(IC) Supermen and Flying Machines: Operation Warlock

[Hairb]

Sunday 1 May, 1936

In the headlines
Los Angeles:

• Samuel Bledsoe, president of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway, makes a speech decrying the use of “German” eldubs for domestic transport as “unamerican and anticompetitive.”
• A young photographer's pictures of the California Condor in flight are demonstrated to be fakes. Hearst newspapers are rumored to be considering litigation against the man.
• A veteran fireman at Los Angeles Pacific Air Fleet's Mooring Field is killed in a fall during a routine training exercise.

New York:

• Manhattan's “hound hysteria” enters its 3rd week. A young heiress was mauled to death yesterday by two dogs while walking with her mother on 5th Ave, bringing the death toll to between 9 and 21, depending on who you consult.
• Two boys catch sight of over thirty dogs swimming towards Manhattan while fishing by the river in Brooklyn. A dog catcher in Ridgewood says he hasn't seen a stray dog in over a week.
• The southern third of Central Park has been fenced off at great expense and declared out of bounds, in an attempt to keep the strays from taking shelter in overgrown sections of the park.
• The governor of New York has stated he would consider placing a bounty on stray dogs caught in Manhattan. In response, the Chief of the New York Police Department has said his men will not allow “gangs of hunters... to roam public places.” Nevertheless, sales of firearms have risen over 19% this month.

New Orleans

• The wealthy Du Moulin family are hosting what is hoped to be the social event of the spring at the newly completed Atlas Hotel on Monday night. The party, held to celebrate the hotel's opening, will take place in the hotel ballroom, with a small private function in the family's penthouse on the 78th floor of the hotel to take place concurrently. Hotel Manager William Sinclair insisted that the Atlas is "the only place in the world where such a thoroughly modern gala could possibly be held" due to the hotel's one-of-a-kind express elevator system. "Anywhere else, moving between the two rooms would take all night!" Mr Sinclair stated. In keeping with the party's cutting edge venue, it's theme will be “Age of the Air,” and the Du Moulin sisters have tried to drum up publicity by inviting pilots from the major airlines, the USAAC and the Liberty Dirigible Workshop's prototype branch.
• In a setback for the Atlas's staff and management, a “hydrological anomaly” caused a plumbing explosion on the Atlas Hotel's 11th floor late yesterday evening, sending water and sewerage erupting over an apartment's bathroom. The entire 11th floor has been cordoned off, and guests on the 10th, 11th and 12th floors have been relocated to other rooms to avoid the smell. City officials and Atlas hotel management are not concerned about a health hazard at this stage.
• A surge of gang violence seems to have hit the city. Two unidentified men have been found floating in the river, both of them shot in the back. A bank security guard was shot during a bank robbery that also claimed the lives of a teller and two customers.

[Hairb]

Michael Fiorentini
New York
Prospect Park Baptist Church
6:55AM

When you woke up, a fat man was standing on your head. Or at least it felt that way. For a moment, panic hit you as wondered how you would explain showing up late and hungover to your boss... then you realized it was Sunday. Dragging yourself out of bed, you doubled over with nausea, which eventually passed after a few worrying moments. Last night's party was a success, you decided, and you got the impression that people would be talking about it for some time.

After a shave, shower and a cup of coffee, you looked more like someone who had a late night than someone trying to shrug off the effects of an evening of rather frenetic partying. Dressed in your Sunday best, you cut a fairly sharp figure.

It was the first morning of spring; the kind of bright, sunny day that makes a church-going man glad to be alive. The congregation were assembled out the front of Prospect Park Baptist Church, enjoying the sun, conversation and perhaps a cigarette before heading indoors. By now, your hangover was all but gone: a pulsing sensation in the head and a faint, gravelly sense of stomach distress, but nothing more.

Prospect Park Baptist always had a pretty good turnout, and this week was no exception. You saw a lot of familiar faces in the church's front yard, and they seemed pretty pleased to see you. One face in particular was missing: Kait's. There were a few people you didn't recognize. The Holkins had a few kids with them that could be cousins and there was a young couple speaking quietly to each other in hushed Texan accents. Two men in dark suits you don't recognize were smoking out on the side walk. A black Chrysler pulled up beside them, and two people got out before it drove away. One of them was a woman, 30-ish and stern looking, in a cheap-looking coat. The other was a young man with thinning blonde hair. He walked with an awkward gait, and you quickly realized that he was suffering from some sort of palsy. He stayed close to the woman

As the Chrysler raced off, the pastor opened the church's front doors, and the crowd assembled out the front filed in.

[ForzaFiori]

Michael filed into the church, sitting on the third pew, next to the center isle. As the preacher began, Michael sent his mind out, concentrating on the mind of his girlfriend, Kait. He knew her mind, and was confident that he could find her. He looked, sending the same message "Where are you?" until he found her

If he does find, he puts the link to the back of mind, continuing the conversation while listening to the preacher.

If he doesn't find her, he gets up as if to use the restroom, and exits through the back door, heading for Kait's house.

[Hairb]

Michael
As you sent out the message, you were immediately aware of an increase in the church's background noise, drowning out the other minds in the room. The signal seemed like the chittering sound at the core of an insect hive must be. You felt a vertiginous sensation, and a sense of claustrophobia as you realised you could sense nothing else in the room.

[ForzaFiori]

Michael Fiorentini

Starting to freak out a little bit, Michael rises and heads towards the bathroom. Skipping that however, he heads out the back exit, and over toward his car, hoping to get to Kait's house. He looks behind himself every so often as he goes, checking to see if the "hive-mind" thing is following him. If he's being followed, he "shouts" at them, shooting the strong mental burst, hopefully to stun them. As he reaches his car, he gets in, and takes off for Kait's house

[Hairb]

Michael
As you rose to leave, the static in your head suddenly faded to a distant roar and a commotion started at the back of the hall. Someone was murmuring something monotonously, becoming more and more distressed as they did so. As you approached the church's rear, you saw it was the blonde palsied man, seated in the rear pew close to the aisle. The woman who accompanied him was trying to comfort him, or at least keep him quiet, while helping him from his seat. You were barely able to make out what he was saying:
"It's him, it's him, it's him..."

You realised that the church had fallen silent. Even the preacher, Phillips, who was known for his refusal to let anyone interrupt his sermons, was quiet as he stared pointedly towards the doors.

Noticing you approach, the two suits you saw outside left their seats across the aisle and headed for the exit. One of them got the door while his offsider helped the woman steer the blonde man out into the sunlight, a look of disgust across his face. They helped the two into the black Chrysler, which was waiting for them with it's engine running then walked a short distance to their own car, where they sat smoking until you lost sight of them. As you got into your own car, you saw one of them fix you with steely, appraising stare.

[ForzaFiori]

seeing the stare, Michael decides to have some fun. BOO! he says into the man's mind, hoping to spook him, before Michael starts up his car and drives off. As he goes, he makes a mental note to ask Phillips who those people were. But first things first. Michael stops at a pay phone nearby, and pops in a quarter, calling Kait's house

[Hairb]

Michael
On receipt of your message, the man simply smiled.

Kait's mother answered the phone.
"Oh, hello Michael. Kait can't come to the phone, she's not well."

[ForzaFiori]

"Any idea what might be wrong with her?" Michael asked, his voice full of concern. "If its not something terribly contagious, would you mind if I stopped by?" Michael asks Kait's mom, hoping for the opportunity to help his girlfriend in anyway possible. As he went through the conversation however, part of his mind was wondering about the strange man, who seemed to not be surprised about the voice in his head...something very odd happened today, and Michael was simply glad Kait wasn't there to experience it.

[Hairb]

"Oh I'm sure it's nothing, Michael. She's probably just a bit worn out after your party last night. Happy birthday, by the way. 19, now, is it?"

[ForzaFiori]

"Yes ma'am. 19. Even if it is nothing, I think I might stop by just to say hi. Lord knows i don't wanna go a day without seeing your daughter." Michael says, laughing. "I have to go before my quarter runs out, so I'll talk to you again when I get to your house, ok? Have a good day" Michael hangs up after Kait's mom says her goodbyes, then hops in the car heading to her house

[Hairb]

Michael
As you hung up the handset, a heavy blow struck you across the back of the head...

"... into the car quick. Do you want somebody to..."

... the last thing you heard was a heavy metallic THUNK and the scraping of a lock.

End of Sunday 1 May 1936

[Hairb]

Monday 2 May 1936

In the headlines:
Los Angeles

• A horror auto wreck in downtown Los Angeles that claimed the lives of 18 people yesterday will be causing traffic chaos until Wednesday at least, predicts the LAPD.
  
• A mysterious late night fire in at the Grand Pharaoh Fireworks Company's warehouse has caused a pall of smoke to blanket the city in smoke. Luckily, the blaze caused only minor injury's to the watchmen on duty at the time, and no other properties were damaged.
  
• In a public lecture at UCLA's Royce Hall, Professor Lyle Brautigan has incited a storm of debate by declaring that Nazi Germany's remilitarization of the Rhineland is the first step towards an inevitable war in Europe.

New York

• The Hound Hysteria continues, with more and more public figures calls for hunting to be allowed in Central Park and on the streets of Manhattan. A biologist at NYU has suggested that airdropping strychnine-laced dog baits from a small eldub or plane would be safer and more practical.
  
• A young man thought killed by dogs while returning from work last week has turned up safe and well in Port Carbon PA, where he had eloped with his fiancée. It is believed his parents objected to the union because of a history of madness in the girl's family.
  
• Another Charles A Lindberg Jnr kidnapping confession has emerged, this time from a man recently admitted to a Maine asylum. The Lindberg family have made no statement to the media yet.

New Orleans

• The stage magician, medium and mentalist Larry Broussard has been found with his throat cut at his home in the French Quarter. Sources have speculated that Broussard, who performed under the name The Divine Mystery, may have been blackmailed over his involvement in mob interests, although police have not made any statements yet.
  
• The police have raided a hideout they believe to be belonging to a gang of criminals involved in yesterday's bank holdup. No arrests have been announced yet.
  
• Inside sources report that the Atlas Hotel's cleanup and sanitation bill for the 11th floor plumbing explosion will be in excess of $11,000, and that two shifts of contractors have been hired to work from dawn until 8pm, 6 days a week. The hotel is reputedly considering gutting and refurbishing the entire 11th floor.

[Hairb]

Tzvetan Toronov
Research facility M-26, somewhere in the USA
High Security Dormitory #2
3:49AM

Your day began early, as usual. The lab did not begin operations until 0830 hours, so you had a few hours to complete a refueling and maintenance cycle on your body down at the lab. If you worked at above standard efficiency, there was potentially time to examine the dorsal camshafts in Zulfiqar, which you had long suspected of being capable of greatly enhanced performance with a little fine tuning.

You headed down the hall to High Security Dormitory #2's guard post and pressed the buzzer. The door opened, and your 6 man guard detail emerged ready to escort you over to the labs. You took a measure of satisfaction in noting that Lt Williamson had drawn the dawn shift again. Williamson was a specimen of that contemptible breed of spineless, pedantic, small-minded man who held progress back the world over. You had long been aware that operating at this hour of the morning seemed to fatigue the lieutenant greatly, and you suspected that he had trouble sleeping. He spoke, attemping to appear alert and friendly through the obvious fog of exhaustion. His men did not make similar efforts.
“Morning there, Dr Toronov. Grabbing an early start again, I see? Over to the labs is it?

Thompson Torque
New York
28 Henry Street, Chinatown
7:15AM
The pale sun and the sound of traffic woke you to another day in the Big Apple. The icebox was empty but for a few wilted leaves, and the mailbox had nothing. With almost two hours to go before the “Tales from Riker's Island” serial started, you decided to go head out into the neighbourhood and run a few errands. You got dressed and slid the month's rent check under Mrs Chen's front door on the way down.

After picking up some film from the drugstore and three heads of lettuce and a small sack of potatoes from Wu's grocery, you set out for the newsagent's where Mr Lee kept your weekly fill of adventure and mystery aside for you. The conclusion to Stories to Excite's "Slaughter in the Sewers" was due this week, and if L.M. Kranz's previous work was anything to go by, the sting in the tale would be electrifying. Also out this week was a new Tales of the Bizarre, a new Night and Fog and the heavily advertised first issue of a magazine entitled Legends of the Orient whose posters promised that Edward Lyman's “The Phantom of Singapore” would be the “finest mystery serial published this or anyway year.” You also bought a copy of the New York Times, but were disappointed to see that the mystery hound packs were still on the front page.

On the way back to your apartment, walking west along Madison along, you suddenly feel as though you are being watched, and quick glance over your shoulder confirms that this is so. An balding redhaired man with a cane has been following you since you left Mr Lee's; you realized he was waiting outside smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper when you went in.

Robert Steele
Los Angeles
Los Angeles Bureau of Water Works and Supply
8:19AM

As you pulled your beautiful new car into the parking lot at the waterworks, you glance down nervously at the clock you custom-mounted into the dash board. Its polished face stared back at you as its brass hands pointed out the time: 19 minutes past 8. Mulholland would forgive you 19 minutes, you were sure. After all, everyone knew the traffic in town was shocking; police said it would be days before the wreckage was cleared. He didn't need to know that you had just overslept after last night's party and calculated the optimum route around the area of the crash with a moment's glance at a map of the town over breakfast this morning.

As you entered the works building, a hush fell over your co-workers, as though they knew something terrible was about to happen. It was the new guy, Weintraub, who had to give you the bad news.
“Mr Mulholland wants to see you in his office, Duke. He doesn't look happy.”

As you clanked your way up the metal staircase leading to Mulholland's office, you noticed that conversation had not resumed downstairs.

Mulholland was indeed unhappy, but certainly not irate. He looked like a man burdened with a great and terrible weight. Indicating for you to take a seat, he began:

“Robert, I'm going to have to let you go.”

Jack Power
New Orleans
Notre Dame Motel
9:30AM

It was 9:30 in the morning in the Big Easy. You awoke, in your clothes, in a motel room you'd booked the day before. You had a pretty awful taste in your mouth. For a few moments, you lay facing the ceiling trying to piece the previous evening together... cards with cousin Lewis and some friends of his... something about a bet... that's right... yuck. You staggered into the kitchen to find something to drink.

Lewis and his friends were mooring crew down at the big civilian field. All three of them had late shifts today, so they went out for whiskey and poker reasoning they'd be asleep all day anyway. The fact that you were in town, with your crash stories and (more importantly) your fortnight's paycheck made out to cash, improved things still. After winning $20 off of Birdy, you were bet another $20 by Will that you couldn't spend it all before midnight. There were four wadded $5 bills on the dresser. You sure showed him. Lewis had wanted to go to this fancy place where they served German beers and the waitresses wore those d-thingies... dandels? Derdels? Then there was some shouting about where to head next...

You considered going out to buy some food for breakfast and cooking it over the room's tiny stove, but you remembered your paycheck and decided to eat out instead. Examining the invitation to the party, you decided that a closer look at your wardrobe wouldn't go astray either.

[Voshkod]

Robert Steele

"What!?" Steele leaned forward across Mulholland's desk. "Let me go?," he nearly shouted before catching himself. "For what? For being late a couple of times? I've always made up the time. My work, I've saved you thousands of dollars, tens of thousands, my salary a couple of times over."

He sat back down, flabbergasted. "I don't get it. . . why would you want to let me go? What'd I do wrong, Mulholland, huh?"

He looked around the office, then let his voice drop to a vicious whisper. "Who's putting you up to this, Mulholland, huh? Who's making you do this?"

[Hairb]

Robert Steele

Mulholland glanced down at his desk, as if meditating on the fat, yellow envelope that sat there would carry him far away to a world where he didn't have to tell friends that they had been fired.

"Robert, you must understand that this isn't about lateness or anything like that. We all appreciate what you do here, and nobody wants to get rid of you. However, we've been forced to make cut-backs to improve efficiency," he glanced down at the desk again, “and with your lack of conventional qualifications, it was decided,” he drew a deep breath, “...it was decided that your position was the first to be made redundant.”

[Myshlaevsky]

Tzvetan Toronov

Tzvetan appraised the lieutenant with dead eyes. Yesterday, before clean-up, he'd altered the pigmentation colour in his pupils to match Williamson's own. He wasn't sure if the man had noticed yet, but was sure he would in a minute.

Shutting down his internal primary voicebox, Toronov forced the the secondary system to come online. He'd installed it in between more serious research, when he was struggling to think and had an urge to tinker. It was just a bonus that Williamson was on duty again. Striking a perfect salute and standing inhumanly still, Toronov boomed, "Of course, sir! The enemies of Freedom never sleep, so why should I!"

The voice was brawny and incredibly masculine, exaggerated even beyond the pulp fiction of comic books and cheap paper novels. There were still traces of the original source, however, and he could tell the lieutenant noticed the resemblance to his own speech. He'd been recording Williamson's vocal proclivities and developing a reasonable imitation of his accent for weeks now. Adopting the best smile he could, Tzetan switched the next audio signal on and let "The Star-Spangled Banner" hum through the corridor.

[Hairb]

Tzvetan Toronov

It appeared you had succeeded in getting Williamson unnerved. The squad behind him exchanged meaningful glances.

"Err, of course, doctor. We'd best be off then. Get the door, Brown."

Corporal Brown jangled his keys nervously, sorting through them until he found the one that opened the elevator cage. Your guards ushered you in and Brown turned the key that set the lift in motion. After a rise of 5'9", the lift shuddered to a stop and remained stationary for almost 4 seconds. Despite the fact that the lift had developed this quirk over 5 months ago, one of the guards drew a sharp breath through the nose in surprise.

Once the lift reached its destination on the surface, Brown opened another set of doors and left the group down a wide corridor to the entrance checkpoint. The checkpoint guards saluted the lieutenant as the heavy doorbolts were retracted, and you and your guards passed out into chilly pre-dawn air in the usual formation: two out front, two behind and one either side. The detail was to supposedly to ensure your safety when not inside secured areas, and you found the double meaning in that phrase delightful. Kidman, the talkative immunologist in the room adjacent to yours only had four men on his detail, and tried to jokingly bring the matter up almost every time you met.

Halfway to laboratory complex, one of the lead men called a halt, and the squad start to scan the area with their bright electric lanterns. Brown, it seemed, had seen something.

[Voshkod]

Robert Steele

"For Christ's sake, Bill, you don't even have a degree!," Duke all but shouted. "What, we've finally done well enough that the fancy pants boys from the East in their striped suits are taking over? You and I and people like us carved this city out of the desert and you're going to throw me away." He shook his head. "I know more then any dozen other men with degrees. You know that! If you had listened to me on St. Francis Dam, well . . . ." Steele trailed off, seeing the hurt in Mulholland's eyes at the mention of the dam.

It took the winds right out of his sails. "Sorry, Bill, that was uncalled for. So, that envelope, that's got one hell of a termination bonus for me, right?"

[Myshlaevsky]

Tzvetan Toronov

Tzvetan shut off the music coming from his simulacrum and followed the men onto the lift. He took note of the guard's sharp intake of breath and, after leaving the elevator, made sure to take one exact mistep, placing him slightly closer to that guard than to any other.

The scientist took one more step forward once the soldiers stopped to search the grounds, then maximized his audio output, bellowing, "What appears to be the problem, gentlemen?" into the open air. Toronov let "The Star-Spangled Banner" replay as background noise to the question.

[Hairb]

Robert
"Yes, we've got your redundancy package here." Mulholland slid a white envelope across the desk towards you. "I hope you'll find it in yourself to forgive me."


Tzvetan
Private Mason's beam struck a large, feral-looking cat running across the grounds.
"Relax, men. It's just a cat." says Williamson, trying to sound authoritative. "I don't know how they keep getting over the fence."

[Jacob Orlove]

Jack Power

A glass of water first, then a shower. Why, Jack wondered, was the tap water always too warm, and the shower too cold? Sure, and never the other way round. Still, the room was cheap, and the door opened right on the lot, so he could be coming and going as he pleased.

And a cold shower wasn't a terrible thing, at that, not after a night of getting plastered. Nice to be finding a city living up to its reputation!

Now somewhat more presentable, Jack stuffed the money and the invite in his jacket's inside pocket, and put on his long trench coat. He opened the door a crack to make sure no one was around and didn't see anyone, not a surprise for this part of town. He'd had to call several places before he'd found this one, but it had just what he needed: a bench and a pay phone, not ten feet from his door.

Jack stepped (or rather, floated) out of the room, closing the door behind him, and quickly moving over to sit cross-legged on the bench. With his legs bent, the trenchcoat reached almost to the ground, and it would take a sharp-eyed observed indeed to notice that between the bottom of the coat and the earth was empty air, instead of a pair of feet.

Once seated, Jack dialed for a cab. Same man as last night, he'd made sure to get the number. A quick hop (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) put him in the back seat once the car arrived. "I'm needing breakfast. Someplace with a view."

[Voshkod]

Robert Steele

"Bill, you gave me my first chance, you've always been a friend," Duke says, standing. He extends a meaty hand toward the engineer. "There's nothing to forgive. Just as long as you'll write a nice letter when I go looking for another job." Duke plastered a warm smile on his face.

[Hairb]

Jack Power
"Breakfast? My cousin's a short order cook over at Laveau's Diner. It's usually a good view of the riverfront, from the gallery there." He put his foot on the gas pedal before you even had time to respond. "I must say, sir, I didn't expect to see you up and about this early in the day. You pilots must be made of something else, huh?"

Robert Steele
"Don't you worry about that Robert. I'll do whatever I can."
He paused a moment.
"Thankyou."

[The Faceless]

Thompson Torque

Thompson slowed a bit, then resumed walking back to his apartment, adjusting the balance of the groceries and other bags a bit as an excuse for his pause. There was no reason to alert the man to the fact he was aware of being shadowed, but he was now ready to drop his bags and run or fight should the need arise.

Thompson proceeded at his usual steady gait back to his apartment. He'd left his harness back at his apartment, no need to carry weapons here after all. He'd go back to his apartment, put the vegetables away and read his stories, then tune in to rikers island. After that, he'd head over to the office. If the man wanted anything from him, he could approach him there nice and friendly like. His mind buzzed with ideas of who his shadow could be. He cross referenced and dredged up pulps and serials. He was either out to get him, or a recruiter for some mysterious corporation was what Thompson decided. Maybe now his trial period was finally over, and he'd get to be a real detective...

[Voshkod]

Robert Steele

"Nice working with you, Mulholland," Steele said, giving him a hearty handshake. He swept up the envelope and stepped out into the main area. Everyone was staring.

"Hey, folks, looks like they finally caught up with me. No degree, no job. Party at my place this Saturday, bring a friend, OK? And don't worry about me, I'll be fine." He made the round of the room, shaking hands, hugging the women.

Out in the car, he looked at the Sunday Los Angeles Examiner, the article about Hearst going after some poor kid with a camera. Wonder how much they paid him?

He put the car in gear. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," he whispered, as the engine roared and he sped down the hills toward Chinatown.

[Hairb]

Thompson Torque
By the time you returned to your apartment, the man with the cane was nowhere to be seen at all. On your way upstairs, you run into your landlady, Mrs Chen.
"Good morning, Mr Torque. A man was asking after you earlier. He said I should give you this." She hands you an envelope, which is blank apart from the words T. Torque written on the front. "Told him he could have put it in the mailbox outside, but he was very insistent you get it by hand. I assumed you were at your office, so I gave him one of those cards you had printed up."

[Hairb]

Robert Steele

Leaving the office
As you rose to leave, you noticed that Mulholland's fat, yellow envelope had something stuck to it with adhesive tape. It looked like the corner of a magazine or comic book. Despite the fact that it was upside down you could make out some words:

Spoiler

Show

Chinatown
As you pulled into the carpark, you noticed a car parked outside the warehouse across the road. The warehouse had been up for sale since before you set up shop here, and due to its shoddy condition and lack of maintenence, nobody had ever shown any interest in the place. The car was a dusty black Ford, and appeared to be empty.

[Myshlaevsky]

"You should find out then, Williamson. I thought this place was supposed to be secure?" I could be in danger here." Tvzetan mimed looking about nervously, or would have if he could make a decent nervous expression. Idly wondering about how hard it would be to run a range of emotions if he could use a real human face for testing, he looked behind himself and took a step forward, inching a little closer to his marked guard as he did so .

Hmmm...

He probably couldn't make it, and he could never abandon Zulfiqar, but an escape attempt would make sure they sent someone on their toes to guard him the next time. He certainly didn't deserve this incompetent

[Jacob Orlove]

Jack Power

"It's my Irish blood, so it is. We're taking to drink like a fish to water. Now, what's there to be doing in this town?"

And with that, Jack settled back in his seat to enjoy the ride and the cabbie's recommendations. He'd see the sights once he'd had breakfast. Morning was the best time to see a new city, what with being sober and all.