Plastique

Plastique

  A Resonance Saga Origin Story

  Brett P. S.

  Copyright © 2015 Brett P. S.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  Chapter 1

  Dark Dealings

  Odense, Denmark

  Oscar grabbed his watch from his pocket and held it up close so his eyes could focus on how much time he’d wasted so far. The hours ate away at him and his colleagues like a slow poison threatening to swell his throat from the anticipation. He glanced back at the entrance, but nothing still. A set of dimly lit steps trailed downward from the ground level of the Grand Odense Hotel, primarily a business, but also a front for Oscar’s operations in Denmark. A bead of sweat rolled from his forehead. Mr. Adamson should have arrived thirty minutes ago. Had something come up? Was he found out?

  “I’m not waiting any longer,” one of his colleagues said. “This meeting is a farce as far as I’m concerned.”

  “He will come,” Oscar said. “I urge you to wait just a little bit longer, s’il vous plait?”

  Oscar and four other men, dressed in black and burgundy business suits, sat together around a dark stained oak table while each of them eyed the entrance, waiting for the legend of Savage Steel himself to appear. Oscar and his colleagues worked for the EEA, the European Environmental Agency, and they each dipped their hands into a veritable honey pot in regards to manipulation of reports in exchange for rich profits.

  Oscar was the face. He sought out potential business inquiries and arranged gatherings for them, a position of discretion and unfortunate risk. The years have not been good to his health or his heart, but he couldn’t complain. Working for and around the EEA allotted him a wealth of benefits for his wife and his three sons, none of whom knew of his dark dealings. This was a world of risk, and those who refused to step up did the opposite.

  “There he is!” Oscar shouted.

  A shadow crept down the steps, followed by a door shutting closed from the ground level above them. A lone figure clad in a gunmetal suit and tie strode forward and tipped his hat. He was a young man with short black hair, though still more than Oscar kept planted on his own skull. Their visitor smiled and placed his hat on the table, though Oscar’s expression transformed from uplifted to sullen once he realized.

  “What is the meaning of this!” a colleague shouted. “You are not Mr. Adamson!”

  “Mr. Adamson doesn’t like to deal with slugs, so he sent me instead,” the young man stated. “You may call me Arc.”

  “That some kind of code name?” Oscar asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Fumez?”

  He reached inside his coat to whip out a pack of cigarettes, but before he drew his hand from the vest, some kind of crash from upstairs shook the establishment, and a series of exclamations echoed from the voices of residents. He thought this room was sound proof. It gave him pause. He needed to speak with the contractor later.

  Oscar took a step back from the rumbling as it sped toward the corner furthest from the steps and fell flat on his back as a rocketing strike caused the ceiling to collapse in that area. A powerful explosion caused thick chunks of concrete to slam down and in the wake of a pile of smoke and fibers stood a masked figure. She looked like something out of those old comic books his youngest used to read, a body wrapped in white and turquoise as if it were spandex. However, the material appeared less like fabric and more like plastic. He remembered the color of turquoise especially, because he’d given his wife a stone of the like for their last anniversary.

  “A friend of yours?” Oscar asked the young man.

  “No friend of mine,” he replied.

  “In the name of a pure water and rich soil!” the woman said. “I refuse to allow you cretins to line your pockets any longer!”

  “She knows?” Oscar said.

  “That remains to be seen,” Arc said.

  Oscar’s colleagues scuttled past him as quickly as out of shape stubby legs could move them. They managed. Oscar, on the other hand, maintained his body as efficiently as a traveling man would, though he decided to remain. Something inside of him urged him to stay. He wasn’t sure quite what. It was as though the situation called for a measure of backbone.

  “What’s your name, girl?” Arc asked.

  The masked heroine grinned and struck a pose, as if she were standing in front of a mirror.

  “Plastique,” she said. “Protector of the environment. I come to collect when others overcharge.”

  “A simple name would have sufficed,” Arc said, shaking his head. “You look like a garbage bag wrapped in cellophane.”

  “Hey, I worked hard on this costume, butt head!” Plastique said, shaking her fist.

  “In case you haven’t realized, Madame,” Arc replied, “Your targets have escaped.”

  Oscar peered around the room, and Arc had in fact been right. By this time, the four of them were at least half a kilometer away, passengers in their respective transports. The shouting above ground stopped moments ago, and police would be on their way soon enough, though Oscar doubted a sincere resolution would happen tonight.

  “Listen to me closely,” Arc said to Oscar. “Leave this to me.”

  “But the police?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Our liaison will set up another arrangement.”

  “I … I understand,” Oscar said.

  No sooner than he said so, however, a rocketing punch came out of the murky depths of the room and smashed into Arc’s face, causing the young man to fly through the air until he smashed into the wall by the steps. He propped himself up with great difficulty and grabbed a sidearm from a holster underneath his vest. Oscar didn’t know much about guns, but he knew enough to understand a weapon like that killed most things in one or two shots.

  Arc fired off three ear-piercing rounds, and Plastique’s suit warped around her with reflex-level speed. The bullets careened off the layers and planted themselves into the wall behind. She smiled devilishly and at this point, Oscar had seen enough. He hobbled up the steps and out the door, thumbing through his pockets for his phone.