Old Soldiers

[general-eiling.livejournal.com]

“We are approaching Tiger Bay momentarily, sir.” The pilots voice was nearly drown out by the ancient Hueys protests over its unnatural load.

“Very good…uhr… proceed as planned soldier.” Although his military etiquette was as sharp as ever, Eiling still had trouble making his body articulate. Half a ton of plastalloy engineered muscle will do that to a man. 

“Tiger Bay,” Eiling mused “I never would have thought…” The idea of having to conduct business in such a place disgusted the military man in him but times, like bodies, have changed and his needs overtook his ego. The Monster Society was for all intents and purposes disbanded; Light was in no shape for actions, there was no word on Prometheus, and Sivana has crawled back to whatever hole vermin like that hide in. 

Known to the West only as Tiger Bay the Malaysian port was a notorious harbor for mercenaries, pirates, smugglers and generally the dregs of the world. The flow of illicit activities made many nations take notice but the untold millions that flow out of this obscure cove make many an eye blind. And this cesspool is where Eiling would begin to enact his plans. 

As the Huey made is decent into an unoccupied helipad the pilot signaled The General. The ancient helicopter groaned in relief as The General disembarked. Even in this hellhole it was impossible for him to go incognito. Although stealth was not a priority on this particular mission. The usually teeming alleys were cleared in the path of the giant. The warehouse his contact gave him was not hard to find. 

A reinforced steel garage door is not much of and obstacle when you can crush titanium with your little finger, no matter how many locks you put on it. As he made his way into the warehouse he was greeted with a familiar sound of automatic rifles being readied. 

“Kalashnikovs, very warming.” He thought reminiscing of a past life. 

“Gentlemen I am looking for your commanding officer!” His voice booming in the hollow building. 

“Who the *@#! are you. Better yet what the *@#! are you?” a thick Russian accent retorted. 

The man it belonged to stepped from the shadows. His silver hair cropped close to his skull, classic Spetznaz. Clearly this was the authority of this band of miscreants. 

“Your…urh…fixer Mr. Zhou, said I could find you here. I have a proposition for you.” The General said almost charmingly. 

The mercenaries had their weapons beaded on his head, even though many were clearly shaken. 

“Good soldiers.” He thought. “Even terrified their resolve doesn’t waver.” 

  “And why would we listen to you? We don’t work for freaks, especially American Freaks. Zhou knows this!” The Russian military man barked. 

“I can be surprisingly persuasive.” Eiling smirked. 

“Kill this piece of…akk!” The Russians words were interrupted by a gigantic hand enveloping his head. 

Eiling lifted the man as if he were a paper sack. The wet pop of his neck was an unnecessary, if not enjoyable gesture to discourage any other objectors. The dead man crumpled to the floor, his men astonished at the unabashed brutality. 

“Men,” Eiling boomed “you are now under my employ. I am your General; you will take orders from me and only me. I will not tolerate dissenters. As such I can promise you either a fortune or a warrior’s death. Serve me well. After all what is a general without his soldiers…”

Postcards from Space

[jla-extras.livejournal.com]

It’s an unusually hot day in the city. Heat, cold, rain or shine, it doesn’t matter. The Postman always delivers. Well, at least that’s true enough for this particular delivery.

 

Warriors is doing decent business this afternoon. There is a game on the television and the taps are flowing. It’s more than enough on a day like this to bring in the patrons.

 

The gawky deliveryman has to rais his voice considerably to be heard of the din.

 

“Miss..Olafsdotter?  Is there a Miss Olafsdotter here??”

 

He looks around quizzically.

Petrol Peril

[mistahjay.livejournal.com]

"Iiii don't want to set the world on fire~!" The thin, well-dressed man sung to himself as he waited in line, tapping his fingers against his elbow as he cradled a basket full of groceries in his arms. He ignored the glare from the young mother behind him, because if she can't appreciate the classics it's not his fault! Besides, he'd been waiting for nearly thirty minutes while this old woman struggled with giving exact change for her purchase and he was, frankly, very proud of himself for keeping the nervous twitches down to a minimum. It wasn't often that he had to do his own shopping, but he'd be darned if he was going to be completly at the mercy of his own impulses, just because of crying children and noisy families and the faint smell of lemon pine that was...

"-here's my baby?!" The woman thundered, and it cut into the man's haze of self satisfaction. Gosh, he thought, as he saw that, indeed, the cart where the youngster who was bopping along to his song was empty. And then he was being grabbed by the lapel, as the woman enthused, "Did you see him?! I swear to God I was only distracted for a second and..."

And somehow, the animal in the woman knew to give the thin, harmless man a moment to catch his breath, despite every instinct in her body demanding an alternative action. "No." The man admitted, "But I'll help you look for him. He couldn't have gotten far, right?"

The young woman nodded, tears still streaking down her face, as the thin man went to the left, moving with practiced ease. "Ah hah." The thin man murmured, squatting down and reaching inside one of the colorful displays encouraging shoppers to indulge in a soda or a piece of candy before leaving. There was the kid, no more than 14 months old, looking up at the thin man as he(or she) sucked on a Wonka bar. "You've got good taste, kid." The thin man said calmly, reaching over and picking the child up. He turned around, bouncing the child a little in an attempt to keep it from panicking, and turned to call for the young mother when the screaming started.

"No! You MONSTER!"

"Feind!"

"Oh God we're all gonna die!"

The thin man blinked in confusion, looked over at the child, who was shamelessly grinning as she tugged on his face again, pulling more of the careful blend of makeup and prostetics that he used to go out in public. The thin man felt his face, saw that yes, the little girl had tugged his false nose off, and, for the first time in a long while, wondered what, exactly, he was going to do.

"The Joker's got my baby!"