Marvel Mayhem: American Tyrant - Zaran (#2 of 6)
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Madripoor - 2003
“The sai, a silent elegant weapon designed to let you slip in close under your targets guard.” The wizened old Asian man dressed in black coveralls stated as he showed the weapon to the men chained to a row of posts, their feet surrounded by the bodies of those slain before them. “The compound bow, powerful and graceful, a weapon that silently undercuts even the stealthiest of sniper rifles with ease.”
“Pft I’d rather relay on a gun over that antiquated junk.” One of the men tied to the post snorted. As he opened his mouth to bad mouth the weapon some more an arrow flew down from the compound wall and buried itself in his mouth, blood oozing around the impact point.
“It is also very handy for silencing the tongues of disrespectful dogs.” The old man added as he placed the bow down and hefted a massive hammer over his shoulder. “The war hammer, brute force over subtlety, breaker of armour and shields and the men who reside in them.” He announced as he put the weapon down and removed a curved sword. “The sickle, the weapon on an executioner and of a head-hunter, taking the head of any enemy will destroy him.” The old man stated before picking up the last weapon. “And finally the dagger, not a weapon of last resort but the soldier’s closest friend, even the strongest man will fall to this when blade and holder are one, are truly the Weapons Master.”
“So when do we begin learning this c**p?” A man at the end of the line asked as five figures materialised from out of the mist behind the old man. Smiling the teacher watched as a figure clad in red walked over to the speaker and slide a sai into his eyes and nose.
“Only one of you will train with these five masters to become their equal and later superior, to find out you will fight with the weapons you were born with, your fists, feet and teeth until all but one of you are dead.” The old man explained as another arrow flew along the backs of the posts, slicing through all the bonds save for one, the men freeing themselves and looking around nervously. “Begin!” The old man bellowed, his voice causing the walls themselves to shake as the men launched themselves at each other, their struggle a tapestry of combat and suffering.
**
Thirty Miles North of Kalispell, Montana - 21:13PM, Two Days after Omaha
The Freeman’s Roadhouse was a dive, but an important one, Zaran thought as he walked past the parked vehicles of the patrons and up to the door, his hand clenched into a fist as he knocked. As he waited for a response he thought about the trail he had left. The death of Marie Batroc was something he deeply wished he could have avoided and as such when pushed, he had made it quick. He had sold her car at a local scrap metal merchant and used the money to get a bus from Omaha to Denver. From there he had brought a bicycle and peddled his way here.
“What’s the password?” A gruff voice from behind the door asked.
“Do not let Mimi drink.” Zaran answered, seconds later the door swung open and he walked in, passing the usual crowd of bikers, hustlers and prostitutes until he got to the bar. “Evening Bob.” He announced casually to the man whipping up a beer glass with one arm, the other decked out in a sling while he supported a nasty burn on his face.
“Zaran crud I really wished you hadn't come here.” Bob swore. “I've had three guys come through here looking for you, and they have all been less then gentle with their ways to make the locals talk.”
“Names and descriptions, that and a round for the locals.” He added before pulling out a stack of hundreds. “I guess I kind of owe them.”
“Yeah that and more if you're trying what I think you're trying.” Bob answered as he filled up a few glasses and placed them on a tray. “Megan you're in charge, Max come with me into the backroom.” He offered as a scantily dressed woman picked up the tray and began to distribute their contents to the patrons. Ducking through a hatch Zaran stood at one end of the kitchen as Bob dismissed the cook and locked the hatch. “First one was okay enough; he paid me a bit to talk although I had nothing to tell him. Dressed in purple called himself the Paladin, I figure yyou'dbe lucky if he got you, he wouldn't make you suffer too much.”
“I've heard of him, fits into the ‘honourable mercenary’ clique, good with a gun and a skilled tracker, I'm not surprised he managed to get in-front of me.” Zaran stated as Bob ran his free hand up and down his broken arm.
“Second one was a lady, dressed in black with two tone hair. Real bad attitude on that one, played with a knife for about half an hour before she finally asked me her question at the bar.” Bob sighed as he shot a glance over his shoulder. “Called herself El Tarantula, funny thing is I never saw her leave, she just broke my arm and vanished.”
“Sounds like a rook to me,” Zaran suggested, “although that will make her aggressive and unpredictable. What about the last one?”
“You know him personally, called himself Shockwave. Went straight for the torture, when I told him you hadn’t arrived he said he’s wait for you. He’s out back doing just that.” Bob wheezed as Zaran looked towards the backdoor. “Just leave, I don’t agree with what you tried to do but I don’t want to see anyone killed on my doorstep, that’d be bad for business.”
“Good because he’s more use to me alive!” Zaran growled before heading through the back-door and out into the tiny storage space out back, the late summer sun sinking below the western hills illuminating the metallic form of Shockwave, electricity arcing up and down his gauntlets.
“Evening Max.” Shockwave stated in a friendly voice. “I won’t ask you to come with me, not after seeing what you did to that Batroc girl so I’ll just jump to the shocking conclusion.” He announced as he lunged forward at Zaran, his foe sidestepping him only for Shockwave to tilt backwards and catch him round the back of the head. With a hiss Zaran got to his feet and went for a low sweep with his left leg, his boot connecting with Shockwave’s armoured knee guards, the blow sending both men reeling.
“You know how much I usually charge?” Shockwave announced as he recovered before aiming a kick at Zaran’s face, his foe ducking under the blow, only for the boot to come down on his back. “Well guess what I’m doing this one for free.” He told his target as Zaran rose and grabbed the boot before tossing his foe onto his back.
“Or nobody was willing to pay for your lacklustre services!” Zaran snapped as he removed a dagger strapped to his arm below the shirt he was wearing before lunging at Shockwave’s face.
“Nah, they were willing to pay.” Shockwave answered as he turned on his shoulder mounted tactical lights, the sudden illumination blinding Zaran long enough for his target to grab the knife and melt the blade. “Pardons from Her Majesty, gold bullion and some sexy ladies but I still owe you from way back.”
“You still hung up over that mission from SHIELD?” Zaran spat as he slammed his fist into Shockwave’s face, his knuckles cracking on the armoured plating before an electrical pulse sent him convulsing backwards.
“Hung up?! HUNG UP!!” Shockwave bellowed as streams of electricity flowed from his fingers. “You and Razor Fist left me in the lurch when we were fighting the West Coast Avengers. You tosses are the reason why I have to take jobs like this!!” He snarled as he upped the voltage.
“And here I thought you professionals never got angry.” Zaran mused as he gritted his teeth and got to his feet despite the lighting burning up and down his body. “Your arrogance was always your downfall Sneed.” He grunted as the lightning stopped, its owner fuming under the armour as Zaran ran towards him. With a hiss Shockwave moved to counter only to see Zaran jink left and slam his fist into the armoured thug’s shoulder.
“Thinking of breaking my surge protectors?” Shockwave asked as he spun round and grabbed Zaran by the neck before bringing him down over his knee, the un-armoured man’s ribs snapping. “Wait what?” He gasped as he saw a dagger sticking out of the second surge protector. “No matter.” He grunted before throwing Zaran to the floor and taking to the air. “It’s been a blast but now you die!!” He snapped as electricity arched from the suit to the walls of the outside storage space. Seconds later a massive fireball engulfed the area, with Zaran vanishing in a corona of flame.
“Well that was anti-climatic, still best see if I can find some proof or it’ll come back to bite me.” Shockwave sighed as the neon sign on the roof of the Freeman’s Roadhouse blacked out. Landing he turned on his tactical lights and scanned the destroyed storage space for any signs of Zaran. “Huh must have been vaporised!” he snorted. “Good.” He added unaware of the figure clinging to the roof.
“You should have kept quiet about that blast thing.” Zaran whispered, his voice causing Shockwave to jolt his head upwards to see his prey, his shirt burnt off to reveal a chest covered in fresh scars. “It gave me an opportunity.” He added as he leapt off the roof, his hand wrapped around a cable, one that he slammed into Shockwave’s chest. The effect was immediate, the generator that usually powered the sign feeding Shockwave’s armour and overloading the damaged surge protectors. To his credit Shockwave didn't scream as his suit caught alight, instead he fell silent until the backup feedback cancellers cut in, killing the power to his armour and sending him slamming to the floor.
“No charge required.” Zaran mused as he grabbed the armour by the back of the neck and dragged it into the bar where Bob and Megan were watching a pile of snoozing patrons, half finished beers spilling onto the floor. “Give it an hour and call someone to pick this up.” He told Bob as he dropped Shockwave, mention me or don’t, I can’t care less what happens next.” He added as he turned over the nearest drugged patron and removed his keys before moving around the bar retrieving all the patrons car keys.
“What do I tell them?” Bob asked.
“Don’t drink and drive.” Zaran said with a shrug as he left. Standing out in the lay-by he selected a vehicle, a Dodge Ram, and unlocked it with the keys. Heading to the next vehicle he unlocked it, placed the keys on the seat, un-clicked the hand brake and pushed it off the edge of the lay by. In ten minutes he had emptied the car park and was on his way towards the setting sun.
**
Madripoor - 2003
With a thud the man still chained to the post slammed his foot down on his attacker’s throat, the man on the floor wheezing and coughing before being silenced. Save for the Old Man and his Weapon Masters there were no living souls in the courtyard, the rest of the initiates lying slaughtered on the floor.
“You, you will be trained.” The old man announced as he pointed at the chained man. “What is your name?”
“It’s Max.” The chained man panted as he grimaced at the old man. “Maximilian actually, Maximilian Zaran.”
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