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Description
Adam groaned loudly as he regained consciousness.

His head felt as if someone was pounding on the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer and his ears were ringing like church-bells on a Sunday morning.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't like what he saw when he did. Yet he wasn't quite sure why. His thoughts seemed sluggish and he had trouble remembering exactly what had happened to him. He did remember running. Lots of running. And being very afraid. He also remembered a dark figure that had transformed his fear to stark terror. Then pain and darkness.

Fighting back his apprehension, Adam slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a large metal compartment that held over a dozen Crossbow troopers seated on steel benches that lined the walls. At the end of the compartment he could see a set of double doors. Adam himself was also seated on one of the hard benches with tight straps wrapped around his arms and upper body that held him upright and secure. The slight rocking motion of the compartment and the low rumbling noise he could hear made him think that he was probably inside some kind of vehicle. There was no talk from the Crossbow troops. They sat, disciplined and rigid. The air smelt of gun-oil and the lights of the compartment bathed everything in a soft and sickening red glow.

The Crossbow trooper sitting on the bench opposite Adam noticed his movements and nudged the officer sitting next to him.

"He's awake", he murmured.

The second trooper gave a derisive snort.

"Hmph! Then the commander didn't hit him hard enough", he said.

The officer leaned forward and scowled at Adam

"Two of the guys you attacked at the protest were friends of mine, scumbag", he growled. "One of them had his heart stop in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Lucky for you he pulled through otherwise you would be facing a murder rap right now."

Adam had only a vague recollection of what the trooper was talking about. Obviously he was being accused of hurting someone. He desperately hoped that that wasn't true. He tried to speak. To question his accuser. But when he tried his words came out as unintelligible mush.

"What's the matter, kid? Having trouble talking? Yeah, well maybe that's because you have a neural-inhibitor attached to your head", sneered the trooper as he tapped the circuitry-inlaid metal band that was wrapped around Adam's skull. "That's right. Your fancy powers won't help you now, freak! Can't pull any tricks with your brainwaves scrambled can you?"

"Dietrich!" barked a commanding female voice from the other end of the troop-carrier. "Stow that crap!"

The trooper flinched slightly at the loud rebuke. He leaned back against the cold steel wall but his baleful gaze never left Adam.

"Yes, Sergeant!", he muttered darkly.

Their journey continued in silence as Adam tried desperately to push through the thick fog that impeded his thoughts.

Suddenly, without warning, the vehicle lurched to a stop. After sitting idle for perhaps thirty seconds the deep rumble of the vehicle's engine ceased. Some of the troopers frowned at this and a number of them had puzzled looks on their faces.

"What in Hades name is going on? We can't be there already", growled the sergeant from her seat near the doors. She jabbed the activation switch of the vehicle's intercom located on the wall. "Drake here. What's the hold up?"

There was no response from the drivers in the front cabin of the troop-transport.

"Frost!?", snapped the sergeant into the com. "Frost what's going on? Respond"

The com-unit remained silent.

"Crowe? Crowe this is Sergeant Drake. I need a sit-rep as of now!"

The atmosphere in the vehicle changed. There was no panic. No excited or apprehensive chatter from the troopers. However it was clear that their combat readiness had escalated a notch. All eyes were on the sergeant as she pondered the lack of response from the drivers.

"Hudson. What's our position?", she snapped.

One of the troopers pulled out a small disc-shaped object from his belt. He held the device in the palm of his hand, thumbed an activation switch and a small holographic map appeared in the air. The projection cast a baleful green light on the trooper's face.

"According to the SatNav we've stopped on Kent Street, Sergeant", he said after examining the map for several seconds. "The next set of traffic lights is over 250 yards away and surveillance scan says that the street is clear of other vehicles. There's no reason for us to be sitting here."

"Damn it", said the sergeant as she tapped the side of her cowl to activate her personal communicator.

"Come in Central", she said. "This is Sergeant Donna Drake. Crossbow Unit 173. Assigned to
meta-prisoner transfer. I am requesting assistance."

She was greeted with a loud burst of static in her ear.

"Central? Central please respond."

Sergeant Drake swore as white noise was the only response she received. She turned to her squad with a severe look on her face.

"Alright listen up!", she thundered. "For those of you slow on the uptake, we are currently sitting in the middle of the street for no goddamn discernible reason and coms are not functioning. Personally I believe that the chances of a simultaneous mechanical and communications failure are about the same as the Rams winning the next Superbowl so there's a good chance we've got trouble waiting for us outside."

Some of the troopers nodded in agreement. All of them knew that Sergeant Drake's ability to assess a potentially hostile situation had been honed by years of combat experience. First in the military and then in Crossbow. They trusted her judgement implicitly.

"Be that as it may", she continued. "I'll be damned if we're going to sit here like rats in a trap. So, lock and load people. We're taking a stroll."

Each trooper instantly began checking his or her equipment. Magazines were removed from assault rifles, inspected and then slammed home again. Combat webbing was tightened and adjusted.

"Dietrich!", called Sergeant Drake.

"Yes, Sergeant?", replied the trooper who had been baiting Adam earlier.

"Stay with the prisoner", she said. "And if he arrives at Central in anything less than pristine condition you'll be answering to me!"

The trooper glowered at Adam and gripped his combat-shotgun tightly. He was obviously extremely displeased.

"Understood, Sergeant!", he growled between clenched teeth.

Sergeant Drake's hand was on the door-release mechanism as she turned to address the squad who were now crouched in the centre of the compartment

"Follow my lead", she said. "I want a nice, clean dispersal. Double-time. Spread out and take up defensive positions around the vehicle. As of now I am officially declaring the surrounding area a red zone so if you see anything threatening, you fire. Understood?"

"Yes Sergeant!", the troopers called in unison.

Sergeant Drake hit the release mechanism and thrust the steel doors open in one smooth, practiced motion.

"Move it out! Move it out! Move it out!", she barked as she leapt from the vehicle.

With the clatter of heavy boots on steel, Adam watched the Crossbow officers exit the transport and disperse with smooth precision. Several of the troopers scouted the area immediately to the rear of the vehicle. The others split up, circling around and out of Adam's line of sight. Through the open doors Adam could see that it was still night outside and he had a narrow view of glowing streetlamps and squat, grey buildings. The trooper called Dietrich crouched in the centre of the compartment and covered the open doors. His finger was on the trigger of his shotgun which was now pointing at the floor, ready to be raised at a second's notice.

Adam could hear raised voices from the officers outside.

"Left flank clear!"

"Right flank clear!"

For a few moments the night was eerily quiet. Adam shivered as a chill breeze suddenly sprang up and swirled through the APC.

"Wait a minute! What's that?", he heard one of the officers say.

"Quit talking like a boot, trooper!", bellowed Sergeant Drake. "Specify!"

"Yes Sergeant", called the trooper. "I saw something. Over there in the shadows by the…."

"Contact!", yelled one of the other troopers at the top of his voice.

The shout was followed by several short bursts of automatic gunfire.

"What the Hell??", Adam heard an officer exclaim. A woman this time. "I hit the bastard dead square! How can he still be mov… .arrrggghhh!"

The question was cut off by a cry of pain.

"Incoming! Incoming all sides!"

The Crossbow troops began firing again. All of them now. The sound of gunfire echoed through the troop-carrier. The harsh chattering of automatic weapons mingled with the roar of combat shotguns as the night was lit up by their bright muzzle flashes.

Through the din, Dietrich could just make out the voices of his comrades as they called to each other. They were still calm. Even while under attack. Every one of them a stone-cold professional. He itched to be out there with them.

"Fire ineffective!"

"Switch to armour-piercing!"

"Reloading! Cover me!"

Through the open doors, Dietrich heard a hissing noise and saw one of the troopers struck by a blast of red energy that knocked her to the ground, unconscious.

A blue figure trailing tendrils of electricity then streaked past the vehicle at blistering speed knocking two more officers flying with the turbulent wake of its passing.

Amid the clamour of the modern assault weapons, the harsh barking of an antique rifle could be heard coming from the surrounding gloom. Several troopers cursed as their weapons were smashed by impeccably aimed rounds from the unseen marksman.

As the furious battle continued outside, Dietrich noticed that the fire coming from his comrades was now significantly reduced along with the number of voices that now called to each other. The voices that could still be heard were now beginning to show signs of panic.

"I can't get a bead on him!"

"Stand still you sonova…!!"

"They got the sarge, man!! They got Drake!"

"She's still breathing! But she's out cold!"

"The ground is alive, man!! The ground is &%#$'ing ALIVE!!"

Dietrich's self-control snapped. He leapt out of the troop-transport and stood in front of the open compartment doors.

"Come get some, freaks!!!", he yelled at the top of his lungs as he began to fire blindly into the night.

All of a sudden, a pair of slim arms clad in black reached down from the roof of the troop-carrier. Chalk-white hands with long, thin fingers grabbed the trooper around the chin and jerked him up and out of sight as if he weighed no more than a rag-doll.

Adam heard Dietrich's shotgun thunder twice in quick succession. This was followed by several loud thuds that sounded like something was being slammed heavily against the roof of the vehicle.

Through the open doors, Adam saw the trooper fall to the hard, unforgiving pavement. The twisted remains of his shotgun swiftly followed.

A male figure leapt down from the roof of the troop-carrier to land next to the fallen Crossbow officer. His skin was as pale as death and almost luminescent under the streetlights. Not one strand of hair grew on his head and Adam could see that his ears were pointed. He wore a black, leather trench-coat over clothing of the same dark hue.

There was a rasping noise as the figure drew a short sword from a sheath at his back. With a deft flourish he raised the sword high and held it in both hands with the blade pointing down at the helpless Dietrich who raised his arms in a pitiful gesture of defence.

Adam held his breath as the razor-sharp tip of the sword quivered, waiting to be driven downward.

"Bludd!!", a commanding voice shouted.

The pale figure jerked its head sideways to look over its shoulder. The creature's eyes emitted a faint red glow and one side of its mouth was curled into a snarl that exposed an elongated canine tooth.

"You know the rules, Cyrus", said the owner of the voice who remained out of view. "And they apply to everyone."

A guttural growl that sounded like a declaration of defiance issued from the creature's throat. Several tense seconds passed before the pale being reluctantly sheathed its blade and knocked Dietrich out cold with a swift punch between the eyes. It turned to address the owner of the voice that had admonished it.

"Look 'this' I can live with.", it said in an icy voice pointing to its abdomen.

The lower part of its shirt had been ripped asunder and a large, ragged hole had been chewed in the flesh of its stomach. Presumably by one of Dietrich's shotgun blasts. However to Adam's astonishment, the white flesh seemed to be rapidly reforming around the gaping wound.

"But THIS??", said the black-clad figure as he held open his coat to display a sizeable smoking hole in the material. "This is Italian leather. Custom made. Do you have any idea how much this thing cost?"

Someone else stepped into Adam's range of vision. It appeared to be a boy of no more than ten years of age. He was wearing blue shorts and a white t-shirt with a large letter 'B' emblazoned upon it. His hands were clad in a pair of high-tech gloves and he wore what appeared to be rocket-boots on his feet. A retro-looking, gold coloured helmet and goggles that looked like they were props from an old Flash Gordon serial enclosed his head. A short, red cape rounded off the child's bizarre ensemble.

"With all due respect Mr Bludd", said the boy. "I have frequently noticed that you demonstrate an inordinate amount of concern for your garments."

The creature called Cyrus Bludd rounded on his smaller compatriot.

"Listen, pee-wee!", he snapped. "When shorts come back into vogue, THEN you can lecture me about my fashion sense."

"Give it a rest you two!", said the commanding voice that had spoken before. "We have a prisoner to rescue. Remember?"

"Then at least tell me that I'm allowed to snack on a few of these goons", said Cyrus with a look of hopeful expectation. "I'll only drain a little. You have my word."

"Forget it, Cyrus. I know that Maxine will have some nice pig's blood warming up back at headquarters for you."

"Pig's blood again?", said Cyrus with a grimace. His expression was the same as that seen on the faces of children the world over when their parents tell them to eat their spinach. He opened his mouth and inserted one of his fingers while making exaggerated gagging noises.

Adam heard muffled laughter drift in from outside.

"A hundred and forty-seven years old and he still acts like a child", chided a female voice.

"Oh for Vlad's sake!", said Cyrus throwing his hands up and huffing in frustration. "Why did I ever join this group in the first place?"

"Hmmmmm, could it be because we stopped a Crossbow Special Ops team from driving a wooden stake through your heart?", someone outside replied.

"Oh yes, thank you so much for reminding me of THAT for the millionth time!", said Cyrus with a voice dripping in sarcasm. "Does the term 'rhetorical question' mean anything to you people?"

The youngster in the retro helmet raised his hand.

"Of course Mr Bludd", he said. "Rhetorical question: A figure of speech in the form of a question posed for its persuasive effect without the expectation of a reply. A rhetorical question encourages the listener to think about what the obvious answer to the question must be and is commonly used as a device by the speaker to……"

Cyrus smacked the palm of his hand into his forehead.

"Oh for crying out loud! And I thought Edison was a know-it-all pain in the ass", he groaned.

The commanding voice spoke again.

"Bobby? Will you help Mr Jennings out of the vehicle, please."

The boy in the helmet snapped to attention and fired off a quick salute.

"Yes sir, Captain", he said.

The child clambered into the back of the APC and quickly examined Adam's restraints. He sighed in disgust as he inspected the metal band around Adam's head.

"Honestly", he breathed. "These neural-inhibitors are such crude devices. They might as well have simply hit you over the head with a rock."

Bobby removed a small metal tool from his belt and set about de-activating the device.

Within moments the metallic band clattered to the floor. Adam began to feel better almost instantly. His thoughts were still fuzzy but the heavy mental fog that had prevented him from concentrating was rapidly dissipating.

"Th…thank…thank you", said Adam with an expression of tremendous relief. "Oh God. You have no idea how that felt."

"Oh I can assure you that I do, Mr Jennings", replied Bobby. "Now hold still please."

The boy tapped a button on one of his gleaming metal gauntlets and a slim, ruby-coloured laser shot from the tip of his index finger to sever the web of straps that held Adam immobile.

Adam attempted to get to his feet but was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. Bobby quickly grabbed the young fugitive to prevent him from pitching forward onto his face. There was a faint whirring sound as a small microphone slid out of Bobby's helmet. When the boy spoke, his voice was electronically distorted.

"Just relax. You are free of the carbonite. You have….hibernation sickness", he said with a smile.

Adam cocked an eyebrow and gave Bobby an incredulous look.

The young boy's smile quickly faded and the microphone slid back into his helmet.

"Oh. Heh. Well perhaps this isn't the most appropriate moment for cinematic references", he said with a self-conscious chuckle. "You'll have to excuse me but the others keep telling me that I have to work on my sense of humour."

"And I'd say that there's quite a bit of work yet to be done", said Adam with a lop-sided smile.

Bobby sighed as he helped Adam to the door of the APC.

"Indeed. It's ever so frustrating", he said. "I can construct a cyclotron while wearing a blindfold but the nuances of comedic timing continue to elude me."

Bobby exited the APC and helped Adam down onto the street. Still feeling woozy, Adam leaned against the vehicle and finally got a decent view of his surroundings.

The APC had stopped in an industrial zone consisting of factories and warehouses. The acrid smell of burnt rubber assaulted Adam's nose and his eyes went wide as he saw that the vehicle's tires and the blacktop of the street had been fused together into a molten mass. The battered and unconscious figures of the Crossbow troopers littered the street and pavement. Adam's emotions fluctuated between delight at being rescued to apprehension at the prospect that his situation may have just gotten worse.

A small group of people surrounded the Crossbow vehicle. Adam's vision was slightly blurred from the after-effects of the neural-inhibitor but besides the creature called Cyrus Bludd he could make out the figure of a young teenage girl with purple hair crouching on top of a nearby bus shelter. Also closeby was a rugged looking, bearded man wearing a domino mask who was carrying what looked like a large bowie-knife.

Glancing to his left, Adam saw a young man dressed in jeans, boots and a leather jacket the colour of freshly turned earth. He was over six feet tall and had the solid build of a quarterback. His hair was jet-black and he had a chin that looked like it had been chiselled from granite.

Several large, battle-scarred robots stood looming in the background. Adam noted that two of their metallic fellows lay in the middle of the street in sparking, smoking ruins. Bobby gazed at the fallen automatons with a sad expression

"Poor Ed and Gort", he said, shaking his head. "You will not be forgotten my friends."

A woman stepped out of the shadows of a nearby alley that ran between two warehouses. She wore a brown, leather duster and cowboy boots. A leather cowboy hat sat on top of her head covering her brown hair and wire-rimmed spectacles framed golden-brown eyes as bright as a hawks. An old-fashioned gun-belt and holster encircled her waist and in her hands she carried an antique Winchester rifle that looked to be a genuine Model 1866 'Yellowboy'. To Adam she looked like the love-child of Indiana Jones and Annie Oakley.

In one smooth and practiced motion the woman worked the lever of her Winchester expelling a spent bullet-casing that landed on the pavement with a faint, metallic 'clink'.

"Captain, we need to saddle-up and clear out. We'll be having more company soon", she said resting the barrel of the rifle on her shoulder.

"Cavalry is right", said the black-haired young man who Adam had thought looked like a quarterback. "These creeps have probably already been logged as overdue and their backup will be on its way. We need to leave. Now. Dispersal pattern 'Delta', people. Adam will be coming with Bobby and me. Stay safe everyone and I'll see you all back at headquarters."

On hearing the burly youth's words Adam realised that it was the same commanding voice that he had heard earlier. However despite his size Adam guessed that the young man speaking couldn't be any older than himself. He was surprised that a teenager had been the one to lead such an audacious attack on the MGA's authority.

As the small group began to split up and disappear into the night, Adam could contain his confusion and curiosity no longer.

"I don't understand", he blurted out to the young man in the leather jacket. "Why did you rescue me? And just who are you people?"

The muscular youth strode over to Adam.

"We're friends. Believe me", he said.

The young man virtually radiated strength and authority but there was also a look of weariness in his eyes. A look that spoke of many battles fought and too few won. Of sadness and personal loss.

"It's good to meet you, Adam", said the youth as he offered his hand. "I'm Captain Quarry. But you can call me Quentin."

Shaking Quentin's hand was like shaking hands with a concrete statue and Adam had to stop himself from visably wincing as the bones of his hand were ground together in the young man's grip. However he also realised that the sadness that he had noticed in Quentin's gaze earlier cound not mask an underlying look of steely determination.

"Welcome to the Resistance", said Quentin.

Description
Adam groaned loudly as he regained consciousness.

His head felt as if someone was pounding on the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer and his ears were ringing like church-bells on a Sunday morning.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't like what he saw when he did. Yet he wasn't quite sure why. His thoughts seemed sluggish and he had trouble remembering exactly what had happened to him. He did remember running. Lots of running. And being very afraid. He also remembered a dark figure that had transformed his fear to stark terror. Then pain and darkness.

Fighting back his apprehension, Adam slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a large metal compartment that held over a dozen Crossbow troopers seated on steel benches that lined the walls. At the end of the compartment he could see a set of double doors. Adam himself was also seated on one of the hard benches with tight straps wrapped around his arms and upper body that held him upright and secure. The slight rocking motion of the compartment and the low rumbling noise he could hear made him think that he was probably inside some kind of vehicle. There was no talk from the Crossbow troops. They sat, disciplined and rigid. The air smelt of gun-oil and the lights of the compartment bathed everything in a soft and sickening red glow.

The Crossbow trooper sitting on the bench opposite Adam noticed his movements and nudged the officer sitting next to him.

"He's awake", he murmured.

The second trooper gave a derisive snort.

"Hmph! Then the commander didn't hit him hard enough", he said.

The officer leaned forward and scowled at Adam

"Two of the guys you attacked at the protest were friends of mine, scumbag", he growled. "One of them had his heart stop in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Lucky for you he pulled through otherwise you would be facing a murder rap right now."

Adam had only a vague recollection of what the trooper was talking about. Obviously he was being accused of hurting someone. He desperately hoped that that wasn't true. He tried to speak. To question his accuser. But when he tried his words came out as unintelligible mush.

"What's the matter, kid? Having trouble talking? Yeah, well maybe that's because you have a neural-inhibitor attached to your head", sneered the trooper as he tapped the circuitry-inlaid metal band that was wrapped around Adam's skull. "That's right. Your fancy powers won't help you now, freak! Can't pull any tricks with your brainwaves scrambled can you?"

"Dietrich!" barked a commanding female voice from the other end of the troop-carrier. "Stow that crap!"

The trooper flinched slightly at the loud rebuke. He leaned back against the cold steel wall but his baleful gaze never left Adam.

"Yes, Sergeant!", he muttered darkly.

Their journey continued in silence as Adam tried desperately to push through the thick fog that impeded his thoughts.

Suddenly, without warning, the vehicle lurched to a stop. After sitting idle for perhaps thirty seconds the deep rumble of the vehicle's engine ceased. Some of the troopers frowned at this and a number of them had puzzled looks on their faces.

"What in Hades name is going on? We can't be there already", growled the sergeant from her seat near the doors. She jabbed the activation switch of the vehicle's intercom located on the wall. "Drake here. What's the hold up?"

There was no response from the drivers in the front cabin of the troop-transport.

"Frost!?", snapped the sergeant into the com. "Frost what's going on? Respond"

The com-unit remained silent.

"Crowe? Crowe this is Sergeant Drake. I need a sit-rep as of now!"

The atmosphere in the vehicle changed. There was no panic. No excited or apprehensive chatter from the troopers. However it was clear that their combat readiness had escalated a notch. All eyes were on the sergeant as she pondered the lack of response from the drivers.

"Hudson. What's our position?", she snapped.

One of the troopers pulled out a small disc-shaped object from his belt. He held the device in the palm of his hand, thumbed an activation switch and a small holographic map appeared in the air. The projection cast a baleful green light on the trooper's face.

"According to the SatNav we've stopped on Kent Street, Sergeant", he said after examining the map for several seconds. "The next set of traffic lights is over 250 yards away and surveillance scan says that the street is clear of other vehicles. There's no reason for us to be sitting here."

"Damn it", said the sergeant as she tapped the side of her cowl to activate her personal communicator.

"Come in Central", she said. "This is Sergeant Donna Drake. Crossbow Unit 173. Assigned to
meta-prisoner transfer. I am requesting assistance."

She was greeted with a loud burst of static in her ear.

"Central? Central please respond."

Sergeant Drake swore as white noise was the only response she received. She turned to her squad with a severe look on her face.

"Alright listen up!", she thundered. "For those of you slow on the uptake, we are currently sitting in the middle of the street for no goddamn discernible reason and coms are not functioning. Personally I believe that the chances of a simultaneous mechanical and communications failure are about the same as the Rams winning the next Superbowl so there's a good chance we've got trouble waiting for us outside."

Some of the troopers nodded in agreement. All of them knew that Sergeant Drake's ability to assess a potentially hostile situation had been honed by years of combat experience. First in the military and then in Crossbow. They trusted her judgement implicitly.

"Be that as it may", she continued. "I'll be damned if we're going to sit here like rats in a trap. So, lock and load people. We're taking a stroll."

Each trooper instantly began checking his or her equipment. Magazines were removed from assault rifles, inspected and then slammed home again. Combat webbing was tightened and adjusted.

"Dietrich!", called Sergeant Drake.

"Yes, Sergeant?", replied the trooper who had been baiting Adam earlier.

"Stay with the prisoner", she said. "And if he arrives at Central in anything less than pristine condition you'll be answering to me!"

The trooper glowered at Adam and gripped his combat-shotgun tightly. He was obviously extremely displeased.

"Understood, Sergeant!", he growled between clenched teeth.

Sergeant Drake's hand was on the door-release mechanism as she turned to address the squad who were now crouched in the centre of the compartment

"Follow my lead", she said. "I want a nice, clean dispersal. Double-time. Spread out and take up defensive positions around the vehicle. As of now I am officially declaring the surrounding area a red zone so if you see anything threatening, you fire. Understood?"

"Yes Sergeant!", the troopers called in unison.

Sergeant Drake hit the release mechanism and thrust the steel doors open in one smooth, practiced motion.

"Move it out! Move it out! Move it out!", she barked as she leapt from the vehicle.

With the clatter of heavy boots on steel, Adam watched the Crossbow officers exit the transport and disperse with smooth precision. Several of the troopers scouted the area immediately to the rear of the vehicle. The others split up, circling around and out of Adam's line of sight. Through the open doors Adam could see that it was still night outside and he had a narrow view of glowing streetlamps and squat, grey buildings. The trooper called Dietrich crouched in the centre of the compartment and covered the open doors. His finger was on the trigger of his shotgun which was now pointing at the floor, ready to be raised at a second's notice.

Adam could hear raised voices from the officers outside.

"Left flank clear!"

"Right flank clear!"

For a few moments the night was eerily quiet. Adam shivered as a chill breeze suddenly sprang up and swirled through the APC.

"Wait a minute! What's that?", he heard one of the officers say.

"Quit talking like a boot, trooper!", bellowed Sergeant Drake. "Specify!"

"Yes Sergeant", called the trooper. "I saw something. Over there in the shadows by the…."

"Contact!", yelled one of the other troopers at the top of his voice.

The shout was followed by several short bursts of automatic gunfire.

"What the Hell??", Adam heard an officer exclaim. A woman this time. "I hit the bastard dead square! How can he still be mov… .arrrggghhh!"

The question was cut off by a cry of pain.

"Incoming! Incoming all sides!"

The Crossbow troops began firing again. All of them now. The sound of gunfire echoed through the troop-carrier. The harsh chattering of automatic weapons mingled with the roar of combat shotguns as the night was lit up by their bright muzzle flashes.

Through the din, Dietrich could just make out the voices of his comrades as they called to each other. They were still calm. Even while under attack. Every one of them a stone-cold professional. He itched to be out there with them.

"Fire ineffective!"

"Switch to armour-piercing!"

"Reloading! Cover me!"

Through the open doors, Dietrich heard a hissing noise and saw one of the troopers struck by a blast of red energy that knocked her to the ground, unconscious.

A blue figure trailing tendrils of electricity then streaked past the vehicle at blistering speed knocking two more officers flying with the turbulent wake of its passing.

Amid the clamour of the modern assault weapons, the harsh barking of an antique rifle could be heard coming from the surrounding gloom. Several troopers cursed as their weapons were smashed by impeccably aimed rounds from the unseen marksman.

As the furious battle continued outside, Dietrich noticed that the fire coming from his comrades was now significantly reduced along with the number of voices that now called to each other. The voices that could still be heard were now beginning to show signs of panic.

"I can't get a bead on him!"

"Stand still you sonova…!!"

"They got the sarge, man!! They got Drake!"

"She's still breathing! But she's out cold!"

"The ground is alive, man!! The ground is &%#$'ing ALIVE!!"

Dietrich's self-control snapped. He leapt out of the troop-transport and stood in front of the open compartment doors.

"Come get some, freaks!!!", he yelled at the top of his lungs as he began to fire blindly into the night.

All of a sudden, a pair of slim arms clad in black reached down from the roof of the troop-carrier. Chalk-white hands with long, thin fingers grabbed the trooper around the chin and jerked him up and out of sight as if he weighed no more than a rag-doll.

Adam heard Dietrich's shotgun thunder twice in quick succession. This was followed by several loud thuds that sounded like something was being slammed heavily against the roof of the vehicle.

Through the open doors, Adam saw the trooper fall to the hard, unforgiving pavement. The twisted remains of his shotgun swiftly followed.

A male figure leapt down from the roof of the troop-carrier to land next to the fallen Crossbow officer. His skin was as pale as death and almost luminescent under the streetlights. Not one strand of hair grew on his head and Adam could see that his ears were pointed. He wore a black, leather trench-coat over clothing of the same dark hue.

There was a rasping noise as the figure drew a short sword from a sheath at his back. With a deft flourish he raised the sword high and held it in both hands with the blade pointing down at the helpless Dietrich who raised his arms in a pitiful gesture of defence.

Adam held his breath as the razor-sharp tip of the sword quivered, waiting to be driven downward.

"Bludd!!", a commanding voice shouted.

The pale figure jerked its head sideways to look over its shoulder. The creature's eyes emitted a faint red glow and one side of its mouth was curled into a snarl that exposed an elongated canine tooth.

"You know the rules, Cyrus", said the owner of the voice who remained out of view. "And they apply to everyone."

A guttural growl that sounded like a declaration of defiance issued from the creature's throat. Several tense seconds passed before the pale being reluctantly sheathed its blade and knocked Dietrich out cold with a swift punch between the eyes. It turned to address the owner of the voice that had admonished it.

"Look 'this' I can live with.", it said in an icy voice pointing to its abdomen.

The lower part of its shirt had been ripped asunder and a large, ragged hole had been chewed in the flesh of its stomach. Presumably by one of Dietrich's shotgun blasts. However to Adam's astonishment, the white flesh seemed to be rapidly reforming around the gaping wound.

"But THIS??", said the black-clad figure as he held open his coat to display a sizeable smoking hole in the material. "This is Italian leather. Custom made. Do you have any idea how much this thing cost?"

Someone else stepped into Adam's range of vision. It appeared to be a boy of no more than ten years of age. He was wearing blue shorts and a white t-shirt with a large letter 'B' emblazoned upon it. His hands were clad in a pair of high-tech gloves and he wore what appeared to be rocket-boots on his feet. A retro-looking, gold coloured helmet and goggles that looked like they were props from an old Flash Gordon serial enclosed his head. A short, red cape rounded off the child's bizarre ensemble.

"With all due respect Mr Bludd", said the boy. "I have frequently noticed that you demonstrate an inordinate amount of concern for your garments."

The creature called Cyrus Bludd rounded on his smaller compatriot.

"Listen, pee-wee!", he snapped. "When shorts come back into vogue, THEN you can lecture me about my fashion sense."

"Give it a rest you two!", said the commanding voice that had spoken before. "We have a prisoner to rescue. Remember?"

"Then at least tell me that I'm allowed to snack on a few of these goons", said Cyrus with a look of hopeful expectation. "I'll only drain a little. You have my word."

"Forget it, Cyrus. I know that Maxine will have some nice pig's blood warming up back at headquarters for you."

"Pig's blood again?", said Cyrus with a grimace. His expression was the same as that seen on the faces of children the world over when their parents tell them to eat their spinach. He opened his mouth and inserted one of his fingers while making exaggerated gagging noises.

Adam heard muffled laughter drift in from outside.

"A hundred and forty-seven years old and he still acts like a child", chided a female voice.

"Oh for Vlad's sake!", said Cyrus throwing his hands up and huffing in frustration. "Why did I ever join this group in the first place?"

"Hmmmmm, could it be because we stopped a Crossbow Special Ops team from driving a wooden stake through your heart?", someone outside replied.

"Oh yes, thank you so much for reminding me of THAT for the millionth time!", said Cyrus with a voice dripping in sarcasm. "Does the term 'rhetorical question' mean anything to you people?"

The youngster in the retro helmet raised his hand.

"Of course Mr Bludd", he said. "Rhetorical question: A figure of speech in the form of a question posed for its persuasive effect without the expectation of a reply. A rhetorical question encourages the listener to think about what the obvious answer to the question must be and is commonly used as a device by the speaker to……"

Cyrus smacked the palm of his hand into his forehead.

"Oh for crying out loud! And I thought Edison was a know-it-all pain in the ass", he groaned.

The commanding voice spoke again.

"Bobby? Will you help Mr Jennings out of the vehicle, please."

The boy in the helmet snapped to attention and fired off a quick salute.

"Yes sir, Captain", he said.

The child clambered into the back of the APC and quickly examined Adam's restraints. He sighed in disgust as he inspected the metal band around Adam's head.

"Honestly", he breathed. "These neural-inhibitors are such crude devices. They might as well have simply hit you over the head with a rock."

Bobby removed a small metal tool from his belt and set about de-activating the device.

Within moments the metallic band clattered to the floor. Adam began to feel better almost instantly. His thoughts were still fuzzy but the heavy mental fog that had prevented him from concentrating was rapidly dissipating.

"Th…thank…thank you", said Adam with an expression of tremendous relief. "Oh God. You have no idea how that felt."

"Oh I can assure you that I do, Mr Jennings", replied Bobby. "Now hold still please."

The boy tapped a button on one of his gleaming metal gauntlets and a slim, ruby-coloured laser shot from the tip of his index finger to sever the web of straps that held Adam immobile.

Adam attempted to get to his feet but was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. Bobby quickly grabbed the young fugitive to prevent him from pitching forward onto his face. There was a faint whirring sound as a small microphone slid out of Bobby's helmet. When the boy spoke, his voice was electronically distorted.

"Just relax. You are free of the carbonite. You have….hibernation sickness", he said with a smile.

Adam cocked an eyebrow and gave Bobby an incredulous look.

The young boy's smile quickly faded and the microphone slid back into his helmet.

"Oh. Heh. Well perhaps this isn't the most appropriate moment for cinematic references", he said with a self-conscious chuckle. "You'll have to excuse me but the others keep telling me that I have to work on my sense of humour."

"And I'd say that there's quite a bit of work yet to be done", said Adam with a lop-sided smile.

Bobby sighed as he helped Adam to the door of the APC.

"Indeed. It's ever so frustrating", he said. "I can construct a cyclotron while wearing a blindfold but the nuances of comedic timing continue to elude me."

Bobby exited the APC and helped Adam down onto the street. Still feeling woozy, Adam leaned against the vehicle and finally got a decent view of his surroundings.

The APC had stopped in an industrial zone consisting of factories and warehouses. The acrid smell of burnt rubber assaulted Adam's nose and his eyes went wide as he saw that the vehicle's tires and the blacktop of the street had been fused together into a molten mass. The battered and unconscious figures of the Crossbow troopers littered the street and pavement. Adam's emotions fluctuated between delight at being rescued to apprehension at the prospect that his situation may have just gotten worse.

A small group of people surrounded the Crossbow vehicle. Adam's vision was slightly blurred from the after-effects of the neural-inhibitor but besides the creature called Cyrus Bludd he could make out the figure of a young teenage girl with purple hair crouching on top of a nearby bus shelter. Also closeby was a rugged looking, bearded man wearing a domino mask who was carrying what looked like a large bowie-knife.

Glancing to his left, Adam saw a young man dressed in jeans, boots and a leather jacket the colour of freshly turned earth. He was over six feet tall and had the solid build of a quarterback. His hair was jet-black and he had a chin that looked like it had been chiselled from granite.

Several large, battle-scarred robots stood looming in the background. Adam noted that two of their metallic fellows lay in the middle of the street in sparking, smoking ruins. Bobby gazed at the fallen automatons with a sad expression

"Poor Ed and Gort", he said, shaking his head. "You will not be forgotten my friends."

A woman stepped out of the shadows of a nearby alley that ran between two warehouses. She wore a brown, leather duster and cowboy boots. A leather cowboy hat sat on top of her head covering her brown hair and wire-rimmed spectacles framed golden-brown eyes as bright as a hawks. An old-fashioned gun-belt and holster encircled her waist and in her hands she carried an antique Winchester rifle that looked to be a genuine Model 1866 'Yellowboy'. To Adam she looked like the love-child of Indiana Jones and Annie Oakley.

In one smooth and practiced motion the woman worked the lever of her Winchester expelling a spent bullet-casing that landed on the pavement with a faint, metallic 'clink'.

"Captain, we need to saddle-up and clear out. We'll be having more company soon", she said resting the barrel of the rifle on her shoulder.

"Cavalry is right", said the black-haired young man who Adam had thought looked like a quarterback. "These creeps have probably already been logged as overdue and their backup will be on its way. We need to leave. Now. Dispersal pattern 'Delta', people. Adam will be coming with Bobby and me. Stay safe everyone and I'll see you all back at headquarters."

On hearing the burly youth's words Adam realised that it was the same commanding voice that he had heard earlier. However despite his size Adam guessed that the young man speaking couldn't be any older than himself. He was surprised that a teenager had been the one to lead such an audacious attack on the MGA's authority.

As the small group began to split up and disappear into the night, Adam could contain his confusion and curiosity no longer.

"I don't understand", he blurted out to the young man in the leather jacket. "Why did you rescue me? And just who are you people?"

The muscular youth strode over to Adam.

"We're friends. Believe me", he said.

The young man virtually radiated strength and authority but there was also a look of weariness in his eyes. A look that spoke of many battles fought and too few won. Of sadness and personal loss.

"It's good to meet you, Adam", said the youth as he offered his hand. "I'm Captain Quarry. But you can call me Quentin."

Shaking Quentin's hand was like shaking hands with a concrete statue and Adam had to stop himself from visably wincing as the bones of his hand were ground together in the young man's grip. However he also realised that the sadness that he had noticed in Quentin's gaze earlier cound not mask an underlying look of steely determination.

"Welcome to the Resistance", said Quentin.