Difference between revisions of "Captain Adamant: Evil Eye"

Captain Adamant hated sitting in his armor. It was one of the many activities made worse by wearing it. That, and most seating implements weren’t made for men who weighed a ton.

But here he was, sitting among the other PRIMUS soldiers, packed tight in the crew module of their transport. They were all suited up, ready to deploy. Some idly inspected their equipment in the dim, red glow flowing from the bulkhead lights. It was too loud to hold conversation. All Carter could think about was standing.

But he wouldn’t bring himself to get up. He was doing his best to blend in with the soldiers, something he knew was impossible. Standing above them would only invite stares. It might even imply authority, something that was simply not true. He was there to lend a hand, like any other superhero would.

And that was the problem. Carter had been a soldier his whole life, at least during the parts that were meaningful. Now he was...something else. The men and women in uniform regarded him with awe, curiosity, and scrutiny. He was no longer one of them. And Carter hated that too.

Sudden turning in his stomach signaled that they were landing. Finally.

Still, this was a breeze compared to the last month’s happenings. This was still familiar. Despite his new identity, and his refusal to stand, it was all very comfortable. No time travel. And no pleasure cruises. Just some good old-fashioned peacekeeping action. And this time, he’d be bulletproof.

The transport landed, and everyone stood. Captain Adamant did so as well, with a sigh of relief. He could feel a myriad of eyes, peering up at his shining form through many a visor. He stood almost a foot taller than the soldiers beside him.

The door hissed and unbolted itself, and hydraulics tractored the ramp downward and out from the soldiers. First, there was only the sound of wind, whistling harshly, even eerily through the growing opening in the hull.

But soon thereafter, a blast of cold, crisp air ripped through the cabin. It was enough to jostle some of his accompanying soldiers; fitting straps, equipment pouches and satchels all taking a beating from the wind. But Captain Adamant stood motionless, sturdy as the ship. The first row of soldiers began their jog out onto the platform. Carter followed, his steps resounding throughout the crew module.

The Unbreakable Man met the bitter night air with enthusiasm, and couldn’t hide his smile. The unclouded black and blue sky accented with every star clear as crystal. Utility lights blasted the needed portions of the landing pad with white light, and the platform itself buzzed with human activity. Another landing craft departed, as a loading lift took off with its cargo, and another squad of PRIMUS soldiers made their way off the pad towards Command.

There were still eyes on him, without a doubt. He could feel it. But it didn’t matter. Command was just a few dozen yards away, his targets likely hidden deep in the winter beyond Steelhead’s walls.

Now this is a vacation.

Carter scanned his surroundings as he sought out someone in command. He began trailing the throng of PRIMUS and RCMP troops, his thudding steps dwarfing theirs.

“Captain Adamant!”

The one and only turned in the direction of the voice, still audible over the howling, cold wind. This one must be in charge. An older man approached, braving the weather, hunched over to keep his face from the incoming cold. He extended a gloved hand in the Captain’s direction. Carter had been working to suppress it, but he could feel the impulse to salute rank stir somewhere in his spine.

“Colonel Jane, thanks for coming. We appreciate help from PRIMUS, but you supers always seem to do the trick.”

Superheroes just shook hands and smiled. So that’s what Captain Adamant did. Though he was careful not to break Jane’s hand.

“Just doing my part for an ally in need, Colonel. What’s the situation?”

“I should say we’re lucky. After all, we aren't dealing with VIPER, or those mystics to the north.”

“Hunter-Patriots. I read the report.” Jane took the hint.

“Then you know they've got ten fortified positions and a whole new supplier. We weren't ready for that kind of moxie. This push could pave the way for something worse in the future.”

Adamant didn't flinch. The Hunter-Patriots were terrorists, plain and simple. They toyed with cybernetics and magic, but they were barely more than common criminals as far as he was concerned. Perhaps a threat in numbers, against conventional tactics. But the Captain was beginning to accept his rather unconventional means, and the advantages it afforded him.

The Colonel crossed his arms, burying his hands underneath them and exhaling. Meanwhile, Captain Adamant stood motionless as the wind tore past them.

“We can continue inside, Colonel.”

Jane smirked up at him from under his hood. “I hoped you would say that. Follow me.”

After a brief trek down from the landing pad, amid the safety-lighted staircase, they came to the station’s main entrance. The soldiers standing watch saluted the Colonel, who returned a brief salute before walking towards the heavy metal entrance. The soldiers, predictably, stared up at Captain Adamant as he passed. The Unbreakable Man offered a polite nod before aligning his gaze forward again.

The large blast doors clanked and unlocked, while motors whined in agony, pulling them apart. They passed through the arched opening, and though his suit was temperature-controlled, Carter already felt warmer. So did the Colonel, who finally managed to tear his hands out from under his arms.

“Welcome to Force Station Steelhead, Captain. May not be as fancy as some of your PRIMUS facilities, but...”

Carter knew it wasn't. The hallway was like any other first-world military installation: sleek, but bare and rugged. Any center this close to enemy lines had to expect some wear and tear. But Carter’s trained eyes could spot the holes in their budget. Then again, not many governments could compete with PRIMUS.

“It does its job.” seemed to be the most appropriate response.

“Damn right. In my eight years of service, we've never had an incursion breach our walls. And we've never been infiltrated, despite VIPER’s best efforts. As I said, Hunter-Patriots are usually the least of our problems. And Justiciar keeps them in line.”

“So where is he now?” Carter couldn't help it, but he sounded more than a little accusatory in his asking.

Colonel Jane led him down yet another bleak hallway. His weary sigh echoed against the metal of the walls and ceiling, just as their footsteps had been doing the whole time.

"He’s currently occupied north of the Chiyetanka Hills. He accompanied an advance scouting party just before things went south. Extraction will take some time, even for him. And wouldn't you know it, we've lost radio contact."

Jane glanced back at the superhero following in his stead. “When the Hunters got wise to his absence, that's when it really hit the fan.”

Captain Adamant nodded, still inspecting the installation’s austere architecture, though never losing focus on the Colonel’s words. “I suppose that’s why I’m here. To fill in.”

“It may be more complicated than that.”

The Captain stopped, just as Jane turned on his heel to face a sealed bulkhead door that almost blended into the wall. The Colonel began punching a code into the keypad, thereafter leaning in for a retinal scan.

“It usually is. We’re outnumbered, but as you said, terrorists are hardly the worst thing out here. What else is going on?”

The bulkhead door hissed and snapped open. Colonel Jane twisted to eye Adamant over his shoulder. “I didn't want to say it within earshot of the other men. I think we're dealing with something else."

It began as a distant thundering; a single sound that demanded attention, then faded. It might have been a gunshot, an explosion, or artillery fire. It wasn't too far from the truth.

If you’re unlucky enough to have missed a visual, and only have heard the sound, like the Hunter-Patriot patrol in question, there’s a short calm that came after. The calm before one hell of a storm.

Captain Adamant, as he intended, hurtled down from the sky, feet first, into the midst of his targets. Many within the group peered upward; their brains screamed to them that something drew near. It cast a brief shadow that alerted their vision.

A couple of the quicker ones, including their cyborg escort, began discharging their weapons. But his velocity was too great, his approach too sudden to allow for a sure shot. The noise roared again, louder, as fire jettisoned from his boots, slowing his descent slightly. It brought a sharp ringing pain to the ears of his opponents. A veritable battle tank crashed into the snow within their numbers, shaking the ground; it brought one of the Hunter-Patriots to their knees, and threw powder and dirt outward and with force.

His first move had to be against their cyborg, who was already drawing a bead as his comrades struggled to react to the situation. Captain Adamant wasted no time.

Again his footwear erupted in fire, propelling the Unbreakable Man expertly and swiftly towards the half-machine. In a move that would make professional wrestlers jealous, Captain Adamant tackled the cyborg, crashing his two-thousand pound frame against his enemy with rocket speed. Carter could feel the opponent’s frame bending and cracking under the force.

As they landed in a violent embrace, cratering into the dirt and snow beneath, Adamant held fast to his foe, curled, and tumbled with him. The cyborg soldier yelled in furious anguish, firing wildly as they rolled several times, his rounds either kicking up more snow or disappearing into the bright blue sky. Adamant came out of the last roll, pinning the cyborg to the ground, burying his head into the permafrost beneath, while ending up on his feet. While Adamant leaned painfully on his fallen enemy, the rest of his targets returned fire at the Captain’s back, to little effect.

Swiftly, the hero lifted his right leg, and crushed a cybernetic knee with a powerful stomp. Its servos and pumps whined in agony. Adamant silenced the Patriot’s weapon, repeating the attack with his fist. Target neutralized.

Bullets rang uselessly off of Captain Adamant’s suit, a reminder that there were others left to disable. Now that their heavy weapon was disabled, the rest wouldn’t be a problem. Carter decided try on one of his newer tactics: theatricality.

The Captain stood, and walked towards the patrol, treading snow and closing distance with slow determination. One of the terrorists readied an RPG. Undeterred, the hulking, armored figure continued his approach.

First sparks bounced from the weapon, then fire and smoke, as the grenade sprang forth, and burnt a quick path towards its target. It impacted Adamant with audible force. But he persisted, exiting a plume of black and orange that waved off and up into the sky. There was only a small dent and minute scorch marks to show for the spectacle.

Beneath their winter masks, Carter couldn’t help but imagine wide eyes and slack jaws.

They hesitated now. Captain Adamant didn’t.

Two days had passed since Captain Adamant’s arrival, and that “something else” hadn’t made so much as a footprint in the snow. Rumors persisted around Steelhead of strange happenings. Glimpses of movement just within peripheral vision. Doors would open and close of their own volition. Trained soldiers would swear that they heard footsteps outside their tents, or in the underground halls of Steelhead itself.

It was beginning to sound like ghost stories to Captain Adamant. But he couldn’t ignore them. The reports were too common. Its coinciding with the Hunter-Patriot problem was suspicious. Before he had even arrived, the Colonel had ruled out any magical tampering. Heat and radar confirmed nothing that couldn’t already be confirmed visually. For now, ghost stories is all they were.

So, in the meantime, Adamant was dealing with the problem he could see. In a day’s time, he had neutralized six more patrols and had busted two of their fortifications. They never counted on ordinance like him. He worked tirelessly in concert with the rest of Steelhead and their PRIMUS reinforcements to make a concerted effort in retaking their share of the valley.

The real challenge would be regaining Steelhead’s foothold without antagonizing other dangerous elements in the area. He had no doubt that VIPER already smelled the blood in the snow. It may only be a matter of time before they take advantage. In fact, it was strange they hadn’t already…

“Captain?”

Colonel Jane turned slowly from the main screen. They stood with a few analysts in Steelhead’s Command Center.

“Yes, Colonel?”

“Maybe you should take advantage of the down-time. That coffee's not gonna cut it.” The Colonel peered up at him, trying to discern the Captain’s hidden features.

“I’m fine Colonel.” As if to transmute lie to truth, Adamant took another sip of stale, black brew. He had finally mastered his grip over Styrofoam cups. Dark brown stained his dull gray fingertips; his first unsuccessful attempts on display.

“You’ve been in that suit for three days. Aren’t you tired?”

“I’ve rested.”

“I can’t imagine it’s comfortable in that thing.”

“It’s comfortable enough.”

“Captain, I insist. The last thing we need is our heavy artillery falling asleep.”

Adamant felt a wash of suspicion. Was he showing signs of sleep deprivation already? Colonel Jane approached him now, planting his feet squarely in front of the towering superhero.

“There are no cameras in your quarters, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know some of you have identities to protect.”

The Captain’s eyes seemed to hear the Colonel’s words, begging him to comply.

“I’d give you a direct order, but I know you could ignore it.”

Adamant mustered a rare smile. “I respect the chain of command, Colonel. I’m here at the pleasure of the Canadian government.”

“I need my best to be at their best. Please, Captain.”

Carter breathed in, and allowed himself to feel the suit, its weight and its complete encapsulation of his body. He allowed himself to feel restricted. To be tired. A breath outwards relaxed his fortitude.

“Alright. I’ll see to it.”

The contrast between the biting cold of the last few days and the hot water of the shower was stimulating. The extremes of life often were.

It had taken more time than usual to remove the Hardwear suit. He had only been able to transport the portable devices necessary, and so the first hour-and-a-half of his "rest" had been removing the armor with glorified power tools.

Carter allowed himself to rest against the wall of the shower, crossing his arms across his chest, reflecting on the suit. The blurry outline of its disassembled form stood guard from outside the shower. It had been alien to him, at first. Untrustworthy. The suit was a prototype, and unlike any weapon he had ever trained with. A firearm was deadly, but predictable. It took Carter time to understand that the Hardwear was no different.

The armor and him were becoming closer. In the beginning, the suit was the identity. It was only a costume for the part he played. But it was intimate now. It felt like a uniform. He had grown fond of it. Carter breathed a short laugh into the steam. That was unexpected.

Carter knew it wasn’t the power or the persona, though they were both exciting, he had to admit. Foremost, it was duty. The same as the responsibilities he took by joining the Army in his youth. He felt like he had enlisted again, and that Captain Adamant was saving him now, as his Captain’s pin had years before. They were bulwarks against the past. Shields from the world and all its assembled woes.

His thumbs idly rubbed his inner arms, and the dots of scars on the skin. A tense pang of resistance followed, and ended the rumination. Carter pushed from the wall, doused one more time in hot water. It was enough thinking for one night. He had felt enough.

Steam and water escaped from his body as he stepped out from the shower. He grabbed a towel, and began to dry off, starting with his brown hair. He looked over at the far left corner of his quarters, now replete with pieces of his armor. The main chassis for the breast plates on display, suspended from a small crane, that stood taller than Carter by a couple of feet. He expected a sense of comfort, but the tension in his head was still there. His eyes darted about, instincts flaring. He wasn't alone.

Then he saw it. Something else, shorter than Carter, was in the room. The steam from the shower began to show the outline of a humanlike figure, otherwise rather invisible. Carter figured he must be hallucinating on account of sleep deprivation. Then its head turned. Large, silhouettes of inhuman eyes stared at him through the steam, where once they peered at his armor. Carter froze, ready to spring into action. His instincts confirmed what his senses were telling him:

Someone else was in his room.

“Don’t worry about the towel, Carter. There’s nothing you have that I haven’t seen.”

Carter was well aware that, if he wished it, this infiltrator could kill him.

In fact, Carter imagined it was likely. The steam was the only thing that allowed him to see the intruder, and even so, it was an elusive outline. The man could be armed. Carter’s brain calculated every possible move he could make, and his guts checked the odds. His eyes, meanwhile, were fixed, as best they could be, on his “guest”.

The ghost of a man looked away, and back at the Hardwear suit. “All of you heroes have your secrets, and they're ripe for the picking.” The man’s voice was smooth as velvet, but his words were like sandpaper in Carter’s ears.

A silhouette of a hand tried to lift a plate of Adamant's armor from the tool cart. He found it difficult, and the small plate of metal clanked back onto the surface.

“Hm. Heavy.”

The ghost sighed, and looked back at the disassembled suit of armor, on display. “Your secrets, however were not the low hanging fruit I’m used to. Didn't count on that.”

Carter studied his adversary. He was being toyed with. Time to toy back.

He stepped forward, resolute, his muscles aching to launch into action. An arm, like liquid glass, lifted what must have been a handgun, leveling it at Carter’s face. It was cloaked like he was. “I wouldn’t, Carter.”

The gun worried him less than the use of his name.

“Why not kill me? Now that I know Steelhead is infiltrated, your mission is in jeopardy.”

“I thought you were never going to come out of that shell, Captain.” The ghost sighed. “But now I have your secret. And it means little if you’re dead.”

“I might have some of yours soon. I’ve heard your voice. I know you specialize in infiltration with a cloaking device. You have ties to the Hunter-Patriots.”

He waggled the gun in front of Carter’s face. “Do I? You assume my being here isn’t a coincidence.”

“There are juicier pieces of intelligence out there. Steelhead is small potatoes.”

Carter swore he could see the ghost smile. “Right you are. But no piece of information exists in a vacuum. Some are rungs in the ladder, others links in the chain.”

“What chain involves my identity?”

“That would be telling, Carter.”

This - person - using his name dug deep and made Carter bristle; it seemed to please the other. The infiltrator began to pace around, eyeing each piece of armor, each component. His gun, though relaxed, never left its bead on the Captain.

“Is there a piece of this I can take?”

William’s eyes narrowed at the intruder, watching him pick about his armor. Somewhere deep, he felt possessive of it. “The helmet seems like a fine trophy.”

“I’m no trophy hunter, Carter. And I know that thing must weigh a few dozen pounds. Something small, made from this perplexing metal.” He picked at another piece of the armor, its inertia intact.

Carter analyzed him as he walked about. He felt strange, like he had been dissected, or violated in some way. The man already knew too much; more than he deserved. He wasn’t leaving with a piece of his armor, too. There were a few ways to stop him. All of them would likely get Carter killed. This man would rather his captive survive, but he could hear it in his voice: he would kill if he had to.

“Do hurry, Carter. And don’t suggest any piece of these boots,” the silhouette kicked at one of them, knocking it down with a loud CLANK. “I know they have fuel in them.”

Carter crunched the solutions in his head, and took a look at his armor. Then it dawned on him. Carter’s brown eyes indicated a black, polymer hardcase on the floor.

“Try one of the bolts. They’re in the case next to the cart.”

While the ghost’s invisible gun remained fixed, he turned his head to verify. “I see. Thank you.”

His gun, with a muffled spit of air, let loose a dart that jammed itself into Carter’s shoulder. His throat seized for a moment, and with a groan, he fell to his knees. Training and instinct set in, and he was able to tear the dart from his skin. But he knew the payload was already delivered. He was weakening quickly. Some kind of sedative began to blur his vision; slow his heartrate and breathing.

He saw the intruder kneel at the box, and upon opening it, he took his pick of its many white, gleaming bolts, pulling one from the foam within. Carter fought to stay awake, but every breath brought him closer to the cold hard ground.

“Anesthetics are so touchy. A milligram more and you might have been out cold. I suppose you can thank your inordinate body type.”

A bleary-eyed Carter glared up at the ghost as he stood above him. The wavy, nigh-invisible head, with its big, bug eyes tilted to one side, watching him succumb to the drug, naked and weaponless.

He lingered, and noted, thoughtfully, “You must be a hit with the ladies. Though if you don’t mind my saying so, Carter, you aren’t all that charming.”

Carter swallowed, and controlled his breathing, focusing on flexing and tensing his muscles as they tried to fall asleep. He summoned his training and his anger. Now was his chance.

Throwing all of his concentration and weight into a single move, Carter twisted and threw his leg around in a wide arc, sweeping the feet of his captor. He brought the specter back down to earth, and he hit the ground with a mighty THUD.

He was still nigh-invisible, but Carter had him at arm's reach now. First, his hands, lax and loose as they were, seized the ghost’s gun hand, and tried to pry it from his fingers. His enemy quickly retaliated, expertly attacking Carter's spine and neck with strikes to his nerves. Unfortunately for him, the anesthetic made his attacks little more than a wasp’s sting.

Carter twisted again, his body easily overpowering the other’s; the ghost was pulled beneath Carter’s back, and Williams had the gun in both hands now, pointing it at the ceiling. Carter lazily twisted, intending to break the man’s wrist, but instead, in his weakened state, he only wrestled the gun free.

With a growl, the frenzied ghost wiggled out of Carter’s reach, and across the room, all in a blur of eye-baffling motion. Carter took aim as well as his sight would allow, and squeezed the trigger of the dart gun, discharging three rounds. But the cloaked man was quick, and had the large door open and shut before the darts found their mark.

Panting for breath and waking energy, Carter swallowed, and got to his feet. He stumbled over to his communicator, and opened on the Station’s channel, grabbing at the wall for support.

“Colonel...Colonel...” His lips could hardly move. “Look for me. He…” Williams spotted his fatigues in a pile next to the shower.

In a frantic, lackadaisical maneuver, Carter grabbed his pants and hurriedly pulled them on each leg. Colonel Jane’s voice erupted over the comm unit, “Captain!? Are you alright?”

Carter shook his head, as if the Colonel could see him. He barely buttoned his pants before hastily exiting his room. He still wasn’t sure if he could keep fighting the anesthetic, but he had to try.

Stumbling down the cold, bleak halls of Steelhead, dart gun in hand, he ran towards Command. “Lockdown, Colonel. Sssscan for my signaturessss throughout the base: Ttthhhermal, spectrometah -” Carter tightened his jaw. "He has - " Carter fought to keep his breath and the fire in his chest going. “He has a piece of my armor.”

“Roger that Captain. Stand by.”

The Station went on full alert, and a scathing note rung out through the base. Klaxons and red lights attacked his senses.

“Captain, I think we got him. Infrared on the cameras see something heading for an exit north of your position.”

“Copy that.” Carter broke into a messy sprint, barefoot and head buzzing, down the massive hallway, and took a sharp turn into a north-south tunnel. He crashed against the wall, but rolled and resumed his sprint, clutching fast the dart gun in his hand.

Past his fuzzy vision, Carter made something out at the far end of the tunnel, even in the dim light. That familiar weirding sensation of the ghost’s cloaking device played on his eyes. It was confirmed when the massive door of the exit began to open, its warning lights flashing yellow in sequence.

Carter, in full sprint, his long legs beginning to overcome the ghost’s pace, saw the intruder exit into the snow, his feet leaving a trail. Wind galed into the base, and slammed against the Captain’s chest, eliciting goosebumps.

The great gate began to shut behind his enemy, but Carter caught up and bounded through the exit. Williams crashed into the snow, sliding into the biting cold like he was stealing third base. The flash of ice burned his skin. Carter grit his teeth and stood, trudging through the snow, barefoot, tracking his prey.

“Captain, are you there?”

Carter followed the small footprints from the exit, towards the perimeter of the base, the black sky, and the even blacker trees beneath it. Wind shocked his head, and the fire in his lungs was quickly escaping. Some of the perimeter Mounties spotted Carter, half-naked in the snow, and approached, guns at the ready.

“Captain we lost him. Do you read?”

Winter bloomed in his lungs and tore at Carter’s extremities. He bit his tongue in frustration, brown eyes following the trail of footsteps into the black. His own feet were planted firmly in the drifts now, burning. The sedative had worn off, apparently.

The unmasked, unclad Captain Adamant dropped his weapon into the snow, and tugged his pants higher on his hips, before putting his hands in the air.

“No, Colonel. I lost him."

TO BE CONTINUED