It was a dark and stormy afternoon, a late snow lashing the streets of Fort Riley Army base. An hour before, record high temperatures had been baking the Kansas prairie, drying out the torrential rains of the morning. In other words, local meteorologists had all taken to drinking recently. The Darklands were expanding, a slow creep that began shortly after the Exarchs had entered Topeka for the last time. The swirling, rainless clouds that hung over the Darklands interfered with local weather patterns in an almost malicious way, making the already chaotic late winter weather of the Heartland particularly heartless this year. Within thirty miles of Topeka, the unpredictable weather had made things too inhospitable for most people to bear. A weather-lashed skeleton force remained at the Paxico base, but most had been pulled back to Fort Riley to the west and the outskirts of Kansas City to the east. Emporia to the south was being evacuated, and most of the smaller towns in the area had already emptied out months ago once travel along I-70 and US-24 had become impossible. It was no longer merely a local problem. The national news, even the world press, were giving significant coverage to the Kansas Incident. Official government warnings had been issued, telling superguys to stay well away from the area, thanks to the Darklord's demonstrated ability to seize control of any who entered his demesne. The few superguys who could safely enter had not been heard from in days, days during which the situation had rapidly worsened. In Fort Riley, a desperate last-ditch assault was being planned by an old man, a mystic lawyer, an extremely hard-boiled detective, a maybe-reformed-maybe-not assassin, an archaeologist..and a squirrel. Even Vegas wasn't giving odds on this one. @>-`-,-`-,-`-,`-,-`-,-`-,-`- \\ // -'-.-'-.'-.-'-.-'-.-'-.-'-<@ .|,Coherent Comics Presents \\ // #23 - Decim Mille Glans --X------------------------- E }X{ ARCHS copyright 2003 by the '|` A Superguy/LNH Tale // \\ Dvandroid (Dave Van Domelen) @>-`-,-`-,-`-,`-,-`-,-`-,-`- // \\ -'-.-'-.'-.-'-.-'-.-'-.-'-<@ "We are pretty much on our own," Jack sighed as he looked at the others seated around the conference room table. "None of the other superguy teams is even remotely in continuity with us, and trying to recruit inactives would just give the bad guys more fodder for mind control. Of course, that assumes we can even get in ourselves without being turned into slaves like Mairi was," he spared a glance at Ben Sidhe, a faint echo of guilt crossing his face. "I believe I have the solution to that," the Mage Municipal opened his briefcase and pulled out a faintly glowing piece of paper, folded over the long way. "Silverman's Sublime Subpeona. So long as we are duly appointed process servers...something that can be trivially arranged at the Junction City Courthouse...we will be immune to direct mystic interference. There will still be minions to fight, but the master of the Dark Spire will be unable to simply take control of our souls or blast us into finely divided dust, or...well, I'll leave further description to the Shaman Shamus." "Er, that will be alright," Jack raised a quelling hand in the direction of Hans Kartoffelkopf. "I presume we will be serving a subpoena for the crime of trying to take over the world?" The Mage Municipal shook his head. "You need an arrest warrant for that. Besides, each of us needs to carry a different subpoena for protection, so I've taken the liberty of having hearings opened into the numerous zoning violations involved in the creation of the Dark Spire and associated Darklands. Not to mention the issue of building a supervillain fortress without the proper permits." Jack's father, who was insisting everyone call him Uncle, broke in. "You can get a permit to build a supervillain fortress? Ay-YAH!" "Actually, you can't," the Mage Municipal smirked. "It's like tax stamps for marijuana or machine guns. Or like the line on the income tax forms that asks about illegal income. Just another way to make sure the villains can be nailed on some sort of charge, even if they weasel out of the big ones. Specifically based on the case of Flatphoot versus Flatbush, in which the villain argued that because supervillainy was a commercial enterprise, and because the land he built on was zoned commercial, it was permissible to use the land for his purposes. Communities around the nation started passing permit laws for supervillain bases after that, to close the loophole." "And then what?" Mairi asked. "I mean, once we serve the subpeona, what's to keep him from enslaving m...us?" she asked, a slight quaver in her voice. "The Sublime Subpoena itself has a number of binding clauses which should protect us, but just in case he's able to overcome the accumulated weight of civil case law, I brought along this," the Mage Municipal laid another briefcase on the table. "What's in it?" Louie asked, scampering over to it. "Whoog, stinks like unwashed yurt!" "It's a Pocket Bureaucracy. Picked it up during the liquidation sale Hell had when it dis-Incorporated. It should keep the Darklord busy while we rescue the Exarchs." The Mage Municipal carefully put the reeking briefcase away. "Why don't we just go rescue the others first, then confront the bad guys?" Jack asked. There was an embarrassed silence. "Tell him, Jacob," Hans muttered from behind a cigarette. The Mage Municipal shrugged. "Silverman's Sublime Subpoena only protects us if we stay on course to serving it. If we divert in any significant way, it 'turns off' until we go back on task. That is why we have to go to the Darklord first, then hope we can keep him and his lieutenant busy long enough to do some good." "I'd feel a lot better about this if we had some military backup," Mairi gestured expansively, taking in the nation's largest army base. "Shelling the city from over the horizon or something, at least. Or missiles." General Steve Roget sighed, the first sound he'd made since the start of the meeting. "I wish we could, miss. We tried cruise missiles, but they get redirected in flight and strike our own units. Artillery shells are grabbed in some sort of red, crimson, vermillion or ruddy sphere and detonate harmlessly. We haven't tried ballistic missiles, but doubt they'd be much more use...worse, if redirected during burn phase, they could be dropped on any city, town, village or municipality in the country." "Y'know, General," Hans said as he unscrewed the cap of a metal flask. "If that thing on the ridgeline over there is what I think it is, you might be able to at least get us one hell of a doorknocker." He took a swig and grinned darkly. * * * * The sandstorm was slowly giving way to a light rain of Oobleck as the Hummvee roared through the final set of roadblocks on I-70 at a post that had been abandoned days ago when it was clear the Darklands were about to envelop it. Despite the thin layer of green goo forming on the road, Jack didn't let up on the pedal, keeping the military vehicle at 90 mph. Beside him, Mairi kept an eye out for abominations and other foul creatures, while the four mystics engaged in their various forms of meditation in the back. Uncle chanted an obscure Chinese sutra while beating a small drum. The Mage Municipal was casting auguries on the 2002 Federal Tax Code. Louie had reverted to his true monkey form and was sitting cross-legged. Hans was drinking heavily and loudly wondering why he'd ever agreed to go along on this lunatic mission. Then they crossed over into the Darklands proper, and all the precipitation stopped as if a switch had been thrown. "We're there yet!" Jack shouted over the roar of the engines. "Someone man the guns!" "Right," Hans slurred as he clambered over the others to reach the rear window and unseal it. He swayed in time with the Hummvee as he stood up and grabbed the plastic sheet tied around the pintle-mounted fifty caliber machineguns, fighting briefly with the ties before just ripping off the plastic and hurling it aside. Well, hurling it aside after a brief battle with it as it tried to suffocate him. "Locked and loaded," Hans called down, sounding sober as a monk now. "Ten minutes before the party favors arrive!" For several tense minutes, they encountered no resistance at all, tearing along the interstate straight towards the Dark Spire. Where the Exarchs had swung south in the hopes of avoiding defenses on the main road, the current plan was to drive straight through, trusting to Silverman's Sublime Subpoenas to get them past the worst of it. Of course, it couldn't last. A seething wall of flesh blocked the interstate about a mile from the Dark Spire, stretching across the gap under an overpass. "Shoot it!" Jack shouted. Hans shrugged and opened fire, brass cartidges barely missing his face as the wind whipped them back at him. To no one's surprise, the heavy bullets passed through the wall, creating a spray of blood and meaty gobbets on the other side, but didn't make the wall itself do more than quiver slightly. If there were any permanent wounds, they certainly weren't visible from where Jack was sitting. "Hold on tight!" Jack warned, then swerved off the road, taking them up the side of the overpass that anchored the fleshy barrier. To his credit, he kept them from flipping over as they took the steep hill at over seventy miles an hour. Mutated horrors ran out from behind the wall and tried to block their way, but the Hummvee had too much of a head start on most of them. Unfortunately, there was one between them and open street, and it decided that its best tactic would be to hurl itself under the vehicle and latch onto the rear axle. KACHUNKCHUNKCHUNKCHUNKKLANG! Monster kibble sprayed everywhere, along with a goodly fraction of the rear axle. The left rear wheel flew off into an abandoned fast food restaurant window, and the rest of the vehicle turned sideways and started to skid. The Hummvee slid sideways down the street for several nerve-wracking seconds before striking the curb and flipping over. Its momentum mostly spent by that point, it rolled ponderously, like an elephant rolling over before going to sleep. Hans leapt clear before he could be crushed along with the twin-fifties. "Everyone okay?" Jack asked as he kicked the twisted door panel out of the way and crawled out onto the street. Mairi was doing the same on her side, and Louie had resumed his preferred squirrel form and was already scampering up onto Jack's shoulder by the time the murmurs of assent came from inside the vehicle. "Now get me out of here!" Uncle added. While Jack and Mairi helped Uncle and the Mage Municipal out of the wrecked Hummvee, Hans brushed the grit off his filthy trenchcoat as if the action would have any effect on its overall cleanliness. He looked at his watch, seeing the hands move around like the accusing fingers of bribed witnesses dooming an innocent schmuck to fifty years of hard labor and harder treatment from his cellmate, who insisted on calling him "Shirley." "General Roget's contribution to the party should be here in a minute or so," Hans announced. "With the jeep wrecked, we probably can't get into the Spire in time, so we should probably get under some sorta cover, unless you LIKE taking friendly fire!" Everyone looked up, although they knew they probably wouldn't be able to see anything. Standing on a ridge along the interstate next to Fort Riley had been a decommissioned mobile artillery unit of very special pedigree. It was designed to fire atomic shells, "small" nukes of "only" a few kilotons each. At Hans's suggestion, it had been recommissioned and driven within firing range of Topeka. It was hoped that the blast would overwhelm the Darklord's ability to contain it, weakening him in advance of the actual ancounter. It was also hoped that the blast wouldn't be TOO much more than the Darklord could handle, or they'd all get really good tans. Bone-deep tans. So they started running for cover. They were close enough to the Dark Spire that just about any building might have an underground connection to the structure, so Jack motioned them in the direction of the nearest office building with an underground parking lot. "I am to OLD for this!" Uncle gasped as they ran. "Dad, you're immortal," Jack countered. "SO? I am STILL too old for this!" Suddenly, something with far too many arms slouched out of the parking garage, and everyone skidded to a stop. Creatures were moving in from all directions. Jack looked up. Invisible to the naked eye, the nuclear artillery shell streaked towards the Dark Spire at hundreds of meters per second. Then, barely visible to those on the ground, a small red sphere appeared high in the air, surrounding and encapsulating the artillery shell. There was a wink of light like that given off by a distant camera's flashbulb, followed a few seconds later by a faint cracking sound. Jack continued to stare at where the utterly negated atomic weapon had been for about a second, then looked back down at the monsters now moving to surround them. "I think I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this...." DOES JACK HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS? SHOULD YOU? IS THE CONTINUITY ISSUE ABOUT TO BECOME A MOOT POINT BEFORE ANY CROSSOVERS CAN BE HAD? Answers to these questions, and a lot of explosions annat, in the final chapter of "A Season In Crimson" here on...SUPERGUY! ============================================================================ Author's Notes: Yes, I finally have a name for the uberarc formed by episodes 1-24. Assuming there's a title left after #24, I suppose I should think up a name for the next chunk. Well, sometime before it ends, anyway. The Pocket Bureaucracy is a little idea brought over from the Legion of Net.Heroes, and one featured prominently in the "Bad Forms" crossover. This isn't the same one, but it would have the same effect, sucking all in the vicinity into a pocket universe bureaucracy once opened.