Just doing my job
folder
Original - Misc › Superheroes
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
25
Views:
2,364
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Original - Misc › Superheroes
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
25
Views:
2,364
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Last orders at the Red Lion
“What ever the hell it is, the answer’s no!” Sidney Pierce glared at me as I stood outside the door to her flat, “Anyway, I’ve got to get up to Glasgow: my kids want to go and see The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, again, and my bastard of an ex-husband says he’s to busy to take them. Maybe he should have thought of that before he demanded sole custody.”
“Yeah, well, I told you he was a bastard at the time, But you didn’t believe me.” I shrugged, “This is important Sid; you know I wouldn’t risk coming to you if it wasn’t.”
“It had better be.” Sidney led the way back into her living room, “So, where’s the psychotic terrorist you’ve shacked up with?”
“If you mean Ren, she’s not a psychotic terrorist: it was a set up. And we’re not involved. She’s in hiding: her face has been splashed over every TV screen and newspaper on the planet.”
“I hear that Charlotte is divorcing you?”
“That’s her decision…”
“Jesus H Christ Nathan, do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?” Sidney span on her feet, “You’re number two on the most wanted list, right behind Ren! If you even try and contact any member of the S.I.U., we’re supposed to tell Captain Hobbs immediately. Hell, I could lose what little contact I have with my kids if anyone saw you here!”
“They’d never do that!”
“They would! In fact, Hobbs told me they would if I’m seen with you!”
“Hobbs can kiss my ass. The man’s a prick: we all know he only got the job by brown-nosing Tony Blair every chance he got.”
“You sound like the revolutionary the press is setting you up as. I hear you even went to see Kali the Destroyer in Tibet.”
“She invited me. Anyway, Kay’s not nearly as bad as people think: she’s only ever bullied one superpower into submission.”
“Thus speaks the glories leader of the super-peoples revolution: Viva Nathan!”
“You know I’m no revolutionary, and I certainly couldn’t lead one: I only made Corporal because the press office decided it wouldn’t do to have the man married to the most glamorous superwoman in North America a mere Private.”
“So you like the status quo?”
“No: things need to change. You’re the most experienced member of the S.I.U., but you’re only a Sergeant because the rules say that no meta-human can be an officer. We’ve lost 10 teammates in the last six years because the government see us as nothing more than weapons with a voice. The U.N. charter on post-human affaires states that we can hold no political officer, must register with them, tell them if we move house or go on holiday and can’t play any level of professional sport. If you don’t follow the rules, you go to prison.”
“Things are not that bad…”
“Why did you lose custody of your kids to that toe-rag of an ex-husband of yours? Why is it you have to pay HIM alimony? Why is we spend more a year on life insurance premiums as we do on rent?”
“No one ever said it was a perfect world Nathan, but it works.”
“It’ll work until one of us, a superhuman, decides they’ve had enough. Yeah, they’ve done that in the past, and we’ve stopped them. But one day someone’s going to come along who’s powerful enough to either succeed, or create so-much mistrusted that they start a war.”
“You paint a very grim picture of the future Nathan.” Sidney stood, “And you’re out of time: I have to be in Glasgow in an hour.”
“Ok.” I stood and head for the door, “Look, just do me on favour, as a friend.”
“What?” Sidney rolled her eyes.
“Just be careful where you go: some very strange things are happening.”
*********************************************************************
“You look bloody stupid!” I laughed when I met Ren in Hyde Park two hours later.
She did, too: a serious looking business suit and fake glasses replaced her normal jeans/blouse combo, while her raven-black hair was dyed blond and tied back in a neat ponytail. She’d tried to lessen the effects of her slightly brown skin by applying makeup, but it made her look like something out of Bridget Jones’ Diary.
“You don’t look that great yourself!” She snapped back.
I had to admit she was right: I was similarly dressed in a cheap suit and I’d grown a beard to try and brake up the outline of my face. In all, it made me look like a low-grade city trader. Perfect for blending into the crowed.
“It’s good to be home.” I mused as we walked along the banks of the Serpentine, “‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford’”
“I’ll stick to the south of France in August.” Ren shrugged, “Artemus has gone to see a man he knows in the hope of getting us fake ID’s that will pass all but the most stringent tests.”
“Each unto their own I guess. Want to get something to eat?”
“It’s almost lunch time. You know anywhere nice and quiet where we won’t be recognised?”
“There’s a pub in Covent Garden I used to go to when I was younger.”
“How young?”
“Sixteen: the barman had a lax view on licensing laws.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.”
*********************************************************************
A quick tip on the Underground and we were swallowed by the constant bustle of Covent Garden.
The Red Lion is located in a side street, and is easily missed by people hurrying along the main roads. It gets by thanks to a solid core of locals and those visitors who stumble across it by accident. Thankfully we found a small alcove to sit in and have a drink while we waited for our meals to be delivered.
“So, you used to come here as a kid?” Ren asked, “Very out of character.”
“I bent the odd law as a kid.” I responded, taking a sip of my Guinness, “Not as many as you, but one or two.”
“Interesting. So, is there anyone else in town worth talking to?”
“Not really: most of the people I know with the experience and abilities we need are S.I.U., and they’ve all been warned off. Everyone else is government or military, and that’s not worth the risk.”
“So no one?”
“Only guy I know who could possibly help us is John Loch.”
“I have not heard of him.”
“I’m not entirely surprised: he’s not that well known outside London. I’m not even sure he’s still alive, but he was the last true east end gangster. He was a relatively high-level meta-human, on a par with me, as I was before Australia.”
“Sounds like an interesting man.”
“Oh, you would have liked John Loch, back in the day. But like I said, I’m not even sure if he’s still alive: he dropped out of sight maybe eight years ago.”
“Pity.”
“Yeah, well, that’s London for you: nothing ever stays the same.”
“Nathan.” Ren suddenly looked very worried, “Don’t look round, but we have a problem.”
“What?” I asked, not moving my head at all.
“I’m sure I just saw a Smith clone come in the door.”
“Could you be mistaken?”
“Do you want to take the chance that I am?”
“Good point. Ok, nice and slow, we get up and head for the door. Our best chance is to lose ourselves in the crowd outside.”
“You’re learning.”
We stood, grabbing our jackets and doing our best to look like nothing was wrong. I scanned the room, hoping that Ren was mistaken. The clone was standing next to the jukebox, looking right at me.
Time slowed to a crawl.
He reached into his long coat, drawing the biggest handgun I’ve seen outside of a cartoon and levelling at Ren. His finger pulled back on the trigger with the speed of a drifting continent as I tried to grab Ren and pull her out of the way.
The hammer fell, hitting the percussion cap at the base of the cartridge: the cordite charge ignited, accelerating the bullet to over 600-meters a second (something I remembered from my school days). I could see the shockwave it generated as it broke through the sound barrier rippling away from it as it passed through the air.
Ren had noticed the danger, and was attempting to dive out of the way, but seemed to be moving as if her entire body was trapped in tar. The air in front of me seemed to ripple as the hammer fell again, sending another bullet towards Ren. The first bullet hit the distortion in the air, and I could see it distort, like it had run into a sheet of solid steel.
Time turned to normal, the near deafening report of gunfire filling the small bar as Smith emptied and entire clip at Ren. Each and every round hit the distortion in the air, never getting with a meter of either of us.
“What the hell?” Ren asked, surprised.
“I haven’t a clue.” I shook my head; lifting the heavy oak table we’d been sitting at with one hand and flinging it across the room. It caught the Smith clone as he was trying to reload and slammed him into the wall with enough force to dent the centuries old brickwork.
Slightly stunned, the Landlord looked round for a moment before reaching for the bell above the bar, “Time gentleman please.”
“We should probably get the hell out of here.” Ren suggested.
“I have to agree.” I nodded as I lead the way to the door, passing the clearly dead clone on the way.
We could tell something was wrong the minuet we stepped out onto the street: the normal background noise of the city had died down, like eight million people were holding their breath.
“This a the Metropolitan Police: A state of emergency has been declared due to a possible terrorist attack.” A voice called out over a PA system attached to the top of a police van, “The city of London is under strict curfew at sundown tonight. Anyone caught on the street after this time will be arrested. Anyone resisting arrest will be shot. All off-duty emergency personnel are to report in immediately. This extends to all S.I.U. personal. We ask all members of the public to remain calm and return to your homes in an orderly fashion. TV and Radio will broadcast further statements later today. This a the Metropolitan Police…” The taped announcement started to repeat itself.
“It’s started.” I looked at Ren, “This is just what the Conspiracy planed: keep everyone scared, so they welcome the takeover when it comes. Welcome to the New World Order…”
To Be Continued...
“Yeah, well, I told you he was a bastard at the time, But you didn’t believe me.” I shrugged, “This is important Sid; you know I wouldn’t risk coming to you if it wasn’t.”
“It had better be.” Sidney led the way back into her living room, “So, where’s the psychotic terrorist you’ve shacked up with?”
“If you mean Ren, she’s not a psychotic terrorist: it was a set up. And we’re not involved. She’s in hiding: her face has been splashed over every TV screen and newspaper on the planet.”
“I hear that Charlotte is divorcing you?”
“That’s her decision…”
“Jesus H Christ Nathan, do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?” Sidney span on her feet, “You’re number two on the most wanted list, right behind Ren! If you even try and contact any member of the S.I.U., we’re supposed to tell Captain Hobbs immediately. Hell, I could lose what little contact I have with my kids if anyone saw you here!”
“They’d never do that!”
“They would! In fact, Hobbs told me they would if I’m seen with you!”
“Hobbs can kiss my ass. The man’s a prick: we all know he only got the job by brown-nosing Tony Blair every chance he got.”
“You sound like the revolutionary the press is setting you up as. I hear you even went to see Kali the Destroyer in Tibet.”
“She invited me. Anyway, Kay’s not nearly as bad as people think: she’s only ever bullied one superpower into submission.”
“Thus speaks the glories leader of the super-peoples revolution: Viva Nathan!”
“You know I’m no revolutionary, and I certainly couldn’t lead one: I only made Corporal because the press office decided it wouldn’t do to have the man married to the most glamorous superwoman in North America a mere Private.”
“So you like the status quo?”
“No: things need to change. You’re the most experienced member of the S.I.U., but you’re only a Sergeant because the rules say that no meta-human can be an officer. We’ve lost 10 teammates in the last six years because the government see us as nothing more than weapons with a voice. The U.N. charter on post-human affaires states that we can hold no political officer, must register with them, tell them if we move house or go on holiday and can’t play any level of professional sport. If you don’t follow the rules, you go to prison.”
“Things are not that bad…”
“Why did you lose custody of your kids to that toe-rag of an ex-husband of yours? Why is it you have to pay HIM alimony? Why is we spend more a year on life insurance premiums as we do on rent?”
“No one ever said it was a perfect world Nathan, but it works.”
“It’ll work until one of us, a superhuman, decides they’ve had enough. Yeah, they’ve done that in the past, and we’ve stopped them. But one day someone’s going to come along who’s powerful enough to either succeed, or create so-much mistrusted that they start a war.”
“You paint a very grim picture of the future Nathan.” Sidney stood, “And you’re out of time: I have to be in Glasgow in an hour.”
“Ok.” I stood and head for the door, “Look, just do me on favour, as a friend.”
“What?” Sidney rolled her eyes.
“Just be careful where you go: some very strange things are happening.”
*********************************************************************
“You look bloody stupid!” I laughed when I met Ren in Hyde Park two hours later.
She did, too: a serious looking business suit and fake glasses replaced her normal jeans/blouse combo, while her raven-black hair was dyed blond and tied back in a neat ponytail. She’d tried to lessen the effects of her slightly brown skin by applying makeup, but it made her look like something out of Bridget Jones’ Diary.
“You don’t look that great yourself!” She snapped back.
I had to admit she was right: I was similarly dressed in a cheap suit and I’d grown a beard to try and brake up the outline of my face. In all, it made me look like a low-grade city trader. Perfect for blending into the crowed.
“It’s good to be home.” I mused as we walked along the banks of the Serpentine, “‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford’”
“I’ll stick to the south of France in August.” Ren shrugged, “Artemus has gone to see a man he knows in the hope of getting us fake ID’s that will pass all but the most stringent tests.”
“Each unto their own I guess. Want to get something to eat?”
“It’s almost lunch time. You know anywhere nice and quiet where we won’t be recognised?”
“There’s a pub in Covent Garden I used to go to when I was younger.”
“How young?”
“Sixteen: the barman had a lax view on licensing laws.”
“Sounds like my kind of place.”
*********************************************************************
A quick tip on the Underground and we were swallowed by the constant bustle of Covent Garden.
The Red Lion is located in a side street, and is easily missed by people hurrying along the main roads. It gets by thanks to a solid core of locals and those visitors who stumble across it by accident. Thankfully we found a small alcove to sit in and have a drink while we waited for our meals to be delivered.
“So, you used to come here as a kid?” Ren asked, “Very out of character.”
“I bent the odd law as a kid.” I responded, taking a sip of my Guinness, “Not as many as you, but one or two.”
“Interesting. So, is there anyone else in town worth talking to?”
“Not really: most of the people I know with the experience and abilities we need are S.I.U., and they’ve all been warned off. Everyone else is government or military, and that’s not worth the risk.”
“So no one?”
“Only guy I know who could possibly help us is John Loch.”
“I have not heard of him.”
“I’m not entirely surprised: he’s not that well known outside London. I’m not even sure he’s still alive, but he was the last true east end gangster. He was a relatively high-level meta-human, on a par with me, as I was before Australia.”
“Sounds like an interesting man.”
“Oh, you would have liked John Loch, back in the day. But like I said, I’m not even sure if he’s still alive: he dropped out of sight maybe eight years ago.”
“Pity.”
“Yeah, well, that’s London for you: nothing ever stays the same.”
“Nathan.” Ren suddenly looked very worried, “Don’t look round, but we have a problem.”
“What?” I asked, not moving my head at all.
“I’m sure I just saw a Smith clone come in the door.”
“Could you be mistaken?”
“Do you want to take the chance that I am?”
“Good point. Ok, nice and slow, we get up and head for the door. Our best chance is to lose ourselves in the crowd outside.”
“You’re learning.”
We stood, grabbing our jackets and doing our best to look like nothing was wrong. I scanned the room, hoping that Ren was mistaken. The clone was standing next to the jukebox, looking right at me.
Time slowed to a crawl.
He reached into his long coat, drawing the biggest handgun I’ve seen outside of a cartoon and levelling at Ren. His finger pulled back on the trigger with the speed of a drifting continent as I tried to grab Ren and pull her out of the way.
The hammer fell, hitting the percussion cap at the base of the cartridge: the cordite charge ignited, accelerating the bullet to over 600-meters a second (something I remembered from my school days). I could see the shockwave it generated as it broke through the sound barrier rippling away from it as it passed through the air.
Ren had noticed the danger, and was attempting to dive out of the way, but seemed to be moving as if her entire body was trapped in tar. The air in front of me seemed to ripple as the hammer fell again, sending another bullet towards Ren. The first bullet hit the distortion in the air, and I could see it distort, like it had run into a sheet of solid steel.
Time turned to normal, the near deafening report of gunfire filling the small bar as Smith emptied and entire clip at Ren. Each and every round hit the distortion in the air, never getting with a meter of either of us.
“What the hell?” Ren asked, surprised.
“I haven’t a clue.” I shook my head; lifting the heavy oak table we’d been sitting at with one hand and flinging it across the room. It caught the Smith clone as he was trying to reload and slammed him into the wall with enough force to dent the centuries old brickwork.
Slightly stunned, the Landlord looked round for a moment before reaching for the bell above the bar, “Time gentleman please.”
“We should probably get the hell out of here.” Ren suggested.
“I have to agree.” I nodded as I lead the way to the door, passing the clearly dead clone on the way.
We could tell something was wrong the minuet we stepped out onto the street: the normal background noise of the city had died down, like eight million people were holding their breath.
“This a the Metropolitan Police: A state of emergency has been declared due to a possible terrorist attack.” A voice called out over a PA system attached to the top of a police van, “The city of London is under strict curfew at sundown tonight. Anyone caught on the street after this time will be arrested. Anyone resisting arrest will be shot. All off-duty emergency personnel are to report in immediately. This extends to all S.I.U. personal. We ask all members of the public to remain calm and return to your homes in an orderly fashion. TV and Radio will broadcast further statements later today. This a the Metropolitan Police…” The taped announcement started to repeat itself.
“It’s started.” I looked at Ren, “This is just what the Conspiracy planed: keep everyone scared, so they welcome the takeover when it comes. Welcome to the New World Order…”
To Be Continued...