#6
FEB 15

Extract the Toxin, Part One:
"Down and Out"

By Tim Veselka

Location Undisclosed – Time Unknown

Everything was pain and darkness, nothing else existed, not a past or a future or even his own identity. It was overwhelming, if his body responded he would have cried but if he ever knew how to control his body he had somehow forgotten. The pain seemed to stretch on for an eternity, until finally something else formed in the white hot void. Sound. At first it was nothing more than the thrumming of his own heartbeat, but eventually other sounds coalesced into reality: voices, shouting unintelligibly. He was unsure if it was due to them being far away or if it was an indication something else was terribly amiss. Whatever the cause, the sounds eventually began to sharpen and the voices to soften.

"Well, we did plan for this eventuality," an annoyed voice came from the darkness.

"Yes, but it was meant for someone that had already been trained and had agreed to the procedure beforehand."

"Would he survive if we didn't do it?"

"The backup prototype isn't even tested; we know that it has bugs to work out."

"Then I am glad I am not risking one of my own with the first procedure."

"I am not sure I can go along with this. The moral implications of what we are discussing ..."

"And what of the moral implications of doing nothing when you could have saved a life?"

"This is highly unusual."

"And what did you think you were joining? The Boy Scouts?"

The sounds became muffled and finally the pain began to subside and there was blissful peace, at least until the agony woke him again.

New York City – 06:18

"Ouch!" Agent Mulligan hissed as he slowly came back around to consciousness. His head was pounding and he could feel he was bruised in numerous places. What had happened last night? He remembered the explosion and standing off against the crazy looking supervillains, but nothing after he had taken the experiment from their grasp.

He opened his eyes. He instantly regretted it. Before him lay the vast cityscape of New York City, gray and steel building stretching as far as the eyes could see through the haze. There was only one problem. He was at least two-hundred feet up, and outside. He glanced quickly down at his feet and saw with little relief that they were planted firmly on a five-inch wide ledge. His head swam. How had he gotten here? He glanced to the right and to the left, there were no windows nearby. He tensed himself against the rough stone wall and glanced up.

About three feet above him and six to the right was a large window with a ledge. He was lucky, most buildings had too much glass for this to be possible. He slowly began to inch his way along the narrow stone ledge. Every sense was heightened, every nerve on edge. His mind swirled with wild possibilities about how he had arrived at his present predicament. Had he somehow flown, with the aid of an apparatus he no longer possessed? Maybe a villain had teleported him here to get rid of him.

It didn't matter right now. He breathed out slowly and steadily, trying to center himself. It was a simple technique many had learned in boot camp. He had to focus on getting inside and back to Fort Raymond. Just a few more feet and he would be directly under the window. Maybe he would be able to reach up and grab the ledge under it. He stretched up with his hand but found nothing but flat wall.

Steeling himself he turned his head and looked up. He had at least another nine inches to go before he could reach the window ledge. He realized what he had to do. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart. No luck. He breathed deep and slow a couple times, then leapt. Mercifully his fingertips latched onto the ledge, his body hanging painfully from them. Blood rushed through his ears so loudly it sounded like a raging river.

Then his fingers slipped.

It took him almost a full half-second to realize what had happened. His mind froze and time seemed to come to a near standstill. The ledge he had grabbed onto was already a good eight feet above him. The wind whipped at his clothes and hair. He was going to die.

Even as he came to this realization something strange began to happen. Calm overcame him and his fluttering clothes turned black and red while pressing tightly to his body. His sleeves seeped rapidly up his arms until his hands were blood red. Huge thick black claws protruded from his fingers as Patrick Mulligan watched on in dazed fascination.

Quicker than what he would have thought humanly possible his clawed hands lashed out and grabbed onto the cement wall. Dust and pebbles flew from the wall as his claws tore into its side without any pain. He looked down when he realized his feet were now clawed and had joined in slowing his descent. He finally stopped and pulled one oozing black-clawed hand from the wall. Whatever substance covered him was slick and shimmering, it moved as if alive. That was when all of his memories came crashing back.

Patrick screamed in sheer horror.

Hood's Hideout – 06:42

Eric O'Grady was beginning to feel dizzy. He hadn't exactly gotten much sleep as he had spent the night clutched to Joystick's armor. Not to mention he was bleeding from where he had been shot. Luckily for him it was standard issue for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents' uniforms to be Kevlar-lined to protect from bullet wounds. The bullet hadn't bitten deep.

Still, he had to admit it was pretty amazing being about the size of an ant and clutching to a woman's shoulder. Below him was a great view of what were now two enormous breasts bouncing as she walked impatiently across the room. Hood and his gang were arguing about what to do next.

He had been injured badly enough that he was sure if he had stuck around then he would have died. Taking the Soldier Ant suit was a stroke of pure genius, if you asked O'Grady. It had not only helped staunch his bleeding and automatically given him some pain-aid but had also allowed him to latch onto the villains and find out not only where their secret lair was but also possibly what their plans might be, or at least what they had been after.

Of course he hadn't been planning on the perspective of being less than an inch tall to change so much that he hadn't been able to tell where they were going at all. It was amazing how much being an inch tall affected the senses. As far as he could tell now they were all gathered in a warehouse around the red-robed guy they called Hood.

"I thought your contact in S.H.I.E.L.D. was supposed to be infallible!" Joystick raged. Eric could feel her throat rumble as she formed the words. If it hadn't been for the helmet he wore he wouldn't have been able to understand her at all.

"They were." That had to be the Hood.

"Then what happened?"

"They haven't gotten back to me, so I don't know!" Hood growled. "I am out ten million just like the rest of you. I want to know what happened, and then I want to use these plans we stole to see if we can't at least recoup some of our losses and track down that Soldier Ant suit."

"Sounds like you don't know what you are doing," Joystick verbally jabbed.

"This wasn't how it was supposed to go, so no, but I am good at improvising. We will get this Soldier Ant costume then sell it to get back some of the money and plan another sting. Our employer wants the objective, no matter the cost."

O'Grady didn't like the sound of that. He had better leave while he could, before they were able to track his suit. He leaped from Joystick's soldier and fell slowly down toward the ground. A few quick bursts from his boot rockets slowed his descent even further.

"How are we going to be sure we aren't just walking into a S.H.I.E.L.D. trap?" that wasn't Joystick or Hood.

"We already know that both agents O'Grady and Mulligan have taken their experiments off-base." Hood paced as he spoke. "Since they have done so they are both considered to be traitors by S.H.I.E.L.D.; they wouldn't dare risk returning since they are to be shot on sight."

"As long as they aren't teaming up then this should be easy, especially taking the Soldier Ant suit from O'Grady."

O'Grady fumed at Hood's words, but he knew the criminal had a point. O'Grady had absolutely no experience in the superhero world and he had barely begun to figure out the functions of the suit he had stolen. He didn't dare go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. now. He shook his head and refocused on the situation at hand. Escape from Hood's gang without being detected and before they were able to locate him when his footsteps were about a centimeter long.

"I thought the Toxin experiment was the priority?"

"It was but we have no way of tracking it like we do O'Grady; we have the suit's specs after all."

Agent O'Grady's ears perked up at this. So that is what they had been after. Project Toxin, whatever that was. A sudden thought occurred to him and he used his rocket boosters in short bursts to quickly cover the ten feet of floor between him and the door. With one last backward glance Eric considered for a moment turning the suit over to the villain gang for a handsome price, but knew they would just take it from him so he shook his head and slid under the door and into the night.

Fort Raymond – 07:21

Rubble and bodies littered the hole that had been the entrance to the fort's main building. They had been cleaning all night, Fury had even sent up a cleanup crew to help. There had been such extensive damage to the base and so many injured agents, not to mention the dead ones, that even after seven hours it seemed like they had barely put a dent in the chaos.

Crowne stood in the center of what was left of the entryway and stared about sourly. He had never even had a chance to prove himself and now, most likely, this would be the end of his once illustrious career. He kicked at a bit of cement and it skittered noisily away until it bumped into Harrison's foot. The man was walking toward him with 'that' look in his eyes and what was left of his Capekiller agents trailing behind him. Crowne was in no mood to hear the man's lectures or his 'suggestions'. He had had enough.

"How is the cleanup coming?" Harrison asked friendly enough.

"Ask Fury's lackeys," Crowne dismissed with a thumb jammed in the direction of the cleanup crew. "I'm busy trying to figure out how to stay employed."

"That's bullshit and you know it!" Harrison roared over the sound of falling rubble and people shouting warnings. "These people have followed you this far and as soon as the first major roadblock hits you're gonna turn your backs on them?"

"Not one of these people were ever behind me," Crowne sneered. "You know it as well as I do. Don't bother denying it."

"Oh?" Harrison growled, fury showing plainly on his face. "And what about Agent Barrows, she died protecting your secrets, refused to say a word. Did she not have your back?"

Crowne was caught off-guard by Harrison's remark. He hadn't expected the man to go there. He felt a pang of guilt that he struggled to stifle. It was difficult; he couldn't look the man in the eye. Normally it wasn't so hard. She had been brave, he had seen the footage. He had gone to the video logs to see if she had any fault in what had occurred, what he saw had made him feel guilty for ever thinking less of her.

"Fine," Crowne agreed, irritation oozing from his voice. "Let the two criminals out and make them help with the clean-up. Their particular power set ought to be helpful."

"I'm afraid you're too late with that one," Harrison smirked, stepping aside to reveal Mimic and Constrictor already hard at work clearing rubble. They were both glowering at Crowne, Mimic's eyes even flashed red.

"What?!" Crowne barked. "How did...explain this!"

"One of the agent's psi-shield was knocked off in the battle; they got out right as the villains were retreating."

Thirty feet away the two captive villains were grumbling to themselves as they worked.

"You know I didn't have this suit made so I could use it for manual labor. This is completely beneath my skills," Constrictor complained to the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

"I don't care," the agent replied as he continued helping them clear out a pile of broken cinderblocks.

"We could have helped, you know," Mimic told the agent.

"And why would we trust you to do that, and not find the soonest possible exit?"

"We were underground," Mimic retorted. "We had no possible exit."

"Just shut up and get to work."

"What would have happened to us if you all had died?" Constrictor added. "We would have rotted in our cell."

"Well, ya didn't. Now shut up or I will shock you enough shut you up."

Mimic and Constrictor shared an understanding look before returning to work. That is, until Crowne showed up. "You two thought you were real clever getting out of your cell like that didn't you? You thought you could slip away while we were under attack."

"No, we just didn't want to end up buried alive with no way out," Constrictor stared him down.

"I have been going light on you two up to now," Crowne glared right back at them. "That all stops as of right now!"

"I just got here!"

"I cannot deal with all of this stupidity right now," Crowne pressed fingers to his temples. "I am going to my office to figure out what to do next." He marched off toward the only still working elevator. No one regretted seeing him go.

"What an ass," Harrison mumbled a little too loudly. The Capekillers nodded their agreement.

"How did someone like that get to be in such a high position?" Mimic wondered aloud thrusting his head in the direction Crowne had disappeared.

"It's espionage," Constrictor answered him gruffly. "Liars and cheats are a highly prized commodity in S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Watch your mouth!" a nearby agent hissed.

"Or what?" Constrictor turned, his coils lashing about.

Tempers were beginning to flare. No one had had any sleep and all were on edge. Most of the eyes in the room were red-rimmed and blurry. Not a single face was smiling; most mouths were turned down in a grim grimace of determination. No matter how much training an agent had nothing could prepare them for seeing a friend die.

"Listen, criminal, your little buddies killed Agent Barrows, so I don't want to hear a damn word from you." The agent placed a hand on his sidearm.

"Buddies?" Constrictor sneered, ignoring the obvious threat. "Those psychos were no friends of mine, otherwise I wouldn't still be here."

"Psychos? Like you're any different from them."

"All right, you two!" Harrison came stomping over. "That's enough of that! Haven't you had enough fighting for one day?"

The agent stood his ground, glaring menacingly at Constrictor.

"Agent Lovejoy!" Harrison barked again, stepping forward.

Lovejoy spun on his heel and stalked off. "Don't know why we don't just lock these idiots away in some dark hole. It's the least they deserve."

"Lovejoy when this is over you are going to meet me in my office," Harrison commanded, his tone brooked no argument. "Anyone else want to start shit? I have had enough of the other guys being one step ahead of us and we aren't going to get back ahead standing here arguing like a bunch of assholes. Get your shit together and finish clean up."

Shame-faced the remaining agents returned to their work without another word. Constrictor glared about but no one would look him in the eye except the steel-eyed glare of Harrison. Even Constrictor had to admit that man belonged in a commanding position in S.H.I.E.L.D..

"Cancino, Castillo and Hunter, you are with me," Harrison waved to his Capekillers as he headed deeper into the bowels of the broken base.

"What are we doing, boss?" Cancino asked. "Are we going to be taking out the bastards that did this, or what?"

"Not yet," Harrison shook his head. "I want revenge just as much as you do, but first let's get the tools that will help us to get the job done."

"What does that mean?" Hunter asked.

"We were able to recover the Ant-Man specs," Harrison explained. "He has a tracker built into the suit. We are going to hunt him down and take our weapon back.

Hood's Hideout - 07:22

Hood sat in an office chair, his eyes glaring at the backs of Joystick and Porcupine. They were the only two of the entire gang who had any expertise in computers and hacking. They constantly argued as they tried to figure out how to track the Ant-Man suit.

"You really do have no idea what you're doing," Joystick needled at Porcupine as she elbowed him aside in a bid to take over the single computer they had in the hideout. "Just admit you are way in over your head. I won't tell anyone."

The woman was even beginning to grate against the Hood's nerves. He hated having to deal with her, but his master had seen some sort of potential in her that Hood just didn't see. Evidently she had participated in some sort of tournament and impressed his master greatly.

"There's a reason there aren't that many women hackers," Porcupine finally gave into her constant goading. "Get out of my way."

"Look, shithead," Joystick glared at the masked villain, "I am this close to taking out my batons and smashing you into a spiky pulp. I don't care what the Hood says."

"Enough!" Hood finally shouted, jumping to his feet. "You two have already wasted more time arguing than you have trying to solve our problem. Shut up and get to work or I will find two smarter villains who want ten million dollars."

Joystick glared at him, she open and closed her mouth multiple times as if decided which retort to use against him, but eventually she fell silent and turned with a concentrated stare at the computer screen. After a pause Porcupine joined her.

Undisclosed loft overlooking New York Harbor - 10:30 am

The man who called himself the Black Fox was awoken by his cell phone ringing. It only rang when he had a job or some very important information. He groaned and swiped a worn hand over his eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice still gruff from being awakened. "Calm down, take a breath, what's going on?"

His informant on the other end of the line was panicked, her voice cracking and constantly changing in volume from a near-shout to a secretive whisper.

"What do you mean Hood changed his plans?" The elderly Black Fox listened as the last night's events were explained to him.

"Idiot," Black Fox spat. "No, not you, the Hood. How are either of us supposed to get what we want now? I am sure the security has doubled for the facility, that is, if they haven't moved."

"Wait, are you saying both of the experiments are missing now, along with O'Grady and Mulligan? I've got to go now, don't call me for the rest of the day unless it is an emergency. Where am I going? I've got to find O'Grady before the Hood does."

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Trauma Ward – Somewhere in the American skies

Agent Humphries sat outside the surgery room with his right leg shaking uncontrollably. It had a habit of doing that whenever he became too emotional, which, if you asked Agent Lucas, was quite often. Humphries stared imploringly at the glass window that revealed the surgery room. Inside several doctors were bent over Humphries' partner.

During their last assignment Lucas' hand had been shattered in the battle against Constrictor. The S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors were doing their best to save the bloody broken lump. It was no small task, their instruments were covered in blood and the doctors were sweating profusely. A nurse went from one doctor to the next, dabbing their foreheads with a drying cloth.

A few other agents were gathered with Humphries in the waiting room. Some of them were friends of Lucas; others were there for different agents. A few of Lucas' friends gathered around the strained looking Humphries.

"There wasn't anything you could have done," one agent comforted with a pat on Humphries' shoulder.

"Yeah, they just changed the plans on you without any warning."

"You two were up against a former S.H.I.E.L.D. super-agent."

"I am the senior agent, I should have been the one to take the injury," Humphries bemoaned, pointing at himself as his eyes filled with unshed tears.

"He'll be okay; he's not going to die or anything." With that comment Humphries burst into loud tears, burying his face into his hands.

"Shut up, Anthony," one of the other agents punched the last commenter in the shoulder. "God, you have no sense of empathy."

"He may lose his hand completely," Humphries told their friends through softening sobs. "I am responsible."

"You can't be so hard on yourself."

"That's just the dangers of the job."

"You can't worry about that, there's nothing you can do to change it now."

All of the comforting, or not so comforting, comments ceased when the surgery room door opened with a click.

"Humphries?"

The agent cleared his bloodshot eyes and stood up and at attention. "Here."

"We weren't able to restore his hand back to normal," the doctor began. Humphries bowed his head and whispered an apology to his comatose partner. "However we were able to save it as best we could, with a few upgrades."

"Upgrades?" Humphries' already high-pitched voice squeaked in shock. "What exactly do you mean by upgrades?"

"Come on in, I'll show you," the doctor opened the door wider to allow the agent passage. Humphries' heart sank to his knees as he stepped into the operating room. Would his partner and best friend be a cripple for the rest of his life?

To Be Continued...

Next: In Capekillers #7: A funeral and the last experiment revealed. Plus, the hunt is on for Ant-Man and fugitive Pat Mulligan tries to adjust to his new status quo.

Tales From the Hood, Part One:
"How I Got This Way"

By Tim Veselka

Parker Robbins' apartment - 1 year ago

"Come on, coz," Pete shouted at me as he slammed open my bedroom door. Good thing Ariana was already gone or she would have bitched us both out. She has been grumpier than usual lately.

"What do you want?"

"It's Diego, him and the gang have a huge score down in the old district and they want us to back them up."

"You're kidding?" I can't believe what he is telling me. I have been trying to get in good with Diego for months now.

"Come on, bro," Pete, better known to his non-relatives as Hustle, tossed a shirt at me. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

"To wake up," I smile as I slide on the t-shirt. "Are you serious he wants the two of us to back them up? Why all of the sudden does he think we are good enough?"

"I guess he is getting every man he has available, he says this is a major deal," Pete shrugged. "He told me after today that no one would mess with him."

I slip on my clothes as fast as I can. What could be so big that Diego was willing to have people he didn't trust watching his back? I grabbed my two 9mms. I wasn't going to screw this up.

Old District

Pete parked a few blocks from the warehouse that Diego had summoned us to. Unless you were planning a quick getaway only an idiot parked in front of a score. Didn't want to alert anyone to the fact we were coming.

We got out of Pete's junker Camaro and walked toward the target. Until we noticed two guys that didn't belong, and the way they carried themselves they were probably cops, or Feds. One of them was in his late-thirties with platinum blonde hair and a gap between his two front teeth. The other was in his late twenties with shaggy brown hair and a cheesy shit-eating grin. I discreetly elbowed my idiot cousin in the ribs.

"Those are cops," I told him, nodding in the pair's direction.

"Let's duck into the next hiding spot when they aren't looking and let them pass."

I nodded my agreement. Both of us were packing and two cops had no problem frisking two hood rats in broad daylight. Even if I was white, my cousin's mom was Mexican and he looked every bit his mother's son. My one shot with Diego could be screwed before I even got a chance to try.

We waited until the two were trying to act nonchalant and were looking away and we ducked into and alley and hid behind a few boxes with the filthy end of a bum hanging out of them. On the opposite side of the alley was a big green trash bin, the first place they would look. If they went there I would shoot them. I wasn't going to let my chances be spoiled by a couple of pigs.

After about thirty seconds of breathless waiting I could see their shadows fall across the alley. My cousin poked me with one hand; the other was covering his nose. It did smell like ass and puke.

"I can't believe you lost sight of those boys. How completely unlike you, Humphries."

"True, so true. Usually I have no trouble finding boys do I?"

"None whatsoever . . ."

Their voices faded as they walked on.

"Fucking faggot cops!" Pete exclaimed once we crawled out from our hiding place.

"They're not cops." I rolled my eyes at him.

"How can you tell?"

"They're British," I told him. "Didn't you hear their accent?"

"So?"

"How many British cops do you think there are on the New York City Police Force? Now what are the chances of two of them becoming partners?"

"What do you think they are then?" Pete asked defiantly. My cousin is an idiot.

"I don't know, private security, some sort of international anti-drug conglomerate, who knows? Diego is mixed up in some serious shit."

"Oh man!" Pete looked worried.

"Diego just might be right about how big this score is. I can't let him down. This is the perfect time to be in on the action. I can be in good for sure."

We glanced around the street before trotting over to the warehouse where Diego had asked us to meet.

"I don't see anyone," Pete glanced around.

"Let's try the back," I said. "You know how Diego likes to go in the backdoor."

Pete snorted. We ran to the back.

"Shit!" One of Diego's men was laying on the ground, blood seeping from some hidden wound. He was dead. The back door was ajar. With a nod at a now very pale Pete I pulled out one of my handguns and slipped the door open a little wider with my foot, careful to stay out of sight in case someone was waiting with a gun. Nothing.

I looked over at Pete who was finally fumbling his gun out of his pants and swallowing nervously. I shook my head and scooted quietly inside. I was in a narrow hallway, more men lay dead around me. I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. You couldn't get to the top without losing some people. My parents, my cousins, my friends, everyone I knew was at the bottom. Lost in the ghetto. There was no way in hell I was gonna let that happen to me.

I moved forward to find more bodies around the corner and a slight open area. Some of these men were from a rival gang, some of them leaders. I could hear raised voices, muffled through a wall and god knows what else.

I jogged over to the only door I saw. It was also still slightly open. I tried to peek in but all I saw was shadows and the far wall. Pete, breathing heavy and fast, finally caught up with me.

"You can try as hard as you want, I was guaranteed this trap would hold."

That was Diego's voice. There was another sound besides Diego shouting, a mix between heavy breathing and a fire crackling. Diego was already on top of things, I had gotten here too damn late, fucking Brits.

I confidently walked into the room, holding my gun up to train on whoever Diego had trapped. Until I saw who, or better said what, Diego had trapped.

"A demon!" Pete shouted, his voice cracking in fear.

For once he was right. Whatever it really was stood a good eight feet tall covered in what could only be described as a black exoskeleton. Its mouth had two enormous fangs in its upper and lower jaw respectively. In-between skeletal joints shot streams of blue and red flames. It wore a floating red cloak and a pair of old school black leather boots.

"Now you decide to show up, Hustle?" Diego sneered at the two of them. All about him were strewn the dead bodies of his gang. There was no one left alive but Diego. That was when a thought occurred to me.

I trained the gun on Diego. "What's going on here?"

"Parker, you better point that 9mm at someone else before you end up like everyone else here."

"Yeah, Parker, what are you thinking?"

"Shut up, Pete," I quickly drew my other pistol and trained it at my cousin's face. No one was going to stop me from getting what I wanted. That was how the world worked.

"You better listen to your stupid cousin over there. I am about to gain all of this demon's power."

"No," I said simply as a I squeezed the trigger. BLAM! "You're not."

Pete screamed when Diego fell to the ground, his eyes still open with that stupid look of contempt frozen on his face.

"What the hell, man?" Pete screamed.

"Now I am going to take this demon's power for myself."

"You have no idea how."

"I was listening outside the door long enough," I lied.

"The hood and boots will not serve you well," the demon-thing hissed. "They will change you."

I smiled, stupid demon. "That's what I am counting on." I opened fire with both my pistols, pumping it full of lead. It took every shot I had and still it was moaning and squirming on the floor, locked into place by a strange circle surrounded by magical symbols. I grabbed Diego's pistol and finished it off with what he had left.

I quickly grabbed the hood and the boots and shook off the orange blood that had oozed on them from the demon. "Come on, Pete, we gotta get out of here. I am sure the Brits heard those gunshots. They'll be here any minute."

"Oh . . . Okay," his voice was still frightened.

"Relax man, I wouldn't have really shot you," I lied. "I just needed to concentrate."

"Right." We grabbed a few more weapons from the dead and then exited out the way we had come in. I was finally on my way to the top.

To Be Continued...