The Secret Origin of Direwolf - part 5 "I've got to uphold the law..."
by Direwolf

"...So that's a quick rundown on some rules of evidence. It gives you an idea of what we can, and cannot use if you bring it to us." Sergeant Joe Wojosky leaned back in his seat and sipped a cup of coffee, watching Direwolf. The two of them were sitting in the back-most corner booth of Fat's dinner, the remains of two Rubin sandwiches and fries on the table between them. Direwolf had a small notebook on the table and was jotting down information.

They had been sitting in the diner for nearly two hours, gaining more then a few odd looks from the patrons. It wasn't every day you saw a masked man and a veteran cop having a quite conversation, even in The Devil's Kitchen.

But to Sergeant Joe, this was time well spent. Though young and inexperienced, this masked man who called himself Direwolf seemed very intent on 'doing things right'. He'd been asking intelligent questions and raising good points while Joe explained how a vigilante and the police could interact. Joe had stressed that Direwolf was walking a treacherous path. If he wasn't careful, he could end up wanted himself for a range of crimes such as battery, false imprisonment, breaking and entering and more. On the other hand, since he was a private citizen, he could do things that police officers couldn't, at least not with out a warrant. It was a tough road, but one that could be navigated with care.

"Ok, I see your points on all this, and I really think it's best if I don't have to show up in court all the time to testify." Direwolf dredged a cold French fry in ketchup, popped it in his mouth and grimaced slightly.

"It will be an interesting legal question the first time one of you super-hero types has to appear in court to give testimony. I can see a lawyer tearing into the question of who you are and that keeping your identity secret is a violation of due process. I suspect we are going to see a number of changes to the legal code to account for, shall we say, new forms of law enforcement." Joe held up his empty coffee cup to catch the waitress attention. She approached cautiously. Joe understood, with his long coat, black leather mask and sheer size, Direwolf was an imposing figure, even sitting on the worn red vinyl seat of the dinner.

"This is more complicated than I'd figured."

"Good of you to recognize it. Not thinking of quitting are you?"

Direwolf paused to consider for a few moments, another good sign Joe decided.

"No, I suppose not. I think I'm a little too thick headed..." Direwolf smiled knowingly at some inner joke, then added, "...to give up so quickly."

"Glad to hear it," the police sergeant said. "You are in a position to do some good if you try."

"Well, that's the idea. What's your take on all this by the way? You seem kind of unfazed by what's happened."

"You mean the sudden arrival of super heroes, costumed bad guys, dinosaurs, giant robots and gray headed aliens running amok in Patriot City?" Joe stared out the diner window at the darkened city as if looking for an answer. "Yeah, it's all one hell of a shock to an old cop like me. But this isn't completely new, not really."

Despite the mask, Joe could tell Direwolf was puzzled by his comment.

"I know, I know, you'd think this was the first time the world had ever had to deal with such a surge of weirdness. And it is, but if you look at history there have been...things that only make sense one of two ways. Either all myths and legends are bunk, 'tales full of sound and fury, signifying nothing' or there are kernels of truth in some of them.

"Think about it," Joe said, still watching the darkness, "what was Beowulf if not a super hero? Or King Arthur and his knights, or maybe even Erick the Red? Maybe stories of gods, demons and djinns report extraordinary people who were described in terms that made sense for the times and places. Maybe there really was a Gilgamesh who fought Tiamat?

"Stories of people who could shift into animals appear in just about every culture. Same with witches and warlocks. If you showed up in the Dark Ages in Europe, people would probably say you were a troll, giant or something like that. So what did make them tell stories about such creatures? Interesting question, isn't it?

"Closer still, look at the newspapers from the 1930's and 1940's. The Black Cloak was real; I've seen the police reports. And there were a lot of stories about Doc Justice, Justin Collins and weird things around him. The Fighting Foursome was photographed in World War Two. And only four years ago there was a string of very credible reports of a flying man in London. So what does that all mean?"

Direwolf was silent as he considered. Joe took another drink of coffee.

"What I think is that your sort has been with us for as long as mankind has been walking upright, if not longer. The stories just got garbled into legend, helped by the fact that communication was so slow up until recently. Tales change in the telling. In the last few months, things have 'picked up' you might say, with Freedom Force being a prime example. And one way or another, you are all here and the rest of us get to deal with you. For every cheering fan you get, there will be at least one person who fears or resents you because you are different and powerful. Be ready for that. Public opinion can be a wicked thing to be crushed under, just like politics.

"As for me, well, I'm in the middle ground. I see a lot of potential in you hero types but I see a lot of danger as well. And not just from some idiot with a robot who wants to demolish a city. It's true that power corrupts, I've seen it. So what happens when so much power is in the hands of the very few?"

Sergeant Wojosky took a few bills out of his wallet and set them on the table. He wasn't one of those cops who believed that accepting free food from local restaurants was a perk of the job.

"The way I see it," he continued, "is that you guys are here. Not wanting you here wouldn't change that one bit. So we deal, we adapt and we look for the good. My question for you, Direwolf, is just how much good are you going to offer this city and what price are you will to pay?"

"All I can," the young man said without hesitating. "And what ever it takes."

This time, Joe figured the prompt answer was a good sign.

Outside, Joe pulled his raincoat tight around his shoulders. Something between a heavy mist and light rain had moved into the city. The two of them walked in silence back to the station house.

"Take this," Joe said, tucking a card in the front pocket of Direwolf's leather coat. "It's got my phone number. You need anything from the police, you call and I'll make sure someone answers. If you need us to pickup of some lowlifes you've just pounded, you end up with stolen property that needs returning, or anything, even if it's just to talk to someone. Call. Let us help."

"Partners, huh?"

"After a fashion. I've got to uphold the law though I get some discretion and know when I really need to look the other way."

Direwolf offered his hand. Joe took it, feeling the controlled strength behind the leather glove. There was a lot of power here. He hoped it never went out of control.

"Doesn't seem fair," Direwolf said, "I can reach you and you can't contact me."

Joe shrugged. "Maybe we can figure something out if you don't mind being on call for emergencies."

"I wouldn't mind."

"Then let's kick it around sometime. I've got work to do."

"I think I do, too."

With that, Direwolf turned and raced across the street. Joe watched in amazement as the fledgling superhero jumped to the roof of a four-story building. Direwolf turned back briefly to wave, and then was gone in a swirl of dark brown leather.

"Now ain't that something?" Joe muttered as he went inside.

Officer Kelly still had the watch desk. "What was that all about, Sarge?"

Joe shook his head. "I'm not sure. Either a chance to really change things for the better, or an epic disaster looming on the horizon. Right now, I don't really know which."

The Chain wasn't so sure about what he'd gotten himself into, but suspected it was too late to back out. He and the rest of the Red Skorpions had followed the woman called Silver Scarab out to a low hill in one of the abandoned parks. Here, amid a misty rain, they were supposed to swear fealty and receive something called 'the scarab's touch'. And that, he suspected, would close the deal for good.

As he and the dozen other bikers stood ready, Silver Scarab was chanting to the dark sky as she slowly paced counterclockwise around the hill. Whatever language she was speaking wasn't anything Tony had heard before.

"This is some real mojo," Vince said, fingering the gold hoop in his earlobe.

"Got that right." The Chain shuddered as Scarab added a final imperious command. Tendrils of silver witch light writhed up from the ground as she walked to the summit of the hill.

"By Osiris, the reborn, under Nut's sky vault and hidden by Setho's cloak of darkness we are gathered to work the will of the past. By Isis' sacred words and the will of Horus shall the world be remade. Come you clay of this era, become through me the conduits of forces greater then all, become the Servants of the Gods!"

The Chain whistled past his gold tooth. Like Vince said, this was real mojo.

"Come to me and be sworn to the elder powers!"

"No way!" Larson said. "I am out of here, witch!"

He bolted for the flickering silver curtain. Tony felt a surge of resentment. One of his people had just run. Before he could do anything, Larson hit the silver curtain. Sparks danced across the man's skin as he stumbled through. At the far side, Larson stood as if confused for a few moments, then wandered off as if dazed.

"What happened to him?" Tony demanded.

"The spell robbed him of his memories of the past few days, nothing more. I have no wish for slaves, only those willing to take the opportunity that is manifest. Will you run and in so doing forget your chance at greatness?"

Tony hesitated. He heard the muttered questions and curses as the rest of the gang mulled over Scarab's offer. They were waiting for him to lead.

"Right, I'm in," The Chain declared. "We weren't doing so hot on our own, time to change tactics. Who's with me and who's chicken?"

A course of shouts, some half hearted, answered him along. A few protested. They were allowed to pass through the silver curtain and staggered off into the night. The Chain and eight others remained.

"You shall be the first as is fitting" Silver Scarab pronounced to Tony. "Give me your hands and kneel."

Heart fluttering, Tony complied. Scarab's skin was smooth and cool, her grip sure as she took his massive scarred hands into his own. He looked up into her shadowed face and thought for an instant he saw huge figures, human except for animal heads, lurking beyond the wall of shimmering silver light. But Scarab drew his gaze, trapping his eyes and riveting his attention.

"You shall be the eater of dark souls, those who would oppose us. He who stalked the river long before the tread of man. His scales to you, his strength to you. I give you unto Sobek!"

Tony shook. The denim jacket across his shoulders shredded as his muscles swelled. He felt his skin crawl as if countless spiders were moving just beneath the surface. He had to scratch but Silver Scarab held him fast. His hair was withdrawing into his skin even as he felt his skin thicken into rough armor. And he felt his teeth shift painfully, growing sharper. Scarab released him and Tony stood, swaying slightly, filled with power like he had never known.

"Yeah," he said, balling his fist and shaking them at the sky, "this rocks!"

He noticed that his right arm still bore the red scorpion gang tattoo, but now, a small silver hieroglyph was set between the arachnid's claws. He knew that it was the mark of Sobek, the crocodile god of ancient Egypt.

Vince was eager to be next. He tossed his long brown ponytail back over his shoulder as he knelt. "Bring it on, witch woman!"

Scarab smiled down at him as she took his offered hands.

"You shall soar the skies with the eyes of the hawk, seeing all and striking with the speed of a loosed arrow. Son of a dead god, I give you unto the avenger, Horus!"

Vince howled as the power flowed into him, his voice shifting to the piercing shriek of a hunting bird.

Silver Scarab worked her magic six more times. Then, exhausted by her efforts, she dropped the concealing spell that had kept away any unwanted attention and led her followers down from the hill.

"Come," she told Tony, "I have prepared a place for you in the City from which we shall begin our task. It is safe from prying eyes."

"Whatever you say," Tony agreed. He'd decided that the name "The Chain" no longer fit. But 'Croc' sure did. "Mount up, boys."

The motorcycles thundered to life. Silver Scarab settled in behind Tony. Together, they lead the procession into Patriot City.

It was coming up on midnight and Jason knew he should call it a night and head for home. It seemed even Direwolf needed some sleep before dealing with a lab full of undergrads. But the police sergeant's words kept echoing in his mind, legal pit falls, the question of responsibility and warnings of the abuse of power. Jason stopped on a rooftop midway between The Devil's Kitchen and City University. The street, ten stories below, was empty. He looked up. The stars were gone, masked by the rain. He reached up and touched his own mask and wondered about the decisions he'd made tonight.

"Do I have any idea of what I'm doing out here?"

The sky didn't answer. Then he heard the sharp sound of shattering glass. Jason moved off to track the sound. The source was a block away. A large paneled truck was backed up to the front of an antique furniture store. The display window was broken in and four men were rapidly grabbing as much as they could get their hands on while two others stood watch.

Jason sighed. "So much for bedtime"

He stepped off the roof. Again time seemed to slow as he fell. He landed in a crouch facing the truck and stood up. "A bit late for a pick-up, don't you think?"

The crooks stood frozen with surprise for a moment. The closest one was just getting out of the truck after having dropped off a heavily carved armchair. Jason hit him. The man flew across the sidewalk with a groan of pain. That broke the paralysis. Shouts of alarm cut the night as the robbers grabbed for weapons. A pistol flamed and Jason felt the impact on his thigh. That hurt, but he could tell the bullet flattened against his skin. His fist lashed out again and another man crumpled.

Jason found himself moving faster then he could plan. His heightened senses kept firing off warnings of threats at the edge of perception. He dodged a swung bat, backhanded the attacker and spun aside as a pistol barked. He closed on the gunman as he sensed another foe behind him. He smacked the gunman, knocking him into the side of the van where a painted sign extolled the virtues of Mama Luna's Cookies. Then he turned, coat belling wide, to face whoever was behind him.

The man fired.

This shot was different, a whip sharp crack unlike the bangs of the pistols. Jason took the round just to the left of his breastbone. A fist-sized chunk of his chest erupted out in a spray of blood and tissue. Startled, Jason staggered forward a pace then collapsed to the side. He crashed to the sidewalk and lay still.

The guard lowered the rifle. "At last, one of these costumed clowns who's allergic to lead!"

He worked the bolt to chamber another fully jacketed round into the breach but didn't fire. The would-be hero was down. Not too surprising seeing as the rifle could drop an elk with a single hit.

The guard looked at the chaos around the truck. The simple heist had gone south, four of the men were down, and one other was nursing a broken arm while he cursed non-stop. And the sound of gunfire was sure to attract the police. Time to move.

"Let's haul out of here!" He slung the rifle over his shoulder and moved to one of the downed men, slapping him on the face. "Come on Vinny, we got to am-scray, but just to be sure..."

He quickly shouldered the rifle and fired, the sharp crack of the rifle echoing off the near by buildings. The body on the ground jerked as the bullet hit. There was no other reaction.

"He's stone cold dead," the gunman announced.

Moving as quickly as they could, the crooks gathered their fallen, closed up the truck and sped into the night. Back at the burgled store Direwolf lay motionless on the sidewalk. A runnel of blood, washed by the rain, trickled between the fragments of broken glass.

To be continued...