ISSUE 34
"Hopes and Fears"

by Kostmeyer

This story features SPITFIRE and related characters, which were created by Kostmeyer 2006.
Also features characters and organizations which are trademarks and copyright of MARVEL COMICS,
a division of MARVEL ENTERTAINMENT GROUP, INC.
This is a work of fan-fiction and is being written for entertainment purposes only; no profit is being made by this work.
Copyright 2006 Kostmeyer. All rights reserved.

During a battle between Spitfire (Carrie Conway) and the British Hellfire Club, Spitfire’s friend Gary McGuiness was badly injured and left in a coma. With little hope of him recovering, and blaming herself for his condition, Carrie and her friends have begun to search for super-humans with healing powers.

The statue of Brian Braddock at the front of the special school that bore his name dwarfed even his effigy at the university, but it followed the same conventions. Larger than life, in full Captain Britain costume, hands on hips, staring out, as if into the future, jaw (impossibly square) set and determined. Braddock didn’t just look like a hero – he looked like THE Hero. As Spitfire landed beside the imposing sculpture, she felt that the comparison between them did not reflect well on her. Pulled in so many different directions at once by the demands of friends and family, by the responsibility to protect people and the urging from Pilgrim to leave and train herself properly in the use of her powers at the Adrastraeans remote Hidden City – she wondered if Braddock ever felt the uncertainty, the doubt, that she did. Looking at the towering bronze figure above her, she thought not.

Are you going in or not?

“Oh, you’re back are you?” Carrie said with irritation, responding to the voice that only she could hear. “Are you going to put in an appearance this time, or are you just going to make sarcastic comments?”

You’ll see me soon enough. You’ll be glad of my help, when the time comes.

“Unless you can bring my friend out of his coma, the only help I want from you is you to leave me alone!” Carrie snapped. “Now float off and haunt somebody else.”

There was no response, and satisfied that she was alone, she made her way down the stone steps that led away from the statue and walked towards the main entrance of the school.

The Braddock School was a satellite school of a larger, more famous establishment – the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. The ‘gifted’ part was a euphemism for mutants that dated back to a time when being born with a discrepancy in your genetic make-up had been less socially acceptable. Now, mutants were generally more accepted and Xavier had been able to establish several of these satellite schools across the world. The individual schools varied, but their purpose was the same – teach young mutants to control their powers – to use them for the benefit of themselves and their community – to help them live alongside humans as equals, not as objects of fear or derision.

Carrie felt the weight of this history as she walked into the entrance hall, lined with pictures of past graduates of Xavier’s academies. She had never really thought about whether she was a mutant or not before – having the powers was so bizarre – so exciting – that the question had never occurred to her. She looked at the faces in the portraits – members of Excalibur, members of the X Men – and found herself smiling. Their faces were so different – so strange – and yet there was a sense of belonging – of family about them – disparate strangers brought together by their powers and their desire to do good. She was wondering what her costume would look like with the circular X logo on it, when a voice interrupted her.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

* * *

“What are we doing here?” Kate Bixby asked, as she followed Matthew Buckingham through a crowded street market in London’s East End.

“We’re looking for Fix.” Buckingham announced, leading her off of the main street and down a deserted side road. “He’s a psychic – messes with people’s heads for a price. He might be able to reach McGuiness in his coma but…” he stopped walking while he considered his words.

“But?” Kate prompted.

“But he’s sleazy.”

“You’re sleazy.”

“I mean really sleazy. He makes me look like the Pope.”

“Wow.” Kate breathed. “That’s sleazy.”

They continued for some distance along the road, then turned into a dilapidated alleyway. Buckingham halted beside a battered iron fire escape that led up to a third floor office, with broken windows hastily boarded up.

“Up there?” Kate asked, unnecessarily. Buckingham nodded. “So what does he actually do?” she said, not entirely sure that she wanted to hear the answer.

“Gives people memories they want – makes them relive good times – or suppresses bad stuff.” Buckingham said, setting his foot on the fire escape with some hesitation as if doubtful it would take his weight. The rusty staircase creaked ominously but seemed to hold. “I heard that he did a bit of work for the mob a while back – got some witnesses to forget who they saw, and convinced a hitman that he hadn’t done a job so he could pass a lie detector test.”

“Nice friends you have –” Kate began, but was interrupted by a sudden crash and a man’s voice screaming from the office above them. Buckingham reached into his jacket for his shoulder holster. Kate was briefly impressed, until his hand returned with a hip flask. Buckingham emptied the flask, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then sprinted up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, Buckingham motioned for Kate to stay behind him, and then kicked the door in. Inside, a fat man in a dirty Hawaiian shirt saw the door open and made a dash towards it, but he had only made three steps when something behind him in the room reached out and swept him up in a huge, ill-formed hand.

“Jesus!” Buckingham swore. “What the hell is that?”

Filling the centre of the room, a huge translucent form swayed and billowed – a monstrous, vaguely humanoid shape but composed entirely of a transparent, gelatinous ooze. The creature lifted the terrified man by his shirt and spoke – somehow – although it had no mouth. It was Mister Amoeba – an old foe of Spitfire’s. And it was angry.

“It hasn’t worked! You betrayed me, Fix!”

“It’s not my fault!” the man screamed hysterically. “I thought it would take! But your mind isn’t human anymore!” The creature’s body seemed to billow and distort with rage. “I’m sorry!” Fix’s voice reached an even higher pitch. “There’s nothing more I can do!”

“Can’t I even remember what it was like to be normal? Damn you!”

The creature hurled Fix across the room and surged towards the door. Seeing Kate and Buckingham in its path it swerved away, splattered against the wall and dissolved it, eating its way through brick and plaster and leaving a gaping hole in its wake. Kate ran across in time to see Mister Amoeba ooze through a drain cover and vanish into the sewers.

“Another satisfied customer?” Buckingham asked.

Fix shrugged.

* * *

Nick Smith emerged from the Underground station and looked up at the red brick apartment block on the other side of the street. He was down to his last lead, but the University Hall of Residence seemed an unlikely place to find what they were looking for. He made his way inside, showing his student identification card to the security guard who barely looked up. On the second floor landing Nick checked the number he had been given and counted his way along a row of identical doors.

Finally arriving at his destination, he checked the room number again and knocked. “Miss Keele?” he said. “Can I speak to you?”

“No! Go away!” a girl’s voice from the other side of the door.

“If this is a bad time I can come back later…”

“Don’t come back – just go!”

“I’m sorry to hassle you,” Nick persisted, “But this is really important. A friend of mine is hurt and I think maybe you can help.”

Silence. Then from behind the door, there was the sound of a key turning in a lock, then bolts being drawn back. Lots of bolts being drawn back. Finally, the door opened – just a few centimetres – prevented from opening fully by a chain. One side of a girl’s face emerged in the gap. She had black hair and lots of eye make up.

“Why should I be able to help?” she said.

“I found a news report about a girl who fell out of a fourth floor window – here – in this building.” Nick said, speaking quickly now that he had her attention. “She landed in the street outside – she should have been killed. But when the ambulance arrived, she got up – no bones broken and not a scratch on her.”

“Maybe she was a mutant.” The girl said.

“She wasn’t.” Nick said. “I spoke to the paramedic who was on board the ambulance. But he also said that another person was with the girl when he arrived – and that was you Miss Keele.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Listen – I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re wrong. I’m sorry about your friend I really am – but there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

The door slammed, and from the other side, Nick could hear the bolts being set, the keys turning back in the locks.

Outside in the street, Nick took out his phone and dialled Kate’s number.

“Did you get anywhere with Buckingham’s lead?” he asked.

“More dead ends. Two names kept coming up, Remedy and Bethany – they might even be the same woman – but all trace of her has vanished. Buckingham reckons she’s probably working for the American government.”

“Nothing closer to home?”

There was one in London, but he can’t do it.” Kate reported into her phone. “And besides, I don’t think Gary would thank us for letting this guy poke around in his head. Have you had any better luck?”

“I found the girl from the newspaper, and for some reason I’m sure she could help.” Nick said. “There’s definitely something going on – but she won’t talk to me.”

“We’re heading back to the flat.” Kate said. “See you there. Maybe Carrie found a healer at the Braddock School.” She hung up.

Nick looked back towards the building and noticed the curtains moving at Elise Keele’s window. She was watching him. Nick thought for a moment about their brief conversation – about the tone of her voice. She had meant what she said about wanting to help – but she wouldn’t – she was scared of something – didn’t want to risk exposure. And yet, he thought, she had used her powers – when faced with a crisis that happened almost on her doorstep, she had acted… probably. Was he right about her? There was no way to be sure.

Nick looked up at the window, and then, confident that she was watching, turned away. “Gary, I bloody hope you appreciate this.” he said, stepping off the kerb and into the path of the moving traffic.

Thirty seconds before the taxi hit him, Nick threw his arms up in front of his face and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable impact and telling himself what an idiot he was. Just because he wanted Elise Keele to have powers didn’t mean that it was true. There could be any number of reasons for her strange behaviour – any number of explanations for the mysterious recovery of the girl who had fallen from the window. Maybe she was just lucky. Maybe the paramedic was wrong and she was a mutant. Maybe – he suddenly realised that over thirty seconds had passed and the taxi still hadn’t struck him. Warily, he lowered his arms and opened his eyes.

The car had stopped. It hadn’t just halted – there had been no screech of brakes or skidding wheels – it had stopped – completely. The engine was dead. Inside, the driver was frozen, mouth open mid-sentence. The cigarette in his mouth was frozen too – the curling line of grey smoke completely stationary. Nick staggered back, eyes wide with amazement. Everything had stopped – the other cars, people on the pavement – even the pigeons hung suspended in mid air. Time had stopped around him.

He stumbled back into the University building and up the stairs, past the immobile students and the security guard, all living statues. He raced back along the corridor, arriving outside Elise Keele’s door. Finally he could hear movement – inside the room, but the noise gave him no comfort – it sounded as if the room was being ransacked. He set his shoulder against the door, but the locks and bolts held firm.

“Hang on – I’ll open it!” Keele’s voice from inside. She didn’t sound as though she were in any danger.

“I thought you were being attacked!” he said, standing back from the door. Finally the girl completed the lengthy process of undoing the locks and bolts.

“Attacked?” she said, pushing the door open. She laughed, slightly, nervously, as though she didn’t do it often. “I was looking for something. Come in – you can help me look.”

Nick followed her inside, and watched as Elise Keele resumed her search, leafing through piles of paper and throwing them aside. She was a small, sharp-featured girl, maybe a year or two younger than he was. Her long black hair was tied back in a loose knot, from which wayward strands repeatedly escaped as she leaned over the papers. Partially hiding her face but not completely obscuring the livid purple bruise around her right eye – the eye she had concealed behind the half opened door earlier. She wore a black leather jacket over a short velvet dress, and around her neck a silver amulet on a chain that never seemed to look quite the same, each time he saw it. The room, typical of the university halls, contained a bed, desk and sink, but was littered with manuscripts and parchments, and on the back of the door, beside the locks and bolts, a strange geometric symbol had been sketched out in coloured chalk, annotated in a language he didn’t recognise.

“You’re a magician!” Nick blurted out.

“Magicians pull rabbits out of hats at children’s parties.” The girl said with some irritation, glaring at him over a pile of battered documents. “I am a sorceress!” Then she softened her expression. “Actually I’m neither. I found a bunch of spellbooks when I was thirteen, and I still don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know! That time-stopping trick was pretty impressive!” Nick said, comfortingly.

“Yes, and if I can’t find the counter spell we could end up stuck like this forever – ah! Here it is!” she pulled out a parchment, squinted at it, turned it over two or three times until she was more or less certain she was holding it the right way up, and read aloud the words on the page. Nick crossed to the window and looked out, just in time to see the street burst into life again, the people milling about as if nothing had happened, the taxi that had been about to hit him continuing on its route.

“That was amazing.” Nick said. “And I really am sorry to barge my way in here, but as I said, it really is an emergency. My best friend’s life is at stake. I’m Nick Smith, by the way” He added, realising that they hadn’t been introduced. He held out his hand, and she shook it, a little awkwardly.

“Elise.” She said. “Elise Keele. But you seem to know that already. I wish you hadn’t come. I can’t help you.”

“But – what about the girl who fell out of the window – you healed her didn’t you?”

“Yes… well, sort of.” She sat down on the bed and brushed the wayward strands of hair back in a futile attempt to keep them in order. It was a nervous affectation – she was deciding whether to tell him something. “It was a party.” She said, finally making up her mind. “It was everyone’s first night here – I didn’t know anyone and I was desperate to make friends. I had too much to drink and I was showing off with my magic. You should have seen their faces – it was great.” She looked towards him. “But I got the wrong spell. She thought she could fly. It – it was my fault.”

“You saved her though!”

“Yes.” Elise Keele nodded. “Amazing I got the words of the warding spell right before she hit the street. Not that it made any difference to them.” She pulled the hair away from her face so that he could see the bruise. “I got out of hospital three days ago.” She said, bitterly. “London’s a scary place when you don’t know anyone, and being known as the freaky witch girl hasn’t exactly helped. The magic used to be so much fun. Now everybody hates me. I can’t help your friend Nick – I can’t risk it. I’ll mess it up again and make things worse.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Nick said, getting up. “If you change your mind, my number’s on the card. Call me.” He took the card out of his wallet and placed it on the desk as he walked to the door. Then he turned back. “Even if you can’t help – call me.” He said, and left. Elise Keele picked up the card and turned it over in her hand.

* * *

“So no luck at all?” Carrie said, pushing the pizza box across the table towards the others. Nick, the last to arrive back at the Dalby Tower flat, pulled up a chair and sat down.

“The guy I found was a con artist.” Bob Carpenter said. “Hypnotist who convinced people he was healing them while he robbed them.”

“How much did you lose?” Buckingham growled.

“Four hundred euros.” Carpenter mumbled.

“There are no healers at the Braddock Satellite School.” Carrie said. “The Head there told me it’s a rare gift – he promised to forward a v-mail to Anodyne at the X Mansion, but he couldn’t guarantee anything. Apparently she gets a lot of calls for help and it’s impossible for her to see everyone.”

“Elise might help, but she’s scared.” Nick said, ignoring the significant look that passed between Kate and Carrie. Carrie mouthed ‘Elise’ to Kate, with a grin. He continued: “looks as though we’re out of options.”

“No,” Carrie said, her smile fading. “There’s one more place to try.”

* * *

The Tyburn Maximum Security Prison was an ugly, grey building – a low, slab-sided concrete structure surrounded by high walls and watchtowers. Behind the walls, in cells specially designed to contain them, were three hundred and thirty four of the most dangerous criminals in Europe, many of them with superhuman abilities. The prison had always been crowded, but now, in the wake of the breakout at the Stanton Correctional Facility, it was crammed beyond capacity with the recaptured criminals, housed here while the politicians argued over whether Stanton should be rebuilt or condemned. Spitfire had fought and apprehended many of these escaped convicts, and it was one of them that she had come to see.

“This is a bad idea, Carrie.” Eric Haller muttered, shaking his head to emphasise his disapproval. The Inspector had been Spitfire’s official contact with the police force since the prison break, and had managed to get her authorisation for her visit.

“I know.” Carrie said, trying to look more confident than she felt. “But I’m out of options.”

They entered an elevator that took them down into the most secure part of the building – where the most dangerous criminals were housed. The doors opened and admitted them to a long brightly lit corridor, with four doors on the left hand side. Waiting to meet them, a heavily armed guard in body armour indicated towards one of the doors.

“Interview Room C.” The guard said.

Haller opened the door. “Are you sure you don’t want…” he began. Carrie shook her head. “Remember,” he said, urgently. “His powers are suppressed, not gone altogether. This is risky…” Carrie turned and looked at him, smiling slightly at his concern. “Well, if you’re certain.” Haller stepped aside and she stepped through into the room alone. The policeman swung the heavy door closed behind her.

The room Carrie found herself in was bisected by a Plexiglas screen. On each side, a desk ran the length of the screen, and two chairs faced each other across the barrier. Carrie sat down.

“I’m ready.” She said.

On the other side of the screen, a metal door, like the vault door of a bank, swung open. Two armed guards stepped through and positioned themselves on either side of the door. Carrie barely noticed them. It was the third figure who commanded her full attention. Wearing the bright orange jumpsuit common to all Tyburn prisoners, the convict was a tall, thin man, who walked with a strange, stooping gait. His head, enlarged and eyeless, turned from one side to the other, as his psychic senses, muted by drugs in the prison food, but still functional, swept across his new surroundings. Then he sensed Carrie, and smiled.

“Brainstorm.” Carrie acknowledged.

“Well, well.” Brainstorm grinned, folding himself into the chair opposite her. “If it isn’t the super hero. I almost didn’t recognise you since you aren’t begging for your life.”

“Not how I remember it.” Carrie said firmly, keeping her voice calm, although not without effort.

“Yes it is.” Brainstorm grinned, leaning closer to the barrier. “You forget I was in your head. I know all there is to know about Carrie Conway. I know all about the guilt, and the fear.” He licked his lips, as if savouring the memory. Carrie shuddered, and realised that she was gripping the arms of the chair. “It’s easy to play the hero when you’re winning all the time, isn’t it?” Brainstorm continued. “Easy to be brave when you think you’re indestructible. We soon changed that. It must have been quite a shock to you to be beaten so badly – to be so completely humiliated.”

“But I’m still alive.” Carrie said. “And you’re back in jail.”

“A temporary setback!” Brainstorm snapped, standing up so quickly that he knocked his chair over. “Say what you have to say and leave me alone!” he muttered.

“I have an offer for you.” Carrie said. “I need your help.” Astonished, Brainstorm picked up the chair and sat down again, while she continued: “One of my friends has been hurt. He’s in a coma. The doctors say that the longer he stays unconscious, the less chance he has of ever recovering.”

“And you want me to reach into his head and see if I can find him?” the psychic said. Carrie nodded. “You must be pretty desperate to come to me.” Carrie nodded again. Brainstorm leaned closer. “What’s in it for me? Will this get me out of here?”

“You’ll still serve your sentence.” Carrie said. “But I’ve spoken to the police and your lawyer. I can speak on your behalf as a character witness at your trial – for whatever it’s worth. Whether you succeed or fail, I’ll tell the jury that you tried to help my friend.”

“You’d do that?” Brainstorm sat back in the chair and exhaled slowly. “Even after I..?”

“He’s my friend.” Carrie said. “He means a lot to me.”

“Well… then I accept!” Brainstorm said, smiling. “I misjudged you, superhero.”

The lights went out. They were in darkness for less than ten seconds, before the emergency backup kicked in, and Carrie could see that they were no longer alone. The two guards lay dead on the floor, their severed heads still rolling away from the bodies. In the centre of the room, a tall woman in glittering armour stood, the broad, double-bladed battle-axe that she carried smoking with the guard’s blood. Brainstorm, his psychic senses overcome by the presence of the new arrival, had retreated into the corner of the room, his hands pressed against his temples.

“Run away, girl!” the woman said, turning her glowing red eyes on Carrie. “This doesn’t concern you.” Carrie felt a strong urge to comply. Her sheer power was palpable – terrifying – demonic.

Brainstorm screamed. “For God’s sake! Help!”

Carrie lunged at the screen, beating her fists against it. The Plexiglas cracked, but didn’t shatter. Ignoring her, the armoured woman strode towards Brainstorm, and knocked him out with a savage blow with the haft of her axe.

The screen still resisted Carrie’s attack. If she didn’t think of something quickly, the demonic attacker would escape – taking Brainstorm with her. Suddenly, she remembered what she had learned from Voss about the nature of her powers – how he had told her that she could enhance her abilities by channelling the energy stored inside her. It had worked the other day when she increased her speed – could she now increase her strength? Concentrating, she drew back her arm, and swung.

The impact took her completely by surprise. The screen was demolished instantly, the room shook and part of the ceiling fell in. Caught off guard by the momentum she fell forwards into the prisoner’s side of the room, landing in an undignified heap at the feet of her opponent. The force of the blow had even startled the demonic woman, who turned to see what had happened. Seizing her advantage, Carrie lashed out with all her remaining strength in an uppercut that connected with the other woman’s jaw.

The demon rocked back a pace, and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Her red eyes narrowed as she drew the hand away. It was stained with a few spots of blood.

“You dare strike Maaxa?” The demon roared. Before Carrie could react, she swept the long shaft of her axe round, catching Spitfire in the stomach and flinging her into the air. Carrie struck the ceiling, shattering it, and as she fell, Maaxa reversed the axe and a jet of blue light spat from the blade, striking Carrie full in the chest and blasting her across the room, smashing her into the wall. Maaxa maintained the beam for a few moments, listening to the girl’s bones grind and snap under the relentless pressure, then, abruptly, shut off the beam. Spitfire slid down the wall, sobbing from the pain.

“A lesson in manners.” Maaxa said, lifting the limp form of Brainstorm with one hand. “If you see me again, little girl, run away. Because next time we meet, I will kill you.” The demon vanished, swallowed up by the shadows.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Issue 33

Issue 35

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