Direwolf: Cold Iron & Hot Steel - part 1 "We could sure use your help with this..."
by Direwolf
City University Campus, just after 2:30 PM on a Friday afternoon-
Jason Cross walked out of the Earth Sciences building and started across the lawn towards the Engineering department. Well over six feet tall, with a broad chest and muscular arms and legs, Jason looked more like a football player than a graduate student in geology. His tan corduroy jacket flapped open, revealing a white shirt and no tie. The worn blue jeans added a further element of casualness to his attire. His wardrobe was still rather limited. After what happened to him last weekend, most of his clothing no longer fit.
"At least I didn't collapse any chairs," he thought.
It had been quite a week. Along with the usual press that came with the end of each quarter, tests and papers to grade, study sections to proctor and students to advise, he had his own academic workload to deal with. On Tuesday he'd been visited by Detective Siller to see if Jason remembered anything about the burglary at the museum and Siller had happened to mention that it might be linked to a burglary and killing on Saturday in The Heights. It seemed someone had killed the photographer Steven Archer, the same man who donated some of the pieces stolen from the Museum of Ancient History. And some similar pieces had been taken from Archer's apartment. Jason continued to claim he had no knowledge of what happened that evening. He wasn't willing to explain how a fossilized Canus Diris had come to life, bitten his arm, and then vanished in a pulse of purple light that somehow imbued him with super human powers.
Since then, his life had taken an abrupt turn. Rather then capitalize on his newfound powers Jason had decided to try to walk the path of a super hero. With the help of his two roommates, Jason came up with a costume and name before making an attempt at crime fighting. His first efforts had mixed results. He'd managed to stop a mugging and turned the assailants over to a rather startled Patriot City Police force, and made what he thought would be a valuable contact, Sergeant Joe Wojosky of the 16th Street station. Then, on the way home, he'd stumbled on a burglary. His attempt to stop the thieves had been less successful. All of the buglers escaped, leaving the fledgling hero bleeding from a rifle wound to the chest and seemingly dead. Jason knew he had survived thanks to a bit of luck, an amazing healing rate, and the fact that the escaping crooks hadn't taken the time to finish the job. The debut of Direwolf was nearly his finale as well.
But Jason wasn't ready to hang up his mask yet. Through a week of classes, paper grading and working at the museum, he'd kept looking for a chance to try his luck on the city rooftops again. Now it was Friday. The school week was done and he had a whole weekend to follow his new vocation. Though he really should do some cloths shopping as well. Suddenly having you chest grows four inches played heck with your wardrobe.
Jason stopped at the stairs leading up to the engineering building and set down his backpack. It seemed to weigh nothing even though it was full of textbooks and a half-dozen fist sized rocks he had to identify over the weekend.
"I've got to be careful," he thought. "It's easy to forget just how strong I am now. Makes opening doors in a hurry more exciting. What will I say the first time one comes off the wall in my hands?"
He was so distracted by his musings that he didn't notice the two attractive undergraduate co-eds eyeing him with obvious interest as they passed.
"I guess all that new muscle had to come at the expense of something," Devon Engles hissed from beside Jason. Then he waved at the two young ladies and raised his voice, adding a trace of a Bostonian accent. "It's just my friend, ladies. Poor Jason here's deaf as a rock you know. Didn't know he was blind as well."
The co-eds giggled and kept walking.
"Very funny," Jason growled, lifting his pack. "I was just thinking!"
"Good thing I wasn't a super villain or you'd have been pushing up daisies."
"Obviously this danger sense of mine decided you weren't much of a threat."
"Ow, now that hurt!"
"Not as much as if I hit you."
They kept up the whispered argument until they reached the Life Sciences Building. Skip, his reddish hair bright in the afternoon sun, was waiting for them. Together, they headed off campus towards the house they rented together. Along the way they talked about school. All three of them were graduate students so they had a lot in common. There were the ever-present demands of juggling their scholastic workloads, trying to earn enough money to pay the bills, and have something akin to a social life. Now they shared something else; the secret of Direwolf.
On the way, Skip pointed out that the ‘fridge back at the house was effectively empty so they pooled their cash and came up with enough for a shopping run. They made Jason carry all the heavy bags. On the way out of the market, Devon pointed out the latest edition of the Patriot City Herald. It had a fuzzy picture of what was reported as a floating island that had appeared over the city earlier that week. There was some connection between it and the inexplicable growths of plants throughout the city as well as the disappeared and reappearance of several dozen people under ‘mysterious circumstances". The article said that Freedom Force had averted the crisis.
"Still don't want to link with them?" Devon asked.
"No," Jason answered, shifting the bags in his hands. "I need to figure this out on my own."
It was less than a block to the old brownstone house they rented. Skip unlocked the door and they all put away the groceries.
"I heard Phi Kappa Beta is having a party Saturday night. The theme is come as your favorite hero. Can I borrow you coat for the night?" Skip said.
"Seeing as Direwolf hasn't even made the papers yet, that would sort of point the finger at us."
"I was kidding, Dev," Skip added. "Maybe I'll just wrap myself in tin foil and go as Manbot."
"Well, you guys can go, I suspect I'll be busy." Jason took three bottles of cola and pulled the caps off with his fingers.
"Great, no need for a bottle opener!" Devon said. "You going to try the hero thing again?"
"Yeah, there's a cookie delivery truck I want another crack at. And it's a chance to wear the new shirt you designed."
"Great, I cooked something else up for you in the machine shop." Devon reached into the satchel he used as a book bag and took out four silver metal cylinders about the size of D batteries.
"What are they?" Jason asked. At first glace, they looked somewhat like the metal cylinder he'd broken open over the wolf fossil, liberating the blast of purple light.
"Home made flash bombs. It's a thin metal shell filled with flash powder, powdered magnesium and iron. The latter should give it a sparkle that will look good and be disorienting. Push down hard on the little button on top and you've got three seconds before the igniter triggers."
"Humm, could come in handy. Thanks, Dev."
"Well, I couldn't let Doctor Skip have all the fun."
"What are you guys going to do while I'm out saving the world?" Jason asked as he walked to his room. Devon and Skip began debating plans. Jason didn't wait for an answer.
Jason's bedroom was towards the back of the house, overlooking the weed-choked postage stamp that stood in for a back yard. His mattress still sat on the floor, surrounded by broken wood that had once been a bed frame. An inexpensive stereo that seldom got any use sat atop a pile of old textbooks by the window and there were as many cloths in heaps on the floor as there were in the old wooden armoire that served as a closet. Rocks sat on nearly every exposed surface and a large polarizing light microscope on loan from the geology department sat atop the desk. Jason shut the door. Hanging on a hook at the back were a long brown leather greatcoat and black mask.
Jason stripped off the coat and jacket, tossing them onto a pile by the door. He took down the coat and saw his reflection in the mirror attached to the back of the door. To the unfamiliar eye, he looked the same as he did a week ago, the same dark blue eyes, the same sandy blond hair. But Jason saw the differences, how his chest, arms and legs had thickened with the extra dense muscles. And if he concentrated, he could feel his weight increase until the floorboards creaked.
For a moment, he was sure it had all been some sort of dream, and then he remembered the hot pain of the rifle bullet shattering off his rib and stopping his heart for what felt like an eternity. Dreams didn't hurt that much.
Jason pulled on the black T-shirt that Devon had embellished. The white airbrush lines defined the profile of a snarling wolf, facing to the left. Jason tucked the shirt into his jeans, then stuck Devon's grenades in the pockets. He pulled on a pair of motorcycle boots then donned the chocolate brown leather coat. He stuffed his mask in a pocket along with his gloves. Then, just to be sure, he took another painted shirt and added it to a pocket as well.
Devon and Skip were still discussing the relative merits of the assorted nightlife options in and around campus when Jason emerged from his room. They fell suddenly silent when he walked into the kitchen.
"What?" he asked.
Devon shook his head. "You may think I'm yanking your chain, but I'm not. You look...stunning, literally in that gear. I don't know if I should bow low or run like hell."
"Yeah, sure." Jason took out the mask and pulled it on, securing the Velcro seal on the back of the neck. "Have a good time tonight, I don't know when I'll be back."
He put on his gloves and opened the door to the back yard. He couldn't see the change that seemed to steal over him, but Devon and Skip saw how Jason's stance changed. He seemed more focused, more real and far more dangerous. It was like seeing a lion step from its cage. The hunter was loosed.
Jason sniffed the air as he scanned the other buildings to assure no one was watching. The way was clear. With a burst of energy, he ran a few paces then jumped, soaring up to land on the roof of the three-story apartment behind the house. Then he was gone into the sunset.
Devon released a shaky breath. "Wow, some difference from last Sunday."
Skip nodded in understanding. "Yeah, and I think he'll get even better. You know, I really wouldn't want to be the guy who shot him in the chest when Direwolf catches up with him. By the way, did you get it?"
"Yeah, it's in the garage. It'll take a lot of work, but I think we'll have plenty of time when he's...out."
The conversation died as they both looked to the rooftop where their friend had vanished. The sky was darkening, and the streamers of clouds were tinted red as if stained with blood.
Croc sat atop his motorcycle watching the small hardware store across the street. Another of the Red Skorpions who now went by the name Snake was next to him, leaning on another bike while he pretended to read a newspaper. A third bike, a battered Harley with an eagle painted on the gas tank, was parked near them in a vacant lot strewn with the refuse of a demolished building. There was no sign of the third rider.
"Got to be soon," Snake said, looking over the top of his paper at the store. A "closed" sign had just gone up in the front window behind a mesh of heavy steel wire. Most businesses near the Devils' Kitchen were justifiably concerned about break ins.
Croc didn't answer. He picked up a piece of re-bar from the litter near him. He examined the half-inch thick steel rod. It was bent nearly double. He took the ends and pulled. With a groan, the metal straightened.
"Cool," Snake said. "Let me try!"
He handed over the bar and watched while Snake fought to bend it back. The metal gave, but slowly. Snake tossed it back to the ground.
"No doubt about it, you're stronger," Snake admitted.
Croc grinned, showing inhumanly pointed teeth. "We each got something different. That's why she wants us to practice. Get used to what we can do and working together."
Their undisputed leader, Silver Scarab, had broken the Skorpions into three teams of three each and given each team a number of small tasks to do over the past week. Croc, who used to go by the name Tony, The Chain understood what she was doing. This was training, and gave her a chance to see what the nine of them were capable of. He figured that at the end of the week, the teams would be shuffled. And he intended to make sure Scarab had no reason to remove Tony as the leader of the Skorpions. He was willing to let Silver Scarab lead the whole gang; no way he could match her power. But he didn't want to slide any further down the food chain.
It was dusk by now, and still Croc and Snake waited. At last there was a rush of wind and their third member, Hawk, arrived. He swooped down from the air, his denim jacket flapping. He landed atop his Harley with an aerial flourish. His reddish brown face, a gift from his Cherokee mother, split into a wide grin.
"He's out the back and away, like a good little shopkeeper should be. You're up, I'm on watch." Hawk stretched out on his bike and began to unbraid his long black hair.
Croc figured all that flying had to give Hawk a whole lot of snarls. Not that he'd have that problem ever again. Croc's transformation had taken all his hair while thickening his skin into armor.
Croc led the way down a side ally to the back of the hardware store. The back door was there, the door secured by hasps so thick even his new muscles would have a hard time breaking in. But there was a foot square window in the door, protected by a grill of steel bars. Croc gripped the bars on the window, set his feet against the door, and pulled. The grill tore free.
Croc jammed his fist through the frosted glass window, knocking it out of the frame. "Your turn."
Snake stepped up to the window. He reached through, wedged his shoulder in and began to squirm. Croc watched as his partner squeezed through the narrow window, his bones flexing like heavy rubber. In a few minutes, he was through. Croc waited, twisting the metal grill into increasingly baroque shapes to pass the time. At last, a hand appeared in the window frame. Snake pulled himself through.
"Got it?" Croc asked.
"Yeah, wasn't much. We could have gotten more holding the dude up before he closed."
"Not the point." Croc said as they sauntered back to the waiting motorcycles.
"Huh?"
Croc sighed and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans, offering them to Snake and Hawk. Somehow, he figured his position was secure. Unless Scarab didn't want someone who could think commanding her troops.
Direwolf moved across the rooftops as the sun moved lower in the western sky. He was heading south, back to the Devils' Kitchen. While he moved, he kept scanning the street for any Mama Luna's Cookies delivery trucks and while he spotted a few, they all seemed to be about legitimate errands, not looting stores. He reached the 16th Street police station just before sundown. A final drop brought him to the street, startling a group of boys playing stickball. Direwolf caught the runaway ball and pitched it underhanded to the nearest boy. He caught it reflexively even as he stared at the masked man.
Inside the station, Direwolf found a different police officer on the desk. This one stared at him as well, his expression comically similar to the boys playing outside.
"Excuse me, can you please tell Sergeant Joe Wojosky that there is someone to see him?" Direwolf had to lean down to speak through the grate set in the reinforced glass by the front desk.
The officer kept looking at him while reaching for the phone. "Uh Sarge, that Darkwolf character's back... Ok. He says to go on up, Mr. Direwolf. Third floor."
"Thank you."
The third floor of the 16th Street station was a confused warren of small offices that made the spaces given to science department graduate students look palatial. The only real difference was that most of these were obviously empty. Direwolf could tell at a glace how undermanned this police precinct was. He found Sergeants Joe's office by following the scent of coffee. This one was marginally bigger then the rest he had passed and filled with files that seemed in use.
"Have a seat," Joe said after shaking Direwolf's hand. "Wondered if I'd ever see you again after Sunday night. Figured you might have an attack of sanity. Nice picture on your chest, by the way. It really adds something."
The old chair collapsed under Direwolf's weight. "Sorry about the chair. No. I'm still intent on playing costumed vigilante for now, though I do intend to take your advice. And I may need your help with something."
"Don't worry about the chair. It was older then I am and in worse shape. You want some coffee?"
"Please."
While Joe poured a cup from the coffee pot on his desk, Direwolf told him about the burglary he'd encountered last Sunday. Joe asked a few questions, writing down descriptions of the men and truck.
"Interesting," he said when Direwolf finished. "There have been a string of smash-and-grab thefts over the last two weeks, four I know of all with the same MO. An out of the way store hit late at night by thieves that grab what they can and are gone before anyone can respond. Not much of an MO to go on. This information will help."
"If you find out anything, I'd like to know."
Joe looked at him questioningly.
"I wouldn't mind taking another crack at them though this isn't about revenge or anything like that. But they are heavily armed. I'd hate to hear that a police officer died trying to bring them in."
"That's a good point, but we're getting ahead of the game. Let's see what I can find out, then I'll see what I can tell you."
"Sounds fair enough."
"What have you got planned for the night?"
Direwolf shrugged. "Nothing in particular. Just thought I'd look around to see if I could find anyone that needs help."
Joe set aside his cup and steepled his fingers in front of his face. Direwolf could tell he was carefully considering something and waited in silence.
"Well, if you are willing, maybe you can give us a hand. I've got something that needs doing and could be dangerous." Joe looked at him very intently. "As a private citizen, there's no way I should be asking this of you, but if you really want to help, and maybe keep a cop or two alive..."
His voice trailed off.
Direwolf set his coffee mug down on the desk. There was a gold shield on the chipped porcelain and an inscription reading "Good work from the men of the 33rd Street Station".
"You know, I think that was the worst cup of coffee I ever tasted in my life. Now tell me what you need."
To be continued...
