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Post by Admin on Mar 28, 2021 13:48:53 GMT
Douglas Hamilton, Dr. Victor Von Croft and Jon Clark sat in a conference room next to Hamilton's office in the floating city named New Atlantis, somewhere in the North Atlantic. They had been here for a while, reading portfolios from the folders scattered across the table. Each folder had a color photo clipped on the front. Most had been now pushed into a jumble across the table, there were three in front of Von Croft, and three in front of Hamilton.
"So, Victor, we agree that for now we are going to avoid well-established, publicly known 'supah heroes' and instead recruit a team of unknowns?" Hamilton, a tall and skeletally thin man, with a long face and light brown hair, permanently confined to a floating chair, asked Von Croft. His accent was pure Bahstan.
"Ya, dey vill be easier to control," the red-headed fully bearded scientist agreed reluctantly in a strong German accent. "Still, vat a team dees vould haf made for us." He sounded regretful as he slowly re-examined the photos on each of his three folders before dropping them on the pile across the table.
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- 'Atlas', a black-haired clean shaven man with a square jaw, wearing a skin-tight blue top with a high yellow collar and the emblem of a closed fist highlighted on the chest, his fists on his hips.
- 'Lightning Girl', a slender woman with wide shoulders in a skin-tight red top with a jagged yellow emblem on her chest, shoulder length golden brown big hair, a silver belt and a blue skirt
- 'The Human Fly', a man in a gray chain mail costume, a hood which closely covered his entire face with big, faceted goggles over his eyes and two antennae protruding from his forehead, with big transparent wings
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The folders Hamilton retained showed photos of - Michael Joburo, a bulky young man with short-cropped almost white hair
- Rick Bondshield, an unusually handsome man dressed in a tan leisure suit
- Brad Parks, a somewhat taller powerfully-built man with black hair and large black-feathered wings
"So the problem now is how to convince them to work for us." Hamilton mused. "Mr. Clark, that's up to you and Mrs. Smith. The two of you will begin immediately." As Clark, a handsome young man wearing a military-style uniform with a logo that said "New Atlantis Security" gathered up the three portfolios, in an adjacent office Mrs. Smith, a young woman, tall and thin wearing a very modest, undistinguished business suit with her reddish hair pulled back in a severe bun was already on the phone making travel arrangements.
In a world with dozens of super powerful beings, a carnival could no longer credibly bill their strongman as 'The World's Strongest Man'. The adventure hero Atlas probably rated that title, though there were at least a dozen super-powered men and women around the world who might argue the claim. So Tom Titan wasn't billed as the World's Strongest Man, but the signs surrounding his exhibit on the midway were pretty lurid anyway, including a prominent picture of Tom pulling a boxcar while carrying a horse on his shoulders. The stage was littered with weights, including a dumbbell with the bells larger then beach balls, each labeled '250 LBS'. A big clock on the back wall of the booth showed that Tom's next performance was scheduled to begin in 5 minutes; a very large, ruggedly handsome man with black hair and an handlebar mustache, dressed in a traditional leopard-skin strong-man leotard casually warmed up.
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Though people were trickling in, the booth was still almost empty. Standing near the back, one watcher, a big guy wearing a denim dungaree over a white t-shirt with a straw hat, was commenting disdainfully to his friend about the upcoming presentation, and he didn't bother to lower his voice. "Fake, phony, just another rip-off is all. The steel bars are rubber, the weights are paper mache, hell, even your third-grade daughter could probably lift them." Tom Titan had been listening to this man for a while during his warm-up routine, and had earlier suggested in a fairly even tone that the fellow should leave and maybe go admire himself in some of the fun house mirrors, but now he was tired of the loudmouth. He was currently curling the 500 pound dumbbell; he angrily bent it into a U shape, then then threw it at the heckler with a laugh. "Here, buster - why don't YOU try lifting it!" A young man, maybe 6' tall with white hair in a flattop buzz cut and very wide shoulders who had just entered the booth lunged at the flying weight and managed to grab the bar, and grunted as he stopped its flight. The young man looked around, found an open spot away from the audience, and carefully placed the bent dumbbell down. "You should be more careful, that could have killed him!" he admonished the astonished Tom Titan. (This is one of the men we've seen before, on a portfolio in New Atlantis - his name is Michael Joburo.) "Told you it was phony!" the loudmouth spoke loudly. "Look how that bar bent - must be plastic! And that other guy caught it like it was nothin!" "Who the hell are YOU?" Tom Titan roared, aiming his anger at Joburo. "You must be the strongman from Bingading Brothers looking to take my job!" The Bingading Bothers Road Carnival had recently gone bankrupt and a good number of performers had been trying to get jobs with the Walker Traveling Circus. Bingading Brothers had always had a shady reputation and some of the unemployed performers had used unscrupulous methods to try to create openings in other carnivals. "My girl Alex is still recovering from some kinda crud one a your buddies put in her beer!" Alex was the featured aerialist in the Walker Traveling Circus and she'd been drugged by an out-of-work trapeze artist from Bingading who wanted her job. Lucky for her she wasn't much of a beer drinker; one of the roustabouts she'd been hanging out with a week ago when she'd met the aerialist had finished her beer and almost died; he was still in the hospital on constant IVs. "Hey, not me!" Michael tried to deny the accusation. But Tom Titan wasn't listening; he raced from the stage and threw a powerful punch at the young man, who was too startled to dodge or block. "THWACK!" the impact was audible a hundred feet away - and Joburo reeled backward into the hanging canvas that separated this attraction from the next one (Big Chief Eagle Claw, the Flying Indian), and tore it down around him. But he easily tore away the heavy canvas and angrily confronted Tom Titan, and the two large, powerful men began fighting. Tom Titan really was extremely strong, but now that the youngster was prepared for them, even Tom's most powerful blows no longer had much effect. Michael wasn't very fast, though, and was definitely unskilled as a fighter, so the circus strongman was easily able to evade his clumsy blows - and when a missed punch by Joburo easily shattered the totem pole outside Eagle Claw's booth, a totem pole which had been carved from a telephone pole, everyone realized that the young man was much more powerful than even the rugged circus strongman. "Hey, RUBE!" Eagle Claw hollered (Nobody turned into a bare-chested superhero with a red cape, that's another circus!) and there was chaos for the next few minutes, as carnival attendees fled the fight and carnies raced to help their fellow. Michael calmed down quickly when he saw a dozen big roustabouts surrounding him, carrying knives, sledgehammers and clubs, and behind them half a dozen other figures with guns. "I'm not a circus strongman, and I'm not out to take your job!" he shouted at Tom Titan. "I probably saved that guy's life and kept you from being arrested!" "It's OK, guys! I got carried away," Titan responded slowly, trying to calm his fellow carnies. "He's right, I coulda killed that guy. Not that I woulda minded a lot... but I mighta ended up in a lotta trouble." Everyone milled around for a while, until the Ringmaster showed up and took charge. He put a team of roustabouts to work restoring the damaged booths, and then gathered Joburo and Tom Titan for a private talk. "Sorry, kid, we're all edgy these days. A lot of other carnivals have gone out of business and we're all of us, including me..." that was an aside to Tom Titan, "...worried about our jobs. But we ain't firing - or hiring. If you're looking for work, try Haley's." "All I wanted to do was go to the circus. But I've had enough - you guys are all nuts! It's back to the farm for me!" Michael declared loudly. "We're all nuts, huh?" Tom Titan snarled back at him, and it seemed like they might come to blows again. The Ringmaster thought about stepping between them, then thought better and just reached out and grabbed Tom Titan by the shoulder. "Tom, enough for one day! You're on in 10 minutes; let's not miss the show!" One big powerful man looked at the other; both seemed to decide that continuing their fight was pointless, and without further words, they turned away from each other. Tom Titan headed back to his booth; Mike headed for the gate. Unknown to all the participants, the entire encounter had been secretly but intently observed by two interested groups. A group of around a dozen men were gathered in a small tent; the original occupants of the tent were currently unconscious on the floor, their hands and feet tied and with gags over their mouths. One of the standing men had opened a canvas tote bag and was passing out gray robes to the others. "Say, Hawley, maybe we outta tink about pickin up that udder guy stead of Tom Titan. Didja see how he caught that dumbbell? Made it look easy as pie!" "Why not both of 'em, Spuds? You take Willy and keep an eye on the kid. The rest of us will put the snatch on the muscle guy, then we'll figure out how to snatch da kid, too." Spuds and another man dropped their robes and headed for the gate. "OK, you mugs, get ready," Hawley ordered the rest of his group. "Time ta introduce the Bridgeport Muscle Mob to the world!" In a secluded area between several tents, Jon Clark was supporting Mrs. Smith. She was leaning heavily on him, with one hand on his shoulder for added support. Her head was bent forward, her eyes were closed, and her other hand was on her forehead. Her face was white and Clark could feel her shuddering. "Do you need medical attention, Carolyn?" Clark was very concerned. "I'll be OK, Jon," Mrs. Smith responded, speaking slowly. "It wasn't too... difficult, telepathically convincing Joburo and Tom Titan not to fight. Neither of them... really wanted to fight. Titan was... really... worried after... the totem pole got shattered. And Michael has some kind of... really complicated... bizarre mental block about fighting. But calming down the crowd... I've never before... tried to affect so many people at once." Suddenly her knees gave out and Clark barely caught her in time to ease her into a sitting position. He squatted next to her as she drew up her knees and put her head down on her crossed arms. He had to bend forward to catch her next words, but her voice grew stronger as she spoke. "Michael's on his way home now. It would be a good time for us to make contact and try to recruit him. And I'd like to spend some more time figuring out his mental block. Something caused him a lot of anguish, and even though his mind has blocked it out, the suppressed memories always affect his behavior. I think I can help him - even if he doesn't want to work for New Atlantis." She shifted her position and before he could offer her help, she was back on her feet. "C'mon!" She headed for the fairgrounds parking lot. Jon surreptitiously pocked the device he was holding, a handheld communicator that resembled exactly a pocket-sized transistor radio. He'd thought about calling in a New Atlantis medical team, but for now, at least, it looked like it wouldn't be necessary. Michael Joburo lived on a farm about 10 miles northwest of Cheshire. Though they didn't find out until much later, the New Atlantis team was about halfway there when the Bridgeport Muscle Mob struck at the carnival. Ten men, dressed identically in gray robes and pointed hoods, began wreaking havoc on the fairgrounds. They had guns but didn't use them much; they seemed more intent in showing off their physical prowess. They delighted in beating up fair goers, breaking things with their hands, knocking down tents, with teams of two or three of them rampaging through the parking lots overturning cars and other vehicles. Hawley and two of his men battered their way into Tom Titan's show and made a point of fighting with him, letting everyone see how his punches were largely ineffective against them, while one of them knocked out the circus strongman with a sucker punch while he faced the other two. After a 10 minute rampage of destruction, the robed and hooded Bridgeport Muscle Mob piled into a couple of stolen pickup trucks and headed south, presumably for Bridgeport. |
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Post by Admin on Apr 3, 2021 15:32:06 GMT
The next morning, in the Muscle Mob's hangout, a long abandoned YMCA building in the poorest section of Bridgeport, the mob gathered in a surprisingly orderly, large room - half the gym had been repurposed as a research lab, with tables covered with electronics and chemical apparatus interspersed with big storage cabinets and a number of bookshelves. In the rest of they gyms, half was devoted to exercise equipment while in the other half stood a big metal box the size of a garden shed, one metal wall partially covered with dials and switches, the rest dominated by two large reels of magnetic tape. The machine was flanked by two big transparent glass tubes with hinged doors, each large enough to hold a standing tall man, each with a big metal cap at the top of each tube connected to the machine by a heavy cable. Tom Titan, his arms and legs tightly bound, slumped against the inside wall of one of the tubes, while Teddy, the strongest man in the mob, stood uneasily in the other. Green rays streamed down from the metal caps and washed over the men. "Geez, boss, I'm glad you got someone to take my place in dat tube today!" Willy, another very strong mobster, spoke to Hawley while pointing at Tom Titan in the left hand tube. "I was weaker than a kitten all day yesterday. Almost got knocked down by the wind when the fan came on!" In his tube, Teddy snarled. "You'd better get some other sucker to take my place tomorrow, Hawley. There's nothing I hate worse'n a weakling - except BEING a weakling! You'd better bring this sucker back withya today or you can find someone else to drain tomorrow!" Hawley was starting to understand the attraction of being physically powerful. He'd loved being strong enough to bend steel bars yesterday, and couldn't wait to be even stronger today. He turned to a thin older man who had white hair and was wearing a white lab coat, who was standing at the controls of the machine. "How many more times before it's permanent, doc?" "Maybe a dozen, Mr. Hawley," the man said with perfect diction, a little annoyance evident in his voice. "And you KNOW I prefer Professor!"" "You ain't at Yale any more, 'perfessor'! They couldn't bust your ass outta there fast enough after you got that jailbait girl pregnant!" Hawley sneered. "And this ain't no Doby Gillis Island TV show! You want us ta make ya rich, you answer to 'doc'...or 'fockwad', if that's what I feel like callin' ya. Get it?" "I understand, Mr. Hawley," the professor answered tightly. "After a few more 'treatments', as you call them, you will be permanently stronger than you ever were without my invention - and after about 3 weeks, you'll be permanently as strong as the two 'samples' put together." What he didn't tell them was that being that strong would destroy their bodies in another 6 months - he expected to take off with his share of the loot long before they discovered that piece of bad news. The green rays stopped and doors in the tubes opened. Tom Titan fell to the ground, barely turning his head enough to avoid breaking his nose, too weak to support himself or even break his fall with his arms. Willy grabbed Teddy and kept him from falling, and eased him into a chair. The Professor picked up a device like a paint sprayer connected to the machine by a long flexible tube. Hawley stepped forward and the Professor aimed the sprayer at him; he was washed in a barely visible beam of yellow light. He stepped back, another Muscle Mobster stepped forward and was sprayed, and the process repeated. On the front of the machine, the hand on a big speedometer-style gauge kept falling back to the left; it was almost on Empty when the last mobster got his daily dose. Hawley remained in front of the machine to oversee the process, but around him the enhanced mobsters were trying out their new strength, throwing around the weights and engaging in several impromptu wrestling matches. "Cheez, boss, lookit this!" Spuds shouted, and Hawley turned to see his minion straining to hold a 750 lb. barbell overhead. "Yestiday I could only do 500!" "And after we capture that Joburo kid today, tomorrow you'll do twice that!" Hawley boasted. "Err... Mr. Hawley, that might not be wise..." the Professor spoke up hesitantly. "The process makes the bones stronger as well as the muscles, but not as efficiently, and it doesn't affect the instinctive use and more importantly restraint of strength..." "Shaddup, doc!" Hawley barked. "You just keep musclin' up my guys!" As the last Muscle Mobster was enhanced, Hawley sent Louie to carry Teddy off to a bedroom, then called the gang together. ""Willy, Spuds, bring in the new robes!" Those two hurried to a side room while he addressed the rest of the group."OK, you guys know what to do - mosta you hit the city; me, Willy and Spuds will grab the other strongman. And I got bigger plans for tomorrow!" Willy and Spuds carried in a big wooden crate, almost as large as the enhancer machine, and even with their new strength, they were struggling a bit. That box weighed a lot! They dropped it, and Hawley stepped up and easily ripped it open. Inside was a jumble of grey Muscle Mob robes and hoods - but these were made of chain mail. "Now that we're all strong enough to wear these, from today on, we're not only stronger than anyone, we're bulletproof!" Hawley gloated. "Hand 'em out, boys, and suit up!" The long sleeved robes fell to the ground and weighed around 75 pounds, and the pointed hoods added another 15. Even yesterday, when his mobsters had each been enhanced with the strength of his 2 strongest minions, Hawley had felt these were too heavy to wear, but today they felt no heavier than the canvas robes the Muscle Mob had worn in the past. After they donned the robes, Hawley pulled out a pistol and before anyone could react, took a couple of shots at Spuds, and they all laughed when the bullets bounced off.
"Louie, get goin - you and the boys go out and show Bridgeport who owns this city!"
Louie led the mob of super powerful, chain mail-clad gangsters out of the room with a WHOOP!
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Post by Admin on Apr 5, 2021 10:50:16 GMT
"There's his mailbox!" Jon Clark, who was driving their rented car noted to Carolyn Smith. "That dirt road into the trees must be his driveway!" He stopped the car on the shoulder of the narrow country road and Mrs. Smith concentrated for a while. "Yes, that's his farm and he's in. We're all set, he's prepped." Jon shuddered. "Geez, Mrs. Smith, it creeps me out when you do that kind of stuff." "I'm always very careful never to touch anything important, Jon! You know that," she snapped back with some asperity. "And it's for the cause of New Atlantis - helping to create a peaceful tomorrow. We've talked about this before!" They had, and they never came to agreement, so he didn't reply. He turned down the driveway; it was about a quarter mile, first through some woods and then through some carefully tended fields, to Joburo's farmhouse. It was very large, and they thought it odd that there wasn't an equally large barn, but instead a much smaller equipment shed, maybe the size of a two car garage. Michael Joburo answered the door shortly after they knocked - he was dressed in a faded, well-worn denim coverall and looked like he was ready to begin his workday. Mrs. Smith began talking as soon as he opened the door. "Good morning, Mr. Joburo. We're the reporters from "Scientific Farming Magazine". I'm Mrs. Smith and this is Jon Clark." Michael looked confused for a few seconds, then his face cleared in a smile, as he remembered a letter he'd received a month ago from the magazine requesting an interview, and his acceptance letter in return. "Ah, yes! I apologize; I'd totally forgotten our appointment today. Well, you've caught me at a good time; I'm just finishing breakfast. Can I offer you some coffee, and maybe some home-made pastry?" He stepped back to let them in. Clark expression shifted to annoyed anger; Mrs. Smith jabbed him hard with her elbow when she was sure Joburo wouldn't notice. "Thank you, Mr. Joburo!" she smiled brightly as she led her colleague inside. The farmhouse was neat as a pin though very sparsely furnished. They reached the dining area which opened off the entrance hall and Juboru seated Mrs. Smith. Clark winced at how heavy his chair was; the dining table chairs must have easily weighed 30 pounds each though Michael handled them easily. That led him to notice that all the furniture in the house seemed to be made from heavy lumber, and though it was stained and varnished, there was no attempt at decorating or ornamenting the wood - everything seemed to have been built from 2x8 planks and all the legs were plain columns of wood perhaps 5 inches in diameter. All of Michael's movements were slow, restrained and very deliberate. As he was pouring Mrs. Smith's coffee, there was a tremendously loud noise like an explosion, as outside, Hawley lowered his shoulder and slammed into the the closed front door. The door shattered inward, spraying the entrance hall with a deadly hail of jagged shards of wood. The three Muscle Mobsters charged into the house and were in the dining room before Michael and his guests could react. Simple taps on the chin knocked out Smith and Clark. Michael stood up quickly and grabbed the back of his chair, then swung it at the invaders like a baseball bat. He hit Hawley and knocked him backwards; he crashed into the the heavy china cabinet, exploding the glass doors and destroying most of the china inside, though his chain mail robe and hood protected him from glass cuts. Joburo threw the chair through the bay window and then followed it, hoping to draw the intruders away from his guests. The tactic worked; the three Muscle Mobsters, Hawley, Spuds and Willy burst out of the house through the shattered wall. Michael wasn't running away in fear. A few years ago, he had ingested a chemical compound that he had (mistakenly) identified as alosun*. It had made him immensely strong and durable, though it had also damaged his mind. He wasn't afraid of the Muscle Mobsters, but he was worried about Smith and Clark being hurt, and also about further damage to his house. He'd fight this battle outside.
*Alosun: a serum invented by Dr. Hugo Strange, reputed to be the "distillate of sun atoms". Alosun temporarily grants the user superhuman strength, increased durability and resistance to damage and the ability to fly. However, what Michael Joburo actually discovered was a dose of a drug called "machtedicine", a compound that had been given to Doc Strange by Department E, a small US Government department that had been created during World War II to try and perfect a Super Soldier formula. Machtedicine had proven to have unpredictable results and sometimes debilitating side effects, and Doc Strange had never taken his dose, preferring to rely on his own creation, alosun, even though he had to periodically take a new dose to renew his powers. He'd always planned to try to analyze and improve machtedicine, but he'd never begun that project before he disappeared in 1946.
"What the hell do you want?!" Joburo screamed at the men who smashed through the wall of his house. "Who are you?" "Why, Mikey boy, I'm your Uncle Sam - and I want you!" Hawley laughed. The three Muscle Mobsters spread out to flank their victim, and started closing in. "I know you now!" Joburo exclaimed as he recognized the robes of his foes. "You're the bums who kidnapped Tom Titan yesterday from the circus. The Muscleheaders, or something like that. The "Klan in Gray" they called you in this morning's papers. A bunch of cowards is what I call you, wearing masks and ganging up on one guy. You think three of you is enough?" "Get 'em, boys. Nobody mocks the Muscle Mob no more!" Hawley snarled to his minions. The three closed in. Hawley had 'graduated' from brawls when he'd become the boss of the Muscle Mob, and he was definitely out of practice. He got a little too close a little too soon, and Joburo slammed a roundhouse haymaker to his jaw - and Hawley flew backwards, crashed into a long-dead elm tree, cracking the trunk and knocking it down. He scrabbled weakly on the ground for a while as Spuds and Willy, both experienced street fighters, moved to each side of their opponent - if he turned to face one of them, his back would be to the other. As Michael swung his head back and forth, trying to watch them both at once, Spuds waited until he was looking at Willy and then dove at his legs. After Spuds knocked him down, Willy jumped on him as well and Michael was unable to squirm out from under the two men. He was stronger than either of them, but their punches hurt and wore him down, and while he did manage to landed some powerful blows from underneath, they were less effective than those of his foes. The pounding went on a lot longer than Spuds or Willy would have anticipated and Joburo actually seemed on the verge of turning the tide when Hawley finally recovered enough to rejoin the fight, and combined simultaneous punches by all three of the Muscle Mobsters finally knocked their foe unconscious. By then, Joburo's carefully tended lawn was cratered and torn up and two more of his trees had been knocked down. "Cheez, Hawley, it ain't fair. Lookit us, bloody and bruised," Willy complained loudly, "and him not a scratch on him!" To emphasize his anger, Willy kicked Joburo strongly in the head. It was true - They had seen bruises form and cuts and tears open on their opponent, but he seemed to mend from these 'minor' injuries almost instantly. In contrast, while the Muscle Mobsters were now many times stronger than a normal man, they didn't heal any faster. Inside, when they saw Willy kick their new acquaintance in the head, Mrs. Smith had to exert her mental powers to restrain Jon Clark from screaming and rushing to attack the Muscleheads. "You're no match for the three of them!" she insisted. "We can't help him if they capture us too. I can't control all of them, either. But I think I can make them forget we're here. And I know where they're taking Michael. We can follow them, and between the skills of both of us, we ought to be able to free him..." Clark reluctantly agreed with her, and she dropped her mental control. Meanwhile, the Muscle Mobsters showed that they had come prepared to deal with a physically powerful opponent. They pulled chains and manacles from the back of their panel truck and wrapped Joburo in restraints - to the point where it took two of them to carry him into their truck. Hawley drove; Willy and Spuds rode in the back with their captive, armed with metal baseball bats and orders to smash him in the head if he started to come around. They seriously dented two bats on their trip back to Bridgeport; in both cases, the visible damage done to Joburo's head by the bats was healed in only a few minutes. They were followed by Mrs. Smith and Jon Clark in their rental car. Mrs. Smith's mental powers allowed her to follow far enough behind that they weren't spotted. So when the Muscle Mobsters backed up to the loading doc of the abandoned YMCA building in Bridgeport, the pair from New Atlantis were parking not far away. Michael was carried into the gym and stuffed into one of the glass tubes. The professor stood in front of the controls and the green rays washed over him - and suddenly, there was a loud retort from within the machine, the green rays blinked out, all the gauges on control panel dropped to their pins, and the many lights studding the panel all winked off. The professor started swearing, using terms Hawley had never heard before. Hawley screamed at the professor, demanding to know what had happened. "The circuit breaker tripped; the machine's storage capacity is overwhelmed!" the Professor yelled back equally loudly. "This man is immensely powerful; I designed my machine to store the power of a hundred normal men." "You better be able to fix it, by tomorrow!" Hawley threatened. "Simplicity in itself," the professor replied smugly. "A simple cut-out that stops the energy ingestion process when the subharmonic energy density in the quantum dialectic condenser is near to full charge... but I warn you again, Mr. Hawley, it will be dangerous, supercharging a normal human to that extent." "Just be sure you CAN supercharge the Muscle Mob tomorrow, Doc. I got big plans for tomorrow!" Hawley growled. Then he gave orders to his team. "You guys put the kid and ta other guy inta ta storage room and make sure they's still tied up good - 'specially the kid! We're gonna need him tomorrow! Then, Spuds, you stay here and make sure ta doc keeps workin'. Me and Willy gonna go join the party!" "Geez, boss, I want in on da fun too, ya knows," Spuds complained but not too loudly. "I promise y'll getcher chance tomarra, Spuds. Now shaddup and go do what I toldja!" Spuds slunk away; Hawley and Willy donned their new chain mail robes and headed out the door to join the fun. |
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Post by Admin on Apr 5, 2021 10:51:06 GMT
Bridgeport was terrorized by the Muscle Mob that day. Small arms fire couldn't hurt them, very few doors or even walls could block their way, and certainly no one man could stand up to any one of the mobsters. Three or four men might have been able to drag one of them down to the ground, but holding him down would have been almost impossible - and there were always at least 3 of them in a group, and they were all armed with Tommy guns. Everyone who could was fleeing the city; all the roads out were jam packed. Those unable to flee were cowering in basements and locked back rooms, praying fervently that whatever building they were in didn't look attractive to one of the Muscle Mob terror/theft teams. Small arms fire didn't deter the Muscle Mobsters from smashing into banks and jewelry stores and taking whatever they wanted, often seriously injuring anyone who tried to stop them or didn't get out of their way in time. They quickly realized that the easiest way to insure they were left relatively alone to commit their robberies was to place bystanders in danger, and they often smashed through the walls of buildings to make them unstable and dangerous, or deliberately ignited broken gas mains, and then ignored the frantic rescue efforts as they picked through the best loot. The police quickly realized that their best option was to join the other emergency responders in rescue, evacuation, and damage control. A couple of fire engine teams actually found a way to temporarily slow the looters down by knocking them down with streams from their fire hoses, but they paid a terrible price - other Muscle Mobsters would swarm the unfortunate hose crews and beat them bloody, killing many brave jakes and those who tried to defend them, and putting others into the hospital in critical condition. It wasn't long before the authorities were ordering their forces to back off and not interfere with the overwhelming assault, but instead focus on getting everyone as far from danger as possible.
And right after issuing that emergency order, the Mayor and the Governor were on the phone with the President and requesting emergency assistance from the Nemesis League(TM), the super heroic team sponsored by the quasi-independent government agency Department E. It was unfortunate that the Nemesis League was currently unavailable on a top secret National Security mission, but Department E Commander Mr. Wily (who had been with Department E since it was founded during World War II) promised to call in the reserves. Nobody was really thrilled about this - the public perception was that E-Force (and in fact, Department E as a whole) was barely competent, so how good would the second string be? *Nemesis League suggested by Mark Ellis
So the President immediately involved Mr. Larsen, the current Undersecretary of Defense to see if he could contact any independent heroes (many of whom had direct 'hot lines to the Department of Defense) who could get to Bridgeport immediately... but best case, it would take a while. Lightning Girl was based in New York City but already the coastal Connecticut highways were parking lots; Larsen set about getting her some kind of military transportation. Everyone else was farther away...
So the Governor mobilized the Connecticut National Guard, but even that might take up to two hours before help reached the stricken city. There was nothing the highest government officials could do now but watch in agony as citizens tried to escape and emergency responders tried to protect citizens as well as possible until help arrived.
***~~~*** Mrs. Smith and Jon Clark sat in their rented car outside the 'deserted' Y. Thanks to Mrs. Smith's mental powers, they had followed Hawley's car undetected, and seen the Mobsters carry Michael inside through a back door that was almost totally hidden from street view behind several dumpsters overflowing with old furniture, carpets, drapes, and other debris from cleaning out the building debris that had apparently been there for several years. The buildings nearby were also abandoned, and while a wider scan by Mrs. Smith noted a few people in the area, those people were deliberately avoiding even thinking about the Y building. She sensed that they knew that some kind of terrible disaster would befall anyone who showed undue interest in that particular building.
They waited, shielded by Mrs. Smith, for an hour, and then Hawley and Willy had exited the building and made their way to back to the pickup truck they'd arrived in. Any minds neaby that noticed them deliberately ignored them, and it was clear to Mrs. Smith that this deliberate ignorance was driven by deadly fear. Once the two were gone, Mrs. Smith did another mental scan of the building. She gasped and sighed in exhaustion, her head dropped into the support of both her hands, as she slumped back in her car seat. Her voice was strained and barely above a whisper. "One man sleeping... Michael and that Tom Titan strongman who was kidnapped yesterday locked in another room, both of them exhausted and tied up, almost too tired to think about escaping, some guy named Spuds, who is drinking beer and watching TV in another room and fuming because he was assigned to guard the prisoners and he's missing all the fun. And some guy named Duckworth whose thoughts sometimes remind me of Victor's - he's a mad scientist and he's working on the device that gives the Muscle Mob super strength - strength they stole from Michael and Tom and the two sleeping guys... but sometimes he's thinking of using the machine on himself and then running away with as much of the loot as he carry, only he's too afraid of what they will do to him if he gets caught... He's worried that there's something wrong with their super powers, too, but he's not sure what it is, only they'll kill him if they find out... Most of them are in a second floor rooms in the rear of the building; the mad scientist is across the building in a lab of some sort."
"Thanks, Mrs. Smith! Take it easy for a while, now it's my turn to show off! Are you up to coming with me?" Clark asked gently.
"I need a few minutes..." she whispered.
"OK - I'll be right back!" He got out quickly and closed the door softly. Mrs. Smith really didn't want him to go alone, but she was currently too exhausted to insist he wait for her. Before she could force herself to sit up, he was already out of sight behind the dumpsters. Jon was carrying a small roll of hand tools and wearing a pack; he opened the roll and was through the locked door almost faster than if he'd had a key. The hall immediately inside the door was almost totally filled with 'moving out' debris but there was a scuffed pathway free of dust that indicated that this was the Muscle Mob's normal exit. He moved quietly but quickly, and paused occasionally to listen for anyone else nearby. Up a set of stairs, and listen again - <that way> he could hear a TV. He light-footed to the first corner, and yes, to the right he could see some doors, one of which was open, and that seemed to be where the TV was playing.
By now Clark had drawn a unique pistol from his hidden holster. The grip was normal but barrel was a long, narrow, featureless cone, and Jon was a little nervous about using it. 'It's silent, and it works instantly against normal opponents. I know it puts a normal human to sleep for at least 8 hours - Nebo proved that when he tested it on me! But these guys are superhuman - I guess I'll have to find out and then get back to him!' He pushed aside his worries for some planning. "Take out Spuds fast and quiet and tie him up, in case it doesn't stick for all 8 hours, then put the sleepers to sleep for 8 more hours, then free the prisoners, then get the Duckworth guy... Yup, piece of cake!'
Spuds was watching some brave and foolhardy local news crew's coverage of the devastation going on downtown; he was alternately cheering some of the awful scenes or moaning that he was missing all the fun. The TV seemed to be against the wall with the door, so Jon probably couldn't count on surprising him too much... He adjusted his knockout beam to wide dispersion so he'd get the whole room in the first shot; this should slow the guy down a bit, at least. Then he held the gun in front of him, stepped into the doorway, and fired. The room filled with green light, then Jon charged in and slammed a vicious punch to the jaw of Spuds, who was trying to get up off a dilapidated sofa. Spuds' head snapped back but he seemed otherwise unaffected. This gave Jon time to adjust the gun to narrow beam and he fired again, hitting Spuds in the head with an intense green beam - and this time, Spuds dropped to the floor, unconscious. Some nylon rope reinforced with steel threads from his pack to truss him, and then an extra dose of the knockout ray, and Jon felt safe to go on to the next room. He listened at both doors; behind one was snoring while the other was pretty much silence. He pushed open the door hiding the sleeper, stunned the sleeping Teddy and tied him up. Finally, the room with Tom Titan and Michael Joburo. "Don't make any noise - I'm here to free you!" he insisted to the pair. Michael recognized him and nodded; Tom Titan was too weak and tired from being under the strength transfer ray this morning to do much of anything. Michael seemed to be too weak to break out of the chains, but he didn't seem to be nearly as debilitated as Titan was. Before he actually began to pick the locks on the chains, Jon suddenly knew he shouldn't be surprised when he turned around and saw Mrs. Smith. With his finger itchy on the trigger signal, he turned quickly, and because he wasn't surprised, he didn't shoot her. "Geez, you KNOW I hate it when you do that!" he groused to her very quietly, "but I guess there are times when it pays off. Wouldn't do to have to lug you around for eight hours!" "I don't think it would come to that, Jon, but thank you for not shooting!" she said mysteriously. "Anyway, we gotta free these guys, and maybe deal with Duckworth, before the rest of the Muscleheads get back. I don't think there are enough charges in the sleepy gun for the rest of them," Jon got out his tool roll and started with Tom Titan, because cutting the ropes would be easier than dealing with the alloy chains and locks binding Michael. While he worked on their physical bindings, Mrs. Smith tried to free Michael from the chains in his mind.
After he freed Tom Titan, and Mrs. Smith made sure Tom wouldn't wake up for a while, Jon set about trying to free Joburo from the incredibly strong alloy chains restraining his body. Meanwhile, Mrs. Smith worked on freeing him from the incredibly strong mental chains restraining his mind... |
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Post by Admin on Apr 17, 2021 13:38:32 GMT
Mrs. Smith was seated, her eyes closed, her face wrenched in concentration. She was breathing heavily, and absently wiping her forehead clean of sweat with a handkerchief. At the speed of thought, she was threading her way through Michael's childhood memories, and when she found what she needed, she started to narrate... Michael's parents worked for Dr. Hugo Strange, he doing groundwork and maintenance and she as a housekeeper during World War II. Doc Strange worked with Department E during the War and eventually became a member of the first known public superhero team, Force Four, along with Owl Man, Lash Lightning, and Lady Luck. The team had vanished during a mission to South America in 1946. When Department E officially declared Force 4 as deceased in 1951, the Juburos were given the house by Department E.
"Michael doesn't consciously remember all of this," she was doing commentary alongside her narrative. "He experienced some kind of trauma and has repressed all his memories from his early life. The closer we get to it in my exploration, that it becomes. I'm not sure it would be wise or even safe to push through that barrier today. But whatever it is, it has to do with his powers. He is much more powerful than we've seen, but he is incredibly fearful of fully unleashing them. And there is usually a good reason for trauma such as this. I am going to try to ease his fear somewhat - but until I have a much deeper understand of what caused it, I don't think I should do any more..." Jon was torn between his natural distrust of mental powers and curiosity - and more than a little anxiety. "Just get him back on his feet, Mrs. Smith - we have to deal with this Duckworth guy and then get our butts out of here before the rest of the gang gets back! They are tearing apart the city - no one can stop them. The governor has already declared martial law, but it sounds like there won't be any useful help arriving for a few hours. And I can't stop a dozen super powered madmen by myself! I'm not sure even the Nemesis League - or even the independent heroes - can stop them!"
"When he was 18, Michael moved to that remote farm where we found him, and has been learning how to control his strength ever since. He farms a hundred acres and doesn't own a tractor! He pulls the plow by hand, does every task manually, built all the furniture, everything. But you've seen - normally he moves slowly, speaks slowly, is slow to anger... and even though he is strong enough to pull a plow by hand, he is suppressing his strength." Mrs. Smith spoke slowly, working something out in her head. Something she wanted to work out in Michael's head...
"I think we're going to need his help getting out of here," she said slowly. "I'm not going to remove the block yet - but I'm going to boost his confidence in using his full strength. And just to be safe, boost his trust in us, too!" She closed her eyes again, and an even more intense look of concentration crossed her face, and then she grunted and sagged, and would have fallen boneless to the floor if Jon hadn't moved very quickly.
Michael grunted as well - and then sat up, shook his head, and looked around. "You guys, here?" he looked at Smith and Clark in surprise. "You're not really magazine reporters, are you?"
"Actually, we're recruiters," Jon answered quickly. "Our backers want to put together a team of superhumans to carry on the legacy of 'the Fource', and once we get out of here, we'd like to discuss you being part of the team. But we DO have to get away from the Muscle Mob first, and if you're up to it, we should get moving!"
"More like - they're gonna have to get away from ME!" Joburo insisted. "I got a bone to pick with them bums! Specially that mad scientist, Duckworth!"
"We want to meet up with Duckworth too - that's where we're going next. Can you pick up Tom Titan over there, and I'll carry Mrs. Smith until she recovers? Duckworth's that way!" He pointed. "End of that corridor, down the stairs, in the gym."
"Good enough. Let's go!" Michael easily picked up Tom Titan, who probably weighed north of 260, and headed down the corridor.
Some background
A male child born to Belle Wayne Terry in early 1947, but taken away from her when she was put into an asylum, after the Machtedicine that gave her super powers during WWII drove her insane. The child was adopted by a family named Parks, and they named him Brad.
This story takes place in the mid 1960s, and covers the Origin of Free Force.
Some backstory about New Atlantis.
Douglas Hamilton, Carolyn Smith, and Dr. Victor Von Croft are recruiting superheroes for team to support New Atlantis. Havoc - Michael Joburo - strong but unskilled, virtually indestructible, poor reflexes, thinks slowly and likes to reason things out completely before he speaks. He hates to see people bickering and sometimes separates them as he tells them to shut up. Michael was probably the strongest man since Doc Strange, who had disappeared after the war. <story needs to establish some relation between Strange and Mike> After Mike initially got his powers, his peers mocked him incessantly with the nickname 'Havoc' - because of his incredible strength, resistance to injury, and because he is clumsy - so he can create havoc just by walking into a crowded building and bumping into a wall, or touching something and forgetting to touch it gently, or even tripping and falling. He had a bad temper as well. Most people have learned not to laugh at him or anger him, but there are still bullies who don't believe how much damage he can do and who egg him on. Or who egg him on in order to watch him wreck things. Have to work in that Mike thinks slowly, but is not stupid. He should be confused when presented with multiple options, but reason his way to the correct choice.
Mrs. Smith should be involved in some way. She should make some mental adjustments on Mike to help his self confidence and maybe remove a mental block about being intelligent. Maybe she eases his temper? Mike's mother was a housekeeper for Doc Strange, and Mike got into some Machtedicine when he was young, which made him very strong but left him uncoordinated as well. Other members of Free Force - stories to come later
Controller Rick Bondshield - controls electricity, thinks he is God's gift to women. When he sees a woman he wants, he goes after her, regardless of what she says or thinks - and regardless of if she has a husband/boyfriend or not. Spends most of his efforts trying to impress his latest crush. Needs ambient electrical power to control it; he does not generate electricity on his own. He is a legacy hero, related in some way to Lash Lightning. Night Owl (leader) - Brad Parks - snarly and sarcastic, expert with hand-held weapons, son of Nick Terry and Belle Wayne Terry, the Owl and Lady Owl. Has wings (real wings, not technology), can see in the dark; the goggles in his mask help him see better in daylight.
Another legacy hero who will enter the story later is Ms. Liberty, A highly skilled athlete, performer and escape artist. Circus acrobat and escape artist Laura Barnes, a.k.a. Ms.Liberty, pursued and captured a junkie-roustabout who robbed the carnival box office. She grew up in the slums in the South Bronx. Very fast, highly trained and skilled, long and lean, blonde, she has some kind of premonition power, recognition of future danger. She is in some way related to Lady Luck
Another inhabitant of New Atlantis who eventually becomes part of the Free Force
Nebo - refers to himself as a midget. Chief maintenance man of New Atlantis. He doesn't know the Free Force in their first meeting. Mechanical and electrical genius and prolific inventer
JM Cover showing the free force JM Cover showing Miss Liberty more information to follow New Atlantis is a sea-going submersible vessel with self-contained shirt-sleeve environment, as large as an island, nuclear powered, (originally diesel?) which can draw everything the residents need to survive from the ocean. It was a secret project created by Hitler and Mussolini, originally called New Valhalla, with pieces created in dozens of shipyards throughout the Axis territories and assembled on an unpopulated island in the Faroe Islands. Von Croft was apparently the only survivor of the war who knew about it. There was billions in Nazi gold stored on New Valhalla. Hamilton and Dr. Von Croft started a pharmaceutical company selling some of Von Croft's wartime discoveries, and when it became the world's largest, they sold it and used the money to salvage and refurbish New Atlantis and begin recruiting people to live there. It has self-replicating facilities using materials drawn from sea water and the original crew members were dedicated to expanding it.
Need to work some of this into the story so when Michael is rescued he can give them the whole story...
When he comes to he is in a laboratory under a machine generating rays which wash over him, and then rays bathe the men in the gang. Michael feels weak, and the gang members demonstrate how strong they are, and he is tied up and thrown in a cell with the strong man, who is also weak. Their guard boasts about the machine, tells them that they are being kept alive because the effects wear off after a couple of hours, but the doc says that the effects last longer after each exposure and within a month of repeated exposure they will be permanent, and then leaves them alone. (Somehow note that the bad guys are stronger than the strong man but still not as strong as Mike is normally). Notes:
sources of PD heroes for this story
pdsh.fandom.com/wiki/Human_Fly_(I.W._Publishing) (The comic was called 'The Human Fly' but he never appeared in a story; it was a reprint title. Probably has powers similar to the Blue Beetle) They are employing the services of the Crane/Lark detective agency (two nurses turned detectives) pdsh.fandom.com/wiki/Betsy_Cranepdsh.fandom.com/wiki/Linda_Lark
Kathryn "Kitten" Kane – technical device expert pdsh.fandom.com/wiki/Atlas_(I.W._Publishing) Man of Might comicbookplus.com/?dlid=27870pdsh.fandom.com/wiki/Pat_Dale Zip Jet Doll |
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Post by Admin on Nov 13, 2023 12:30:17 GMT
update
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