Symkaria

{{They’re almost across the border. What are we waiting for here, boss?}}

War Machine thumbed the switch on his gauntlet to turn his comlink on. “We have to do this quickly and efficiently. Wait for my word.”

The armored James Rhodes, hovering silently two hundred feet over the flat and grassy terrain, watched the images on his HUD carefully. Three pick-up trucks, whose beds were enclosed with olive tarps, steadily crawled down the dirt road toward the Symkarian border. They were far removed from any security checkpoints or customs agents. This old road was only used by farmers to move sheep back and forth to the neighboring pasture, and War Machine doubted that anyone was aware of their illegal activities today. In fact, he doubted that two of the three drivers were even aware.

He zoomed in on the first truck, watching it jostle as it passed over a pothole in the road. Its frame creaked from the bouncing, showing the age of the vehicle. He watched the second, then the third.

“It’s the second truck,” he said. “I’ll intercept after the first strike. Contain the other two vehicles.” He adjusted his HUD and powered up his weapons systems, adding, “Initiate.”

As soon as the command was given, a screeching warble covered the field. A wall of pure sound rippled through the air, slamming into the second truck and knocking it off the dirt road. The truck behind it skewed off to the side as its driver crunched his foot down on the brake. The truck out in front of the small caravan slowed and stopped, its driver unsure of what had just happened.

War Machine ignited his boot jets and dove through the air, heading straight for the second truck, which was now lying on its side. He reached his destination in a matter of seconds, all the while keeping the MDR cannon mounted on his right shoulder aimed at the truck. He had no intention of using it other than to stun the truck’s occupant. His mission was to apprehend, not kill.

He touched down a few feet away from the overturned truck, making sure to approach cautiously. He heard the distinct sound of boot jets similar to his own on both sides of him and threw a quick glance in both directions. To his left, toward the first stopped truck in the caravan, a lithe figure in silver and yellow armor dropped down and placed her hands on the truck’s hood. To his right, where the last truck had nearly skidded off the dirt road, a third armored figure wearing green armor with shoulder spikes landed directly on the truck’s roof with a loud thud.

He hadn’t worked with his team very much yet, but he knew that they would do their jobs as he had assigned them. After all, not only was he the new warden of the superhuman detention center known as the Vault, but he was also the field leader of the new Jury as well.

Turning his attention back to the knocked over vehicle, Jim Rhodes’ voice boomed through the helmet filter, saying, “Paladin! I know you’re in there. Come peacefully and make this easy. There’s no need to—”

The rear door in the back of the truck bed popped open and a dingy looking man half stepped out. Before War Machine could react, the man raised his arm and pulled the trigger on the bulky weapon he was aiming. A blast of orange energy sizzled through the air and splashed against his chest, knocking him back thirty feet.

“Unbelievable!” Paladin screamed. “I freakin’ helped you take down Arcade and this is how you repay me?”

Paladin, sans his trademark purple body armor, and looking worn from traveling under the radar for the last few weeks, circled behind the fallen truck and started running. A second gun appeared in his other hand, which he aimed at the armored woman near the first truck.

“Shit,” Paladin swore. “How many of there are you now?”

Alternating between blasters, Paladin squeezed off a half dozen shots at the woman, with three of them hitting her. Although the armor protected her, like War Machine, she was thrown back. Paladin trotted by, sneering, heading for the Symkarian border. Freedom was getting closer with every step.

“Sentry!” War Machine called out. “Take him down! Now!”

The only member of the Jury still standing, the green-armored Sentry, bounded off the roof of the truck he was balanced on and began peppering the ground with repulsor fire. Beads of white concussive force tore into the ground, springing out of his open palms. Dirt burst into the air behind Paladin as he ran, showering him with bits of black and brown clumps.

Paladin zigzagged, trying to desperately reach the border. He dropped one of the blasters as he avoided being struck down. “Stand still!” Sentry blurted out as he trailed over the escapee. Each repulsor blast was landing just as Paladin’s foot left the ground, missing him by inches.

“Almost there…” Paladin said anxiously. “Sable, I’m coming home, bab—!”

“Got ya!”

Paladin sprawled out on the ground as the repulsor blast punched into his back. The mercenary nearly fell unconscious from the assault, but he managed to stay awake. His blurred vision let him see just how close he had come to freedom: another twenty feet and he would have made it.

Sentry cut off his boot jets and dropped down beside Paladin, keeping his repulsors trained on the fugitive. “If I was used to this armor I would have taken you down in one volley,” he said. “Must be my lucky day.”

“Luck had everything to do with it,” the armored woman said as she sauntered over to them. “He nearly made it across!”

“But he didn’t, did he, Wysper?”

“If I had used a higher frequency in my sonic pulse when I took out the truck he was in, he wouldn’t have gotten as far as he did. If he had made it into Symkaria you would be the one explaining to the Commission why a Vault fugitive was now enjoying a tasty non-extradition law.”

“Knock it off!” War Machine said as he walked over. His green and white armor was not damaged by Paladin’s blast, but he hadn’t yet run a full diagnostic. So far he just had a headache from being bounced around inside his helmet. “Wysper, go explain to the drivers that they were unwittingly used in a fugitive’s attempt to cross international borders, but that they will not be charged and are free to go.”

Wypser shot Sentry a look, masked behind her helmet, but didn’t argue. She stomped off back toward the trucks, leaving the three men behind. “Thanks, boss,” Sentry said after she had left.

“Paladin,” War Machine said, ignoring the appreciation, “next time you use trucks to make your getaway, maybe take into consideration that those coming after you can see which vehicle is riding low.”

“This is such bullshit,” the mercenary said heatedly. “I saved your life! Arcade had you dead to rights. You owe me.”

“Doesn’t matter.” War Machine grabbed Paladin off the ground by his ragged collar. “You’re a fugitive. You broke out of my prison, and that makes you my responsibility. It’s my job to bring you back to the Vault.”

---

Interlude

“You’ve deviated too far from the original plan. We’re cutting all relations and moving on with other operations.”

A shadowed man slammed his fist down on the table, displaying his obvious displeasure from the statement. This meeting, held in secret, had not gone well for him. His backers were now backing out, proving that irony had a sense of humor.

“Have I not brought you several pieces of alien technology to assimilate?” he countered with justification. “Is that not why you are here, working with me?”

Several of the backers around the conference table nodded, but one key member shook his head, saying, “That’s immaterial. While our original plan was to assimilate new alien technologies in order to make our splinter group of A.I.M. stronger than the others, you’ve lost sight of our interests due to a personal vendetta.”

The man stood, realizing that arguing was now a feeble attempt. “You’re talking about Rhodes,” he said. “The plan all along was to try and extract a sample of the Eidolon Warwear from his DNA. Think what an army under your control with the type of armor could do!”

“We have yet to see proof that the alien organic armor once bonded to James Rhodes still exists dormant in his system. I’m betting you used that as a tactic to use our resources for your own benefit. The Adaptoid was a complete failure. It was meant to duplicate the powers of the incarcerated villains in the Vault, and instead you spent most of the android’s time trying to kill Rhodes.”

“Not to mention,” another of the A.I.M. backers added, “that your hiring of the assassin Arcade, without our approval, was a thinly veiled attempt to capture Rhodes for your own means.”

“The idea of a rank amateur,” another quickly said.

“But—” the man began to say.

“We’re severing this parasitic relationship before more of our resources are squandered. The research you have already provided us is enough of a payment to keep you alive. A.I.M. will not be the tool of your revenge when it doesn’t benefit us.”

The backers all stood at once and began to file out of the conference room. The man slipped back down into his chair, the dim lighting of the room again masking his face. He was shocked from their departure, but he was infuriated by it more.

That wasn’t to say that they weren’t correct. He had used them. He turned his attention to the future, thinking of his next move against the insufferable Rhodes, and whether or not he would have to come out of hiding to make it now that his backers had left him.

End of Interlude

---

“I still think this is a bad idea, Rhodey.”

James Rhodes, tucked away in his office back at the Vault, smiled at the satellite-linked video chat. “Tony, you said yourself that the armor was cleared. You made some modifications to the armor that Arcade built, and it’s completely safe for me and the other Guardsmen to use.”

“I swept it, sure, but that doesn’t mean I might not have missed something.”

“The great Tony Stark…feeling inadequate?”

Tony smirked. “Never. But none of us are perfect. I’m glad we got this chance to reconnect, though. With this Jade Empire business, and the trouble with the Stockpile, I’ve been a little out of touch recently.”

“Need a hand?”

“Got it covered. I have a few extra hands these days. Now that Jocasta is back in working order things are running smooth again.”

Rhodes paused briefly, choosing his words carefully. “Tony, I need a favor.”

“Another one already?” the billionaire scoffed. “Two favors in two weeks. Pretty soon people will start to talk, Rhodey.”

“Are we secure?”

Tony learned forward in the video image, double-checking something on the desk in front of him. “My TransMat seems to think so. What’s up?”

“Do you still have your connections at the Commission?”

“If by connections you mean the phone numbers of their most alluring executives, then yes, I still have connections.”

“I think there might be a leak in the Commission. Arcade knew I was coming to the Vault in advance. He had time to replace Jones, build a Murderworld, and mastermind his elaborate and confusing plot, plus build all that armor. Someone had to have told him I was coming.”

“Or the person that hired him,” Tony added. “You mentioned that he insinuated that someone had targeted you. You think this mystery man is someone on the inside?”

“Not at the Commission, no. Otherwise why would they have gone to all this trouble to put the Jury back into action? No, whoever is after me is still hiding, but using inside information.”

A soft ‘ping’ sounded from the other side of the office. Rhodes glanced at the display on this desk, showing the camera feed from directly outside his door. “I have to go. Look into this?”

“Done,” Tony replied as he killed the video chat. The screen went blank and Rhodes pressed the button to unlock his door.

A tall figure in green armor, the Jury member called Sentry, stepped into the office once Rhodes had opened the door. “Here to give my report, boss,” he said. “Busy day.”

Rhodes nodded and motioned for Sentry to stand in front of the desk. The armored man stepped into place and removed his helmet, revealing shocks of brown hair pressed down by the smothering headpiece. Beads of sweat rolled off his forehead as he took in a deep breath. “Still getting used to this hunk of junk. Excuse the disheveled look, boss.”

“No problem, John. It’s a lot different here than your previous position at Ravencroft. You’ll get used to the Sentry armor soon enough.”

John Jameson, the once-proud astronaut and son of newspaper mogul J. Jonah, stood at attention. The bulky armor made it impossible to place his arms at his sides completely, and the rigid manner of his stance didn’t go undetected.

“I just don’t want what happened in Symkaria to happen here is all.”

“Like I said, you’ll get used to the armor soon enough. I wouldn’t have selected you from the Commission database as the Vault’s new security chief if I didn’t think you could cut it. Report.”

“A few minor problems in general population, but nothing substantial. Adrian Toomes was released this morning per his probation. I saw to his release personally. The monorail took him to the outer checkpoint where Jailbird Two picked him up. He should be arriving in New York within the hour.”

“Now that he’s gone maybe some of the unrest in general population will settle. He rubbed a few people the wrong way. You’re dismissed, chief.”

“There’s one more thing of note,” Jameson said as he relaxed his stance a bit. “Otto Octavius has contacted his lawyer and petitioned the court to be moved to a minimum security installation. I wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but—”

“When?”

“About two hours ago.”

Rhodes scowled, not even attempting to hide his frustration. He doubted that his request would be granted, but for some reason hearing the news made him uncomfortable. Otto Octavius had nearly single-handedly overtaken the prison and come close to having a personal super-powered army at his disposal. No judge in his or her right mind would grant the petition. He was sure of it. But still…

“Keep me posted,” Rhodes said. “I’ll follow up on this and make sure that rat doesn’t get out of solitary.”

Jameson turned to leave, but once at the door he paused again. “One last thing, boss. I don’t mind being kept in the dark if that’s what you think is best, but after the close call in Symkaria I wouldn’t mind knowing the people I’m working with. Any chance you’ll let me in on who this Wysper woman is?”

“You’ll know when I know. The Commission won’t tell me.”

---

“Grimes, you’re on suppression watch…McAvoy, you’re stationed at the helipad…and Claremont, you’re in general population.”

The row of two dozen Guardsmen stood at attention before Wysper, each now given an assignment for the evening. The rotating shifts allowed each section in the Vault to switch off smoothly, and since all Guardsmen were required to live at the installation for two week intervals, the changing of the guard could be done quickly and precisely.

Still enclosed within her armor, Wysper nodded and dismissed the Guardsmen who then marched out of the training room. She pressed a button on her gauntlet and the holographic display held in the air in front of her dissipated. The soft green of the hologram died away, leaving the silver and yellow of her armor once again illuminated only by the overhead lights.

As the Guardsmen filed out, War Machine and Sentry entered in the opposing doorway, making a steady bead for Wysper. “Are the troops taken care of?” Rhodes asked, his helmet cradled in his arm.

“Affirmative. And thank you for coming so quickly, warden.”

“You said we should suit up,” Sentry added, his helmet already in place. “What’s up? The Commission get a line on another escapee from the Adaptoid break-in?”

Rhodes mentally winced at the comment. He still felt responsible for the thirty-one convicts that had managed to escape during the Super-Adaptoid’s attack. So far only a handful of them had been returned, which had been the Jury’s main focus since being reinstituted. The Commission had been using their resources to locate the escapees and then sending Rhodes, Jameson, and the mysterious Wypser out to collect them.

“No, but we have been issued another target today. A different kind of target. A dangerous felon from Genosha has been tried in absentia and the Commission has tasked us with delivering him directly to the Vault.”

“Skip the public trial, huh?” Jameson responded. “I doubt the bleeding hearts are going to like that.”

“Why wasn’t I contacted directly about this?” Rhodes inquired, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I don’t appreciate having my authority circumvented like this. The Jury was put together to—”

“The Commission on Superhuman Activities has chosen to use the Jury, which it formed, at its discretion. Your authority was not circumvented, merely assumed.” Wypser paused, tilting her head to the side as if listening to someone. “Our accompanying special agent is ready. We’re scheduled to leave now. Gentlemen, if you would please—”

“Whoa. Hold on.” Sentry ripped his helmet off and stared down Wysper. “Special agent? What special agent? And who the hell are we going after? I’m getting a little tired of you keeping secrets.”

“Given the difficulty in retrieving Paladin,” Wypser replied coolly, “the Commission thought it prudent to assign a special agent to our trinity.”

The side doors to the training room slid open, revealing a pair of Guardsmen with MDR rifles trained on another shackled individual. The man with his hands, arms, legs, and feet all separately bound looked blankly into the room as a third Guardsman prodded him to move forward. Moving inch by inch, the bound prisoner stepped into the room, a gentle sneer forming on his face.

A long, thick chain dropped down from the center of the brace used to clasp his hands shut, the other end of which was locked onto a scrolling rail embedded in the floor. It would be impossible for the prisoner to deviate from where the rail went unless the thick chain was broken. This also kept his arms lowered to his waist, and for this particular prisoner, that was very important. It wouldn’t take much movement for him to kill any of them if given the right circumstances.

“Bullseye,” Rhodes stated.