The Marvel Knights Group presents: Cityscapes #3

“Gee-ZUS!” ‘Mad Dog’ Rassitano barked, hands clamping to the sides of his head as another explosion, the fifth in as many minutes, rocked the street. Rassitano was a small, wiry man with an olive complexion and a distinct Brooklyn tang to his words. He hunkered down behind the hastily thrown together police barricade and glanced at his superior. “Sounds like a damn war in there, Loot.”

“Unh-hunh,” Lieutenant Marc Stone grunted. Stone was a big man, broad shouldered and bald. He sweated competence and attitude in equal measure. He stood as still as his namesake, watching the cloud of smoke that choked the street. Hammerhead Lane. That was what the locals called it. Now it was a war zone, thanks to a dozen super-freaks in Halloween costumes with a mad-on for local tough guy Hammerhead. Goons, guns and ghouls. It was the last one that Stone’s squad was here for.

Code: BLUE’s bread and butter. Costumed crime. Big business these days, unfortunately. Every other week there was a new loser in a costume tearing up city property for one reason or another.

This week, the reason looked like revenge. Some idiot had blown up a bar on the docks and the costumes were taking it personal. Stone sighed and turned, hands behind his back. He jerked back in surprise as a tape recorder was shoved under his nose.

“Be honest, Stone, what has this got to do with that explosion down by the docks this morning? Anything? Everything? Nothing?”

“Urich, get outta my face.” Stone shoved the recorder down and fixed his penetrating gaze on the thin, older man who held it. Ben Urich was the living definition of ‘rumpled’, but there could be no faulting his backbone. He returned Stone’s glare with a bland gaze, nicotine stained lips clamped on a smoldering cigarette.

“That a yes?”

“No.”

“So it’s a no?”

“No as in ‘no comment’.” Stone shoved past Urich and looked down at Rassitano. “Get up, Rassitano. I want you on the roof in twenty.”

“Minutes or seconds, Loot?”

“What do you think?” Stone turned, his eyes moving behind his sunglasses, looking for the next member of his team. “Fielstein.” ’Fireworks Fielstein, the team’s demolitions expert, looked up from where he was squatting over his latest toy. He was a thin man, tall and full of quick movements.

“Almost ready, Loot. Vomit gas or tear?”

“Vomit inside a mask is unpleasant,” Stone said mildly. Fielstein smirked.

“Vomit it is then.”

“Ruiz? Super-human Affairs Commission sending over those Mandroids the Mayor requested?”

‘Rigger’ Ruiz, a large-but-not-in-that-way, muscular woman who acted as the team’s armorer, shook her head. “Not a whiff, not a jot, Loot. SOS from SAC as per normal.”

“Same old shit, Ruiz? Do I detect a whiff of bitterness?” Stone said, not cracking a smile. Ruiz shrugged.

“Hell, Loot, ain’t like we need any fancy gear,” Ruiz said, hefting one of the SHIELD-pattern assault rifles that were standard issue for Metahuman Response Teams the country over. “Not when we got these old reliables.”

“Still feel better with a couple of inches of armor between us and whoever’s in there,” ‘Jock’ Jackson, the last member of Stone’s team, said, pulling on a pair of weighted gloves. Like all the others he was kitted out in standard SWAT gear. Jackson looked, sounded and walked like the boy next door, freckles and all. He slid his helmet on and looked at Stone. “Sir, we have full dispensation or are we waiting on the Guardsmen?”

“Nope. The Guardsmen won’t get here in time. Unless those Mandroids arrive, it’s just us,” Stone said. He hefted his rifle and looked around. “If everyone’s ready? Good. Time to get to work, children. We got men in funny costumes to subdue.”

The fight had started ten hours earlier. How, why, nobody was saying yet. It wasn’t Code: BLUE’s job to find out either. Just to bring all the participants to heel.

Vomit gas canisters popped into the air, bouncing off of close packed buildings and rattling through the street, spewing noxious smoke. The team moved through the smoke, Stone at the front, Ruiz and Jackson flanking him, Fielstein behind, hefting the high-powered gas launcher. All of them wore filter masks to keep the smoke out of their lungs.

Bodies littered the street, some dead, some unconscious. Most were goons of one type or another; Hammerhead’s boys dressed in thirties splendor. Some others. Hammerhead had turned the lane into his personal fiefdom, giving anybody with a grudge against one of the other bosses refuge. Jackson nudged a body over with the toe of his boot.

“Downtown Beirut.”

“Last I checked, Beirut didn’t have super-freaks,” Stone said. “Eyes front, boys and girls.”

The street shook beneath their feet. The piercing whine of car alarms filled the air. Water arced overhead, spewing from a busted hydrant.

“Loot, we got any ID on the mooks involved? Anybody we’ve danced with before?” Fielstein asked after a few minutes. Stone shook his head.

“Amateur league. I - hold up.” Stone raised a fist and the squad raised their weapons. “Incoming.”

The sound of whirring turbines filled the air. A grotesque shape hurtled through the air, slowing as it came close. The criminal known as Jack O’ Lantern crouched on his hover-disk, one arm held tight against his ribs as if he was in pain. His costume was torn in places and jagged cracks covered his flaming head. He looked down at the squad.

“Shit.”

“Got that right,” Stone said. He pointed up at Jack. “You’re under arrest, Jack. Land and put your hands behind your back.”

“Nope.” Jack’s disk began to rise and the criminal reached awkwardly for the satchel at his side. “Duck, you suckers!” he cackled as he hurled several small pumpkins at the squad. Stone leapt forward, rolling for cover. Ruiz jumped backwards, bearing Fielstein into cover behind an overturned car. Jackson hit the ground, assault rifle chattering. Jack’s disk flipped sideways, the bullets plucking at its turbines as he sped towards the sky, holding tight to the edge of the disk with his free hand.

Stone rolled to his feet and tapped the communicator in his ear. “Rassitano. Bogey, eleven o’ clock.”

“Roger-dodger.”

The crack of a sniper rifle shattered the air and Jack O’ Lantern suddenly tumbled from the air as a plume of oily smoke burst from his disk. He hit the street hard and lay still, groaning.

“Oh, goddamnit. I think my back is broke. Police brutality! I’ll sue you, Stone!” Jack said, trying to pull himself up. Stone stalked over to him and set a boot on his chest, pushing him back down.

“Where the hell were you going in such a hurry?”

“Away from here.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a clusterfuck in there, that’s why!” Jack laughed shrilly. “I just came for a bit of payback against Brito and those other assholes, not to get caught up in a war!”

“Who else is in there?”

“Fuck you, Stone.”

Stone gestured. “Jackson. Get some cuffs on him and drag his ass out of my sight.”

“I got him, sir.” Jackson dragged the whining criminal back towards the barricades, keeping low just in case there was another sharp-shooter somewhere besides Rassitano. One who wasn’t so legally inclined. ME’s were waiting and bundled Jack O’ Lantern onto a gurney and into a waiting ambulance. No one paid any attention to his complaints except Urich, who shoved his recorder up against Jack‘s pumpkin grin and sucked in every word.

Back in the lane, vomit-gas mingled with the smoke from burning buildings, casting an emerald fog over everything as the team moved deeper. Fire-trucks were waiting, their crews chomping at the bit to go in. But they stayed put. Waiting for the order from Stone. That was the procedure in cases like this. Code: BLUE in first, everyone else in second.

“Hope they’re all that simple,” Ruiz muttered as they lost sight of the barricades in the fog and smoke. The buildings around them all looked unnatural, distorted by the heat washing off of the fires. Fielstein shook his head.

“They won’t be. He looked like he’d had seven kinds of crap kicked out of him.”

“Reports put the Rhino in here,” Stone said. “Backlash and the Beetle, too. So stow the chatter and keep your eyes open. Anyone wearing colors gets taken down.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rassitano’s voice crackled in their ears. “I’m putting my vote in for headshots.”

“My life or theirs; feel free,” Stone said. “Otherwise do it non-lethal.”

“You’re the boss, Loot.”

“Damn right,” Stone said. “Spread out. Fielstein, get a party favor ready, JIC.”

The street trembled again. Bullets plucked at the ground around them suddenly, sending the team scrambling for cover. Stone stayed where he was, laying down a burst of suppressive fire while his people got clear. Then he swung behind a telephone pole.

“Anyone hit?”

“Not on my end,” Jackson said. He had rolled behind a section of rubble and lay prone, gun held to his shoulder.

“Smooth sailing,” Ruiz said, crawling under a smoke-blackened car and firing between the wheels. Fielstein sat behind the same car, firing over the hood.

“Copasetic, Loot. Want me to start the party?”

“Keep it in the bag. Rassitano, can you see where they’re at?” Stone said, tapping his communicator bead.

“Doorway. Twenty feet up the street. Firing blind, I think. I – oh, wait. Got a freak.”

“Which one?”

“Rhino.”

“Shit.”

The building Rassitano had indicated seemed to explode as a bulky shape slammed into it, tossing screaming men into the air. Stone shook his head and waved his team forward.

“Move slow, keep low. Rassitano, pop that pineapple if he looks like he’s going to charge us.” Stone motioned to Fielstein. “Pop a party favor.”

“My pleasure.” Fielstein grinned. He shifted the satchel on his back and pulled a bulky looking weapon out of it. He quickly unfolded the stock and raised it, sighting down the barrel. He looked at Stone. “Wide or skinny?”

“Take them all out.”

“WAH-HOO!” Fielstein shot to his feet and pulled the trigger on the sonic rifle. The battle going on ahead of them came apart like a kite in a storm, men falling, clutching their heads as a wall of pure sound washed over them. All except for the Rhino. Stone, Ruiz and Jackson moved forward, weapons ready.

“Looking wobbly on your feet there, horn-head,” Stone said. The Rhino shook his head from side to side, eyes blinking. Blood ran down from his nose. He fixed his gaze on Stone.

“Stone,” he rumbled, stepping forward. Stone raised his rifle.

“Glad you remember me. Get down on the ground and sit quietly while we wait for the Guardsmen, okay?”

“No,” the Rhino grunted. “I let you put me in the hole once, Stone, not again!”

“Figured you’d say that.” Stone held his ground as the Rhino charged forward, only dodging aside at the last minute, allowing the brute to run past him. “Ruiz! Fielstein! Convince him to stop would you?”

“On it, Loot!” Ruiz stood and fired at the Rhino, blistering his hide with widely spaced shots from the sonic rifle her teammate had tossed her as Fielstein fished around in his bag for another trick of the trade. With a happy cry he pulled out a tiny pistol shaped device. He raised it as the Rhino loomed over them, fists raised. Ruiz spat an oath and ducked as Fielstein fired.

A thick patch of frost suddenly covered a portion of the Rhino’s chest, causing the beast to stagger. Fielstein waved a hand. “Rassitano!”

The sniper rifle barked and the Rhino screamed as the bullet punctured his frozen hide. He fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

“You shot me!”

“Yep. And we’ll do it again if you don’t settle down,” Jackson said, tapping the Rhino on the side of the head with his rifle. “Got him down, Loot!”

Stone gestured to show that he’d heard and continued towards the men the Rhino had attacked. More of Hammerhead’s goons. And--

“Urrgh,” Hammerhead groaned, laying in the shattered remains of the barricades his men had thrown up. He looked up through swollen eyes and a bitter laugh escaped his busted mouth. “Look who it is…”

“Hammerhead. Looks like we got here just in time.”

“Yeah. Remind me to thank you later.” Hammerhead grunted, trying to get to his feet. Stone jabbed him in the back of his head with his gun.

“Stop moving. I’d hate to dent that flattop of yours.”

“Yeah, yeah. Got me fair and square…” Hammerhead turned quickly, ham-fist smacking Stone’s gun out of his hands. He lurched up, punching Stone in the gut. Stone stumbled back and brought both his fists down on the back of Hammerhead’s neck, dropping the crime-lord like a stone.

“Now I got you,” Stone said. “Stay down this time.”

“No – hahk - no problem.”

“Loot, Guardsmen en route,” Rassitano’s voice crackled in Stone’s ear. “Uni’s stationed up the block spotted a couple of costumes making a break up 29th.”

“Look’s like the war’s over,” Stone said, looking up as the sun broke through the clouds of smoke and gas.

“Not quite polizie,” a voice like burlap drug over glass said. Stone stepped back, eyes widening behind his glasses as a brown shape blurred between the buildings rising above him, bouncing from one to the other like a pinball. The shape hit the ground and a hairy arm lashed out, slapping Stone aside like a feather.

It's head was shaped like that of an abnormal wolf and it's body was built like a cross between a gorilla and a dancer. The creature shook itself and glared about, red eyes blinking, teeth bared.

Carlos Lobo snarled at the members of Code: BLUE and reached down, clawed fingers wrapping around Hammerhead’s arm. Lobo laughed as he hefted the gangster onto his shoulder. He pointed at Stone. “No, the war, she is not over. She is just beginning, Mister police-man.”

Then, with a twenty foot leap, Lobo was gone scrambling over the rooftop, Hammerhead with him. Stone staggered up. “Rassitano! How far away are the Guardsmen?”

“Ten minutes, Loot.”

“Damn.”

“Who the hell was that Loot?” Ruiz asked as she and Fielstein ran towards Stone.

“Trouble,” Stone said, glaring at the rooftop Lobo had disappeared over. He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his face. “Big goddamn trouble.”

Five minutes later the sound of jet-boots filled the air as the green forms of the Guardsmen landed, armor shining in the sunlight. The lead Guardsman gestured at Stone. “We’ve got containment units en route, officer. We’ll take it from here.”

“Yeah. Sure. Have at it.” Stone struck a match on the Rhino’s horn and lit a cigar. “Got one moving over the rooftops. You might have caught him if you’d been a bit quicker.”

“Hey, screw you, Stone.” one of the other Guardsmen said. “We got enough problems without cleaning up after your messes.”

“Fuck you, Wyznaski.” Ruiz said, stepping between Stone and the Guardsman. “If you didn’t let these assholes escape in the first place-”

“Stow it, Ruiz,” Stone said, raising a hand. “We’re done here. Fielstein, Jackson, let’s go. Let the Greenie-Meenies do their job now that we‘ve done ours.” Stone laid his rifle across his shoulders and headed back towards the barricades. After a few seconds, his team followed him, Ruiz lingering long enough to bestow a glare on the Guardsmen.

Stone moved past the barricades and tossed his rifle to Fielstein without turning around. Rassitano loped towards the group, his rifle over one shoulder. Stone pointed at an EMT. “Hey! Where’s the dip wad we shoved over the ‘cades?”

The EMT hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “In Steranko’s wagon. Why?”

“Need to talk to him before the Greenie-Meenies get to him,” Stone said, stalking past. He swung up into the back of the indicated ambulance and gestured at the driver. “Take a smoke break.”

“Yeah but-”

“You heard the man. Smoke ‘em,” Rassitano said, pushing the technician away from the ambulance. Ruiz and the others crowded around as Stone pulled the gurney on which Jack O’ Lantern lay out of the wagon. Stone put a big fist on the criminal’s throat before he could make a sound. With his other hand he pulled off the pumpkin shaped mask.

“Hello, Macendale. Back to playing your old gig?” Stone said. Jason Macendale sneered up at him. A former mercenary turned costumed killer, Macendale had had several identities, including that of the Hobgoblin and Jack O’ Lantern.

“Got tired of the goblin scene. Sue me.”

“Always thought this was a cooler set of duds myself. Talk to me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“The gratitude of the city.”

“Ha!”

“Fine. I won’t let Ruiz bench press your sorry ass.” Stone nodded at Ruiz who smiled and laid gentle hands on Macendale’s leg. The mercenary flinched.

“Yeah, okay. The Enforcers hit the Bar-”

“The Enforcers? Ha! Jesus…” Jackson shook his head. “The barrel bottom is showing these days.”

“Yeah, that‘s what we thought…right up until they killed Boomerang. Took my damn finger, too.” Macendale held up a hand, showing off his new metal digit. “Got a new one though.”

“Very pretty. Keep talking.”

“Jerk came by. Said Hammerhead ordered the hit. Offered us cash to hit him back. So we went. Simple as that.”

“What jerk?”

“Fancy dude. Mask. Called himself Big. Didn’t inquire further,” Macendale said, shrugging. Stone stepped back.

“Know anything about another explosion - Fisk Towers - couple of days ago? Or Carlos Lobo being back in town?”

Macendale didn’t answer. He simply smiled. Stone shoved him back into the ambulance and slammed the doors on his squawk of protest. Stone looked at the other members of his team.

“Something’s going on. Something big.”

“So what are we going to do about it, Loot?” Fielstein asked. Stone rubbed his hands over his head and caught sight of Ben Urich slinking through the crowd, scribbling in his pad.

Stone smiled.