Legends of Firestorm #9

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Legends of Firestorm #9
Spontaneous Combustion

Written by Joel A Sawyer (Glippernip)
Edited by Daniel Dyer (Spider-Man Beyond)

"Tonight, on WJAS, Eddie Earhardt, would-be bomber of the Hudson Nuclear Facility, pled guilty to seven separate charges today. As part of the plea agreement, Earhardt will not be charged or tried as a terrorist and will not receive the death penalty.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Assistant District Attorney mutters as he watches the broadcast on a TV in his office. “I wouldn’t have made that deal.”

“As previously reported, the attempted bombing of the Hudson Facility could have caused a tremendous explosion and radiation cloud. Although the new Cold Fusion reactor would not cause as much damage as a typical reactor, it could potentially kill thousands in the surrounding areas. This was avoided by the intervention of New York’s resident hero, Firestorm, seen here after his nationally televised battle with a futuristic robot.”

I’m generally against vigilantism, Ed Raymond thought to himself as he watched the screen, but this Firestorm seems to have a good heart. If I had a wound like the burn I saw on his arm, I don’t know if I could have gotten up and fought some more.

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

“Lost in this tragedy are the two Middle-Eastern descent teenagers lured to the Facility in an attempt to blame the bombing on a Terrorist cell that did not exist. Also lost in the plea agreement is Le Flambeau, the Internationally known explosives expert who allegedly supplied Earhardt with the bomb materials.”

Hearing that name, her eyes fluttered and slowly opened. Blue room, cream colored ceiling, soft bed with rails to keep her from falling out. She glanced at the equipment along the nearest wall, and at the IV hanging out of her arm. Her ears focused on the words from the TV.

“Flambeau in one of the most wanted men in the world for planning bomb attacks for whoever will pay him.”

The woman, appearing a bit washed out and unkempt, sat up and looked around. Her muscles protested the sudden movement. They were too stiff. She pushed the covers aside to look at herself, noting that she had lost some weight. Using her fingertips, she found her hair dry and brittle. Then her eyes fell upon the small calendar on the wall. Rage flared and one of the electronic instruments began to beep.

“Months,” she croaked, her throat dry and her vocal chords unused recently. “I’ve been here for months!” A strange warmth washed over her and her skin reddened. The door opened, with a man and woman stepping in. The man, wearing a nurses smock, just stared at what he saw, but the African-American woman in a grey suit seemed unfazed.

“Ms. Souci, my name is Sarah. You are at S.T.A.R. Labs, Manhattan. You’ve been in a coma.”

“Months,” she hissed through her teeth. The red-haired woman on the bed began to sweat, the sweat turning to steam.

“I’m afraid so,” Sarah said calmly. “We will certainly help you adjust to the shock.”

“Shock!?” the woman on the bed spat bitterly. “What do you know of...” Then her mind churned and she remembered her last moments at the target. This “Sarah” had just called her by name. She had also said, “S.T.A.R. Labs, Manhattan”. They know who I am, she thought. A sudden surge of fear grew, joining her anger and mixing within. Crimson energy erupted from her eyes, her mouth, even her ears.

“Security, now!” Dr. Sarah Charles ordered as she pulled the orderly from the room, shutting the door and bolting it. No ordinary medical ward, the walls and doors to these rooms are reinforced, the door made of steel with paneling to make it look more natural. In the outer room, protective shielding gave additional barriers for security officers and staff. The officers ran into the area wearing body armor and helmets and carried an assortment of weapons-tranquilizer pistols and stun grenades to hollow-point ammo. They didn’t want to kill, but someday they might need to take someone down. As the six security men officers arrived, Dr. Charles looked at the monitor that viewed the patient’s room. Inside, the red-head screamed in terror and rage. Then, she exploded, the force still ripping the door from its hinges. As the smoke cleared and the security detail cautiously entered the room, Dr. Charles lifted a mobile phone to her ear.

“She’s gone,” Sarah Charles stated into the phone. “Yes, she exhibited meta-human abilities, and then she blew up. I assume she is dead. That just leaves one from the Hudson Facility Incident still here.”

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

He should have seen it coming, but he was distracted. He stood with Jefferson in the hall at Malloy High when a terribly familiar voice screeched from behind, and someone pushed roughly against him. Ronnie Raymond turned to Cliff Carmichael, who had grabbed onto Ron, trying not to fall down.

“Watch it,” Ron warned. “You trying to cop a feel or something?”

Cliff snapped up almost to military “attention”, his eyes wide. He smoothed out his button down shirt. “In your fantasies, Raymond,” Cliff retorted, poking his thumb backwards over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have even touched you if your partner-in-crime hadn’t tripped me!”

Ron looked to where Cliff’s thumb pointed to a pair of big, burly boys. “They’re from the football team, Carmichael,” Ron explained irritably. “I barely know them.”

“All jocks look alike to me,” Cliff chimed in. “Well, don’t expect a thank you or anything.”

“Gratitude? From you, Clifford? That is funny!” Ron slapped his knee, exaggerating his laugh so much that several others, including the two footballers, began to laugh as well. Cliff walked away, unbothered by the ruckus. He who laughs last and all.

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

His next hour, Trig, was a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t seem too hot or anything, but he found himself uncomfortably wet in certain places. Slight nervousness made him sweat even more. The bell rang, and Ron made his way to the door.

“Whoa, Ray,” J-Dogg Turner shouted, “couldn’t wait, man? Ya coulda asked to go to the bathroom or sumthin’.”

As J-Dogg and his friend, both rap enthusiasts, laughed and clapped their hands, others in the class looked directly at Ron’s butt. Lucia wrinkled her nose in disgust, and shy, little Tammy giggled nervously.

“What?” Ron asked, clueless.

“Your draws, man,” J-Dogg’s friend laughed. “It looks like you dropped a load in yo’ pants!”

Ron spun, reaching back to check himself. His hand squished... yes, squished into something warm and sticky. He snatched his hand away and looked at the brown, gooey substance on his fingers, not comprehending.

“That’s pretty disgusting,” Karen said as she shot out of the classroom.

Then the familiar aroma hit, strong and very recognizable. Ron had smelled it earlier and dismissed it, thinking someone else had slipped a snack into the class.

“Chocolate,” Ronnie stated dryly. A Hershey bar had been slipped into his back pocket.

This sent J-Dogg and sidekick into howls of laughter. “Even if you clean up, your gonna have a brown stain all day,” Dogg roared, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Thanks for the support,” Ron said.

“I’ll bet it was Carmichael,” Tammy offered with a sweet smile. “He really doesn’t like you.”

“Tell me about it,” Ron replied. “I have to go wash up.”

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Absent-mindedly, Assistant DA Adrian Chase looked through the pile of legal documents that had infested his inbox. There was too much paper in legal proceedings, he always thought. Has to be a way to process things electronically this day and age.

Chase gasped and re-read the document in his hand.

“Are they out of their minds,” he shouted as he reached for his phone. “Wendy, get me Judge Greg Tomkins, quickly,” he said urgently to his secretary.

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

It was too late. Judge Tomkins stood in an old, cracked parking lot in the outskirts of the Bronx, the sounds of the Hudson River lapping the shoreline a short distance away. Eight SWAT members in full riot gear stood nearby along with a female lawyer, Ms. Loretta Spencer (not the most attractive 32 year old around), a page, and the two officers that were on site duty today. An electrician worked at the side of the smallish building they were all here for.

“Are you sure?” the electrician asked Judge Tomkins as he manipulated the wires.

“Positive,”he said. “This imprisonment is completely against Due Process. No Miranda rights, no consultation with an attorney, nothing.”

“You’re the boss,” the electrician said in his thick, protective suit similar to a fireman’s. He had already isolated the live wire. The man quickly disconnected the line, diverting the electricity back into the grid. The hum of the strange equipment died.

“Open the door,” the Judge commanded.

It took the two service workers seven minutes to figure out the locking mechanism and break the seal. Stale, icy air wafted from the dark chamber within, once an auto repair shop. She stirred as the hot summer breeze caressed her hard, smooth skin.

“Crystal Frost, you have the right to remain silent...” one police officer began.

“Free,” Killer Frost whispered, then with a stronger voice said, “You self-righteous, contemptible, marvelously idiotic fools, I’m FREE!”

Killer Frost launched herself into the fresh air as the SWAT team raised their rifles. With a wave the air before her crystallized, creating an icy shield and a dozen ice spike that flew at the police. Under attack, they opened fire, but her shield protected her. Frost smiled while absorbing the wonderful warmth of the 100 degree temperature, and with the river near, she had ample moisture. She added to her shield until it became tall and top-heavy, and it toppled over onto the policemen. Those that dodged she froze to the ground. Then, Frost turned to His Honor, Judge Tomkins.

“You have rescued me,” she stated, “so a reward is in order. Just one kiss, then I’ll be on my way.”

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Friday Evening- Black Angus Steakhouse

Martin Stein and Belle Haney stepped out of the restaurant into the cool evening air. The sum still floated above the horizon, but the shadows stretched away from the structures. Customers packed into the eatery, with about 20 more waiting for a table, but the couple had arrived before the dinner rush. They strolled slowly, casually toward his car.

“People have mentioned complimentary peanuts and throwing the shells on the floor,” Martin said with a thoughtful expression. “I thought they were joking.”

Belle chuckled. “Admit it. You enjoyed yourself tonight. A little bit of controlled chaos won’t hurt you.”

You have no clue what I know about chaos, Martin found himself thinking. “I did have fun tonight,” he told her, “and the steak was excellent, though I’m not used to portions that size. Texas-style indeed.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I love this place, but I’ve only been here a few times. What else should we do tonight?”

“What would you suggest?”

She shook her head. “I see I’ll have to work on you. You’ve done amazing things for science, but fun is difficult for you. When is the last time you went out just for yourself?”

“I did eat at Carlisle’s just last week.”

“That’s across the street from Concordance, you silly man. When did you just go out? See a movie, a play, a concert? What would you like to do?”

Martin suddenly felt embarrassed. He really couldn’t remember. “I used to like Jazz and symphonies,” he began. “I used to go bowling, and I liked live comedy shows...”

“That’s it,” Belle shouted, snapping her fingers, “I know about an Improv group that meets every Friday not far from here. If we hurry, we can still make it.”

Her smile radiant, she walked with him to the car, approaching the passenger side. Spontaneously, he opened the door for her, and she turned toward him as she prepared to sit. Martin quickly leaned in and kissed her.

Surprise flickered in her eyes, but her smile only widened.

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Whoa, what was that? Ron thought. His adrenalin suddenly jumped and something distracted him. He regained his composure and found his man again. The Malloy team played a rival basketball team from another borough, a team known for teamwork and tricky shots. Ron forgot the embarrassments of his school day (the nickname “Fudge” had already started to spread) and concentrated on the now. Malloy was down by one point, and the last minute ticked away. The other school missed their shot, and Ron snatched the rebound.

On the floor, they sounded like an uncoordinated squad of soldiers with the steady ping-ping-ping of the ball. Ron passed the ball to Jefferson, who lobbed the ball to Demetrius Bester, who rolled the ball to Louis Croy. Croy tossed the ball back to Ron, who spun to look for Jefferson.

Ron watched as Jefferson collided with a player from the other team. He glanced around, but everyone was covered. Except the basket. Five seconds left and Ronnie shot, the ball arcing high and swishing through the hoop barely touching the metal rim. The Malloy fans, somewhat of a minority in this audience, exploded in cheers as the final buzzer rang. Malloy had won.

I’m dedicating this to you, Cliff, Ron thought. You’ll have to work harder to tear me down.

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Martin Stein, pulling out of the Black Angus parking lot, felt his own surge of adrenalin and believed it to be from the night he was having.

***

[Spider-Man Beyond]

Killer Frost stood alone in the darkness at the end of an old pier. She looked at her reflection in the water, the 3/4 moon giving her just enough light. She looked like an ice sculpture. A sad, living ice sculpture.

She heard the soft footsteps behind her. “If you value your life at all, turn around and walk away,” she shouted, not looking back.

“I value my life greatly,” a female voice with a vaguely french accent answered, “but I do not wish to leave just yet.”

Frost began to anger. “You do not know who you are dealing with,” she barked.

“You are Killer Frost,” the voice told her, “blessed with the powers of ice and snow.”

What blessing? Frost thought. She turns to see a younger woman in a tight magenta outfit, long sleeves and leggings, with silver circles imprinted on each limb. She wore no mask, and her reddish brown hair fell in waves to her armpits. “Who are you?” Killer Frost asked.

“Call me Plastique,” the woman replied. “I had actually come to your prison to free you myself only to see the Judge do it. I almost lost you, but managed to follow you here.”

“To what purpose?”

“Revenge against my enemies, some of whom are yours, as well. I want to make a statement against Concordance Research.”

An icy smile crossed Killer Frost’s lips.

To Be Continued...