Team Omega (7 page)

“Brute is extremely strong and tough—and little else.  He’s probably the least remarkable member of the group, although he is surprisingly popular with some parts of the female demographic.  He actually is seventeen years old, but looks older because of his enhanced muscles; again, his greatest weakness is that he needs to breathe.  Alternate tactics are included in the briefing notes.

“Siren”—the picture flicked to an Asian girl, probably of Japanese origin, wearing a more modest outfit than her teammate—“is the weakest of the group.  Her only real power is the ability to project sonic screams at a target, screams that have been known to weaken buildings and destroy objects.  She also may have some form of manipulation capability within her voice, although reports contradict one another and it may be nothing more than a case of her waving her chest under someone’s eyes.  Her power is directional, so strike from the rear before she sees you coming.  And don’t be misled by her appearance.  She may look sweet and innocent, but she’s a freak.  Give her a chance and she will take your head off.

“Finally, we have Gamma Dude,” he concluded.  The image changed to a young man wearing a protective suit that reminded Jackson of the MOPP suits they’d been trained to use in combat, if necessary.  “Under SARA, Gamma Dude should actually be in a facility out in Nevada away from the civilian population, but the Young Stars have managed to tie up the courts in legal and constitutional issues.  His main power is projecting clouds of radiation at any given target; in fact, he is a pretty constant radiation emitter.”

His expression darkened.  “From what we have been able to deduce, his power eventually killed his entire family.  Not deliberately, but they spent their days in the company of a walking, talking radioactive isotope.  By the time they died, they had absorbed more radiation than the poor bastards who lived near Chernobyl.  If they’d lived in a city, the effects would have been disastrous; luckily, they lived out in the countryside.  Gamma Dude fled into the mountains and...well, we don’t know exactly what happened then, but the next time he appeared he was one of the Young Stars.

“The best defensive tactic you have is to avoid puncturing his suit.  Our best guess is that he has acquired a degree of control over his powers, but breaking the suit will expose you even if he doesn't want to actually fight.  There are some analysts who think the suit isn't designed to actually blast people with radiation and the films of him in action are faked—
do not
take that for granted.  The Young Stars would have to be insane to bring him anywhere near a crowd if there was the slightest chance he might give them radiation poisoning—hell, they’d have to be insane to live near him.  But we
don't
know for sure.  Keep that in mind.”

Jackson shook his head and leaned over to Ron.  “We have to
fight
these guys?”

“Yep,” Ron said.

Lane stood up.  “Thank you, Professor,” he said.  Unlike the DEA officer, Blunt got to attend the remainder of the briefing.  “At the moment, we will be operating in support of the DEA—ideally, no one on the outside will ever know that we were there.  According to the stool pigeon, there will be a meeting where the Young Stars will pick up the drugs—and pay the courier thousands of dollars.  The DEA will move in and attempt to arrest everyone involved.”

His voice tightened.  “You’ve heard the briefing.  If they attempt to fight, the DEA will be completely outmatched.  We will have to put them down as quickly as possible—take them alive if we can, kill them if not.  And Gamma Dude adds a problem I’d sooner not have to face.  We may need MOPP suits and radiation detection gear—and we can’t fight in the MOPP suits.  Team Three may be moved to support us if necessary.

“The Young Stars are based near Chicago,” he concluded.  “Gather your equipment and supplies, then read the briefing notes carefully.  The flight departs at 1900 precisely; be ready.”

Jackson nodded as the team was dismissed.  It all seemed incredible, the intersection of the mundane human world with that of the superhuman, but it was real.  And it wouldn't be the worst thing that so-called heroes had done, not if the files were accurate.  Team One had been tested in fire before and lost good personnel to rogue superhumans.

“I meant to ask,” he said, as he followed Ron back to the barracks.  “I can understand the other drugs, but what is ultimate?”

Ron snorted.  “It gives you superpowers,” he said, dryly.  “Not for very long, but long enough to do some damage.  And if they want it...what does it say about them?”

Chapter Seven

“Is everyone in place?”  Hope asked.  They stood on a hill, close enough to Kinshasa to move quickly, but distant enough to remain undetected.  “And ready to go?”

The Redeemer nodded.  She was using her telepathy to keep the various groups in touch.  It was remotely possible that excessive use of their communicators would be detected by one or more of the factions—or, more likely, their foreign backers—and so Hope had insisted that they rely on telepathy.  The factions would be unable to stop them, he was certain, but there was no point in making the death toll any higher than it needed to be.

“They’re ready,” she said.  Most of his force had been dispersed over the Congo, ready to take out the faction leadership groups and smash the most dangerous fighting units.  The remainder were already building a prison camp for the survivors, once they'd completed their first strikes; they’d be held as prisoners until they could be redeemed or charged by the International Criminal Court for murder, war crimes and attempted genocide.  “They just await your command.”

“Good,” Hope said.  Ahead of him, he could see lights from Kinshasa—fires burning to give the population what little heat they could.  Most of them were starving; the men with guns had taken almost all of the food, along with the best of the women.  Kinshasa had once been a remarkable city, he’d been told.  It could hardly have been worse than it was now, a derelict city with a ruthless strongman in charge who allowed his thugs to torment the local population at will.  “Tell them...to make a change.”

He leapt into the air and lanced up, over Kinshasa.  From above, the city looked strange, almost as though a dozen eras had intermingled in one vast whole.  Great towering skyscrapers pressed against slums and huts from a bygone age, all showing the signs of damage inflicted by war.  The skyscrapers had been built in an era of optimism; now, with the war still underway, they were broken and ruined husks of themselves, inhabited only by squatters who had nowhere else to go.  One day soon, he realised, they would collapse into rubble and kill everyone who had relied on them for shelter. 

They’d considered launching their operation in broad daylight, but some of the more tactical thinkers had pointed out that it would be easier to take the leadership out when they were in bed, reading.  It felt vaguely unfair to strike in the dark, as if they had something to hide, yet the leaders deserved no consideration.  Their battles over the Congo had doomed their people to endless war.  He opened his ears to the dying city and used them to strengthen his determination.  Those who preyed on their fellow humans had to be destroyed. 

He took a moment to look at his objective.  The strongman’s fortress was the only new building in Kinshasa, for who would build when war might destroy their investment in a single moment?  It was a towering construction, hardly the sign of a ruler who loved and trusted his people.  The men who guarded it had a fancy name in one of the many African tongues, but they all boiled down to thugs.  Between them, they had committed every war crime in the book except genocide—and that hadn’t been for lack of trying.  Hope had no way of calculating how many had died since the Congo had fallen into chaos, but it had definitely come close to genocide. 

A waste
, Hope thought. 
To waste so many resources on one building when there are people starving ...

He crashed into the building at five times the speed of sound, relying on his invulnerability to shield himself as he searched for the strongman.  He ignored the falling rubble as he concentrated on his objective.  If the Redeemer’s telepathic probes had been accurate, the master bedroom was located in the basement and had at least three different tunnels to allow the warlord to escape.  But there was no way any human could move fast enough to escape a superhuman.

Especially not a superhuman like Hope.

He crashed into the basement and smiled as the strongman—a bitterly-scared black man—produced an AK-47 from under his pillow.  He couldn't resist hesitating just long enough for the strongman to press the trigger and spray him with bullets, which all bounced off his skin.

The strongman stared at him in horror, and pulled something else from under the sheets.  A young girl, barely entering her teenage years, screamed in pain as he clutched her neck, babbling in a language that Hope didn't understand.  The meaning was clear, though; the girl would die if Hope didn't leave. 

Instead, Hope generated a beam of light from his eyes and used it to slice the man’s arm from his body.  He screamed, staring at the ruins of his arm, then gasped something in yet another language.  Before the warlord could use his other arm to grab the girl again, Hope was on him, pulling the strongman into the air.  He cried and begged for mercy, like all other bullies Hope had dealt with over the years, but it was too late.  Hope casually crushed the strongman’s neck and watched the life drain out of him.

The girl had stopped screaming; instead, she stared at him, eyes wide with fear.  Hope couldn't blame her.  She’d been taken from her home, forced into the bed of a far older man—and raped.  Someone so young...even consensual sex would have hurt her, if she’d known what she was consenting to. 

Hope smiled at her and picked up the tattered remains of a nightdress from the floor, but stopped once he realised that it was covered in blood.  Instead, he found a gaudy uniform from the cupboard and passed her the jacket.  It was too large for her chest, but it would provide some protection as Hope picked her up and launched himself towards the creaking ceiling.  The building was on the verge of collapsing inward.  She cried out—either in fear or in delight—as Hope dodged his way through the rubble and up into the sky.  Behind him, the remains of the building crashed into the basement and came to a halt, burying the strongman’s body under the rubble.  It would have to be recovered later, just to convince the population that the bastard was dead.

Hope smiled as the strongman’s goons started to stare at him, before lifting their weapons and taking aim.  It was easy to take one breath and blow them all away like ninepins, leaving them to crash into buildings and drop their weapons on the ground.  He would have preferred to engage them directly, but while he was invulnerable, the girl was nothing of the sort.  There was no way of knowing if she understood English, but he tried to get the message across anyway. 

“I’ll find your family,” he promised.  The girl didn't seem to understand.  “And then you can go home and enjoy the new day.”

Far below, Kinshasa was in chaos.  The superhuman army had attacked the barracks, where the young conscripts were locked up after a hard day’s training in how to be a brutal asshole, and destroyed the more trusted soldiers keeping the conscripts under guard.  Some of them had fled into the darkened city, while others—too fearful to move—just remained where they were, fearing a world without the strongman as much as they feared one with him.  It would take time, Hope reminded himself, for them to realise there was no longer anything to fear.  And then they could start rebuilding their country....

I see you picked up a friend
, the Redeemer’s voice said, in his mind. 
She’s rather attached to you already.

Hope flushed at the teasing tone in her thoughts.  “Never mind that,” he said aloud, vocalising for his own benefit.  “How is the rest of the country?”

Looking good
, the Redeemer sent back. 
Only real problem is a troop of tanks to the north.  I’m afraid that their leader wasn't among those killed and he’s ordering an immediate attack on the city.  He thinks that the man you killed was behind the attack.  Oh, and he has a superhuman with him.

“Understood,” Hope said.  He grinned at the girl before flying to where the Redeemer waited, with a handful of mutants to provide protection if she needed it.  Coordinating an entire invasion was taking a great deal out of her.  “I have a present for you.”

“She doesn't want to leave you,” the Redeemer said.  Her face was tired and worn, but she managed a smile for Hope.  She placed her fingers against the child’s forehead, drawing on her powers.  “Just sleep now, my dear.  When you wake up, you will be at the dawn of a whole new world.”

Hope smiled as the girl’s eyes closed and she went to sleep.  “I could wipe her memory of everything that foul beast did to her,” the Redeemer offered.  “And then one of the healers could fix her up so she doesn’t carry the scars...”

“Let her choose,” Hope said.  He’d never been comfortable with anything that reassembled mind control.  “And now, if you will excuse me...”

He rocketed into the sky and twisted through the air, looking down towards the rebel position to the north of Kinshasa.  It had been attacked once, but the speedster who’d hit the base hadn’t bothered to confirm that he'd actually killed the rebel leader.  Hope made a mental note to reprimand the idiot before he caught sight of the tanks advancing towards the city.  They were old tanks, originally from Russia, but they would inflict a great deal of damage if they got into firing range.  The tankers clearly didn't know just
what
they were facing, or they would never have risked exposing themselves.  Tanks were no match for a superhuman who knew what he was doing...

But they had a superhuman with them.  Hope dropped down out of the sky, right in front of the lead tank.  Before the driver could do anything more than gape at him, he caught hold of the tank, picked it up and threw it effortlessly towards the next tank.  The two vehicles collided and skidded to a halt, forcing the remaining tanks to spread out to avoid running into their fellows.  Their drivers caught sight of Hope standing there, his eyes burning with red fire as he prepared his heat vision for action; he heard the crews being ordered to bail out.  Hope systematically started to melt the tanks, crippling their ability to move, but left the crews alone providing they did not attack him. 

And then, as he looked up, a single humanoid form jumped towards him and took a wicked swing at his head.

“A monster from Dr. Death,” Hope said. 

He gritted his teeth, torn between sympathy and rage.  Like many others, the creature was a misshapen parody of a superhuman.  It was a surprise to find one serving in a largely black army—and serving a black commander—but maybe this particular Boerbel had grown out of trite racism and the other stupidities practiced by the Apartheid regime.  Or maybe he was just addicted to drugs, women or children.  Or mad.  Every time he thought that he had plumbed the full depths of horror in the Congo, he found something even darker. 

It wasn't easy to keep his voice level, but he tried.  “You have to know that you can’t beat me...”

The creature ignored him and took another swing at his chest.  This time, Hope didn't move fast enough; the fist slammed into him with the impact of a pair of locomotives running flat out.  He was picked up and thrown through the air, crashing in a patch of ground that had been torn up during a previous battle.  There were bodies scattered everywhere, some only partly buried; apparently they’d been abandoned and left for the vultures. 

No wonder there was so much disease running through the Congo, Hope thought bitterly.  The locals couldn't even bury their dead without some bastard taking pot-shots at them. 

Hope pulled himself to his feet and lunged forward.  The maddened creature lifted its fists again, but Hope moved too fast to be deterred.  He slammed his fist into the creature’s head; it staggered back.  Dr. Death’s creations had never been capable of standing up to a real superhuman for long, but this one didn't seem to have any of the usual weaknesses.  Not that it really mattered; it couldn't fly, so it couldn't escape.  Hope brought his fists down again and again, until he felt the creature’s head start to weaken.  A final punch smashed through its skull and killed it instantly. 

Hope studied the corpse for a long moment, just in case its stolen abilities had included a healing factor of any kind, before deciding that it was unlikely that anything could recover from a shattered skull. 

He looked up at the tankers, only to discover that they were running for their lives.  They didn't seem to have anywhere to go, but at least they’d left the tanks and their weapons behind, perhaps assuming that Hope wouldn't bother to follow them if they no longer carried the ability to hurt others.  In the Congo, where having a weapon turned someone into a big man, they had been dangerous.  But without their weapons...

They could be redeemed
, he thought,
given time
.

But for the moment, they were very much a secondary concern.  He watched them go, then turned his attention to the tanks, smashing through their armour, breaking their gun barrels and finally setting off the ammunition before someone could come by and recover it to continue the fighting.  Once it was gone, he launched himself back into the air and flew over to Kinshasa.  The city was in chaos, but most of the strongman’s goons had been rounded up or killed by the invading army.  They couldn't hope to hide from the most powerful telepath in the world.