Timelord731

“Jesus, can somebody just send me on a vacation that doesn’t involve me blacking out in a field,” groans the Comedian as he rolls over and lights a cigar. He looks around at the loose circle of men and men-like creatures looking down at him. “Fuck. You guys again. Didn’t we part ways at the...what was it...the umm...the umm,” Comedian snaps his fingers trying to recall a (drunken) memory. Before he can snap a finger a third time, a throwing card interrupts his fingers. “Are you thinking of the Thai job?” interjects Bullseye, menacingly twirling a joker card in between his fingers. Comedian takes the card from his now bloodied fingers and ignites it with his half-burnt cigar. “That’s the one. It’s really kinda hazy.” Comedian dusts himself off and stand up to evaluate his peers. Croc was pacing around, cracking his knuckles and wrapping his hands in giant cotton boxing wraps. He lumbered around the small field, waiting for order. Not much of a thinker that one. Spector, or whomever was in control of his fractured mind at the moment, was rubbing a dagger with polish. Why? Nobody had the balls to ask. Not many men are as functionally crazy as that man. Last on the roster was the infamous South American. Bane donned a large leather trench coat to cover the olympic muscle hidden underneath. As always, he looked around the area, constantly assessing the situation. He is the brains of this little hoorah and everybody knows it. “Alright, well since the gangs all here, should we decide just what the fuck we’re doin? I mean, where the hell are we?” The Comedian chuckles at the overall absurdity of the situation. A bunch of mercenaries and killers just, you know, hanging out in a field. Comedian was just about to turn and run before an low,ominous voice thunders into his still aching head. He doubles over in pain. You shall fight. As a group. Those who leave, die. Comedian pries his eyes open enough see that everybody was in the same boat as him; Doubled over in agony. A coalition of men in white will descend. Decimate them. I have sent a creature of great proportions to aid you. Do not disappoint me. Bullseye pulls himself out of the dirt, shaking his head to rid himself of the voice. It fades with an echo that reverberates in his skull. “I dunno who that guy was, but I have the worst headache.” He wasn’t alone. The whole team regained their bearings in about five minutes. Of course, Bullseye couldn’t wait to talk about the voices in his head. “Alright, let’s review. Dudes in white; vague but understandable. Gotta fight as a group, that;s pretty self explanatory. Kill them all, yada yada yada. The only part I didn’t get was the creature of-” He is cut off by a violent vibration in the ground. Bane crouches like a tiger, getting low and visually sweeping the area. “Everybody, take cover in the trees. It’s coming towards us.” The team scatters with deceptive speed, managing to blend into the brush. They wait. The vibration escalates. It feels as if a some large deity is banging a drum that shakes the entire field. The tension in the air is palpable. Suddenly, a gargantuan figure emerges from the tree line. It shakes it’s dense black fur and sniffs the air. Teeth bared and fists raised, the massive beast pounds reels back to pound it’s enormous chest. Comedian looks at the beast and then back at the group hidden in the bushes. “Well, I guess he’s our new best friend.” Bane looks over to his Killer Croc. “Crocodile, do you think you could speak to the beast?” Bane inquiries with curiosity. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve never seen that thing in my life. Asshole.” Croc going back to staring at the levithan. The tension is soon broken as a Moon Knight dashes across the field in the direction of the now crushed tree line. “What the fuck is he doing?” The Comedian says with a chuckle. “He’s going to get himself killed before the fighting begins.” Bullseye looks over and chuckles. Spector crosses the distance with impressive speed, ducking and weaving between the brush. With Moon Knight showing no signs of slowing down in the presence of a giant ape, the rest of the team follows in suit, albeit with a more casual approach. The crew reaches the tree line just as the beast sits back on its haunches, causing a small tremor. Spector had, somehow, talked the beast down. Spector turns to his comrades, an unsettling smile plastered across his face. “Team, meet King Kong,” he sweeps his arm in Kong’s general direction with the grandiosity of a ringmaster. “Kong, meet the team.” The ape huffs and gazes over the rag-tag bunch. As best as anybody could decipher, he snorts in acceptance. Spector turns back to the team. “Alrighty, let’s roll. You heard the voices. Kill white people from space. Seems simple enough.” “Spector, you idiot. Where are we going?” Bullseye inquires. “Oh, the big one told me” Moon Knight retorts, pointing at King Kong. With surprising agility, the ape leaps into the air in the direction from which it had come. Without a word, everybody follows in unison. Before long, the path of destruction that was being carved by Kong led to civilization. Following the shattered tree trunks up a hill, they looked out over the city that lay before them. Even Croc knew where they were. Rio De Janeiro, a city on fire. “It has been a long, long time since have been here,” Bane says, a tone of vicious reminiscing dancing behind his accent. The once beautiful Brazilian coastline was slowly crumbling into dust. The sounds of chaos roared hill, intermixed with various weaponry being discharged. The citizens swarmed the streets, pushing and shoving towards the coastline, confined to the streets. Ants trying to escape the flood. The flood being legions upon legions of white clad soldiers, marching through the streets, weapons at hand. From their vantage point, they spotted approximately 500 soldiers, 9 or 10 large four legged vehicles, and some members of in the front of the march were on levitating bikes of some kind. “The voice said kill the men in white,” Bane announced to the group. “So let’s kill the men in white.” Just shy of goose stepping, the white clad warriors advance through the streets. They fired without mercy. Those who attempted to interfere soon discovered a large smoldering crater in their chest. Every few blocks, they would stop at a building and enter with deadly intent. Any hostages were corralled, cuffed, and herded back to the rest of the prisoners. After a couple of building clears, they had amassed almost 200 prisoners. When it came time for them to clear an apartment complex, a group of ten soldiers detached from the legion. Led by a commander, signified by the blue streaking along the outside of his armor, the squad went door to door. At the very last door on the top floor, a man was laying face down, almost unconscious. He was wearing an all black jumpsuit, a bullseye on his forehead. The grunts turned to the commander for orders. “Commander, should we take him with us?” Said the second in command. “He’s unconscious, it’s not worth the effort” replied the commander. They turned to leave the building. The man rose in silence. The two next sounds made in tandem were the faint whistle of knives slicing through the air and the slight grunt made by every soldier. The commander turned around just in time to see his squad collapse to the ground. A tiny dagger was sticking out of the base of each of their necks. Standing nonchalantly no ten feet away from the carnage was the unconscious man himself. The commander raised his weapon to fire. He was poised and ready to fire, finger on the trigger. A weightlessness overcame him, starting at his head. He was being lifted. “That’s the commander,” exclaimed Bullseye, giddy that he got to get his hands dirty once more. The leader of the now deceased group was swiveled around to face the single most hideous creature he had ever encountered. It had scaly skin, sharp fangs that were almost filled to a point, and to add insult to injury, was about 11 feet tall. The fiend grinned. “Guys, come on out and meet our new friend.” Emerging from the doorway was the rest of the team, baring King Kong. Bane pushed his way past and stood in front of the commander. “Hola commander. Meet our little outfit. We require your assistance. I need you to-” “I’m not telling you anything,” the commander shouted at the large man. “Commander, that is not a wise decision. You can either talk to me or you can talk to,” Bane points over at Bullseye, who is juggling three throwing knives. The commander pauses. “What do you want? I don’t know much.” Bane smiles under his mask. “You know enough.” Bane turns away from the man and removes his trench coat. Underneath is a latticework of pipes and tubes, all filled with some kind of green liquid. Bane stretches his neck and taps a dial on his watch. Almost instantly, the green liquid rushes through the tubes and into the man’s body. His muscles seems to triple in size, ripping the shirt he was wearing underneath. He turns back to his prisoner. “Now, tell me...How many of you little ‘soldiers’ are there.”