Episode Nine - 'Hell Hath No Fury'

Day 3375 of 73,050. I had the same dream again last night. I was floating above London, with the Post Office Tower to my right and the Thames River somewhere to my left. There was a storm - black clouds hurtling through the sky, receding to a point behind me, as if this was a film and the background was all speeded up, just like the video to Ray of Light by Madonna. There was rain and lightning, and above it all the loud amplifiers, turned up to eleven - the unmistakable sound of Mr James Marshall Hendrix's scorching, apocalyptic version of All Along the Watchtower. Music to herald in the end of the world. London was in flames, buildings were toppling like dominos and people were fleeing and screaming in the streets below, trapped like ants as their centuries old city fell apart around their ears.

There must be some kind of way out of here, said the joker to the thief.

There's too much confusion. I just can't get no relief.

There are superheroes trying to stop me of course, but I'm teleporting their bodies into one another. Arms and legs stick out at angles from amorphous blobs. I'm laughing as I kill and destroy, and I'm cranking the music up to twelve. And even though I’m feeling blue, something tells me I’d better activate my prayer capsule. People's guts are rising out of their stomachs, through their mouths, to wrap around their necks and strangle them slowly to death.

I've lifted the river Thames and shaped it into a tidal wave that I'm using to swat the Houses of Parliament. I'm sending a thirty foot wave down the length of Oxford Street. Boom! Bang! Pow!

The Tabula Rasa satellite, Highside, has been thrown out of orbit. Like the falling man on the Tower of God struck by Lightning Tarot card, it comes crashing down across Salisbury plain, digging a trench fifty feet deep in the soil. The soil, the soil, yes deep in the soil. So we’ll end with a whistle and end with a bang, and all of us fit in our places.

Businessman drink my wine. Ploughman dig my earth.

There are no satellites in orbit around the earth anymore. I've teleported them all into the heart of the sun.

Set the controls for the heart of the sun.

The heart of the sun.

The heart of the sun.

Apocalypse in 9/8 with Gabble Ratchet conducting from stage left. Fire licks at the buildings in Whitehall. Two Tabula Rasa strike teams have been teleported 45 miles beneath the surface of the earth. I see everything. I can sense every conscious mind within twelve miles. I know what everyone is thinking. I sense a hostile thought and I disassemble the person concerned, molecule by molecule, at the speed of thought. I am God, and you are all ants beneath my feet. I turn the sky bright purple by adjusting its molecular composition. I lift the whole of London twenty feet into the air for a few minutes. Just because I can. I blot out the sun over London with a Scottish mountain. Nothing can stop me now I’m back again, and baby it’s going to work out fine.

And then I woke up. It was just a dream – just a mad, insane dream. I mean, I'd never do that. I'd never do anything like that. I think this place, the Arcadium, must be getting to me a little. It's been nearly ten years now. It’s getting into my dreams.

But I'd never do that.

Never.

I mean, I'm the hero, aren’t I? I’m going to set the whole world free.

Elenor’s Squat in Camden

Joseph sharpened some more wooden stakes as Elenor continued to talk on the telephone. Apparently she had an older sister called Elizabeth whom she hadn’t spoken to for quite some time. For reasons Joseph didn’t care to understand, Elenor felt it was vitally important to contact her sister now when they should really be preparing for the war against the Furies instead. It just confirmed what Joseph had always believed – relationships of any kind made you weak. No wonder the enemy was gaining ground in London when their enemies were so easily diverted from the only thing that mattered – killing the beasts. It had taken Elenor nearly an hour to track down her sister in the first place. She was now living in a religious city near Runcorn, called New Eden, and phone calls with the outside world were apparently difficult to arrange at short notice. Elenor however was nothing if not determined and obstinate and woe betide any Call Centre operator who refused to put her through.

Elenor was pacing around frantically with the phone glued to her ear. By the way she was frowning, Joseph guessed the family reunion wasn’t going quite as planned.

"I've never felt this alive before,” said Elizabeth Haines, speaking from the closed community of New Eden. “Now that I've accepted God as my saviour I know that there is a purpose to my life. I know that Simon and I are part of God's great creation and we can look forward to a happy life together."

“Simon? Who’s Simon?” Elenor was getting very agitated.

“My fiancé.”

"You're engaged to Simon? I’ve never met him!"

"Yes. Simon is the best thing that ever happened to me. He's kind, and handsome, and he knows what’s best for me.” Elizabeth sounded so happy.

"He knows what's best for you?"

"Yes. Silly, isn't it? All these years I thought I knew what I wanted, but it took a man like Simon to show me that what I really needed was someone to love and protect me."

"Are you feeling all right? This just doesn't sound like you?" Elenor gazed out of the window. It was early afternoon and the streets of Camden were busy with alternative artists, musicians, travellers and assorted bohemians going about their shambolic business.

"Believe me, my silly, pretentious art days are over. All that living in rented attics and wasting my life producing radical feminist art that no one ever wanted. I don't have to worry about any of that now. Simon is a doctor. He's got a well paid job which means I can concentrate on what I'm best at - running a household."

"Elizabeth… you're not suffering from some sort of mind control, are you?”

"I've just grown up, Elenor. You will too. You'll wake up one morning and you'll realise how shallow your life is. The parties, the clubs, the clothes, the meaningless relationships that are an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. The truth is Elenor, women can't handle being alone. We’re not made that way. Look at the way you live, for example. You're not happy are you? What you need is a strong man to look after you; someone to take charge of your life and make you feel like you belong. When I look back at all those wasted years I feel very sad, Elenor. All those years when I refused to let God into my heart. I was so wrong and you were so right."

"Elizabeth, stop it - you're sounding like a Stepford Wife!"

"Nothing sinister has happened, Elenor. I just know my place now and one day so will you."

“Elizabeth!”

“It’s been lovely talking to you again Elenor, but we’ve got a service in ten minutes. Give my love to Mother and Father.” Elizabeth put the phone down.

"I think she's being mind controlled," said Elenor as she held the dead phone in her right hand. “There’s definitely some mind controlling going on near Runcorn.”

"You felt evidence of mind control?" Joseph looked up from his stake whittling.

"I listened to her and that was enough! No one talks like that! We're unhappy women and we need men to tell us what to do. If that isn't mind control, I don't know what is."

"Perhaps she just believes that? Perhaps it's part of her finding God experience."

"That's rubbish. I believe in God but it doesn't make me a plastic housewife. That wasn't Elizabeth! Something's happened to her. It's got to be mind control, or drugs or alien abduction, or a pod person or a clone or something…"

Joseph frowned. "So? We have more pressing matters, remember? As I said yesterday, perhaps I should handle the Furies myself. You’re obviously not committed. Your mind isn’t on the job to hand."

"I don't know." Elenor paced the room. "Perhaps I should break in and look for evidence. Isn't that what super heroes do?"

"Don't look at me. I have no idea what super heroes do."

The Garden of Gethsemane, somewhere near Runcorn, England

The three super heroes walked down the steps and into the inner cloisters of the garden. Trailing vines hung from stone pillars and a series of small orange trees arranged in neat lines gave the garden a Mediterranean feel. Although new to England, the heroes were relatively well known across the Atlantic in the US and Canada. Leading the way was the short but vicious hero, the Mink. The Mink possessed a super healing ability and an immune system that made him impervious to most poisons and germs. His ferocious fighting skills had been augmented by a set of retractable claws housed in his forearms. The Mink was able to extend them at will for hand to hand fighting. Those who knew him knew he was the best at what he did.

Next came the tall west coast hero called Stormbringer. Able to control weather patterns, Stormbringer could raise the temperature to that of Death Valley or create a thunder storm powerful enough to flatten small houses.

Last, but not least, from Las Vegas was the Painted Lady - a superb gymnast and tactical weapons expert. In her hands even a simple match box could be transformed into a lethal weapon.

Corwin sat by a glass fountain where a number of fat carp swam in the shallow waters. It was restful being near the edge of the pool. Corwin trailed one hand absently in the water, while his other hand clutched a copy of the Bible open at the chapter of Genesis. He looked up and smiled as the assembled super heroes approached.

"Welcome to Gethsemane."

Despite it being late February, the garden was thriving. The temperature here was an even 22 degrees centigrade. Three miles away it was three degrees above freezing.

"You called, we came." Stormbringer presented a rolled up sheet of parchment to the man. He raised an eyebrow and took it carefully with both hands.

"You found it then."

"It wasn't easy. The Vatican does not give up its secrets willingly."

"I trust no blood was spilled in obtaining this?"

"You have to break a few eggs to make an omelette."

"Then I shall grant you absolution this evening. Unlike the Pope, I speak with the true authority of God." Corwin unravelled the ribbon that held the scroll together. The parchment was brittle and required careful handling. Corwin knew that if this was the genuine article, and there was little doubt that it was, it dated back to the ninth century. The text it contained had been copied in turn from an even older roll of sheep's skin that had been housed in Constantinople after being rescued from the destruction of the great library at Alexandria. "Now truly the wonders of God's universe lie before us."

"What’s it for, bub?" asked the Mink. He gripped a fat Cuban cigar between his teeth and watched the doves as they flew through the air.

"It tells me the exact location of paradise." Corwin studied the illuminated hieroglyphs on the parchment. "It gives us the keys to the back door of Eden."

"Your town?" The Mink looked confused.

"No. My town is called New Eden. It is imperfect - a pale shadow compared to the glory of the first creation. I talk only of Eden, our original home. God in his magnificence created the garden of Eden for us, but in our ignorance we erred and in his righteous rage we were expelled into this shadow world. Now, my dear Mink, it is time for us to go home. Eden has stood empty for millennia. But soon the chosen will come home. God has spoken to me. He feels we're ready for a second chance at paradise. Soon my friends, we will return to our heritage."

Easy Beats record shop, London

"The Backseat Boys; Five Nice Boys; Boys 4 You; Boy Candy; Boy Frenzy; Boys, Boys, Boys; Boy Blue; Boy Five… am I seeing a trend here?" Elenor was flicking through the Top 30 rack of chart CDs. Each and every cover featured a glossy photo of four or five 17 to 19 year old lads smiling and posing, usually against a plain white background. "Boys… boys… and more boys…" Elenor gave up on the rack in disgust. "When I was at University it was all slamming techno, fluffy trance and hard house music. What's happened to the charts?"

"You grew older?" suggested Joseph as he fidgeted impatiently.

"No, really, I mean, nowadays all you get on Top of the Pops are groups of wannabe models prancing around like a dancing barbershop quartet on E."

Joseph picked up a random CD: ‘The Stomp’ by Boys 4 You. "I think you're supposed to find them sexy."

"Give me some credit. I’m not fourteen any more." Elenor dug her hands deep in the pockets of her great coat. "Vacuous simpering morons, the lot of them. And they're so unbearably nice and wholesome and squeaky clean! It's like, they're all Mormons or something!"

"Well, I don't know anything about music anyway. I wouldn't know if these are good or not." Joseph returned the album to the rack.

"Believe me they make Elton John sound radical."

"I thought you liked dance music?"

"That is not dance music!"

"Hey! Lady! Can you keep your voice down please!" said the record shop owner.

"Come on," Elenor grabbed Joseph's arm by the elbow and led him outside. The sign above the shop read Easy Beats - music for the modern age. A large white poster of the band Boy Blue covered the front of the window. The lads stood in the picture, dressed in white trousers and sleeveless white t-shirts, looking clean, wholesome and tanned.

"They're probably all gay," muttered Elenor.

"I thought you didn't find them sexy?"

"Not the point. Come on." Elenor still had half an hour to kill before she was due to meet with Simon Bretnor and Peter Gabriel at a trendy café in Soho where everything was painted light blue and the staff were all talented homosexuals resting between stage jobs. “What do you know about Fundamentaligion?” asked Elenor as they walked to the tube station.

“Only what you probably know. It’s a fusion of the three religions that have their roots in the Old Testament – Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. It takes a hard line conservative approach to interpreting the texts and it’s sufficiently bland to appease all three religions simultaneously.”

“And it has a town in the Midlands?”

“Yes, New Eden – an artificial town for the faithful. Totally self sufficient and more or less closed off to the rest of England.”

“And my sister is suddenly living there.” Elenor looked up at Joseph. “This just isn’t right. I know Elizabeth. She doesn’t even believe in God.”

“Well obviously she does now. Can we concentrate on the Furies please?”

“I’m worried about her.”

“Worry about us. We may be dead in six hours time.”

A trendy café in Soho

"… look, I know this all must sound incredible and frankly unbelievable, but I know what I saw," pleaded Elenor as she tucked into a plate of chicken liver pilaff with spinach and peas.

"Oh we believe you all right. The existence of Code 5 creatures is hardly a secret. In fact we had a perfectly good rapid response unit trained to deal with Code 5 targets until Dexter disbanded it for budgetary reasons." Bretnor poured some more Chardonnay into his large glass.

"You know about these creatures? Why haven't you killed them yet?" asked Elenor, indignantly.

"Can't be arsed, frankly. Compared to you super heroes they're not that much of a nuisance. They're more scared of us than we're scared of them."

“But every once in a while we'll blitz them just for fun," added Gabriel.

"Fun? They kill people…"

"So does the Tabula Rasa. Your point being?"

"It's your job to stop them."

"We have a lot of work on. We're very busy men. The Brood case alone occupies a lot of our time… and don’t even get me started on the paperwork…"

“But there are far more of them now than you possibly suspect. They’re getting out of control. I think their leader, Russell, is building an army.” Elenor frowned. “Why do you call them Code 5 creatures by the way?”

“You know what the Latin numeral for the number 5 looks like?”

“Oh. Oh yes, I get it.”

“The first rule of ORBITAL is… we don’t use the V word,” explained Gabriel.

“Really? What’s the second rule?” asked Elenor out of curiosity.

“The second rule of ORBITAL is… we don’t use the V word!” The special agents laughed at their own little joke.

“Isn’t that the same as the first rule?” said Elenor with a blank face.

“Uhhh… you really don’t watch the same movies as us, do you?”

Elenor sighed. “I don’t know what else to say. I can’t do this without your help. Joseph and I are hopelessly out numbered and we either fight them tonight or leave London and never come back.”

“We’d like to help, honestly we would, but we’re busy tonight and…” Bretnor felt his partner nudge him in the ribs. “What?”

“A word in your ear,” said Gabriel as casually as he could. Bretnor recognised that sly look on Gabriel’s face. It could only mean one thing – there was an angle in all of this that he hadn’t considered himself. “Just a moment, Argent.”

Elenor watched as the two ORBITAL men whispered to each other several feet away by the toilets. Bretnor produced a pocket calculator and seemed to be adding up and subtracting some big numbers. Every once in a while they would turn round, smile at Elenor and then go back to the calculator again. Five minutes later they were back at the table.

“You can have twenty SAS men as armed back up. Peter will make a phone call in a few minutes and we’ll have them in position by early evening.” Bretnor reached for the Chardonnay again.

“Really?” Elenor was astonished. “I’m… I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much... I’m ever so grateful.”

Bretnor and Gabriel just smiled at each other and rubbed their hands together in a particularly greedy way.

Interlude: New York

David Manners had a double secret to hide as he walked down the street, seemingly oblivious to the men and women who hurried around him. Little did they know that he was none other than the Silver Lotus – one of the foremost telepaths who worked for the Tabula Rasa. Time and time again the Silver Lotus had fought alongside the more physical heroes, helping out with his telepathic ability to read their enemies’ intentions in advance. For ten years the Silver Lotus had worked hard and established a name for himself in the superhuman army that maintained law and order throughout the world. While not as famous as Isa, the foremost Tabula Rasa psychic, nor as entertainingly outrageous as Wardog (where was he now? Some covert operation perhaps…), Silver Lotus did now have a place on the Tabula Rasa Council of Telepaths, only three seats away from Isa herself.

But all this was as nothing compared to his more personal secret. For in reality Silver Lotus was just one of many telepathic members of the Tempel of Psychic Youth who had over the decades infiltrated the ranks of the Tabula Rasa. Paying lip service to the orders of the Grey Man and Magistra, Silver Lotus actually owed allegiance only to the Tempel’s inner circle. There were few telepaths now who did not belong to the secret order, and soon they would be dealt with accordingly. And soon The Grandmaster’s right hand man, Mr Punch, would return from the Arcadium to bring about the downfall of the superhero dynasty that had ruled the world for over a hundred years, and terrorised it for at least another fifty. The world would belong to humanity once again.

No one in New York knew any of this of course. How could they? It was he who was the mind reader after all. David could scarcely comprehend what it must feel like to be psychically castrated like the rank and file who passed him by. It would be like being blind or deaf. As he strolled the streets of New York David liked to eavesdrop on people’s minds. Officially there was a code of conduct that reassured the public at large that psychics would not and did not listen in on their thoughts, but in reality no telepath actually observed it. The statement had originally been put out to allay public fears. In private the telepaths would often exchange juicy thoughts they had picked up on their travels.

David reached out with his mind and scanned the mind of a businessman walking towards his office. He was reliving the row he had endured with his wife forty minutes ago – a row about where they should go on holiday this year. Dull. That man over there – he was thinking about sex. He was day dreaming about a girl he knew in his office – a girl with light brown hair and long legs. He was picturing her naked, waiting for him on his bed.

The two women over in the corner – one of them was secretly attracted to the other, but would never pluck up the courage to admit it, probably not even to herself.

The child peering into the toy shop – his thoughts were fixated on all the wonderful toys he hadn’t been given for Christmas.

That man over there, collecting money for charity… his mind was obsessed with a song. David paused for a moment. Ah, yes, it was one of those songs… a song with an irritating, simple tune that once you heard it you couldn’t get it out of your head for days. And yes the man was stuck with it as he shook his collecting tin. It was driving him mad – the simple tune, looping around in a never ending rhythm. In fact it was so irritating that it was driving away any other surface thoughts in the man’s mind.

Eight sir; seven sir;
Six sir; five sir;
Four sir; three sir;
Two sir; one!
Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tension, apprehension,
And dissention have begun.

Maddeningly simple, but oh so difficult to forget. David chuckled to himself. Someone should ban pop songs like that. Luckily a trained telepath like Silver Lotus could erase irritating thoughts from his own mind, otherwise he too would have the tune playing on repeat for the next week or so.

Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tension, apprehension,
And dissention have begun.

“Spare some change, Sir, for victims of the Portland disaster.” The man shook his collecting tin at David Manners. Portland… David knew it well. He had been there last week when the Granite Man had rampaged through its streets, killing twenty five people and wounding another one hundred and thirty before a Tabula Rasa task force had taken him down. David smiled. Imagine how the man would feel if he knew he was asking for a donation from the famous Silver Lotus himself! Reaching deep into his pocket, David found a handful of loose change and dropped it into the tin. “Thank you, Sir, you’re very kind.” The man produced a charity badge and pinned it onto the lapel of David’s jacket. “Have a nice day.”

“Thank you, I will.” He couldn’t resist adding: “an infuriating song, isn’t it?” The man looked puzzled as David walked away.

Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tenser, said the Tensor.
Tension, apprehension,
And dissention have begun.

Infuriatingly catchy. The tune was still playing in David’s head a few minutes later when the badge he was wearing suddenly exploded from a remote control signal triggered by the man with the collecting tin. Onlookers screamed as David’s body was blown into pieces across the street.

The charity worker dropped his collecting tin into a nearby waste bin and moved swiftly towards the nearest subway entrance. The Hangman had finished his research to locate members of the Tempel of Psychic Youth and now they were going to die one at a time. The Hangman stepped onto the first subway train that came along and left the scene of the murder within minutes.

Outside the 100 Club

Camden - an area of London renowned for its vibrant counter culture life. Camden - a social experiment - home to thousands of hippies, artists, punks, goths, dreads, drummers, skin heads, and urban warriors; a place where the streets are lined with colourful open air markets and every street corner plays host to a busker or a beggar. Camden – a place where you stand out like a sore thumb if you don’t have several Celtic tattoos and multiple piercings. So if at eight o' clock in the evening you see two smartly dressed men in suits, standing on the street apparently reading newspapers, it can only mean one thing: ORBITAL agents are on undercover stakeout again.

"They're carrying umbrellas, for God's sake!" Elenor crossed the road and approached the first of the men.

"Miss Argent?" The man folded his broadsheet, tucked it under his arm and raised his bowler hat in greeting. "I'm Pendleton, from the Ministry of Secular Affairs, and this is my colleague, Mr Harcourt."

"Charmed," said the second man, with a regulation public school smile.

Elenor looked round. There were a few parked cars, a Fire Engine of all things and an old London Double Decker bus, but no sign of Bretnor, Gabriel or, more importantly, several fire teams of SAS soldiers. “Where are they?"

"Everyone's deployed, clad in black, ready to spring into action like coiled panthers," explained Pendleton.

"I can't see them."

"Well, with all due respect Miss, they wouldn't be the best soldiers in the world if you could, now would they?"

"Point taken. Where's B & G?"

"This way, if you please." The junior ORBITAL officer led Elenor and Joseph towards a traditional red London Double Decker bus that stood parked on the side of the road. The destination sign had been wound down to read 'Not in Service'. Looking through the windows, Elenor could see the bus was empty and unlit. The man from the Ministry reached out and tapped a discrete and unobtrusive button on the side of the bus with the tip of his umbrella. The passenger door hissed open and he motioned for the civilians to get on board.

"Where are we going?" asked Elenor. “The One Hundred Club is over there.”

"Nowhere. This is an ORBITAL Special Operations Battle Bus on stakeout duty.”

"It looks like an old Double Decker bus to me."

"Of course, but inside it is a hive of electronic wizardry. Please…" Pendleton gestured for Elenor to board. She stepped through the door, walked past the driver's compartment, turned round and came face to face with a hi-tech interior. Far from being empty, the inside of the bus was lined with plasma wall screens, head up displays, computer consoles and gun racks. Half a dozen technicians in white lab coats and National Health spectacles monitored the screens that displayed pictures of the interior and the exterior of the One Hundred Club. Many of them carried clip boards. Towards the back of the bus Elenor could make out a comfortable and richly carpeted lounge, fitted out with a small franchise of Starbucks. The uniformed girl behind the counter was making up a couple of extra strong Espressos for Bretnor and Gabriel who sat on the sofa, flicking through the complimentary newspapers laid on by the Seattle coffee firm.

"I don't understand… it looked empty from the outside."

"Holographic windows," explained Pendleton. "Rather clever, what?" He placed his umbrella in the umbrella rack. "Marvellous business, the spy business. The bus is equipped with satellite monitoring equipment. We have airborne photo-receivers that are currently watching and recording every corner of the One Hundred Club building. We use this Battle Bus as a mobile command headquarters within the London area for sensitive operations. The upstairs section includes sleeping quarters and a fully equipped video games room for when we’re off duty.”

"I'm impressed." Elenor walked towards the Starbucks franchise and nodded to the ORBITAL agents. "Thanks for all of this."

"Argent!" said Bretnor with a smile. "Always happy to help the champions of goodness!"

“And may I just say that your hair looks especially lovely today,” added Gabriel as he reached for a chocolate digestive biscuit.

“Really? Ooh, thank you.” Elenor brushed back a lock of her golden hair and smiled.

"Of course it goes without saying that you owe us big time for this," remarked Bretnor as he placed his copy of the London Illustrated Times back on the coffee table. "Care for a Mochaberry with double syrup before we start killing people with our big guns?"

"Mmm, yes please!"

“This is the plan,” explained Bretnor as Elenor wiped a layer of whipped cream from her upper lip. “They’re going to be on guard, expecting you to turn up one way or another, so you’ll just walk into the club and give yourself up. We’ll watch everything here in the Battle Bus. You’ll have to get their attention focussed on you and then at the right moment the SAS troops will storm the building and take them all out.”

“Not all of them,” said Elenor. “I want Russell, remember?”

“Oh yes, so you said. We’ve got a place set up for you, don’t worry.”

“I told Russell what I’d do to him if he hurt Alyson.”

“Who’s Alyson?” asked Gabriel.

“She’s dead,” said Elenor simply.

“Will you be able to handle going in there on your own?” asked Bretnor. Elenor nodded.

“She’s not going in alone,” said Joseph. “This is my war. I’m going in as well.”

“No you’re not, Joseph. They would kill you on the spot. I honestly think they would prefer to turn me, so I’ll have a few minutes before I’m in danger, but you… you’d be attacked the moment you set foot inside the club.” Elenor put her coffee cup down on the counter. “No time like the present. If I wait around I’ll only get scared.”

"Wait." Joseph took hold of Elenor's elbow before she could leave.

"What is it?" she turned round and regarded the tall black man with the long braided hair and the round John Lennon-esque glasses.

"I don't want you going in there."

"Really? And why's that?"

"It's too dangerous."

"Well, I have to put Russell's people at ease. Until I turn up they're going to be on guard and that could lead to people dying when we attack. I've got to go in and distract them."

"No. It's too much of a risk." Joseph took hold of Elenor now by both her arms.

"So, where has this sudden concern sprung from?" She smiled and took a pace closer to him.

"Don't jump to conclusions, woman. It's nothing personal."

"No?" she gazed up into his eyes.

Joseph didn't say anything.

"Are you going to let me walk into danger without a kiss?"

Joseph put his arms round Elenor and kissed her. She pressed close to him and savoured the kiss for a couple of minutes. "Don't do this," he said.

"Tell me you're crazy about me and you can't stop thinking about me and I'll stay here." Elenor grinned at him.

"I like you. I don’t want you to be hurt."

"That’ll do for now." She kissed him again and pulled herself free.

"What are you doing?"

"Going in there."

"But you said..."

"I know – I’m really sneaky aren't I?” Elenor laughed. "But I'll come back. Super heroes always win. It’s like the rules of a story or something. I’m going to live forever!" She walked backwards towards the door of the bus. "Count on it."

"Elenor, wait!"

"What?" she turned and folded her arms.

"If I hear you scream, I'm going in there, soldiers or no soldiers."

The One Hundred Club, Camden, London

"Look what's come through the door," said Tank.

"You've seen sense then?" said Wall.

The Furies had taken over the One Hundred Club in force and they were ready for war. In the low level lighting Elenor could make out fifty or so figures. They stood in small groups, dotted around the main floor and the raised scaffold areas. There was a frosty reception and a distinct air of suppressed hostility as Elenor closed the door behind her and took a few tentative steps into the centre of the room. The Furies swiftly closed ranks around her.

From somewhere in the darkness came Anya’s voice. She was singing an old pop song as she trailed the nails of her fingers from one concrete pillar to another. “…and in walked Roderic Usher with the Lady Elenor… She tied my eyes with the ribbon of a silken ghostly thread. I gazed with troubled vision on an old four poster bed, where Elenor had risen to kiss the neck below my head, and bid me come along with her to the land of the dancing dead…”

“Anya.” Elenor flexed the fingers of her hands and watched the Furies press closer to cut off any possible exit.

“…but it’s all right, Lady Elenor. All right, Lady Elenor…” Anya smiled. “I’m all right where I am.” Anya stepped out from behind one of the pillars. She leaned with one arm against the flaking plaster where the remains of a poster advertised a night of angry ‘Oi!’ Bands. "What are you carrying, Elenor?"

"A cross and some water."

"Why? Don't you trust us?" Anya strolled towards Argent. Elenor stared straight ahead and tried not to show any sign of fear. Her life was now squarely in Bretnor and Gabriel's hands and it suddenly occurred to her that, all things considered, she was suddenly in a very vulnerable position.

"I don't trust anyone these days. A reasonable course of action, don't you think?"

"I'm not disagreeing with you there, girl friend." Anya reached into the pocket of Elenor's great coat and took the flask of water. "I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself with this after we change you." She pointed to Elenor's throat. "This is probably a good time to throw the cross away as well, unless you want it permanently burnt into your flesh after we’re through with you."

Russell emerged from the shadows now. His face and neck looked horrific. The water had acted like battery acid. One of his eyes was gone and the other was bloodshot and swollen. His face was horribly disfigured as if it had been sprayed with burning gasoline. When he spoke, his voice sounded raw and broken.

"Not a pleasant sight, is it Elenor? I have no idea whether I will ever heal. There's been no sign of tissue regeneration so far."

"It suits you. You’re a monster, so it's kind of fitting that you look like one now."

The hall fell silent as the Furies now regarded Elenor with cold simmering hatred.

"Perhaps your view will change when you become a monster too." Russell touched Elenor's neck with his right hand.

"Don't touch me."

"It's a little late for that, my dear." Russell brushed her blonde hair back to reveal a smooth expanse of neck skin. "We're going to give you the powers of a real superhero. You'll be stronger, faster, tougher and you'll live forever. Now doesn't that sound like a good deal?”

"What's the catch?"

"Oh, nothing much. You just have to stay indoors during the day."

"Well, that's a problem because, you see, I just love getting a tan."

Russell slapped Elenor hard and threw her against the wall. "Stop pissing about. I'm not in the mood."

"And nor am I." Elenor sat up, with her back to the plaster wall. "NOW!"

The doors to the club exploded inwards from shaped plastique charges. Black clad figures in moulded Kevlar stormed the room, preceded by rifle propelled canisters full of garlic smoke. The first dozen members of the Furies were cut down within seconds by SAS soldiers spraying them with bullets from automatic machine guns. Elenor dived for the floor as per the plan. She reached out and grabbed Anya’s ankles and whipped her off her feet just as she was about to begin barking orders.

Explosions ruptured the ceiling of the basement club, showering the Furies with debris. More black clad soldiers dropped down on ropes, spraying machine gun fire with deadly accuracy at anything standing, crouching or crawling. The Furies possessed super powers, yes, but other than that they were just men and women with no real training in military fire fights. The SAS on the other hand rehearsed fire fights like these every week.

Panic set in as the soldiers were everywhere, blocking every escape route. They operated in twos, and as soon as one man needed to reload, another man was ready to provide covering fire. Elenor saw one member of the Furies literally break into pieces as he received half a clip of 40 carbon bullets through his body.

Lying on the ground, Anya kicked out with super strength and narrowly missed Elenor who had sensibly rolled to one side. Anya leapt from a prone position straight towards Elenor, her canine teeth extending in mid flight. Elenor screamed and the sonic blast thumped Anya and threw her back ten feet across the floor. Her head collided with one of the pillars and broke her fall.

Soldiers on the balcony were spraying bullets down with impressive accuracy. One of the Furies took five rounds in the head from cross fire and fell down dead. An SAS man positioned on the shattered roof held a hose pipe that was attached to the fire engine outside. As per Bretnor and Gabriel’s instructions, three senior members of the clergy had blessed the water tanks, in exchange for a sizable donation to their Church roof restoration funds. The high pressure water hose sprayed the basement, burning the flesh of the Furies wherever it hit. Elenor of course was simply soaked by the cold water.

Anya clawed her way up the pillar, just in time to avoid a wave of blessed water, an inch or so deep, from washing over her prone body.

Elenor sprang to her feet in time to intercept one of the Furies, his face and right arm sizzling from contact with the water, his left arm hanging in shreds from a sustained burst of semi-automatic gun fire. Elenor kicked him in the gut and watched him sail back into the hose pipe spray. His skin ignited upon contact with the water.

And then she saw the slim, beautiful, Mediterranean figure of Alyson, fleeing up the iron rung stairs to the balcony. Elenor pushed two of the Furies into one another and ran after her one time friend. Alyson was choking on the thick, acrid, garlic based smoke. Even Elenor was finding it hard going, but the effect on Alyson and the other members of the Furies was far more dramatic. Garlic smoke was like tear gas to them. Alyson lay on the balcony overlooking the main dance hall of the One Hundred Club, with her back to the railings. Down below the Furies were being butchered with machine guns. The SAS were used to close quarter house clearing operations and they weren't giving anyone time enough to think let alone react.

"So how's your dream, now?" asked Elenor as she walked through the mist. "Is the superhero life everything you've always wanted it to be? Hey, Alyson, I’m talking to you!"

Alyson bared her long canine teeth and growled a warning.

"It's over Alyson. The Master race is being put down like the rabid dogs they are."

"You bitch! You slut! I'm going to kill you!" Alyson leaped to her feet and swung wildly at Elenor but, with the affect of the garlic gas, she could barely see, let alone balance. Elenor dodged the clumsy blow and smacked the back of her fist into Alyson's face. She grabbed Alyson's long mane of dark hair and span her round. Quickly she pulled Alyson’s face down into harsh contact with the iron railing. Then, as Alyson tried to raise her head, Elenor smacked her elbow down hard into the back of her neck and she hit the railing again.

“Quite a party!” screamed Elenor as she coughed. Alyson dragged herself along the length of the rail, away from Argent. Her eyes were swollen up now from the garlic gas and she couldn’t see the two SAS men at the other end turning with their machine guns to face her.

“WAIT!” screamed Elenor to the soldiers. She kicked Alyson in the face and watched her sprawl backwards. The soldiers kept their guns trained on the Fury but held their fire as ordered.

“Please…” blood was streaming from Alyson’s nose. She crawled across the balcony, and tried to be sick. “Ellie, it’s me… please, it’s me… I’m your friend…” She stared up with bleeding eyes from the garlic gas. “It’s really me! I’m still Alyson! You’ve got to help me!” Wet tears of blood dribbled down her cheeks. Down below the noise was deafening. Twenty automatic machine guns, firing repeatedly, made it difficult to hear anything else. Elenor couldn’t even hear the horrible screams anymore.

“You’re NOT Alyson!” Elenor crouched down several feet away and regarded what looked like her best friend.

“I am… please… I never meant you any harm… I don’t know… I don’t know what’s happened to me… I’ve been so confused… you don’t know what it’s been like… everything changed, but I’ve tried so hard to hold on to who I am, and Ellie… oh please, I love you Ellie… I would never hurt you… never… you’re my best friend… please…”

“LIAR!” Elenor kicked down on Alyson’s head. Her face hit the floor of iron balcony hard.

“Please… I need your help more than ever… I need help, Ellie… I made a mistake… please don’t abandon me… please! I’m Alyson! Oh God, I need you so much!”

Elenor stared down at the woman and snarled. “Alyson is dead.” She glanced up at the SAS men and nodded. “Do it.” Elenor rose, turned away, and walked back down the iron stairs.

The SAS men looked at each other and regarded Alyson.

“She fits the bill,” said the first of the team.

“Keep five of the attractive women alive, that’s what Mr Bretnor and Mr Gabriel said.” The second soldier flicked the setting of his gun onto single shot and fired four bullets into Alyson’s elbows and knee caps.

“Prisoner secured,” said his partner.

A Derelict Fire Station, London

"I made a promise to you, remember? I said I'd kill you if you harmed Alyson in any way." Elenor punctuated her remark by spitting in Russell’s face. The lump of phlegm trickled slowly down his cheek. “Now you’re going to get what you deserve.”

Russell snarled at the SAS men who surrounded him with electric cattle prods. His hands were chained behind his back and a Priest was on hand in case of trouble. Bretnor and Gabriel watched from the side of the room. Russell had been stripped naked at Elenor's request - a fact that hadn't escaped his attention.

"Seeing me naked turns you on?" he snarled. "Is that it? Want to come closer and check me out?"

"You won't be laughing in a minute." Elenor pointed to the holes in the floor. They stood in an old abandoned fire station, up on the second floor. Each hole had a fire pole that gave quick access to the ground floor where the fire engines used to be housed. The ground floor was now empty and had been prepared according to Elenor's instructions earlier that day.

"So you're going to kill me, just like that, while I'm chained and helpless? Some revenge. Some superhero you are!" Russell spat from his scarred face onto the ground.

"No, we're going to fight. We're going to fight down there and I'm going to kill you with my hands."

"Hah! I look forward to it.”

"You'll find a key to your handcuffs on the floor." Elenor signalled to one of the SAS soldiers. He pushed Russell to the first of the holes and watched him drop down two storeys. With his hands cuffed behind his back Russell wasn't able to use the pole to slide down safely. He hit the ground hard, but Elenor knew that wouldn't hurt him. What he found down below would though. As soon as he hit the floor Russell began to scream. It was a horrible long drawn out scream and it didn't seem to stop.

Elenor gripped her own pole and slid quickly downstairs. She dropped into a crouch and immediately picked up the wooden spear that lay on the floor next to the fire pole. Russell was twisting on the ground, his skin hissing and blistering as he howled and tried to unlock the cuffs. The floor, ceiling and walls of the room had been painted with crosses - thousands of them. There was no surface anywhere that didn't have crosses inscribed on it. Elenor waited as Russell managed to get the cuffs off. Wracked with pain, he stumbled to his feet, his naked body now covered in horrible burns from where he'd fallen. The soles of his feet were burning and he was forced to jump up and down from the intense pain.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Elenor held the spear like a quarterstaff and advanced a couple of steps. "Welcome to the wonderful world of pain." She thumped him hard in the face with the blunt end of the wooden spear. Russell flew backwards and landed on the painted crosses. His back erupted in smoke. Within seconds he was back on his feet again, his back a mass of searing burns. Once again his feet were smoking and there was no end to the agony.

Elenor skipped round him, striking blow after blow on his body. Mad with pain, Russell couldn't concentrate enough to ward off the blows. Everywhere on his body was burning. He lunged at Elenor and simply impaled himself on the end of the spear. Elenor pulled the point free from his gut and watched him collapse to his knees. Now his knees were burning, giving off thick black smoke.

"Please! Stop it!"

"Let me tell you something about evil." Elenor stabbed him in the left eye and drew the spear tip out again. "Evil is greatly misunderstood. It means being selfish, about not caring about the other person.”

"Kill me! Just kill me!" Russell's body was slow burning. To him this was like being in an oven with the temperature set to 230 degrees. He was literally cooking from the outside in.

"Being evil means doing what I want," she slashed his chest open, "to whoever I want," she stabbed his right foot, "whenever I want. Does that sound familiar? Aren’t you going to congratulate me on my new found freedom?" Russell's body was black in parts now and swollen red in others. The burn marks of the crosses were so numerous that they no longer looked cross shaped, just a single mass of swellings and peeling skin. Russell was beginning to smell like cooked pork.

"It hurts!" he screamed.

"I… don't… care…" Elenor smacked him twice in the face with the blunt end of the spear. She stared deep into the remains of his eyes. "Go to Hell," she snarled. "You fucking ANIMAL!" and then she drove the spear point first through his heart. The wooden shaft drove all the way in and Russell fell back, dead.

Epilogue One: Elenor’s Squat in Camden

"Where are you going?" Elenor knew she smelt of sweat and death. The hot water had run out in the squat and she was too tired now to face a cold water bath. She stared vacantly at Joseph and tried to forget what she’d been through today.

"Home…" Joseph was packing his few belongings into his hold all bag.

"Why?" Elenor didn’t want to be alone tonight. There was dry blood under her finger nails and dark bruises on her arms. She needed someone in her bed tonight – someone human who could hold her and keep the nightmares away until morning.

"I need to get some sleep."

"You can sleep here." Elenor indicated the bed. "It's a cosy bed. You’ll like it."

"I should really be going."

"Now, you're saying that, but you don't really mean it. I think you want to sleep here tonight, but you're just too tough to admit it." Elenor closed the door firmly and took Joseph's hand.

"I’m a warrior. I don't have time for anything else. I have to remain disciplined."

"We're only talking about sleeping."

"I don't…"

"Hush…" Elenor sighed. She placed her finger against his lips and then kissed him slowly. "Think how really nice it'll feel tonight when you're wrapped up in my duvet, with my body pressed close to yours."

Joseph didn't say anything but the expression on his face said it for him.

"Now tell me - do you really want to go home and sleep in your own bed tonight, all alone in that cold, damp basement of yours, or do you want to curl up with Elenor and wake up to hot buttered toast and good coffee in the morning?"

"I could perhaps stay the night."

"Good. I think we can arrange that." Elenor smiled and kissed him again. This time he kissed her back. "But there are a few rules. Rule one when you sleep over in Elenor's bed, you take your trousers off this time. You can keep your boxers on, but no trousers. Okay?"

"What's rule two?"

"One rule at a time. One rule at a time."

Joseph tried not to look at Elenor as she removed the last of her clothes. She made no attempt to put anything else on. "Aren't you going to wear anything in bed?"

"No," she shrugged, quietly proud of her body and happy to show it off to someone she liked.

"It's cold tonight."

"You'll be in my bed, so I'll stay warm."

"I'd rather you wore something."

"It's my bed, so my rules."

"I'm not going to have sex with you, Elenor..."

“No one said anything about that."

Joseph silently undressed down to his boxer shorts as Elenor sat on the edge of the bed and watched. Feeling a little uncomfortable he slid quickly under the duvet. Elenor slid in beside him and wrapped her body around his.

"You're cold," said Joseph.

"So warm me up." Elenor kissed him on the mouth. Her lips stayed with his and her tongue slipped inside his mouth. As they kissed, Elenor moved her hand down under the duvet and placed it over the head of Joseph's cock, where it pressed against his boxer shorts. It had already swollen and now, as she traced a soft pattern with her fingers, it grew to her touch.

"Don't do that." Joseph broke off the kiss.

"I don't seem to be getting any complaints down here." She gripped his cock, still wrapped in the soft cotton material, in her hand. It was now quite stiff.

"I don't want…"

"I'm not going to do anything. I'm just going to hold him for a while.” Elenor moved her fingers a little and smiled at the reaction she got. "You like that? You like what I'm doing with my fingers?"

"Yes."

Elenor stroked the underside of Joseph's cock with her thumb and ran her other fingers along the foreskin. "Just imagine how nice it would feel with my mouth around him. Just imagine what my tongue could do down there."

Joseph's hand moved to hold Elenor's bottom. His other hand pressed her body closer to his.

"Oh, you do like this, don't you…" Elenor could feel his cock twitching with each rub of her fingers through the material. Joseph was gripping her body tightly. Elenor could feel the strength of his muscles. She relaxed in his grip and kissed him again. Joseph's hands explored her body, clumsily, lacking any real skill, but Elenor was happy just to feel him touch her. "You like my body, don’t you? My breasts and my legs?”

"Yes." Joseph's voice sounded hoarse.

"Touch my breasts." She carried on stroking him, feeling sure he was getting close to cumming.

Elenor suddenly released Joseph and regarded him curiously. A few seconds went by before he said, "you've taken your hand away."

"Mmm, I know." She kissed him again.

"Why?" he was twitching. Elenor had timed it quite well.

"Because we're not having sex, remember?"

"I…"

"Hush." She closed his mouth with another kiss. “And stop that!" she could feel him rubbing the head of his cock against her belly. "And keep your hands on me, not yourself," she smiled. “I like your arms. You hug well."

Joseph kissed her.

"Nice isn't it?"

He nodded.

"No, tell me."

"It feels good."

"Elenor's bed is nice, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Good night."

Epilogue Two: A secret ORBITAL warehouse in London

The five surviving female members of the Furies stood on a concrete floor, surrounded by silent, black clad SAS soldiers. A pair of Church of England priests stood close by with Latin Bibles, ready to chant some theological psalms in case of trouble. Sharp spotlights illuminated the area and the single door out of the chamber was sealed tight and could only be activated by a swipe card.

The SAS assault had spared only five lives, as per their orders from Bretnor and Gabriel. All five met the specific criteria – they were female and attractive and of course, super powered. Each one now wore an explosive collar that could be detonated either by a remote control signal, or automatically if they exited the building without permission. And just to be on the safe side two soldiers pointed a high pressure fire hose in their direction.

“Welcome ladies, to a wonderful new chapter in your lives as members of the first official Government controlled super team since the Second World War!” Bretnor waved a pump action water pistol from Toys R Us at the Code 5 creatures as he spoke. According to the packaging it was capable of soaking a man at a range of ten feet. Unfortunately it was fluorescent green in colour due to concerns amongst parents that toy guns could be mistaken for real ones. Bretnor would have preferred it to be matte black. “You’ve just become the founding members of the new ORBITAL rapid response super group, Fem Force Five! My name’s Mr Bretnor, and this is my partner, Mr Gabriel. We’ll be your Government liaison officers.”

“Anya, your code name will be Weapon A,” explained Gabriel as he read from an ORBITAL clip board, marked Top Secret. “Louise will be Weapon L, Sarah is Weapon S.”

“Cara – you’re Weapon C,” added Bretnor.

"… and you're Weapon O, Alyson," concluded Gabriel.

"Weapon O? that sounds mildly pornographic. Can I be Weapon X instead?" Alyson frowned at the men.

Gabriel looked at his partner and sighed. They'd been through this before. "No you can't. No one gets to be Weapon X. We've tried it before and it never works out. You end up with a group of tough superheroes all fighting because each one wants to be Weapon X."

"Especially that short Canadian guy with the stupid hair and the cowboy hat."

"Hmm. He was a twat and a half."

"Well, I don't want to be called Weapon O," moaned Alyson.

"Quit complaining, Alyson. We've got bigger things to worry about," said Anya as she glared at the priests while she fiddled pointlessly with the explosive collar around her neck.

"That's all right for you to say - you're Weapon A. That's the first letter in the alphabet - that makes you sound important. And it stands for your name," said Alyson.

"Look, we're not changing the names, understand?" said Bretnor.

Alyson folded her arms and sulked.

"What now?" asked Anya.

"Now's the bit we've been looking forward to."

"Oh, really?"

"Now you get to try on your new costumes." Bretnor clicked his fingers and a couple of men wheeled in a clothes rack of costumes. "These are for night time operations. If we need you to operate during the day we'll provide you with protection. We've designed all in one rubber/latex gimp suits for daylight operations. Each one's colour coded so you can recognise each other and there won't be an inch of your skin exposed to sunlight."

"I'm not wearing a latex rubber gimp suit!" exploded Alyson.

Bretnor just grinned.

"Which wanker dreamt these up?" asked Anya as she examined the skimpy 'night' costumes.

"A top comic book graphic artist actually. The same man who raised sales of The Amazing Mr Spider comic book to the three million mark, and now markets a range of top quality action figures," explained Gabriel.

"You're sick. No, really sick… I mean, we may eat people, but at least we're not in a position of responsibility with a huge government budget."

"Hey!" said Gabriel. "Less of the talking, and more of the dressing in the kinky leather booties, okay?" "What, here?" Anya looked around the cold warehouse building. "Don't we get a privacy screen or something?"

"Perks of the job. For us," said Gabriel with a lecherous smirk.