"DUST MITES ATTACK! III - Panic Time"
Feb. 12th, 2025 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermesDUST MITES ATTACK! III - Panic Time
9/14/2010
I.
Third Avenue at 40th Street was weirdly deserted at a Friday afternoon at three. Delis and newsstands and stores were unexpectedly closed. Traffic was sparse. The few pedestrians hurried down the sidewalks and vanished as soon as they could. It was a pleasant September day but the city seemed more deserted than it became when the worst ice storm was breaking.
The random deaths by skinless faces had broken all attempts at cover-up. By sheer word of mouth, by more postings on social media than could be suppressed, the public had informed itself. This unexplained phenomena was claiming more than one hundred lives each day in the metropolitan area and no defense was known. Sudden agonizing attacks meant tiny crablike vermin were eating the skin right off a victim's face and injecting caustic venom in the process. The world watched in helpless horror. Fearing spread of this pestilence, demands were being made to quarantine the Five Boroughs.
Striding up the block, Jeremy Bane was an even more ominous figure than usual. Tall and gaunt in his inevitable uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he was scowling and the pale grey eyes were furious. He rushed up to the three story yellow brick building which housed his office and entered as the twin glass doors slid open. To his right in the lobby was the day clinic EMERGENCY ONE. Dr Hamsa Chughtai came forward to intercept him.
"Jeremy! Jeremy, wait a minute," he said.
They were on a first name basis because over the years Bane had brought so many wounded patients there, a good number of whom had made the mistake of attacking Bane or because his clients had a habit of showing up injured. The Dire Wolf paused and made an effort to soften his glare.
Lowering his voice, Chughtai stepped closer. "Six cases brought here today, even though there's nothing we can do to help them. They never make through the ambulance ride. I have to ask, Jeremy, what do you know the public doesn't?"
Bane didn't answer for a long moment. "What I can tell you... Hamsa, I can tell you that every agency is working full blast on this. I can't be more specific. I wish I could be more encouraging."
"What doesn't help is that we're swamped with people panicking. They feel their faces itch or someone tells them their face looks flushed and they come in all hysterical. All we can do is hold them for observation an hour or so and counsel them for anxiety." He raised both hands helplessly. "I have to get back in there. We're staying open late tonight."
In a gesture rare for him, Bane pressed a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder. "You've found out a little bit about the Midnight War, Jeff. You know I won't stop until this is ended."
"I feel better knowing you're on it." Hearing a nurse calling him, he shook his head and went back inside the clinic.
"We both do our best," the Dire Wolf said to himself. Ahead of him was the wide wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. To his left was the FRESH START salon and spa. Going past that, he entered the narrow aisle between that wall and the side of the staircase. This ended in an Exit door marked EMERGENCY ONLY. Just before that was the plain wooden door with the bronze plaque DIRE WOLF AGENCY - PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS and a phone number.
And leaning on the wall next to his office door was the familiar bulk of Joseph Montez.
The big homicide detective looked awful. He had apparently not shaved, showered or changed his clothes for at least three or four days. It seemed likely he had not gotten a full night's sleep for that time either. The surprisingly gentle face under the thick black pompadour was bleary-eyed. "Ah. There you are..." he grumbled.
"Come on in, lieutenant," Bane said. He unlocked the outer door and ushered Montez through the tiny waiting room into the office proper. Steering the police detective to a chair facing the oak desk, the Dire Wolf got a pitcher of ice water and some tumblers from the waist high refrigerator, then down a glass himself and insisted the lieutenant do the same.
"Rather have black coffee..."
"Come on, chug it," Bane insisted. "You look dehydrated as hell. Your skin is dry." He gulped down a second tumbler and watched as his visitor sipped a second one as well. Going back to the refrigerator, he came back with two walnut Danishes wrapped in cling film and tossed one to Montez.
The Dire Wolf settled into the swivel chair behind his desk and allowed himself a grumbling sigh of exasperation. "I've spent most of today meeting with agents of the Mandate, INTERCEPT and Department 21 Black. AND the D.A.'s office! Now you're here for the NYPD."
"Yeah," said Montez. "The city is packed with thousands of cops, spies, Feds and G-Men turning over every rock looking for this Cogitus freak."
"And the full KDF team as well," Bane added. "Sable has called in as many of our Associate Members as she can reach, too. Everyone from Karina to Sulak is running around Manhattan today!"
Montez could not help giving out a sharp barking laugh. "Jeez, I bet the creatures of the night are hiding as hard as they can. I'd hate to be a newbie vampire or Skinwalker out looking for a stray victim with all you guys on the warpath."
Never evidencing much of a sense of humor, Bane showed no trace of amusement at the thought. "Cogitus is harder to catch every time. He learns from his mistakes, he doesn't trip himself up like so many bad guys do. Megan tells me she's certain he's somehow enlarging and mutating the dust mites that live on everybody's eyebrows and eyelashes. They live long enough to poison their victims and eat their faces, then the little bastards die off."
"I know our little Trom Girl is a super-genius herself," Montez said. "She come up with a defense?"
"Not so far," said the Dire Wolf. "Cogitus has been using the artifacts of ancient Zhune. They don't make any sense even in theory, even to the Trom."
Montez slumped so deeply he seemed at risk of falling off the chair entirely. He picked up the second Danish and took a bite. "Honestly, Bane, I don't understand half of what you say. This Zhune was like a sort of Atlantis, right? They somehow invented crazy technology that's still dangerous today? And this lunatic Herbert Lewis Sinclair, Cogitus he calls himself, uses some of these Zhune gadgets as weapons nobody else can figure out."
"That's accurate enough, lieutenant," the Dire Wolf said. "I used to be able to track Cogitus down because he used such enormous amounts of electrical power to charge up the artifacts. I'd hack into Con Ed records and find him that way. But he's figured out another way to get the Zhune relics up to speed and I'm stumped."
Montez' leonine head had dropped down onto his chest and the half-eaten Danish fell to the hardwood floor. Bane kept silent. Like Inspector Klein before him, Joseph Montez had started as an adversary who regarded the Dire Wolf as a wild loose cannon. But, as the reality of the Midnight War sank in, the lieutenant had gradually come to see Bane as an essential defender against the dark powers of the night. Let him doze for a few minutes.
Leaning forward on his desk, cradling his chin in his palm, the Dire Wolf kept thinking furiously as he tried to find a course to take. While he sat in his office, he knew innocent random people were suddenly screaming and grabbing at their faces. Bane had never felt more helpless.
II.
An hour later, Montez gave a start and woke up, feeling more refreshed than he would have thought. He washed up in the office's bathroom, shaving with one of the disposable razors and rinsing his hair in hot water from the sink. "That was all I needed," he said as he reknotted his tie and buttoned the suit jacket over his considerable paunch. "At least no one from the station called me."
Bane stood up and escorted the detective back out into the hall. "Now you'll keep pushing another four days on nothing but determination. Stay in contact, lieutenant. We'll nail this maniac soon. I swear it!"
Left alone again, the Dire Wolf felt something he didn't recognize at first. Discouragement. All his life, his greatest strength had been the single-minded focus of determination that dismissed any odds. That feeling only lasted a few seconds before he dropped down in his chair again and flipped open his laptop. As he had expected, there were dozens of emails from his worldwide network of observers.
Over his long career, Bane had never accepted rewards or gifts from the people he helped. Instead, he simply asked that they keep an eye out for anything inexplicable or possibly paranormal and to inform him. This had paid off many times over the years. Now, he started working through all the messages. Dozens of people who owed him their lives or the lives of their loved ones were eager to help him any way they could. Reading quickly, he began going through the emails, hoping for something useful. He could reply later.
Then his screen flashed white and a grotesque face grinned out at him. Bane jumped almost out of his chair at the surprise. Framed against a wide picture window that showed only sky, a withered old man was reclining back in a heavily padded chair. From the eyes down, he seemed merely an elderly man with a face like a dried apple. But his forehead stretched up twice normal height and the frontal lobes bulged alarmingly. The man lowered a deep pink helmet of lightweight spun aluminum down over that bizarre head, bracing it to his backplate evidently to help support the abnormal weight.
In a calm, mellow tone, the man began by saying, "Cogitus speaking! This message is being sent to several interested parties. Don't waste your time trying to trace my signal. Your pitiful minds cannot begin to match mine. I speak to the Governor of New York State, to the Mayor of New York City, to the Directors of the Mandate, INTERCEPT and Department 21 Black, and to the membership of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. To date, the so-called 'faceless deaths' have been inflicted at random but I can and will begin targeting them at specific individuals."
Horrifying as the speech was, something in the image gave Bane a faint jolt of hope.
"My demands are modest," Cogitus went on as if negotiating buying a used car. "I want a blanket pardon for any and all criminal charges that have been or may be placed against me. I want the following scientists to deliver themselves to my service at a place I will announce later..."
Bane had pulled out his Link and called KDF headquarters. Instantly, the voice of Megan Salenger told him without preamble, "Angle of sunlight and spectroscopic analysis of visible sky concluded. He is twenty-eight feet above you and seven feet to your southwest. We are on our way, captain...."
But the rest of the Trom Girl's words were lost on an empty office.
III.
Bane dove out into the hall and hurtled up the staircase faster than a normal person could run on a flat surface. That the third floor split into two wide hallways with a health spa, a dentist's office and a law clinic by the staircase. Bane saw the unmarked second door on the right was exactly where Megan had indicated. Still moving at a full sprint, the Dire Wolf whirled on one heel and exploded a spinning kick that snapped lock and hinges at the same time. The door flew inward to crash against the floor.
Sitting at a counter facing a camera, the tiny armored figure of Cogitus made a strangled noise. He was already holding a pistol grip attached to a thick steel cable which led to a complex apparatus. The nozzle flashed brilliant red. In the next split-second, Bane's tight fist blasted directly into the shriveled face with a sharp cracking noise. As the renegade scientist was thrown backward out of his chair, feet going straight up, the Dire Wolf leaped at the Zhune apparatus. He tore a handful of wires free, ignoring the painful shock which ran up his arm. Bane knocked the device over on its side and began stomping down with all his weight.
A few minutes must have passed because suddenly the strong arms of Sheng Mo-Yuan were pulling him away. "Whoa! Easy, Jeremy, it's over. It's all over."
Belatedly, Bane realized the Zhune apparatus was battered out of shape and completely useless. His legs were trembling from release of adrenalin. "Sheng?" he managed.
"We ran all the way here," Unicorn said. The platinum blonde was securing Cogitus' wrists behind him with tough plastic zip ties. Beside her, Megan Salenger had disabled all the circuits and weapons in Cogitus' armor, removing the gauntlets and chestplate.
Surprising himself by being so shaky, Bane fell rather than sat into the chair vacated by Herbert Lewis Sinclair. "Whew. I didn't expect to get so...worked up."
"Aw, we're all just Human," Ashley said, rubbing his upper back in a liberty few would take. "So much was at stake. But the geezer is still alive, you didn't kill him. I'd say he's going to lose a tooth and his nose is broken but he should be glad you didn't take his head off. I've seen you punch."
Over by the wide picture window, Sheng was grinning. "Sinclair really shot himself in the foot this time. If he had thought to transmit from a room without a window, we'd never have found him. For that matter, he could have done this from anywhere in a hundred miles but noooo. He just had to be right on top of Jeremy so he could feel so superior. Some genius."
Megan finished reporting to Sable that all was well. She clipped her Link back to her belt. "An immediate announcement will reassure the public that the danger is over."
Sitting up on the floor, allowing Unicorn to insert a gauze plug into his bleeding nostril, Cogitus suddenly blurted out, "How? How did you survive the beam? I don't understand."
"Oh, there's a reason." Bane had regained his composure. "It was painful as hell and my eyes have beem watering all day. But early this morning, Megan there removed my eyebrows and eyelashes, sterilizing the sites down to the roots. I'm wearing glued-on nylon eyebrows."
2/12/2025
9/14/2010
I.
Third Avenue at 40th Street was weirdly deserted at a Friday afternoon at three. Delis and newsstands and stores were unexpectedly closed. Traffic was sparse. The few pedestrians hurried down the sidewalks and vanished as soon as they could. It was a pleasant September day but the city seemed more deserted than it became when the worst ice storm was breaking.
The random deaths by skinless faces had broken all attempts at cover-up. By sheer word of mouth, by more postings on social media than could be suppressed, the public had informed itself. This unexplained phenomena was claiming more than one hundred lives each day in the metropolitan area and no defense was known. Sudden agonizing attacks meant tiny crablike vermin were eating the skin right off a victim's face and injecting caustic venom in the process. The world watched in helpless horror. Fearing spread of this pestilence, demands were being made to quarantine the Five Boroughs.
Striding up the block, Jeremy Bane was an even more ominous figure than usual. Tall and gaunt in his inevitable uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he was scowling and the pale grey eyes were furious. He rushed up to the three story yellow brick building which housed his office and entered as the twin glass doors slid open. To his right in the lobby was the day clinic EMERGENCY ONE. Dr Hamsa Chughtai came forward to intercept him.
"Jeremy! Jeremy, wait a minute," he said.
They were on a first name basis because over the years Bane had brought so many wounded patients there, a good number of whom had made the mistake of attacking Bane or because his clients had a habit of showing up injured. The Dire Wolf paused and made an effort to soften his glare.
Lowering his voice, Chughtai stepped closer. "Six cases brought here today, even though there's nothing we can do to help them. They never make through the ambulance ride. I have to ask, Jeremy, what do you know the public doesn't?"
Bane didn't answer for a long moment. "What I can tell you... Hamsa, I can tell you that every agency is working full blast on this. I can't be more specific. I wish I could be more encouraging."
"What doesn't help is that we're swamped with people panicking. They feel their faces itch or someone tells them their face looks flushed and they come in all hysterical. All we can do is hold them for observation an hour or so and counsel them for anxiety." He raised both hands helplessly. "I have to get back in there. We're staying open late tonight."
In a gesture rare for him, Bane pressed a comforting hand on the doctor's shoulder. "You've found out a little bit about the Midnight War, Jeff. You know I won't stop until this is ended."
"I feel better knowing you're on it." Hearing a nurse calling him, he shook his head and went back inside the clinic.
"We both do our best," the Dire Wolf said to himself. Ahead of him was the wide wooden staircase leading up to the second floor. To his left was the FRESH START salon and spa. Going past that, he entered the narrow aisle between that wall and the side of the staircase. This ended in an Exit door marked EMERGENCY ONLY. Just before that was the plain wooden door with the bronze plaque DIRE WOLF AGENCY - PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS and a phone number.
And leaning on the wall next to his office door was the familiar bulk of Joseph Montez.
The big homicide detective looked awful. He had apparently not shaved, showered or changed his clothes for at least three or four days. It seemed likely he had not gotten a full night's sleep for that time either. The surprisingly gentle face under the thick black pompadour was bleary-eyed. "Ah. There you are..." he grumbled.
"Come on in, lieutenant," Bane said. He unlocked the outer door and ushered Montez through the tiny waiting room into the office proper. Steering the police detective to a chair facing the oak desk, the Dire Wolf got a pitcher of ice water and some tumblers from the waist high refrigerator, then down a glass himself and insisted the lieutenant do the same.
"Rather have black coffee..."
"Come on, chug it," Bane insisted. "You look dehydrated as hell. Your skin is dry." He gulped down a second tumbler and watched as his visitor sipped a second one as well. Going back to the refrigerator, he came back with two walnut Danishes wrapped in cling film and tossed one to Montez.
The Dire Wolf settled into the swivel chair behind his desk and allowed himself a grumbling sigh of exasperation. "I've spent most of today meeting with agents of the Mandate, INTERCEPT and Department 21 Black. AND the D.A.'s office! Now you're here for the NYPD."
"Yeah," said Montez. "The city is packed with thousands of cops, spies, Feds and G-Men turning over every rock looking for this Cogitus freak."
"And the full KDF team as well," Bane added. "Sable has called in as many of our Associate Members as she can reach, too. Everyone from Karina to Sulak is running around Manhattan today!"
Montez could not help giving out a sharp barking laugh. "Jeez, I bet the creatures of the night are hiding as hard as they can. I'd hate to be a newbie vampire or Skinwalker out looking for a stray victim with all you guys on the warpath."
Never evidencing much of a sense of humor, Bane showed no trace of amusement at the thought. "Cogitus is harder to catch every time. He learns from his mistakes, he doesn't trip himself up like so many bad guys do. Megan tells me she's certain he's somehow enlarging and mutating the dust mites that live on everybody's eyebrows and eyelashes. They live long enough to poison their victims and eat their faces, then the little bastards die off."
"I know our little Trom Girl is a super-genius herself," Montez said. "She come up with a defense?"
"Not so far," said the Dire Wolf. "Cogitus has been using the artifacts of ancient Zhune. They don't make any sense even in theory, even to the Trom."
Montez slumped so deeply he seemed at risk of falling off the chair entirely. He picked up the second Danish and took a bite. "Honestly, Bane, I don't understand half of what you say. This Zhune was like a sort of Atlantis, right? They somehow invented crazy technology that's still dangerous today? And this lunatic Herbert Lewis Sinclair, Cogitus he calls himself, uses some of these Zhune gadgets as weapons nobody else can figure out."
"That's accurate enough, lieutenant," the Dire Wolf said. "I used to be able to track Cogitus down because he used such enormous amounts of electrical power to charge up the artifacts. I'd hack into Con Ed records and find him that way. But he's figured out another way to get the Zhune relics up to speed and I'm stumped."
Montez' leonine head had dropped down onto his chest and the half-eaten Danish fell to the hardwood floor. Bane kept silent. Like Inspector Klein before him, Joseph Montez had started as an adversary who regarded the Dire Wolf as a wild loose cannon. But, as the reality of the Midnight War sank in, the lieutenant had gradually come to see Bane as an essential defender against the dark powers of the night. Let him doze for a few minutes.
Leaning forward on his desk, cradling his chin in his palm, the Dire Wolf kept thinking furiously as he tried to find a course to take. While he sat in his office, he knew innocent random people were suddenly screaming and grabbing at their faces. Bane had never felt more helpless.
II.
An hour later, Montez gave a start and woke up, feeling more refreshed than he would have thought. He washed up in the office's bathroom, shaving with one of the disposable razors and rinsing his hair in hot water from the sink. "That was all I needed," he said as he reknotted his tie and buttoned the suit jacket over his considerable paunch. "At least no one from the station called me."
Bane stood up and escorted the detective back out into the hall. "Now you'll keep pushing another four days on nothing but determination. Stay in contact, lieutenant. We'll nail this maniac soon. I swear it!"
Left alone again, the Dire Wolf felt something he didn't recognize at first. Discouragement. All his life, his greatest strength had been the single-minded focus of determination that dismissed any odds. That feeling only lasted a few seconds before he dropped down in his chair again and flipped open his laptop. As he had expected, there were dozens of emails from his worldwide network of observers.
Over his long career, Bane had never accepted rewards or gifts from the people he helped. Instead, he simply asked that they keep an eye out for anything inexplicable or possibly paranormal and to inform him. This had paid off many times over the years. Now, he started working through all the messages. Dozens of people who owed him their lives or the lives of their loved ones were eager to help him any way they could. Reading quickly, he began going through the emails, hoping for something useful. He could reply later.
Then his screen flashed white and a grotesque face grinned out at him. Bane jumped almost out of his chair at the surprise. Framed against a wide picture window that showed only sky, a withered old man was reclining back in a heavily padded chair. From the eyes down, he seemed merely an elderly man with a face like a dried apple. But his forehead stretched up twice normal height and the frontal lobes bulged alarmingly. The man lowered a deep pink helmet of lightweight spun aluminum down over that bizarre head, bracing it to his backplate evidently to help support the abnormal weight.
In a calm, mellow tone, the man began by saying, "Cogitus speaking! This message is being sent to several interested parties. Don't waste your time trying to trace my signal. Your pitiful minds cannot begin to match mine. I speak to the Governor of New York State, to the Mayor of New York City, to the Directors of the Mandate, INTERCEPT and Department 21 Black, and to the membership of the Kenneth Dred Foundation. To date, the so-called 'faceless deaths' have been inflicted at random but I can and will begin targeting them at specific individuals."
Horrifying as the speech was, something in the image gave Bane a faint jolt of hope.
"My demands are modest," Cogitus went on as if negotiating buying a used car. "I want a blanket pardon for any and all criminal charges that have been or may be placed against me. I want the following scientists to deliver themselves to my service at a place I will announce later..."
Bane had pulled out his Link and called KDF headquarters. Instantly, the voice of Megan Salenger told him without preamble, "Angle of sunlight and spectroscopic analysis of visible sky concluded. He is twenty-eight feet above you and seven feet to your southwest. We are on our way, captain...."
But the rest of the Trom Girl's words were lost on an empty office.
III.
Bane dove out into the hall and hurtled up the staircase faster than a normal person could run on a flat surface. That the third floor split into two wide hallways with a health spa, a dentist's office and a law clinic by the staircase. Bane saw the unmarked second door on the right was exactly where Megan had indicated. Still moving at a full sprint, the Dire Wolf whirled on one heel and exploded a spinning kick that snapped lock and hinges at the same time. The door flew inward to crash against the floor.
Sitting at a counter facing a camera, the tiny armored figure of Cogitus made a strangled noise. He was already holding a pistol grip attached to a thick steel cable which led to a complex apparatus. The nozzle flashed brilliant red. In the next split-second, Bane's tight fist blasted directly into the shriveled face with a sharp cracking noise. As the renegade scientist was thrown backward out of his chair, feet going straight up, the Dire Wolf leaped at the Zhune apparatus. He tore a handful of wires free, ignoring the painful shock which ran up his arm. Bane knocked the device over on its side and began stomping down with all his weight.
A few minutes must have passed because suddenly the strong arms of Sheng Mo-Yuan were pulling him away. "Whoa! Easy, Jeremy, it's over. It's all over."
Belatedly, Bane realized the Zhune apparatus was battered out of shape and completely useless. His legs were trembling from release of adrenalin. "Sheng?" he managed.
"We ran all the way here," Unicorn said. The platinum blonde was securing Cogitus' wrists behind him with tough plastic zip ties. Beside her, Megan Salenger had disabled all the circuits and weapons in Cogitus' armor, removing the gauntlets and chestplate.
Surprising himself by being so shaky, Bane fell rather than sat into the chair vacated by Herbert Lewis Sinclair. "Whew. I didn't expect to get so...worked up."
"Aw, we're all just Human," Ashley said, rubbing his upper back in a liberty few would take. "So much was at stake. But the geezer is still alive, you didn't kill him. I'd say he's going to lose a tooth and his nose is broken but he should be glad you didn't take his head off. I've seen you punch."
Over by the wide picture window, Sheng was grinning. "Sinclair really shot himself in the foot this time. If he had thought to transmit from a room without a window, we'd never have found him. For that matter, he could have done this from anywhere in a hundred miles but noooo. He just had to be right on top of Jeremy so he could feel so superior. Some genius."
Megan finished reporting to Sable that all was well. She clipped her Link back to her belt. "An immediate announcement will reassure the public that the danger is over."
Sitting up on the floor, allowing Unicorn to insert a gauze plug into his bleeding nostril, Cogitus suddenly blurted out, "How? How did you survive the beam? I don't understand."
"Oh, there's a reason." Bane had regained his composure. "It was painful as hell and my eyes have beem watering all day. But early this morning, Megan there removed my eyebrows and eyelashes, sterilizing the sites down to the roots. I'm wearing glued-on nylon eyebrows."
2/12/2025
no subject
Date: 2025-02-25 04:45 pm (UTC)