The tent fabric lay in tatters, thin streamers of shredded cloth and thread writhed in the breeze like the reaching tentacles of some mutilated octopus, straining inwards from buckled poles and struts. Whispers of smoke curled in fragile convoluted pillars from the still-burning thick carpet strewn across the ground. The silk-clad forms of numerous Carnival minions lay in disarray about the interior of the tent, bent chakrams and splintered staves a mute testament to their failed attempts to defend their violated sanctum. In the middle of the tent, the carpet crushed beneath its titanic feet, stood a tall Assault Robot. Faint wreathes of smoke curled still from empty missile launcher tubes and the barrels of its multiple blaster barrels glowed white hot, distorting the air about it with a shimmering heat-haze.
Incongruously, atop this formidable war machine sat a voluptuous silken figure that shook and shrieked with excited laughter.
“They’re dead! They’re down! Gone! Gone! Tink! We’ve done it!”
Seneschal Elene whooped for joy and playfully cast her chakram yet again, guiding it with her mind through the flimsy tent walls before recalling it again to her hand.
Tinkerer ignored her for a moment, the air about his crimson and umber armoured figure pulsed with the almost invisible vibrations of his Force Field generator. On second glance, it could be barely detected that not only was he enshrouded in a bubble of fractured air, but so was Elene, the Assault Bot and the other Drones that even now tramped through the tent looking for any Carnies that might yet be hiding. His own armour showed no scarring, but the Drones looked battered and worn, their steely carapaces showing the cost of the carnage they had enacted against the Carnival of Shadows. A single Protector Bot staggered through the door, and raised a mangled armature towards a Drone that wobbled and smoked where it stood. A green light lit on the Protector’s crushed arm and a small panel flickered briefly before erupting in a shower of sparks, the nanites stored within caught beneath the jammed mechanism, and finally destroyed in the tiny electrical fire. Before the Protector could bring its second, less mangled, arm to bear, the Drone emitted a metallic shriek as its optics went dim and it collapsed in a loud clatter to the ground.
Tinkerer sighed, he’d never been able to put enough armouring on the smaller Battle Drones to satisfy his need for wanton destruction, and the Protectors never seemed to prioritise their own repairs before initiating a nanite release to repair the other Bots.
“Master. Observation: The tent is vacant. Entering passive mode,” the massive Assault Bot grated.
As one, the remaining Drones and Assault Bot retracted weapons and returned to their basic command-ready state, standing more upright from their combat ready half couch, weapons whirred and charge-cells whined as residual current was redirected.
Tinkerer thumbed his suit controls and the shimmering Force Fields collapsed with a faint sizzle, ionised atmospheric particles diffusing into the surrounding air with minute cracklings of static electricity.
“Where is it, my pretty poppin”, Tinkerer half-turned to face Elene just as she casually rolled backwards and executed a graceful backflip dismount from the Assault Bot’s shoulders, “Where is the crystal?”
This was not, after all, a day of purely indulgent and wanton destruction. They had come here today on a mission, albeit a mission of their own making. Tinkerer and Senschal Elene had long since outgrown the web of contacts established by Lord Recluse and his Arachnos cronies on the Rogue Isles. No, this day they had direction. The Eye of Mu had been captured by the Carnival of Shadows many years before, and while rumours of its existence were always conflicting, with Elene’s help, they had tracked it down to this place. Fortune’s Fate was a smaller encampment in the Hard Way zone of St Martial Island and had only recently been established by the Carnival, for reasons unknown. It became immediately evident that the new encampment was much more than yet another splinter group of costumed villains; for on approach Tinkerer and Elene had noted that a much larger-than-normal company of chaotic Carnies was in attendance. Brawny Strongmen and lithe Harlequin Fencers abounded while ever-deadly Ring Mistresses awaited within the main tent, arrayed in artfully random but highly effective defensive positions. Not that it had mattered much, Tinkerer and his robotic horde had made short work of them all, although they might not have prevailed without greater losses had it not been for Elene’s gleeful involvement.
Tinkerer had never really understood why she had agreed to help him, no attachment they had formed could possibly over-whelm her loyalty to her Sorority of Chaos, could it? He was still unsure if he fully trusted her and he was certain that she did not trust him, so why did they persist in this venture together? He knew what he was getting from their partnership; without her psychic prowess, he would be unable to progress his ultimate plan for revenge. Paragon City would be shaken to its core if he succeeded, but despite his purely utilitarian engagement with her, he had grown somewhat accustomed to her presence – it may even be said he missed her when she was gone. But, he asked himself, was that merely because he didn’t trust her capricious nature, and expected betrayal at every turn, or was he truly becoming … fond of her? What did she feel for him? Tinkerer shook his head, he had no care for her feelings! Did he?
Regardless of his doubts and confusion, her assistance had reduced the number of bots he would have to later re-create, and certainly increased the speed of their conquest and for that at-least he was thankful. Elene was also able to sense the final distress cry as the last of the Carnies crumpled lifelessly to the floor, giving them a vital insight into the wider plot of events. Even now, Mistress De Vore was undoubtedly dispatching a strike force of elite guards to regain the encampment, and prevent further losses; proof-positive that what they sought most likely rested here, waiting only to be found.
Of course, it was far too late for reinforcements now. Tinkerer stood exultant amidst the wreckage and allowed the adrenalin of battle to drain from his few remaining living body parts before turning back to Elene who even now was dancing sensuously amidst the blasted bodies. He paused a brief moment to watch her. Such passion she put into her dance, swirling, pirouetting and flowing limb movement punctuated every now and then by a kick or stamp on a prone body as she twirled amongst the chaos. Each petite kick and stamp accompanied by a brief gleeful exclamation.
“A-a-a-a-a-a-a! Dead, you’re dead Bronzeman,” Elene mimed the bucking of a machine gun in her hands as she hopped adroitly over a prone muscular body.
“Zzzzzzap! Down goes the Ring Mistress,” Elene’s hands held an invisible ray gun which she brandished in the face of a fallen Sister of the Silken Cloth and Flame, her chakrams bent and sundered beside her.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeee! The Fencer screams as she crumples,” Elene dramatically clasped both hands to her temples, miming the psychic screams that had earlier emanated from the costumed swords-woman by her feet.
Tinkerer thought that perhaps it was the howling insanity that was exposed lurking behind Elene’s surreal beauty that made him desire her so, a soul-deep attraction that resonated with his own suppressed and internalised rage and mania. Deep within his armoured core an insane voice still screamed and gibbered, contemplation of it brought him shuddering out of his reverie.
“Seneschal ELENE,” the last word amplified through his helmet, “we have WORK to do! Where is the Eye of Mu?”
Elene paused in the middle of a stamping kick to an Ironman’s head, thought better of it and stamped on his face before brushing her hands together and turning to reply.
“And how would I know Tinky-Tink my favourite fink?”
Tinkerer groaned inwardly, there was that name again… Tinky… He was no Tinkerbell, and certainly no dusted fairy! Now was not the time to blast her across the tent in a fit of anger, although her sprawling form may give him pleasure – and perhaps a twinge of guilt at the thought - but now he needed her help. Tinkerer heaved a deep breath to calm himself.
“Elene, my sweet Vixen of Viciousness, my Harlequin Harridan, my beautiful and effective Mistress of Distress, I’d never presume to tell you how to use your powers, but surely you can find one of these grotesques,” Tinkerer gestured around at the prone bodies, “who is not yet fully deceased and extract the information from their unconscious and unwilling mind?”
Elene tilted her head on an angle and a sly smile transfigured her powdered and painted face, a look he’d grown to fear and despise as it surely meant that she was about to perform some irritating and childish prank. Tinkerer tensed for action but before he could step back or dodge to the side, she leapt. Elene executed a swift forward roll that transformed into an athletic leap and somersault which ended with Elene’s long and lithe legs wrapped about Tinkerer’s metallic waist, her hands on his shoulders and her face mere inches from his own. Damn, she was fast!
“Oh Tinky Winky! I knew there was a reason I kept you around! You’re just so clever! And soooo handsome!”
Elene’s long fingers laced behind his neck and she drew his head forward to plant a sticky kiss on his forehead.
“Eeeck! You taste like engine oil! Take a shower!”
Elene bent nimbly backwards, hands planted firmly on the ground and long slender legs arching up and over as she completed the backwards sault to stand facing him again.
“Eye of Mu, Eye of Mu! I need you so, but where are you,” Elene clasped her hands together before her breast and struck a dramatic pose. It always took her several hours to come down from the battle high she worked herself into, and every subsequent victory just drove her to more and more dramatic expressions of glee.
Tinkerer patiently waited, he had grown accustomed to her dramatics, and sometimes even enjoyed it. Some deeply hidden facet of his nature still responded to mirth. In the background, the Bots continued to tick and cool, their heavy feet slowly crushing the opulent carpet beneath their oppressive weight.
Elene dropped to her knees beside a prone Ring Mistress, checked for a pulse and smiled when she found one. Placing one hand on the bloodied face, Elene slowly raised her other hand to her head and placed two delicate fingers against her temple, barely brushing the face-paint and skin and dramatically looked into the distance. A faint violet nimbus coalesced about her, spreading from her fingertips to surround her head and then her whole upper torso with a flickering and mottled radiance. In a darkened corner, a sympathetic lavender glow peeked from between fallen layers of curtain cloth and tent fabric.
“Retrieve it,” ordered Tinkerer, and a smaller Assault Drone leapt into action, clattering across the tent to swipe the fallen cloth aside and expose a small chest of drawers decorated with gilt inlaid loops and whorls. Lifting the heavy chest between two battle-scarred articulators, the Drone stomped back across the floor to place it in front of Tinkerer before returning to immobility.
Tinkerer cocked his head at Elene, “Shall we open it, my dear?”
Elene grinned and skipped girlishly across the floor to stand beside him, coquettishly hanging off Tinkerer’s shoulder.
“Do the honours my galant Tink! My prodigious hero! My lumb…”
“Shut up,” commanded Tinkerer as he leaned forward to grasp the elaborate handle on the front of the drawer. Elene pouted like a schoolgirl, but leaned eagerly forward as he opened the drawer.
There, on a satiny red cushion, lay a singularly unimpressive chunk of stone. Smooth all over and mottled with only very slight colour variations, it looked like nothing more than a brown river stone, rounded and polished by the continual rushing and stroking of some chilly mountain watercourse. As Elene stretched out a hand to take it, a faint blue luminescence sparked in its core, the mottles of lighter colour revealed to be semi-transparent zones where the light spilled more readily forth. When Elene touched the stone and lifted it from its resting place, the stone erupted into scintillating blue radiance, flickering wildly until it settled into a more regular, and persistent rhythm, matched exactly to Elene’s heartbeat.
Rumours disagreed about where the Eye of Mu came from. Some rather sensationalist claims stated that it was the “Psychic Eye”, all that remained of an iconic Goddess statue that once graced a central plaza in the mythical land of Mu. Tales told how the stone had been prized from the forehead of that statue of “The Goddess”, her name long forgotten, where it had symbolized the third eye of psychic insight. Further claims were that its theft had angered the unknown Goddess, who visited destruction on the unworthy by smiting the city and causing a shockwave to spread through it, shaking it to its core. The force of the Goddess’ retribution had been violent enough to rupture the very ground on which the city stood, leading inevitably to its destruction, and the ultimately the loss of the entire land of Mu. Surely such claims were over-stated and wildly inaccurate, but an air of palpable power and mystique remained about the gem, and its psychic-sight augmenting powers were well known.
“Find an Agent, Elene. Just like we agreed, find a link to HIM!”
Tinkerer watched as Elene raised the stone to her face, and with a glazed look on her face kissed it, two faintly pink prints from her lips remaining for a moment on the surface of the rock before vanishing from view. The light from the rock intensified, and the blue colour slowly and pervasively crept down Elene’s arms, supplanting her own lavender glow with the pulsing blue radiance of the gem. The gem’s pulsing quickened and the glow around them both brightened as Elene was completely enveloped.
Convulsively, Elene spread her arms wide and the stone remained suspended in mid air, the brilliant azure light becoming almost too bright to look at.
“I SEE,” screamed Elene, her back arching and face drawn tight in a grimace of pain, “I SEE THE AGENT …………”
“WARZONE AGENT GODDARD …………..”
“IN WARBURG!”
“ WARZONE AGENT GODDARD ………..”
“NEEDS A SERVICE …………..”
“WARZONE AGENT GODDARD ……………”
“CALLS HIM! ……………”
“BARBED CABLE ……………”
“AGREES! ……………”
“IT IS DONE!”
Elene shuddered and gasped before collapsing to the ground where she stood. The Eye of Mu, like some malevolent bumblebee, hummed and throbbed, its blue glow intensifying, echoed by a brightening of the glow surrounding Elene’s fallen form. Elene screamed once, convulsed and lay still as the glow intensified further.
Tinkerer almost hesitated. Would he be wiser to leave her here? Would it be wiser to proceed onwards alone? Something small and somehow vulnerable inside Tinkerer’s chest lurched, a shooting pain that surprised and terrified him, was something wrong? Was he ill? No, he was reacting to Elene’s pain! What was this? In retrospect it may have been wiser to walk away, but before he could fully form those heretical and cruel thoughts his fingers tapped briefly at the robot control panel built into his cybernetic arm and he spoke two words.
“Destroy it!”
The air filled with swift clicking and whining as metallic arms were brought to bear, four robot figures whirling in place and metallic limbs extending, time froze for the briefest of moments before a cacophony of explosions shattered the silence and six brilliant beams of energy converged on the hovering Stone. The Eye’s cobalt radiance was dwarfed by the brightness of the blast before being sundered in a thunderous detonation, chips of stone and blazing fragments raining down over Elene’s prone body. Those red-hot fragments never reached her of course, a faintly shimmering force field surrounded her, protecting her completely. Not so for the metallic figures spread about the tent. A concussive blast expanded into a hemisphere of force, blasting the four robots off their feet and crushing them like tinfoil against the ground, mashed into so much glimmering garbage.
Tinkerer’s reactions were quick, but not quick enough. He had protected Elene from damage, but projecting a second field took slightly longer, one hand remaining vulnerably outside the protective embrace of the personal shield that manifested around him. Fragments of rock and the concussive blast of force took the hand off his right arm, just before the force field fully enveloped it.
Tinkerer bit back a howl of pain as his last remaining fully organic limb, despite the protective armour about it, was rent and torn by the force of the Eye’s destruction. The heat quickly cauterised the wound, and the force field aided its quick sealing, but still the pain drove deep into Tinkerer’s mind, further fuel to a rage and mania of persecution that burned there. He was stoic, he had already assembled a stash of replacement parts, anticipating the eventual loss of all four limbs, but still… this insult would not go unpaid for. In Tinkerer’s obsession all his woes, all the injustices that had been visited upon him, were the fault of just one man, just one “Hero”; Barbed Cable!
The concussion raced outwards, blasting the shredded remains of the tent apart, smashing windows and crumbling brickwork hundreds of metres away. As the dust cleared, it revealed a scene of devastation, flattened remnants of the tent where only two figures remained, clutched together.
Tinkerer cradled Elene’s unconscious figure in his damaged arm while blood oozed slowly down the outside of his armour from the wound where his hand had been. Meanwhile, his cybernetic hand extended a probe over her throat, sensing for a pulse. Yes, there it was, she was unconscious and hopefully not permanently incapacitated. Better. The pain of amputation was nothing beside the relief he felt at Elene’s survival, a relief he noted with worried and concerned self-analysis was not productive, but feel it he did. It was becoming painfully obvious that Elene meant more to him than he had ever anticipated, and yet he drove her onwards, into danger, coercing her assistance in his plan. Tinkerer gazed at the limp form in his grasp, and made himself a promise. Barbed Cable would pay for this latest insult, and they had only days until their plan came to fruition. There was no time to waste, now was the time for healing, and the time for preparation.
Tinkerer climbed to his feet and, with Elene’s supine form cradled protectively in his arms, took to the air and flew slowly back to their hideout and base of operations on the fringes of Siren’s Call.