Lord Allo
Squad Stories: Homecoming 2/5
Martin Welman agreed, the way A.R.G.U.S had become, bloated, slow, and ineffective, was nothing compared to what it could be. It disheartened him to think about. He felt, in a way, that he had helped the organization find its’ wings when it was but a fledgling. He was there Just after the beginning, and always thought he’d be there to see it end.
But that was not the case. Temple and Lyman had bigger plans. Better ones. They had designs that would cause A.R.G.U.S’s extinction, and soon that once mighty organization would be leveled to the ground.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
In a high-rise in Keystone City, A well-dressed man clinks a glass together, and look over the handful of faces at the table in front of him.
Temple: I want to thank you all for joining me. I know it wasn’t easy leaving your positions, your lives. But I promise you, this was worth it. You’ve made the right choice.
He sets the glass down, then takes a step to the right. Another man, across the wall to his left, nods and hits a button on a remote, triggering a screen to spread out on the wall, showing complex spreadsheets.
Temple: As you can see, A.R.G.U.S’s productivity has plummeted in recent years. What once was one of the most influential and thorough agencies for terrorism and Metahuman defense, has been reduced to pencil pushers, shiftless drones who only jump when the shiftless drone above them tells them to. But you are not shiftless drones.
The people at the table all nod their heads in agreement and look at each other earnestly. Martin Welman pounds a fist on the table and cries “hear, hear!”
Temple smiles and points at Martin, then indicates to the man with the remote, who presses the next button. Another slide goes by.
Temple: Now, with your funds, your cooperation, and your willingness to do good, I believe we can change all of that.
The slide changes.
Temple: Now, there are two methods of thought here, and at first, I was going to make the decision myself. But I am not above any of you, we’re all in this together, so I think, rather than me decide, we should cast this to a vote. All agreed?
Martin and the others murmur in agreement.
Temple: Splendid. Now, the first method of thought, is that we all pool our resources, and work to build our own agency to counteract A.R.G.U.S, show them up, humiliate them; and eventually render them obsolete.
The others and Martin murmur their interest.
Temple: And the second method of thought, is that we pool our resources and hire ourselves some contractors, then go through and . . . eliminate every A.R.G.U.S agent we find and rebuild from the ground up.
There are nods and smiles and conversation of approval.
Now, I will give you a few minutes to think it over, then, we shall vote.
He returns to the table and pours himself a glass of water. He sees Martin Welman, sitting in his seat, with a look of panic spreading through his face. Welman begins to sweat, to loosen his tie and shift uncomfortably in his seat. He’s become visibly pale, and jumps a little when Temple says,
Temple: Let us see the verdict. Now, all in favor of Option A, raise their hands.
The room is still. Temple smiles.
Temple: Now, all in favor of option B –
Hands raise unanimously. He outstretches his arms and smiles.
Temple: This is splendid, I’m glad you all wish for the same things. Now, I know of an agency outside of the law that can be a boon to us. I will review my connections with them. They’re an organization you may have heard of. They call themselves K—
Martin, suddenly standing: I apologize, Dan, but uh, I can’t be party to this. I only thought we would all be going into business together, starting a new firm. I didn’t realize we would resort to . . . to murder . . .
Dan Temple smiles and motions to the man with the remote control: Well, now you don’t have to, Martin.
Martin Welman crumples to the floor with a bullet in his brain.
Temple: Now, where were we? Ah Yes ---
But Temple can’t find it in himself to finish that sentence either. He finds himself blissful all of a sudden, restful even. He hadn’t even realized it until it happened, but now here he was, nearly falling asleep in front of his new partners.
His partners, likewise, have begun to feel drowsy, stretching out on the floor, and resting their heads on the table.
Unbeknownst to them, Hypnota stands in the doorway, doing what she does best.
Answer, behind her: Would you look at that. Better than Opium.
Hypnota: If you’d please, Mister Answer, I am nearly finished.
Answer: ‘Course, ‘course, knock em flat.
Behind them, Sonar fidgets impatiently. Though he was bred with many things, royal patience was not one of them, and there is something he’d like to get done soon. Bend notices, but says nothing. At both ends of the hallways, Danton Black stands watch, the blues insets of his suit glowing faintly.
Sonar’s attention rests finally on Agent Orange, jittering worse than Sonar. Agent Orange’s goggles look up at him,
Orange: Who is in that room I wonder.
Bend, also growing impatient: Why, I reckon it’s good old American President Richard Nixon, wouldn’t you, Wladon?
Sonar: I thought your president’s name was Donald?
Orange, standing and snarling ferociusly: NIXON. It’s because of that fucking Satanist my unit all died face down in the muck by the Viet-Cong’s hand! I’ll napalm him, just as he napalmed my entire division!
He fires a gas canister over Hypnota’s shoulder then charges forward. Answer slams her out of the way just as Orange barrels through, spraying napalm and chemicals in all directions. His attacks are met with the sounds of horrified and pained screams as Dan Temple and other clutch at their melting faces, appendages and bodies.
Then silence.
Agent Orange stands in the middle of the room, panting and giggling. Hypnota just stares at the carnage. It’s a stare that’s horrified, but not unfamiliar.
Answer: WHAT IN THE NAME OF COLONEL KURTZ JUST GOD DAMN HAPPENED.
Bend, casually: Waller said to eliminate the targets. She didn’t say how.
Answer: WHAT DID YOU THINK WE WERE DOING, HAVING A CLAM BAKE?
Bend, smiling: I’m sure what you and that sand-flea were doin’ would work fine, this just seemed faster.
He looks at Bito and grins. Wladon raises a hand to his mouth, and smiles behind it.
Answer slams Bend against the wall and jabs him rapidly and forcefully in the stomach with his cane, effectively destroying his smile.
Answer: I DON’T GIVE A BAT’S ASS. This was MY DAMN MISSION you worthless, whimpering, fingerless, d-grade moron. You do as I command or so help me I will shove this cane up your ass and whirl you around like a flag. You got that?
Bend slumps to the floor: Yeah . . . yeah I got it.
Answer: Good.
He strikes bend in the head with his cane. It’s one solid, ringing blow.
Answer: And don’t you ever refer to Ms. Bhatia in a racist manner in front of me ever again.
Bend: Y-yes . . . sir.
Answer: Doubleplusgood. Now stand up and take us home. Everybody gather around the asshole.
Sonar steps forward: Actually, dear leader, I have other plans.
Answer: Eh?
Before he can say anything else, there’s a furious ringing, followed by a few loud, staccato beeps. Little lights appear in each of the Squad Member’s necks, save for Answer’s. They each glow red once, then green, then wink out. Wladon stays where he stands, and holds aloft a tiny device that resembles a sort of detonator.
Hypnota: What is happening?
Sonar: I am glad you asked. When we were graced with the
presence of Mister Luthor, he assembled a device to deactivate his nanite and escape. Having studied that device, I had bits and pieces smuggled in, and, over time, made a little one of my own. Each and every one of you, save for our fearless leader of course, are now under my control.
Answer: You filthy bastard. I’ll tear your lungs out.
Sonar: Unlikely. Mister Black, if you’d be so kind to restrain him.
Multiplex’s dupes close in around Patten. One takes his cane, three more grab his arms and wrap their own around his chest. Answer is swearing a blue street and thrashing like a maniac, but it does no good.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Answer: I’ll find where you live, Wladon, and I’ll toss a fucking bomb in that place!
Sonar smiles: It is funny you should mention my home, Answer. Bend? If you’d please?
Bend stands, grinning widely: You got it, 'your highness', it’s about damn time we pulled this off.
He begins to create a green, angular portal around himself, Bend, Multiplex and his Dupes, Answer, still struggling, Hypnota with her hand on her mouth, and Orange, shivering in anticipation.
Sonar grabs the bottom of Answer’s mask, and lifts it up to expose Patten’s four-day stubble and reddened eyes.
Sonar: I say it is funny you should mention my home, Answer, because that is precisely where we are going.
There is the inevitable flash of green, leaving nothing but the charred bodies of the A.R.G.U.S agents. Martin Welman, his body charred through no fault of his own, soaks the carpet in red regret.
Squad Stories: Homecoming 2/5
Martin Welman agreed, the way A.R.G.U.S had become, bloated, slow, and ineffective, was nothing compared to what it could be. It disheartened him to think about. He felt, in a way, that he had helped the organization find its’ wings when it was but a fledgling. He was there Just after the beginning, and always thought he’d be there to see it end.
But that was not the case. Temple and Lyman had bigger plans. Better ones. They had designs that would cause A.R.G.U.S’s extinction, and soon that once mighty organization would be leveled to the ground.
And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
In a high-rise in Keystone City, A well-dressed man clinks a glass together, and look over the handful of faces at the table in front of him.
Temple: I want to thank you all for joining me. I know it wasn’t easy leaving your positions, your lives. But I promise you, this was worth it. You’ve made the right choice.
He sets the glass down, then takes a step to the right. Another man, across the wall to his left, nods and hits a button on a remote, triggering a screen to spread out on the wall, showing complex spreadsheets.
Temple: As you can see, A.R.G.U.S’s productivity has plummeted in recent years. What once was one of the most influential and thorough agencies for terrorism and Metahuman defense, has been reduced to pencil pushers, shiftless drones who only jump when the shiftless drone above them tells them to. But you are not shiftless drones.
The people at the table all nod their heads in agreement and look at each other earnestly. Martin Welman pounds a fist on the table and cries “hear, hear!”
Temple smiles and points at Martin, then indicates to the man with the remote, who presses the next button. Another slide goes by.
Temple: Now, with your funds, your cooperation, and your willingness to do good, I believe we can change all of that.
The slide changes.
Temple: Now, there are two methods of thought here, and at first, I was going to make the decision myself. But I am not above any of you, we’re all in this together, so I think, rather than me decide, we should cast this to a vote. All agreed?
Martin and the others murmur in agreement.
Temple: Splendid. Now, the first method of thought, is that we all pool our resources, and work to build our own agency to counteract A.R.G.U.S, show them up, humiliate them; and eventually render them obsolete.
The others and Martin murmur their interest.
Temple: And the second method of thought, is that we pool our resources and hire ourselves some contractors, then go through and . . . eliminate every A.R.G.U.S agent we find and rebuild from the ground up.
There are nods and smiles and conversation of approval.
Now, I will give you a few minutes to think it over, then, we shall vote.
He returns to the table and pours himself a glass of water. He sees Martin Welman, sitting in his seat, with a look of panic spreading through his face. Welman begins to sweat, to loosen his tie and shift uncomfortably in his seat. He’s become visibly pale, and jumps a little when Temple says,
Temple: Let us see the verdict. Now, all in favor of Option A, raise their hands.
The room is still. Temple smiles.
Temple: Now, all in favor of option B –
Hands raise unanimously. He outstretches his arms and smiles.
Temple: This is splendid, I’m glad you all wish for the same things. Now, I know of an agency outside of the law that can be a boon to us. I will review my connections with them. They’re an organization you may have heard of. They call themselves K—
Martin, suddenly standing: I apologize, Dan, but uh, I can’t be party to this. I only thought we would all be going into business together, starting a new firm. I didn’t realize we would resort to . . . to murder . . .
Dan Temple smiles and motions to the man with the remote control: Well, now you don’t have to, Martin.
Martin Welman crumples to the floor with a bullet in his brain.
Temple: Now, where were we? Ah Yes ---
But Temple can’t find it in himself to finish that sentence either. He finds himself blissful all of a sudden, restful even. He hadn’t even realized it until it happened, but now here he was, nearly falling asleep in front of his new partners.
His partners, likewise, have begun to feel drowsy, stretching out on the floor, and resting their heads on the table.
Unbeknownst to them, Hypnota stands in the doorway, doing what she does best.
Answer, behind her: Would you look at that. Better than Opium.
Hypnota: If you’d please, Mister Answer, I am nearly finished.
Answer: ‘Course, ‘course, knock em flat.
Behind them, Sonar fidgets impatiently. Though he was bred with many things, royal patience was not one of them, and there is something he’d like to get done soon. Bend notices, but says nothing. At both ends of the hallways, Danton Black stands watch, the blues insets of his suit glowing faintly.
Sonar’s attention rests finally on Agent Orange, jittering worse than Sonar. Agent Orange’s goggles look up at him,
Orange: Who is in that room I wonder.
Bend, also growing impatient: Why, I reckon it’s good old American President Richard Nixon, wouldn’t you, Wladon?
Sonar: I thought your president’s name was Donald?
Orange, standing and snarling ferociusly: NIXON. It’s because of that fucking Satanist my unit all died face down in the muck by the Viet-Cong’s hand! I’ll napalm him, just as he napalmed my entire division!
He fires a gas canister over Hypnota’s shoulder then charges forward. Answer slams her out of the way just as Orange barrels through, spraying napalm and chemicals in all directions. His attacks are met with the sounds of horrified and pained screams as Dan Temple and other clutch at their melting faces, appendages and bodies.
Then silence.
Agent Orange stands in the middle of the room, panting and giggling. Hypnota just stares at the carnage. It’s a stare that’s horrified, but not unfamiliar.
Answer: WHAT IN THE NAME OF COLONEL KURTZ JUST GOD DAMN HAPPENED.
Bend, casually: Waller said to eliminate the targets. She didn’t say how.
Answer: WHAT DID YOU THINK WE WERE DOING, HAVING A CLAM BAKE?
Bend, smiling: I’m sure what you and that sand-flea were doin’ would work fine, this just seemed faster.
He looks at Bito and grins. Wladon raises a hand to his mouth, and smiles behind it.
Answer slams Bend against the wall and jabs him rapidly and forcefully in the stomach with his cane, effectively destroying his smile.
Answer: I DON’T GIVE A BAT’S ASS. This was MY DAMN MISSION you worthless, whimpering, fingerless, d-grade moron. You do as I command or so help me I will shove this cane up your ass and whirl you around like a flag. You got that?
Bend slumps to the floor: Yeah . . . yeah I got it.
Answer: Good.
He strikes bend in the head with his cane. It’s one solid, ringing blow.
Answer: And don’t you ever refer to Ms. Bhatia in a racist manner in front of me ever again.
Bend: Y-yes . . . sir.
Answer: Doubleplusgood. Now stand up and take us home. Everybody gather around the asshole.
Sonar steps forward: Actually, dear leader, I have other plans.
Answer: Eh?
Before he can say anything else, there’s a furious ringing, followed by a few loud, staccato beeps. Little lights appear in each of the Squad Member’s necks, save for Answer’s. They each glow red once, then green, then wink out. Wladon stays where he stands, and holds aloft a tiny device that resembles a sort of detonator.
Hypnota: What is happening?
Sonar: I am glad you asked. When we were graced with the
presence of Mister Luthor, he assembled a device to deactivate his nanite and escape. Having studied that device, I had bits and pieces smuggled in, and, over time, made a little one of my own. Each and every one of you, save for our fearless leader of course, are now under my control.
Answer: You filthy bastard. I’ll tear your lungs out.
Sonar: Unlikely. Mister Black, if you’d be so kind to restrain him.
Multiplex’s dupes close in around Patten. One takes his cane, three more grab his arms and wrap their own around his chest. Answer is swearing a blue street and thrashing like a maniac, but it does no good.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Multiplex: Sorry, boss.
Answer: I’ll find where you live, Wladon, and I’ll toss a fucking bomb in that place!
Sonar smiles: It is funny you should mention my home, Answer. Bend? If you’d please?
Bend stands, grinning widely: You got it, 'your highness', it’s about damn time we pulled this off.
He begins to create a green, angular portal around himself, Bend, Multiplex and his Dupes, Answer, still struggling, Hypnota with her hand on her mouth, and Orange, shivering in anticipation.
Sonar grabs the bottom of Answer’s mask, and lifts it up to expose Patten’s four-day stubble and reddened eyes.
Sonar: I say it is funny you should mention my home, Answer, because that is precisely where we are going.
There is the inevitable flash of green, leaving nothing but the charred bodies of the A.R.G.U.S agents. Martin Welman, his body charred through no fault of his own, soaks the carpet in red regret.