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Metal Fire
#2: Assault on the Pentagon, Part 1
cover: Mussmoth talking to three huge, shadowed figures, one of which is feminine.
Before we begin, allow me to introduce myself. I am THE GREATEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO COMIC BOOKS SINCE IMAGE!!! Seriously, call me ODBastard. I will be writing this title from now on, so I hope you like what I have to offer. Any comments, questions, and/or suggestions can be sent to me at A.Ewing@ix.netcom.com or posted at rec.arts.comics.creative. Happy readin! Oh yeah, thanks to Arsenal for givin' me a chance an puttin' up with my lateness.
Kimberly Roberts sat in her father's workshop, busily adjusting the settings on one of the plasma projectors. During the past few days, since she had decided that she must use the Human-I-Form to stop Brigadier General Mussmoth and his followers in the Air Force from corrupting her father's lifelong work, she had gone through this procedure of routinely checking the battle suit's systems many times in an attempt to forget about it for a while. Still she could not shake the feeling of disapproval from her father. Both of them knew she had to go, but nevertheless neither wanted to come to grips with the reality of it.
"Still working out here?" a voice said from behind.
Jolted back to reality, Kim jumped. "Wha--" Seeing the calm figure of her father in the doorway, she relaxed. "Oh, hi Father."
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You really should get some rest, because you have a great journey before you."
Kimberly, however, seeing through his tone of voice, turned to him. "Father, if you don't want me to go, then I can--"
"No, no, I'm behind you. It's just..." He gripped Kim's shoulders tight."...well, you're my only daughter. My beautiful princess. I don't want to see anything happen to you."
"Oh, Father..." she hugged him. "Nothing will happen to me. I promise."
"If you say so, then I trust you," he said.
"You WHAT!?!"
Brigadier General Mussmoth ranted about the corner office in the Pentagon, upon receiving word that Kimberly Roberts, the Human-I-Form inventor's daughter, had donned the suit and was planning on piloting it from now on. Sergeant Jakobssen, the poor man at the receiving end of the verbal assault, could do nothing but shudder at each word.
"Let me get this straight. You go to the house, make a demand for the Human-I-Form, have the area covered, and the girl still has time to run to the damn cellar, put the whole suit on, charge it up, fly back, and put a blaster to your head!?! What the hell are you, some kind of idiot?"
"L-Let me explain, S-Sir--"
"No, you've done enough already! Do you even realize how deep we're in -- I'm in -- if this gets out to the public? This is a top military clearance operation, and you've almost blown the damn thing single-handed!!"
"But the--"
"No 'but's, Sergeant. You've tried my patience before, but this does it. It's time to bring in some real men. Some professionals. I dont have the time or the resources to put up with your beatin-around-the-bush crap. So get the hell outta my sight."
"Bu--"
"Now!!!"
"Yes, sir." Jakobssen shuffled out of the door and shut it behind him. Mussmoth practically flopped into his chair and slapped a button on his phone.
"Yes, General?" came the reply from the secretary.
"I want you to find some numbers from the Rolodex. The names are McLoughlin, Rice, Hernandez, and Romano..."
******SWOOOOOOSH!******
Kimberly zoomed across the clear blue skies of southern California. Still on one of the Roberts' 30 acres of land, she tested the controls one final time before she would touchdown for the day. Her father acted as a watchful eye in the maneuvers.
"How's everything goin', Kim?" he called out.
"Couldn't be better!" she shouted back. She circled down and came to rest amidst the tall, wavy grass, and took off her helmet.
"This suit is unbelievable!" she exclaimed. "When I used it the first time, I didn't really have time to appreciate it for what it is. But now that I've felt what it's like to fly like a bird...wow." Still in the Human-I-Form, she plopped onto the ground and began to stare dreamily at the sky.
"I know the feeling, too," said Mr. Roberts. "It's a fine piece of machinery, isnt it?"
"It sure is..." said Kim, still daydreaming. Suddenly, she snapped out of it. "Well, we better get back. I'll fly out to the house, and you take the truck."
"Okay, Kim. See you then." He headed to the mud-encrusted, tried-and-true pickup at the edge of the gaping field. Meanwhile, Kimberly reattached the helmet, took a few seconds to charge up power, and took off, meandering among the treetops away from the main road.
"Ah, the finest in the business all gathered in my office, and all I want them for is a simple kidnapping." General Mussmoth reclined in his desk chair, entertaining an audience of cold-blooded mercenaries.
"You know we don't get tangled up in your government affairs," said one man. He was tall, about 6 and a half feet, with broad shoulders, and an uneasy way about him. His facial features were cloaked in shadows until he stepped out into the light. Brushing a lock of his blonde hair away from his face, his eyes, a piercing shade of green, caught a glimmer that could set one running. His whole eerie aura made the room seem a little... darker.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say that the last thing we need is a bunch of feds on our case."
"McLoughlin's right, Mussmoth," came another voice. The man behind it was a muscular, toned person, and his Spandex shirt accentuated every line on his chest as he loaded his .38 snubnose revolver. He was of massive build, not as tall as McLoughlin, but definitely a match for any man. He ran his hand over his shaved head and adjusted his sunglasses, even though this secret rendezvous was indoors. "I don't like havin' to catch heat because you screwed up, an' I sure as hell won't hesitate to pay you a visit if I do. Ain't that right, Romano?"
The only woman in the room, Romano nodded. She sat on Mussmoth's desk, never saying a word, never changing expressions. After all, she didn't have to--her reputation as a ruthless assassin and mercenary spoke for itself. Every wise person in the business knew it--she was as alluring as she was cold, beautiful as she was deadly.
"Don't get so worked up yet, people," replied Mussmoth calmly. "Save it for the field. You know that I wouldn't short you at all, right?"
"You better not," said McLoughlin, fondling a large, menacing knife with a blood red pentagram on the otherwise black handle.
"Anyway," said Mussmoth, "I wonder where your friend--"
All of a sudden, the door flew open, revealing the "friend" that all had been waiting for. All seven feet of his body were rippling with muscles, and his lips perpetually carried a sinister sneer that could melt ice. His hands were clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles were turning white. His eyes seemed only like little black beads on his bronze skin. The belt of rifle ammunition slung unconcealed across his huge chest suggested nothing but hardened vigilante. His black hair was tousled about on his head, and his boots left heavy black streaks on the polished linoleum floor.
"Donde esta Señor Mussmoth?" he bellowed as he looked around.
"Right here, Hernandez. Thank you so much for coming, fashionably late as you may be. Let's get started, shall we?"
Kimberly woke up the next morning at around 8. The light shone in through her bedroom window, and she had a feeling that it was going to be one of those perfect days. After showering and getting dressed, she headed downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Her father wasn't there. That wasn't what puzzled her, though. How odd, she thought. I didn't expect Father to be here, but the coffeepot is empty and there's always coffee from 5 A.M. when he wakes up... She walked back upstairs to his door and knocked.
"Dad? You in there?"
......No answer.
Kim gently pushed the door open, and it swung silently on oiled hinges. A quick glance at the bed told her that a figure was under the sheets.
"Father, time to get up!" She walked over and began to pull away the covers. It was only then that she realized the gravity of the situation. "You don't want--"
As the sheet came away, she saw that the "figure" was no person, but a stuffed dummy--with a knife stuck through its head! The blade pinned a note to the head.
"Father--oh my God," she breathed. She pulled out the knife, and stared at the symbol on the handle: a blood red pentagram. Then, through blinding tears, she read the letter:
Your father is safe, for now. However, we can't insure any long-term health plans. If you want him back in one piece, and not donated to science after his throat is slit, then bring the Human-I-Form to the old El Dorado Saloon at the outskirts of Tijuana, Mexico. We would advise you to come alone.
Some Very Concerned Citizens
El Dorado Saloon? Tijuana, Mexico? All of this was happening too fast for Kimberly to handle. She slid down the wall to the floor in submission, and began to sob uncontrollably.