Friday 1 December 2023, 3.30am, and the purple and black armoured acrobat was in the mess room at the barracks of A Company, entertaining the troops with card tricks. Guard duty changed every hour, with those coming off shift treated to hot drinks and beans on toast, if they wanted it. The acrobat was an unknown quantity to both the military and the E.D.T., but to themselves they were a rock of morality, and right now they knew that those soldiers, reservists one-and-all, needed their spirits lifting.
Besides, it gave them an opportunity to check on the soldiers directly. It had been established only a couple of hours earlier that several of their regiment had succumbed to the Were-transformation; the acrobat used the time to check the other men close-up, looking for signs of fresh changes. So far they had seen nothing, and for that they were extremely grateful.
Upstairs on the second floor, Citadel slept deeply, his body recovering from the day’s exertions. The large room held eight beds, as did five other rooms on the same level, for occasions when troops had to be on hand for exercises, but tonight the Australian was the only occupant. Four strip lights were blazing above him but it made no difference; he had been asleep seconds after his head hit the pillow.
In the next dorm, Stronghold was asleep, though fidgeting. Nothing against Citadel – John – but they didn’t share rooms during training with Murgatroyd, they didn’t share rooms in the Dorchester, and they weren’t going to share rooms just because of some damned crazy end-of-the-world-werewolf-apocalypse; besides, Marcus preferred the silence of being alone at night. Despite his previous life, or perhaps because of it, he didn’t want to hear anyone else breathing, snoring, around him; he wanted his end-of-the-day time to be peaceful.
His costume lay strewn over the back of a chair next to the bunk. The gouges through the insulated material had been stitched closed, the efforts of a young soldier, one Andy McNaughton, who had volunteered to repair it for Stronghold after Marcus had requested assistance. Sure, Murgatroyd would get him a new costume but when would that happen?
He turned over again, oblivious to the sheets tangling in his arms, or the springs squeaking beneath his muscular form; not for the first time since he closed his eyes did Marcus feel the flesh tearing across his chest as the claws bit into him.
Sir James Patterson and the base commander, Captain Nathan Walters, were busy making-or-taking telephone calls, seeming non-stop, and only kept each other company throughout the night.
Outside the mess room, Sanctuary stood leaning against the wall, her eyes closed in concentration. She had reached out with her Telepathy, finding the electrical transmissions within the acrobat’s neural pathways, and from there had begun to dig her way into the memory files.
‘The acrobat was female! Okay, a good start; always nice to see sisters’ doing it for themselves…oh, interesting, she performs as an entertainer, and sometimes in a male persona. Well, it’s a modern world…now, is she on the side of the angels? Hmm, yes, but she follows her own agenda…perhaps a neutral party, secretive…and she is…Taboo! Ah, that explains a lot, yes, that makes more sense. Now, keep that quiet, she hasn’t revealed her identity to us, yet. Come on then, Taboo, are we going to clash over this agenda of yours? No, no, we’re not an obstacle…but you’ve been observing us, have you? Let’s go a bit deeper…there…ooh, a history of secretive work…you’ve been watching people, interesting people, for quite a while. Okay, let’s try something relevant…yep, she’s human…good, okay. That’s enough for now.’
And with that, Sanctuary left Taboo to her card games. Minutes later she was up on the top floor; she found an empty dorm and bunked down, quickly falling asleep despite the sparsity of comfort.
A little after 5am, Taboo went to see the medical officer, Sergeant Neil Morgan, finding him watching over the bodies of his fallen comrades.
“Sergeant, I’m sorry to intrude, but I’m hoping you could answer a couple of questions?”
The man looked to be in his thirties, with standard short-cut hair and a pleasant smile; his eyes showed weariness, and Taboo thought he looked…haunted.
“Yes,” he said, politely, “of course. Captain Walters has asked that we make ourselves available to you. What can I do for you?” He walked over to the counter and picked up a bottle of water, taking a quick swig.
“The people who…changed…the soldiers who became werewolves…did they all change at roughly the same time, or was it staggered in any way? The ‘alteration’, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Morgan nodded, wiping water from his lips, “yeah, that’s a good way of putting it. Yeah, it was sometime round-about six…six-fifteen?…it had all kicked off.”
“How long did it seem to last before you stopped seeing new cases of transformations?”
Morgan blew out a long breath, his eyes moving rapidly as he tried to remember the events of the previous evening.
“To be perfectly honest, because I wasn’t watching the time, it was around six-fifteen. The first case was around six o’clock, so within fifteen minutes all those that had been affected had changed. Nobody has come to me and said anything after that time. So, no new cases; they just did an awful lot of damage in the few minutes before they got shot.”
“Thank you, that’s much appreciated.” Taboo could see the hurt on Morgan’s face; she didn’t want to put the man through any more. He had enough on his plate.
“No problem.” Morgan took another swig, turning away to look back at his colleagues, a silent dawn vigil for fallen friends.
“Have you any idea what’s going on?” he asked, as Taboo opened the door.
With an unseen smile, she said, “Well, I’m working on Mork and Mindy’s theory…” Morgan turned to her, a frown on his face, “…this has got to be somebody putting on a TV show of aliens, surely?”
Morgan bowed his head, “There’s a lot of dead people for a TV show.”
Taboo tried again, “You obviously haven’t seen ’28 Days Later’.”
“I’m pretty sure they were just playing dead.” Morgan had become morose, his head downcast, his mood sombre.
“Ah, well…” Taboo left the room, unable to lift the deathly ambience. She yawned, the visor masking her weariness. Making her way to the top floor she passed Captain Walter’s office, saw him and Patterson through the glass, still on their phones. The corner office, next to the Captain’s, was unoccupied; it could have been a secretary’s office, judging by the filing cabinets, modern copier machine, fax, writing desk and computer. It would do. Taboo chose a comfortable-looking section of flooring and hunkered down, leaning back into the angle between the stationery cupboard and the external wall.
“Set an alarm for eight-thirty am GMT.” A short beep indicated that the house-keeping system had done as asked, and the young woman within the suit fell asleep.
***
As it happened, eight-thirty was the time chosen by Sir James for the morning briefing. The E.D.T. were all awoken by some of the younger privates; Taboo scared one young soldier half-to-death as she opened the office door just as he reached for the handle.
Although Taboo and the E.D.T. were all on the same floor as Captain Walter’s office, they were still escorted there by the soldiers, and saluted as they entered the room. Walters was there, as was his second, Lieutenant Simon Groves, Sir James Patterson, and a decent breakfast array; there was tea, coffee, and orange juice, bottled water, toast, bacon, fried eggs, margarine, and marmalade, “enough to keep Paddington going,” said Patterson.
Dr Murray arrived, as did Dan Rowlf, a bacon butty and large mug of tea already in hand.
“’Cause you’re not doing anything without me,” he said, matter-of-factly, “I’m in on this!”
Citadel smiled. “I won’t argue,” he said, as Sanctuary agreed, “Yep.”
Patterson gave everyone the time to finish up their food and drink, then, looking weary and serious, he began.
“Do you want the good news, or do you want the bad news?”
“Both!” quipped Sanctuary, quite bright despite her lack of proper sleep.
“I thought you might,” Patterson replied, his eyes betraying his sleepless night. “We’ve got an idea…we think it’s going to be difficult, but we’re just going to follow the main road, the A40, and try to get you to Northolt.”
He rubbed his eyes, taking the time to collect his thoughts. “Major road, could be horrendous. We haven’t got any people over there who can check on the roads, we haven’t got drone facilities here, I have got no idea what the state of the road is going to be. As far as the Captain’s equipment goes to, we’ve got a couple of cars. We haven’t got a military vehicle, not even a Bedford truck.”
Rowlf raised an eyebrow at this; he loved the old Bedfords’, they were so…iconic. Had they really all gone out of usage?
Patterson was still speaking. “In about an hour’s time, we’re going to have one more person for the road trip, but it’s going to be a case of two staff vehicles from here and one from the barricade, and that’s it for you lot.”
Stronghold finished his third coffee off, “So this convoy, it includes the biologist and the chemist?” he asked, pouring himself a fourth cup.
“We have a bio-chemist on the way,” Patterson answered, “that’s who will be arriving within the hour, and a biologist, a strict biologist, will be en route by other means.”
Citadel cut in. “We’ll need to remember to take a Were-corpse.”
Captain Walters now, “Yes, well, there are several in the med bay, so…”
“Yes,” Citadel continued, “we’ll take one in a bodybag.”
Walters nodded, “Not a problem.”
Patterson picked it up again, “We’ve got a route planned. It’s nothing special, it’s basically the quickest route. To be honest we think the side roads are going to be even worse, so I don’t think there’s any point in worrying about anything else.”
Taboo took a turn. “Do you have any indication as to what percentage of the population has been transformed? Has any information come in from the government at all in relation to this incident?” The electronically distorted voice seemed almost robotic in the early morning miasma of weariness that pervaded the office.
“Ah! Okay,” Patterson took a sip of tea, “bear in mind, it has been a difficult night. I can tell you a little bit about what’s been going on, but exact numbers are very difficult to come by.”
Taboo tried again, “Any rough estimate?”
Patterson shifted uneasily, “I don’t think you’re going to like it,” he began, “I certainly don’t. Early estimates are suggesting upwards of twenty-five percent of the population of London, some of the nearby counties and, indeed, areas of northern France, have been affected.”
He let that sink in for a few seconds. “So, it could be higher, but we don’t expect it to be much lower than that figure. So that is…two million, easy, just in the Greater London area. It is a lot of werewolves.”
The room was quiet as everyone digested the news. Sanctuary broke the silence in her usual, jovial manner.
“Is there anything that werewolves are particularly scared of?” she asked, reaching for a piece of toast, “anything that they don’t particularly like?”
Patterson frowned, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Well, we’ve never actually had an encounter with a real werewolf,” he said, flatly.
“They seem to go down when they get hit by lead,” said Taboo, “does that count?”
“No, no,” said Sanctuary, “I was thinking, like…”
“Silver bullets…” tried Citadel.
“You don’t need silver bullets,” Taboo countered, “ordinary bullets seem to be working just fine, thank you very much.” The visor turned to Dan Rowlf slightly but if he noticed, he declined to react.
“The problem is,” Taboo said, “you could be killing innocent people who could be re-transformed back into humans.”
Sanctuary dropped a piece of toasted crust onto her plate. “No, I was just thinking that, you know, vampires are not supposed to like running water…”
“Garlic!” shouted Stronghold, a big grin spreading across his face.
“…garlic, and silver, and crosses…”
“Crucifixes,” said Citadel.
“…but I can’t think of anything that werewolves, you know, in folklore…”
Patterson chipped in, “Well, Wolfsbane, the plant, was a legendary repellent…”
“Yes, it was,” trilled Sanctuary.
“…but then, werewolves were only supposed to change at the full moon, and last night was a waning gibbous, so…”
“As a matter of interest,” said Citadel, “do all the dead Weres’ we’ve got still look like Weres’? None of them have reverted to human?”
Groves answered, “No, they still look like Weres’. I checked with the doc earlier, and nothing has changed.”
Patterson picked this thread up, “It would appear, since we have had no autopsies performed, and no great amount of test results in yet, that this is some kind of genetic alteration. Why it’s taken hold so quickly we’re not sure, although, according to Doctor Murray, the events leading up to these genetic alterations might have been going on for the past fortnight…”
“Ah!” Citadel grimaced as he thought about this piece of information; it was starting to sound very much like a planned operation, a ‘First Wave’ strike.
“…which leads us to then believe that last night…basically the last night of the Leonid showers…must have been some kind of trigger mechanism.”
“And,” said Citadel, looking down at the tabletop, “if it’s a genetic change then, sadly, it’s probably permanent.”
“Given their vicious attitude to the non-changed, I think we have to assume the worst, and treat them all as hostiles.” Taboo was quite ready to fight the Weres’; she simply didn’t see the rationale behind killing them. If there was any chance that they could be saved, it should be taken.
“Yes,” Citadel agreed. The time that he had spent with Taboo the previous evening, the fighting they had shared, had told him that the mysterious acrobat could be trusted.
Doctor Murray put his cup of tea down with a clatter, raising his hands in apology before moving the cup again to sit neatly on the saucer.
“I am hopeful,” he said, “hopeful, that by getting one of these dead Weres’ down there, and using the laboratory facilities at Spaceport Cornwall, that between myself and the other two scientists, we may be able to discover an…antidote?”
Patterson cut in at this point. “Now, I don’t want to disparage Doctor Murray’s theory…he’s quite sure of it…he is also going to be working on a method of creating a rainstorm, as part of the rocket flight. So, not only are you looking at trying to disperse, hopefully, an antidote, but he wants to create a rainstorm at the same time.”
Patterson looked directly at Murray, “He thinks he can do it…I haven’t got the foggiest clue. It sounds utterly mad.” It was obvious to everyone present that Sir James did not have faith in Murray’s plan.
“It’s not hard to create a rainstorm,” said Sanctuary, “but I think an antidote…I mean, I’m not sure about the good doctor…I mean, he is a good man, but…well, he doesn’t know what day of the week it is!”
Stronghold couldn’t hold back a snigger, turning his head away as he fought to hold back his laughter.
“True,” said Citadel.
Murray, despite his absent-mindedness, was not deaf.
“It is Thursday, isn’t it?” he asked, in the way that people do when they are really making a statement.
“Yep,” answered Sanctuary, knowing full well that it was Friday.
Taboo said, “You have to remember that he is an astro-physicist, not a biologist, so his theories need to be taken with a pinch of salt, as they say.”
Sanctuary nodded, “I think it’s a load of bunkum myself…astrology, you know?”
Patterson took the lead again.
“So, you’re waiting for a gentleman…I say ‘gentleman’…you’re waiting for a man named Eric Townsend. Rather brilliant bio-chemist. I will warn you now, he invented a serum to turn himself into a superhuman. So, he has an understanding of genetics, and an understanding of how formulas and…proteins and suchlike…can affect a person’s physiology.”
“What are his powers?” asked Taboo, “What alterations has his serum caused? Has he only tried it on himself?”
“Yes,” Patterson replied, “he is now superstrong, maybe to Citadel’s level, maybe a little bit less…”
“So no green skin and bulging muscles?” Taboo asked.
Patterson shook his head, “He basically looks like a very…what’s the word the young people use today?…ripped…he looks like an incredibly ripped human being. He can also heal from minor injuries quite quickly, and he can run faster than Usain Bolt, but he’s not Road Runner.”
Citadel had been looking thoughtful as he listened. “How emotionally stable is he after this transformation?”
Patterson smiled awkwardly, “He’s been doing alright in Belmarsh…”
Citadel balked, “Belmarsh! Why has it been necessary to put him in a prison? Belmarsh is a prison, isn’t it?”
“It is,” confirmed Taboo.
“And,” Patterson breathed in, straightening himself in his chair, “he may have beaten somebody to death a couple of years ago…”
Sanctuary leaned in, “He’s not that guy we’ve heard about called Powerhouse, is he?”
“Ah! I see you’ve heard about him.”
“Yes, I have,” she said, “his reputation precedes him. He’s a bit of a loose cannon, this one.” The E.D.T. looked at each other, the concern obvious. If Taboo knew anything, she wasn’t letting on.
“He’s also wearing an explosive ankle tag,” Patterson continued, “and he’s playing ball.”
Citadel couldn’t hide his emotions. “Well, that’s good, if we have to deal with him as well as the Weres’!”
“Safer than playing hopscotch…” Sanctuary said, playfully, pointing to her feet and mouthing ‘ankle tag’ to anyone that looked her way.
“To be perfectly honest, he may have ulterior motives for agreeing to help…five years off his sentence isn’t going to go amiss…but he seems genuinely interested in assisting the project. But, then again, this is his area of expertise, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes something away from it. Other than that, he has been told he’s on your side,” Patterson turned his gaze to Citadel, “and if he steps out of line…”
“How is the ankle bracelet activated?” asked Taboo.
“One of the lads that is going with you will be carrying a control device for the tag.”
“Well,” she continued, “That will be the first person to die on this trip…”
Sanctuary grinned as Stronghold nodded. Citadel looked at Taboo, “I think that’s highly likely.”
“Anyway,” Sanctuary added, “I can always activate it remotely.”
Patterson looked despairingly around the table, “I’m assuming you will all do your best to protect the soldier that’s going to be looking after the control mechanism?”
The room was silent, apart from the sound of birds from outside.
He tried again, “I do hope you’re going to be looking after the soldier?”
Stronghold took the bait, “We’ll do our best.”
“Thank you,” Patterson said, “I was beginning to get worried for a second, there.”
Citadel chimed in, “I was just thinking that we are going to have to deal with the Weres’, and look after this soldier, and watch Powerhouse, who sounds like he’s a bit of a fruit.”
“Well, I understand your concerns…but he’s the best we’ve got at short notice.”
“And he’s a bio-chemist?” asked Sanctuary.
“Yes. He was a sports star who decided that he wanted to be so much better than everybody else. Which, of course, worked.”
“Mmm.”
“In answer to your previous concern, he’s not psychotic. When I said he beat a man to death, he meant to do it.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring,” said Citadel.
“So much nicer to know that.” said Taboo.
“That’s not psychotic?” queried Stronghold.
Captain Walters stood, Groves following him. “Well, maybe you want to freshen up before we’re ready to get going. I know that Townsend is on his way via the River at the moment. Currently it’s the safest route to travel in the city, though, obviously not for long distances. Luckily, Belmarsh is quite near the River, so it seemed like a good idea.”
“Do we need to decide who goes in which vehicle?” asked Sanctuary.
“So,” Walters said, “we’re not going to put the soldier with the control device in the same vehicle as Powerhouse. Townsend knows exactly what the deal is, but we’re not daft enough to put the guy with the control mechanism in the same car as him. Otherwise, it’s entirely up to you.”
“So expect a delay before we can blow his foot off…” said Taboo.
Walters and Groves excused themselves and left the office. A discussion arose about the seating arrangements. It took some time to reach a mutually agreeable decision, but the group finally reached the following consensus:
Citadel would travel in the lead car, “Because of my intuition sense, I can, maybe, spot problems before they arise.”
“Or to know which fork in the road to take, even,” added Sanctuary.
Stronghold volunteered to take the lead car also, since it was more likely for the convoy to hit trouble head on.
It was decided to put Doctor Murray and the soldier with the ankle tag control device in the middle car, with Dan Rowlf to back them up. Sanctuary and Taboo chose the rear car to sit with Powerhouse. Each car would have another soldier to act as driver, and as armed backup if required.
Outside, the on-duty soldiers made short work of removing a car from the barricade outside the barracks and, together with the two staff cars, had them refuelled and ready to go by the time that Eric Townsend arrived with his prison guards. The half-dozen guards looked more like riot police, with body armour and their stun batons, whilst Townsend, Powerhouse as he preferred, walked with a swagger, obviously enjoying his unscheduled freedom from Belmarsh. He was wearing his costume, a skintight royal blue bodysuit with the initials ‘PH’ emblazoned in gold across his chest. High-end trainers adorned his feet, and the ankle tag was prominent on his left leg, a metal ring with a small box on the outer edge, with a tiny blinking green light on it. His blonde hair was cut above his ears and gelled so it stood up a couple of inches, a slight wave at the front. He was, as Patterson had stated, an extremely ripped individual, and the soldiers chosen to accompany him began to think that they had got a raw deal. He wore a face mask, but appeared to be in his late twenties, possibly early thirties.
There were no introductions; this wasn’t going to be a school outing.
“So, I’m going to be working with you lot, am I?” Powerhouse stated with a look of disdain on his face, “Not a scientist amongst you?”
“That’s why we need you,” Stronghold retorted, taking an instant dislike to Townsend and his attitude, which was obviously meant to infer his superiority, “although we have Doctor Murray; he’s a scientist.”
“What have they told you about me?” asked Powerhouse, disinterestedly. Sanctuary decided to take the bait, rubbing her forehead as she said, “We haven’t been told anything, really, other than the fact that you have got some superpowers that make you strong.”
Powerhouse smirked, “Yeah. Okay, I like the sound of this! I’ve got to work with you, apparently…call me Powerhouse and we’ll get along fine.”
Taboo took a step forward, “You can always go back to the ‘big house’, if you prefer?”
Powerhouse frowned and shook his head, tutting, “Oh no, I’m in this for the long run…and five years off my sentence!”
Sanctuary sidled up to Taboo, “You can sit next to him on the back seat…” and walked away, laughing quietly.
Citadel looked at Stronghold, “He’s got to get that ego into the car, first.”
“Have we got a shoehorn?” Taboo asked, “We might need it.”
Now standing a few feet away from the others, Sanctuary began to look into the mind of Eric Townsend; it was more difficult then she envisaged, as he had a very singular, driven will, but she managed to work her psychic fingers into his neural pathways after a few seconds. The first thing she attempted to discover was whether he was planning to escape. To her surprise, Townsend wasn’t focussed on escaping at all; his main idea was to cooperate with the ‘experiment’, as he called it, and to see if there was anything that he could get out of it at the end, something that he could use for himself. To that end, he was hoping to obtain a sample of the Weres’ DNA for his own purposes. Sanctuary also discovered that Powerhouse could lift about one tonne, possessed incredible endurance, could run at about thirty miles per hour for lengthy periods of time, and could heal very quickly from injuries. He also loved himself.
“Hang on, where are the dead Weres’ going?” said Citadel, unused to small British cars.
“In the boot,” said Private Southend, the driver allocated to the lead car, “we’re taking one corpse in each vehicle, just in case.” Southend finished programming the sat-nav and turned his attention fully to the E.D.T.
“We have some bottled water and sandwiches, a couple of first aid kits, but nothing else. We reservists are armed and we have spare clips, but no heavy weaponry. This is not meant to be a combat mission. We have radio communication in all three vehicles, and each driver has a sat-nav set for Northolt. We are good to go, sir.”
Captain Walters arrived as Southend finished his briefing, saluted to the Private, who went to fetch his rifle, then looked at some papers he was holding.
“You’re going to have to swing around by Hyde Park, that’s your first destination. Once you have got out of Rochester Row,” he pointed down the street, “you’re actually going in the opposite direction to where you came in last night. Then you’ve got to go up Emery Hill Street and into Thirleby Road…the drivers know the route…you’re going to swing around the side of Hyde Park, and then from there you’ll be able to get onto Westway, the A40, a major road. Okay?”
Everyone nodded; so far, so good.
“Obviously, we don’t know what the situation will be like, to be perfectly honest,” Walters continued, “but we are hoping that it’s not as clogged as we might fear. And it will be a straight route right the way through to the Polish war memorial…”
Sanctuary nodded, “Yep.” For goodness, sake, get on with it.
“…then it’ll be a right hand turn onto West End Road and you’ll get to Northolt. We have been in communication with the airbase, they have had some problems…”
“Right…” Sanctuary added, expecting the worst.
“…but as of fifteen minutes ago, everything was fine. We have two helicopters on standby, and you will have one pilot per helicopter. I believe, assuming that you all get through safely, that you will be able to take the soldiers who are accompanying you to Northolt.”
Dan Rowlf frowned; he didn’t say anything, he was retired so didn’t feel that it was his place, but his knowledge of modern helicopters in British usage told him that it was unlikely they would manage to fit everyone on board, especially with the Were corpses on board.
Sir James picked up the final farewell speech, “I suppose it just remains for me to say that Her Majesty wishes you well…”
“Okay.” Sanctuary was bored now, and just wanted to get on the way.
“Her Majesty?” asked Taboo, “His Majesty?”
“Yep, His Majesty, and we’re on the way to Northolt…” And Sanctuary took a step towards the rear car.
Patterson smiled and straightened his tie, “I’m sorry, did I say Her Majesty?”
Citadel put the King’s Advocate straight, “Yes, you said ‘Her’ Majesty.”
“I think they should be gender-neutral, anyway,” said Sanctuary, taking another step to the car and pausing comically, waving the others on.
“Well, I do apologise! Of course, I meant ‘His’ Majesty.
“Their Majesty,” said Citadel, smirking at Sanctuary, who returned the smile. Thirty seconds later and the three cars were under way. The barricade to the left of the gates had been cleared to leave enough room for the cars to get through, though the vehicles would be replaced quickly. Emery Hill Street posed no problems for the convoy, but Stronghold pulled them to a halt as they approached the junction with Francis Street.
Thirleby Road was directly opposite them, over the Francis Street intersection, but Marcus was detecting a lot of life signs further up the road, and as the car halted, he and Citadel could see a street brawl taking place. On the one hand were at least a couple of dozen citizens, many holding baseball or cricket bats, crowbars, wooden batons, and other household items; and on the other hand were a large group of Weres’. The fighting looked brutal, even from the safety of their cars. As they watched, another person joined the fray; he was dressed in a red costume, with black boots, metallic shin guards and forearm bracelets, black overpants, and what looked like a boxing helmet with goggles. They could even see metallic spikes poking out from some kind of straps on his outfit. In one movement he lifted a parked car off the road and threw it at a small group of Weres’, hitting three of the beasts and scattering the rest.
The battle raged and bodies began to drop on both sides, though the Weres’ seemed to be getting the upper hand. Then it hit them; the Weres’ looked slightly different, less like horror movie werewolves now, and more like…bears. The bodies, the torsos and limbs at least, were still human, that was easy to see, but the chests were broader, the shoulders more muscular, and the heads seemed to have lost the wolf-man appearance, replaced with a definite bear face and hair structure.
Citadel activated his intuition ability, trying to determine whether the convoy would be able to get through the melee before them. He didn’t quite understand how his power worked, but he sensed that now wasn’t the time to try driving past, and that it would be several minutes at least before an opportunity arose.
The man in red and black clobbered a Were-creature to the ground, then began to rush towards another group of Weres’ across the road.
In the rear car, Taboo ran a simulation on her H.U.D., hoping to configure a large portal that would get the vehicles through and past the fight, but she had forgotten that the portals were circular; any attempt to drive a vehicle through would result in the wheels being sliced off, along with any body parts that didn’t clear the dimensional buffer zone. She made a mental note to work on redesigning the portals for a square configuration in the future.
Stronghold could see a clear space appearing on the left-hand side of the fighting, nudged Citadel and pointed to it.
“Can we get past there?”
From the last car, Sanctuary used the driver’s radio to contact Citadel, “We need to get through this. As much as I’d like to take on a guy who wears his pants outside of his tights…”
“You’re right,” said Citadel, “that’s got to be our priority. He’s not necessarily a bad guy.”
Sanctuary came back, “It doesn’t seem essential for us to tangle with this group unless we really have to. Let’s just try to get past them.”
“I agree,” said Citadel, his intuition still not giving him happy thoughts.
Private Atkins, the driver of the lead car, said, “Citadel, sir. I can lead us on, either left or right, and work us around this mess, if you want me to?”
Citadel reached out with his senses again, this time trying to ascertain whether left or right was a good idea; his mind told him right.
“Go right!” he said, pointing in that direction across the junction, and Atkins turned the steering wheel, getting them all back on their way. The last thing that Sanctuary and Taboo saw as their car turned the corner was a new group of Weres’ running to join the street fight from further up the street.
The convoy sped along Francis Street and followed it to the left where it became Howick Place, following it around the area where the fighting was taking place until they emerged onto Thirleby Road some way past the trouble spot. It wasn’t lost on Sanctuary that, had they proceeded to travel up Thirleby Road and past the fighting as she had suggested, they would have ran smack-bang into that other group of Weres’. Nice work, John.
Stronghold reached out with his ability to detect life signs, finding that there were far fewer people left fighting now, and he silently prayed that the humans were winning.
Taboo used her suit’s communications array to contact the second car via the soldier’s radio, “Doctor Murray! Taboo here. Do you have any idea why those Weres’ back there looked different from the ones we have in the boot of these cars?”
There was some white noise from Doctor Murray’s end of the conversation, then one of the soldiers was heard telling Murray to hold down the button to speak.
“What do I do? This button? Are you sure?”
Taboo could hear Sanctuary muttering under her breath, “Roger, roger!”
Murray came through again, “Who’s this? What was the question? Who is Roger?”
“Did you see those Were-creatures, Doctor Murray?” Taboo tried again, “They looked more like bears.”
“I did see that! I…I think the were-creatures are evolving into their…intended form.”
“So,” Taboo replied, “invasion of the body snatchers, basically?”
Sanctuary piped up, “So you think these are a more advanced form of the werewolves? That they are more like were-bears now?”
“Well,” Murray said, “if the theories so far are holding true, then it’s been fifteen hours since the potential trigger yesterday, at about six o’clock. I think that what happened at the Albert Hall was like a…first wave mutation, and these new Weres’ are showing second-stage transformative characteristics. Maybe there’s a further stage? I mean, they looked quite bear-like, but still very human in body shape. I noticed their shoulders were becoming broad and their chests looked quite expansive for normal people, so it could be that they are going to be turning into a fully humanoid bear, with appropriate bulk and strength by the time it’s finished. It makes no sense to me, I’m sorry.”
The convoy had travelled along Victoria Street and right onto Grosvenor Place, through Belgravia to run alongside Hyde Park. The drivers had managed to weave their way through several awkward spots, where cars had crashed into other parked vehicles, or had simply been abandoned. A few bore signs of attack, with claw marks scratching paintwork or even gouging the chassis.
Everything went well until they reached Speaker’s Corner. Stronghold once again detected a number of life signs ahead, nine in total, and eight of them seemed to be encircling the last.
“Something’s going on just up ahead,” he said, “I have eight signatures that seem to be ganging up on a single life form, not far…there!”
He was pointing directly at Speaker’s Corner where, sure enough, the nine beings were taking up most of the wide pavement. As he had thought, Stronghold saw that eight of the creatures were the newly-transformed Weres’, all of them broad and muscular, their heads most definitely ursoid in appearance. They had formed a rough semi-circle around the remaining life-form, a bald young woman wearing a red costume and displaying what seemed to be lizard-like hands and talons.
It didn’t look like a fair fight. Atkins stopped the lead car about twenty yards away, and the other two drivers followed suit. Taboo was out of the last car in a flash, a glowing portal appearing just in front of her, about six feet across.
“I can’t just sit here and let us drive past this,” she said, “I’ve got to help her!” Taboo was anxious; it did not sit well with her to leave civilians to fight against superior odds. She was regretting not helping back at Thirleby Road; she would make sure that she helped this time.
Citadel saw how the Weres’ were closely grouped, and said, “Couldn’t we try crashing through them? That would take a few out.”
As soon as he spoke, Citadel imagined the cars ramming into the Weres’, then he activated his intuition ability; once again it told him that it was not a good idea.
Atkins spoke up, “We can’t risk damaging the vehicles, sir. If we lose a wheel or suffer damage from an impact…it’s just not worth the risk.”
Citadel sighed, “Fair enough. We’ve got a long way to go.”
Suddenly he was seeing Taboo’s portal just behind the Weres’, and the acrobat was stepping through the glowing circle of energy. In a heartbeat he was out of the car and standing in the cool morning air, realising that he had a good run up to the Weres’. He set off at pace, even as Stronghold began to exit the vehicle, eager for action, following Citadel into the fray.
The light from Taboo’s portal certainly caught the attention of some of the Weres’, as four of them turned to look and saw her. As one they roared, flexing their hands to reveal wicked claws, taking a step towards her. The other four were focussed on the bald woman and continued to move in on her threateningly, cutting off any chance of escape and backing her into the black iron railings of Hyde Park.
In expectation of the onslaught, Taboo activated her stun bolt weapon, the energy emitter rising through a small aperture in her right gauntlet. The closest Were lunged at her and she caught it square in the chest, the beast crashing to the pavement as its neural signals were sort-circuited.
Sanctuary cast a sideways glance at Powerhouse, who seemed totally disinterested with the current situation; he was looking out of the window to his left, away from the fight, twiddling his thumbs. To her credit, she chose to remain in the vehicle, protecting it and keeping her eye on him at the same time.
Three Weres’ closed the few yards to Taboo, with the ones to the right and left flanking her, keeping a couple of yards to her rear. The Were in the middle came straight at her. From that close she could see the increased covering of fur across the creature’s upper chest, above the pectorals, running to and over the shoulders, and over the face, its bear-like snout and head now dramatically obvious, even though the remainder of the body was still quite human in appearance, though much more muscular and well-defined. It raked its claws across her breastplate, the micromesh armour splitting under the attack, drawing blood. A flesh wound, but painful.
Taboo threw her voice behind the Were in front of her, as loudly as she could manage, “Hey! Over here!”
The were-bear turned quickly, surprised that someone had managed to get so close to it undetected. Taboo sensed that the other two Weres’ had also shifted position to look in the direction of the voice, keen to see who else had arrived. Now with some breathing space Taboo created a small portal and dived through it, rolling onto the pavement just a couple of yards away from the bald woman, directly behind the Weres’ that were stalking her.
Sanctuary concentrated her thoughts, building up her psychic strength to unleash a telekinetic punch against the Weres’ that had flanked Taboo, then suddenly saw a crazy image; Goldilocks and the three bears, dancing around in a circle, laughing in the sunlight. She froze, unable to release the energy, her head throbbing; she gripped the edge of the seat until the feeling subsided, breathing deeply. That had never happened before, and it was worrying.
“I’m sorry, Goldilocks, I tried…” she heard herself shouting, not even registering that Taboo had used her portal to escape. Powerhouse glanced at her, just for a second, then resumed his thumb-twiddling. In the driver’s seat, Private Tanner glared at her, nonplussed by her outburst; If he thought anything else, he didn’t voice it aloud.
Citadel raced toward the nearest Were, one of the pair that had flanked Taboo. It had his back to him, its head moving, looking for the disembodied voice, and never saw him coming. The punch landed in the centre of its back, hurling the creature through the air and into the Weres’ surrounding the bald woman. It was unconscious before it hit the other group, flooring two of them and distracting the other pair.
A second later and Citadel saw Stronghold, a little way to his left, leap into the air, somersault and shift his position, then land a sickening kick to the head of one of the Weres’ by the woman. Marcus saw a few of its teeth scattering to the paving before it spun once and crashed to the ground.
The bald woman looked surprised as Weres’ began to fall all around her; Stronghold saw her right hand grow long claws from the end of her fingers and she tightened her arm muscles to strike, only to snag her claws in the railings behind her. A look of panic flashed across her face as she looked at the other Were to her left, fearing the worst.
Taboo, from her position on Speaker’s Corner, activated her Chameleon system. Light refraction technology bounced the mid-morning sunlight off of microscopic colour recognition panels all over her armour, and she began to shimmer before losing the definition of her normal form and blending into the background of Hyde Park, with its black railings and edging foliage. The Were-bear sensed something was there, turning in Taboo’s direction, but as it screwed its eyes to try to discern the camouflaged hero, Taboo shot it with her stun bolt, dropping it without ceremony.
Back in the last car, Sanctuary rubbed her temple with the fingers of her right hand, stroking away the last of the throbbing pain as her blood began pumping properly. She changed tack. She reached out and found the neural activity of the Were that had slashed Taboo; once connected, she triggered a synaptic overload in the creature’s brain. Out on the street, the others heard a short, horrifying bark, the Weres’ head raised to the heavens, then it collapsed in a heap.
Citadel dispatched the last Were with a quick double punch, the second connecting with its jaw and downing it. It was over, and apart from Taboo’s wound, they had emerged unscathed.
“Thank you! Thank you!” the bald woman said, obviously relieved and delighted to have been rescued. Having freed herself from the railings she walked towards Stronghold, who noticed her hands reverting to human, the claws retracting, the fingers shrinking and changing colour until she looked fully human.
“Sorry about…that last thing…I didn’t realise how close my hand was to the railings. I’m not used to doing things like this.” Taboo deactivated her chameleon system and walked over to greet her. Stronghold waved as he approached, Citadel just behind him.
“I’m Susan. Err, oh, err…I’m…Menagerie!” And she gave them an awkward thumbs up, accompanied by a big, cheesy smile.
“Hey, good name!” said Stronghold, returning the thumbs up, “Are you going to be okay on your own here?” he asked, looking around the area, detecting nothing untoward.
“Erm,” she began, “on my own?” She looked terrified.
“Well,” Stronghold said, “you can come with us if you like, but it’s going to be a tough ride.” He said it with a smile and a throaty laugh, but even that didn’t seem to lift the veiled meaning behind his words.
“We’ve got room in the boot!” Sanctuary was walking towards them all, a big smile on her face.
“Plenty of room,” added Stronghold.
Menagerie’s eyes were pleading, “Can I? Please?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Stronghold, “you have been warned. Anyway, take a seat in the front car.” Menagerie smiled, and suddenly changed into a snake, more precisely a mythological Naga, part-human, part-snake, and slithered into the rear seat.
Everyone returned to their particular vehicle, and Citadel said, “Let’s get going before anymore teddies turn up for the picnic!”
The convoy got under way again, with Stronghold lying on top of the lead car, gripping the roof through gaps in the driver’s and passenger’s windows. He was a well-built man, and had taken up most of the back seat; he didn’t want Susan to feel intimidated by having to squeeze in next to him.
Susan thought it was so sweet of Stronghold to sacrifice his seat in the car, but wondered why he didn’t just ask her to turn into a gerbil to save on space. Men! Can’t give them credit for intelligence, can’t live without them. And wow!, could she ever live without him now?
‘Dreamy!’ she thought to herself, changing back to her human form, and curling up on the now spacious back seat.
Atkins led the convoy onto the A40 and headed west, encountering no major problems until they arrived at a roundabout near to Greenford. It didn’t involve any Weres’, but Stronghold and Citadel were obliged to move a few vehicles that had collided and blocked the forward exit road. They told the others to remain in the cars; that was to spare them the grisly scenes of slashed and bloodied bodies that littered the road. They knew what had happened here, and they would spare the others from it as much as they could.
Private Tanner informed Sanctuary and Taboo that under normal circumstances, with free-flowing traffic, the trip to Northolt should have taken about fifty-five minutes, give-or-take, but they were likely to make it in around and hour and twenty minutes, due to the delays they had encountered.
As the convoy wove through the cleared cars a radio message came through from Captain Walters, relayed from the middle vehicle.
“It’s intriguing,” he said, “though it could be something-or-nothing. We have received reports from the authorities that large groups of the Were-creatures are vacating the city and are heading out into surrounding countryside. They can’t be certain on numbers, they can’t tell us whether all of them are starting to do this, but that’s the news we are being told.”
Citadel asked, “Is there any indication as to whether they are moving out at random, or all in a particular direction?”
“No, not really,” Walters responded, “Because of the scattering of the reports it doesn’t seem like it’s a specific direction, no.”
“It could be the call of the wild,” said Sanctuary, finishing with a quiet howl that caused Powerhouse to raise an eyebrow at her.
“All that we can be sure of is that the creatures are making their way out of the city, whether they be in small groups, or groups of twenty or more.”
“Do they know something we don’t?” mused Citadel.
A quick sit-rep from Atkins finished the radio conversation with Captain Walters, and then the convoy was turning right around the roundabout that housed the Polish Air Force memorial, onto West End Road, and very quickly were at the gates to RAF Northolt.
Eight Air Force personnel manned the security hut and main gate, armed and alert, bringing Atkins to a halt at the locked gates. A brief conversation between the servicemen saw the gates unlocked and the cars ushered through.
“Take the road to your left,” said the man in charge, Flying Officer Williams, pointing roughly southwards to where some buildings and aircraft could be seen in the distance, “and simply follow it all the way around to the air traffic control centre there. It’s about three-quarters of a mile.”
It didn’t take long, and soon everyone could see the huge buildings in front of them. Six small training aircraft stood idle in what was essentially an aircraft parking area, and as they exited the cars they could see the taxiway in front of them, leading away to join the sole huge runway that cut through the expanse of field, leading back towards the gate. A little further away from the light aircraft were two helicopters, which the team took to be their transports. One of the choppers had three flight crew working on refuelling it from a tanker.
More worryingly, five body bags were lined up by a set of hangar doors, over which a large sign read ‘Universal Aviation’. Four of the bags seemed human sized, but the last obviously held something far larger. A few yards away sat a badly damaged Ford Fiesta Zetec; it’s bonnet was crumpled in the centre, and it’s windscreen was almost entirely smashed out. The driver’s side wing mirror was hanging off its mounting precariously.
Out of a doorway a little way further along the building came three men, two of whom were dressed in flight overalls, the third man dressed in officers garb. They walked towards the team, though the pilots drifted past in the direction of the choppers.
“Gentlemen, I am Squadron Leader Travis. I am hoping that in ten minutes you will be airborne and on your way.”
“Fantastic!” said Sanctuary, “So, what’s the big bag over there? Is that a big bear? A ‘daddy’ bear?”
Travis cast a glance in the direction of the body bags, “That’s a good expression, yes, definitely like a bear. I thought these things were supposed to be…well, were-wolves, or something like that?”
“We saw it on the way in,” said Sanctuary, “they seem to have changed, you know? Evolved a bit.”
Travis looked incredulous. “Well,” he said, “we didn’t get any werewolves here…I don’t know why, we must have been lucky, but this…thing…came out of nowhere, from somewhere off the main road. Before we knew it, the damned thing had cut four of my men up, and wrecked that car. It was a flipping beast!”
The team were silent, sharing the grief. Even Powerhouse remained quiet, respectful. Doctor Murray was staring into the late-morning skies, as if he could see or sense something that the others could not.
Travis spoke again, “So you chaps are what, then? Here to save the day, I’m being told?”
“Or to help someone else do it,” said Stronghold, “it’s all down to Doctor Murray, really.”
“Yeah, yeah,” chirped Sanctuary, “we’re just taking a little trip to Cornwall.”
Travis nodded, “Well, good luck to you. Do you want anything before you go? A cup of tea, or…?”
Sanctuary stepped forward, “I wouldn’t mind a look inside that body bag, to see what the offending perp looks like, yeah?”
“Yes, of course,” said Travis, leading the group over and unzipping the bulging body bag. It certainly was a Were, but it was slightly larger than the ones they had encountered an hour or so earlier, and slightly more ursoid in the head, face, and shoulders. It had a few more pounds of muscle in its frame. Bullet holes in its chest showed the cause of death, and blood smeared its jaw and upper torso, presumably from its victims.
Dan Rowlf whistled in astonishment, “Big bastard,” he said, flatly.
Taboo turned to Menagerie, “Hey, are you capable of changing your shape into one of these creatures, if necessary? Or can you only copy human forms?”
The young lady puffed out her cheeks, “No, I can move away from human shapes if I want to…this thing…I can try!”
“No!” shouted Taboo and Sanctuary in unison, “Not here!” continued Sanctuary, “you’re likely to get yourself shot.”
“I just want to know whether you have the capability,” asked Taboo.
In answer, Menagerie knelt down and put her left hand onto the Weres’ chest, closed her eyes for a few seconds, then said, “I can try.”
“Not here,” said Taboo, “somewhere in private. It may come in useful at a later stage.”
Menagerie looked thoughtful, as if trying to figure out what future event would call for her talents in that manner.
“Okay,” she said, nodding, “yes, I should be able to.”
“It might be useful to infiltrate these creatures,” said Taboo, “because they don’t seem to attack each other, they only seem to be attacking us.”
Menagerie raised an eyebrow, “Ooh, that’s a good point, isn’t it? I get you…hang on, you want me to infiltrate them?” Now she looked shocked, scared, even.
“No, no,” said Taboo, “I’m saying it’s a possibility only, but it may be something that could save your life if you were attacked.” Thankfully the visor hid her expression from the young superhuman, and spared her blushes. She hadn’t meant to scare the woman, let alone make her feel expendable.
“Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire!” Menagerie said, eyebrows raised.
Taboo tried a different tack, “You’re welcome to stay here at the base, if you prefer?”
“Yeah,” followed Sanctuary, “you can just stay here if you want; you don’t have to come with us. But if you want a ride to Cornwall, that’s where we’re going.”
“Well,” Menagerie said, mulling things over in her mind, “who are you people, anyway?”
“We’re the E.D.T.,” Sanctuary declared.
“The Murgatroyd E.D.T.,” Citadel chipped in, “the Enhanced Defence Team.”
“You must have heard of us…” said Sanctuary, looking almost disappointed.
“They can only speak for themselves, I’m afraid.” said Taboo.
Menagerie smirked, “That’s got to be the worst team-name ever!”
Stronghold laughed, “Yeah, it is.”
“We didn’t choose it!” Citadel said firmly, folding his arms across his chest defensively.
“Well,” Menagerie continued, “I’ve only been doing this for a fortnight…so…can I come with you? Please?”
Sanctuary reached out and touched her arm, “Yeah, why not?”
“You’re welcome,” said Taboo.
Citadel shifted his stance, hands on hips, “You say you’ve only been doing this for a fortnight? How did you get this power?”
“Ugh…hmm, okay then,” Menagerie looked uncomfortable, reticent, “have you heard of anyone called the dread Zoomaster?”
“No.” Sanctuary shook her head, keeping a straight face despite the urge to laugh at the name.
“Fair enough,” said Menagerie, relieved that his reputation had, for once at least, not preceded him, “I’ll tell you about it on the way. But I’m not the only one.”
“Ah!” Citadel seemed intrigued.
“They have the same power as yourself?” asked Taboo, “Or do they different zoo-related powers?”
Menagerie averted her gaze, her eyes darting from side to side as she thought about what she should say, remembering her experiences of the recent past.
“Animal powers,” she said finally, “I can shift between animal shapes, I have some attributes of those animals, but…Street Shark…if you ever meet a guy with a shark’s head, about the size of a bus, that’s him.”
Sanctuary couldn’t suppress a wide grin; this was starting to sound ridiculous.
“Owl Woman,” Menagerie continued, “you can imagine…”
Sanctuary bit her thumbnail to stop herself from laughing out loud, “Yeah…”
“Yes,” said Taboo, “the names do seem to have a lack of imagination to them.”
Stronghold was looking studious as Menagerie spoke, his hands pressed together at his mouth. He didn’t like the sound of this Zoomaster. If the guy could churn out mutated humans like this, he was going to become a person of interest.
“Taurus is one of the better ones,” Menagerie continued.
“Taurus, yeah,” mimicked Sanctuary, still nibbling her nail.
“You don’t want to mess with him,” Menagerie concluded, “I don’t want to mess with him.”
“No!” exclaimed Sanctuary, wishing she really could mess with him.
“Menagerie, can you change your size?” asked Taboo, “or are you stuck with the same weight, mass, as you have when you’re a human being?”
“It seems as though I effectively can’t change my weight…”
“So you’d be a very small giraffe?” asked Sanctuary, smiling.
“Yeah!” agreed the young woman, “So I can broaden myself to a degree, but I can’t really grow…”
“Okay,” said Taboo, “so you can’t really increase your mass. Okay, it’s useful to know.”
Menagerie seemed a little crestfallen, “I hope I can be useful to you.”
“Well, you can still stay here if you prefer?” said Taboo, unsure if the woman had what it takes to step into the unknown.
“But…I want to be on a team,” Menagerie said.
Taboo laughed, “We’re not a team. These three are,” she pointed to the members of the E.D.T., “but I’m not.”
Stronghold put a large hand on Menagerie’s shoulder, “We’re hoping to sort out this whole were-wolf thing,” he said softly, “it might do you a favour.”
“It’s not up to us,” Sanctuary said, “ we can’t recruit new members; it’s above our pay-grade.”
“You might not like our employer,” Citadel said, matter-of-factly. He couldn’t imagine this young girl going through Murgatroyd’s training programme, even if they had built her. They would probably reject her, throw her to the wolves for being weak-willed. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Rodriguez, his former training buddy, now missing, persona non grata. What had happened to him? Was he really, as John thought, dead? Why wouldn’t Murgatroyd give him a straight answer?
“You are welcome to come along.” Sanctuary said, suddenly seeming to take a shine to the shape-shifting woman.
“Okay,” Menagerie said, “couldn’t we just call it a special guest-star issue?” Sanctuary laughed at the comic-book reference.
“Yeah, we can deputize you!”
“Fantastic!” beamed Menagerie, fist-pumping the air.
Travis smiled, zipped up the body bag, then received an update from the flight crew; the choppers were ready.
“It will be useful to swap the bodies out,” said Taboo, “to take one of the were-bears.”
“That’s a good idea,” Citadel agreed.
Travis pointed to the helicopters, “So, you have two Wildcat AH Mk1 Helicopters. They will have a pilot and an observer, and each bird can take an additional six passengers. The journey to Spaceport Cornwall will take between ninety minutes and two hours, weather dependent. Your maximum load is therefore twelve passengers.”
Sanctuary looked at the size of the dead were-bear, “So one of our corpses will class as one passenger, will it?”
“Yes,” said Travis, “it’s the weight that counts. You have eight people that need to go, that being you four, Doctor Murray, Powerhouse and his guard, and Mister Rowlf. Nine, if you are taking Menagerie, here.”
Stronghold rubbed his impressively square chin, “And with one were-wolf and one were-bear, we have one final seat available for any more strays we might want to pick up along the way…”
Taboo turned to the group, “So, we’ll take just one of each body, and I suggest we take an extra soldier, for additional armed back-up.”
The team agreed without argument, and as the engines whined into life, they loaded the two dead Weres’ aboard, securing them into seats with safety belts, then climbed aboard their allotted helicopters.
The observers fitted headphones to everyone onboard, before checking the doors were shut and returning to their seats in the cockpit. The noise was incredible, even with the headphones in place, and then they were airborne.
Next stop; Spaceport Cornwall.
Finis Issue Two
***
“Commander, I have an update on the situation in London!”
“Report, Dar Gralf.”
The male bowed before his superior officer, a large, strong, and experienced leader of her people.
“Examiner Horolf has initial estimates reaching a 40% transformation saturation point. Whilst this is lower than we anticipated it has proven to be more than enough for the humans to handle, certainly in the short-term. The city is in chaos, many thousands of their population have been killed, and we know that their leaders are in conference, some kind of emergency powers committee they call COBRA. Your plan is working, Commander.”
“Did you expect a different outcome, Gralf?” The question was a veiled threat, and Dar Gralf was wise to its intent.
“Most certainly not, my excellency. Indeed, I am staggered by its ingenuity and grandeur!”
The commander turned away, her gaze returning to the viewing porthole in the hull of the ship, the dark, crater-pocked landscape before her holding her attention for a few seconds more.
“And the drones? How are they performing?”
“Horolf informs me that the drones are currently at stage three of the process, with many on the outskirts of the city already heading to what the humans call ‘countryside’, or their equivalent of our pamasals, commander. Even so, we estimate an urban population of over two million drones by the time they reach stage four, and even our worst projections have one million drones in London at stage five. However,” Gralf paused to lick his teeth with a long, pink tongue, “by that time the city will be lost, and our drones unstoppable.”
The commander’s ears twitched slightly at this last statement.
“I find this to be…good news, Gralf.” A last look out of the porthole, and she turned to face the Dar.
“As soon as Horolf confirms the onset of stage four, send out the shuttle as we discussed. I want those materials on board before the humans have time to mount any credible resistance. The sooner this ship is repaired and fully functional, the happier I shall be. And, Gralf, you don’t want to see me unhappy, do you?”
Gralf did his best to hide his gulp of fear, “Most certainly not, your excellency. Most certainly not.”
Superhero Adventures, UK Style 