.|. COHERENT COMICS PRESENTS ----X----------------------------------------------------------------------- '|` =====, ======== ====. ===. ======= ======= // // // )) //|| // // ===== // //===< // || //=== //=== // // // \\ //==|| // // `===== o // o // // o // || o // o ======= o Superhuman Tactical Resources and Affiliated-Field Experts original concept by Dave Van Domelen development by Marc Singer and Terrone Carpenter Issue #5 - "DEEP ARMAGEDDON: Falling Stars" by Marc Singer and Tony Pi Copyright 1998; a Legacy House production ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Cover shows eight STRAFE and EUROPA heroes lined up on the left side, seven Conclave of Super-Villains criminals lined up on the right, against a watery green background. Below them, a futuristic city beckons.] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- RECAP What's Happened Since Last Issue in the DEEP ARMAGEDDON crossover Several months have passed since the events of STRAFE #4, during which STRAFE assisted in the damage-control efforts following the breach in the Barrier in July [ASH #7]. Any significant events in the life of the STRAFE team members will be revealed in later issues of STRAFE or other titles, for now we jump into the DEEP ARMAGEDDON plotline. In Conclave of Super-Villains #3, the Conclave set a trap for ASH member Peregryn and STRAFE agents Jen Kleinvogel and C.J. Brown, who were all apparently killed in an explosion atop Mount Placid, but in reality were set loose by one of the Conclave members to help advance her own agenda. The rest of the Conclave decided to pretend they had the heroes captive anyway. Thus, most of the world thinks they're captives, most of the CSV thinks they're dead. In Time Capsules #1, the future archeologists watched a copy of the "ransom tape" sent by the CSV (the same one which was on TV at the end of ASH #12), which outlined their powers and dropped clues as to their intentions. Finally, in CSV #4, ASH and STRAFE worked together to decipher a clue left on Mount Placid, while also anticipating the possible true goal of the Conclave...Haven, former domain of the original Conclave of Supervillains in the 1990s, an artificial island in the Mediterranean which sunk beneath the waves in the wake of the events of July 6, 1998. Meanwhile, Peregryn and the STRAFE agents traveled to Manhattan to find the Ankh Killer and walked in on a plot against Warden's life. On December 30 and 31, during the main action of Warden #8, the events of ASH #13 take place, with the members of the Academy of Super-Heroes chasing around the world to defuse bombs hidden in major casinos. During Warden #8, the "captured" STRAFE agents and Peregryn stopped a plot on Warden's life and helped upset the balance of power among the leaders of the Conclave of Super-Villains. And now, on with our story.... ============================================================================= [December 31, 2023. EUN ship _Francois Mitterand_, somewhere in the Mediterranean. LOCATION CLASSIFIED PER DIRECTIVE OF THE EURASIAN UNION.] Despite the best naval technology that 2023...soon 2024...had to offer, the _Francois Mitterand_ rocked wildly in the barrage of waves and winds generated by "Hurricane Newt." The hurricane had sprung out of clear skies as the _Mitterand_ raced to the location of Haven, the undersea city that had been home to many of the late 20th century's paranormal villains; it was surely no coincidence that satellite photos showed Skyhaven, the floating headquarters of the 21st century's Conclave of Super-Villains, hovering in the hurricane's eye. In a conference room deep in the hull of the ship, Dan "Grind" Tracey stood firmly behind a podium as if the ship weren't rocking at all. He faced two of his fellow agents, Tony Drake and Jason Teller, plus Dr. Ellen Cortes, who had come along with a few of her Tesla Branch technicians and some diving equipment. But they were the only members of STRAFE, the North American Combine's super-espionage agency, present on the Eurasian ship. Everyone else was attached to EUROPA, the Eurasian Union Ruling Order Paranormal Authority. Their field leader, the Russian illusionist Rasputin, stood at the podium beside Dan, though every few seconds he had to grasp it to keep from stumbling. Both teams had just finished watching the CSV's ransom video and the rebus puzzle the villains had sent to STRAFE. The video screen slid up into the wall and Rasputin addressed the assembly. "The mastermind behind these games seeks to match wits with you." His voice had none of the malice or paranoia present during the teams' last meeting in Singapore. The thought of the CSV looting Haven had scared everyone into cooperation. "While he respects your intelligence by providing you with authentic clues, I suspect Rebus is also anxious to prove he can out-think you in this chess game." "Actually," Dan interjected, "I'm not certain it's a chess game. The way Triton's video foregrounded everyone's appearances, and their powers...I suspect they're playing an old children's game called Stratego." "I know the game," Rasputin said, a little too quick to demonstrate his competence. "A layer of illusion is placed on the gamepieces, with their true strengths hidden. Rebus perhaps hopes to catch us off-guard by switching their armors? Having them impersonate each other? The question is...do we play his game?" "And has he expected us to catch on to his first layer of deception," Dan added, "and accordingly prepared for us with a deeper con game? Do we anticipate that he knows that we know? A classic dilemma of second-guessing that we'd do well to avoid." But despite the gravity of the situation, a part of Dan was thrilled to be matching wits with such a worthy adversary. It was a part he immediately supressed. "So...we aren't playing his game?" said Teller, cleaning his guns in the front row. Dan smiled. "We play it one better. But we let them think we're playing the shallowest game, the zero-game, where we react to them as they represent themselves." Rasputin looked skeptical. "The man who wrote this puzzle, this Rebus...he is not that naive. He won't think we're that stupid." "No," Dan said, "but his underlings might. Radner will be secretly *hoping* we're that stupid." Triton had been playing these games with Dan since they were both students at the Academy. "So we pretend to react to whatever armor we see. But, in reality, we're playing the same game... impersonating each other...and ferreting out their true identities." Dan coughed slightly. "Unfortunately, STRAFE is awfully shorthanded with the... apparent loss of Jennifer and C.J. We'll be counting on EUROPA to run the deception." Rasputin nodded curtly and surveyed his team: the Frenchwoman Arc, the Swedish Ymir, and the Dioscuri, the psychic twins Castor and Pollux. "I can generate illusions around us, much more versatile than merely swapping armor. The Dioscuri will telepathically scan and identify the enemy, divulging their true gamepieces." "Let's not focus too much on the game," a voice with a thick Australian accent cut in. The speaker stepped forward from the back of the room, where he'd been smoking one of his Silk Cut cigarrettes. Bill Cook, the United World government spook, didn't care about any of the CSV. "Just make sure that you take whatever weapons they salvage, and bring 'em back to us for safe keeping." "And for the UW to study?" Teller grumbled. "Haven's a valuable resource to the entire world. Who better to safeguard it?" "You want the short list, or the one that goes all the way down to single-celled organisms?" A laptop beemed in alarm; Ellen Cortes flipped it open. "Bad news," the scientist said. "Our weather satellite just passed over the eye and got a visual. There's been a sudden heat spike underwater. The CSV has already breached Haven." * * * * [CSV headquarters, airship Skyhaven. LOCATION CLASSIFIED.] "Um...help?" said Conflicto in a small voice as he realized what had just popped into the storage bay. "LABBY! You know, I don't mean to nag, but...well, in the first place, I thought you stashed *that* in the Wailing Wall. In the second place...well, if *that* is *here* I would like to *be* in a second place, please. Thank you." Labyrinthe delivered the last of the mines to Las Vegas, and slowly awakened from his trance. He glanced at the thing Conflicto was pointing to. "The Cyprus bomb. And it will go off an hour earlier, too, thanks to the time zone difference." He stood up with some difficulty. "Tabernac! I am needing more rest, and food. It will have to wait." "Wait? Wait? HEL-LO! If that thing goes off...." "I can do a little about it." Labyrinthe looked at it. "A tesseract should contain its effects until I purge it safely. Like what I did with the mines in Las Vegas." "What does that mean?" "It means don't let Rebus get too close to the refrigerator until I deal with it," said Labyrinthe. A sandwich appeared in his hands; the bomb vanished. It took Conflicto a few moments to process what Labyrinthe did with the bomb. He slowly backed out of the kitchen. "Oh. OH. The ultimate diet tool. Wish my powers were that powerful!" "Your powers are not weak," said Labyrinthe, leading Conflicto to the bridge. "It's all about imagination. For example, your powers probably could be extended to viscosity control." "You mean like liquids? Hey, I never thought of that. Subzero!" On the bridge, they found Sultry, holding the infant child of their teammate Lana Smith, a.k.a. Burnout. Sultry monitored the global news networks' broadcasts on her greatest creation yet and beamed with pride: *her* child, her personal hurricane in the midst of the Mediterranean. She gestured to the weather maps on-screen. "Like what you see?" "Boy, DO I," answered Conflicto. "Hey, are you gonna do any nursing?" "Don't think with your hormones, Flic," she said to Conflicto. "You see, a weather pattern is exactly that: a pattern to be admired and remembered. I do not simply make weather. I create art, much like a seasoned arsonist seeks the perfect conflagration. They will not soon forget my masterpiece." "The French press call it 'L'Ouragan Triton', just as *he* expected," said Labyrinthe, listening to the Eurasian news broadcasts available simultaneously in French and English. "Of course, he did not know it translates as 'Hurricane Newt'. English...it is such a language without romance." "NEWT? Like a lizard thing?" asked Conflicto with a grin. "Go on," said Sultry in disbelief. She checked on BBC to confirm what Labyrinthe said. "My word. What a foul name for my rose." Triton's voice crackled over the radio. "Labyrinthe, Conflicto, report below. Time to loot the find of the century!" "Oooh!" said Conflicto, bouncing up and down. "Let me be the first to tell him, PLEEZE PLEEZE PLEEZE?" * * * * Rain poured against the small round porthole; they were up on deck now, and the boat was pitching even more wildly. Ellen Cortes and the Tesla technicians were adjusting everyone's form-fitting blue diving suits, preparing them for the descent, lecturing them on how the multiple layers of microfabric could instantly alter buoyancy, adjust for pressure, and counter the bends. Jason Teller barely paid attention; he was busily disassembling and reassembling his CO2 guns, learning the intricacies of weapons designed for underwater combat. There were only two other people he paid notice to. "So, Arc," he said, "looks like you got assigned to the right squad." "Why, is your friend a scintillating conversationalist?" She jerked a thumb at Tony Drake, who stared morosely out the porthole. "Hey, give him a break. Our teammates are still missing. Maybe prisoners, maybe dead...." Arc smiled softly behind her helmet's faceplate. "I might have known the STRAFErs would be useless without their women." "Good thing we got you to fill in, then." He raised an eyebrow. "You couldn't handle me, Teller. I'm much funnier, for one thing." "Yeah, well...looks aren't everything." He realized what he'd said, and chuckled weakly. Arc shrugged and walked away. Teller returned to his weapons, mumbling, "'Looks aren't everything'? What the hell kind of second- grade girls-are-icky crap was I thinking...?" At the other end of the bulkhead, Dr. Cortes snapped Dan's helmet into place. Dan noted, "You're making a habit of this, doctor. Outfitting me personally." She focused intently on his suit's clasps and seals, not meeting his eyes. "Everyone needs help sometimes, Mr. Tracey." "Jennifer and C.J. need help right now. We're doing just fine." He looked over to Rasputin. "Are we clear on everything?" "Mostly," said the Russian, "but who am I disguising you as?" "Just in case Rebus figures out *our* game, I want to save one little surprise for him." He and Rasputin both smiled. Then the technicians cleared out and the hatch opened, spraying the eight paranormal agents in rain and seawater. They each grabbed a conical, handheld underwater sled and ran out onto the slick deck. A sudden heave of the ship helped them along; they all jumped over the railing and into the dark green waters. * * * * Even under the surface, the waters were not calm. The STRAFE and EUROPA agents used their sleds to buck the currents and press downwards, closing in on the CSV divers and the alleged location of Haven. At first they used the lamps at the front of the sleds and the rings of lights around their faceplates to provide illumination; when they spotted lights below, they cut off their own lights and fanned out in a wide circle, waiting for the CSV to ascend to them. They heard the motor first...noise carried very clearly through the water, even against the dull background moans of the storm above. Then they felt the bubbles rising past them. Then they saw the large shadow rising beneath them, and the outlines of some huge marine creature: a giant crab, as large as a small truck. A few of the agents wondered if they were about to battle some undersea leviathan, until the shape was finally illuminated by its own lights: the crab was mechanical, a motorized rig rising from the sea beneath them, loaded down with weapons and equipment scavenged from Haven's vaults. The most dangerous inventions of the greatest crackpots and conquerors of the last century. Dan thought he could make out a suit of armor sitting on top of the pyramid of treasure: the armor belonging to the original Strafe. That, he thought, just *has* to be Radner's touch. Rasputin whispered "Go" into his communicator, the signal for the Dioscuri to begin scanning the enemy. But suddenly more lights activated around the edge of the crab, aimed straight upwards. The agents were caught and blinded by the beams, in the split-second before their faceplates polarized and screened out the excess light. As their vision cleared, six men and women in the black and gold armor of the CSV swam out from under the crab. For an instant, Rasputin's illusions flickered and the agents resumed their true appearances. "I lost it for a second there!" Rasputin shouted. "An anchor." For one instant, Dan's finely-honed mind had come grinding to a halt. "They have an anchor." Three of the CSVers broke off from the fight and dove back down, presumably to loot more from Haven. Their armors marked them as Sultry, Rebus, and Conflicto, but that was highly doubtful; Sultry's weather powers made her much more useful above the surface, and Rebus probably wouldn't abandon his team so easily. Dan nodded, and Teller's squad broke off to pursue them. Then the rest of the Conclave attacked. Rebus, ensconced in Labyrinthe's armor, stroked through the water towards the duo pretending to be Ymir and Jason Teller...the latter even had Teller's trademark arrow-and-bullseye icon stencilled on his diving suit. Rebus supposed Rasputin was nothing if not thorough. "Teller" fired a harpoon; Rebus barely had to swerve to avoid the unsteady shot. He clamped a hand around the spy's neck and unleashed his anchor effect, neutralizing the agent's paranormal ability. He and "Ymir" both flailed in panic, shooting sprays of bubbles to the surface. That was because they were really Castor and Pollux, according to Triton's sensors, and had just lost the psychic link that had probably bonded them since birth. Castor swam over to aid his brother, which was a fatal mistake; he got caught in Rebus's anchor effect too. Rebus jerked the faceplates off both of them and left them to drown, relishing the sound of their final breaths gurgling through the water. Then another harpoon lanced into him, skewering his thigh. He spun around and saw an agent wearing Dan Tracey's gearwheel symbol on his chest. Rebus smiled. This one, he didn't even need Triton's sensor report for. Tracey was playing the game of substitution, but Rebus knew he was playing, so the only way to outplay him would be not to play at all.... Rebus drew his knife and swam towards Dan Tracey. Triton's voice cut in over the CSV radio channel. "Grind is *mine*," he hissed. "I have to beat him!" Rebus giggled. "Oculus MK sick sing minus ess, the shrimp bisque are grown boy...." Triton actually paused to figure it out, giving Rebus the time he needed to tackle Tracey first. While Tracey fought to keep Rebus's knife away from his air-hose, Triton smacked himself in the forehead and said it out loud: "Eye-m k-ill-ing the soup-r-man." * * * * Even with their sleds, Teller, Tony, and Arc couldn't keep pace with the three diving Conclave villains. The water became incredibly thick, almost viscous, slowing their descent; by contrast the CSVers squirted through the waters like seeds shot out of a grape. Well, Teller thought, like seeds out of *three* grapes...he was no good at this metaphor stuff. Really, he'd been off his game ever since Arc started sparring with him.... "Conflicto must be doing this," Tony radioed. "He's probably one of the people we're chasing...and not the one in Conflicto armor, I guess." "'Conflicto.'" Arc chuckled. "What is it with Americans and garish names?" "Well, we can't all have those erudite EUROPA names," Teller drawled. "I mean, *we'd* name *our* paranormals after the towns our national heroes came from, Arc, only 'Yorba Linda' just doesn't roll off the tongue." They descended in silence for a moment. "You do realize," Arc said, "there is no possible way I could get that joke." "It *was* pretty clever," Tony offered. Teller was about to fire back a response when...thankfully...the sonar screens on everyone's sleds started pinging like crazy. They were about to come across something big. It rose slowly, revealing bits and pieces of itself in their spotlights. A cylindrical tower, ringed with circular flanges. The huge curve of a dome beneath it. The boxlike body of a robot sentry, long dead, tethered to its post. A turret supporting the famed fusion cannon with which Doctor Apostate had tried to blackmail humanity in the final days of the Godmarket. All now covered in barnacles and zebra mussels. Haven. There was a neat rectangular border in some of the sea life...obviously cut by Triton's power trident...surrounding an airlock door. Someone, most likely Triton or Rebus, had already disabled the security programs for them. Tony tried to pull the circular handle, but it wouldn't budge. "Conflicto again," he said. "The friction is impossible." "Let me try." Arc swam in a tight circle, building up kinetic energy. She then grabbed the handle and released that energy as a burst of super- strength. The handle spun madly and the door flew open. The agents clamped their sleds to the outer wall with magnets and swam inside. They stood inside an airlock painted with the official Haven logo: a futuristic skyline, bristling with advanced armaments, perched upon or possibly ruling the globe. It was a little baroque. As the water drained out of the resealed compartment, Teller said, "We're facing Conflicto and maybe Triton, Burnout, Labyrinthe, or Peryton, just by process of elimination. They'll know who we are." They had long since dived out of range of Rasputin's illusions. Teller slung his CO2 guns over his shoulder and drew his standard pistols. "Be ready for anything." The door in front of them hissed open and they sidled through it, scanning the area for enemies. None of them finished their checks; they were all astonished by what they saw. The CSV had activated auxiliary lighting...or it had never been shut off...giving the base the impression of a small city at night. The airlock led onto a catwalk about halfway up the inside curve of the dome, affording an amazing view. The flanged central tower continued down inside the dome, but it was no longer coated in barnacles. Instead, red and yellow lights winked on and off along its rings, while small panes of light showed rooms or apartments within. Radiating out from the tower, aligned in a rational circular plan, other buildings arose, culminating in sliding walkways, Art Deco ziggurats, or metal spheres clearly meant to crackle with energy. A few maintenance robots, dumbly executing twenty-five-year-old orders, hovered from tower to tower. Despite the relatively small size of Haven, it did a good job of conveying the impression of size and power. "Wow," Tony said, "so even villains can dream." "Especially THESE villains!" Space unfolded, disgorging three CSVers, who immediately attacked. * * * * At the sight of the Dioscuri drowning, Ymir immediately swam towards them. There might be enough time to save them before they drowned. But before he reached their side, strong arms grabbed him from behind, pinning his own arms. He could see the twins dying right in front of him, but he could not help at all. Unless.... Ymir projected his waves of cold directly beneath him, trying to reach as wide an area as possible. The sea water froze under him and his assailant, as well as beneath Castor, but he couldn't grab Pollux with the range of his powers. The iceberg dragged the three of them towards the surface; Ymir increased its volume, increasing its displacement and buoyancy, pushing them up faster. Then the iceberg broke the surface. It was no drier there, as rain blasted into them and waves crashed over the ice, but at least Castor could breathe again. He was still flailing and screaming, though, from the bends perhaps, or from feeling his brother drowning. A wave knocked Ymir onto his stomach and he tried sliding down the ice, back into the water to save Pollux. A heavy fist to his face stopped him cold. Ymir looked up through the cracked faceplate and saw his opponent flex his chest, shattering out of the upper part of his Triton suit, growing into his monstrous form as Peryton. Peryton beat his wings and launched into the stormy sky. Fierce winds kept him hovering low over the sea. He looked up towards the night sky, and activated his radio. "Croft! Skyhaven's too high. Come down closer!" "Get over it, you acrophobe," muttered Sultry over the bandwidth. "What am I, a babysitter?" She looked over at the crib next to her and sighed. "Forgot that. Just this one last time, Viktor. Skyhaven descending." Peryton dove back toward the iceberg. Ymir had regained his feet and was aiming his arms skywards. A burst of cold rolled through the air, turning raindrops to snowflakes as it passed. It slammed into Peryton and coated him in ice. He simply flexed again, cracking the ice into tiny shards. The cold hadn't even bothered him through his fur. Lowering his antlers, Peryton swooped down for the kill. * * * * Derek Radner slipped on his weapons gauntlets and funneled his bio-energy through them, activating his trademark power trident. He didn't care if it spoiled his Peryton disguise; he wanted Grind to know that Triton had killed him. He scythed his trident through the water a few times, then closed in on the weapons rig before Rebus could deprive him of his prize. He was intercepted by Jason Teller and Tony Drake, pointing harpoon-guns at him. Triton blinked, but his armor's sensors informed him that the two agents didn't show up on sonar. Irritated, he scanned for other sonar profiles and found one hiding in seemingly empty seawater; the diving suit and description matched that of Arc. Triton's armor cut through both deceptions. "Rasputin, Rasputin, Rasputin." Triton energized two tiny impellors on his back and slid towards the Russian. "You know, names are important in this game. Me? I'm a demigod. You...." He slashed out with his power trident; the lanky illusionist didn't quite dodge in time and took a heavy burn along his forearm. "You named yourself after a guy who was shot, stabbed, poisoned, and drowned. Which is it going to be today?" He spun around Rasputin in tight circles, lashing out wherever the Russian's guard was down, leaving wide gashes and burns. "Me, I'm betting I can cover two out of four." He shoved his trident through Rasputin's abdomen; the scream was music to Triton's ears. Rasputin went limp and began slowly floating to the surface. Triton ignored the little fish, and closed in on his catch of the day. Dan Tracey and Rebus had been struggling directly over the absurd crab-shaped weapons rig, until it rose up under them. Now they wrestled atop the unsteady cache of stolen weapons. A red laser cannon once used by the Light Brigade fell from under Dan's foot and he stumbled, but capitalized on it; he dropped to that knee and pulled Rebus over him, batting the knife out of Rebus's hand. It slowly spun down into the pile of much more advanced but less immediately useful killing tools. Dan and Rebus arose and the battle began anew. Fighting underwater was rather strange, as they both seemed to be moving in slow motion. Dan had trained for underwater combat, of course -- he'd trained for everything -- but he was having a hard time remembering how to do it now. Rebus's anchor effect was on, and it was countering Dan's paranormally-focused mind. He tried to ignore that. He told himself he was no slower without his powers, no stupider; he was nothing a normal human could not become. There was something very democratic and American about believing that the magene did not make him any more special. Down here, under the Mediterranean, that belief wasn't holding up. Dan made a fine grab for Rebus's throat but left his guard open -- Rebus let himself be grabbed, spun backwards into Dan, and elbowed him in his solar plexus. Then Rebus reached down, ripped the harpoon out of his own leg, and tried to skewer Dan with it. Dan forced himself to ignore the haze in his mind, the film that made everything run in slow-motion, and he kicked Rebus away. But he fell back down the cache; the anchoring was getting worse. Dan rolled into one of the Copy Editor's cloning pods, stopped, and rubbed his head. Rebus pounced on him. Through two tiny speakers mounted on the outside of his armor, Rebus hissed, "Priest minus ST pear 2 diet minus tea, G plus rind...." Dan knew he should have gotten that. He focused on fighting off those grasping arms, prying off the one hand that had clamped around his throat, holding off the other one poised above his face with the bloody harpoon. But he should have gotten that. "G plus rind"... was that him? What was he saying? Rebus giggled and shoved the harpoon down closer. He should have gotten that.... * * * * Arc was the first to react, charging the three Conclavers. She drew back her fist and prepared to hit the man (woman?) in Rebus's armor, but something went wrong: Arc couldn't stop herself. She sailed past the false Rebus and skidded down the catwalk, her friction completely removed by the true Conflicto. She slid off the edge, barely grabbing the railing in time. Teller raised his guns and fired two-handed. He'd loaded up with explosive armor-piercing shells, so he was doubly worried when the bullets disappeared in mid-air. Tony immediately saw what was happening. He screamed, "It's Labyrinthe!" and shoved Teller to the floor. All the bullets slammed into Tony, shredding his diving suit. The explosions didn't harm his invulnerable skin, but they hurt like hell. Crouching under Tony, Teller tried firing again...some indirect bank shots this time...but found his finger kept slipping off the trigger. "Keep those two busy," said the false Rebus. He had a thick Quebecois accent that even the armor's filters couldn't mask; definitely the mage Labyrinthe. "I see a damsel in distress." He warped space around himself and was suddenly standing down by Arc. He extended a hand to her, but instead of pulling her up, he teleported her back onto the catwalk. Then he said something in French. Arc responded in kind and tried to punch him, but the distance between them suddenly grew by twenty meters. Labyrinthe gave a charming laugh and kept chatting with her. Teller saw his chance. Labyrinthe was distracted, and Conflicto wouldn't be dressed as Conflicto...he fired at the Sultry armor, hitting the small bolts that fastened it. The armor fell off in pieces, revealing a very surprised Conflicto. Teller aimed again... ...and had a sudden compulsion to shoot himself instead. "Damn, a telepath!" Teller tried to remember all the counterpsionic training he'd undergone in the past few months, fought to keep his arms level. "Which one is a telepath?" "None of them," Tony said hollowly, "that we knew of." He batted the guns out of his old friend's hands, then ran towards the fake Conflicto. "Let's find out." Tony drew a taser which was designed to jolt clear through armor. He swung...and passed right through the CSVer. "Oh crap," he said, "it's Burnout." Lana Smith was an Academy dropout who'd apparently had a very nasty change of heart. They'd all been classmates, although Lana was a few years Tony's junior. That didn't deter him much, though; he just couldn't figure out how to hit her. "You're afraid, aren't you, Drake?" Burnout's voice was hard-edged, mocking. "Afraid you'll keep screwing up. Well what will you do now?" Tony couldn't banter like Teller or Arc, who was still yelling at Labyrinthe in heated French. He simply dove forward, passed through the intangible villain -- and tackled Conflicto. He delivered two quick shocks to the malicious teenager's chest. Conflicto fell into a spasming heap on the floor. Burnout shook her head. "Not nice, Tony." She turned to face Labyrinthe. "Say, I've got an idea. Is that Cyprus bomb still ticking?" He shrugged. "Almost time." "I've just thought of the perfect place for it. May I?" Labyrinthe, busy running Arc through a maze by multiplying the lacquered Deco walls around her, didn't seem to pay much attention to the request. He waved and an apple-sized device appeared in the palm of Burnout's hand. Tony thought it might have been one of the neutron bombs the CSV was using to distract the Academy of Super-Heroes, only shrunk to handheld size. Burnout smiled and said, "Open wide." Tony tried to dodge, but there was really nothing he could do. Burnout lunged forward and phased the bomb and her hand into his stomach. Then she pulled out her hand. Empty. "You know," she said, "we really should leave, just in case. I'm off to the lab." Burnout waved a jaunty farewell and dropped through the floor. Labryinthe blurted, "Mon Dieu!" He and Conflicto disappeared. Teller and Arc, released from their torments, looked up in a daze. Tony was clutching his stomach. His face was contorted into a bright red mask of agony. He looked at Teller and grunted, "I'm sorry." Even if he could somehow contain the explosion, the radiation might still kill them all. Then Tony noticed the thick dome, fortified against all kinds of attacks. He shuffled back toward the airlock door. Teller grabbed one of Tony's arms and tried to pull the larger man back. "Tony, you can't," he said. "Your diving suit's ruined!" "In a few seconds," Tony grunted, "that won't matter." Tony stepped inside the airlock, but Teller wouldn't let go. "Come on, man! There has to be another way!" Arc grabbed Teller from behind. "There's no time! Teller, we have to finish the mission!" She pulled him off of his teammate. Tony forced a weak, fleeting smile through the pain. "Goodbye, Jay." He pressed a button, and the shielded airlock door slid shut. Teller tried to fling himself at the door, but Arc grabbed him tightly around his chest. "Let him go," she whispered. The monitors showed the airlock filling with water. "Let him go." "TONY!" Tony Drake couldn't hear any of the shouts inside the airlock. He watched the outer door, hoping it would open in time. The water rose above his head, and he gulped his last breath. The door should open any second now.... The timer mounted on the wall chimed the hour. It was eleven o'clock in utopia. And then the bomb exploded. TO BE CONTINUED IN CONCLAVE OF SUPER-VILLAINS #5...! ============================================================================= Editor's Notes: Well, it's been a while, but we finally pulled things together for the climax of the DEEP ARMAGEDDON crossover. CSV #5 is already partially written, and the constraints on Tony's (Pi, not Drake, who may have trouble ever writing again) are largely lifted for now, so it may even make it in time for RACCie nominations. For reasons which should be obvious, we'd like to get it out before the end of the year...wish us luck! And wish Drake luck too. He'll need it. Ow.