Professor Corsair Baker and Shantrice are in Downtown Eidoplexis at CrossTech, an medical and defense conglomerate-ran by Hamilton Brunswick Crosswire-that manufactures cutting-edge technology for the United States military. The building is an Art Deco-style tower so impressively large, it appears to be looming over the entire business district.
Parked around the back in a slate gray delivery van, Corsair is keeping watch while Shantrice scales the building in her pursuit of Langston Abernathy, an Eclipsed rogue and disgruntled former employee of Crosswire's.
"Shantrice, you have to be extremely careful when approaching Langston," Corsair advises. "His powers are not completely defined, but one in particular is a synthesized, baritonal hum."
"A fuckin' hum!?.........BRUH!" Shantrice groans. "That's what I have to look out for!?"
"It's not just any hum, Shantrice. It's one that induces a disorder similar to dysphasia, as well as a bout of vertigo. This is considerably the most dangerous power he has, and he's used it before to lead people to their death. Quite literally."
"Alright, so what you're saying is that I shouldn't approach him at all then?" Shantrice inquires.
The professor shakes his head. "That's not at all what I'm saying, Shan. There is no avoiding contact, as he has to be apprehended, but if you hear even half a note of his humming, retreat immediately."
"Eh, why can't I just punch him in the fuckin' mouth? That'll shut that shit up," Shantrice snickers.
"You can't fight him!" Corsair roars, slamming his massive hand on the dashboard. It is taking all of his might to remain composed, stifling the urge to give her a lengthy upbraiding. "He is not some common hooligan. Plus, it's still an enigma how he even produces the sound."
"Boodles!" Shantrice squeals. "I loathe the unknown, especially as it pertains to villains."
As usual, Shantrice is being cavalier towards Corsair's warnings about the danger awaiting her. For once in her life, he wishes she would take things seriously.
"Look, do not attempt to engage him in combat under any circumstance, as once the humming has begun, it can't be stopped unless he wills it to be so. This is the only thing known for certain."
"Ugh... this just sounds more difficult than it should be. How do you expect me to take down someone I may have to repeatedly run away from?"
"That's up to you to figure out, Shan."
"Gee, thanks, Professor. Really big help there," Shantrice sighs, rolling her eyes. She feels like her hands are tied as tussling with a foe like Langston is going to be a headache and a half if she can't figure out a prime course of action.
"Say, why didn't you just upgrade my mask with something to disrupt the humming? Seems like it would've been the best option."
"I would have if we had an inkling of how that power works," explains Corsair. "That's why you have to capture him though, so we can perform the needed analysis."
"Lawd......... y'all sending my pretty ass to get slaughtered," Shantrice whimpers.
"Shan, I have faith in you to figure out a weakness," Corsair replies. "All you need is a-hopefully simple-stop-gap measure to get him subdued. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Yeah, I get that. I mean, thanks for having faith in me, but I still can't help feeling I'm going up here half-cocked."
"Just use more of your ingenuity, not your pugilism. Never forget that you have a brain up there."
"Oh no, trust me, Professor-I haven't forgot," Shantrice exhaustingly groans, pulling herself onto the roof using her grappling hook. She's done this on many a building, but scaling CrossTech was like climbing Mount Everest. If it wasn't for needing to sneak in, she would have worn her battlesuit and flown to the top. Regardless, she's here now, so she takes a moment to catch her breath and dust herself off.
She recalls the grappling hook into her baton then returns the weapon to its slot inside her trenchcoat. A howling, chilly blast comes through, and though she tries to hold it together, her coat is eventually forced wide open, where it flutters in the current. This blustery wind swiftly ebbs into a whispering breeze that gently brushes her neck as if it was trying to provide consolation, but discomfiting thoughts persist, saturating her mind.
Shantrice is unable to divest herself from the uncertainty gnawing at her like a rat chewing at a wall, decimating it incrementally until it has made a hole big enough to crawl through. Confidence-wise, she is usually unshakeable, but her steel-like resolve has become milk-and-water today.
It is at this moment that Corsair clears his throat to get her attention, prompting Shantrice to finish her initial statement.
"Sorry, Professor. This big, beautiful brain of mine is killing me right now tryna think of something, ya know?" she expounds, her shoulders taut and tingling with apprehension. "I really don't consider it optimal to pursue Langston if I can't be confrontational."
"Like I said, use your ingenuity and you'll figure it out," Corsair responds. After assessing all likelihoods in his head, he remains resolute, contributing to his reassurance.
"If you say so," Shantrice sighs. Her concerns remaining unassuaged. "Anyway, I'm heading in."
"Alright, Shan. Be safe."
"As safe as I can be," she gulps, tiptoeing towards a skylight that was shattered earlier by Langston. She peers in, checking for possible resistance, like security or her target lying in wait, before she infiltrates. Realizing it'll be a pretty steep drop, Shantrice takes her baton back out and shoots the grappling hook at an edge of the fractured skylight so she can rappel into the building.
She lands and quickly recalls the hook, taking off full-tilt down the corridor towards the R&D lab to bring down this disaffected fiend once and for all.
***
It didn't take long for Shantrice to reach the lab, where she kicked the titanium double doors open, hoping to catch Langston by surprise. Instead, he was standing half a foot away from where she entered with his tattered, gold labcoat open wide, revealing the gruesome and nightmarish state of his body.
"Well, if it isn't The Eastside Pelican," he chuckles in his heavily synthesized voice. The sound produced is similar to the effect of some 80s musician using a vocoder, albeit still discernible. "Glad to see that you made it, and not a second too late either."
This semi-melodious, but also extremely guttural, modulation of his vocals, as well as his disfigurement, are the result of experimental nanites gone awry. They were initially meant to be used by the military for the purposes of regenerating lost limbs, rebuilding failing organs and repairing flesh that had sustained extreme damage. The entire goal was that the nanites-provided they worked well enough-would be in use at hospitals nationwide, helping to save lives.
However, there was a fatal flaw in their design which caused them to become sentient, and while running a few tests about two months ago, the nanites got loose and crawled into the first exposed flesh they could find: a shaving wound Langston had sustained earlier that morning and neglected to cover.
At the time, he thought it was the perfect opportunity to see how they would work on a living subject, but once they were inside him, they began to almost unendingly multiply. What started out as a hundred nanites going in, quickly became over 5,000 running amok in his bloodstream, working furiously-and futilely-to repair him.
This attempt at healing him quickly became an infection that activated Langston's latent Eclipse gene, mutating him into a psychotic monster. This mutation took the form of what few who have seen him before (and lived to tell the tale) described as an elongated and vented device shaped like a metronome, made of a combination of metal and cartilage that completely replaced his mouth, lower jaw, throat and a chunk of his chest, mainly where a section of his ribs and lungs would be.
"Hope this isn't too close for comfort," he snickers, creeping closer to the bewildered vigilante, blood spilling and pooling with every step he takes. His deformity causes him to consistently bleed, which has simultaneously driven him mad. The blood loss doesn't effect him however since the nanites are constantly working, replenishing those cells.
"Yeah, 'too close' would be the understatement of a lifetime," shudders Shantrice. Although she was warned to steer clear of him, she can't seem to move away. From the waist up she's shivering like a shaved gerbil in a freezer, but her legs are like icebergs. She's not cold in the slightest though, just gorgonized and unnerved by his appearance.
"Good! I need you to hold tight to that feeling!" Langston roars. "I need you to feel besieged, helpless and distressed like the threads of your sanity are unraveling at this very moment!"
"No!" Shantrice protests, finally willing herself to run away. "I don't know what your endgame is, but I'm not going to be a pawn in your agenda!"
"Agenda? I have no agenda, you meddlesome runt!" Langston sneers. "And if I did, it wouldn't be as explicit as you're most likely assuming. My only aim is for this unsavory city and the soulless capitalists within to feel what I feel, even if I have to die to make it happen!"
Since Shantrice's retreat was expected, he doesn't give chase and instead pivots towards a giant computer in the back of the lab.
"So what? You want everybody to fear you? 'Cause if that's the case, I'd say you already accomplished it!"
"I have yet to accomplish total and unadulterated fear, child, but what I have wrought thus far upon this city is only incipient!"
"How much further are you planning to go!?" Shantrice yells, finally out of his sight and range. She reaches into her trenchcoat's left pocket, pulling out two red metal wristbands. I knew I'd need you today, she thinks to herself upon putting them on.
"As far as I need to!" he retaliates in fervor. "I want this day to be preserved, permanently scorched into the consciousness of all. When I'm done, all tragedies before it will transform into afterthoughts and eventually fade into obscurity!"
"Your hubris is going to be your undoing, sir!" Shantrice saunters back into the lab. Still full of uncertainty and trepidation, but trying to affect an appearance of confidence.
Due to Langston's obsession with inducing fear, she's gathered that he feeds off of it and drags situations out to revel in the moment. This is an irregularity in his thinking which she can exploit.
"You speak of hubris like you aren't guilty of the same!" Langston rages, furiously typing something into the lab's supercomputer. "I've followed your exploits, Pelican, from Aves Bay to here. You often get in over your head from a lack of planning. Too confident in your intelligence to see the forest for the trees. A mustard seed of common sense can go a long way."
"Okay! I can admit that I've been too sure of myself at times, but no matter what, I always come out on top! So allow me to reiterate to you, sir: your hubris will be your downfall!"
"Ha! My downfall already happened, young lady. This frightening visage which you've laid eyes on is the result of having too much pride," he affirms as he finishes typing, slamming his index finger into the Enter button. Whatever he just did, he's very pleased with. "The result of being overconfident that things will work out. Foolish miscalculations brought about by childish naivety corroding an otherwise brilliant mind."
"And what makes you so sure everything will work out this time?"
"To be honest, I am not sure, but I have faith," Langston says as he faces Shantrice with a marked manner of diffidence, feigning misgivings about the situation at hand. His hope is that she will lower her guard. "Having faith is far better than keeping confidence in a stranglehold. We don't know what tomorrow or even two minutes from now will bring, but we can prepare based on that faith alone."
"Ummm, nice try at the reverse psychology bit, but I ain't the one, bruh," Shantrice scoffs in disgust. She can't believe he even tried that.
"Haha! Well, in that case, let me just be forthright about this: I have a contingency set up in the event you manage to defeat me. Which, given the circumstances, I doubt you will do."
"We'll see about that!" Shantrice clenches her fists, activating the wristbands she put on earlier. In the blink of an eye, a multitude of nanites emerge and cover her hands, forming a pair of crimson gauntlets embellished with glowing circuital patterns. "I was told not to engage you in combat, and I won't, but I'm finding it hard not to punch you in your fuckin' shit!"
"Why not go against the grain then? If you really believe you can defeat me, throw caution to the wind and face your fears!" he rails, goading her into attacking him.
"Don't push me!"
"You make this too easy!" he lets loose a thunderous laugh as he takes a step forward. "Aren't you worried about everyone you know.........SHANTRICE!?"
Shantrice nearly jumps out of her skin. Her and Langston have never been formerly introduced, yet he somehow figured out her identity.
"H- h- how do you know that name!?"
"Like I said, you make this too easy," he gestures towards the gauntlets on her hands. "Those gloves you're wearing are made of nanites, are they not?"
"Yeah, they are.........what are you getting at exactly?"
"As I'm sure you know, I have nanites as well-and very advanced ones at that-running throughout my body at a celerity rivaling the speed of light," he takes a few more steps forward, tracking through his coagulated blood. "They can communicate with any form of technology, like what you have on your hands, and download information. The nanites comprising your gloves are matched to your DNA and keep that data in a cache. All it took was you stepping back into this room and I learned all I needed to know."
Shantrice realizes how much she was unprepared for apprehending a foe like Langston as a blanket of regret envelops her mind. Yet, she's deciding to stay the course. She's in too deep to run away now.
<<<TO BE CONTINUED>>>
🤖🤖🤖
Opmerkingen