Annie’s homemade salve really itched, even though his scales! It did however appear to be gently healing the acidic burns, bruises and ‘scratches’ he’d suffered in the Slaughterhouse (and he should have seen that blaster attack coming, really). The constant itch however made sleeping difficult and Annie had been keeping herself busy most nights, upgrading the security, both in the BASEment and at their P.I. office.
Usually he was grateful for access to scratching aids, but this constant irritation and lack of quality sleep had left him feeling like a zombie with slurred speech and tired eyes. It didn’t help he still felt guilty about Adam being taken hostage. When he’d mentioned it to Annie, she’d looked upset, “You’re not responsible for what happened to Adam, Sam” her mouth set in a stern line, “Do not tell yourself otherwise; please allow others their own agency and moral culpability for what happened and Adam seems fine. In the meantime, Mary’s recommended Adam stays inside the vehicle when you’re at crime scenes and monitors the scene by deploying Tinks.”
He’d tried to take the advice to heart but the long, restless nights after Annie had sneaked back to work made it difficult to not worry about what-ifs. Meanwhile, she’d had been busy. She spent her daytime hours either investigating or with Adam working on his tractor-beam extractor and looking at ways of identifying parasite carriers. She’d even managed to get hold of another, admittedly damaged, holo-bee from somewhere and had extracted the miniaturised gravitic drive from it.
It seemed Annie also took their little home security breach very much to heart and was working overtime to correct anything that might have been overlooked previously. Sam had thought they had found the ideal bubble in which to live and hide away and earn some downtime, but being a HCP-certified Meta wasn’t just a job, it was a vocation, their whole lives. They each knew the risks.
He’d tried keeping busy all day in the hope that exhaustion would finally give him a good night’s sleep. He’d been keeping himself occupied working out in the ‘holo-deck’ as Annie jokingly called their team’s training room. He stretched and headed to the kitchen for another caffeine pick-me-up. He wanted to be on top form for tonight and avoid any somnambulistic behaviour. It seemed that black coffee was to be his only respite for the duration of the recovery, at least until he could gain a restful full night’s sleep.
As usual, Jeeves was on duty making dinner but immediately broke off from what he was doing to pour him a large cup of coffee. He took a sip; the coffee had an odd, minty taste. Jeeves smiled, “Red Ginseng” he whispered, “all other natural stimulants are my own secret recipe. Side effects include sleeplessness for several hours followed by a deep coma.” He turned to Annie as she walked through the door, “and some of that concoction you like that tastes like recycled sump oil masquerading as coffee, for you mi’dear.”
For their general wellbeing and for a change of scenery, they’d agreed to return for a night at the Endeavour to test EvE and Annie’s frequency modifications. Of course, he did check with Jack that he’d be standing ready to switch his Accorded system off should the alterations fail to work.
They walked through the door and… Nothing. Both Jack and Sam let out a massive sigh of relief at exactly the same time. Annie seemed merely pleased with herself. At the bar, Akira sat nursing a fruit juice and looking upset as a well-dressed man walked passed them and out the door with a big smile on his face and a leer at Annie. With a slightly puffed-up chest and a cold look, he returned the favour, though Sam was more than certain Annie would be nonplussed.
Suddenly he saw her, the wild red hair and manic look of Dementia sitting with a couple of non-descript soldier types in a booth. What the hell was she doing in Britain? She smiled at him, a predatory smile that appeared to say, ‘soon…’ Sam’s heart missed a beat and he found himself shuffling awkwardly instead of striding purposefully, a single nervous bead of sweat rolling from his brow. He was glad this was an accorded space, her arrival was certainly very bad news and they had not parted on the best terms. Dementia was one of their nemeses who could always give them a bruising on a good or even a bad day.
Akira turned as they approached the bar and said, “I’ve just learn there’s a bounty out on us.”
Sam and Annie immediately shuffled onto barstools next to Akira, with Sam waving to confirm the usual drink order. He rubbed his eyes and palmed his face for a moment. “You know, I would be more surprised if there wasn’t a hit out on us, Akira. I’m sure Annie would be able to find several open contracts on the dark net for us. She normally only tells me the funny entries.” he chuckled, trying to sooth his friend, patting him on the back. “What are the details this time, buddy..?”
The long and the short of it was that this lawyer-cum mystic, Lucius Cabot, had just approached Akira. He’d been the leering man and apparently the same person who’d unleashed Abyss on them. Why he’d bothered warning them he wasn’t sure, but the contract was directed specifically at the mystical community and the prize was apparently a rare and powerful grimoire.
The contract was for the four of them dead, preferably slowly and very painfully. As Cabot had been leaving he’d dipped his finger into his whiskey and with his wet finger had drawn a single letter on the counter. It was a Capital ‘R’. Sam nodded at the right times, humming in response, but at all times peered over his shoulder at Dementia’s booth keeping aware and streetwise, though he was certain she would be just sitting there, same piercing smile. Who knows, maybe she’s turned over a new leaf? Unlikely, wonder if she was here for the bounty? “In any case, I have a feeling tonight is going to be quite interesting. Cheers!” he said, clinking Annie’s chosen cocktail and Akira’s juice. Between Akira’s news, their old friend and anything Jack cares to throw at them, this was turning very quickly into an evening to remember.
The sound of laughter from Dementia’s booth reached him, despite the pub being so full.
He stood up and began to walk across to the booth. Behind him, he saw out of the corner of his eye Jack reach down behind the bar and pick up some sort of white metallic gauntlet or sheath which he slid over one of his arms. As he did so, the scoop covering his knuckles slid down and the sleeve extended almost to his knees.
As Jack went to step out from behind the bar, Annie stopped him with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, “It’s ok, Sam values this place too much to risk being banned. He just needs to talk. If it looks as though things are going to get out of hand, I’ll step in. Promise!”
Sam strode as casually as he could muster towards the booth. He had no problems talking to anyone in the pub and accorded space, he had joined in Karaoke and Games Night with some folk he might one day have to put behind bars. For most of them, it wasn’t personal. There was a professionalism about your standard British criminal; if they got caught then they did their time, paid their dues but this was different. This felt personal. He couldn’t be sure if his agitation was the result of some of Dementia’s residual power, or his own tormented memories of her.
Dementia glanced up as he stopped in front of their booth, “Salut puțin șopârlă. I’d offer you a seat but you would not be welcome. My ‘auntie’ not with you this time little beast?”
He offered her a mock salute. “Salut, Dementia. Standing suits me just fine, thanks. Legs are sore from all that training and y’know, freedom. As for your ‘aunt’ haven’t seen her for a while.” He took a swig of his flake vodka, neat. “Why? Were you expecting a belated birthday present or cake? Really, just glad to see you in one piece though, someone should update those Carpathian building standards, terrible business all that. We reported the incident when we got back of-course.” He couldn’t help but fail to stifle a grin for a moment, swirling his beverage idly. “Something funny, by the way? Why not share? I would say I could use a good joke, but…” he just looked her up and down.
“So, aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friends? Hm?” Sam took another sip.
She smiled, a gesture that would have done a great white shark proud. “I’m afraid my acquaintances don’t speak English and I fear they don’t really understand the concept of accorded premises. Perhaps it would be best if you run back to the bar, eh?”
Sam smiled and stood his ground, staring at each of the soldiers in turn, memorising their faces.
His anxiety flared for a moment as he scanned the grim, silent soldiers at the table glowering at him. As he did so, he was struck with a sudden flashback vision of similar combatants each with three glowing red eyes, a chase through a cold, hostile forest and rifles. He hoped his momentary lack of composure didn’t show on his expression… “Strong silent types, eh? Who would have guessed? So why are you here Dementia, more kidnapping of meta’s possibly?”
“If you must know, I’m here on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the state of Carpathia. Apparently, your government has requested that Igor Vasilescu is questioned at a place called Deep Six? I have been dispatched by the Baroness to make sure your Government does not abuse his legal rights. In the meantime I hear that you’ve made some enemies..? Or maybe just one rich enemy, eh? There’s a rare grimoire on offer I’m told, truly a prize worth having; a very tempting treat.”
He nodded along; news obviously travels fast. “It seems so! I was thinking about developing some kind of scheme that fakes our deaths so we can claim this prize for ourselves! But no, we’re just doing our jobs; people don’t tend to like it when you insist on ‘no’ for some reason.” He shrugged. “But before you ask, no we don’t need any help with that, thank you. Congratulations on your promotion by the way, it’s not one I expected. I’ve seen your style of diplomacy before, Dementia. Usually there are negotiations and suits involved. That’s not your style though, you prefer to provide a more icy reception. Were there honestly no other applicants? I find that somewhat hard to believe.” he chuckled, not expecting a reply.
He continued regardless, “But congratulations, foreign minister. It could be a good occupational move for you. Does your mission only extend to Wessex then, or are you just going to be passing through?”
“Not a minister, just acting as a ‘chargé d’affaires ad interim’ covering for our Ambassador on this occasion and I’ll only be here for as long as I am required. Shame really I would love to have a ‘proper’ reunion…”
Sam frowned, so she was apparently here to visit and ‘manage’ Igor Vasilescu’s interview at Deep Six? He padded his cheek for a moment, remembering the knockout haymaker he received on their last encounter. Last time he checked, Igor had been still waiting in his hole in Paris. Maybe the memo about his transfer hadn’t get through to the BASEment? Didn’t the authorities think it odd for Igor’s Government to send a Meta rather than a professional diplomat for something procedural, let alone someone who used to be part of his team? Something seemed fishy. He’d need to try and find out more information about what was going on.
“Ah, Igor, the Black-scale? I’ve been meaning to speak to him, actually. Sent him a delightful little hamper at Christmas. When is this meeting? I would be very keen to ensure he is well treated.” He leant slowly on the table, communicating his implied insistence. Anger flashed across her face and he knew she desperately wanted to unleash a icy blast at him, instead she said, “As I said I am just here in my diplomatic capacity, I have no desire for either myself or our citizen to mess it up with an international terrorist like yourself..”
The last caught Sam off-guard. He coughed and spluttered his drink for a moment. “In-ack-ugh… International terrorist? Me? You must be joking!” Bounties he could understand, but a terrorist? Where and on what grounds? What’s going on? These accusations should be something he should be aware of. It’d been a while since he clocked in with Tony regarding their public opinion polls…
She again smiled, “Ah, are you unaware of your official status in Carpathia and amongst our allies? Now please go before we are forced to make use of our diplomatic immunity… This conversation is over puțin șopârlă, now go away!”
He backed away from the booth then walked back to the bar. As he did so, he rubbed his tired eyes. He wondered if Jack had protocols in place to allow the team to leave incognito later on.
As he approached the bar, he saw Jack unstrap his arm sheath and place it carefully back out of sight. The image reminded him of something, or someone? He pulled out the new rugged tablet that Annie had given him to replace the one that had been damaged in the Slaughterhouse, and looked for the Wi-Fi bypass code.
That’s when he saw it – in the old picture behind the bar; the one of the Protectors now surrounded in a black ribbon. It was an old photo from their early days when the team line up was different; standing beside Psychedelia and Wildcat (or Chat Noir as he was known then), a man stood in a suit of armour with a pair of white Cesta’s on his arms; identical to the one Jack had been wearing. The name Hotshot was scrawled beneath. Had this been..? He wanted to ask Jack but he could tell his little escapade had not been well received. Perhaps tonight was not a good time to ‘poke the beast’? He saw the Wi-Fi code, typed it in and checked for emails from France. Nope. He then emailed Aramis of the Nouveaux Chevaliers de Paris to ask if he had any information about why Black Dragonkin was being transferred to the UK.
He received a reply back within thirty minutes, just as Dementia and her team were leaving. It was short. It seemed Aramis hadn’t been told what was going on in advance but confirmed that the prisoner was currently in transit for reasons unknown. Request had come down from the UK’s MI5 to interview him and then to return him to the French authorities.
They finished their drinks and Akira agreed to teleport them all back to the BASEment once they were outside. Sam had a momentary worry that Dementia and her crew were waiting for them somewhere outdoors but no. Sam exited first and stood waiting for the shot. Nothing, so Akira came out next and activated a portal back to the base.
What was going on?
Salut puțin șopârlă (Carpathian: Hello little lizard)
Superhero Adventures, UK Style 