Mayhem Inc. #0: "Foundations Part One"

ELSEWHERE  
  
     The Black Mage Mogar, lord of eternal torment, was having a bad   
day.  Oh it had started out well enough, what with the plans he'd laid   
down for millennia coming to fruition.  He'd overthrown the High King,   
slain the Lord Protector, imprisoned the beautiful princess, and beat up   
a few old ladies.  In short, a perfect day.  
     Then everything went to hell.  The princess, showing as-yet-unknown   
skills in lockpicking and stealth, had broken free, and managed to send   
a message outside of the castle.  And now, there was this sword-swinging   
oaf ventilating all of his guardsmen.  The Flunkies Union would flay him   
alive, if the tower of testosterone didn't get to him first.  
     Screams of agony echoed outside the throne room.  Normally, Mogar   
would have found this relaxing, except of course he wasn't the cause of   
the agony, and the person who *was* was trying to get closer to him.    
Basically, he was screwed.  
     So it was time to make a dramatic exit.  All he needed was the   
proper mood.  
     Three feet of solid orichalc thrust through the door, and quickly   
withdrew, leaving a jagged hole in it's wake. This was followed by a   
massive fist, which was connected to a muscular arm, which was in turn   
connected to the panther-like form of:  
     "Dokannen the Savage, how wonderful.." Mogar purred, masterfully   
hiding the panic behind his eyes.  This one could be trouble.  "Have you   
come to swear fealty to your new lord and master?"  
     "Not hardly, black one."  the newcomer roared, shaking back a   
leonine head of chestnut hair, "I am here to beat.." he paused for a   
moment to kick an onrushing guard in the stomach, "you UP!!"  
     "Now that is uncalled for." Mogar murmured, "Unlike many of your   
compatriots, you actually have a brain behind all of that bronze.  Can't   
we discuss this like reasonable men?"  
     Dokannen actually stopped, leaning on his sword.  "Very well, here   
is my offer.  You give up your plans for the throne, renounce all magic,   
and leave the continent, and I *might* let you live."  
     "Interesting proposal." Mogar replied, crimson eyes bearing down on   
his opponent. "I don't believe I'll accept however.  Would you give me a   
moment to compose a counter-offer?"  
     "Of course.  I have no other plans for the day." Dok replied,   
meeting the mage's gaze with his own tawny orbs.  
     Mogar sat down on the High King's throne with a thud, calculating   
furiously.  As he stared at his opponent, more for style points than   
anything else, he noted the last of his guards, still clutching his   
ribs, sneak up behind the Savage One with mace raised high.  "I believe   
I have another idea.  You die.  *NOW*!"  
     Without even blinking, Dokannen plucked a dagger from his belt, and   
sent it spinning over his right shoulder, neatly punctuating the career   
of his last assailant.  "I don't think so..."  
     Mogar sighed.  It usually came down to this.  Flaring his long   
sable cape dramatically, he began chanting in a tongue long hidden in   
the mists of time.  "Iritspay ofay Irefay!  Urnbay isthay utzpay!"  
     A great orb of crimson flame appeared between his upraised hands.    
Swinging them forward, he propelled the sphere towards his foe, who was   
soon bathed in it's heat.  Unfortunately, he seemed to have visited a   
local wizard before attacking, as all it did was singe his sideburns   
slightly.  
     "Like my old Master used to say...'He who turns and runs away lives   
to plot another day'.  Time to go." Mogar mumbled to himself.  All he   
needed was a good exit line.  "You'll be sorry" was no good.  "I'll be   
back!" was even worse.  What to say, what to say.  
     He had to think fast.  Dok the Savage was getting close.  Finally   
it came to him.  Posing dramatically [he'd taken lessons], he said "F-"  
     And then a beam of actinic white light, coming seemingly from a   
point in the rafters of the Hall, began to sweep the room.  It paused   
momentarily on the fallen guardsman before focusing on the stunned   
swordswinger, causing his golden armor to shine like the sun itself.  
     "What sorcery is this?" he roared.  He liked roaring, it always   
seemed to catch people off guard.  Hard on the throat, but hey, that's   
the biz.  
     Mogar rallied brilliantly.  "I see you have fallen into my little   
trap."  Of course, he actually had no idea what was going on, but it was   
too good of an opening to pass up.  
    Dumbstruck, Dokannen roared again.  Then he felt the tugging, deep   
within his soul.  "I don't know what you have done, but I swear by Dyaus   
above, you shall pay!!!"  
     Then he vanished.  
     "Oh bugger.  He had a better exit line." Mogar sighed.    
    
HEAVEN'S GATE, NEW MEXICO  
  
     It is a point of pride amongst megalomaniacal world conquerors,   
paramilitary organizations, and secret government projects that you have   
the best headquarters available.  For various reasons, ranging from real   
estate costs to natural fortifications, mountain bases in the Southwest   
have become very popular.  
     Now, this would not be a problem normally, but due to a rising   
trend in the villain population, mountain bases have been hard to come   
by.  Some evil organizations have been forced to time-share.  And in one   
unfortunate case, a charismatic pseudo-deity was evicted in the midst of   
her master plan to rule the world.  The IRS arrived even faster than   
Superguy.  
    However, that is another story, and besides, the bitch is toast.    
The particular fortress under discussion now was purchased by a   
mysterious organization with a Classical theme, from a mysterious   
organization with a Classical theme, after the latter had had some   
family troubles.  Other than a few collapsed corridors, some residual   
gamma radiation, and some leftover handprints, the base was eminently   
suitable.  
     Therefore, after moving in several dozens truckloads of technology,   
and a warehouse full of luncheon meat, the project was under way.  Weeks   
of feverish research, heroic effort, and petty theft had resulted in   
what appeared to be a success.  In a glass walled room, overlooking a   
cavernous chamber, an elderly, lab-coated figure was on his way to a   
breakthrough.  
     "Skippy, have we achieved pickup?" he muttered, apparently to   
himself.  Seven-segment LED's flickered in a dance of mathematics,   
reflecting off of his eyeglasses, and a cheerful voice responded.  
     "Gee, Doc.  I dunno.  Lemme see....Oh wow, check this out!"  
     Mentally cursing his decision in regards to personality templates,   
the scholarly figure looked up from his controls, and gazed out the 2-  
foot thick window.  A column of white energy coruscated from the   
ceiling, supporting a shining figure in it's midst.  
     "Cool..." Skippy reported, filling the awed silence. "We've got   
someone, or something, I dunno."  
     The scientist, who's name happened to be Tito Vetinari, by the way,   
grabbed a microphone from the desk and spoke into it rapidly. "Security   
Team Omega, please report to the Scooper chamber.  This is *not* a   
drill."  
     "Exciting, huh..." Skippy said brightly.  
     "Yes it is," Tito replied distractedly, "After all our months of   
work, we have finally done it."  
     "It?" Skippy repeated, just to be annoying.  
     "We have pierced the barriers of space and time, and brought forth   
a hero of our very own."  
     "Why?"  
     "You know why, Skippy." Vetinari replied testily.  
     "Yeah, but *they* don't."  
     Dr. Vetinari looked up amusedly.  "Oh yes.  I'd forgotten about   
them.  I suppose some explanation is in order."  
     Actually the proper word is exposition, but anyway...  
     "With the increasing numbers of superguys, and the existence of   
teams such as CalForce and the Hero Patrol growing more and more   
popular, the Council has decided that we need one of our own, to protect   
our interests in the outside world.  Since we don't want publicity, we   
had to get one from Elsewhere."  
     "Oh, right.  I forgot."  
     "You're a computer," Tito replied testily, "you *can't* forget."
     Meanwhile, the plot moved on.   As guards in mail-order SWAT gear 
moved into position, the column began to flicker stroboscopically.  
     "SPAM reservoir down to 80%." Skippy reported.  "No, make that 
60%."
     The period  of the fluctuations gradually increased, as the 
countdown continued.
    "30%....20%...10%...SPAM reservoir empty."  Skippy said finally.  In 
the middle of the ring of guards, the armored figure lay curled, 
twitching slightly.    The guards pointed their rifles at the form, and 
awaited further orders.
     "Medical scan, Skippy." Vetinari ordered.
     "He's in a mild fugue from the trip, but he should come out of it 
in a few minutes."  A bestial roar interrupted him, "Or maybe right 
now."
     The doctor watched with a mixture of fascination and horror as his 
new arrival did what he did best.  
     "Doctor?"
     "Yeees?" Tito replied distractedly.
     "Shall I call for reinforcements?"
     "No, that won't be necessary...I never liked Omega Team anyway."
     Meanwhile, Dok was in a berserker rage. [Oh, come on, you knew it 
was him, after all.]  Plucked from familiar surroundings, and dumped 
into a strange white chamber, he was understandably disoriented.     
     However, the figures around him were something he was familiar 
with.  Whatever those objects they held were, they were clearly weapons, 
and as such, were not what he liked pointed at him.  Actually, now that 
he thought about it, there wasn't *anything* he liked pointed at him.
     Be that as it may, he knew what to do.  Letting out his customary 
battle cry, he shot out his leg, catching one guard on the shin.  The 
black object clattered to the ground, as he leapt at another of 
his...well, not exactly attackers, as most of them were staring at him 
in shock, but certainly unfriendly bystanders.  He tumbled in midair, 
catching his target in the chest with a double kick, and using the 
impact to bounce clear of the circle.
     Then he drew his sword.
     Half the remaining guards left then and there, leaving behind their 
charge, health benefits, and pensions.  None of them seemed to mind.  
The rest, showing admirable loyalty, if not intelligence, stood their 
ground, unable to fire in such close quarters.  However, Dokannen had 
lots of room.  
     Spinning on his left foot, he neatly disarmed one attacker.  
Literally.  He then executed a dazzling series of slices and thrusts 
that words can't give justice to [so I'm not going to try.]
     It is true, however, that among other maneuvers, he performed the 
"slice the candles" routine on three guards, the "flip over your 
opponent and kick him in the back" routine, and the ever popular "stab 
underneath your arm at an opponent charging up behind you" routine.
     In other words, he completely outclassed his assailants.  Only one 
guard gave him more than token resistance, extracting Chinese butterfly 
swords from somewhere behind him.
     "Finally!  A worthy opponent!" Dok cried.  As he said it in ancient 
Valmoric, no one understood him, but he said it anyway.  He circled his 
foe warily, watching the smooth figure-eights formed by the twin blades.
     The attacker spun, in a move eerily familiar to Dok's initial cut.  
This duelist kept spinning, however, blades flashing in the fluorescent 
light, slowly forcing Dok to retreat.  Finally, blades crossed at Dok's 
throat, he pinned our valiant hero to the wall.
     Dokannen the Savage kneed him in the crotch.
     Now, as you may recall, Dok was wearing armor.  Not full armor, 
mind you, but his knees were well protected.  Unfortunately, the kevlar 
armor didn't go down that far, so the outcome was inevitable.  The guard 
dropped like a rock, moaning in the upper register.
     The last remaining guard looked at his keening comrade, then at 
Dok, then back to his comrade, and back up to Dok.  As he stared, 
visibly calculating his options, Dok favored him with a slow, menacing 
grin.
     It was enough to make up his mind.  He ran.  At last report, he'd 
been sighted just pass Seattle, legs pumping furiously.  Meanwhile, back 
in New Mexico, Dok dropped into a crouch, sword held low to his side, 
and warily scanned the room for the next attack.
     Strange words emanated from the air above him. "Activating Taser 
Field."  He spun about wildly, eyes wide.  Thus, when the arcs of energy 
emanated from the walls, he saw them coming.  Didn't help.
     Sparks flashed over the surface of his armor, passing their energy 
into his chest, and scrambling his nervous system.  A mammoth door 
irised open, and Vetinari entered, accompanied by several guards.
     "Skippy, Medical scan."
     "One barbarian, slightly toasted, but alive."
     "Excellent." Vetinari smiled thinly, "Prepare him for subliminal 
hypno-implantation.  Our friend here is going to school."
     

TO BE CONTINUED