Direwolf: Cold Iron & Hot Steel - part 3 "No, this is not good..."
by Direwolf

Joe guessed correctly. Jenny Weathers went straight back to her office at the Patriot City Herald and started typing furiously. The late night editor charged with putting the morning paper to bed trusted Jenny enough to pull back the front page just before the press run for a complete rewrite. The typesetters were building the page one paragraph at a time as Jenny hammered out the copy. She took enough time to go over the description of the masked man called Direwolf with a sketch artist who instantly gave the final product to the paper's best engraver who turned the sketch into a plate. Then it was a race to get the plate in and the type set in time for the run. Jenny swilled coffee and stalked the production room, calling out last minute edits. Her editor swallowed antacids like mints and swore up and down that this would cost him his job. Late papers led to mass firings. But it all came together, just under the wire. Jenny congratulated herself and went back to her place to grab some sleep. Come the night, she was planning on looking for a follow up. And the 16^th Street Station was the hunting ground.

The delivery trucks rolled out at four-thirty PM. The Saturday headlines, in two inch high type, screamed the news of a new super-powered being in Patriot City, one that wasn't part of Freedom Force. Below was an artist's rendition of Direwolf leaping from a rooftop, his coat streaming behind him. Some would look at the picture and think he looked like an avenging angel striking from above. Others would see a more ominous image of a dangerous rogue hunter leaping on his prey.

Despite his fiery nature, El Diablo enjoyed a morning shower as much as anyone. Besides the feeling of being clean, it gave him an excuse to sing. And, in his opinion, he had a very fine voice. When he was done he didn't even need a towel. A bit of inner fire dried him just fine. Then it was on with his signature red, blue and yellow costume, a quick check of his hair in the mirror, then down for breakfast, knowing he looked fine for the day ahead.

"Can always tell when Man-o-War has been cooking," Diablo said as he walked into the Freedom Fortress lounge that they used as a breakfast room and headed for the refrigerator, "the whole place smells of those kippered herring he eats. Hey, who used up the lechie?"

He pulled his head out of the refrigerator when he realized no one had said anything and looked around. Most of the team was there, looking at the day's newspapers. The Herald in particular.

"What's up, hombres? Don't tell me someone sprung Mr. Mechanical already?"

"No," The Ant answered, tossing him a copy of the Herald, "looks like there's a new mask in town."

El Diablo unfolded the paper, saw the lurid picture and quickly scanned the article. The wording was carefully neutral but left it clear that Direwolf was a large question mark answerable to no one. The police had made it quite clear that he wasn't one of theirs. And if he wasn't associated with Freedom Force, there was only one other sort of super being the city had seen so far...

"Well," Diablo said, "this is the Herald we're talking about here. The ones that run articles about psychics finding Atlantis off the Jersey Shore."

"I don't think that's the case this time," Minute Man countered. "This may be tied to something Mentor noticed last Sunday."

"Minute Man speaks the truth," Mentor intoned, setting down his cup of tea. "This may well correspond to some interesting Energy X readings the monitors detected last week. There were a number of small flares as if the energy were being activated in bursts in the area known as The Devil's Kitchen. The same effect occurred last night, though none lasted long enough to provide coordinates."

"Seems like proof to me," The Ant said, his mask pulled up so that he could eat his stack of pancakes. "We have a new super-type in the city."

"And that means we need to know more. I want the Energy X detectors fully manned," the star-spangled man said, turning his coffee mug in his hands. "If we can get a fix on this Direwolf, then Bullet should go and bring him back. One way or another, we need to know what's going on with Direwolf."

Working the night shift meant that Joe Wojosky slept in most mornings. This Sunday, he made an exception and went in search of a copy of the Herald. It didn't take him long to find one and read over the front page.

"No, this is not good," he muttered as his fists unconsciously crumpled the paper.

The phone in Jenny's bedroom rang a few minutes after nine, startling her out of a very deep sleep. She fumbled for the phone as it shrilled a second time. Her elbow caught the lamp on the nightstand, knocking it over with a crash of glass.

"Scratch one bulb," she thought as she lifted the receiver in mid third ring. "Yeah, this had better be important."

"How could you do this?" The voice on the line shouted. "You stopped just short of suggesting the populace should start melting tar and collecting feathers!"

There was no mistaking Joe Wojoesky's angry tone.

"Now hold on, Joe. I didn't write a single word that wasn't true!"

"Don't split hairs with me! We both know there's truth and then there's truth. You sure implied that Direwolf's a rogue who doesn't answer to anyone and could be dangerous."

Jenny took a deep breath to calm herself. Combative by nature, her first instinct was to shout back. But she knew that wouldn't work with Joe, he could be just as stubborn as she was. "Maybe so. But look at the facts. Yes, your boy helped and maybe saved an officer or two, I credit him with that, damn it! But it's true. He's not really yours and not part of Freedom Force. I'm going to check for a statement from them today but we both know what they'll say. Direwolf is a loner. Maybe you are right and everything will turn out for the good. But maybe it won't."

The line was silent for a few moments while Jenny waited for an answer.

"Yeah, that's true," Joe admitted at last. "But maybe people thinking that he's dark will force him into the darkness. Keep that in mind."

"I will. Look, I'll report the truth whatever it is. Have your boy give me a call and I'll see his side of the story makes it into print as well. I didn't fold on you three years ago. I won't this time."

There was more silence.

"Ok, not much I can do about this anyway. Just give the kid a break, all right? He's trying to do the right thing. I'll pass your request for an interview along first chance I get."

"Fair enough. And Joe, how'd you get my phone number?"

There was a low laugh on the line. "I'm a cop. We have ways of doing things."

The line clicked dead. Jenny dragged herself out of bed and stumbled towards the shower. She figured that for now, she wasn't getting any more sleep.

Jason slept late. On his way back from The Devil's Kitchen last night he'd come across a rather nasty accident at an intersection. One of the cars had struck a light pole and the exposed lines were sparking. Jason had stopped to help and established that he could, in fact, lift a car. Once the vehicles were separated, he tore open one of the cars to free the trapped driver while the other, obviously three sheets to the wind, stood on the curb muttering how his dad was going to kill him. Since Direwolf doubted actual homicide was imminent, he made sure no one was injured and went home. After filling Skip and Devon on his nights adventures, they all got some sleep.

Come morning over a breakfast of cereal and bananas, they came to the realizations that unless some cleaning happened soon, The Brain Trust was going to be inundated in refuse. Skip organized. Jason moved furniture, Devon vacuumed, and they all cleaned out trash. Laundry could wait. That afternoon, they reconvened at the kitchen table and helped each other work through their weekend assignments. Then the subject of the evening came up.

"Hot parties over on Frat House row tonight, the last bash before midterms," Skip reported. "Grad students are always welcome, they think it will help their grades."

"All bribes cheerfully accepted, none of them do any good, but I'll accept them all." Devon repacked him notes into his book bag for Monday.

"You guys go, I want to try again to see if I can find that Mama Luna's truck."

"Oh, I ran into a biz major last night who mentioned that he heard Mama Luna's cookies went bankrupt a few months back. For whatever that's worth," Skip added.

"Thanks," Jason said, already heading for his room.

"That boy has been bitten by the hero bug, hard," Devon observed.

"I'm sure the novelty will wear off sooner or later and he'll be back to normal."

Devon looked at Skip and shook his head. "I don't think so."

Jason was back a few minutes latter, dressed in his Direwolf costume. "See you later guys."

The door banged behind him and Devon watched out the window as Jason raced across the tiny lawn and leaped up to the top of the building behind their rented brownstone. Then he was gone.

"Well, we've got more time to work on the project," Devon suggested. "Let's go then hit the party circuit."

Direwolf headed straight for The Devil's Kitchen. He considered stopping by the 16^th Street Police station to chat with Sergeant Joe but decided he could do that later. This was the first time he'd been out before dusk so it seemed a chance to get a feel for the area when the light was good. Even his enhanced vision didn't let him see in the dark. Knowing the lay of the land might become important some day.

Direwolf passed an old factory building on the edge of the slum, idly noticing a collection of motorcycles parked near the door. He figured it had to be a gang of squatters. He might have to check it out later but for now, he wanted to get an overview. Daylight didn't improve the look of The Kitchen at all. The crumbling, graffiti-covered buildings seemed to be trying to sink into the ground, taking their load of human misery with them.

One whole block appeared to be abandoned, the tenement buildings were little more than boarded up shells. Direwolf dropped to the street to take a closer look. He walked across the cracked pavement to the main doors of the first building. The boards were long gone and the windows all empty, the glass shattered over years of casual vandalism. The walls were covered in layers of graffiti, some old and faded, some fresh. He saw the same bold slogan in bright blue that he'd spotted last night proclaiming, "Cold Iron Rulz!". What looked like stylized snowflakes bracketed the words. Direwolf took a closer look and sniffed. The paint was fresh, less then a day old.

He moved to the front door and stepped in past the litter.

From across the street, three pairs of eyes watched the masked man enter the building.

Two of the watchers were a couple of young street hustlers, Two-card and Shades, who eked out a living in The Devil's Kitchen. The third set of eyes looked out from behind a mask of black iron.

"Yeah, that's got to be him," Two-card said as Direwolf stepped into the building. "Big dude in a long brown coat and black mask. Juarez and Thomas said everyone gets squeezed another twenty five percent on orders of Sergeant Joe Joe so they can pay off Direwolf. We don't pay, they run us in."

Shades nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Juarez and Thomas said it starts this week. More money or we're locked up. We can't afford more, man! We're chipping as it is!"

"Crooked cops are part of the system, like it or not," a deep voice rumbled from behind the iron mask. "But no masked robber's going to shake us down through ‘em. I'll deal with this Direwolf."

The massive armored form stepped out from the ally and started after Direwolf. The figure was nearly seven feet tall and covered in a full suit of black iron armor. A thick articulated belt comprised of iron plates crossed the waist and connected to cross straps over the torso. More articulated plates ran the length of the arms to the iron gauntlets and down the leg to the iron boots. The gauntleted hands carried a massive sledgehammer. The helmet was a completely encasing shell, the eyeholes covered with smoked crystal panes and a small grill over the mouth. Despite the size of the armored man, he moved with surprising grace, clanking ever so slightly with each footfall.

Shades and Two-cards held back, watching The Devil's Kitchen's self-appointed guardian follow Direwolf into the ruined building.

Fort Iroquois was located approximately thirty miles west of Patriot City. The army base had been a critical training area in World War Two and had remained active in the cold war years by transforming itself into an experimental warfare center. But it had a lot of unused buildings, one of which had been commandeered to serve as a new, maximum-security federal penitentiary. The first and only inmate arrived some month ago from Patriot City.

His name was given as Adreich Sukov, a Russian national apprehended attempting to hijack a US nuclear weapon. The Soviet government denied that Sukov was an agent of theirs, but was still insisting that he be give to them for ‘medical care'. To make matters worse, something had affected Sukov, imbuing him with amazing powers that made him very hard to hang onto. After several near escapes that resulted in over a dozen injuries to guards, one of the scientists had suggested a way to hold the frigid man. A special cell filled with space heaters was set up and constant heat seemed to put the man now known as Nuclear Winter into a near torpor. It made him much easier to keep track of.

Currently, Nuclear Winter occupied Cell 1 in Cell Block 1. Along with the steady supply of heat, two armed guards we posted just outside the cell door that was equipped with a state of the art electronic lock. No one was taking chances.

The sun had set over Camp Iroquois when what looked like a ten-foot diameter sphere of darkness lifted up from the wooded hills north of the base. The sphere rose quite high and floated over the barbwire fences and other, less noticeable, barriers around the base. Even the radar aimed at the sky missed the floating object. Unnoticed, the sphere moved over the large, concrete square of the penitentiary and settled gently into the central courtyard. The lights atop the building had been switched off since so little of it was occupied, making the courtyard a pool of darkness.

The shadowy sphere faded. Silver Scarab stood in the courtyard with three of her henchmen.

"You know what to do," she said. "Do not fail in this simple task."

Joey, "The Jackal" led the way. A smallish man with short black hair and faintly elongated ears, Joey seemed to blend with the shadows and made no sound when he moved. His two fellow Skorpions were George "Sunny Boy" Chalmers and Marc "Gusty W" Weathers.

Joey reached the door to Cell Block One and pressed his ear to it while running his fingers over the edges of the door. He seemed to caress the lock.

"Easy enough, but I hear voices on the far side, two I think."

"I can burn through," Sunny Boy offered.

Joey shook his head, "Nah, too noticeable. Gusty, think you can drop two fast enough they don't trigger an alarm?"

"Give it a try." Marc shimmered, as his body seemed to break down into countless grains that vanished in a swirl of dry wind. The air swirled around the two men, then poured under the door.

Joey pressed his ear to the door to listen.

The two guards were surprised when the hot wind buffeted around them. They looked about puzzled and unslung their rifles.

"Must be getting some sort of weird backflow from the ventilators in the cell," one of the solders suggested.

"Yeah, that must be it," his partner said as the wind buffeted them, tugging their cloths and ruffling their hair. "Sort of feels like an Arizona dust devil, don't it?"

The wind gathered into a tight gyre, spun for a few more moments, then a bright yellow bolt of lighting lanced out, striking the two men. They collapsed, shocked into unconscious.

Marc reformed from the wind and clutched at the wall for support. "Got ‘em."

Joey touched the keyhole with a slim metal probe, twisted it briefly, and the lock surrendered. "In like Flynn."

Sunny Boy ran to the two fallen guards and gave each of them a kick in the side of the head to assure they were down for the count. Marc was still trying to catch his breath; generating lighting took a lot out of him. Joey knelt down to examine the cell door lock.

"Better lock," he observed. "Numeric key pad..."

"Want me to burn it?"

"Let me try. I'm sure it's alarmed." The Jackal popped off the keypad with a small bar, exposing the wiring. He clipped a few wires and began tracing connections. "Override time!"

The door clicked open, admitting a wash of heated air. The three men looked in. Nuclear Winter was there, sprawled on a reinforced cot and surrounded by heaters pumping out shimmering waves of heat.

The blue-skinned man was nearly comatose, his skin running with moisture as his systems fought an unwinnable battle to chill him down.

"He's a big one, think we can carry him?" Sunny Boy asked.

"Nah, he needs to be able to at least walk." Jackal thought quickly. "There, that fire extinguisher. Gusty, can you bring it over? Sunny Boy, that box has to be the electrical junction. Cook it good when I say so."

Marc gave Joey the fire extinguisher and stood back while Joey moved up to the recumbent man on the cot. "Now!"

Sunny Boy extended his hand. A gout of fire and light burst from his fingers and splashed over the electrical box. Sparks blew out. All of the heaters died. Joey triggered the extinguisher. The rush of carbon dioxide counteracted the heat. A coating of ice formed over Nuclear Winters skin, thickening with each passing second.

"By Lenin's Ghost, what is this?" the Russian agent growled as he began to recover.

The first alarms began to sound.

"Need to get you out of here!" Joey grabbed an arm. The three of them were able to get Nuclear Winter up and moving. They reached the courtyard just as the first contingent of solders charged through the gates. Sunny Boy sent a series of fiery bolts at them.

"Hah, capitalist dogs!" Nuclear Winter snarled, ice suddenly encasing the solders that had scattered to avoid Sunny Boy's fiery attacks.

"Sunny Boy, cover the gate!" Joey called as he and Gusty steered Nuclear Winter to the shadows where Silver Scarab waited.

"Well done" she said to Joey, then turned her attention to Sukov. "I ask nothing for what I have done. You are free to pursue your own goals. But if you are interested in joining with... like minds, meet with me Monday night at moonrise here."

She handed him a map.

"Bah! Why should I bother with the likes of you, woman?"

Silver Scarab smiled with out humor. "How long do you think it will take for Minute Man to come for you again? Without allies, how long will you stand? I have given you your freedom and only ask that you listen to what I have to say. Now is not the time. Monday night is. Now, let us see if you can make your way from this place on your own. If not, you are of no use to me and deserve your cell.

"Skorpions, to me!" She shouted. The three men came running. As soon as they were all touching her, the black sphere reformed and drifted into the sky. One of the solders that were responding to the jailbreak noticed the sphere and shouldered his SAM launcher. The missile left a fiery trail as it streaked towards the rising object until a beam of red light shone through the darkness and detonated the warhead. Untouched, the sphere moved into the night.

"Humm, allies could be useful. And she commands power. We shall see. But now, to work." Nuclear Winter flexed his muscles. Fully recovered from his imprisonment it was time to leave this place. He had work to do in Patriot City. And a score to settle with a certain flag draped hero.

Nuclear Winter roared his rage to the sky and charged the prison gates.

To be continued...