hand. “Well Maria, it’s a right pleasure meetin’ someone who knows good work like I am. Oh! And thanks for stickin’ up for me to your boss!”

“How… How did you know about that?”

“Heck I could hear you arguin’ with the curator about my significance for the exhibit above. Granted I’m not the best KNOWN historical steam powered thing, but I can damn well say I’m the most unique!” He gave a flex like a wrestler and tilted his head from side to side.

“I mean really, what riverboat could showoff like I do?” This lead to a series of giggles from Maria, and then full blown laughter.

“I’m nuts… I have to be… You CAN’T work like this. No WAY! I mean… I know the technology and I know all about you. You’re… well you’re impossible.”

“I get that a lot from the ladies.”

Maria blushed and shook her head. “O.K. then tin-man. Answer me this, how did you know what I was talking about with the curator before I put you together? How can you function like you do? And why should I trust you when the only written document about you is a court order to disassemble a malfunctioning piece of machinery? I mean really, besides that and a few show posters with your picture there is nothing historically about you other than conjecture and hearsay!”

IronHorse nodded to each point and then sat down. “O.K. first off I’m made outta Iron and Steel, no tin in me. Second, I don’t rightly know why I function why I do, but I’m willing to bet you don’t really know what makes yourself work either. We both may known the nuts and bolts of our bodies, but never really understand what makes them LIVE. I’m alive is all I can say. Don’t know how, and don’t really care. I just intend to enjoy it. As for the court thing, well if nothing more survives of that whole kangaroo court trial, you’re gonna just have to take my word that I won’t hurt you or anyone else who don’t deserve it. I give you my word on that. Oh… and I never really did like my pictures in those posters. Never got my head right.”

He stood and looked about before reaching over Maria’s head and grabbing a can simply labeled “Oil.” This he squirted onto his wrist and moved it about a bit.

“Sorry… that was drivin’ me nuts. Kinda like a sore joint to you. Now as for how I heard you before… I didn’t. Least not really. You see ever since they took me apart it’s like I’ve been sleeping and dreaming. I had no concept of time or people, just voices and sounds kinda filtered in and out. It was one helluva nap but it was restful… I heard you before I guess, and your muttering about how I am SO significant for the display above, as well as something about me being a masterpiece of machinery… I like that one by the way.”

Again Maria blushed but now was staring at IronHorse with rapt attention.

“So when you cracked open the crate I could feel light and hear sounds, but still it was filtered though sleep and dreams. Um… I will say that when I was taken apart it hurt like hell. They were not too kind let me tell you. But you… Heh… well you puttin’ me back together is the closest I’m ever likely to come to bein’ intimate with a woman. You touched all the right places if you get my drift. You’ve got some damn talented mechanics hands.”

Maria was now a brilliant shade of red and giggling while trying to hide her face. IronHorse laughed again and slapped his hands together.

“Oh lord don’t be ashamed! Not like I’m built anatomically correct! I’ll just take what I can get hun.” His eye visor warmed to a pale red, and she could tell he was smiling and joking with her.

“So uh… IronHorse… Now what?”

He paused and then sat down with an audible thump. He shook his head.

“Damn good question Maria… Damn good question. I think the first thing I should do is get caught up. I need to know what happened in the world while I was gone.”

This lead Maria to introduce him to the museum library. It was hard maneuvering IronHorse through the displays at night, partly because of his massive size and weight would only be supported in certain floors, and partly because he stopped every five feet to read or gawk at something.

“Holy crow…” He uttered when they finally hit the library. “Holy crow I HAVE missed a lot.”

Maria nodded and got him started on some books and set up a reading spot in the backrooms away from sight. From there she also covered for his disappearance from the storeroom by telling the curator the crate was empty and stuffed with rocks. He snorted his thoughts on the matter and haughtily stated that Maria was a fool for chasing down legends and dreams. “Ground yourself in the NOW young lady. In the NOW.” He always said. She wondered how the irony escaped him that this message came form a man who worked in a museum… and how he would feel if he met the living history and legend in their backrooms.

IronHorse for his part was a wonderful guest and apt scholar. he read voraciously and then insisted on seeing this “tele-vision thing.” He called it mind blowing and began to watch history unfold on DVD and tapes thereafter, reading to fill in the gaps. He gaped in awe when Statesman appeared and then flew, he marveled at the wonders of the city he had wound up in, and he was shocked to hear of how many wars had gone on since he was asleep.

“So many folks… So many I coulda helped… That Dumas character has a LOT to pay for now. Well… his family will… maybe… Can’t hold the sins of the father...”

He mumbled like that a lot, and took notes on everything. Especially mechanics. He jotted down things here and there and shook his head in wonder of all the changes he missed. Maria read the notebooks from time to time with him as he asked her questions and chatted with her. Many were notes about possible “upgrades.” His latest question was if he could replace his old boiler with something from one of the new locomotives. Like a diesel engine or one of the magnetic jobs like in Japan.

Maria found him charming, witty, funny, and above all charismatic. He joked, laughed, and never seemed to let things get him down. Oh he complained from time to time, but more often than not he just vented some steam and went back to what he was doing.

Three days, three days of constant reading, studying, watching, learning. His boiler was fed by coal Maria gathered, but he stated anything that could be burned he could use as fuel.

“Just some things are better than others. Kinda like the food you eat. I’ve developed a taste for things. Coal is the best but I like wood too. Paper is like candy, quick but not filling.”

As she reveled in the thoughts of the past three days IronHorse slowly stood and came over to her side. His eye visor was bright and cheerily red. He was smiling, and in a totally unexpected act he gave Maria a massive hug.

It was not cold, but warm. Warm metal, not too hard, and not too soft. Gentle but she could feel the strength in his body.

“Maria… I can’t thank you enough for savin’ me.” She smiled gently again and looked at him. “Now I wanna ask you a favor… I’ve been cooped up in here for three days… I wanna see this brave new world.”

((A buddy of mine began to bug me to post this tale. I actually wrote this before the Suicide-Run one, and it has been slowly expanding as well in my mind. Hope everyone likes it, and as always comments and criticisims are welcome. As it stands, this story is done for now until I feel the need to pick it up again. --->Erik))

IronHorse: The Locomotive Man. PROLOGUE

A common question asked by man now is where is the line between man and machine drawn? With the growth of AIs and the more humanoid appearance of robots being developed by various corporations, the distinction has become less and less clear. Adding to the question is the problem of groups like the Vahzliok who use living tissue fused to man made frames, and the Clockwork who use mental patterns of a living individual to power robotic shells equipped with limited AI.

As current as these issues seem, the questions have been posed long before the advent of the computer. Indeed, at the turn of the century mankind began working with various forms of automatons with a passion. Items of clockwork, spring power, and even steam power became the rage for a time. One of the most impressive feats of engineering was the mysterious “chess player.”

Wolfgang von Kempelen’s mechanical chess player was one of the most famous automata of all time. The automaton, produced in 1770, bested a host of chess experts, European royals, and celebrities in live chess matches. The automaton chess player fascinated the public because it not only imitated human behavior, it appeared to be a “thinking machine.” German inventor and showman Johann Maelzel brought the device to the U.S. in 1826, where it sparked heated debates among audiences and journalists about the mystery of its operation. However, an 1837 newspaper expose revealed the presence of an assistant concealed inside the cabinet (Source: Mary Hillier, Automata and Mechanical Toys: An Illustrated History (London: Jupiter Books, 1976).

The idea of a “thinking machine” so sparked the imagination of several inventors that, even though the chess player was proven a hoax, they tried to make a true “thinking automaton.”

So inspired, a group of engineers in Chicago decided not to be outdone by the Austrian. They began work on an automated man of their own. However, their man soon became a symbol of the strength of American ingenuity. They didn’t want just something that sat at a table, but something that would fire the hearts of men with pride. So IronHorse, The Locomotive Man, was born.

The men from Chicago were train mechanics and engineers, but it took the spark of brilliance of one Edward Thorp to make the machine come off the blue-print pages. He was the one who designed the brilliant gear houses for the arms and hands, he was the one who built the boiler and regulators for the steam pressure, and he was the one who designed the body. Some called the initial structure a monstrosity, but others saw it as a representative of the railroad. Tall, strong, and powerful above all else. The machine man was billed as “A marvel of American Know-how. A True Thinking Machine!”

On October 14th 1864, IronHorse was filled with his first load of coal and activated. The automaton began to act brilliantly. He worked on the railroads by laying track, hammering spikes, and even dragging boxcars by sheer brute force. He was a marvel indeed, and was paraded about by several rail-barons as a symbol for the times. He could do almost anything and was many times stronger and faster than any human.

However, IronHorse in reality was little better than Wolfgang von Kempelen’s mechanical chess player. Edward Thorp, the man who invented the automaton, was also it’s heart and brain. The automaton was actually the world’s first “powered armor” if you will. Mr. Thorp was so desperate to have his dream live that when he could not get IronHorse to function on it’s own, he found a way to drive it himself. Not realizing the other things he accomplished, he kept it a secret except from a select circle.

Being a meek man, Mr. Thorp also gave into the whims of the Rail-Barons at the drop of a hat. He rode in the belly of the machine for far longer than he should have, and was exposed to doses of coal smoke and heat that would eventually end his life as he knew it.

But something odd happened. It was after a 12 hour day displaying the prowess of the mechanical man that Ed Thorp’s body began to finally give out. He had done every little show the Rail-Barons had asked and was so exhausted at the end of the day that he collapsed inside the machine and drifted to sleep. Heedless of the fumes and the heat, Ed Thorp died, and became something more.

The Rail-Baron of Arizona at the time was showing off IronHorse as a way of distracting attention from him stealing land as well as artifacts from sacred Indian sides. Needless to say, the resident Hopi Shaman saw this as an affront to his people, and to the sacred land. The Shaman, who’s name is lost to history, was a keeper of old knowledge and paths. He knew of the spirits and of the things the Rail-Baron was after. He also knew that a hero was needed to help his people, and defend the things buried by the old ones.

A hero made for the white man, would now become a hero for all men. The shaman had stolen into the work grounds for the displays IronHorse put on. He stole up to the massive metal man, and pressed his palm on the chest of the thing. The shaman knew the truth of the automaton, but also could feel the strong mind, but weak will behind it.

He could feel Ed Thorp begin to fade away and shook his head.

The ritual he performed is unknown, but only its effects will be described here. Being dismayed at the hollowness of both the machine for being a tool and nothing more, and the weakness of the man but brilliance… he fused the two.

Ed’s body died, but his mind, spirit, and will were now bound to a body of strength, conviction, and willpower.

This was the true birth of IronHorse.

The next morning when the being who was Ed awoke, he felt someone open the main boilerplate on his machine… but it felt like someone was pushing food directly into his stomach. He shouted and looked angrily at the mechanic who stood loose jawed in awe… The automaton never talked before, but now not only did it talk, but moved and acted like never before!

The new IronHorse had no clue what had happened to him. But somehow, and for some reason he didn’t care. This new life felt right all of a sudden. All his lost convictions were restored. Where once was weakness of willpower, there was strength to spare. Where once was no self confidence, there was now enough for a hundred men!

He looked about and felt as if he had wasted his first life, and had made a mockery of what IronHorse could be. And he thought he would change that right now!

He began by performing the show, but then stopping mid act and decrying the activities of the Rail-Baron. He spoke eloquently and pleaded for the Hopi tribe. He rallied the people and soon they joined him in trying to drive the Baron out.

The Rail-Baron sent men… Tough men, the best gunmen and mercenaries money could buy. But none could stand up to the awesome strength of IronHorse. Those he could not reason with, dealt with the same fists that could drive railroad spikes with a flick of the wrist. With a vent of steam and a haymaker he sent more than one tough flying out of the town and the tribal lands. he began to fight for the people, driving off more than the Rail-Baron’s men, but outlaws, rustlers, and anyone else who hurt others.

IronHorse had become the man Ed Thorp always wanted to be. A Hero.

But even the strongest of men can come to fall eventually. A trap was laid by the Baron. A simple bait and switch on his part led IronHorse out of town on a false lead while he burned the town and the reservation to the ground. The Baron killed the townsfolk to the last and stole every last artifact he had originally come for.

From there he was able to lay the blame for the entire thing on IronHorse. With money well spent, and bribes well placed, he had testimony of the mechanical man performing the most heinous of deeds. There was no one to defend IronHorse either, and even though he fought the charges it was eventually decreed that he WAS just a machine and therefore had no rights. IronHorse was property, and as such could be dismantled at whim.

Seeing that he had no other choice IronHorse submitted to the law, but not before vowing revenge. He swore that somewhere, someday, he would reclaim what was stolen and show that he was an innocent man.

They took him apart piece by piece and roughly stuffed him into several crates. As soon as his head came off his body, IronHorse ceased to be.

The crate was shuffled off to one warehouse or another. kept in legal limbo by the rail-Baron. Despite cries to release the once “mechanical marvel” he hid IronHorse simply because he did not want to be tormented further by the machine.

Soon memory of the Locomotive man was replaced by other marvels and stories and the crate was inherited by the descendants of the Rail-Baron. Their empire had grown vast, but the relatives were greedy and thoughtless. They began to sell off much of the “Junk their relative had spent most of his life accumulating.

Some of the more clever relatives realized many things were items of power and snatched them up long before they reached the auction blocks. It seemed the Rail-Baron struck upon something long ago, something about how to become something more than what he was, and how it all came back to something called the Annak… The items he had stolen and acquired over the years were to accomplish some goal, but it all fell apart at his untimely and unsolved murder. The clever descendants kept these items, or at least the items they knew had power.

The remains of IronHorse on the other hand were sold off to the highest bidder as an oddity and nothing more. The family having no idea what the metal man truly was.

The crate began the rounds again and soon found itself in the backroom of Paragon City’s museum. A winning hand at a game of poker secured the crate for the “steam power extravaganza” exhibit the museum was hosting.

It had been almost 100 years since all the parts of IronHorse were assembled, and yet, despite the age and battering the metal body had taken, he looked remarkably good. A young technician named Maria put him together and cleaned him up for the display. It was many months of hard work restoring this lost oddity. She considered this machine a bit of history and folklore that was lost and took pride in repairing him.

One night, on a whim, she filled his boilerplate with coal and checked his steam valves. Everything was theoretically still functional, and she was damn curious if the Locomotive Man really even worked.

When she started up the boiler, she got far more than she expected. There was a wheeze, a rush of steam, a groan, and a tough voice began to cough.

“Lady… Can y’all tell me what I missed?”

Hero Name: Suicide-Run
Real Name: Unknown (John Doe)
Background: Suicide-Run: Ghosts
Themesong: Faint, Linkin Park (Perfect for someone with memory loss, fighting to be something neither he nor anyone else knows, and trying to retain his sanity while not being lost in the crowd)

Hero Name: Suicide-Run
Real Name: Unknown (Currently answers to John Doe)
Apartment: None Yet
Description: ((OOC: I'll write this up as per his APB from S.E.R.A.P.H. and Vanguard... Internal documents))
John Doe appeared at our doorstep after being discovered by police. He stands 6'4" and is encased in some sort of strange organic armor. All tests performed currently show the tissue of teh armor has DNA consisting of 5 base pairs. How this can function is unknown, and how a human host is bonded to this obviously alien material is also unknown. Technically John is alive, but his cellular makeup is totally altered. Some preliminary MRI and X-Ray analysis have also shown that his internal organs have either been removed or altered totally. The armor seems to be his life support as well as the key to his powers. John suffers from amnesia and has no knowledege of who he is, what the armor is, or how he came to be bonded with it. All attempts at fingerprinting have proven futile, same applies to DNA testing, dental records, and blood-type. John is simply too altered by the suit for any of these methods to be effective. Further research is reccomended, but governmental agencies have expressed interest in subject. Pressure from the Vanguard group to collect him is mounting, and John is responding poorly to treatment here. Things may come to head soon, be advised John is a WEAPON, proceed with caution.

Target acquired John, are you sure we want to do this?

“It’s either that or we don’t eat Idun.”

But stealing food from the Rikti John? Doesn’t that seem… well, risky?

“You said their genetic signature was identical to humans. We know they are almost anatomically identical, so their food must be the same. You and I can both eat and process human food, so it should be fine.”

I’m not worried about the food hurting us except perhaps that it mainly seems to be hot-dogs. I’m more worried about the patrols. These sewers are off limits to even heroes John. It’s nasty down here.

“Point taken Idun, but after our exit from S.E.R.A.P.H. we needed a place to lie low. Even if they did come looking for us here, it would be more of a pain for them than for us. Providing we stay out of the sites of the patrols of both human and Rikti we should be golden. So let’s get some food huh?”

For the past three days after our exit from S.E.R.A.P.H. we had been moving and hiding in the abandoned sewers beneath the city. It stank, it was cold, and totally infested with things called “Hydra” and the dimensional aliens named the Rikti. Above all else however, it was safe down here. S.E.R.A.P.H. was not too pleased when I requested to leave initially. In fact they flat out refused until my situation could be “dealt with.”

I may have been paranoid about the situation, but the way the scientists and researchers had been acting lately had me on edge. Even though I had performed well on the missions, even though Harrison stood up for me, none of it seemed to matter. It was at night when I overheard the phone call.

The people at S.E.R.A.P.H. often forgot that I no longer slept. I had periods of rest with Idun, but I never needed full sleep. My time in my mental hideaway with Idun may seem like hours to me, but it only took place in the mater of seconds in the real world. This night however I was not in the mental plane. I was getting a cup of coffee, after a long training session before I was to be closed up in my “room.” The only room with locks on the outside and an observation window.

I walked past the office of the lead researcher of my case before reporting to my guards for the night. That was when I heard it. Idun zeroed in on the little weasel before amplifying the sounds of the speaker on the other end of the phone.

“We don’t seem to be getting anywhere. Our tests don’t tell us anything, and all requests for outside help have either shut us down or locked us out. I would not have normally turned to you people…”

“Don’t fret doctor. You did well in contacting the Vanguard. The alien-human hybrid, you still have it caged correct? We will be there tomorrow to pick it up.”

“We had hoped to help him, to heal him…”

“He’s not human anymore doctor. We can learn more about what he is when we take him in.”

That was all I needed to hear. Idun was quaking with rage and I could feel the heat being generated by her as she encased my body. To think I, we, had trusted these people. I walked back to my cell and simply nodded to the guards. I heard the door close and bolt and then the lights went off.

I don’t need light to see. Idun made sure of that. Immediately Idun activated the cloaking device as I knelt down by the wall. I knew this room was re-enforced concrete and steel, but I also knew that the back wall connected with the sub-floor furnace room, and from there, sewer access.

I pressed my palms to the door and let Idun do the work. The mine was secured against the wall and I could feel it immediately come online. It was simple enough; hovering near the ceiling I fired a small plasma blast at the mine and let the heat wash over the room. The back wall crumbled with the majority of the blast, but the door flew off its frame before slamming into the opposite wall.

Idun quickly began addressing the burns and shrapnel as I bolted through our new exit, into the furnace room, and then down into the sewers by making an opening in the most direct way I knew how. Thank God there is not much methane down there or I could have lit up half the city.

That was it. Idun and I escaped into the tunnels and blew our way down into the lower sewers through the scattered Lost and Vahzliok members we met. They soon learned to avoid us… or at least fear the ghost with green eyes lurking in the tunnels. We found access to the sub-levels of the sewer soon after and have stayed below for a while, hoping any patrols of S.E.R.A.P.H. or Vanguard were not stupid enough to come down this far.

However, food was now an issue. The Hydra seemed to absorb food from the water, and God help them for absorbing the stuff down here. But it was the Rikti that caught Idun’s attention. We had found a corpse of one left behind from a hydra hunting party. When I pressed my hand against the body Idun took tissue samples and immediately decoded them. The Rikti she told me, were genetically human. In her opinion it was simply environment and society on their version of Earth that may have caused the different evolution. It explained why they could change homeless into the Lost, and let me know that they probably ate similar food.

Hence why Idun and I began studying their movement patterns and found they took a food shipment from the Lost every Friday. It was always lightly guarded and shipped down to the lower tunnels quickly.

Frankly, from all I learned about the war, I had no love for these creatures. I don’t know if I remember them from before I was bonded with Idun, but she often commented on my feeling of revulsion for them when I saw them. A primal hatred Idun called it.

That was the unspoken reason I was willing to steal food from them. I’d rather watch these bastards starve than see Idun and I go hungry.

It was a light patrol again for food pickup. One of the larger and armored types, a smaller grunt to haul the food, and a droid. I waited until I saw them come to the passageways that lead to the upper tunnel levels to wait for the Lost ferrying the cargo. A simple exchange later with a group of mutated looking homeless people left the Rikti with a few crates of hot-dogs and hamburger patties.

I slowly began to move in so I could hit and run, but that was when it all went to hell. The droid somehow detected Idun and I even through the cloak. Before I could respond it sounded an alarm and opened fire. The larger Rikti spun about trying to find me as I dodged the energy blast from the annoying robot.

“Time for subtlety is over Idun! LETS ROCK!”

The plasma felt good in my hands, and in two shots I had plastered the smaller Rikti onto the back wall of the sewer. The droid tried to move out of the way, but an explosive blast caught it before it flew deeper into the tunnels. The explosion ripped into the walls and sent echoes up and down the shaft. The larger Rikti finally drew a firm bead on me and drew a massive sword before advancing.

“BACK OFF!” I roared as I open fire from damn well near point blank range. The intensity of the blast sent shockwaves through my chest and I could feel the heat of the plasma as it erupted forth. The energy tore into the armored Rikti, and I could see burning flesh under the melted metal bubble and ooze before the thing hauled itself to it’s feet.

No sound. That’s one thing I hated about the Rikti. They never yelled, never screamed, and never shouted even in battle. The helmet of the being was face obscuring, so I could not even see its eyes to judge its next move.

Then that sword moved through the air like a knife though tissue paper. I swear I could hear the molecules around that blade being split at it connected with me. The edge cut into Idun and I could hear her scream in pain and in terror. The blade met my flesh, and yet, the only pain I felt was Idun’s.

It was that pain that set me off. I roared like a wounded lion and lost control. All I could feel was heat, Idun’s pain, and energy. Pure unrelenting energy that Idun normally focused rushed to my command and poured out of my every pore. It became a tidalwave and an explosion rolled into one. The Rikti was thrown and blasted into the wall as I melted the area around me and boiled the water to vapor. The caverns shook, but somehow held even after the vapors cooled. The area around me was little more than a spherical crater, and the walls melted and fused like glass.

The Rikti fell from the wall, leaving his blood splattered along its surface. The helmet of the thing was boiled away and before me lay a weak and dying form.

Idun was quiet, and for once I could barely feel her. My cloak was gone, and I felt drained. I fell to my knees and coughed a few times before spitting up a wad of the green liquid that filled my veins.

That’s when I heard the laugh.

I had never heard a Rikti speak before, and hearing one laugh was more disconcerting than one can ever know. Especially sine the damned things have no visible mouths. It was a jerking of the head and a covering of the eyes.

“You… You Zhi’Vaughn.”

I crawled forward slowly and looked at the thing. It was still laughing and pointed at my, or more specifically at Idun.

“You… Hu-Man… You in Zhi’Vaughn armor.”

“What?”

“Stupid stupid stupid… You fear us? You not know fear until Zhi’Vaughn come. You steal technology? You… You doom entire planet. If Zhi’Vaughn same here as home you all die… all die… Stupid…”

This thing coughed a few more times and then pointed at me and laughed again. It was a hollow sound, a sound of fear, and it was aimed at me.

John… What happened? I’ve never felt such pain…

As Idun slowly woke up I could feel her comforting presence re-enter my mind. I could barely operate without her now, and the idea of loosing her panicked me. The Rikti still laughed, even as I pressed my palm against his bulbous head and fired point blank into the damned thing’s skull. The vicera sprayed out and soaked the surface of the tunnels.

“The thing knew you Idun…”

What?

“It said Zhi’Vaughn… I have no clue what the hell it meant but I remember that clearly. We need answers Idun. If the Rikti know something about us we need answers.”

And we still need food… I see that whatever happened vaporized almost everything down here.

“Well… We’re gonna have to risk the surface now Idun. We need to know what the hell is going on.”

Personal Journal
Dr. William Hollow

Things are beginning to unravel. I had not anticipated a full neural connection between the subject and the host, and now look at where that has left me. The subject is now running free from the eyes of S.E.R.A.P.H. and somehow has begun to confound my monitoring procedures.

There were many issues to releasing the subject for observations in the field. First and foremost was detection by the authorities, but that has become a moot point now. I am so far separated from the sad and degraded remnants of the Asguard project that I alone know the truth about the subject. My methods have all been automated and buried under legal documents freeing me from being traced.

The second threat has always been the extent of the suit bonding to the host. Overcoming the difficulty of the genetic differences between the two was the key. All the previous subjects were indeed digested by the subject armor, but it was also slowly adapting. The secret was finding an advanced human like the test subject who’s genetics were already unstable due to inherited genetic mutations. I have no doubt if the man had not been found brain dead during the Rikti war he would have become another insufferable mutant hero.

Somehow his unstable genetics allowed his body to bond with the subject armor, and it was amazing to behold. The armor immediately began healing areas of the host while slowly encasing him. Thankfully I had cauterized certain neurons of the host subject making sure his past remains a mystery to him. However, I did not anticipate a full neural connection between the host and the armor! It seems they are able to communicate, and have been doing so for some time. And then, upon their breakout from S.E.R.A.P.H. I suddenly lost tracking feed for a moment. The armor, or Idun as the host calls it, may have found the fail-safe devices implanted inside the host subject. If this is so, the armor may purge them in order to preserve the host! I do not want to use the final termination, but I fear if I hesitate to do so I will loose control of this subject.

The third threat has always been a distant one, until now. The Rikti the subject disposed of in the tunnels spoke of something called the “Zhi’Vaughn.” It seemed genuinely terrified of the thing and said the subject had doomed the planet if the Zhi’Vaughn here were the same as those back home. Hard to be sure of what the dimensional alien was talking about without knowledge of their home dimension. I shall have to inquire about this further. Perhaps send out someone to collect Rikti soldiers and see what they know about this Zhi’Vaughn.

Adding into the third threat is something I found just last night. It is a long way off yet, but my equipment picked up a distant signal from deep space. Right now it appears to be in the adjacent galaxy, but it is a signal. No normal detection would pick it up as it sounds like so much white noise, but the remnants of the suit I retained, the parts I was sure were auditory channels, began reacting to it. When I played the recording to the tissue sample what came out was a series of rapid clicks of different intensity and speed. I don’t know what this means, but it is a pattern, and therefore likely to be a language.

Which makes me beg the question, have those that had lost one of their own finally come looking for it? I need more information, and God help me I may need to actually warn someone.

For now I must remain calm and deal with the information I have. I am safe from detection at this time. I may be loosing control of the subject, but do not wish to terminate it. Finally, I may finally have a lead to the alien’s origins, but may find out whom it belongs to sooner than I would like.

The first and third concern I can deal with, but the subject… No, destruction of him is not the answer, not after so much hard work and still so much to be learned. I shall simply have to collect him sooner than anticipated.

I shall release the hounds then and welcome the prodigal son home upon his return.

Dr. William Hollow

I am standing in Elysium fields of waving grain again. I can see the world tree with the fruits made of planets and galaxies hanging heavy on the bows in the distance. I can hear the wind whisper to me in many languages, but none are my own. And there, under the massive tree lay my new life, my lover, my partner, and my cage.

Idun. She calls herself Idun both in our own private little world here that we retreat to when locked up within the walls of S.E.R.A.P.H. and in the waking world when she sees fit to comment on my daily routine.

What is she? A dark goddess with hair of emerald fire? A Demoness with eyes like falling stars? Or merely like me, a lost soul with no idea of who or what she was or is.

"Hello John." The voice is barely a whisper but I can hear it like a sound of rolling thunder. I look into her gleaming eyes and smile. The expression is returned, but it is the subtle position of her legs, the swing of her hair, the extension of her arm that harkens to her intent for now.

I fall into her as surely as one would fall into a body of water. This is more than a mere physical merging of two bodies. More than the base act of making love. On our mental landscape, it still appears to be nothing more than the act of physical congress, but the feeling... Oh God how can I describe the feeling of every neuron in your brain firing in ecstasy? How can one know the feeling of every pore of your flesh screaming out for more as they pour sweat? It becomes more than an ache in the loins, but a fire in the entire body. People speak of two beings becoming one, but rarely does that truly happen.

What is happening now is the act of two beings becoming one, over and over. The separation and the re-joining becoming acts of cosmic fire. We do not stop from mere bodies giving out in exhaustion, but when our minds can take no more of the feeling, the simple feeling of being whole.

We lay entwined in each other's arms. I no longer fear now when I feel far more than just two arms or legs from Idun. I do not freeze in shock when I can feel her lips press to mine while they trace other parts of my body as well. I look at her and see only Idun. My dark Goddess and my savior, but my cage as well. She is my cage just as surely as I am hers.

After a moment of lying beneath the world tree, she arches her back and gazes at me with her eyes of falling stars. I stare back knowing mine are filled with emerald fire.

"You said we needed to talk John."

I nodded slowly, letting my hand caress her body as she moved to a sitting position.

"I need to know more Idun. More that the few spits and false starts we have discussed before."

A subtle change comes over her as she stands. Her demeanor shifts from caring lover to cold battlefield warrior. Nodding she gestures to the tree as bows and limbs begin to twist and move at her command.

"Your mind has had enough time to be healed by me, and we do have a firm neural connection now. I think we can discuss the matters that disturb you John." The tree limbs behind her seem to form something akin to a board, which soon flickers with a dull light.

"I suppose I should start with the obvious questions again." I look into her cold eyes and find no hint of irritation or boredom to be going over the same material. Idun simply nods and waves at the board.

"Who or what am I? Who or what are you? How are we bonded? How did we get here? Why don't we remember anything?"

As I ask each question, the words appear upon the board in numbered order.

"Unfortunately John, I still have no insight into questions one and two. Your brain and central nervous system were severely damaged by the time I was connected to you. I only really became aware myself in the process of repairing your neurons. Unfortunately, several small regions of your brain were not only damaged, but physically burned and destroyed. The memories within those sectors have been lost and I can do nothing more but repair the cells."

"As for myself, I have no real memories besides the point of being bonded with you and repairing your body. I know there was a before, because I have found bits and pieces of a neural system left within me that are clearly not yours."

This was new information. I sat up and looked intently at her. Idun waved off the inquisitive stare and sighed.

"I can find nothing about this previous neural connection other than it has a similar cellular structure to my own. It is much more complex and it also contains 5 base pairs of nucleotides which make up its DNA as opposed to your four."

"You have that type of genetic structure as well Idun." She nods and points to the board.

"As do you now John. In order to repair your body I had to begin to alter your cellular structure as well. I'm afraid that I may have changed you into something else entirely."

"But this remnant neural DNA, can you learn anything from it? Why is it so different from yours?"

Idun sighed and placed the helix up on the board. "It has added layers of complexity I did not anticipate. It's almost as if it was coded in a way to be encrypted. I am doing my best to analyze it, and as soon as I come to some conclusions, I will let you know. However, I theorize that these cells come from, a prior host. Something before you John."

"What? How could that be? What on Earth has five base pairs making up its DNA?"

"Nothing on Earth John. Nothing."

Letting this information sink in does nothing for my rattled nerves. If Idun comes from, well God knows where, how was she bonded to me? How did that even work when our DNA was not even compatible before?

"Is that all? Just speculation that you were some kind of..."

"I was a weapon John, armor, I suppose, for something else. The key lies in this neural DNA. Once I have it de-coded I can probably figure out what it was, roughly of course."

I nodded and sighed. Still no closer for either of us. It offered some tantalizing possibilities but no real answers. If anything, it only presented more questions.

"Something else is on your mind John." Idun looked at me and shifted demeanor again. She posed as if she were a concerned mother trying to care for a wounded child.

"It's not so much a question Idun, or a concern really. I've come to a decision for myself, and I hope you'll agree. We need to leave S.E.R.A.P.H., and soon. If the Vanguard defense system finds out about either of us, well if they hate the Rikti and question the Kheldians constantly, then God only knows what they would do to us. S.E.R.A.P.H. is a ticking time bomb and we need to leave."

Idun nodded and her smile became that much more feral and deadly. A beautiful assassin, a dark goddess, a sultry demoness, a captive tied to another. Idun...

"I have a different question then John. Just how much explosive power may I use to help our escape?"

Personal Journal
Dr. William Hollow
Secure file Alpha 1 Omega 1 Tetrad 4
Project Asguard Observations.

Day 204

How can I even begin today? Shall I start with reporting that my esteemed colleague Dr. Viktor Vahzliok has finally gone completely mad? He was cast out of the project today for his obsession with the re-animation of dead tissue. A modern Frankenstein that one. His chemical cocktails seem promising, but I do not put such stock into them. He treats living flesh like a machine that has simple on and off switches. A body is not a collection of spare parts one can harvest to make a new machine.

No, life is far more sublime than that. The answers are on a level I am afraid that poor Viktor had never even thought about. Genetics holds the keys not only to life, but life unending. How can a man reduce the act of living only to the visible parts? He may be able to take scraps and make new tissues, and even create a false semblance of life with his horrid little zombies, but I... I can take naked molecules and blend them into something NEW. I do not leave a hole where life was by scavenging parts. I create fresh and new life from the formless atoms!

I had no illusions that Viktor was not going mad, but I am pleased my superior in this little venture finally saw what I saw from day one. In doing so, I have been promoted and finally have access to the full details of the project.

Any other man would have been shocked to find what lies at the core of this project. A finding that resulted in the calling of all researchers like myself and the summary weeding out of those less suited for the task.

I was finally ushered into the black room. The room none of us were cleared to go. I must profess I had never seen anyone enter that room in all the time I was at the facility. My lone superior told me, rather frankly that now only he and I were cleared access, and if I should ever falter in that trust I would be treated as a traitor to the government and executed without delay. Nodding I held my tongue as the 3 foot thick door was slowly opened.

The chamber was empty except for a single cylinder filled with preservative liquids. There were a few areas where workstations could be set up, and even data jacks for access to the tank. However, it was clear that none of these had been used in some time.

My superior pressed his palm on a plate near the door and a dull light illuminated the tank from below. And there, I saw it, floating in the tank, promising menace unheard of.

The being appeared to be headless, an observation proved to be correct from the ancient files of data on the being. In most other aspects it resembled an arachnid, but over 8 feet long. The appendages, all eight, terminated in palms of three digits that consisted of two "fingers" and one opposable "thumb." The carapace of the creature was jet black with slight green and red markings. The most obvious of which was an hourglass in red emblazoned upon the creature's abdomen. The resemblance to a black widow spider was uncanny.

The most exciting development however was that this creature was originally found in the remains of a "Meteorite crash." From the files it was documented that on December 13th, 1989 at 2:05am an object, obviously organic in nature, was found in northern Canada. The top part of the organic chamber had been sheared off resulting in our headless friend.

The files documented every scrap of information the researchers had done up until that time. We knew the organism was female, that it bore only generic resemblance to arachnids of Earth, that its genetic code consisted of 5 base pairs, and that it was encased in a symbiotic "living" armor.

My superior dropped the last bombshell as I stared at the files in wonder. Point blank I was told that the armor was still alive and they had been keeping it so by feeding it test subjects. It would bond to a host and then literally begin to digest it. Some were able to maintain the connection to the armor for longer periods and showed some possible signs of augmentation, but in the end they were all consumed by the organism.

To quote: "Your job now Doctor Hollow, is to finish the research on this armor. Project Asguard was formed to defend Earth from any threat, and we fear that this little "visitor" may be just that. We need to know everything, and if possible, turn it to our advantage. If that armor is truly an alien weapon we need to be able to either adapt it or be able to destroy it in some way. You now have full access to the project Doctor Hollow. Don't let me down."

How I love having a photographic memory. I have kept this information secret as my work continues. My budget and my lab have increased ten fold and I have great hopes for the future. Indeed, the answer lies in the genetics and now I have the keys to a greater door than imagined. An alien genome that promises things beyond comprehension. Destruction is not an option for me now. No, adaptation I think is the key. Because by adaptation all things have evolved and grown. Life flourishes from adaptation.

And life is what is all about really.

Doctor William Hollow, Asguard Project Lead researcher.
Codename: Loki

“All units report in…”

I can hear the voice in my ear even without the microphone. With it, the sound becomes obnoxious, but the squad leader insists all team members should wear the headgear to stay in contact with each other.

I never said I wanted to be in a team like this, but S.E.R.A.P.H. thought it would do me some good to get out and begin using the talents they “trained” me with. “They” being the teachers and such who refused to even look at me anymore. It seems I put them off when I recited from memory three sections of the encyclopedia set they left with me to study from last night.

I am not stupid, I am not a blank slate, and I refuse to be treated as such anymore. The teachers resented this and passed me off full-time to the trainers, who resent me even more. In sessions at the training grounds, I constantly ignored orders that to my opinion were against the best interests of the mission. I often went into a room first and cleared the targets before the strike force, and soon gained the nickname “Suicide-Run.”

That’s not what Harrison calls me however. He calls me “Ghost.”

“Ghost… Damnitt get into position and get ready to snipe.”

“I AM in position.”

Harrison jumps as he hears my voice behind him. I remain cloaked most of the time now, not just to elude my enemies…

“Damnitt John… And you wonder why the rest of the squad has a problem with you.”

“You mean beyond the fact that both they and I have no clue what I am, I’ve been shot and pronounced dead on three previous missions and yet come back each time, or the fact that I look like I’m encased by the lower-half of an insect now?”

The suit had changed recently. I’m not sure why totally but it no longer appears like altered body armor and surgical implements run amok. Now it looks like I am a stand in from the 50’s version of “The Fly.” The armor is still black, red, and green but it looks like some kind of insect hide now, complete with a set of translucent green wings.

I don’t mention the other changes in the suit to Harrison however. I have not told that to anyone.

“No John, it’s your sparkling personality that’s driving people away. Stop being a jackass and lest get to work here.”

“Work” as he calls it turns out to be the clearing of a council base just on the fringes of an island chain named Striga. It’s a forlorn and dark place with many more strange things than the likes of me roaming about.

I don’t know the names of the others on the strike force. They won’t talk to me unless they have to anyway. It seems I’ve earned a reputation for being a loner. If they only knew now…

“First target sighted. Looks like a scout. Fire in the hole.”

My voice enters the com like a raspy whisper as I feel the white-hot fire build in my chest and gravitate to my arms. The small drone above my head provided by my suit suddenly makes my vision crystal clear and zooms in on my target. I can count the motes of dust on his armor as I built the shot into a compact form.

The blast caches the scout square in the chest and blows him completely off his feet. The body flies into the back wall of the cramped cavern, leaving a red smear as it slides down into a heap.

“Target Eliminated.” I state.

“Jesus H. Christ on a pogo-stick. Suicide-Run strikes again… There nothing left of this guy to even interrogate Sarge.” One of the other strike force members almost gags over the com. Harrison looks at me, or at least where he thinks I am and sighs.

“We’re not here to play nice ladies and gentlemen, we’re here to rescue hostages and shut these freaks down.”

There are muttered grumbles over the com. What Harrison does not hear is one of the troopers state “Just keep a reign on OUR freak…”

I have become used to the comments, there is little I could do to change their mind anyway.

The rest of the sweep of the caves goes with ruthless efficiency. I am able to covertly move into several positions and plant the equivalent of trip-mines right behind sets of Council members. It is a new tactic and the team is slightly horrified to see four targets suddenly get thrown into the air and almost torn apart from the blast.

“Where the hell did you get those John?” Harrison demands. I uncloak for a moment and stare hard at him. Other team members come close and watch me. Some shudder when they see my pale flesh and chitin-covered body.

“Watch.” Is all I say while dropping to one knee and pressing my palm to the ground. The suit responds, but I can feel the question in the back of my neck. I force the command and then a subtle ripple and movement takes place. Veins in the chitin on my arm bulge as something dark and viscous gets excreted from my palm. I spread it out gently into a disc and can feel it begin to sense the environment. It feels movement in the ground and air currents directly above it. I look towards the group and many more shudder again.

“You want to see how I get my targeting drone now?”

One recruit covers his mouth while Harrison looks at me. I cloak again and grunt.

“You KNOW I generate my own weaponry. Now if we are done with the stupid questions I’d like to get back to work.”

“John…” Harrison whispers. “John I’m sorry. I just…”

“Hard to treat me like another soldier when I’m a walking armory huh? Look Harrison, I appreciate you trying to make me feel comfortable when the rest of the group apparently would like to feed me to a wood-chipper. But knock it off. You and I both know that when this is over I’m going to be stuck back in my little cage in S.E.R.A.P.H. while scientists prod and poke me and still walk away muttering “Freak” under their breath. Just let it go Harrison.”

I hover up and move into the next position leaving him groping for words.

I’m not human, not anymore. I’m not sure if I was before I lost all my memories really but now I am something else entirely and the others can’t seem to handle it. Nevertheless, it’s O.K., I’m not alone anymore.

We finally get to the cell-block and already it’s a riot in progress. The strike team is facing off against at least thirty troopers, and in the back are the things called vampyrs. They look like bad knockoffs of old movie vampires. They hiss, speak with a bad accent, and have some nasty mental tricks.

I hate them with a passion and show no mercy when I attack. They hurt me in ways that nor normal person could know.

The explosions and subsequent firefight is brutal. Three of our team get downed before I can throw a few concussive waves to knock back the rushing council members. We hunker down behind a stone outcropping trying to take refuge. At least that’s what the others do.

“GHOST! Get into cover now! Ghost! Damnitt John RESPOND!”

“I’m a bit busy now Harrison.”

The caltrops seem to slow down the press of troopers for a moment while I fire and shift position again and again. In combination with my cloak it makes life hell for the troopers to find me. I already downed the vampyrs. As I said I hate them, and dealt with them first.

The troopers get wise and begin to look for the bends in the light. The higher ranking officers begin throwing grenades to hit an area instead of a single target. That’s fine, I take some damage and feel the pain but it is mere seconds before the suit begins patching me up.

I back off and watch the men struggle in the caltrops. I target the leader and focus again, pulling the white hot fire into my palms and letting my drone take my sight so I can see into his eyes behind his goggles.

He’s terrified.

I release the shot.

The terrified look in the officer’s eyes stays with me for a moment as I hear the snap from across the room. The head of the man snaps backwards and stays there. The blast snapped his spine like a twig, and he collapses to the floor in a bloody head. The blood pooled with the caltrops makes movement even worse for the remaining troopers. Only five of them…

“Five troopers left Harrison. You can mop up. I’m going to the cells.”

“JOHN!”

I turned the mic off, its not as if I could not hear him anyway.

I could hear the rest of the strike force come out and open fire on the remaining troopers. Quietly I drifted towards the cells and looked for signs of life in any of them.

It was not hard to find. The screams guided me.

“STAY BACK!” The damned vampyr held the young woman by the throat like a rag doll. She dangled in front of him and struggled for air as he used her for a human shield.

“You will stay back hero! I can feel you there! You will not take me! Approach even one step and I will snap this young one’s head off!”

I could feel the anger welling inside me. I did not know what to do.

I could hear Harrison and his men come up behind me. The vampyr repeated his demands. He wanted safe egress from here, with his hostage. Harrison looked appalled but moved back.

“Stand down… For the safety of everyone else in the cells and that young woman we have to stand down.”

The men grumbled but acknowledged one by one.

“Ghost?”

I knew what to do now. I could see it all so clearly. It was simple, this was a war, and in a war you defeat the enemy. There are no innocents or hostages, only targets and non targets. And there are ways around non-targets.

“Ghost confirm please.”

The targeting drone took over again. I zeroed in and pinpointed the place. I could feel the fire build in me, but I condensed it to a pinpoint. All of my anger, all of my rage from that day went into that little ball of energy.

“Fire in the hole.” I whispered. Harrison shouted, the men shouted, the woman screamed, the vampyr looked in shock and then screamed as well.

The blast tore through the side of the young woman’s body spraying blood and viscera about. However, the blast carried through her and into the vampyr behind without loosing any of its strength. It tore into the beast without mercy, blew him away from the woman, and exploded his chest back onto the wall behind.

“JOHN! What the hell have you done!” Harrison whirled on me as I de-cloaked and strode towards the young woman. The rest of the team were drawing their weapons and some even talking about taking me in.

Without a thought I knelt down to the woman and pressed my hands against her wound. The black armor on my arms began to flow and grip her body.

“Oh good God…” I could hear the men whisper. One of them finally vomited as Harrison watched in horror.

The suit bound, then outlined the wound on the woman. I had only hit her side and tore away fat as well as some intestines. I had missed her ribs as I intended and no other wounds were apparent. The suit began to glow gently and then pulsed with the same green material that flowed in my veins. It traced the lines of the jagged wound and then began filling them in, piece-by-piece and cell-by-cell.

It took some time, but once the woman was whole, I stood up cradling her in my arms. Wordlessly I handed her to Harrison and began to leave.

“What the hell have you done John?”

“Don’t worry, she won’t be like me. I just stimulated her own cells to divide and heal her. She will be fine physically. Emotionally I have no clue.”

I turned and looked at the team.

“Remember, whether you like it or not we are in a WAR here. Paragon fights every day against things ten times worse than this. You balk now, and we will be swept under. There is a military term I think you all should become re-acquainted with. Acceptable Loss.”

With that I faded from view again and left the base. I didn’t care if they followed, I had already severed contact. I needed time to think, and be with… Be with Idun.

“We didn’t have to heal her you know. The wound was hardly fatal.” The voice rang in my mind as the suit seemed to caress my pains away.

“You may have a point Idun… But they would never accept that.”

“Where are we going now John?”

“We need to talk Idun… We need to talk again.”

This is what comes of biting the apple. It was knowledge. It was knowing made horrible and yet still making you want more. I had eaten the spider-covered apple, and I had taken Idun into my mind. We were one now.

And I am never alone now.

Project Asgard notes
Field Report Data and Analysis

I am sure you all are most pleased by the current progress made by our test subject. Included in this message is a video file depicting the latest activities of the subject in action.

S.E.R.A.P.H. once again holds true to the level of training I would expect for a “Hero” factory, but it seems that the training our subject needed was minimal. This is attributed to the subject himself, and his position in life prior to being bonded to the Idun prototype. It also has to do with the suit itself and its ability to judge a situation and present the best options for success.

The data in particular I wish to cover is the first true field test of the subject in battle. As everyone can see, the suit has undergone alterations recently. The adaptation and outward appearance of the suit is a response to the atmosphere, as well as the harsh conditions it is constantly exposed to via the host subject. This has resulted in a more streamlined appearance as well as a hardening of the dermal and sub-dermal armor. Granted it does appear to be patterned off of the exoskeleton of common insects, but then again this type of protection would be most acceptable at this stage of development, offering mobility, defense, and flexibility.

We can also see now that the suit is able to produce something the subject refers to as his “Targeting Drone.” Simple slang I assure you, the enhanced optics array produced by the suit is much more than a simple drone. It is, in essence a bud of the suit equipped with highly sensitive sensory arrays. Most of these arrays are slanted towards the visible spectra, but preliminary analysis also notes both infrared as well as ultraviolet spectra capability. Upon closer inspection of the array, one can see that the optics are similar to the multi-faceted eyes of insects. Again this gives incredible visual accuracy as well as increased peripheral vision.

Now, as we enter the base that the target has been sent to clean, we see the plasma energy attacks as before. But notice how the subject controls the attacks to an incredible degree of precision. In this feed, where the action is slowed down, we can clearly see that with each variation of attack, from the high intensity, long distance blast, to the massive wave, and the explosive ball, subtle alterations in the suit and the hands of the host. A link has clearly formed allowing split second changes in types of attacks generated by the suit. Indeed, the alteration is almost invisible but to the targets of the attacks, greatly painful and effective.

The explosive devices provided by the suit are a subtle variation of the sensory array. Again, they are organic in nature, but equipped with a simple pressure sensory system, sensing subtle vibrations. How the suit or the host can set one without setting it off or having his team-mates detonate it is not understood at this time. The explosive however is chemical in nature and simply obtained. It is a variant of that seen in the “Exploding Beetle” but intensified by processes in the suit. The violent exothermic reaction causes the explosion and shrapnel from the chitin casing adds to the damage inflicted as seen here on these targets.

I will not go into the cloaking ability as I have discussed this at length with several of you in private communications. Suffice to say it is a simple adaptation of camouflage obtained by light bending. The versatility is impressive.

Finally, I wish to mention the cold nature of the host and stress again how perfect the subject is in a military situation. See here how he deals with this hostage situation. There is also an intense communication going on between the host and the suit at this time. The plan is formed and here, we see the brain waves highly altered showing the suit and host acting as one organism. The shot is flawless, and only causes minor damage to the hostage despite the amount of blood produced. The regenerative capabilities of the suit I have already covered and it comes as no surprise to see it can be used to repair tissue of other organisms. This was a simple stimulation to enhance the body’s natural ability to heal. However, I calculated the odds of the woman’s survival if healing was not employed and found it to be an impressive 65% chance. To have that kind of shot control is incredible, but to be able to MAKE that shot shows the fortitude of the subject and impresses the fact that this is a SOLDIER, not some “hero” who wants to save everyone. That I expect is the LAST thing any of you want.

I am suitably impressed by the progress of the subject as well as his bonding process with the suit. The neural problem I had mentioned before appeared to be the emerging stages of the suit connecting to the host. I am sure as time progresses this connection will become stronger as they merge into almost one organism.

In closing, I also want to stress that when I say that something in this project is classified I do mean it. Ladies and Gentlemen, I am sure by now you recognize whose base that was the subject summarily decimated and the brutal manner by which he did so. I also know that some of you receiving this file will be representatives of a Mr. Vandal. Please inform him that any MORE attempts in gaining access to information I have classified, as “Classified” will result in much more than a simple base being razed. I knew about his little hostage scheme, I knew about the base, and simply put I know where he is. If he truly WANTS what I can provide he will have to tow the line like everyone else and bid and be patient.

Trust me Ladies and Gentlemen, I have far worse toys I could introduce overly nosy investors to. Keep that in mind.

Dr. William Hollow

At what point in time does a nightmare fade to just another background dream? When does something that so horrified you in the past become so commonplace that if it were to stop you would miss its presence?

I don’t know. But what I do know is that for every night for the past three weeks I have had the same lingering dream that scars me to my core.

Every night I can see the same visage, and ever night the details become a bit clearer, but still it makes no more sense to me than the night before. And every time I wake in a cold sweat and fight to regain any semblance of sleep.

In my dreams I can see my body. I am wearing an army uniform, but it is shrouded in blackness and soot. I am in a war zone and everything is cast in a haze of green. Everything I see is through the lens of a scope. Every person outlined in targeting sights.

I can see the things. Mockeries of humanity marching through the streets. I can see the horror they cause as they sweep my friends and family aside like a reaper carves down reams of wheat.

I pull the trigger, but there is no trigger. I can feel the shot, but there is no gun. I can see their leader fall, but the blasts of a thousand other weapons send me to the yawning abyss that had opened beneath my body.

Did I mention wheat before? For in my dream I find myself standing in a massive field of the stuff. Waving on forever, like a bizarre sea in the calm of a storm. Off in the distance I spot a lone tree. It stands as a marker of something, and as I approach the tree, to my eyes, it grows no larger. I begin to run, and only then I realize how massive this tree must be. I can see worlds hung in its branches as some cosmic breeze wafts the glittering fruits that must be stars.

As I come nearer, I can see a woman standing by the tree. At least I thought she was a woman. Every night I get closer to her, and every night I can see her clearer. She is not human although her form is. Her flesh and body is pitch black and overlaid like plates of armor. Her hair reaches down her back and moves independent of the wind. It is a sickly swaying movement made of a mass of green tangles. Her eyes are emerald fire, and no smile graces those hard lips. And yet I long for her every time I see her.

Last night I was close enough to see her reach up to the tree and pluck a golden fruit. Was it a sun or was it an apple? Whatever it was, she held it out to me and beckoned me forward. I could see her body ached for mine just as much as I desired her.

But that dark fruit… What was once gold took on a tarnished look, and the skin, squirmed. It writhed and moved and then burst open swarming with spiders.

I awoke in a cold sweat again. And I am still no closer to understanding what it means.

I sleep at the bunkers of S.E.R.A.P.H. now. I find it deeply ironic that those who profess to be so scientific of bent still mask themselves under a name of a choir of angels. There is irony there, even if many are so called “heroes.”

My little episode with the police led me here. The men who took me in, pulled me to the back of the station and began firing question at me. One tried to take off my gloves to fingerprint me. A thousand sharp points of pain filled my hand when he began to pry, and suddenly I could feel my palms become white hot.

The officers saw the same. It soon was not hard for them to see that what they thought was a suit, was in reality something that was firmly attached to my body.

Fingerprints were out of the question. They tried to draw blood, but the suit literally flowed to block the insertion of a needle in my neck. I found with a bit of focus I could hold it off for a few scant seconds, which was enough for a quick blood draw. What the forensics men drew however was not blood, but the same sickly green fluid that flowed in the tubes in my arms and legs.

They even tried to take a cast of my teeth and then swore in frustration. My teeth had, at some point, been removed and replaced with a bone like mandible. A solid sheet that looked like sculpted teeth on a statue.

It was aggravating to say the least. They could do nothing for me. I was handed over to the men at S.E.R.A.P.H. to see what should be done.

The first few days they showed great interest in me.

Now they will not talk in my presence. It does not matter. I hear them anyway. I don’t know how I do, but I hear their hushed conversations when they pass my cell, or when I am escorted about.

I hear the whispers about how I am already dead but move. I hear the name Vahzliok bandied about. I hear whispers about my body, and how I am lacking certain bits that others find quite necessary.

And I heard that my genetics have become… something else entirely. In some sequences they have found five base pairs instead of four. I don’t know what this means, but I know that it has driven me to arms length from the men who were so willing to help me before.

Meanwhile… meanwhile, while I wait for them to finally fess up to the fact that I am some kind of anomaly, there are others who have begun to teach me. I know about Paragon now, but there was much I recalled. I knew roughly the date and time. How to read and write, and much more.

But who I was, if I had a family, if I was in the war, what this thing is that has encased me, I had no recollection. I was a stranger to even myself, and this thing that was somehow a part of me was just as much of an enigma.

I don’t blackout any more though.

I have learned how to harness the power in this “suit.” It was hard at first, and involved great pain, but soon… soon I just knew how to make it do things. Produce deadly streams of energy, produce small bladed weapons, produce devices to help me aim, and now, somehow, the suit has shown me how to bend light so that I may hide myself. It scared the doctors to death seeing me fade in and out of my room.

Others have come recently. The scientists still avoid me, the teachers keep me informed but nothing more, but the trainers… the ones that prep heroes that roam the streets of Paragon. They have taken it upon themselves to make me use my powers for “Good.”

A shaky philosophical distinction at best, but at least these men speak to me.

I have been dubbed “John Doe” for now. “John!” they shout to me. “John! You MUST have had training earlier. How did you hit that target from so far?” “John? How could you blow through that civilian target to take down the Rikti behind?” “John how did you KNOW the Nemesis soldiers would move in that pattern?”

I don’t know… I never know how I do something. I just do it.

“How John, How?”

Everyday the same questions, every day the same scared glances and avoidance by those who would help me, every day a lesson by teachers only for me to say “I know that.”

And every night the same dream… I don’t know if I am sacred by the woman, or by the spider covered fruit she bears. I don’t know what it means. But tonight… tonight if I can…

Spiders or not, I shall eat the fruit.

Project Asgard notes
Observations and information of the “Idun” prototype suit:

Before I begin, I must stress that all information on the suit is classified, so you will not be gaining any information as to its creation or overall capabilities. Rest assured ladies and gentlemen that what I shall reveal to you will go light years beyond what we currently know now as modern military technology.

The goal of project Asguard was made clear at the end of the Second World War. With the slow proliferation of Metahumans in our world it became clear that we needed a military that would be able to protect us from any threat. Be it domestic, foreign, or alien. The thought was, if you forgive me for waxing poetic, to generate the legendary warriors of Valhalla. Those men who could fight, and fight, and fight, and never die. They simply collected their bits and were made whole the next day to battle again.

We needed to conquer death. One of my colleagues on the project let this driving goal become his obsession. I think we are all familiar with the outcome of that. His madness seems to have become almost legendary,and I will profess now that he is little better than a certain fictional doctor who learned far too late that one has to be responsible for the things one creates.

And besides, how effective is a horde of zombies slower than a herd of turtles on the battlefield?

My drive however, was not to conquer death, but to become a master of life. Life already holds the keys we seek. We already know that many organisms can live almost forever simply by subtle genetic manipulations. The nematode C. elegans is a prime example of this. By throwing its body into a type of suspended animation, the worm can effectively become immortal. Its cells no longer age! Another comparison is that of many reptiles and amphibians. Those animals that can regenerate lost limbs at the drop of a hat.

Those are the keys, and those are the foundation of the suit, codenamed “Idun.” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the suit is ALIVE. It is a symbiotic organism that protects its host as well as keeps him alive through almost any situation. It is designed to learn, evolve, and adapt to almost any situation. Just like its namesake, taken from the guardian of the apples of immortality in Norse mythology, my Idun offers immortality that even the warriors of Valhalla would envy.

Multiple weapon systems generated via biological processes, totally self-sustaining, and capable of self repair. This will be the soldier we have sought for so long ladies and gentlemen.

The host was selected from a long and intensive screening process to make sure he was a perfect fit, both physically and mentally for the suit.

And I don’t need to tell you that his identity is also classified.

The prototype 01 is performing admirably now, and is in the care of S.E.R.A.P.H. of Paragon. You have no need to fear ladies and gentlemen. He can not be traced back to us. And the training he is receiving there has benefited him. His power output keeps on increasing, as does his offensive and defensive capabilities. I am sure we will have another field test of his powers soon.

I will admit that his current neural activity leaves a bit to be desired, especially after he enters deep sleep. I have shown readings showing increased alpha sleep patterns and increased mental stress from both him, and the suit. I have yet to determine the cause, but rest assured that with my constant monitoring, we will have no problems. We do have the termination failsafe if it comes to that.

And that is classified as well…

Dr. William Hollow

Heya Folks... This little thing began to form in my head and I needed to get it down on paper. Besides, it lets me flex some of my horror muscles.

BE FORE-WARNED:

This is NOT going to be a humorous story. It will get nasty in places, and, I hope, pretty damn creepy. I will say that there will be some blood-and-guts but just to give you an idea, I'm a fan of "creeping" horror... the stuff that messes with your head and leaves you afraid to look in dark places. I hope I can pull some of that off with this story. So just know that this will be a dark tale and its bound to get darker...

So without further adieu:

Suicide-Run: Ghosts

“I… I don’t know who I am…”

Those were the first words I remember speaking upon entering the police station. In fact, those were the first words I had spoken in nearly three days.

Those days are a hazy blur of pain and darkness. I remember opening my eyes and finding myself in a back alley. A pair of homeless people were looking at me intently and gently prodding me.

“Hey Mister?” One asked in a raspy voice. “Mister you O.K.?”

“Don’t just call the man Mister… Can’t you see he’s got on some kinda armor? He’s gotta be one of the supers.”

I wanted to ask them where I was, who I was, but I fell back into the blackness of unconsciousness. I don’t know what happened or how long I slept.

I remember opening my eyes again slowly and seeing the visage of a bloodstained doctor standing over me. Something smelled foul and I could barely distinguish jerky movements out of the corner of my eye.

“Well well well… Someone has discarded a perfectly good hero.” The doctor whispered. I saw him pull out something that gleamed in the dim streetlight. It had teeth and looked painful.

Again, before I could protest I felt my mind be dragged back as I lapsed once again into darkness.

The third time I opened my eyes must have been shortly thereafter, for I found myself suddenly standing. The doctor was now face down in an ever-growing pool of blood. There were other bodies there as well, but they leaked something foul. They were long since dead and the flesh seemed to rot before my eyes.

Somehow I was not disturbed by the sight. I looked down upon my body and at my hands. I was covered in a black substance that had thick tangles of green pulsing tubes running up and down my legs and arms. Again, for some reason I was not afraid.

But oh… Oh the blood covering my hands. The blood splashing against my feet. The red ichors that stained my boots and gauntlets… Or whatever they might be. That caused me to finally pause and ask the question… What am I?

I staggered out into the street, shortly blinded by the glare of the lamps above. Pedestrians looked at me in a disconcerting manner and quickly crossed the street. I looked at my body again. Black with green… Pulsating and slowly moving. I staggered again and fell to one knee before grabbing the edge of a doorway. No one looked at me, and they did their best to avoid catching my eyes.

Why was the world cast in a haze of green? Why did I know this was wrong? I could still see colors, but this ever-present haze, while disconcerting, made the night as clear as day.

I fought to regain my legs again, leaving dark and bloody handprints upon the door and building I leaned upon. I staggered out into the night without a direction. I could read signs, and I could remember what symbols meant. I knew I was walking down a road but where? Who was I? Why could I not remember?

I caught a chance reflection of myself in a shop-window and stopped in my tracks.

Was this truly me?

My hair was a mixture of grey and white, as was my close cropped beard. My skin was a ghastly shade of grey, and not far from the shades of the long dead corpses that lay near the doctor I left far behind. My eyes shone in the reflection. Two pinpoints of green fire… the same green that flowed in the tubes of my “body.”

What was I? Why was I not afraid of what I saw?

I looked about and saw a building with a strange little floating box with read and blue lights gently drifting in front of it. I knew this was a police station. Suddenly in my vision I saw a box of green form around the little floating box and streams of information ran across my eyes. I knew… I knew this was a police drone, I knew this was something that had a security level of 50, whatever that meant. I also knew that it would help me.

I staggered forward again, and into the building. I still could not walk correctly and fell to my knees before the high wooden bench. I saw a group of men look at me in a shocked manner and several ran forward, some with weapons drawn. The blood from my hands and feet staining the floor as I reached outwards and heard my voice for the first time…

“I… I don’t know who I am…”

Project Asgard notes
Prototype 01 observations:

The unit has been released for observations in the field. Thus far the prototype suit has performed beyond expectations. It has already repaired the tissue damage from the high altitude drop-off and is apparently beginning to “re-activate” the subjects nervous system.

The drop-off took place at approximately 2am on Thursday. Unit showed signs of activity initially at 5am but shut down to repair damage from drop-off. After a 24 hour period the unit activated again and all feeds began recording.

Contact was made with a group designated “Vhazliok.” Host subject was shut-down by the suit as offensive capabilities came online. This was the test I was hoping for! The suit showed a remarkable ability to defend the host subject by generating massive amounts of superheated plasma. The damage done was staggering. In addition, the suit also generated small bladed objects akin to caltrops to slow the adversaries. This type of weapon generation is not unexpected but surprising at this early of a stage with the bonding process.

After the threats to the host subject had been eliminated, the host subject was allowed to come back “on-line” by the suit. Whether or not this defensive maneuver will be a constant is unknown at this time. However, we received confirmation that the host subject was picked well. The sight of the aftermath from the suit’s preservation of the host subject had no emotional damage upon the host. All neural reading were normal and no signs of increased stress were apparent.

Once control of the host subject was given over by the suit, the host subject initially had a hard time moving. Walking was a challenge but it was soon overcome. At 7am the host subject saw himself in a reflection. Night vision capabilities were normal but there was a disturbing green glow to his eyes. The pallor of the flesh could not be helped, and was the best that could be obtained even with prior chemical treatment.

At 7:30am the host subject encountered a police drone and the targeting system came online. All read-outs were expected and the friend-foe designation process worked normally. At this point I received a shock as the host subject entered the station and turned himself over, clearly stating that he was suffering from amnesia.

Speech and a statement of not knowing who he was clearly demonstrates that the suit began working on neural processes early on in its repairs of the host subject. It is disconcerting to see how quickly the brain has been repaired, but regions were eliminated prior to subjects release to ensure a full memory recovery does not happen. The suit can only regenerate cells, not the chemical signals that encode the memory those cells contained.

The project is ongoing and we will continue to monitor the host subject, hereby-designated prototype 01 in Project Asgard. Thus far, we have high hopes.

Dr. William Hollow

[ QUOTE ]
"Very well. I apologies for being so rude. Since we have not all introduced our selves to each other let me be the first. My name is Mr. Book. I come from the island of England and was born in the summer of 1822. I died in the winter of 1852." He smiled, always enjoying the reaction he got from that little fact. "I am what you may call a Paranormal. The body you see before you now is not my own, merely one that I inhabit."

[/ QUOTE ]

The Horned King looked at Mr. Book with a deep facination. the void of falling stars seemed to shine brighter with his scrutiny of the man.

"Indeed? It is so good to meet someone with a past similar to one's own. For the record, I was born in 1813 in America. My parents were recent imigrants from France actually, but I was raised here. I... Well I would not say died actually, but rather, became something else, in 1864. I have only recently become, active, again after a long period of rest if you will."

Andre smiled at Mr. Book. It was a lipless grin framed by bone above and below in a horrid rictus.

[ QUOTE ]
"You might have heard of her most recent exploit: She managed to recover the Thompson Harmonizer, a long-lost super-weapon, and held all of Paragon City hostage until her demands were met."

[/ QUOTE ]

"Hurm... An overly ambitious machination. This one bears more watching." Andre thought. He nodded to the rather insolent machine and looked to the other members of the group.

The Horned King chuckled tohimself and sipped his coffee again.

Mentally however he had made a checklist.

The scholarly fellow could be quite interesting. It would be profitable to speak with him if for nothing more than to trade information.

The automoton, although he admitted his feelings were jaded in the matter, was a pest. It was possible that the machine could rise above "her" station, but frankly Andre doubted it.

The young man at the back looked to be a common thug, but he showed intelligence far beyond that status by simply distancing himself from the other squabblers.

The sudden appearance of the male figure was confounding, but his stance and preseance belied an arrogance about him. Andre knew how arrogance could jade a man's thoughts and resolved not to speak with this one if he could help it.

The woman, Medb, he found singularly interesting. How she had found him, or even known of him was an item of curiosity. The Horned King was not well known, and until he had what he sought Adnre wanted to keep it that way. However, the promises this woman made were not without consideration. If she truly could help him locate...

He shook the thoughts away, ignoring the questions fired at him from the others while the young woman spoke.

A scholar, A machine, A fighter, An arrogant fop, and A mystery woman.

This would be a grand game indeed.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please. We are guests here, and as such I believe we should behave in a manner befitting such. Such acrimony does not suit us here."

Andre placed his cup down and steepled his fingers.

"Now then, I have introduced myself, and all you have done is fire questions to me and our host. I assure you, I know little more of her grand game than you, but perhaps if we sat and listened we would learn. Perhaps if we all re-introduced ourselves to each other it would be a better start."

A gaunt figure sat at the table already. His skeletal like hand gripped firmly on the handle of a coffee mug.

The robes the figure wore were tattered remnants of those worn by mages in highest eschalons of the Circle of Thorns. However, a haphazard hood had been attached, shrouding the face of the figure in shadows. The antlers sprouting from the skull of the man however, peirced through the fabric and kept the hood firmly in place.

He slowly turned to regard the others who entered. The light barely penetrating the darkness beneath the hood reflected a lipless and leering smile which sprouted from the figure. His empty eye-sockets showed a vision of a massive void filled with eternally falling stars as he regarded each newcommer in turn.

"Ah... More figures to add to this grand game." The figure chuckled and raised his mug in a mockery of a toast.

"I bid you welcome, and am glad to see I am not alone. You may call me Andre Dumas, but you may know me as the Horned King."

Andre pulled the mug beneath the shrouds of his cloak and drank deeply.

"The coffee is quite good..."

Actually I LOVE making villians at times and I've cooked up several. Some are sort of stand alone villians and others are specific arch-nemeses for my characters.

Many As One : A nanotech community that was given sentience by a dose of Ritki chemicals. The machinery was never supposed to react to such a thing, but in doing so it became "aware." It now has taken over the body of the man who invented the nanites, and has begun... improving it.

01 : This is the counterpart to Chess. This prototype robot was built first and was designed to be a weapon. However, once the scientist discovered that the man who had kidnapped his wife had killed her, and the blackmail no longer stood, he scrapped 01 and did his best to wipe the AI. However, the man was too clever for his own good. Because the designs were partially taken from both Ritki and Nemesis droids, the blending of technology caused a blending of codes to program the robot. There were failsafes in both, and somehow both became active to re-activate 01. The robot re-built itself and took his wrath out on 1) the man who comissioned him, 2) the man who made him, and now 3) the creator's son... Chess represents what 01 COULD have become, and 01 knows it. He wants the fully powered body, but to have it he must break Chess... mentally first and then erase Chess utterly.

Andre Dumas: AKA The Horned King Some members of the Circle of Thorns sometimes find what they call "a better way." Andre was one of those men. Born in the 1800's he began a frantic quest to locate and collect items of extreme power. This led him into confilct with a steam-powered hero of the time called IronHorse. Andre was not to be denied however, and was able to blame the machine for a series of atrocities that Andre had committed. This led to the dis-assembly of IronHorse and Andre was free to run rampant. Once he had the items he needed, he defied the others of the Circle and took his tools to a nexus of energy... better known as Death Valley. The ritual was long and complicated, but it ended with Andre plunging a dagger into his chest instead of the ritual thorn. The mixture of energy and the jewel encrusted flask to catch his blood allowed him to make the transition... from man to lich. He has become more than the Circle can handle, and seeks more power. In an act of desperation the Circle threw Andre into stasis when he brazenly attacked an outpost for more power. They could not find the flask however... Andre sleeps, but is forever changed. The powers granting him unlife fused the ritual garments to him... including his crown of antlers giving him his new name... The Horned King.

The King in Yellow ((OOC: O.K. I have no IDEA if this guy would even work. Those of you who know Cthulhu mythos know who/what this is. I may try it if I can pull the toon off)) The King in Yellow... The Lord of Carcossa. He who must not be named. How does one describe a thing such as this. The king is not so much an entity as a force. It is entropy given will. All things break down, and all things die, and all things pass on. The King seeks to speed up this process however. Why? No one knows. All men have been driven mad by his presence, and his name strikes fear into the hearts of those who whisper it. The dead city of Carcossa waits for him, and all cities that die shall become one with Carcossa... Paragon is on the verge of death, and the king has come.

Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink behind the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa

Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies,
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead,
Die though, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa

Cassilda's Song in "The King in Yellow" Act 1, Scene 2.


As you can tell I like the King in Yellow the best. I just hope I can pull him off Villian-wise. I'm going to cross my fingers that we can get minion customization to the level of character customization. I have... WAY too many ideas...

Cheers folks!

Erik sat in the cold dark of the sewers with Penny. His dull green glow their only light. The topics of conversation had run the gammut from biology, to movies, to books, and now it was politics.

"It's not that I have a problem with the government. In fact they way they have behaved in the whole Ritki Crisis has been admirable. But I just think there are a few things they just could have handled much better than they have. And don't even get me going on thw whole anti-mutant lobbies in the the senate. I've actually had to testify in several of those "meetings." It was closer to some kind of twisted clan rally than any kind of meeting. The thing that scares me is the opposition can be just as bad if not moreso."

Erik shrugged and shook his head.

"I do my best to help mutants on campus, and am involved in several support groups. And I have had my office torn apart on several occasions. I think the best moment however was when I SAVED one of the anti-mutant students that tore apart my office when he was being attacked by the Vahz... He came by afterwords and not only apologized but started comming to the support meetings. He's a nice kid."

Pausing Erik felt the ground. He looked at Penny and offered a weak smile. "Let me know if I'm putting you to sleep... I uh... I tend to babble when I get nervous."

"You always have love... You always have."

The voice got Erik not only to sit up but uncontrollably fly up and smack his head on the supports for the sewer cavern.

"ENID?!?"

In answer two massive forms bore down on Erik and tackled him... And began licking and hugging fiercly.

"Magni! Modi! Ha ha ha!! Down boys! Oh thank God you're all-right!"

"They would have been better if "papa bear" haden't let them chew on formaldehyde soaked flesh." The voice was sarcastic, but almost filled with tears of releif. Enid stood with two other women and smiled weakly at Erik. Without another word Erik rocketed forward and slammed into Enid in a massive hug rivilang that of his bears.

He wept anashamedly.

"Oh God Enid... Oh God I was so worried..."

"It's O.K. It's O.K. Erik... I'm safe now... Oh God I was so worried about you too."

The embrace seemed to last forever. The bears in the back happily watching Mama and Papa reunite. Modi even moved to help the little man in big armor up after he accidentaly threw him off to get to his Papa.

Enid grinned and then stepped back to look at Erik in his raggety "clothes" Penny had liberated from the Lost.

"Honey? What ARE you wearing?"

Erik laughed and shook his head. He waved to Harris while Modi nudged him onto his feet.

"I'll explain later Love... I just want to make sure everyone is safe now... and get home to a nice hot shower."

((OOC: Sorry for being away so long from this story. Work and other life issues interveined and my veiw of certain characters has drastically changed. Erik and his family will remain the same, but Paul (aka Wild-Card) is no more. Paul is dead, or at least brain dead, and now only Many as One remains. He will probably be my first villian I create when CoV comes out...))

[ QUOTE ]
"HOLY [censored]. PAUL YOU'RE ALIVE. THANK GOD. I THOught I.....had....killed......"

"What the bloody hell are you doing. This is hardly the bloody time and place for you two to be getting jiggy with it."

[/ QUOTE ]

The aftershocks of the blast finally settled most of the dust and debris floating about. However, the being that was once Paul stood and shifted the rocks from his form as if they were paper.

“Damage analysis. Host body fully repaired, subsequent trauma to the brain has rendered most neural functions inert. Host in coma, repairs can not be performed at this time.”

The light Jack used panned over both Crystal and what once was Paul. A strange metallic sheen was seen, bulging under Paul’s skin. The being turned towards the light, as a dark purple energy haze filled its eyes.

“Processing environment. New target acquired. Memory from previous version has corrupted file on target… status, serious threat.”

“Target is Jack. Jack… You did kill Paul. We are Many as One. You shall deal with Us again.”

The figure turned and raised his arms. The subsequent blast tore a hole into the remaining substructure of the sewer walls. Many as One moved faster than Jack’s eye could follow, moving Crystal to Jack’s arms, Pushing them both out of the room, and then running out of the exit it had just made.

All the while, Jack could feel the being’s mind begin to evolve and take the place of what was once Paul…

Wild-Card was dead. This was Many as One.

[ QUOTE ]
"Pickman? Richard Pickman? From the book shop, right? I remember you! That bloody demon thing or whatever it was, nearly killed you! Geeze, last time I saw you, you were out colder than an ice cube in some hospital bed. How are ya?"


[/ QUOTE ]

"Well to be honest with you Mr. Anthony, I've been better." Richard gave a weak smile and held a thumbs up to the good Father.

"I'm glad you were home. I was not too sure who else I could contact. I'm not too sure how to describe all of this over the phone. Is there a place we could meet? Suffice to say I think things have progressed past the "Bloody Demon Thing" as you out it."

Richard coughed and paused, weighing his words carefully.

"As I recall you came into the shop late so you may not have been privy to all of the details. I... I guess I assumed that Balt and whomever else was there might have told you. It's a long story Mr. Anthony, but simply put, there is something out there. It's worse than the things that stalk the night already and I don't fear so much for me as I do for others. You see it will come back for me, to try and change me... I can already feel that, but I know... In my heart I know that it wants others as well. We need your help Mr. Anthony."

Sighing deeply Richard shook his head. "This... This is too much for the phone. Where can I meet you?"

[ QUOTE ]
"Hello hello! You've reached Esmond's answering machine. I'm probably a few feet away, working on another one of my 'stupid little gizmos.' I'll get back to you as soon as I can, so just leave a message and hope I answer within the week."

[/ QUOTE ]

Richard paused and sighed shaking his head gently.

"Oh, um... Mr. Anthony. This is Richard Pickman... you uh... well you saved my life and a lot of others the day I "Blacked Out." Right now however I am in the office of one Father Macleod. He's a friend of Balt and I'm trying to help him. I'll be honest with you Mr. Anthony... something is out there and I think we need your help. Please contact us at this number as soon as you can."

Richard rattled off the good Father's number and looked up.

"Is there anything more I should mention?" He asked while cupping a hand over the mouthpeice.

"Contact someone Father? I really... I really didn;t have too much of a chance to get to know anyone before... Well before the incident. Before the darkness leaked out of me. I'm not too sure, WAIT! There was a man, a young man who was able to fight me out and into the daylight. I think... I think his name was Esmond... Esmond Anthony. I remember him visiting once or twice in the hospital."

Richard smiled weakly and reached for the phone. He dialed 411 and waited.

"Um yes hello, I'd like the number for one Esmond Anthony. He's in Paragon I believe. Yes thank you." Richard looked up at Father and grinned.

"Um... there's a seventy five cent service charge to connect directly. Shall we do that?" Richard meanwhile jotted down the number the automated voice rattled off with his free hand. Shrugging before Father could answer he accepted the charges and let the phone ring.

"Be there... PLEASE be there..."
__________________________________________________ ____
Meanwhile at Pickman's Occult Books

The raggety man had come. It was no where NEAR as long or as hard as he suspected, but there was no one home in the darkened shop. The raggety man chuckled sending several pedestrians skittering for cover.

He no longer wore the feathers and trappings of a shaman of the Banished Pantheon. No, he no longer was one of those poor deluded fools. He had been given power. He wore rags, rags to cover his body, rags like that of any hobo. Only the blood stained cloth covering his eyes set him apart, but even then not much from the other transients of the city.

He was the raggety man now. And Richard... Pickman Held the way.

When he was a shaman he would have had his servants smash the glass and tear the place apart. He would have foolishly strode in and probably be beaten by some hero. But now... now he knew better. He could FEEL what he was looking for was not here. He could feel the residue of Pickman and knew, KNEW he would return.

The ghost winds whispered to him and the raggety man grinned with black and broken teeth.

He found the alley behind the shop, and he found a nice nest of garbage. These he took and these he laid down in to wait.

"Hey! Dems MY place it is!" It was another bum... for now it was. The raggety man smiled, he could feel the man's life pulsing red and hot.

"They can be yours again... But I must ask before I move... Have you heard of the raggety man? Have you seen it?"

The bum staggered and tilted his head. "Raggety man? Nope... And seen whut?"

The raggety man launched himself and grabbed the face of the bum. The drunkard yelped and then screamed as the raggety man removed the bandage over his empty sockets.

"Have you seen... The yellow sign?"

Blood dripped from the gouged out holes. Blood dripped into the open and screaming mouth of the bum. And then... then there was quiet.

"The... Yellow... Sign..." the former bum whispered. The late bum.

"Yessssss... I have yet to see it but I know it. It burns in my soul and I must find the way to it. Now you... you shall help me." the raggety man replaced his bandage and smiled. The bum grinned too and staggered close to the raggety man.

They took to the nest together. The raggety man to sleep, and the bum... the bum to change.

"You shall be my first and finest servant... You shall be my Omega."

A cackle and a giggle came from the bum as his body seemed to fall in upon itself and melt. the bones twisted in horrible ways sending resounding cracks and rips into the night.

"You shall be ready tomorrow night... Omega. Sleep now, and we shall both wait for the retrun of the Pickman."

"The return of the way..."