messing you up so badly all those years ago. I get it.”
Night Owl shook his head, turning to walk back out of the cell. As he crossed the threshold, he said, “Man, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I fought you to a standstill six times in ninety-four!” McHenry stammered. He stood up, raising his voice, “I nearly killed you at least twice! We played cat and mouse for three years!”
“I have no idea who you are, Machine-er, or whatever,” the hero said with a shrug as the force field reformed. His voice had sounded genuine.
McHenry started shouting and he punched the wall. “I’m the Machin ist and I am your fucking nemesis, you prick!”
Night Owl said something, but the translucent energy field made his voice sound like a muffled trombone. McHenry jammed himself down on the cell’s bed with a huff. He fumed for a few minutes, rocking back and forth with adrenaline, before tearing at the collar around his neck. A powerful electric shock made him slam his own shoulder against the wall before he released his grasp on the thing.
He rubbed his shoulder and looked around the cell. It was bright, and metal, and not dissimilar at all from his accommodations at Blackiron, except there was only one bed and—of all the unheard of luxuries—a television mounted to the wall of the cell. A security camera on the ceiling next to the television focused unerringly on McHenry. He gave it the finger.
McHenry sat down on the mattress and felt something dig into his back. He reached his hand under him and dug out a remote control.
“Might as well see what the hell is actually going on,” he muttered, a iming it at the screen. The television clicked to life at the press of a button.
***
Marlon Jones stepped out of a portal with a loud thump, the pavement cracking beneath his feet. He looked around, taking stock of his location, and heard something plink off his chest as he realized he was standing in front of police headquarters. Then there was another plink, and another.
Cops were unloading their firearms at him, but the bullets bounced off his stone skin.
Behind Jones, the portal rippled as the magnetic kid came through, followed by the lizard thug and his posse of beast-men. The magnetic kid raised his hand and the cops’ guns flew into the air and spun there, just outside the reach of the officers’ grasping hands.
The half-animal inmates lunged forward, jumping onto cops and tearing into their throats and chests with teeth and claws. Jones was lumbering towards the chaos when he saw the guns clatter to the ground. He turned his head back at the magnetic kid, and saw him running down the block.
“Kid, where the hell do you think you’re going?” He yelled.
The kid stopped and turned back, shouting. “This-this isn’t what I signed up for, man! Killing cops and —and, people, no way! I just got in it to make some money and have fun, man!”
“Too bad,” Jones said, as the young coward turned and kept running down the block. Jones reached over, picked up a car and lobbed towards the fleeing villain. The car came crashing down right on top of the kid.
“ Fuckin’ waste,” Jones muttered. He stomped his foot creating a small seismic wave that knocked down the hero who had tried to sneak up on him.
***
The first image McHenry saw on the television set in his new cell was an overhead shot of the tree at Rockefeller Center. It was burning.
He changed the channel. A talking head was tugging at his collar, sweating as he read off a teleprompter. “—bridges were destroyed, bringing the estimated death toll to over—“
Click. This channel showed something peculiar. A small pile of rubble was visible in the foreground. Cars and streetlights could be seen behind the rubble, but it was clear that the camera was on its side. A thin stream of blood trickled out from under the pile of rocks. Something thumped loudly, and then
Night Owl shook his head, turning to walk back out of the cell. As he crossed the threshold, he said, “Man, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I fought you to a standstill six times in ninety-four!” McHenry stammered. He stood up, raising his voice, “I nearly killed you at least twice! We played cat and mouse for three years!”
“I have no idea who you are, Machine-er, or whatever,” the hero said with a shrug as the force field reformed. His voice had sounded genuine.
McHenry started shouting and he punched the wall. “I’m the Machin ist and I am your fucking nemesis, you prick!”
Night Owl said something, but the translucent energy field made his voice sound like a muffled trombone. McHenry jammed himself down on the cell’s bed with a huff. He fumed for a few minutes, rocking back and forth with adrenaline, before tearing at the collar around his neck. A powerful electric shock made him slam his own shoulder against the wall before he released his grasp on the thing.
He rubbed his shoulder and looked around the cell. It was bright, and metal, and not dissimilar at all from his accommodations at Blackiron, except there was only one bed and—of all the unheard of luxuries—a television mounted to the wall of the cell. A security camera on the ceiling next to the television focused unerringly on McHenry. He gave it the finger.
McHenry sat down on the mattress and felt something dig into his back. He reached his hand under him and dug out a remote control.
“Might as well see what the hell is actually going on,” he muttered, a iming it at the screen. The television clicked to life at the press of a button.
***
Marlon Jones stepped out of a portal with a loud thump, the pavement cracking beneath his feet. He looked around, taking stock of his location, and heard something plink off his chest as he realized he was standing in front of police headquarters. Then there was another plink, and another.
Cops were unloading their firearms at him, but the bullets bounced off his stone skin.
Behind Jones, the portal rippled as the magnetic kid came through, followed by the lizard thug and his posse of beast-men. The magnetic kid raised his hand and the cops’ guns flew into the air and spun there, just outside the reach of the officers’ grasping hands.
The half-animal inmates lunged forward, jumping onto cops and tearing into their throats and chests with teeth and claws. Jones was lumbering towards the chaos when he saw the guns clatter to the ground. He turned his head back at the magnetic kid, and saw him running down the block.
“Kid, where the hell do you think you’re going?” He yelled.
The kid stopped and turned back, shouting. “This-this isn’t what I signed up for, man! Killing cops and —and, people, no way! I just got in it to make some money and have fun, man!”
“Too bad,” Jones said, as the young coward turned and kept running down the block. Jones reached over, picked up a car and lobbed towards the fleeing villain. The car came crashing down right on top of the kid.
“ Fuckin’ waste,” Jones muttered. He stomped his foot creating a small seismic wave that knocked down the hero who had tried to sneak up on him.
***
The first image McHenry saw on the television set in his new cell was an overhead shot of the tree at Rockefeller Center. It was burning.
He changed the channel. A talking head was tugging at his collar, sweating as he read off a teleprompter. “—bridges were destroyed, bringing the estimated death toll to over—“
Click. This channel showed something peculiar. A small pile of rubble was visible in the foreground. Cars and streetlights could be seen behind the rubble, but it was clear that the camera was on its side. A thin stream of blood trickled out from under the pile of rocks. Something thumped loudly, and then
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