APOCALYPSE NEXT Chapter 1 PETER AND THE WOLVES Missin' time...this is wot it feels like...missin' time...blacked out sometime last night [was it last night?] blacked out some night sometime and the memory fades and I feel disoriented... on me back in a cheap room in a cheap little sauna of a country. Missing time but I wasn't abducted by aliens...I was abducted by scotch and taken to a far, far better world where nothing is ugly and no one is poundin' on me door... "...om?" ...poundin on the door with me 'ead... "ag..t......isd...?" ...tryin' to break me skull against the door. I open me eyes and stare at the ceiling fan and it spins and then it stops spinnin' and I begin to spin and my skull is bein' much abused against the door... "are......ight.....gent...om?" and the door finally gives up the battle and swings open. Backlit against the evil sunlight assaulting me through the blinds, stand my tormentors, three men in ...spinnin...I... "fuckin stop spinnin' ye tosser gits!" I think I just tried to lash out at them. I weakly sweep my arm at them trying to vanish them from me world but they just stand there, all too real and beyond me flaccid reach so I sink back into the hot mattress and give meself up t' the inevitable. "So this is the badass killer the brass is so hot for?" They're talkin 'bout me...three of them and they sound so far away as I try to swim back up t' me eyeballs from deep inside me skull...me eyes are open and I see their forms but no detail yet, just blurs...three blurs in three sizes: big, medium and small (e's sittin' on the bed watchin' me). "Peter Wisdom, British intel. on loan to us." Big blur. "Orders say we take him to "HERO" first, is he one of their boys?" Medium blur [one of their boys?] "Shut up about that you moron!" Small blur, sittin', looks t' be in charge. "That's not to be discussed outside of "PARAMETERS"...ever!" This is gonna hurt but I have to do it before they realize I'm conscious. I work every bit of energy I have into a single motion and throw meself out of bed and onto me feet... lunge for the door and slam me back against it [too much to do before I've had a drink and a smoke...fuck!] can't let them have a way out knowing that I'm here. I face the three of them, me hands taking on the red glow of hot death. "Who are you fuckin' wankers?" I put most of me remaining strength into sounding scary. "Where's my control?" "I'll kill you all!" The man in charge gets up from his place at the bed; he's actually the tallest of the three. He looks at me without fear or challenge...just looks at the naked man who can barely stand without his arse propped against the doorknob. I'm sick and sweating, steam rising from my hands... I can see in his eyes that I'm not a man to be feared right now. "Peter Wisdom." He says to me. "Agent Wisdom, your control, Agent Doubt, was killed several weeks ago and it has taken us this long to find you. We're here to collect you, take you in for debriefing and prep you for your new assignment. "I'm telling you the truth, please help us out a little and we can get you out of this fucked up little country and back to civilization... By the way, I'm Agent Furbin and I've been appointed as your interim "control", the two gentlemen standing behind me are Agents Cope and Glass." "Pleased to meet you, Agent Wisdom." Agent Cope. "G'day mate!" Agent Glass. "You're a moron, Agent Glass, he's British, not Australian." Agent Cope. "Oops, watch me try and give a shit." Agent Glass. Furbin takes a step toward me and offers his hand, I keep an eye on the two agents. Glass is goin' about the room pickin' me dirty gear up off the floor. Cope has a backpack that he begins to empty out on the bed. Furbin comes closer to me. "Agent Glass is collecting your belongings and Agent Cope is preparing to "clear" this room, once we close the door behind us, we were never here... now if you would please get dressed we can leave as soon as possible." From across the room, Glass throws a bundle of clothing to me. "Heads up, Benny Hill!...Nice shorts, by the way!" The bundle hits me chest and lands at me feet...I begin to dress. Furbin helps me steady meself with a hand to me shoulder. I still feel weak but me brain is only slightly rolling inside me skull...I'll talk to Furbin while I dress. "Furbin, you and your men are not Brit Intel, obviously, so why are you here to collect me?" "You're right, we're American intelligence, part of Special Operations Group. Agent Doubt died before he could collect and debrief you, Agent Wisdom, therefore you were never processed out of being on loan to us so we are still responsible for you. I assure you that all this will be sorted out once we're away from this dump and you'll be off on your next mission." "What happened to Doubt, how did he die?" "Don't know, all I know is that he died shortly after the end of your mission in Panama after he sent you here to "cool". Beyond that I know as much as you do." Glass comes out of the bathroom carrying me duffel bag. It looks full, but I get the feeling that it can't be... something seems off... There should be more stuff in the room besides my clothes and some empty bottles of the local "rotgut". "This is some twisted shit, man!... They put a T.V. in the room but all you get is one channel; no cable, no VCR... Shit, man, no wonder you're all fucked up, Benny Hill." Glass. "Do you ever say anything not stupid, Agent Glass?" Cope, handing Glass a cannister that looks like a fire extinguisher. "Take this and spray the toilet and every place else you've been." "Do you smoke, Agent Wisdom?" Furbin, offering me a fag...[ahh, and it's me brand]. I take one gratefully. "Thank you, Furbin, been needing a smoke since I got here." [Now that just didn't sound right at all.] "Then you'd better take the whole pack; Agents Glass and Cope, we are done here I hope?" "Hell yes, let's blow this stink town." Glass. "We're clear, Agent Furbin, I've signalled our transport and we'll be picked up at the harbor... Now let's all pretend that Santo Puton never happened." Cope. Furbin reaches past me to open the door and I step outside into the bright afternoon, the air is hot and oppressive... I don't know wot it is about Santo Puton that brings out such geographic loathing in these men but I know the feeling all too well. It's a short ride down the hill to the harbor. No one speaks, not even that sod Glass; he's very much enjoying himself driving us to the harbor as fast as the HUMVEE will go. Despite the speed and the bumps and not all four tires touchin' the road at the same time, I'm very relaxed, the fags having done a proper job of getting me head straight. I lean back with eyes closed, getting back to meself. A wicked thought plays inside me mind and I act on it... Much to his credit, Glass never lays off the accelerator when I send a blade past his right ear and through the windshield in front of him, the wind blowing bits of glass back at his face...he drives like a pro -- but he does lose his grin. "Git, call me Benny Hill again and I'll reach into your belly and do terrible, rude things to your digestive." "Good one." Cope chuckles. We continue in silence and soon we reach the harbor and the waiting Blackawk gunship... as we pile out of the HUMVEE, Cope enters a sequence of numbers into a dashboard keypad, a low hum soon follows and the vehicle falls apart in a heavy pile of components which burn to slag. The Blackhawk's rotor blades begin to spin with increasing speed as we all climb onboard and take our seats. Furbin hands me a helmet and as I put it on he reaches over and switches on the com. The helicopter 'eads out over the harbor and to the open sea, steadily increasing speed and altitude. "Now we can hear each otheer, Agent Wisdom, you'll need to wear the breathing mask as well...not too much air to breathe where we're going." "Where we headin'?" I ask, and as if to answer, the pilot takes us into a steep climb. "Orbit." Cope pointing at the sky. "But we're in a helicopter, how can it do that?" Cope leans close to me as if to impart some great secret confidence although we're all linked by radio. "This is a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicopter, Agent Wisdom; heavily modified...big difference. We need to cover a large distance in a very short time... Central America to Long Island, New York. We're going into orbit at an angle favorable to our land target and counter to the Earth's rotation. At the apex of our climb we reenter the atmosphere at a fortyfive degree angle and as we ascend to New York, planetary rotation will insure that our land target meets us half way...close to half way." The force of our ascent into orbit presses heavily against us and I allow meself to sink into me seat as Cope keeps goin' on about the Blackhawsk's specs and the mechanics of 'orbital peak travel' and on and on........................... I just can't listen, me mind is too conflicted. I need a fag but this is a non-smoking flight. What happened to me?... Was there ever a time when I wasn't killing... when my life wasn't such a dark parade of freaks and secrets and death? And now, Doubt is dead ...I feel...unanchored, but it's nothing new. I 'ave a familiarity with this feeling... driftin' from one strange scene to the next bein' led from darkness to blur to darkness again. Newcastle....? ....Now where the 'ell did that come from? I 'aven't thought about that nightmare in years, all those dead kids... when me stomach was still soft to that sort of thing. I suppose I was once young but mostly I feel as if I were born old... funny thing innit, Pete? Newcastle was the springboard for so much to so many of us... No, not really... Newcastle has always felt to be the halfway point of me life. It hurts me chest to think back that far, the major events come to mind easily enough, childhood stuff, birthdays, holidays and me mum an' dad. The old git's strange work and mum's worries over him... me power manifesting in flames and me world turns to pain. Other things... vague things, and Newcastle. One more mission and I'll take a leave of absence, look up John, when did I last talk to him? It feels................ It feels as if the Blackhawk's tearing itself apart, the violence of its shuddering brings me up out of me thoughts and I sit upright, ready to bolt an' escape if I need to...a hand on me shoulder: Furbin. "It's alright, Agent Wisdom we're just reentering at a rough angle. Just sit back and relax. I apologize for the rude awakening, heavy G's made you black out but you'll be fine. You just slept through most of the flight." "I just had my eyes closed, thinking." "Pilot says we'll be at Montauk Air Station in ten minutes." Glass. "We're to take Benny--, uhh, Agent Wisdom I mean to the radar tower and from there to level five and 'parameters'." After our rough reentry, we level out and are treated to a much smoother ride. The outer shields which cover the windows drop back into their slots and the soft purple light of early evening greets me as we fly over the Atlantic toward Long Island... We approach a light'ouse. "That lighthouse marks Montauk Point, Agent Wisdom." Cope. "We headed there?" "No, just a bit south of there to Camp Hero and the airbase therein, Agent Wisdom." We fly past the light'ouse and over a small town... Montauk, I suppose... and after a wide half circle turn we're flying into a forest... We come to a stop above the treeline but not near the airbase... I can see a radar tower and a few low buildings in the distance as we 'over for some time while Glass communicates with the base. "We'll be landing here instead of the base proper. Word from base is that there is civilian activity near the tower; possibly picnickers or nosy shit reporters. They'll be hustled out soon enough." Glass. At that, the Blackhawk begins its descent into the forest and onto the ground...and into the ground...an airshaft or well o' some sort. As we go down, a line of brackish water begins to rise outside our windows. A low thunk announces that we've touched bottom...sounds of movement and scraping below us and we're goin' down again till we touch bottom once more...sound o' movement and scraping above us and the water level drops away...airlock. "This is where we get off, Agent Wisdom." Furbin says as 'e leads me out o' the Blackhawk's cabin and onto the grilled deck o' the enormous airlock, 'e 'ands me a fresh pack o' fags; just wot I need, I ain't in me own mind yet.With Cope and Glass trailin' behind us, Furbin walks me through a door and into a well lit tunnel that extends well farther than I can see... It is empty, and though I'm not prone to claustrophobia, a heavy feeling is crawling up me spine. The sound o' a motor announces the approach o' a golf cart type o' transport vehicle...no driver. "Transport drone. It'll take us to the main hub and from there an elevator ride down to level five and 'parameters'." Cope. As the drone carries us through the tunnel..."Third time I've heard you mention 'parameters', I know what the word means but what does it mean to you lot?" "Parameters..." Furbin tells me, "...Is the most secure location on this base, maybe even on earth. It's an intelligence operations center where we conduct briefing and debriefing, gather and disseminate intelligence and set mission parameters. Also, what makes this location so unique is that nothing is off limits, that is, information that is given up to and above top secret classification is freely discussed...except for one bit of information. Parameters is shielded against all forms of espionage, even psychic, and how that is accomplished is held at the highest possible level of security. Now this is the part that can get you killed--what is seen, heard and done in parameters--stays in parameters; you take it out into the world before we want the world to see it--we kill you-- all personnel are equipped with a subdermal shielding implant that works the same as the parameters shield. How's it work? I wouldn't tell if I knew. And here we are, Agent Wisdom." During Furbin's discourse, we travelled through several hundred meters of tunnel past six armed check points and an energized field that made me hair stand on end...only me... Furbin and Cope 'ave buzz cuts and Glass is a fuckin skin'ead. We come to a stop at a lift and we ride down to level five and parameters. Parameters is at the end of a wide corridor ample enough to allow for two lanes o' traffic. We stop at what looks like a dead end, but we 'ave gone through the looking glass now, 'aven't we? A slight hum and heretofore invisible seams appear as the vault doors begin their slow swing open. Shouldn't Beethoven's ninth be playin'?